The brand was cheap, but you hadn’t ever smoked before, so it didn’t make much of a difference to you. You presumed that all cigarettes tasted something like dirt, but the flavor was trivial; it was the nicotine high that you were after.

You sat down in one of the chairs, Vegeta in the other, legs crossed, and he gingerly extended a hand towards you, a request. You lit another cig and passed it to him.

You could see why people used to think smoking was cool; the soft red glow of the cherry in the low light of the storm, the smoke curling around his face as he exhaled, and even the delicate positioning of his fingers was strangely attractive.

There was no ashtray to be seen, so you just flicked your ashes into the air until the cigarette was finished. You smushed the butt into the wet pavement and set it on the little table beside you.

Vegeta copied the motion a few moments later, and you sat in uneasy silence for several minutes before he spoke.

“I couldn’t answer your question earlier,” he said.

You pondered this momentarily, then asked quietly, “Why not?”

He clenched his jaw and gulped down a good portion of his scotch, glaring at the wall. “I don’t know. I’ve had time to think about it now, though.”

You gestured for him to continue, sipping your drink and fighting a gag.

He took a deep breath before speaking.

“I am not the man I was when I arrived on Earth. There was a time in my life, not long ago, that I undoubtedly would have killed you for behaving as you have… did. What has changed, I know not, but I do know that you, probably rightly, believed it to be your only option. I know that you are not a disgrace. I know that I don’t hate you, and I won’t allow your pride as a Saiyan to be tarnished by a nonsensical fight such as this one. I shouldn’t have pushed so hard. I- seeing you like that… I never want to experience that again. As you said, we are both new to being together. I want to stay that way if you’ll let me.”

You turned to face him fully and swallowed hard; your heart felt like a hummingbird beating its wings against your ribcage.

“You mean you still want to be my boyfriend?” You asked weakly.

He rolled his eyes, “I hate that word, you know, but yes. Partners, as we were before.”

You beamed at him, but the smile quickly disappeared as a low whistle cut through the air, you and Vegeta spinning towards the house to face the cause of the sound.

“Wow! I thought it would take a lot longer for you two to work this out. Great teamwork, guys!”

Your body sensed the familiar energy before your eyes settled on an obnoxiously bright orange outfit. He stood just in front of the door as if he’d been there all along.

“Kakarot, how nice of you to join us,” Vegeta said, voice oozing with sarcasm, “next time you decide to drop us on your breeding planet, you could at least do us the courtesy of cleaning up!”

Goku flushed, a hand absentmindedly running through his hair as he chuckled nervously, “yeah, sorry about that. It’s not like I had any warning! I was working with what time I had before you woke up! Was it really that bad?”

“Yes,” you said in unison with Vegeta; the stench had been overwhelming; every surface in the house felt contaminated. Even the scent of Goku now was mildly disturbing to you; it was like the phantom of his arousal was lurking just beyond the reach of your olfactory nerve.

“Damn, sorry about that, heh. Well at least you had the chance to get back at me, am I right?” He said, raising an eyebrow at Vegeta.

Vegeta crossed his arms and stared at Goku, venom in his eyes.

“No, Kakarot, we’re decent people who wash our sheets,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Oh, so you did fuck! Nice,” Goku said with a smirk. If not for the surprise in his voice, you would’ve thought he was teasing. “That’s kinda why I’ve been afraid to come back until now. I didn’t want to interrupt anything accidentally,” he said.

It was Vegeta’s turn to smirk, “We fucked on the first night here, Kakarot. How’s that for your expectations?”

“Vegeta!” You hissed, slapping his arm in protest. Apparently, he wasn’t bashful at all when competing with Goku was involved. Unsurprisingly, it was the opposite for you; you would have preferred that Goku’s loudmouthed self know as little as possible about your sex life.

Goku cocked his head to look at you, barely containing his laugh, “what happened to ‘as if I’d ever sleep with him,’ huh?”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Vegeta cackled.

“Oh, fuck you guys,” you retorted, though your cheeks were burning.

“No, just him, I’m married,” Goku grinned, and Vegeta laughed with him.

Before you could think of something clever to respond with, an electronic beep had everyone’s ears perking up.

“Lunch is ready if you’re hungry for it. Then you can take us home?”

“C’mon, you know I’m always hungry and a man of my word! You two managed not to kill each other, and it seems like you won’t be trying to in the future, so I’ll bring you both home. Now you and I can tell all our friends that Vegeta got himself a girlfriend,” he said with a wink at you, stepping into the house with almost preternatural grace. He was far too familiar with this place.

“Yeah, I’m sure Bulma will be absolutely thrilled, and we’re asking Krillin to officiate our wedding,” you deadpanned, passing a giggling Goku and crossing to the kitchen.

“Oh, fuck you,” Vegeta retorted, sitting at the bar, sipping his scotch with a glare. Krillin was still wary about Vegeta sometimes. Rightfully so, as Vegeta had nearly killed him once.

“Not right now, sweetheart,” you fluttered your eyelashes at him and made three heaping bowls of rice, setting them in front of each Saiyan and ignoring Vegeta’s glare as you all dug in.

“Wow, I didn’t know you could cook!” Goku said before inhaling his portion with delight.

“I’ve been practicing! My only meals on the spaceship were a sort of nutritious jelly and powdered potatoes so trying new things has become a passion of mine!”

“Oh, gross! That sounds so boring!” Goku exclaimed.

“You’re so well adjusted I forget that you spent your whole life in a ship,” Vegeta noted between bites.

“What did you even do in there?” Kakarot’s eyes were bright with curiosity.

“Well, thanks, I think. I don’t really think about it much anymore. My life is on Earth now, but besides basic push-ups, sit-ups, and running on my treadmill, I had a lot of books! I had romance, adventure, a few mystery novels, and some different textbooks – I probably read each one over twenty times. If I got really bored, I’d peruse the ship logs or I’d pretend that the computer was my friend. I would talk to it about pretty much anything, and it would answer my questions. Not really any toys that I can think of, but I did have a blanket that I kept,” you said, heart squeezing at the memory of your blanket. You missed it, you realized. It was back on Earth.

“Wow, I guess you had no choice but to start training with only reading to keep you busy. I probably would’ve done something stupid and broken the ship, then ended up on some nowhere planet,” said Goku, picking up his bowl and reaching over the counter to put it in the sink.

Vegeta scowled at Goku’s poor manners and turned back to you.

“I didn’t know that they made single-person escape pods with verbal command computers and exercise equipment,” he said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Oh, I didn’t live in a pod, Vegeta. I didn’t know how to land the cubby ship I lived in, so I used the escape pod to land on Earth since its protocols were preprogrammed. Neither ship could maintain light speed, if that’s your next question.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, passing his own bowl to Kakarot who reached across the bar again to put it in the sink.

You finished your meal quickly and washed up the dishes; Goku helped you dry this time, surprisingly breaking no dishes. While you worked Vegeta went and put the sheets in the dryer.

You headed to the bedroom to gather your things and tidy. You were not going to leave this place a mess for Chi-Chi to clean up, you’d never hear the end of it. A few moments later Vegeta appeared, closing the door behind him.

You raised your eyebrow at him as he approached you. You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off with a searing kiss. You squeaked with surprise, melting into his touch. You wrapped your tail around his calf tightly, his fingers found your hair and tangled themselves in, pulling pleasurably against your scalp.

You let yourself revel in him for a moment – you had thought earlier that he would never let you kiss him again. You had believed entirely that he would want nothing to do with you, that his mercy in letting you live would be the ultimate punishment.

You pressed your hand to his chest and tried to separate yourself from him, but he didn’t want to set you free, pushing you against the wall instead, his fingers tightening in your hair as he held you. His tongue swept across the roof of your mouth, and you fought to keep quiet, your hands gripping his shirt. Finally, he broke away, panting slightly, a string of saliva connecting you to him.

“Don’t ever do something as idiotic as that again,” he spat, releasing you and wiping his mouth.

You laughed, a little breathless, “oh? Is that all?”

He scowled, still leaning in close but his hands were off you, “I realized I neglected to mention how stupid that was. Never again. I won’t be partnered with a weakling.”

“I wouldn’t let you if you tried,” you said with a smirk.

“Of course not. You’re sure you don’t want to stay here a while longer?” He blushed.

“Here in this room or here on this planet? And why?” You asked, genuinely confused.

“This room. I can tell Kakarot to fuck off.”

You chuckled, reaching out and taking his hand.

“Vegeta, as tempting as that sounds, I know you’re avoiding something.”

He sighed, tracing his thumb across your knuckles as his eyes slowly drifted, pausing briefly at your lips before floating back up to meet your gaze.

Your mouth watered as you stared into the depths of his dark eyes, awaiting his response.

He leaned in closely to you again, his breath tickling your ear as he spoke, “I am less than thrilled to go back to regular life. Though the image of you in my own bed is certainly tempting, I quite enjoy having you whenever and wherever I please.”

You shivered, heat flooding your body as you pictured him needy and demanding back on Earth, his hands groping hungrily and his teeth leaving claiming marks all over you. The vision faded as quickly as it began as you heard Goku shuffling outside the door and remembered that you were not alone.

“I’m sure we’ll manage back on Earth,” you pointed out, a bit breathless.

“Undoubtedly,” he said with a smirk, pulling himself away from you and stalking out of the room.

You took a moment to collect yourself and followed suit, hoping Goku wouldn’t notice your shift in scent as you picked up your stray clothes and carried them to the laundry room.

“Ready to leave, lovebirds? Got everything?” Goku asked, grinning as you exited the little utility closet that housed the laundry machines.

“I know I am,” you said, sidling up next to Goku and putting a hand on his shoulder. The only things that you needed to take back to Earth were the clothes you had on and your phone, which was tucked away in your pockets.

Vegeta reluctantly stepped on the other side of the taller Saiyan, putting his hand on Goku’s shoulder, eyebrows knitted together with annoyance.

“Where are you transporting us to, Kakarot?” You asked, curious.

“My house? I’m using Gohan’s energy so wherever he is.”

You nodded, satisfied.

“Here we go!” Goku said, pressing two fingers to his forehead.

In an instant you were in Gohan’s room, the child sitting at his desk studying as you appeared.

“Hi, dad!” He cheered, not looking up from his books.

“Hey, kiddo! Why don’t you go play outside for a bit, okay?”

“You got it!” The little boy said, waving as you followed Goku to the front of the house.

“Thanks again for the snack, you two! I’ll stop by to train sometime!” He said, opening the front door and practically shoving you out.

Vegeta smirked as the door shut behind you. “Someone is a little antsy, it seems,” he chuckled.

“You think so?” You looked back to the house you’d just left and watched as Gohan’s window opened and he crawled out, running into the forest with childish glee.

Vegeta was eyeing you, waiting for his words to click with you. You thought for a moment and giggled. “Oh no, I bet he’s been dealing with that since he showed up to get us, huh? We should probably clear out,” you sighed.

“Nothing like visiting your sex den to make you horny,” he agreed, “do you want to get your things before we go?” Vegeta asked, lifting into the air and heading towards the small house you resided in on Goku’s property.

You followed behind him, desperately trying to remember the state your home had been in before you left. You were fairly certain that it was a disaster.

“Sure, but I should probably ask where you’re taking me?” You asked as your feet touched down in front of your tiny cottage.

“My house, I thought. Unless you disagree?” He raised an eyebrow at you, landing and leaning against the outer wall.

“I don’t disagree; I love sleepovers. Give me a minute, I’ll be right out,” you stepped inside the door trying to shut it behind you without letting him see the chaos that was your house, but he must’ve sensed your apprehension because he stuck his hand out and stopped the door from closing.

“You aren’t going to invite me in?” He asked with a smirk.

“I wasn’t really expecting company, don’t take it personally,” you retorted, trying a second time to close the door.

He pushed against it again and chuckled as he stepped into the doorway, “I’m coming in whether you want to let me or not.”

“No,” you groaned, using as much strength as you dared, “Vegeta, I’m serious.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” he said simply, pushing the door open easily, crossing the threshold and taking in the space.

The room was illuminated by a large window on the right wall. The home was set up sort of like a tiny home, the main room housing a kitchen and living room with the bedroom lofted above them, while the bathroom had its own door off the kitchen wall.

The state of the place was best described as a war zone, dishes and cookbooks exploded onto every available space, spatters of whatever meal you had made stuck onto the kitchen countertops, cabinets, and walls. The living room wasn’t much better, dirty clothes strewn about and used dishes stacked in piles wherever they could fit. It smelled rotten, and you were sure the trash can was full.

You put your head in your hands, refusing to look at Vegeta as he looked around, any amusement that had been on his face was gone.

“How did it get like this?” He asked, genuine concern in his voice.

“I swear it wasn’t usually this bad – I had plans to clean it! I just didn’t know I was going to get stuck on another planet for a month before I left,” you said without looking up.

“It’s no wonder you like sleepovers,” he commented.

You cringed deeper into your hands before you heard the water start running. Your head shot up to see him in front of the sink, wetting a sponge.

“What do you think you’re doing, Vegeta?” You squeaked.

“What does it look like,” he grumbled, glaring.

“You don’t have to do that. I can clean up after myself.”

“Obviously not,” he snickered, “just shut up and open a window. It reeks in here.”

Your feet stayed planted to the ground, staring at him.

He turned to face you, scowling.

“What?” He asked.

“This is weird, Vegeta. What is going on? Why are you helping me?”

He scoffed, exasperated, “I just want to, woman! Is that not allowed?”

“No! I don’t understand why you want to!” You nearly shrieked.

“Because! I am- I- it’s like I’m under a goddamn spell!” He shouted back.

You paused, any rebuttal dying in your throat as you waited for him to explain.

“Ever since that first day I saw you, when we locked eyes, it’s been… magnetic. I woke up every morning wanting to see you, as much as I denied myself and pretended I didn’t. Since Kakarot stuck us on that cursed beach planet, it’s multiplied tenfold: my instincts have been screaming at me to… to have you. I want to talk to you, and fight with you… Hell, I want to hold you, and protect you, and my god I want to kiss you. All the time. More than anything else, I want you. I am better with you; I… need you..”                                                                                                                  

You stared at him, mouth hanging open in shock, speechless.

His face had turned a dazzling shade of scarlet from across his nose to the tips of his ears as he looked into your eyes. His jaw worked as he seemed to be arguing with himself over something internally.

You strode over to him and made up his mind for him, pressing your lips to his and closing your eyes as you sunk your fingers into his hair. His arms wrapped around you, holding you firmly to him.

Your mouths broke apart after a short time, but you stayed close to him, pressing your forehead to his. His breath tickled your face as you rested there. You were amazed at how far the pair of you had come since you had tried to confront him in the gym those weeks ago.

“I need you too, Vegeta,” you murmured.

He breathed a sigh of relief, his arms tightening their grip around you for a second before releasing you.

“Thank you,” he said, leaning back onto the kitchen counter.

“Of course,” you smiled, “though if you’re serious I won’t turn down free help,” you added, a hint of mischief in your voice.

“’Free’ is pushing it. I will collect payment in some way,” he replied, turning around to the sink once again with his own devious smile.

“Ah, always with the ulterior motives,” you said, bumping your hip into his as you reached into a drawer to get a rag.

“It’s how I was raised,” he smirked as he turned the faucet back on and began to wash the dishes.

The pair of you managed to return the cabin to proper order in a relatively short amount of time, splitting tasks easily as you had done in the beach house. The dishes were all cleaned and dry, floors swept, all surfaces wiped clear of debris, the trash taken out, the only remaining issue being a huge pile of untended laundry that sat in the corner of your room.

The cabin didn’t come equipped with a washer or dryer, so you usually used Chi-Chi’s when it was available, but that wasn’t an option right now, as you were not interested in barging into whatever Goku had kicked you out of the house for.

“Just bring your clothes to my place, I have laundry machines,” Vegeta called up to you from his spot on the freshly vacuumed couch.

You groaned, “It’s just such a chore to lug laundry there and back when I’ll be able to use the ones here tomorrow. I’ll just bring the stuff I’m going to wear and wash that.”

He snorted, “as if you’re actually going to come back here. I know you won’t sleep in an empty bed.”

“Um, presumptuous much? FYI, you snore. Also, I happen to likesleeping in my own bed,” you retorted, rifling through your pile for a specific outfit that you had in mind.

“If either of us snores it is most definitely you, but if you insist on keeping your things here, I won’t stop you.”

“Aww, but that means you want me to move in, huh? You could’ve just said so,” you teased, finally locating the desired articles of clothing and tossing them onto your bed.

Vegeta fumbled with his words, “I- you- that’s not what I said!”

You stuffed a few outfits and your childhood blanket into your bag, giggling.

“It’s what you meant, though. I’ll think about it, how about that?”

“Fine. Whatever you decide, I don’t care,” he huffed, but you could see the faint blush on his cheeks as you flew down to the ground floor.

You rolled your eyes at him and slipped into the bathroom to gather a few toiletries for your sleepover. You were starting to get excited; Vegeta had seen where you lived, it was your turn to see where he lived. You honestly weren’t sure what to expect, but hopefully it wasn’t completely spotless – you’d probably melt into the floor.

“Okay, I think I have everything. Ready to go?” You asked, propping yourself against the back of the couch.

“I was going to ask you before we leave, what is this machine?” He walked across the room and crouched in front of your stereo system, inspecting it with intrigue.

“How long have you been on Earth, again? It’s a CD player and a radio. These are speakers,” you joined him on the ground and pointed to each piece of equipment in turn.

He chuckled, “long enough. They’re for music, then?”

“Yeah, check out my collection!” You rotated to the CD tower you had beside your entertainment center.

For the short amount of time you had been on the planet, you had managed to build a large stockpile of music, many different artists, genres, even decades. You would buy CDs for one song and discover that the whole album was worth listening to, and then you’d collect every album from that artist, and it just grew from there.

You opened the glass door, and he peered inside to see your hoard.

“It’s quite the assortment. Do you have a favorite?”

“It’s so hard to choose – probably this one,” you slid out the case, examining the familiar cover.

“Can we listen to it later?”

“Of course!” You said with a smile, surprised at his enthusiasm but unwilling to question it.

He nodded and stood, extending a hand to pull you up from the floor. You took it and let him help you up, then shut the little cupboard.

“Let’s go, I’m dying to see what your house looks like.”

“Fine. Keep up, then.”

The flight to his house was boring but surprisingly scenic. You passed rolling hills and the winding river that flowed near Goku’s mountain home before the scenery shifted to a more urban type, roads and small cozy towns, the city skyline appearing over the edge of the horizon. You recalled that Bulma had told you he had a place near the city, though he had never mentioned it to you. Thinking about it, you couldn’t imagine why he would’ve chosen the city, he hated crowds and people, and it wasn’t particularly close to anyone else, but maybe that was the allure of it.

A quiet part of you worried that he had chosen a place he would hate on purpose; he had just been dumped for the first time and was dealing with general feelings of inadequacy, and you were almost certain that whatever money he had needed to secure the residence had come from Bulma, which for the proud Prince was just additional insult.

A few miles outside the city he suddenly banked, cutting through the air towards the ground. You followed him with curiosity; he landed on the balcony of a two-story home.

You were surprised at the suburban nature of the neighborhood – if you could call it that. The homes were separated by large swaths of lightly wooded land, his house being further away from the rest and farthest from the city. It stood at the top of a hill, a winding driveway, unassuming grey stucco exterior with dark accents, an enclosed backyard with…

“Is that a hot tub?” You squealed.

“Yes, it came with the house. I keep it maintained as part of my training regimen. It is rather helpful for stiffness.”

“Vegeta, we’re hot tubbing later,” you told him, leaving no room for argument.

He smirked, “fine.”

You grinned back at him, turning to the set of French doors that led inside, “okay, that’s settled. So, are you going to give me the tour or not?”

He nodded, pulling the door open for you and gesturing to the interior. A cool blast of air conditioning breezed through your hair as you crossed the threshold.

“Oh, gods, Vegeta, what the fuck?”

He chuckled darkly, stepping in and closing the door behind you.

The door led to his bedroom; his bedroom that was spotless. He’d been gone for a month and there was barely even dust on anything.

“Dude, your sheets are tucked! You have a fucking air freshener!”

He was grinning deviously even though you had called him “dude,” he despised nicknames.

 “Are you going to survive going through the rest of the house?”

“No,” you groaned, burying your head in your hands, “I knew you were a neat freak; I had just hoped to catch you on an off week.”

He put his hand on your shoulder and kissed your cheek.

“I don’t have off weeks,” he whispered into your ear, his wicked smile sending a shiver down your spine.

He showed you the rest of his impeccable home, it was barrenly decorated, the furniture could be described as mainly utilitarian, but brutalist inspired in earthy tones, mostly grays of varying shades and some accenting browns and greens.

There were several unused bedrooms on both floors, the only room that seemed to receive any amount of regular use was Vegeta’s. Everything appeared to be new, the downstairs area even smelled new, his scent was barely present, as if he had only passed through, or it had been a long while since he spent any time there.

“Have you ever even used your kitchen?” You asked, admiring the pristine appliances and sparkling granite.

“No,” he didn’t elaborate.

You rolled your eyes and flicked the side of his head with your tail, “if I do move in, I will make sure you become at least somewhat self-sufficient. What have you been eating if you don’t cook?”

He waved your tail away and glared, “I’d go into the wilds and roast some beast over a fire, or I ate at Capsule Corp if I was using the gravity room. I am not helpless, you know.”

You blinked. “Oh,” was all you could say in response, “so, what do you want to do with the rest of our day?” You added.

He considered this for a moment, and you walked into the living room and plopped on the couch. You wanted to sit and answer all of the missed text messages you had received while on vacation, if you could call it that.

Vegeta followed you to the couch and sat beside you, still thinking. He absentmindedly caressed the soft fur of your tail, sitting close enough that his thigh brushed your own. This was probably the closest thing to a real cuddle you could get out of him. He was averse to the concept unless you were tangled up in bed together.

You turned yourself into the corner of the couch and rested your legs in Vegeta’s lap as you checked your messages. Bulma had blown up your phone while you were away. Goku had not told her what he had done; she and Chi-Chi both had had to find out from Goku where yourself and Vegeta were only after Bulma threatened to call the cops. Needless to say, neither woman was pleased to hear about it for their own reasons.

“Vegeta, is it okay if I call Bulma really quick? If not it’s no problem, it can wait.”

His eyes cut over to yours, trepidation hiding in his gaze.

“You’re going to tell her about us?” He said carefully.

“Well, not unless you don’t want me to, but I think we should. She will find out eventually. Kakarot has a big mouth, and I’d rather that she hears it from us than him. He probably won’t consider how the news might make her feel, or he’ll assume she already knows, which is also bad for us.”

“All this ‘we” and ‘us,’ do you expect me to talk to her?” He asked.

“No, I don’t expect you to, but we’re partners, like you said, meaning it’s our news to share,” you pointed out.

He still looked skeptical.

“Look, she’s my best friend and you’re my boyfriend, so I’d like the two of you to at least be cordial.”

“I am not good at ‘cordial.’ I can do tolerable, at best.”

“Hey, I’ll take that. ‘Tolerable’ is workable,” you said cheekily.

“Go ahead and call her then,” he grumbled.

“You’ll be alright?”

He rolled his eyes at you, “I will be fine, woman. She’s an ex-lover, not some world-ending threat.”

You grinned at him. He sunk further into the couch as you pulled up Bulma’s contact and pressed “call.”

The phone rang for about one second before she picked up, her voice ringing clearly through the quiet room.

“Holy shit, you’re finally home?”

“Yep! Goku just picked us up a couple of hours ago – have you got a minute to talk?”

“Well, duh! I’m clearing up my evening schedule for you, we’re definitely going out for drinks tonight so you can spill all the deets. It’s not every day you get to talk shit about your ex with somebody who was forced to live with him for a month. Meet me at our usual spot around 6:30?”

You cringed, locking eyes with Vegeta before replying. If he was hurt, he hid it well, the only emotion you could pick up from him was annoyance. You tried to make your expression questioning, asking for permission. He nodded once, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

 “Uh, sure, Bulma! Before you go though, can I ask you something?” You braced yourself for however she would react.

“Of course, what’s up?”

“Well,” you paused for a split second, an idea sparking in your mind, “Can Vegeta come along?” You blurted.

“What?” Both Vegeta and Bulma exclaimed, in sync.

“Well, I wanted to tell you in person, but he and I are actually official now? If you want this to just be a girl’s night, I am totally cool with that, I just thought I’d ask,” you grinned deviously at Vegeta, who was scowling viciously.

“Oh! Congratulations, you two! Now, I would normally be mad that you didn’t ask me first, but seeing as you were on another planet with no cell service, I’m going to give you a pass this time. Does he actually want to come?”

“Well, I told him that since you’re my best friend he has to at least try to get along with you, if that’s alright.”

She laughed heartily before replying, “Well, tell him that I’m happy for you two and I don’t have any hard feelings. He’s welcome to come too, but now that you’re bringing a date then that means I’ve got to find someone to bring! I’ve gotta go, I’ll see you later. Congratulations, again!”

“Bye-eee!” The call ended with a beep.

“I do not seem to recall agreeing to that,” Vegeta said, voice low and dangerous.

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics. “The idea just came to me, I’m sorry! Besides, it’ll be fun! We can get drinks and greasy, delicious bar food, I’ll gossip while you brood, and then, when we get home, we can skinny dip in your hot tub and see where the rest of the night takes us.”

He pretended to consider that. You knew from the look on his face that he had already decided that the reward was worth the suffering, but his pride wouldn’t let him admit that he had been won over so easily.

“Fine, I will go,” he conceded.

“Yes!” You cheered, pumping a fist into the air.

“But” he interrupted your celebration, smirking, “With one condition.”

“Oh? What might that be?”

“Ask her to bring the dragon radar. I have an idea.” He said with a sly grin.

You cocked your head to one side. You did not trust that at all.

 “That is not quite what I thought you were going to say, but I can do that.” You swirled your tail around his hand as you spoke, his fingers entwining with it.

The words scrawled across your skin marked you as someone’s other half, part of a perfect, unbreakable pair. 

Your mother often insisted you were lucky. She reluctantly admitted your words weren’t ideal, but at least you had them. Some people were born bare, nothing to guide them in the world. Maybe they’d never meet their soulmate, or maybe they never had one at all. But you? You were promised something great.

You tried to share her optimism at first, but the older you became the more you questioned it. What happiness could you find with someone who would say something like that to you, let alone have it be the first thing they ever said to you? A soulmate mark didn’t guarantee you love, necessarily. It simply promised you an equal, another half. Maybe for you that was a combatant.

You never told anyone why you first picked up the sword. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that you were good at it, great even, and no man or woman that the universe sent to you would take you down without a good fight.

It only felt natural that you’d join the military when you came of age. That you’d have few friends, too focused on the battle ahead. On preparing yourself, no matter how painful of a process it was.

Your words were kept a secret. From the few friends you managed to keep, from your superiors, from those foolish enough to try to court you. Out of shame or fear you didn't quite know. You just knew that you couldn't stand the idea of seeing that familiar look, the one on your father’s face when you mentioned them, like your life was over before it began. Maybe it was.

You were a machine of war. You didn't need fate, you would insist. But you dreamed anyway. Of kind hands, loving smiles, gentle lips meeting yours. You chased them away in the morning, but they always found their way back.

You hated the smell of blood. The sound of metal upon metal, the sound of crushing bones. But you were terribly good at bringing these things about. So you kept moving up in the world, kept gaining accolades you didn’t care for. Maybe someone else would appreciate them more. Maybe someone who wanted them didn’t deserve them. But things that could be don’t matter as much as things that are.

General, they called you. You often wonder if most of them even know your name.

You don’t know if the steps you took lead you here or if this fate is what determined those steps. Maybe it doesn’t matter, considering the destination is the same. But you’d like to imagine there was some choice to it.

The enemy Commander is fury incarnate, slashing through your men like they’re paper. Despite the carnage, you can’t help but admire his strength and grace. There’s something almost hypnotizing about the way he moves, like a dancer.

He’s unarmored. A foolish move, but one you can’t help but admire. Facing death like that is no easy task. He’s a brave man, or a stupid one. Sometimes you think there’s no difference between the two. They live and die just the same.

He easily grows closer, twisting and twirling through the crowd, leaving devastation behind him. You wonder if he knows those men have families they’re leaving behind. You wonder if he cares.

You see no trace of guilt, no hesitation in his swings. For a moment you think you may hear a laugh carried by the wind, one filled with a mania that frightens you. But that cannot be true. No man can take joy in such carnage.

You’re forced to turn your attention away, to clash swords with another man who snuck between your defenses. You may not be stronger than him, but you’re certainly more skilled. You down him quickly, spilling red onto the soil and depriving yet another mother of her son. You stop for only a moment, just one. Just to catch your breath, to remind yourself that you too have a mother waiting for you, a family who would mourn you. It was him or you, you tell yourself, as you always do.

Before you realize it, there is a sword between your ribs.

He is in front of you, menacing and glowing against the vivid orange sky behind him. The sun is setting, obscuring most of him. A shame. You’d love to get a close look at the man who killed you.

You wait for him to retract his blade, to feel the blood start to pour out in earnest. You expect to christen this field with your blood, die with dignity like you were meant to. A warrior’s death is a fine one.

But he doesn’t move.

Instead he leans forward, allowing you to see the sharp cut of his jaw and the cruel twist of his smile.

“I’d kill you this instant if I could.”

Your heart skips a beat at his voice, rough with fury, a deep timbre that rattles you down to your bones.

You look up to see the eyes of your soulmate, a deep and vibrant green, as they glare at you with hatred.

He's beautiful, even more than you imagined.

He wants you dead.

“But you’re needed elsewhere, General. Take care not to bleed out before we get there.”

He doesn’t remove his blade, even as he easily pins your arms behind your back and ties them, even as he carries you as though you were little more than cargo. Trying to stem the flow of blood, you suppose.

You don’t recall most of the ride back. There are horses involved, a carriage or two. Hands poke and prod you, but you can hardly feel them. People speak, but not to you.

You don’t know how long you sleep. You wake up aching, your side burning, your head resting against a cold stone floor. There’s a blanket over you, if you could even call the pathetic scrap of fabric that, and a thin straw mattress under you. You’re behind bars, a zoo animal on display. There’s a tray of moldy bread lying near you. You feel as though there’s acid tearing through your stomach, but you don’t dare to eat.

You try to sit up, but the searing pain quickly tells you that’s a bad idea. You’re trapped here, waiting for whoever or whatever is coming, if anybody is coming at all. Perhaps the Commander simply decided you deserve to rot down here, wanted to deprive you of the warrior's death you deserve.

It feels like hours before you hear the creak of a door somewhere in the distance. You pray that it’s the reaper, come to release you, but you’re not that lucky. Those footsteps march to the beat of war; a soldier is coming for you.

“Good morning, General.” You can’t see him, but you recognize his voice instantly. You can hear his smug grin, the teeth he most definitely has on display. 

You open your mouth to answer, but then it strikes you. You haven’t said a word to him.

He doesn’t know.

He’s captured his other half, his destiny, and locked them in a cage, and he’s none the wiser. If he did, would he free you? You doubt it. Disloyal soldiers with weak hearts, those that can be swayed, rarely reach the rank of Commander. Commanders will give their lives to the cause. Why wouldn’t he give yours?

You could tell him anyway. Torture him with it, let him know everything he’s giving up, everything he’s cursed you both to. A lifetime alone for him, one cut woefully short for you. 

Or you could…spare him. A small act of mercy. You could carry the burden alone. Would he even have words, if you never spoke to him at all? Maybe he’d simply think he didn’t have a soulmate, live the rest of his life not knowing what he’s lost. Maybe that’s for the best. He can be normal. Happy. And while it’s hard to wish for happiness for a man who wants you dead, it’s quite easy to wish it for the man you’ve been waiting for.

You close your lips, closing your eyes and focusing on nothing but the sound of your own breathing. You can be merciful. You can be kind. Someone has to be.

“What, you’re ignoring me? How disappointing, General. I heard great things about you, I didn’t think you’d do something so childish.” There’s irritation in his tone, but something deeper as well. He’s disquieted by your silence, and he doesn’t know why. Maybe even though the man doesn’t know you, his soul does. It reaches out to yours, begging you to speak, begging you to finish the connection the universe has prepared it for. Your own soul does the same, your heart pounding as words threaten to spill from your lips. Nothing with meaning, just mindless babble, anything to let him know. But you wouldn’t be a soldier if your willpower was so weak. You do not speak.

“You know, General, I really respected you. I saw the way you fought. You cut people down without hesitation.” You wince at that. “But you aren’t cruel about it. That’s important in a warrior. The joy of a fight shouldn’t come from the inevitable death.”

There is no joy in fighting for you. It’s easy not to revel in cruelty when you can hardly stand to hold a blade in your hands after you pull it out of some poor bastard’s chest. You can’t imagine finding anything worthwhile in the heat of battle. You’re only here because of him, a curse put in place by some higher power that’s enjoyed watching you struggle, enjoyed watching you retch and sob after your first kill, the way the light left your eyes the same time it left the body.

You squeeze your eyes shut tighter. Those memories are of no use to you now. You need to find out how to either get out of here or speed up your execution so your suffering isn’t prolonged.

“It’s a shame to watch a worthy opponent die in such a shameful way.” It hurts worse, the way he sounds like he means it. There’s genuine pity in his voice, a sort of kindness his hardened exterior can’t hide. “But orders are orders, I suppose.”

You want to disagree, but the orders that put you in this cell aren’t that different from the ones that put you on the battlefield, and you hate to be a hypocrite. You shift, trying to put less pressure on your broken ribs, but you simply make the pain worse. You can barely bite back a whimper. You hear a sigh behind you, a small sign of defeat.

“Don’t kill yourself before one of us can, General. And try to roll onto your left. You have less bruises on that side.” Those marching steps lead away from your cell, down the hallway and back out into the sunlight you’ll never see again. With great effort, you roll onto your other side to find it is more comfortable that way, or at least less agonizing. You may be able to sleep this way, if you’re lucky.

The Commander doesn’t return before you fall asleep, but a meek little footsoldier brings you sustenance at some point. You hesitate to call the strange foul-smelling broth food, but it’s something. You can’t sit up to eat it yourself, so the poor lad props you up slightly, wincing when you groan.

“Sorry,” he murmurs nervously. “You need to eat.”

“No need to apologize. You’re not the one who stabbed me.” You huff out a laugh, which only makes it hurt worse. He stares at you with widened, fearful eyes, and you’re not sure if he’s scared you’ll hurt him or that you’ll drop dead on the spot. When he brings the mug to your lips with shaking hands, he does so a little too quickly, and you can feel the unpleasant sting of a burned tongue. You don’t bother to pull back or to stop drinking. What’s one more injury?

He only pulls the cup away when it’s entirely empty, before quickly standing and beginning to scurry out. He pauses for a moment once he’s past the bars, safe from the injured beast trapped behind them. “Someone will be back to change your bandages soon.”

“No, they won’t.” They don’t actually intend to keep you alive in here, you know. Sure, you making it to your scheduled execution would be a nice morale boost, but they’re not going to waste resources on treating a prisoner of war.

He doesn’t respond, and you can hear him skittering out of here, away from the stench of your blood and the rotting cot beneath you. It’s too soon to say the place reeks of death, but the stale air is a reminder that it will come soon.

You’re asleep when the next person enters, and you haven’t even had the chance to open your eyes before there are hands on you. You whimper, from the pain and the fear, the exhaustion weighing you down, but a familiar voice gently shushes you. “It’ll be quick, I promise.” The Commander’s hands are callused and rough, but they’re soft against your skin, and pleasantly warm. You manage to crack open your eyes to see his handsome face above you, his good eye narrowed in concentration as he takes in your state. “It’s going to hurt, but you’ll feel better after.”

You can see bandages on the ground next to him, as well as a set of clothes. They seem a bit too big, but it’s certainly better than the bloodied rags they left you with after they stripped you of your armor. He moves with the confidence of someone who has done this hundreds of times before. Was the Commander once a wartime medic, patching up his fellow soldiers? Or was he simply adept at patching up his own wounds?

“This is going to be the worst part,” he murmurs. You feel something cool against your torn skin, a pleasant chill running through you before the burning starts.

You scream.

It’s embarrassing, really, a soldier being reduced to screaming and sobbing simply from a bit of antiseptic. But whatever this is stings much worse than the salves back home, and your wound is much worse than any you’ve suffered before. You feel the burn down to your bones, piercing your marrow and turning it to ash. You’re losing something vital, part of your foundation, threatening to collapse you entirely.

It isn’t until his hand brushes your cheek that you realize you’re sobbing.

“I know,” he whispers. Part of you is furious at the pity in his voice. Another craves it, craves any sort of gentleness or comfort, any distraction from the pain. “It’s awful, it really is. It’ll be over soon, and then we won’t have to worry as much about infection.”

You’re not worried about infection. You’re not worried about making it out of here at all right now. You’d gladly welcome the executioner’s axe, embrace the hangman as though he was your oldest friend. Anything to make it stop. Anything at all.

It feels like hours before the burning subsides, but logically you understand it couldn’t have lasted more than a minute. In that time, you seem to have grabbed his hand, and strangely, he allowed you to. It is only once your whimpers quiet that he removes his fingers from yours and gets to work redressing you. The scratch of the gauze against your exposed muscle and viscera feels like a gentle kiss compared to your earlier suffering. He has to lift you to fully wrap you, his rough hands pressing against your very broken ribs as he unhurriedly pulls your bandages tighter. While he does not rush, he does not linger to revel in your pain.

He pulls the oversized shirt onto you, and the scent of soap envelops you. A welcome distraction from the stale air. It’s a little stiff, the texture a little rough, but you certainly won’t complain. For the first time since you arrived you feel protected, as though they hadn’t stripped you of your armor. A loose pair of pants follows, but the best gift the Commander has given you today is a warm pair of woolen socks. You can finally feel the chill from the stone beneath you begin to fade, a soft warmth beginning to fill you. You don’t know if it’s from the fabric surrounding you or from the gesture, but either way you cannot help the smile that makes its way onto your face, the picture of contentment.

“Feeling better?” His voice is kinder than you expect.

You just barely stop yourself from expressing your gratitude, the pain and subsequent relief blurring your mind and softening your heart. The clarity only comes when you see a small light in his eyes as your mouth opens, an innocent excitement at the idea of hearing your voice. Even though he doesn’t know why he so desperately wants to hear it. You press your lips together, instead giving him a tight small and a nod.

He sighs, his gentle bedside manner dissolving nearly instantly. An enemy remains. “Still not speaking?”

You shake your head softly, giving a small shrug and hissing through your teeth at the sting that follows the movement.

He lets out an offended huff. “You spoke to one of my men.”

You nod.

“But not me?”

Another shake and an apologetic smile.

“I see.” His lips press into a tight line, disapproval radiating off of him. He clearly thinks this is some kind of snub, an act of rebellion. You were never prone to such things, but how could he guess that? You’re a stranger, no matter how tightly you’re linked by fate.

He doesn’t speak again, silently ensuring your bandages aren’t too tight and ensuring the clothes fit as well as they can. You can see him quietly simmering with rage, upset by your apparent rejection, but you can’t feel it in any of his actions. He’s putting it aside for you, even as an ungrateful stranger. There’s a small ache in your chest, a small shred of longing you try to bite down. You had always hoped your soulmate would be kind.

He leaves without a word, only a small grunt that you think is his form of goodbye. 

There’s nothing left to do but wait. For tomorrow, for his next visit, for your inevitable end. And so you allow yourself to fall back into a fitful sleep, dreaming of a different life; gentle touches, warm smiles, and the way the sunlight would dance in green hair.