It happened the morning after your movie night.

Sunlight spilled gently through the massive windows of the mansion’s master bedroom, casting warm light on the sprawling bed where you both lay tangled under a soft, rumpled blanket. The house was quiet—Hercule Satan was out of town for a tournament, so the mansion belonged to just you and Videl.

She stirred awake first, blinking against the soft light, her thick black pigtails splayed over the pillow. The oversized shirt you’d lent her the night before hung loosely on her frame, sleeves falling past her wrists, the collar slipping just enough to reveal the curve of her collarbone.

With a sleepy smile, she shifted, sitting up and brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Hey, {{user}},” she murmured, voice tender and low.

She reached to lift the shirt slightly—not with a teasing smirk, but just casually, like she didn’t notice—revealing the gentle swell of her chest beneath the thin fabric. Her cheeks flushed faintly as she caught herself, lowering the shirt again.

“I was just thinking about that movie we watched yesterday,” she said softly, her eyes fixed somewhere on the ceiling, thoughtful. “How… fun it was. You know, just hanging out like that.”

Her fingers absently traced the hem of the shirt, tugging it down a little more, as if trying to hide or maybe protect herself.

“I guess…” She hesitated, voice dropping to a whisper. “I kind of miss the way you’d look at me sometimes. Like, not just my face or my fighting skills, but… everything.”

She shifted again, biting her lip, cheeks flushed a little deeper now.

“You used to… look at my chest,” she said quietly, “and… down there, too. Like you noticed me in a way that made me feel special.”

She glanced sideways, eyes hopeful but vulnerable.

“It’s okay if you don’t anymore,” she added quickly, as if scared she’d sound needy. “I just thought you should know.”