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Three Seeds
“Here!”
In the corner of Capsule Corporation’s backyard, underneath the setting sun, a rosy-cheeked little girl held out a chocolate covered stick. The faint scent of sugary perspiration pricked Trunks’ nose, and he lifted the book from his face just enough to make eye contact with her beaming grin.
“Is that for me?”
“Uh-huh! I gave a piece to everyone! But you get the last one, ‘cause mommy told me that the last bites are the best.”
Insistent, she pushed it towards him, and he sat up from the lounging chair tucked away in the far side of their house. He was too burnt out from juggling his newfound responsibilities to go along with his mother’s antics—if she wanted to throw a sweets party with the family friends, fine, just leave him out of it—but the expectant look in Pan’s eyes made him thaw. That she thought highly enough of Trunks to give him this much was heartwarming, especially considering her despondency from Goku’s recent departure.
Well. Maybe that was why.
“You sure you won’t regret it? Once I take it, it’s gone.”
“Eat it, eat it,” she chanted, bouncing on her toes. “And then give me your chocolate, too!”
“I’d like to, but I didn’t bring any. Why don’t we do this—” He broke the pocky stick in half, handing her the larger chocolate-covered half and taking the top for himself, “Let’s split it. That way, we can both get what we want. Sounds good?”
She nodded and grabbed the biscuit from his hands. Waiting for him to take the first bite, she shoved half of it in her mouth, the smooth end sticking from her lips like a toothpick.
After he finished swallowing, she asked, “Did it taste good?”
“Sure did.”
“Then are you happy now?”
At that, Trunks did a double take.
“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be happy, Pan-chan?”
Pan’s head tilted slightly, her large, too-bright eyes staring into his own. Then, as if she was satisfied with what she saw, she giggled, skipping back to her friends as if all was right in the world. The whole interaction felt out-of-the-blue, but strangely welcome. Somehow, her innocent act of kindness sucked the exhaustion right out of his bones.
It was after the event was over that Trunks realized a three-year-old child had more pity for his condition than his parents did.
And to be honest, he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
Six Halves
It became a tradition since then.
Every year, the Briefs Family held a sweets party—a day where Valentine’s Day met White Day—and they invited all their friends, family, and now their business partners. What was originally an intimate get-together between three families became a gargantuan event that just happened to coincide with Capsule Corporation’s biggest sales day of the year.
Trunks never wanted to become the CEO of Capsule Corporation, and he definitely didn’t want to use his only day off to play house with a bunch of dignitaries that only liked him because of his uncanny ability to seal deals and his mother’s influence. But—again—he didn’t really have much of a choice. As it was, he was in deep waters with his father, who made his disdain for Trunks’ lack of training clear in no uncertain terms.
So, it was a bit of fresh air to see a now taller, still rosy-cheeked Pan riding on her uncle’s back, screaming at the top of her lungs. He barely ever babysat her nowadays; now that he was expected to run his mother’s business, that responsibility fell to Goten and Chichi. But they still ran into each other once in a while, this event being one of those times.
After Goten twirled her around, Pan’s eyes caught his, and she pushed herself off from Goten’s back, running towards Trunks with a bright grin on her face. She threw her arms around one leg and clung to him, unaware of the scandalized gasps around her.
“Tora-chu-jii-san! I found you!”
Amused, Trunks huffed a laugh. He smoothed down her messy hair with a gentle hand, and she beamed at him.
“It’s Trunks-san, Pan-chan, To-ran-ku-su. Didn’t I tell you to sound out your words?”
“But your name is really hard to say. Can’t I just call you Tora-jii-san?”
“You just want your uncle to make fun of me, don’t you.”
“Uncle Goten already makes fun of you,” she giggled, her cheek pressing into his knee. “He says you’re lame because you don’t have a girl-friend.”
“Pan—”
“—But I can be your friend! Here,” she pushed an open package of chocolate bunnies into his stomach. “They’re my favorite, so eat them all, okay?”
As quickly as she found him, she ran back to her family—to Goten and his new lover. He could faintly hear her say, “I made Tora-chu-jii-san cool, just like you! Did you see, Uncle Goten? I’m his first ever girl-friend!”
When Goten cackled at his expense, Trunks ran his hands through his hair, enduring an uncomfortable mixture of abashment and exasperation. He tried to have an about-face with his mother’s clients, but remained largely unsuccessful for the remainder of the evening. Much to his surprise, they seemed to take more of an interest in him.
“That’s sweet of you to take such good care of your family,” one businessman said kindly towards the end of the night. “Was that little girl your cousin?”
“Well, something like that,” Trunks answered carefully. “Our family’s pretty big.”
Another businesswoman offered to procure venture capital just to support projects for children like Pan. Every mistake he made that night seemed to turn into success—the entire reason his mother invited them in the first place.
Businesses just love to feed off human veneer, his mother explained later over a bottle of champagne and chocolate, and they love to feel special, included. So, get used to this, Trunks. You’ll be in the spotlight a lot more in the future.
But Trunks didn’t feel the burn he thought he would. No; he couldn’t taste the bitterness from his mother’s manipulation at all.
The taste of chocolate bunnies saturated his mouth.
Nine Hearts
It was after a particularly long day at the company that Trunks received the worst shock of his life in the most unexpected way.
“…I like you.”
Nervously bouncing from foot to foot, Pan fidgeted in his living room, her hands tucked behind her back. It had been a while since she visited; Bulla and Pan primarily trained near Mount Paozu, and when they weren’t training, they went window-shopping in East City. There was never really a reason for Pan to interact with Trunks anymore, so for a few years, other than warm platitudes, they really hadn’t.
Until now.
But Pan was still his best friend’s niece. Furthermore, she unknowingly saved him when he was in some of his worst funks.
So instead of blowing her off, he leaned back in his chair and said casually, “I like you too, Pan-chan. But what’s this, all of a sudden? Did something happen?”
She shook her head vigorously and gnawed at her lower lip.
“No. No, I mean, it’s not that type of like, I mean—ugh—I like you. Like, like, you. The kind of like Uncle Goten feels for Shelia.” Then, shyly, she met his gaze, a hesitantly hopeful gleam in those big, dark eyes that’s always looked up to him. Asking him wordlessly if he felt the same—if he could feel the same.
And honestly? He panicked. Because what was he supposed to do? How could he let her down without making her upset? How could he even explain to her that she was nine and he was old, and she probably had her signals mixed?
His laugh sounded off-kilter even to him, and Pan stiffened, her shoulders tensing. She braced for impact even before he opened his mouth.
“That’s really sweet, Pan-chan. Thank you. But I think you might be a little too young to understand how Goten feels towards his girlfriend.”
Her jaw tensed.
“…Are you serious?”
“It’s not that I’m saying you don’t like me,” Trunks added quickly, his hands automatically raising in a placating gesture. “I’m just saying that maybe—”
“—I’m too immature to ‘get’ it, right? That maybe I’m mistaking love for something else.”
And before Trunks could backpedal, apologize and rephrase it differently, kindlier, Pan’s cheeks were already streaked with angry, frustrated tears. Finally, her hands reappeared from her back. It was just long enough for Trucks to barely dodge an object she hurled straight for his face.
“I’m not a child! You want proof? Fine. I’ll show you exactly how much experience I have.”
She stomped out of his house with the irascibility of a prepubescent preteen and the strength to match, ignoring everything and everyone until she was out the front gate.
Sighing, Trunks tilted his head back and kneaded his temples with one hand, the other groping around for the object Pan threw at him. When he found it, his heart ached.
It was a completely untouched heart-shaped chocolate; his name was printed in fancy gold cursive on the package. With her allowance money, she bought this especially for him.
And just like the contents inside, Trunks carelessly crushed her feelings.
Ten Scoops
Six months later, Goku came back in all his buoyant glory—young, carefree, and not giving a damn in the world about anything. Not that he was reduced to a near-helpless child, not that his wife, pushing fifty, was painfully reminded of Goku’s seeming immortality, and just barely that the world could combust in a year if he didn’t gather the Dragon Balls.
By God, for once, Trunks just wanted to do what he wanted. But the taste of freedom was never on the menu.
Instead, he found himself in the uncomfortable position of confronting Pan of all people, and she had absolutely no intention of hiding her feelings.
No longer was he “Tora-chu-jii-san” or “Jii-san” or “Tora-jii”—he was just Trunks. After all these years of teaching her the right way to say his name, she finally did—only to add no honorifics, no courtesy, no respect. It wasn’t impudence she was aiming for; it was intimacy. In no uncertain terms, she wanted to make it clear: you will see me as an equal, whether you want to or not.
It was a little after Planet Lood that Trunks realized that he had capitulated and grown accustomed to it, accustomed to Pan’s fussing, demanding nature. But it was only when he was strategizing alongside Gill using her ignorance as bait that he realized he was quite demanding in his own right. It was a quiet, dark place that no one had ever reached before, no one but her.
And here she was, cooking something sweet for them, unaware of how he would later hurt her.
“Trunks,” Pan, wearing the dainty pink apron that had been stashed away in the storage area, leaned into his space. Her cheek was smeared with chocolate, her fingers dirty with powder. The earthy fragrance of herbs wafted into his nose.
“Try this out. Gill told me the other batch was too sweet, but I think this tastes fine.”
Trunks swallowed, his eyes carefully sliding away from her and back towards the flickering control panel.
“Maybe a little later. I need to run an emergency maintenance check—we took a heavy hit during our last fight.”
“Oh, come on, it’ll just take a second,” Pan grumbled, grabbing his face with one hand and shoving a spoon between his lips with the other. Immediately, a sweet-sour-spicy-salty combination busted in Trunks’ mouth, smiting his molars and stabbing his tongue. Shoving her away from him, he coughed harshly, tears prickling his eyes.
“What is that?”
“What else do you think it is? Chocolate! It’s that time of the year again, so I thought that when we returned home, I could give one to everyone…” She considered his visceral reaction, her own growing sullen. “But I guess I’ll have to work on it a bit more before I can give the other one to Papa and the others.”
“…Don’t you feel bad at all for making me your guinea pig?”
“Why should I? You didn’t feel bad when you rejected me so harshly back then.”
“That’s—”
“Well! Time to try again.” Pivoting on her heel, she hummed to herself as she returned to the kitchen, creating a trail of dripping chocolate behind her. It was an absolute mess, and Trunks resigned himself to cleaning it after he was done with preparations on his side.
And then he happened to look on the side of his seat and found even more chocolate. Five uneven little squares were left in an abandoned ceramic bowl, a pool of liquid sugar surrounding them. A bamboo pick was abandoned just next to the control panel, adjacent to a cup of a weird milk and jasmine concoction. It looked inedible.
It was the remainder of Pan’s bittersweet feelings for him, proof that her feelings were still true.
And even though he knew he would get sick later, Trunks ate every last bit of it, hoping it would drown out the twinges of guilt.
Thirteen Minutes
It was said that time healed all wounds. Trunks came to find out that wasn’t quite true. Time only created a thin layer of protection, easily breached, easily torn. Only by protecting it with an even stronger adhesive could that wound heal.
The Briefs and Sons weren’t quite the same after Goku’s departure. Rather—his father and Pan weren’t the same, and that sentiment echoed throughout their households. Like everyone else, Trunks took it for granted that Goku would come back in another five, ten years, but not them. It was like a part of them died that day, almost three years ago.
In a strange turn of events, the two of them turned to each other for comfort.
Like today. Today, the Briefs and Sons were scheduled to visit Kame House for Marron’s 23rd birthday. Instead, Trunks watched from the surveillance system as they sparred for hours in the gravity room, sweat rolling down their clavicles, soaking into their gi. In the last three years, Pan had trained enough with him, Bulla, and Trunks to evolve into a Super Saiyan 2—enough to at least prove to be a challenge.
“Again,” his father barked at Pan, who was wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Your speed has grown sluggish. Is this the best you can do, girl?”
Trunks’ gaze sharpened as she swallowed, slapped her cheeks, and readjusted her stance. Her pinned-up hair, which had grown down to the center of her shoulder blades, stuck wetly to her clothes, to her jawbone. She was losing too much water; if they kept this up, she would pass out before the hour was over.
“N-no way. I’m ready to continue, Uncle Vegeta!”
Pressing the communications key, Trunks immediately interjected.
“Maybe you can, but we can’t. Did you forget, father, that we have an appointment this evening?”
Vegeta gave Trunks a side-look, one that expressed all the disapproval with his son he’s bore for the past fifteen years.
“Tell your mother that she can do as she pleases. I will remain here.”
“You know mom won’t agree to that,” Trunks pointed out. “Not to mention that you and Pan-chan have been training nonstop for the past six hours. She’s going to pass out at this rate.”
“I’m fine, Trunks,” Pan snapped, her heated eyes settling on him. “Don’t use me as your excuse. It’s Uncle Vegeta’s decision whether he wants to stop or not, not yours. So don’t get in our way.”
Unsurprisingly, Trunks felt another headache coming on. He rubbed his eyes, exhaling deeply.
“Look. I get this is a stress reliever for you two. I’m not saying that you guys can’t spar; I’m saying to save it for later. We can do this the easy way,” he added when Pan was getting ready to make another retort, “or I can just shut it down from my side. It’s your choice.”
For a moment, Trunks was concerned they wouldn’t yield. But then Vegeta released his ki with a scowl. Arms crossed, he regarded his son, an unfamiliar gleam in his eyes.
“Become insolent now, have you.”
“No,” Trunks replied lightly. “I think I’ve always been this way.”
He released the communications key before he could see his father’s reaction to his quiet confession. Playing moderator between his family—between his father, his mother, his sister, and now Pan—finally took its toll on him, and he scrubbed his eyes vigorously. But his breakdown couldn’t have been timed worse; he felt Pan’s erratic ki approaching the door even before he saw her.
Something about him must have given her pause. Slowly, her ki was lowering, evening out, then dying all the way down to a muted grumble. Then he heard her footsteps.
She stopped right in front of him.
“…You can chew me out later, Pan-chan,” Trunks mumbled quietly, his face still covered by his hands. “Just—I just need some time alone.”
Against all hope, she didn’t leave him alone. Instead, she pried his hands off his face, holding his wrists lightly until their eyes met. Her expression, a mixture of irritation and hurt, morphed into soft concern. Her small hands reached for his face; he let her cup his cheeks.
“You’re such a crybaby,” she said, wiping away stray wetness that threatened to fall, “and a worrywart. I know my limits just fine, and I already told my parents I would meet them at the Kame House. For such a genius, you’re pretty dumb, Trunks.”
With a shaky laugh, Trunks conceded with a, “Maybe you’re right.”
Then came the part he didn’t realize he missed: from Pan’s back pocket came out out a small, foil ball. Releasing his face, she bent down, picked up the ball, and quickly unwrapped it. The scent of chocolate wafted through the control room. It didn’t look like any brand Trunks was familiar with.
“…is that for me?”
“What do you think?”
With the gracelessness Pan was known for, she shoved the ball past his lips, and his tongue accidentally caught the palm of her hand. She quickly released his mouth and stepped away from him.
“So, how is it?”
The chocolate ball rolled around in his mouth. It was cool to the touch—evident that she had stored it somewhere before sparring—smooth, and rich. It was sweet and savory, salty with a tinge of honey coating, and when he bit down, a burst of meaty barbeque conquered his tastebuds. It was exactly the flavor that happened to be his favorite, and his eyes widened in realization.
“You made this?”
Now jutting her chin with pride, Pan grinned at him.
“Much better than the last time, isn’t it? I worked really hard to get it right. But there’s only three, so you’d better savor it.”
With her other hand, Pan gave him the other two balls. Now in a much better mood than when she first stormed in, she bounded towards the door, but Trunks stopped her with the question that lingered in the back of his mind.
“Do you still like me? Even now?”
With her back towards him, he couldn’t gauge her expression. But he saw her shoulders hike up just slightly. It was enough to know that she was picking her words very, very carefully.
Finally, she evenly replied with, “I’m trying not to. You might be silly, Trunks, but I’m not. I know when I’m beat.”
Yet in complete contrast to her words, as soon as she left the control room, she lifted the hand that his tongue had grazed. Still glistening with his saliva, she rose it to her face.
The door stayed open long enough for Trunks to see her licking her palm, her tongue rolling around in tiny, tight circles, lapping away all the chocolate left behind as she walked away.
Strangely flustered, Trunks felt a wave of heat wash over him, piling until it created an obscene pool deep in his stomach.
Shame tinged the chocolate with pungent bitterness, and as soon as she was gone, he fled to his room—to the bathroom—to rinse his mouth and wash away with pain.
Yet even as his nails dug into his skin, the semi-sweet scent of chocolate filled his lungs amidst the steam.
Trunks cranked the knob until it was frigid and kept his head underneath the stream until his mind was blissfully blank.
He needed to get his act together. There was a party to attend.
Fifteen Degrees
Nowadays, Goten playfully accused him of being a manwhore.
Almost thirty, and Trunks had never had a single, steady girlfriend. But he was never afraid to date. He outgrew his sensitivity to women; their admiration became his strength. They threw themselves at him, and impartially, he accepted them with open arms.
They hugged. They cuddled. They even slept together.
But they never kissed. It never felt right; the scent that surrounded him never put him at ease—was always too strong or too floral.
Once, when Goten and Trunks were roughhousing in the gravity room, drunk from the aftereffects of their high school reunion, they had almost brushed lips. Goten smelled like sweat and that all-too familiar cologne, and they had been so close together, and his chest felt warm. (They never talked about it.) That was the closest Trunks ever got.
On the other hand, over the past two years, against Trunks’ best efforts, he and Pan had grown even closer together. They ate together. They sparred together. With Bulla in tow, they shopped together. Their paths crossed so many times—unintentionally, he insisted to Gohan at least once, when he and Videl happened to come across them in Satan City—that Pan just…stayed with the Briefs more often than not. With Bulla, when she wasn’t with her mysterious boyfriend. Or Vegeta, who more or less took on Pan as a pupil. Pan’s relationship with the Briefs—and with Trunks in particular—was nebulous, undefined. They were more than friends, less than family.
It created situations like the one he landed in on a too-quiet Saturday.
He was playing host to a nice woman, a young lady named Melody. Long, wavy hair, elegant fingers, dulcet voice, she was fragile, dainty, and kind. Soft spoken and meek, she had taken a leap of faith and asked Trunks out. Apparently, they had went to college together, and during their recent high school reunion, she heard he was single. She really liked his smile, she said, and the way he always held the door open for everyone.
If you’re not, um, with someone, she asked hesitantly, could you try going out with me?
At the time, there was no reason for Trunks to say no, so he accepted.
But now, just as they were cuddling in the loveseat, he suddenly felt Pan’s ki spike.
“What the hell, Trunks?”
Immediately, Melody startled, flinching away from him, but Trunks held fast to her waist. Rubbing soothing circles into Melody’s side, he fixed Pan with a look.
“I can say that right back at you. You can’t just come barging in when you feel like it.”
“Sure I can,” she retorted snippily, her hands on her hips. “I’m your partner.”
He could almost feel the blood draining from Melody’s face, and his grip tightened on her waist.
“My sparring partner,” he corrected, and then, for Melody’s benefit, added, “She’s studying martial arts with my father and I.”
Melody nodded slowly, but doubt was written all over her face. It was evident to both Pan and Trunks that for whatever reason, her trust in their newfound relationship was fragmented. That gap gave Pan just enough leeway to deal one final blow.
“Funny,” she said slowly, deliberately, “you weren’t saying that when you kissed me last week.”
It was a boldfaced lie, but Melody didn’t know that. Lip trembling, she pulled away from Trunks and stood to her feet. Her hair covered the tears streaming down her cheeks, but the scent of salt lightly dusted the air.
“I-I-I should go. Thank you for the invitation.”
Immediately, Trunks shot to his feet, making a grab for her arm. She flinched away from him as if he had slapped her.
“No, wait—”
“I think that would be for the best,” Pan interrupted crudely, standing between them. Quickly, Melody picked up her purse, swallowed a heart wrenching sob, and dashed out the front door. He could hear his grandmother’s voice faintly calling for her in the distance, but that too eventually faded. And Pan, whose shoulders trembled from the guilt, remained steadfast in place until Melody was fully and truly gone.
Then she turned around, coming face-to-face with Trunks’ indignation. Now, Melody was the last thing on his mind.
“Are you satisfied now?”
She glared at him, her chin jutting defiantly, daring him to judge her actions.
“No. But if I can’t be happy, neither can you.”
And for some reason, that got underneath Trunks’ skin.
“For God’s sake, Pan,” Trunks hissed, stepping well into her space, “you’re acting like a child!”
“Well, it’s just like you always say—I am a child, aren’t I? Impulsive and immature, never able to own up to the consequences. So what? What can you do to me? I’m pretty sure your girlfriend’s not coming back for you. And I won’t let you go back to her. You’ll have to go through me first.”
Without giving him a chance to pull away, she reached for his collar, yanking him close to her face.
“I’m sick and tired of dancing around this, Trunks. You, fucking every girl in sight after staying with me. I’m not stupid; I know exactly what you’re doing. And you know it too. Or what, don’t tell me you’re too cowardly to make the first move.”
It was like something snapped in him; without warning, he grabbed Pan by her shoulders and yanked her forward, smashing their lips together. It was not the gentle, sweet kiss he wanted to give to his special someone—it was rough, possessive, a battle of wills and sharp teeth. Forcing her head back, Trunks pressed his tongue forward, demanding entry, and Pan nipped his tongue before granting it.
Before he knew it, he was backing her into the loveseat and trapping her in with his arms, and she leaned up into his chest, taking what he had like a woman starved for affection. Her arms reached up and looped around his neck, tugging him down, and he leaned over her, his knee brushing against the insides of her thighs. He breathed in, smelling the chocolate and sweat and spices etched into her clothes, and stifled a groan. Now his mind a bit foggier, Trunks sucked the tip of Pan’s tongue, savoring the remnants of nutty chocolate and cake batter, likely what she had planned to give to him before she walked in on him.
And then he realized: the chocolate. This was Pan he was kissing—Pan, who just turned fifteen the other day, who was barely in high school and never had a stable boyfriend because they were always too scared by her boorish ways. Pan, who had given him chocolate once a year for twelve years straight, ever since she was three years old. Pan, who was his best friend’s niece and his mentor’s daughter. Pan, who he—
With a gasp, Trunks pushed her away, and a long string of saliva stretched between them before dripping on the chair. He took her in—her flushed cheeks, her disheveled clothes, her messy hair—and backed away quickly, his heart in his throat. His pants felt too tight and his shirt too itchy, but rather than his dignity, his first priority was getting away from her and regaining control of himself.
When she realized that he wasn’t going to continue, Pan reached out for him again.
“Trunks—”
“You should go for today,” Trunks said abruptly, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you, Pan-chan. There’s no excuse for it, and I promise I’ll make it up to you later.”
“But I don’t want you to make it up to me,” Pan cried. Her eyes were wide and wet, and Trunks felt remorse settle on his shoulders. He hated that he made her feel this way, but he hated more how hard it was for him to control himself. Pan was right; those other girls he dated were just desperate distractions, a vain hope that maybe he could become entrenched in someone else. He knew exactly how he felt for Pan.
Yet he knew they couldn’t be. There was no future for them, and he would not allow there to be.
Swallowing his desires, he turned away from her.
“A while ago,” Trunks said slowly, carefully, “I asked you if you still liked me. And back then, you said you were ‘trying not to’. So—let’s consider this a fresh start. Move on from me, Pan-chan, and I’ll do my best to give you your space. Alright?”
He knew he was breaking her heart again when she didn’t say anything else. It was just as well; Bulla happened to enter the living room just as he was leaving—apparently having just returned home, from the scent of burning wood on her—and made a beeline for Pan. He could feel the weight of his sister’s eyes on him, a million questions and ten accusations, but he ignored them all, retreating back to the comfort of his room.
Nineteen Loops
Trunks hadn’t realized how much time had passed until he received an invitation for Goten and Palace’s first baby shower.
Shortly after his official transition as the permanent Co-CEO of Capsule Corporation, Trunks relocated from his parents’ house to a modest apartment in Central City, which he came to the conclusion was better for business. More projects, more accessibility, more possibilities. For four years, he threw himself into his work, honing the skills that made him the perfect candidate to inherit the company. And although his mother often demanded his presence back home, once he explained that he “was in the middle of a very important deal with a prospective client,” she more often than not backed down. And as long as he kept his ki low, no one would come looking for him.
But now his best friend and his wife were celebrating their first child together, one month after birth. He had almost missed Goten and Palace’s wedding; to almost miss the baby shower as well would have been cruel.
Jaw set, Trunks sent a quick message to his secretary for a note of temporary absence, packed only his essentials, and flew back to his old home, to his family. The whole process took less than a day; he became efficient with all matters, and true to his upbringing, he kept up with his training. He had more than enough energy to fly around the globe several times over, if he had to.
Around sunset, he touched down in front of his old home. The gate was left open, creaking with the wind, but the lights were on. His mother, father, and sister were there.
And…so was Pan. Her ki oscillated weakly, but he could feel her.
With her ki came all the memories of their last time together, as if no time had passed at all.
Instinctively, Trunks took a step back, repressing his ki once more. He debated leaving, but thought better of it. They already knew he was here.
After locking the front gate, he brazenly unlocked the front door, and the welcoming scent of his father’s cooking wafted into his nose. Then came Bulla, who charged towards him like a bat out of hell.
“What kept you, you dork,” she sneered, punching his chest. “You were gone so long mom thought she lost her only son. Work’s really hitting hard nowadays, huh.”
“Nice to see you too,” Trunks replied sardonically, pulling her cheek so hard she whined. “Looks like you haven’t changed a bit. Where’s mom?”
“In the lab, as always. She’ll probably want to talk shop with you later.”
“Is that so. Well, I’ll be in my room for a while. Need to get settled in first. I’ll be around for a while this time.”
Sidestepping her, Trunks was heading towards his room when he noticed that Bulla was staring at him hard.
“…what is it?”
She pursed her lips, then cut her gaze, her eyes fixed on a spot on the floor.
“You already know, don’t you.” When he didn’t respond, she huffed, crossing her arms. “Both of you are ridiculous. Whatever, it’s not my business, after all.”
With a flip of her wrist, she brushed him off, and he went into his room—where Pan’s ki was strongest. Sure enough, when he opened his door, the scent of chocolate wafted in, and his mouth automatically watered.
There she was, lying on his bed, her long hair tied in a bun, arms exposed, bare legs dangling on the side, mouth gnawing on the chocolate end of a pocky stick. He considered the state of his room: candy wrappers thrown all over his floor, books haphazardly tossed around, shirts, bras, and panties raveled in the corners. And in the midst of this chaos, there she was, reading one of his old manuals. Even when she heard him approach, she didn’t stir.
“I didn’t know my room became a communal space.”
“I guess that’s your fault for running away and not coming back,” she replied evenly. “We thought your room was up for grabs.”
“You could have at least kept my room clean.”
“Not my responsibility. I wasn’t planning on staying here much longer, anyways.”
“You look quite comfortable for someone who ‘wasn’t planning on staying much longer.’”
At that, she finally gazed up at him, and he took in her sullen expression. Gone was the brilliant gleam that once brightened her face. Contrarily, Pan looked worse for wear; she had dark sags under her eyes, and her mouth was set in a grim line. She looked like she hadn’t slept in months.
He didn’t have to ask. He knew that her poor condition was all his fault.
“…I thought I told you to move on.”
“Who says I haven’t?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?” She ignored him, so he continued. “You’re in my room, half-clothed, on my bed, reading my books. If I were anyone else, I would have taken that as an invitation.”
“Just try it, then.” Slamming the book shut, Pan faced him and tilted her head back. With daisy dukes on, and with spaghetti straps sliding off her shoulders, a great deal of skin was exposed. She was, in the most vulgar sense, presenting herself to him. As if she was only worth that much to him.
And when that familiar pang of guilt thrummed in his chest, he knew that even though he left, all he did was delay the inevitable. Nothing changed between them, nothing at all.
He stooped down before her, reached for her, gently wrapped her in his arms.
And like he wanted to do all those years ago, he apologized and told her all the words he held back. The words she had always wanted to hear.
Before long, Pan trembled, heaving a long, deep sigh, and then clung to him, her cool arms wrapping around his waist. It started off as a trickle, then a sniffle, and then she started sobbing. And maybe Trunks was tearing a bit too, because everything became blurry, wet, and messy, and the words that he withheld for so long tumbled out faster and faster. With every confession spoken, she sobbed louder and more beautifully, her tears returning her pale complexion to the rosiness Trunks had come to love.
This time, Trunks was the one who gingerly wiped the wetness away.
“Now who’s the crybaby,” he teased lightly, and she grinned weakly at him. Shimmying away from him, Pan grabbed the last pocky stick in the box and pointed the chocolate end towards him.
“It’s still you,” she said, and he huffed out a laugh, accepting the chocolate stick in his mouth. She took the other end between her teeth, and the two of them slowly ate the last piece, closing the gap between them.
In the end, it was Trunks who took the last bite, erasing the barrier between the two of them altogether.