Work Text:
“This is gonna be so fun!” Foolish exclaims, bounding ahead and turning to jog backwards so that he can still look at Vegetta. His smile is blinding and Vegetta can’t help but offer a half-grimace of his own back, despite the way his knees are weak with nerves.
“So fun…” He echoes, watching as Foolish grins at his response before turning around to locate Leo and scoop her up, her shrieking giggles, at least, doing something to assuage the nauseating anticipation eating at him. Beside him, Roier snorts, imitating his shaking voice – “so fun!” – and Vegetta doesn’t hesitate to smack him. Gently, of course, even if Roier, of course, plays it up, clutching at his arm and staggering to the side, lamenting that his father would raise his hand at him.
Ahead of them both, Foolish now has Leo on his shoulders, and both are excitedly chattering about how fun this is going to be. Vegetta sighs quietly, because, oh, how he’d love to join in with their sentiment. And he would, if only…
“I just don’t get what the big deal is,” Roier begins conversationally, as if they haven’t discussed this countless times. “Just tell him! He’s stupidly in love with you, it’s not like it’s gonna change anything.”
“I know,” Vegetta grits out – because he does. He knows that if Foolish finds out, he will still love him just the same, because he is lovely and perfect and so, so accepting of every single flaw that Vegetta was sure would be the one to finally send him running. But even still…
“Just what are you so hung up on?”
“My image, Roier, I can’t –”
Roier snorts, hand clapping over his mouth, and Vegetta feels his ears reddening. He huffs, crossing his arms.
“Pa, I hate to break it to you, but Foolish already knows you aren’t nearly as cool as you pretend you are,” counters Roier when he’s finished laughing at Vegetta, patting his arm consolingly. Vegetta huffs again. Logically, he agrees with what Roier is saying. Foolish knows that despite Vegetta’s reputation with the rest of the island, he is just as flawed as anyone else; he’s seem him just woken up, bedhead on full display; he’s seen him in the midst of full, eye-watering laughter, the kind that makes you choke unflatteringly; he’s seen him broken, when the ghosts of his past become too present – and he's stayed, throughout it all. So, logically, Vegetta knows that this won’t change anything. But…
“I want him to still think I’m cool about some things,” he mutters, feeling a little like an insolent child – and embarrassed about it.
Roier snorts again. “Trust me, he does. We’ve all had to listen to him go on about how smart and handsome you are, and how you’re the best on the island, oh, Vegetta, there’s simply nobody better than you, oh, my love – ”
“Hey, slowpokes, catch up!” Yells Leo from up ahead, clearly put up to it by Foolish if the high five they share afterwards is anything to go by, and something quiet and fond within Vegetta’s chest melts at the sight of them. The moment of softness is quickly broken when Roier shouts an indignant insult back and shoots after them, causing Vegetta to have to quickly follow for fear of getting left behind. He was hoping to prolong the time before Foolish finds out about his secret for as long as possible, but – apparently he’ll have to face it now.
“Here we are,” Foolish declares as he takes in the wide expanse of ice in front of them. He crouches, sliding Leo carefully off his shoulders, and begins rummaging in his backpack, extracting hers and his own pairs of ice skates. As he situates her on his knee and begins helping her get the skates on, Vegetta feels panic rise within him.
He shoves Roier, who yelps and stumbles, having been on one foot getting his own skates on. “You have to help me,” he hisses, still in Spanish like their previous conversation. Roier looks at him incredulously, on the verge of bursting into laughter again, and he opens his mouth to respond – but Foolish gets there first.
“You need help, Vegetta? Those skates can be difficult, right? I can help you right after Leo, if you want.”
Fuck – why was Foolish learning Spanish, again? How on Earth is Vegetta supposed to talk without him understanding now? Roier succumbs to his laughter, and Vegetta flushes as he realises that he’s going to have to either admit his real problem or pretend that he really does need help with his ice skates – but Foolish’s eyes are so earnest, not a hint of judgement within them, and Vegetta melts.
“Thank you, Foolish,” he mutters, finding a nearby tree stump to sit down on and reaching down to tug his skates from his backpack. Foolish grins in response, turning back to Leo to finish tying her laces. When he’s done, he makes his way cheerily over to where Vegetta sits, and Vegetta valiantly pushes through the sight of Foolish knelt in front of him, adjusting and tying his skates for him, golden cheeks a little darker with the cold, eyes bright, hands adept. He ignores the way Roier is clearly still laughing at him from behind Foolish’s back before he gets tugged into a snowball fight with Leo, and instead reaches down to take Foolish’s face between his hands and plant a kiss atop his nose. He swears he sees the other man’s cheeks flush even darker as he grins and surges up to steal a kiss from Vegetta’s lips, too.
“Thank you, my love.”
“No problem, mi amor,” Foolish responds against Vegetta’s mouth, erasing that tiny centimetre between them to kiss him again. Vegetta can’t help but laugh quietly, using his hold on Foolish’s face to pull him in again, and again, and then they’re kissing – really kissing – and Foolish’s arms are making their way up to rest on either side of where Vegetta is sat atop the tree stump, hands gentle at his sides, and their lips are cold but warming up fast as their breaths dance between them – and, oh, what was Vegetta so worried about? It’s a distant memory now; all he can focus on is Foolish, here, with him, allowing his lower lip to be pulled between Vegetta’s –
“Ow –”
“What the fuck –”
Foolish reaches behind his head, brushing off the remnants of snow from the snowball that had no doubt just been thrown by either one of their giggling children behind him. Vegetta shakes his head, reaching up to feel his now slightly swollen lip where Foolish had accidentally bitten down on it as his head jerked forward.
“Fuck, are you alright? I’m sorry,” Foolish worries, reaching up to brush a thumb across the injury.
Vegetta simply shakes his head. “Don’t worry,” he reassures him, switching his attention to the little shits behind him. “It was not your fault.”
Moving to stand up, Foolish following him, he tries to take a step forward – and stumbles, forgetting he’s wearing ice skates. Roier bursts into laugher while Leo hurries forward, reaching a hand out to steady him, but clearly muffling giggles of her own. Luckily, there’s a quick arm around his waist, pulling him firmly against a warm, steady body, and a low huff of breath in his ear as Foolish holds him close.
“Okay?” He asks, and – no, actually, Vegetta isn’t okay, because he’s about to lose what little dignity he had left. But he simply nods, reassures Foolish that he is fine, and resigns himself to his fate.
It only gets worse from there.
“Hey, look, I’m actually good at this! Holy shit, look at me, I’m awesome!”
Vegetta stares, aghast, as Foolish glides across the ice, more graceful than he’s ever seen him, beaming smile on his face as he whoops victoriously. This man, who’s clumsy and messy; who fell off a tower because Vegetta kissed him – he is somehow some sort of ice skating prodigy, balance perfect as he manages to come to a perfect halt, back in front of Vegetta.
“I was good, right?” He asks, breathless, eyes bright with the hope that he’s done something impressive, and it’s all Vegetta can do to nod, smiling weakly. In response, Foolish cheers, leaning forward to kiss Vegetta quickly as if he can’t help it, and then leans down to scoop Leo up, somehow keeping his balance throughout. The two of them glide away, Foolish spinning their little one through the air to her obvious delight before carefully helping her skate on her own, and – oh, for fuck’s sake, she’s actually doing it.
“Well,” Roier declares, stepping onto the ice himself. “Good luck, Pa.”
“No, don’t – help me,” Vegetta hisses, but Roier is gliding away, a little less graceful than Foolish but still relatively balanced, gesturing that he can’t hear Vegetta the further away he gets, the little shit.
Fuck.
Looking out at his family having the time of their lives together, Vegetta realises – this is it. This is his opportunity. Maybe – maybe now, he can get his balance while they’re all distracted. Yes, of course, if he just gets on with it, it’ll be fine – and, really, he’s probably misremembering how difficult it is. If even his youngest can manage it, surely it’ll be a piece of cake.
He steps onto the ice.
“Woah –”
“Vegetta –!”
Thump.
…Fuck.
“I’m fine,” Vegetta grumbles as icy moisture seeps through to his skin. He grimaces, resolutely trying to ignore the way Roier has fallen, too – but only because he’s laughing so hard he can’t stand anymore. If he pushes aside his humiliation, he can admit that, yes, it is a funny sight – the mighty Vegetta, falling on his ass as soon as he tries to put even a little of his weight on the ice – but as it is, he simply huffs, cheeks burning, and tries to push himself up – only to crash back down again, wincing as his backside no doubt bruises.
“Vegetta! Are you okay?”
“Fine,” repeats Vegetta flatly, staring with resigned disbelief as Foolish speeds towards him effortlessly, holding Leo with one arm, and comes to a controlled stop while crouching down to be on his level. As soon as they are close enough, a hand comes out to touch Vegetta’s cheek, an absentminded, affectionate gesture born of concern, and the white-hot humiliation within Vegetta’s throat calms to a simmer. It’s still there, though, pushing Vegetta to avoid Foolish’s eyes, and Foolish seems to notice this, carefully letting Leo go – after making sure she is stable – and situating himself to pull Vegetta upright. For a moment, the awful thought flashes through Vegetta’s head – what if Foolish can’t get him up, even as incredibly talented as he apparently is at ice skating, and so Vegetta is just left here on the ice, and then the rest of his family go and have a great time without him, and they laugh at him, and they decide he isn’t worth their time –
A quiet gasp escapes Vegetta’s lips as Foolish hoists him upright, quick and easy, like it’s no effort at all. Immediately, instinctively, hands attach themselves to Foolish’s sleeves, grip painful with how tight it is, and the arms at Vegetta’s waist pull him closer in response, sensing the panic coming from the shorter man. The ice feels like an enemy beneath Vegetta’s feet, purposely trying to make a fool of him, beckoning him closer as his skates skid against it like a newborn faun.
“Hey, hey – it’s okay, I’ve got you. You’re okay,” Foolish says quietly, something small and for Vegetta only, and – he relaxes, pulled close against a warm, safe body, the arms around his waist strong and sure.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, still avoiding Foolish’s eyes. He knows his cheeks are burning, and he just hopes that Foolish blames it on the cold.
“For what?” Foolish asks, and Vegetta furrows his brow, confused. For embarrassing myself in front of you, for being an inconvenience, for – “For giving me an excuse to come over here and hug you?”
Vegetta huffs a breath of reluctant laughter, incredulous. “Stupid,” he mutters, feeling affection bloom somewhere behind his ribcage, and Foolish laughs, squeezing Vegetta closer to him.
He moves, then, sliding backwards just a little. “Come on, let’s –”
“Don’t let go of me,” Vegetta interrupts suddenly, voice louder than he intended, infused with panic – and then he realises what he’s done and bites his tongue. Foolish hadn’t even loosened his grip, and Vegetta had gone and embarrassed himself again just because they moved a single centimetre – how can he hope to ever hold onto any scrap of his dignity now? Surely, it’s at this point that Foolish tires of him, and decides he’d have a lot more fun if he just left him at the edge of the ice, damp and humiliated?
“Vegetta.”
Something in Foolish’s tone makes Vegetta look up. When he does, Foolish looks just the same as he always has: open, earnest, and so, so in love, in a way that even the sum of Vegetta’s doubts struggle to deny.
“I won’t let go of you. Ever.”
Something tells Vegetta that he isn’t just talking about the ice skating.
So, slowly, Vegetta nods, and allows himself to be pulled further onto the ice, and although his feet skid gracelessly, and his knees shake as nerves drain them of strength, and his fingers turn numb from his hard he holds on, Foolish never, ever lets go.