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Gohan didn’t really like being around Trunks.
Not that there was anything wrong with Trunks himself. The time traveler was nice enough, at least compared to everything he had been through. If Gohan had watched his mentor be slaughtered and had to leave behind his timeline, he would have become a lot colder; after everything that had happened on Namek, it took him a long time to feel proper with people again. Yet the purple-haired teenager was always seen to be upbeat, ready to tackle the androids and all the problems they caused, smiling at the sky like he couldn’t believe it was still there.
It was being around Trunks that left him on edge. Whenever they were together, even in group settings, Gohan would feel an itch on his skin and look over to see Trunks looking at him. Sure, the teenager always looked away quickly, trying to pretend as if it didn’t happen, but Gohan was quick. He could always tell when something watched him ever since his training with Picciolo; in the brush, with nothing but jagged fingernails and bared teeth, such a skill was necessary. And so Gohan could tell every time it happened, and it left him feeling itchy and uncomfortable, even if Trunks was perfectly fine.
Gohan tried not to think anything of it; with the androids threatening the world, and then Cell, he had much bigger problems than a teenager with a staring problem. He had to focus on getting stronger, becoming a super Sayian, reaching for a father that he never seemed to touch. The world was ending. Being comfortable didn’t matter when the world was ending.
But then the Cell Games and the preceding days leading up to it provided much more free time than Gohan knew what to do with. Part of him wanted to shake all of the adults until their bones rattled out of their noses; the world was ending! How could they sit and watch TV when it was all falling apart? A part of him was clawing to fight, to rip something with his teeth until all of his anxiety and fear turned bloody. And it was very difficult to ignore that part of him when sitting on the dinner table as his mother cooked dinner and Trunks was, once again, looking at him.
“Thank you for stopping by, Trunks,” his mother said cheerfully; she was another person who seemed immune to the horror that would soon fall upon all of them. “I told you that my food is the best there is, and now you’ll see for yourself!”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Trunks smiled back, his eyes leaving Gohan as if they had never been there. Gohan’s left hand underneath the table closed, his round fingernails biting into his skin. He wished they were jagged.
Gohan once asked Vegeta what parts of him were human and what parts of him were Sayian. The prince had just looked at him like a worm, as he always did, and said that whatever refused to act, to tear and devour, were nothing but weakness. Human. Right now, he felt an instinct to grab every bowl that his mother was putting on the table, snarling at the other Sayian so he could be fed. It was an instinct he only felt with his father and, whenever he was around, Vegeta. Yet this time he felt more inclined to follow it, watching Trunks take a bit of food with that smile of his. His mother would disapprove, but at least she would say something. Why wasn’t anyone saying anything?
“This is amazing,” Trunks exclaimed, quickly devouring his mother’s delicious dumplings. Gohan grabbed some of his own, making sure to have five bowls to Trunk’s four. “Truly the best food I’ve had since I’ve been in this timeline.”
“Oh, thank you!” His mother stood by the table happily, wiping her hands on her apron. “I’ve thought of having my own restaurant, but alas, my boys keep me busy.”
Trunks blinked at her as if he didn’t understand, but then nodded. “Of course. I’m sure you’d be a great one.” Even then he sounded unsure. Maybe people didn’t open restaurants in the future. Who would be the clientele?
“Gohan!” his mother said loudly, grabbing his attention. Her expression was stern, pointed. “Don’t make a mess when you eat, and wipe your mouth. I didn’t make all this food for it to end up on my floor.”
Gohan obeyed, taking her orders easily. It was easy to listen to Mom. Where another kid might rebel against such strict parenting, it made sense to him. Left the instincts quiet.
For all his dislike, Trunks seemed to think the same. He followed her orders as well, making sure to keep his space clean even when they were done with dinner.
“Why don’t you boys go out?” his mother suggested, looking at the house she still had to clean. While Gohan tried to help, his super Sayian strength made everyday tasks difficult; he lost count of how many plates he’d broken. “There’s a wonderful ice cream place a few miles from here. A quick fly, you boys deserve it.”
The thought of spending alone time with Trunks, especially around food, made his stomach seize. “Mom, wouldn’t you rather I—”
“I’m not having you break any more of my plates with that delinquent power of yours,” she shot back, narrowing her eyes at his blond hair. Gohan wished she didn’t hate his super Saiyan form so much. Sure, it was unnerving to see blue eyes staring back at him in the mirror, but his mother had been treating him like he had done something wrong all week. God forbid he do his best to save the world, the one that was ending soon. And why did Trunks keep staring at him?
“Ice cream sounds nice,” Trunks said diplomatically, looking between the two. In a joking kind of voice, “I don’t think I ever been to an ice cream parlor, so that’s something to scratch off the bucket list.”
“Oh, you must go!” His mother gasped, hand over her heart. “Enjoy it while you can, dear. The ice cream at Londo’s is incredible.” With a pointed look to him, “Gohan, take your friend to Londo’s this instant.”
Another order, one that he usually wouldn’t feel resistant to, yet his skin itches uncomfortably. “Okay, Mom.”
“And change your clothes, it’s chilly outside.”
“Mom—”
“And put the beanie on to hide your hair. Can’t have the people and Londo’s think you’re a delinquent.”
Feeling his face heat up, he stomped over to his room to do what she said, ignoring how she ruffled his hair as he walked past. Now that was just embarrassing.
One wardrobe change and a beanie later, he and Trunks were flying to Londo’s. He purposely avoided looking at the teenager, hoping that behavior would catch on. It did not.
“Your mom is pretty strict,” his flying partner said with a smile, trying to start a conversation as they passed some clouds. “Reminds me of my mom.”
“She used to be even worse,” Gohan said. It would have been weird to ignore him, and he was still miffed at his mom. “Once, she refused to let me wear anything but red on New Years. Said we needed all the luck we could get.”
“My mom never did that, but she definitely made me change my clothes a few times before I went out. Can’t be out causing trouble,” Trunks said back, seeming happy to finally start a conversation with him.
He ended it quickly, however, looking down to see Londo’s below them. “We’re here,” he said simply, and landed nearby so no one could see. Trunks followed after. Still looking.
“I’m excited to try this ice cream,” Trunks said as they walked in, looking around as if they had just stepped on the moon. Eyes wide, not recognizing the scenery around him. It was a nice enough Italian restaurant, filled with people who didn’t care that the world was ending. Gohan picked vanilla as his flavor, not bothering to look through any of the options. Who cared about flavors when there was so much more to think about? Trunks followed suit, looking unsure with all the variety of colors and flavors. And then they sat down at a booth, ice cream in bowls down on the table. And Trunks was still looking at him.
His skin crawling, nails against his palm and jaw clenched, that animal side of him hissed out. Begging to tear and devour and jump away with his ice cream in hand. Begging to do something, anything. So he did.
“What’s your problem?!”
Trunks blinked in surprise, spoon in his hand. “What?”
“I asked what your problem is.” Gohan gripped his spoon tighter, knowing he was being irrational. Yet he just didn’t care anymore. “Why are you looking at me all the time? And before you say that you don’t, I know you do. I can tell. It’s really annoying and I want to know why you won’t stop.”
“Oh.” Trunks’ eyes widened, looking genuinely surprised. A moment later he looked embarrassed, ears going a bit red as he looked to the side. “Have I really been—sorry. It’s just…” Trunks looked back at him, vulnerability showing instead of anger and teeth. He didn’t think—well, the voices in his head had expected to start biting, even though he knew that was stupid and not even close to human. He wasn’t expecting the sadness in Trunks’ eyes, or the way he kept staring at his spoon. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I can’t help it, honest.”
Gohan suppressed his instincts, the ones that were so embedded in him, and tried to keep his voice diplomatic. It seemed wrong to be angry with someone looking so forlorn. “What do you mean?”
“Well…you hold your spoon just like him.” Trunks gestured out to Gohan’s spoon, which he was indeed holding his ice cream.
Something clicked in Gohan’s head, and he looked at Trunks in surprise. “You mean—”
“Yeah.” He didn’t need to say anything else; Trunks had already told him that Gohan had served as his mentor in the future, that they were close and that Gohan had even given his life for him. “I know you’re not him,” Trunks said quickly, “not really. It’s just…” Trunks trailed off for a bit, trying to find the words. Instead, he settled on, “It’s a lot, sometimes.”
“I know,” Gohan said, thinking he had to say something. But then he added, “I mean, I don’t, not really. But I’ve lost people too.” Scenes played in his head like a never ending play, actors falling into the pit instead of bowing. “I don’t know if that’s the same though.”
“It’s not just that though,” Trunks said, rushing a bit. “It’s the way you fly too. You push off the ground the same. And the way you scratch your head—that’s classic Gohan. Picking at your noodles, smiling with your teeth, closing your hands into fists when you’re uncomfortable—it’s all there. He’s right there.” Something new was in his voice now, something deeper than Gohan could decipher. But he knew loss when he heard it. In the silence, Trunks said, “When I look at you, he feels…here. Alive.”
Gohan’s grip on his spoon loosened as he watched Trunks try to collect himself, shame hitting him harder than one of Vegeta’s punches. Of course he reminded Trunks of his mentor. To think that this whole time, he had been a living ghost to the teenager in front of him. He knew that if he saw a young Piccolo when he was dead, he wouldn’t stop staring at him either. “Oh,” was all he could say, something finally crowding out the hissing and the tearing. Something sympathetic and kind. “I didn’t know.”
“It’s not your problem,” Trunks said, his earlier vulnerability pushed off his face. “I just need to—it’s difficult to process now. It’ll be easier when it’s over, you know?”
“When it’s over,” Gohan snorted, glad to have something to be angry at. “When it’s over. Why do people keep saying that? Like the world isn’t ending.” He stared down at his vanilla ice cream, colorless and boring. “There’s so much we can do and we’re doing this.”
Trunks laughed, laughed! As if what Gohan said was hilarious, right then. “Now that’s not like him. You’re much antsier.”
“Of course I am,” Gohan snapped, furrowing his brow. “How can you not be? How can any of the adults pretend that this is normal?”
“What’s the alternative? Screaming and crying for a week?” Trunks raised an eyebrow, not impressed by Gohan’s words.
“Something! Anything!” Gohan put his spoon down on the table, glad to finally have a way to vent his frustrations. “How can people stand it?! How can anyone here just eat Italian food when the world is ending?!” Namek exploding, Dende crying, his mother holding him tight, his father screaming—how could anyone pretend the world wasn’t like it was before, before, before?
“I think that’s the Saiyan side of you talking,” Trunks remarked, taking a bite of his vanilla ice cream. “Let me guess, you also want to steal my food away from me and destroy something?”
“I—what? How did you—”
“Because I'm half Sayian too. If there’s anyone in the world who knows what you’re feeling, I do. That’s what Gohan—my Gohan used to tell me. He also told me that those feelings were best expressed outside.”
“So you're feeling anxious too?” Gohan said, still surprised. Yet also hopeful, desperate for someone who made sense.
“Of course I am. Cell is going to try and kill us all, and we just have to wait. Of course I’m anxious. I think I want to tear apart every adult who’s fighting with us,” Trunks laughed.
“Wait, so do I!” Gohan stood up straighter, excited. “Do you hate loud noises? Like when a tree falls down?”
“Absolutely. And radio static.”
“The taste of eels?
“Yeah!” Trunks conferred. “My mom cooked it once for me and it made me sick for a week. Grass?”
“It’s unnerving. All the other kids thought I was so weird for preferring the rocky part of the playground.”
“Me too. Climbing things!”
“It’s so much fun!” Gohan said, now smiling. He couldn’t believe it—here was another kid who actually understood him, who actually went through a similar childhood. “I spent a whole week in the trees once. My mom threw my food up into the air.”
“Lucky! Isn’t it weird that the urge to climb went away though?”
“You’re right,” Gohan said, suddenly aware that he hadn’t climbed any trees recently compared to his fanatic younger self. “Do you think it’s only for younger Saiyans?”
“You spent more time with Saiyans, you tell me,” Trunks took another bite, also smiling. “It’s not like there’s any we could ask.”
“I wish there were. This is nice.” Gohan picked up his spoon again, the tension from before leaving him. “Maybe if there’s enough of us someday we can start a club. Half Saiyans and trying to understand all the alien behaviors.”
“If the world doesn’t end,” Trunks said, and Gohan smiled.
“If the world doesn’t end.” Looking down at his untouched, melting ice cream, Gohan said, “It’s nice to see that someone else is going through the same thing. That you're…worried too.” Not just worried but furious. Wanting to tear and eat and destroy.
“Of course. You’re not alone. That’s what—”
“Gohan used to tell you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I guess I had some pretty great advice.” Gohan tried to take a deep breath. “Do you remember anything that can help with the world ending?”
“Not particularly,” Trunks replied, seeming a bit sorrowful on that front. “But we can talk about it. Go over plans and detail what we can do, train every moment of every day until the Cell Games start. Or…”
“What?”
“Or we can just eat ice cream.” Trunks smiled at him one last time, and finally Gohan understood. Trunks was trying to get him to enjoy the time he had left. The time before the world ended. To not devour, but eat. Savor. Live.
What’s more human than that?
“Yeah,” Gohan said, staring down at his vanilla ice cream, suddenly wishing he had picked something else. Maybe something new. “We can eat ice cream.”
“Someday. Because I don’t think you’re ever going to eat that.”
“I am! Watch, I’m eating it.”
“If you’re not going to eat it, I’m taking it.”
“Don’t, don’t, I’m eating, see!” Gohan took a huge spoonful and stuck it in his mouth, watching as Trunks chuckled at his spiteful look. Unable to help it, he giggled back, finally feeling real connection to the only other person like him.
“If you don’t eat all of it in twenty—”
“Don’t you dare touch my food, Trunks.”
“You gonna turn into a monkey and stop me?”
“I’ll make you wish I was a monkey, that’s how badly I’ll beat you.”
“Now that’s something my Gohan would never say,” Trunks replied, seeming upbeat.
“Because I’m not him.”
“No. You’re not. You’re a thirteen year old boy who can’t even eat his ice cream before it melts.”
“I'm eating it!”
“That’s it, I’m taking it—”
“Go away!”
And then they were arguing and laughing, the strange mix of Sayian and human that they were. And for once, his Sayian side didn’t seem so loud. Instead, he felt connected to something else, something that kept him smiling as Trunks tore off his beanie and as they flew home. Something that told him it was okay to appreciate the time he had left, to savor these moments. It was the human part of him. With round fingernails and short teeth and new friends. The side that giggled and cared and smiled at the sky.
And made ice cream so delicious.