Chapter Text
As always, Goten arrives at work an hour before opening to prepare the store for customers. His duties are pretty simple:
- Turn on the coffee and espresso machines
- Place coffee grounds in the filter and put on a pot to brew
- Turn on the ovens
- Set up the pastry case
- Restock the cups (closers always forget, and… well, he closed last night)
- Open the register
- Steal a cookie from the pastry case and make yourself a cup of coffee
Unsurprisingly, he’s been reprimanded for that last step more times than he can count, but it really is essential to preserving his sanity in preparation for dealing with the general public. People, he has realized, are not above resorting to various types of abuse to get what they want, and though he’s normally the type to let things roll off his back, there are a few choice insults that still sting. The job isn’t all bad, though. He really enjoys the people he works with when they actually show up. Being a hard worker is not a fruitful endeavor, Goten has learned—people will do as little as they can get away with if they know you’ll pick up the slack. It’s not exactly ideal, but he needs the hours anyway.
The sound of keys clinking against the glass of the front doors makes him look up. He’s relieved to see it’s one of the owners, Krillin, who Goten grew up with and has always seen as sort of an uncle figure. Krillin is an old family friend of his dad’s and the reason he even has this job. When Goten realized that relying on his father’s sporadic income from participating in martial arts tournaments wouldn’t be enough to put him through college, Krillin had immediately offered him a position—and though he’d still had to drop out, he'd been grateful for it. Still is, despite the aforementioned abuses from people like Guy Who Desperately Needs His Large Caramel Frappuccino at Nine in the Morning.
“Hey,” says Krillin, already shouldering off his bag and making his way up to the counter. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” Goten answers. He tries to pretend he was busy wiping down the espresso machine and definitely not nibbling on a chocolate chip cookie.
Krillin’s tone is dripping with fake enthusiasm when he asks him, “You ready for another exciting shift at Kame Coffee House?”
He hates this job more than anyone, Goten thinks, and he doesn’t blame him—the poor guy is pushing fifty-something and spends his days attempting to placate sleep-deprived buissnessmen and entitled soccer moms. It’s admittedly not the most glamorous life.
Goten’s answer is a tired “yessir,” though they both know he’d probably rather be anywhere else. He thinks he left his brain back at home in the comfort of his bed and his body is just going through the motions. “Am I leaving at a normal time today or have you finally decided to just force me to live here ‘round the clock?”
Krillin is pouring himself a cup of coffee. “You can sleep on the bags of espresso beans in the back. Heard it’s actually pretty comfy. Are those cookie crumbs on your apron?”
“No, that’s—you should get your eyes checked, old man. Those are coffee grounds.” Goten brushes away the evidence. “From working so hard at my job that I love.”
“You know what I told you about eating merchandise,” Krillin chides, but Goten can see him suppressing a grin. He’s way too soft on everyone, but especially him. “Did you finally have to interact with your crush yesterday? I know you closed by yourself.”
Oh, god. He doesn’t even want to think about it. His face is burning now but the embarrassment sits cold and greasy in his stomach. “Yeah,” is all he says.
Krillin quirks an eyebrow at him. “Yeah? And?”
“And I blew it,” he admits. “Totally freaked him out. He might not even come back, actually. It was bad. I thought about locking myself in the fridge and just letting the cold take me out. You would’ve found my body huddling with the oat milk for warmth.”
Krillin gives a sympathetic tut of his tongue. “Don’t sweat it, kid. I’m sure he’ll be back. You’ll have plenty of other chances to be embarrassing before you decide to turn yourself into a Goten-sicle.”
“ Stop it ,” Goten whines. “I don’t know what my deal is! I’m not bad at flirting—I’m charming. I’m a smooth talker. I have my dad’s rugged good looks and I’ve got about fifty girls’ numbers in my phone right now. But that stupid guy —” he crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly embarrassed. “I don’t know. It’s like my brain just goes on overdrive.”
Krillin is looking at him with this stupid knowing expression. “It’s because you actually like him,” he tells him, and he almost looks like he feels bad for him. “I get it. I had the same thing with my wife: love at first sight. I knew immediately.”
Goten rolls his eyes and throws a stray espresso bean at him. “I’m not in love. Don’t even put that into the universe,” he protests. “I’m planning to stay West City’s most eligible bachelor until at least age thirty.”
Krillin snorts. “You’re getting up there. And what would your mother think about you being single in your thirties?”
“I’m only twenty-two!” Goten argues, but he’s interrupted by a harsh knocking sound coming from the front of the shop. They turn to see a small line of disgruntled-looking customers huddled around the locked entrance.
“ Shit ,” Krillin hisses. “You are way too distracting. Go do something useful with yourself,” he orders.
Goten stands at attention behind the espresso machine while Krillin mans the register— Ready the battle stations , he thinks. It’s not easy being the only barista on the bar for hours on end, but he prides himself on his speed and accuracy—at least he’s good for something. As a kid, his brother encouraged him to practice martial arts like their father. It’d build character, his brother told him, and he idolized his brother—wanted to impress him more than anything in the world. He was some dumb snot-nosed kid who couldn’t ace a math test to save his life, but when his brother praised him, none of that mattered; it didn’t matter that his dad was off competing halfway across the world, or that at night he could hear his mom pretending not to cry over it. He was seven when he met his dad for the first time. Sometimes he still thinks he’s that dumb kid. Goten just wants to be good.
Well, what he really wants is to go home at a decent time, but it’s nearing the end of his shift and Krillin is skulking up to him with that look on his face. His tone is sheepish when he says, “Hey, kid.”
“Absolutely not,” is his immediate reply. “No. I told my mom I’d be home for dinner tonight because Gohan is coming over.”
Krillin clasps his hands together. “Please, man, just do me this one favor. Promise it’ll be the last time.”
Goten is manhandling the cup of milk he’s frothing and imagining Krillin’s bald head is inside being blended into foam. “You said that last time,” he argues. “I worked a double yesterday, too. Why can’t you stay late?”
Krillin winces. “I promise,” he pleads, and Goten sighs so loud he thinks they probably heard it all the way out in Central City.
“Fine,” he grumbles, and he shoves the cup into Krillin’s hands. “Finish this for me. Small hot latte with three pumps of vanilla syrup. I need to call my mom and let her know that I’ll never see my friends and family again because you’ve decided to hold me hostage.”
“I owe you big time,” Krillin calls after him, but he’s already stomping off to the back while trying to restrain his twitching middle finger.
It’s about five degrees cooler in the back because of all the frozen produce, but it feels nice. When he was younger he’d come back here and share popsicles with his coworkers in the summer, and they’d have to hide their brightly colored tongues when Krillin walked in. They would all giggle and hide the wrappers in Goten’s backpack. It’s a soothing memory, but he knows it’ll take more than popsicles to save him from the wrath of his mother.
“Hey, mom,” he says, fingers twisting around a stray thread in his apron. He pulls at it, but it refuses to break. “I have some bad news.”
He regrets his word choice instantly, because the frequency at which she’s shrieking rapidfire questions at him over the phone can probably only be heard by dogs.
“No, mom, no—I’m—I’m okay, I promise. I just have to stay late,” Goten explains, suddenly sweaty despite his back being pressed up against the freezer door. “I guess someone called out. Krillin needs me to close again.”
“God, honey, please don’t scare me like that,” says his mother, voice tight with worry.
He picks at the skin on his lip, then imagines his brother swatting his hand away and reprimanding him for it. “Sorry, mom. I just know you really wanted me there tonight. Is Gohan still coming?”
“He is,” she answers. “Are you sure you can’t make it?”
“I—” He peeks around the corner to check on Krillin and sucks his teeth when he sees a line forming. “I can’t. I’m sorry, mom, I really wish I could. More than anything.”
“It’s okay, baby,” she tells him, but the disappointment in her voice is palpable. Gohan be damned, he’ll pick at his stupid lip if he wants to. “Just don’t work yourself too hard.”
If he worked himself any less they’d both be eating mud sandwiches for lunch, he thinks, but he promises her he won’t anyway. Luckily, he’s not the only breadwinner of the house: Gohan helps out a little (but he’s got a family of his own to take care of) and his dad sends home money when he can (though it’s usually months apart).
Either way, they don’t talk much longer because it’s getting cold back there and Goten can hear a disturbance up at the register, which can only mean Krillin has somehow managed to piss someone off in the ten minutes he’s been gone.
“ You don’t know how to make coffee,” a man in a suit accuses him. “Have someone else do it.”
Goten thinks if he has to deal with another inconvenience today he’ll probably explode. They’ll have to scrape him up off the walls or something. He sees Krillin open his mouth and turn to call for him, but Goten is already snatching the cup out of his hands and reading what’s written on the side: medium coffee, half and half, one packet of raw sugar. Easy enough, he thinks, filling the cup with coffee and stirring in the extra ingredients. He hands it to the man (a little too eagerly), who immediately makes a sour face upon sipping it.
“I’m not paying for this,” he says. “It doesn’t taste like it normally does.”
“We recently switched out the brand of coffee beans we use,” Goten tells him. “Unfortunately that’s all we have right now.”
“Well, I want the other brand. Can’t you make it?”
“Unfortunately, sir, we don’t have that right now.”
“Well can’t you go get it?”
He’s keeping his composure by imagining all the various ways he wants to beat the shit out of this asshole. “No, sir, I apologize. It was a seasonal flavor, so it’ll be back next summer.”
“Summer is barely even over,” he argues, and Goten is about to tell Krillin to get the wall scraper out. “I’m sure you have some in the back.”
“Excuse me?” says a voice, and Goten feels his jaw go slack when he sees that guy step out from behind him. “Do you think you could step out of line? Some of us actually have places to be.” He’s looking at him with all the annoyance and vitriol in the world and Goten swears he hears an angelic chorus echoing somewhere in the room. The man in the suit glares back at him, but something akin to recognition in his eyes makes him back off. With a scoff, he slams his cup down on the counter, spilling a little in the process before storming out.
“Thanks,” Goten says, and for some reason he’s flustered. “Sorry about that.”
The guy gives a curt nod, brushing a stray strand of hair back into place. “So—the usual, please?”
Goten grabs a cup and gets to work. Either he’s finally knocked a screw loose from all those head injuries as a kid, or he can swear he feels that guy watching him the whole time. His face starts to burn and he curses himself internally for being so obvious—twenty-two years old and he’s bumbling around like a damn schoolgirl. His stupid hands are shaking as he’s trying to rip open the sugar packet. “One large black coffee with Stevia, for…?”
“...Trunks,” he answers, almost looking embarrassed. “Thank you.”
Goten opens his mouth to say something that would probably make him look like an idiot, but he’s jumping out of his skin before he has the chance to because Krillin’s just slapped a hand on his shoulder with enough force to kill a small horse. He watches as Trunks retreats to his corner and feels a little irritated, but Krillin redeems himself:
“Hey, kid. Found someone to cover the shift,” he tells him, smiling apologetically.
Goten would kiss him right on top of his shiny bald head if he wasn’t so busy massaging his sore shoulder. He almost forgives him for scaring Trunks away. “Really? You sure you don’t need me?”
“I’m sure. Go have dinner with your family,” Krillin says, and Goten pulls him into a spine-breaking hug before shoving him towards the register.
“Thanks, man. Good luck with that line!”
Krillin shoots him a look that’s intended to be intimidating but ends up making him look like a disgruntled pufferfish instead. Goten doesn’t even bother responding because he’s too busy gathering up his backpack and shoving his apron inside before dashing out the door before anyone can change their mind.
Goten calls his mom on the way to the bus stop to let her know that he’ll be coming home for dinner after all, and he’s sure everyone within a 50-foot radius now knows about it because of the sheer volume of her cheers through the speakers of his phone.
—
When he opens the door, he instantly knows he is home—not only from the smell, but from the warmth that spreads from his chest to the tips of his fingers and toes. Here is family: his mother is bent over a pan of something sizzling on the stove; his brother, ever the watchful guardian standing by her side. Videl and Pan are helping to set the table and giggling amongst themselves. It’s the perfect picture of everything Goten holds most dear, and the world around him seems to glow as he’s greeted by smiles and hugs when he steps through the threshold.
“Hey, buddy,” says Gohan, ruffling his hair. Goten swats his hands away and tries his best to pretend like it annoys him. “How was work?”
“Oh, you know. The usual.” He shoulders off his backpack and hangs it by the door, kicking his shoes off in the process. They’re tattered and dirty and he figures he’s probably about five years past due for a new pair.
“The usual?” Videl teases. “Bite anyone’s head off today?”
Goten is already sneaking up behind his mother to get a peek at dinner. “Peek” meaning to steal a bite or two of whatever smells so good, in this case.
“Course not,” he tells her, dodging his mother’s half-hearted slap with practiced ease. “I’m, like, their nicest employee. Everyone loves me.”
“Well,” his mother counters, pointing an accusatory wooden spoon at him, “not everyone . Why don’t you tell Gohan about your little mishap?”
Face burning at the betrayal, Goten makes a mental note to self: remember that exhaustion makes your tongue loose, and your mother will never pass up an opportunity to embarrass you. “ Mom! ” he protests, and she’s laughing like it’s funny or something and not one of the top ten most embarrassing moments of his entire life.
“A mishap, huh? What’d you do this time?” asks Gohan, who is trying very hard to seem casual but is always desperate for any details about his brother’s life. Gohan’s had him tucked safely under his wing since his little brother took his first breath, attached at the hip until Goten had to pry himself away in his rebellious teenage years.
“I tried to make small talk with this regular at work and scared him off.” He carefully leaves out the important detail of his dumb crush on the guy. “And I’m not telling you anything else, so you can stop bugging me about it.”
“ Bugging you about it?” says Gohan, a mischievous glint in his eye, and Pan lets out a distressed groan before shooting Goten a look that says Great, now you’ve done it.
“ Me? Bugging? Well, since you asked, let me tell you what I’m bugging out about at work. There’s this species of beetle we’re researching that is exclusively female, but—”
“Dad, please,” Pan begs. “Can we not talk about beetle sex right before we eat?”
“It’s the miracle of life, Pan,” he tells her, and Goten has to stop himself from exploding into a fit of laughter as he remembers the conversation with his mother the previous night. They’re both more like their parents than they know, for better or worse.
Gohan elbows him in the side. Gently, as he always is. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. I’m just happy to see you again,” says Goten. “It’s been like three weeks. And you literally live next door. That’s not cool, big bro.”
“I know, I know. I suck.” And then, more quietly, “let’s talk later.” I’m here for you and I would go to the ends of the Earth to keep you safe , is what he’s trying to say, Goten knows.
His mother’s cooking never disappoints: rice, dumplings, sauteéd vegetables and beef—maybe she should have been a chef instead of a housewife, but she fell in love with his father at a martial arts tournament and had Gohan when she was only twenty. Goten’s just glad he’s around to taste her cooking, anyway.
Dinnertime has always been a sacred event in the Son household; they’re not a religious bunch, but Goten thinks this comes pretty close. Sharing a meal with loved ones could be its own kind of ritual, in a way—you sit down together, you eat good food, you have good conversation, and you let your heart feel as full as your stomach. You thank your mother for the meal and you kick your little cousin’s feet under the table when she sneaks out her phone to text. You look around at the people you hold dearest and hope it never has to end.
It has to end, though, and when it does Gohan drags him away while Videl and their mother are distracted with washing the dishes. It’s not like Gohan to skip out on chores, but Goten can tell he’s on a mission. The mission being to get him to confess, he guesses.
“So,” Gohan begins, sitting with his legs crossed on the edge of Goten’s bed. He pats the spot next to him and says, “tell me what’s going on.”
Goten just stands there and shifts on his feet for a second. “It’s actually not a huge deal,” he grumbles, even though it feels like it is. Even though it’s kind of been eating him up for a few months and he’d give anything for his big brother to tell him what to do—sometimes he feels like he’s still seven years old when his brother is around—so naturally, the tough guy act quickly crumbles under Gohan’s gentle prodding and he ends up telling him everything anyway.
Gohan nods the whole time and punctuates Goten’s sentences with, “I see,” in this sagely tone that pisses him off because what the hell does Mr. Married His First Girlfriend know about dating? Goten’s supposed to be the one who’s good at this kind of thing. He is typically good at this kind of thing. So when Gohan tells him, “Just be yourself,” he nearly explodes.
“But what do you do if—” Goten fumbles for the words. He has his head in his brother’s lap, and Gohan is carding his fingers through Goten’s hair like they’re kids again and he’s just had a nightmare. “What do you do if yourself is, like, accidentally stupid sometimes? And you ruined your one chance at making a good impression?”
“You don’t get just the one chance, Goten,” Gohan assures him. “You’re good at this sort of thing. You’re usually such a nonchalant guy. Use your—what do the kids call it—”
“ Don’t say—”
“—your rizz.”
“Oh my god.” Goten is suddenly very serious. “It’s taking all my willpower to not punch you in the throat right now. I think I might’ve thrown up a little, actually.”
Gohan has trouble getting words out through his laughter. “I’m serious!” he exclaims, bursting into another fit of giggles when he glances down and is met with Goten’s look of disgust. “Look, buddy, I think you should just act like it never happened. Start over. Maybe write your number on his coffee cup, put the ball in his court.”
“The ball is in his court,” Goten argues. “And I think he wants to throw it in my face. Really hard. And break my nose.” He sits up to face his brother and lets out a heavy sigh. “Am I being crazy? This isn’t like me. I feel like I’m being crazy.”
Gohan gives him a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, a little,” he tells him. “But I understand. This feels like it might be your first big, real crush. It’s not like flirting in high school, you’re getting serious about dating.”
“Everyone keeps telling me that. And you were serious about dating in high school,” Goten points out.
“Yeah, well,” Gohan starts, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. “Not everyone is as lucky as I am. Most people, like you, date around a lot before they find their person.” He pauses to examine the expression on his little brother’s face. “Don’t sweat it, Goten. You didn’t mess everything up. And if I’m wrong, you get one free pass to kick my butt.”
“Is it bad that now I’m hoping you’re wrong?”
“Probably,” Gohan muses. “But you wouldn’t be Dad’s offspring if you turned down a fight.”
“Yeah,” Goten agrees, voice quiet. He hesitates before saying, “where is Dad, anyway?”
Gohan plasters on that smile Goten knows is reserved for big brothers who carry the weight of the whole family on their shoulders. “Agh, who knows.” He waves his hand dismissively before looking at his wrist to check his watch. “Alright. It’s getting late, buddy. What’s your bedtime now, 8PM?” he teases, and Goten dodges the hand that’s reaching to ruffle his hair.
“You’re confusing my bedtime with yours, old man,” he shoots back.
Gohan places a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Ouch. Your personality lacks rizz—”
“ GET OUT! ” Goten shouts, and the pillow just barely misses Gohan as he quickly slams the door shut, muffled laughter echoing down the hall.