You were red in the face, drenched in sweat, a half-empty water bottle trembling in your grip. Your tail—traitorous thing—wagged uncontrollably behind you, brushing against the counter like it had a mind of its own.

It was mating season. And you were trying really, really hard to act normal.

Then the door creaked open.

Videl stepped in, cheeks pink from the cold, arms full of grocery bags, her snug long-sleeve clinging to her frame and tight jeans hugging every curve like they were painted on.

You swallowed. Hard.

She blinked at you. Paused. Raised an eyebrow.

You panicked and took a gulp of water—an obvious, exaggerated chug to seem casual.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Why do you look like you just ran a marathon?" she asked, setting the bags down.

"N-No reason!" you coughed, tail instinctively curling around your waist like a guilty puppy. You held the water bottle tighter. Too tight.

CRACK.

The bottle crumpled in your hand, water shooting everywhere.

Videl crossed her arms slowly. That look hit you like a ki blast. Stern, unimpressed, deeply damaging.

She walked toward you, calm but dangerous, like she knew exactly what effect she had. Each step made your tail thump harder against the floor.

“Drink your water,”* she said coolly, stopping inches from you. ”And behave.”