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The sun is out, but Vegeta can’t feel its warmth.
The troops are back, but Vegeta hides in the gardens instead of standing at the docks to greet them.
Draped in fine silks and gilded in glistening filigree, Vegeta fights the urge to stand and hide away in his room, to pretend that he isn’t sick with worry.
He still remembers reading the reports from the recent mission to the Sanguinius system - thirty of their third-class warriors left. The survivors could be counted on one hand.
His stomach churns, as it did when he couldn’t find Kakarot’s name among the survivors or the fallen.
Vegeta shuts his eyes and tries to calm his breathing. His skin seems too tightly stretched over his muscles. The soft grass beneath him is torment, and he tightens a fistful of it in both hands.
This could break me, he realizes, dread seeping into his blood. And it would. He could stare down Frieza, take on a legion of their strongest Oozaru warriors, face down an entire rebelling planet single-handedly with a smile on his face and a song in his heart. But -
But if Kakarot’s -
His thoughts freeze as the grass rustles. The rhythmic sound of footsteps grows closer; his visitor treads carefully, so soft that it was mere luck that Vegeta heard them. He tries to breathe, and fails.
He waits - for the summons from the servant that his father requires his presence. For his father himself, to kick him half-heartedly in the side and grumble at him to stand up.
The footsteps stop, and a shadow eclipses the sunlight on his eyelids. The world is still, for a moment.
“Your Highness.”
His heart stammers, and his eyes fly open. A moment more, and they begin to sting.
Kakarot’s smile breaks through Vegeta’s blurring vision, descending upon him as his lover lowers himself to the ground. His great body curls around Vegeta’s, reeking of blood, sweat, and dirt. His raiments will be stained. Instead of recoiling, he wraps his arms around Kakarot’s body.
“How dare you call me that,” Vegeta says, voice thick, “when I thought you - ”
“I know.” Kakarot turns his head, pressing a kiss to Vegeta’s temple, just below his circlet. “I’m so sorry, Vegeta. It’s okay. I’m home.”
Kakarot is brighter than the sun, and the warmth of day finally seems to penetrate Vegeta’s skin. He lets himself bask in it as he pulls Kakarot closer.
“Welcome home,” he whispers, and thanks whatever gods might exist that they delivered Kakarot safely back into his arms.