Durian is quite the sight, wrapped so completely in a fluffy blanket that only the top of her head is visible, sprawled out on top of Bulma's mother in a tight grasp. Bulma would snort and laugh if she weren't so concerned, even in her sleep-dazed state, as she wandered further into the living room with questions on her tongue. It's four in the morning and she had gotten up to pee and maybe grab a late snack. Finding Durian and her mother sleeping on the couch was not something she expected. It's oddly adorable, she'll admit, but from the way Durian is tucked so delicately against her mother, she wonders if something might be wrong. Obviously, something has been wrong for some time now, and Durian had been insisting on handling it on her own. She can't; it was so obvious to her that Durian couldn't handle her emotional state on her own, and she wonders why she even put up such a fight. Does she even realize what she's doing?
It's sort of relieving to see them like that. It makes her think that her mother offered the kind of support that likely broke Durian, which she never thought would be a good thing. She likes her mother, after all, so she wouldn't be surprised in the slightest. Sighing, she slinks past the living room and into the kitchen to get a glass of milk and some bare bread. Durian never understood why she got bare bread in the night and would say as much, but now she does the same whenever they're evading sleep.
She wonders at what ungodly time Durian found her way back and why her mother had even been awake at that time. Her mother is the one person in the house with a somewhat normal sleeping schedule, so while it happens more than one would think, it's still odd for the woman to be awake at such hours.
She'll come see Durian in the morning. As bothered as she is now, she can't possibly wake her up when Durian already has such terrible sleep habits as it is. It's something she developed over the years on her own, staying awake at night after she had almost been robbed once and never allowing a deep sleep as to not let her guard down. Bulma learned this when she woke up around an hour or so before Durian usually does. Trying to get out of bed, she almost fell onto Durian, who was wrapped in her blanket. Durian almost had them both tumbling out of bed, confused when she realized she had just barely prevented them from landing on the floor and holding a startled Bulma halfway on her body. Bulma has tested her discovery since then in the rare moments Durian slept during the day. She would attempt to poke her and have a hand around her wrist before she could get close enough, and Durian would always wear the most confused expression when she woke up to that.
It was almost tempting to do it now, but that would be rather inconsiderate. She believes this must be one of the rare moments Durian's guard isn't up. She would have stirred by now, would have already had dark eyes on Bulma with furrowed brows. Bulma wouldn't have made it to the kitchen and back without Durian waking.
She hopes Durian gets a good night's sleep—she deserves it.
It's past nine when Bulma wakes, showers, and heads back into the living room to find Durian still asleep, wrapped tightly in a fluffy blanket that Bulma now recognizes as her mother's. Bulma moves silently, sneaking past Durian to the kitchen. As soon as she steps inside, her mother greets her with a warm smile.
"Good morning," Panchy says, giving Bulma a quick kiss on the cheek before returning to the task of making a ham sandwich, something Durian often enjoys on lazy mornings.
"What time did she get back?" Bulma asks, glancing back as if to ensure Durian isn't approaching.
"Two, three? Not sure," Panchy replies while skillfully cutting a tomato. "She was quite troubled."
"Troubled" isn’t the word Bulma would use, but she nods along.
"I never asked," Panchy starts, looking at her daughter with more seriousness than usual. "But what exactly led to her living with us?"
It's not meant in a bad way—more concerned than anything—and it makes Bulma realize she never even explained to her parents why Durian was staying with them. They accepted her as easily as they would their own child, making it easy to forget such a crucial detail.
"It's a long story," she begins. "I just invited her after she said she didn't have a home to return to. And she said it so casually, too. Then she told me she'd been on her own for three to four years since her parents died."
"That's not such a long story," Panchy says, more a statement than a question. "And the death of her parents has been a recent topic, no? That's what she told me, at least. Also something about a dead master who's somehow back."
That last part has Bulma looking at her mother as if she had three heads, but she nods.
Panchy hums, eyes down on the sandwich she’s making. Bread, lettuce, extra tomatoes, ham, and cheese.
"Well, I understand now why she broke down when I hugged her."
While Bulma suspected as much—her mother has an oddly therapeutic presence—it’s still surprising to hear.
Another sandwich is being made, another tomato being sliced.
"What I'm understanding," Panchy finishes off the second sandwich and moves to the fridge for some milk, "is that she never truly got over their deaths and had no one to go to in her time of need. So when someone takes the time to be there, the metaphorical dam breaks."
"She's also quite touch-starved," she adds almost as an afterthought.
Bulma says nothing in turn, unsure of what she can say, and simply watches her mother make some warm cocoa to go with the sandwiches.
"Here you go," Panchy slides Durian's breakfast over to Bulma on a tray, smiling when her daughter looks at her in confusion.
"Me?"
"Yes, you're worried, no? Go," Panchy shoos her off with a flick of her hand, further urging her away when she’s too slow for her liking. "Careful when waking her, she might have a headache."
With that, Bulma almost stumbles out of the kitchen with a drawn-out sigh and places the tray of food on the coffee table once she’s in the living room.
She kneels in front of Durian, staring at the tuft of spiked hair protruding from the blanket, wondering how to proceed. She shivers when something grazes her leg and looks down to find her father's cat placing itself at her feet and looking up at the sleeping Durian. A small meow urges her to continue, the cat's tail stroking her leg as if to encourage her. That cat seldom leaves her father's side, so she's quite surprised to find it here.
A question for later.
Not entirely sure what to do now, she rests a hand on Durian’s forehead, pushing away her odd bangs and watching her stir slightly. She’d have woken up immediately under normal circumstances, blinking awake with an expression of confusion, yet acceptance whenever Bulma prods at her. Her hand goes down to her cheek and her thumb swipes at the skin just under her eye, warm and slightly red.
"Durian," she calls gently, trying to coax her awake. She glances at the clock when the sun catches her eyes. Durian has never slept this late, always up before the sun, even when confined to her wheelchair.
Her eyes open when Bulma tugs her blanket slightly down to reveal more of her face. Durian blinks at her, eyes dazed, mind still lingering in the realm of dreams. She says something too quiet for Bulma to hear, her hand going around Bulma’s wrist though she doesn’t move her hand as she usually does.
"You didn’t poke me," she mumbles around the blanket she pulls back up, eyes closing and grip on Bulma’s wrist loosening slightly.
"I should’ve taken my chance, shouldn’t I?" Bulma replies, relieved.
"Yes, you’ll never get another," Durian says, her voice softer than Bulma’s used to and words muffled.
"Never is a strong word," Bulma replies, amused.
Durian’s grip on her wrist is so light that when Bulma pulls away, her hand slips out of her grasp easily. Sighing, the blanket comes back over her head only for Bulma to pull it back down.
"Mom made you breakfast," she says, holding the blanket when Durian attempts to hide behind it again. Durian pauses at the mention of food, and almost on cue, her stomach makes a very obvious sound. Bulma can't help her somewhat smug smile. "Ham sandwich with extra tomatoes."
That does get Durian's attention enough for her to open her eyes again, blinking blearily.
"With cocoa," Bulma adds.
Durian sits up, sinking into the cushions and rubbing her eyes while the blanket falls off her shoulders to settle around her middle.
"You're adorable when you just wake up," Bulma admits, sliding into place next to her and passing her a sandwich.
Durian says nothing in return, far too occupied with the bread in her mouth and watching the black cat that trudges up the sofa with sharp claws and a wobbling body. When she flinches, Bulma looks down to see the cat attached to Durian’s tail, sure it would have been thrown across the room if Durian wasn’t scared of hurting the poor thing. She carefully pries it off, slipping her fingers under its paws until it sat in her hand and Durian’s tail retreats to a safe space.
When she looks at Durian, she’s frowning at the cat, appearing hurt in more than one sense.
Durian bites into her sandwich, chewing slowly, though she still wears that hurt expression Bulma can't take very seriously. Bulma glances back at the small creature now lying in her lap, still puzzled as to why it's not with her father.
Durian eats quite languidly today, struggling against sleep and resting her head on the back of the sofa as her eyes close again.
"Don't fall asleep with food in your mouth," Bulma feels the need to say when Durian's chewing slows dangerously. She gets a nod in return. "Durian, I'm serious, chew."
Another nod and she resumes chewing, albeit slowly.
"My eyes hurt," Durian says once she swallows. "And my head." She takes another bite, bigger than the last. "And I'm fighting sleep like I'm fighting for my life."
Bulma nods, understanding the feeling. It happens quite a bit when she goes to bed too late, and that's saying something already.
Bulma is convinced that if she doesn’t watch her, Durian will fall asleep while eating that one sandwich.
"You can go to bed after you've eaten," she says, hoping to encourage her further. A glance at Durian shows her words don't help much. She still takes her time with her food, wearing the same drowsy expression. She's not sure why a sleep-drunk and possibly emotionally unavailable Durian is such an adorable sight. Maybe it's the way she refuses to part with the blanket or the way she holds her tail near her chest protectively.
"Eat, shower, then bed," Durian says after a moment, sitting up once she pops the last piece of her sandwich into her mouth and reaching for the next. The sandwich is pulled open, and a slice of tomato is stolen from within, making Durian smile as she eats the red fruit.
"Tomatoes are a weird food to like," Bulma voices, and Durian blinks at her as if she hadn't understood those words.
"I like fruit," Durian says, to Bulma's confusion.
"Tomatoes are veggies."
"They're fruits," Durian insists with certainty and wears an odd smile. "I know something you don't."
"Tomatoes are veggies! How are they fruit? They have always been veggies."
"Fruit," Durian insists. "Mom said so."
Bulma quiets at that, not sure if she should question a dead woman's words. Still, she always believed tomatoes to be veggies, as everyone does, and here Durian comes stating otherwise.
"Mom was a botanist among many other things," Durian explains. "She studied plants and has proven that tomatoes are fruits, so are squash, pumpkins, cucumbers, peppers, eggplants, corn kernels, and bean and pea pods."
Well, that's news to Bulma. Though the revelation that Durian's mother was also a botanist makes sense when she considers how Durian quickly took to helping Panchy in the garden. She used to help her mother in her garden, she had said, so she saw no issue helping Panchy as well.
"Okay, so why are they considered fruits?"
"They develop from the fertilized ovary of a flower," Durian shrugs and takes a bite of her sandwich. "That's how we separate fruit from veggies. However, tomatoes and the like are considered veggies by nutritionists."
So Bulma wasn't wrong in her assumption, and neither was Durian.
"There's always something new to learn with you," Bulma says, almost accusatorily, making Durian tilt her head questioningly.
"Good thing?" Durian wonders around a mouthful of bread. "It sounds like you're accusing me."
"Maybe. What are you gonna say next? That time travel is possible?"
The way Durian smiles at those words makes Bulma's eyes widen.
"Time travel is possible?"
Durian bites into her sandwich, savoring the excitement on Bulma's face, but doesn’t deign to answer. Bulma glares, Durian smiles, the cat meows, and Durian pulls her tail closer to her chest.
"Tell me," Bulma pleads.
"Why wouldn't it be?" Durian muses more to herself than anything else. "A wish-granting dragon exists, the dead can walk the earth for a day with a literal halo, aliens that look so much like us exist, with advanced technology too. Why wouldn't time travel be a possibility?"
That's a great point, actually, but not a solid confirmation. If it cannot be proven, Bulma can't fully believe in it, and Durian knows that.
"You're not certain," Bulma sighs.
"I am."
"Do you have proof?"
"No."
"Then how can you be certain?"
"Because I am."
Bulma doesn't like that reply, and it shows on her face. Durian doesn’t pay her much mind, cradling her cup of cocoa after finishing her sandwich.
"There's no proof," Bulma says, frustrated, as she falls into the cushions of the sofa, startling the cat in her lap.
"Then do the research. I'm sure you can figure it out," Durian says with certainty that flatters Bulma, and she can't help but smile.
Durian drinks her cocoa within seconds, slumping back into her blanket once she finishes her food. One moment she's upright, the next she falls over onto Bulma's lap, pulling the blanket up to her chin. The black cat lets out a mewl as it claws its way out of the thick blanket and onto Durian's head, where it sits.
"Really?" Bulma watches Durian with disbelief. "What about your shower?"
"Later."
"What about me?"
"You don’t have anything better to do."
That's just rude. She just assumes Bulma doesn’t have important business to take care of or places to be.
Grumbling something unintelligible, Bulma rests her hand on Durian's head, one hand stroking her surprisingly soft hair while the other removes the poor black cat before it falls to the floor. She settles the cat on her shoulder, as it usually is with her father, and it nuzzles her cheek with a soft purr. Maybe the cat had come to see Durian—it likes her after all.
What even is its name?
Durian's hair has always been soft, which is expected with how well she takes care of it. It’s still odd how it’s so spiked with no other influence. It's just naturally like that, and only adopts a different form when Bulma takes the time and effort to style it differently. At least it has grown a bit, obviously longer than when they first met. Durian doesn’t intend to cut it anytime soon, so she’ll likely see her with long hair sometime in the future.
"You asleep?" Bulma asks quietly, leaning over to get a look at her face. She’s asleep, having been very truthful about her fight to stay awake.
Bulma grins when Durian barely stirs, and carefully, very, very carefully reaches out with a single finger, intending to poke her and prove Durian wrong.
When a hand wraps around her wrist, she huffs, dismayed and defeated. She feels Durian sigh, her grip on Bulma's wrist slack as always as she moves her hand to rest on the top of her head.
"Dammit."
"You can try again later, if you wish."
"I will."
