Work Text:
Atmosphere
The campus’ new science building was immaculate. It was apparent the school paid a pretty penny for such a building that was visible even from half a mile away as he made the drive up the main road to the large university where this new one towered above the rest. Guess the push from the state to provide more STEM based classes was the kick in the ass the administration needed to update from the pitiful classrooms used in previous years. New building meant shiny new labs. On the first day of the new school year, he was excited about that.
The atmosphere on school grounds regarding the building was electric as students crowded around to point up at the art deco inspired architecture. He drove past the throng of people, slowing only enough to observe, before chuckling to himself. They wanted something to admire? He had something far better than architecture. Vegeta revved his engine for a moment and the roar drew attention. Heads turned and some even openly gawked at the sight before he sped away to the student parking lot. A building was one thing. His brand spanking new cherry red muscle car, hot off the line, was entirely another.
Dust
The student lot was absolutely packed and he grimaced knowing he didn't have an alternative. Even preparing for early arrival to his first class, the lot was already overcrowded with only a handful of spots remaining to choose from.
He groaned.
The past summer before classes was blissful. He’d finally saved enough money to put down a downpayment on the floor model of his dreams. Its deep red exterior, black leather interior with blood red stitching, fully loaded with all the bells and whistles had haunted his dreams until the blessed day arrived when he could drive it off the lot under his name. Yeah, his mom said it was too much. Too flashy. A waste of money. But you’re only young once. And he wanted that car.
For three months, he babied it. Parked it in the emptiest parts of parking lots when out and about in town. Housed it in the center of the family garage, much to his mom’s chagrin. Washed and waxed it every other day to prevent even the smallest bit of dust from dirtying its perfect surface.
And now? Now he had the misfortune to dwell on where his girl would rest while he was in class. Without much option, he chose a wide-ish space between a green Jeep with “Save the Whales” emblazoned on the bumper and an unimpressive grey sedan. With one final look over his shoulder, he headed to campus, ready to start a new school year.
Cluster
His classes for the day were all relatively close together. Math, science, and history for a couple hours then back home, leaving the rest of the day open. As he approached his first classroom, a cluster of students crowded the hallway. Wading through, he made it inside much earlier than he was supposed to. The room was predictably empty save for two students, one of whom was a woman sitting in the furthest row, her head down as she wrote. Her long blue hair pooled on the desk. He raised an eyebrow upon noticing the unusual color then took a seat near the front. The others made their slow filtering into the room, class began then ended on time. One down. Two to go.
Phase
His next class was much smaller than the previous one which made sense. No one took organic chemistry for fun. At least the new labs were something to look forward to. Finding a seat near the middle, the empty space next to him was taken by the time he put his backpack down on the floor, sat upright and got his notebook open to the syllabus.
A flash of blue caught at the corner of his eye. Much to his surprise, the girl from his first class had planted herself to his right as she, too, dug out a folder, notebook and the syllabus. With the closer proximity than before, Vegeta took a moment to take in just how blue her hair really was as she twirled her pencil between her fingers while skimming pages. He shook his head as it occurred to him that it would be creepy if she noticed him staring. Colored hair wasn’t particularly rare but in his youth, he’d had crushes on girls with vibrant colors. Evidently, that phase of his life hadn’t entirely gone away. He averted his attention away from the pretty girl, focusing on circling the Professor’s office hours on the syllabus.
“It’s real,” he heard a voice to his right remark airily.
He turned his head, realizing he was being addressed by his seatmate whose gaze was still fixated on the page under her nose.
“What?” Vegeta asked and blue eyes looked up, crinkling in a smile.
“My hair. The color’s real. You were looking at me, right?”
Ice
A shading of pink touched his cheeks at being caught. “It’s a good color,” he muttered, focusing his eyes downward.
“Thanks,” she replied cheerfully. “My name’s Bulma.”
“Vegeta.”
“You’re in my other class, aren’t you?” she queried.
He managed to overcome his initial humiliation and look over. “Yeah. I think so.”
“You’re hard to miss, too. With hair like that.” She indicated a finger to his head.
He instinctively ran a hand through his tall, black hair. “I guess.”
“Study partners?” she asked more directly than he expected her to be.
He nodded. “Sure. Only if you’re good,” he added, then suddenly regretted it, hoping it didn't make him come off like a dick.
She thankfully chuckled and grinned smugly. “Oh, I’m good.”
Once class concluded, he made his way to his assuredly least interesting class—history— and barely stayed awake as the instructor droned on until the end.
His keys to his baby in his hand, Vegeta hitched his backpack up on his shoulder as he traversed the long stretch of student cars. The red of her stuck out like a lovely beacon and he smiled.
However that smile died quickly as something dreadfully out of the ordinary caught his eye as the car came fully into view.
Right across the driver's side door, about 2 inches in length and showing silver underneath, was a horrible scratch deep in the red paint job of his pride and joy.
He stood, motionless in shock, the sensation of ice coursing through his veins.
A note was flapping lightly in the breeze under the windshield wiper.
‘Sorry about the scratch. It was an accident’ was written in cursive, a crude sad face drawn in as the signature. A heart was above the ‘i’ in ‘accident’. He hardly registered crumpling the paper in his fist as his gaze tunneled.
Flare
He held back tears threatening at the edges of his lids and let the only visible expression of sorrow come out in a chin wobble. It was good the mechanic had his head down at the moment. The shake of the man’s head as he inspected the car with a mournful tsking was enough to make any grown man cry.
“Is she gonna be okay?” Vegeta heard the crack in his voice. The detailing mechanic glanced up empathetically, seemingly letting Vegeta’s momentary vulnerability pass with understanding. The mechanic made sure to wipe his hands again on a clean white cloth before running his finger gently over the scratch for the fourth time.
“I’m really sorry, man. I can’t do much beyond giving her a full body repaint. See, this is factory paint. Scarlet Flare. Beautiful. We don’t got factory paint here unfortunately.” He hung his head like a surgeon delivering bad news.
Bile roiled in the pit of Vegeta’s stomach. He placed a hand on the hood of his car and rubbed it gingerly.
He knew it before the man even said it. Now Vegeta had to figure a way to adjust to looking at his poor girl with a scar right across her face.
The note. What an added insult to injury. Now, he just had to cope. Go to class. And cope.
Earth
“Wow. Who spit in your Cheerios?” Bulma asked the next time she saw him in class. He’d taken a day in mourning. Gave his baby a good wash. She deserved it after all she’d been through.
“I don't want to talk about it,” he said lowly as he tried to concentrate on the worksheet their professor had given them.
She hummed, returning to her own page. “Okay. So would you like to meet up tomorrow or something to work on the study guide for this quiz coming up next week? I figure since the work is only gonna get worse as the semester goes, we better start studying now.”
His mind was elsewhere. Who on Earth would be so utterly callous as to mar such a beautiful piece of art? At the pretty girl’s invitation, he numbly nodded in agreement at her reasoning. “Sure. Tomorrow’s fine. The school’s cafe?”
“Great. Does 2 work?”
“Sure.”
She was there before he’d even arrived. Studying with her was a breeze, turns out she was as good as she previously claimed. Organized, planned and thorough, both students complimented each other and had such a generous lead on comprehension of the topic for the quiz that Vegeta sat back and sipped his iced coffee, confident in passing the exam without issue.
They stayed for downtime. Surprisingly, Bulma was also easy to talk to. Vegeta found himself genuinely enjoying conversing with the quick witted and sarcastic woman. Despite having only known her for two in-class days, he didn't hesitate to put her number in his phone. He looked forward to seeing her again.
Gravity
“What’d you get for number 3?”
Vegeta had his phone laid out on his bed, speaker on as he drew in his brows, perturbed at how the last two problems from the homework were more difficult than he’d anticipated.
“I don’t remember- what makes something polar?” he questioned through struggle and frustration evident in his voice.
He heard her pen on the other end making scratching sounds until she spoke, “Think about the charges. Think about water molecules,” she hinted.
“Oh right. The mew is zero?” he supplied doubtfully.
“Yes,” she replied.
It had been three weeks since the incident and being around Bulma was the breathing room he seemed to need to lessen the pain. With O-Chem being his hardest class yet, he was grateful that she was patient and understanding. She managed to challenge him. Her modes of study, critical thinking and visual examples worked remarkably well for him.
He also couldn't deny the physical ‘chemistry’ between them as once a week texting turned to nightly calls, most of the time veering away from school to more personal questions. He hadn't gotten the nerve to alter their friendship despite the desire, a desire he suspected was mutual.
He practically choked on his own spit during a pause as he wrote up the next question when she casually asked, “Do you wanna go out?”
A blush crept up quickly. Certainly he’d felt something while in her presence, like she was some beautiful planet where he was comfortably drifting in her gravitational pull. Vegeta was a cautious and private man. Her boldness caught him off guard.
Yet without thinking, he muttered honestly, “Yes. I would like that.”
His heart leapt in his chest as she giggled.
Moon
The restaurant she picked was pricey but completely worth it when he saw her enter in a spaghetti strap, knee length purple dress, her long blue tresses pulled back in a sparkly claw clip allowing some of her hair to fall in ringlets at her shoulder. He gazed temporarily stunned. His silence managed to elicit a soft chuckle from her as she approached.
“Is it too much?” Bulma asked, fiddling with the dress self-consciously.
As she looked back up, a blush colored her cheeks with a lovely red. He smiled as he took her hand. “You look beautiful.”
She tittered while bringing her hand up to rub the lapel of his sport coat. “You clean up nicely.”
It was easy to sit down and have a meal, discussing everything from movies to food preferences instead of talking about school. As he ate, Vegeta couldn't help staring at the woman opposite him. She’d become a friend in rapid time. He wouldn’t have minded if she were open to being more than that.
Two hours elapsed and finally, the waiter brought the check. Without much thought, he instinctively reached over to grab the check only to find she’d done the same thing. A mutual laughter was shared and she insisted she pay.
Reluctantly allowing, his eyes lingered over her maroon lipstick on her perfect lips as she read over the amount. Once satisfied, she placed her credit card in the leather bound bifold with a moon and star embroidered over the restaurant’s name.
While sipping his water, the waiter returned with the check for her to sign which she did swiftly. Even her hands were beautiful, he thought as her delicate fingers held the pen to sign her name in cursive. Then finish with a little heart.
A heart that looked strangely familiar.
He scrunched his brows.
“Excuse me, may I see the check?” he inquired, his gaze glued to the heart.
“Okay, but I already paid.” She chuckled before passing it over.
He ran his fingers over her name. Her cursive. The heart. Sorry about the scratch.
He frowned deeply as cognizance dawned suddenly.
It was an accident.
He shot up out of his seat abruptly.
“Vegeta, what the-” Bulma recoiled in confusion.
“You scratched my car!!”
Star
Bulma’s face blanched as she stammered. Vegeta was pissed. No. He was beyond pissed. He was absolutely, totally, completely furious.
“What are you talking about?” she questioned, her eyes shifting to the other patrons of the restaurant whose attentions were drawn at the sudden outburst.
“Three weeks ago on the first day of class, I went out to the parking lot and found an enormous abrasion to the driver’s door of my brand new car that I got four months ago. And to make matters worse, there was a note on the windshield with a pathetic excuse for an apology and-” he stuck an accusatory finger on the slip of paper at the table, “that heart on it!”
Her mouth hung agape for a minute until she was finally able to say, “That was your car?”
“Yes, that was my car! How could someone do that? How could anyone do that much damage??”
She drew back offended. “Now wait a minute, the scratch wasn't that bad. It was like a hairline, maybe an inch long-”
“Don't you dare try and diminish the severity. I had to take it in to find out they can't repaint it because it's factory paint. It would cost over twenty-four hundred, and that's just on the door!”
She stood to meet his irate gaze. “I’m sorry, okay? It really was an accident. I was heading between vehicles and my bag’s zipper pull dragged across it-”
“Don't describe her injury so flippantly,” he retorted, the image of the horrible cut making his chest hurt.
“Her?” Bulma queried in confusion.
“I dreamed of that car. I put everything I had into getting it. And you… you…” He was sick thinking about it. Without so much as a goodbye, he stormed out of the restaurant, leaving behind a stunned woman who he had once thought he was interested in.
A week of knowing Bulma was the cause of the accident justified the cold shoulder everytime she tried to make eye contact. He shunned her gentle approach. He ignored her direct approach. He bristled and sneered at her angry approach. When the texts to hang out or even to study slowed to nothing, he’d felt satisfied that she wasn't worth his time.
Eventually, he discovered time brought on the twinge of remorse. And seeing his baby with the cut on her door hadn’t made anything better. What did it truly accomplish harboring a grudge for something that wasn't intentional?
Two weeks after the fight in the restaurant, Vegeta was surprised when a lone text chirped stating simply “I’m sorry”. Despite one side of him that wanted to let her continue stewing in her guilt, the other side that missed hanging out overcame it as he sighed and opened the chatbox.
I'm still pissed.
The dots appeared immediately as Bulma typed.
I get it. I would like for us to talk. Please?
He snorted and flung the phone on his bed facedown. Fidgeted. Then picked it back up.
What is there to talk about?
I would really like to talk. Can you meet me at my house?
When
Today?
Being angry didn't make him feel any better. Ignoring her didn't make him feel any better. He sighed, relenting.
What time?
Her parent’s house was a lot bigger than he expected. When she answered the door, the memory of the date crept back up. He repressed the urge to grumble.
Looking like she sensed his discomfort, Bulma held up her hands in a truce. “Look, I know you’re still mad at me and I get it. I would be, too. I’m sorry again, Vegeta,” she empathized.
He tsked loudly while rolling his eyes.
“Okay, I see the verbal apology isn’t gonna work. How about something physical. I have something to give you.”
He viewed her doubtfully. “You have something to give me?”
“Yes, follow me please.”
He trailed behind as she walked around the front of the house to a separate garage with a large steel door. She extended a hand with a remote control and pressed, the door of the garage raising slowly.
He rolled his eyes again. “Bulma, there isn't a single thing that could make up for what happened to-”
His eyes widened, honing in on the interior of the garage as his mouth went slack.
Inside were two rows of motorcycles of different models sparkling under the fluorescent lighting. As he took several slow steps inside, he took a sharp breath.
“You… ride… you ride motorcycles?” he breathed.
They were fucking gorgeous bikes. Most appeared factory quality but quite a few had spot welding here and there indicating adjustments and alterations. Every one was in excellent condition. Sure, he loved cars but he could also admit he definitely enjoyed a good looking motorcycle. He tried not to salivate at the sight.
“I have a car for school but in my spare time, I fix up bikes. My dad salvages beat up ones for cheap. I make them better. I love to ride,” she said as she followed in behind him.
His eyes practically rolled back realizing this woman—smart, beautiful, into bikes— was truly one of a kind.
“You said you were gonna give me something,” he said tentatively.
She nodded with some reluctance. Then she smiled.
“Yes. I know that I can't outright pay for your car. I don't have that kind of money. But I do have these. And I’d like you to have one.”
He had no idea how to respond and instead gawked at the possibilities.
“Pick one. Any one,” she offered.
Vegeta canted his head suspiciously of the too-good-to-be-true deal. “You’re serious. You’re just gonna give me one?”
“Yes. I truly am sorry about your car. It is gorgeous and I understand how it would feel to see something you love get damaged. I would cry if something happened to these. But for the sake of our friendship—and whatever else after— I give a peace offering.”
He ran his hand over the vinyl and chrome on one bike before tearing his eyes to another. Each one was more awesome than the last. Finally his eyes set on a black and teal bike. It screamed speed. He bent down to inspect it further, running his fingertips over its only embellishment on the side fairing near the front: a simple, flat sticker of an orange ball with five yellow stars in the center.
He glanced back at her, seeing the subtle flinch of one she evidently cared for dearly.
“You give me a bike and this makes us even?” he asked.
“Does it?” she raised a brow in question.
He stood and carefully swung a leg over the powerful machine. Gripped the handlebars. Damn.
With a smirk, he caught her eyes as she carried that same smug look he saw the first day they talked in class. A bike for a scratch. Not a bad deal. He wondered if she'd be up for a second date, too.
“Yeah. We’re even.”