Trunks sat on the bed, back facing the rest of the room as he stared at the wall. Not seeing; just staring. His gaze never wavered, never moved from one position to dwell over another. Just a basic stare into the epitome of nothingness. His face told nothing of the storm that raged behind his eyes, speaking and betraying nothing of the novels that could write themselves if only given a glimpse into his turbid thoughts. His lips were swollen and reddened, held in a slight pout as he just stared at the off-white wall.
He swallowed hard, choking back the bile and dryness in his throat. A shaky sigh made its way from him, his hands tightly clasped together as he thought. Thought about what? He didn't really know. A thousand things that he'd refused so long to think about that now that he was faced with them... it was overwhelming. He thought about the difference in his memory, the voids and spaces he'd chosen to erase. He thought about the cruel things he'd said, the way he'd been so proud at the time to speak in that uncouth, taboo way that so often rewarded him with shock. And now all the things he'd thought, all the pride he'd had... it was obsolete.
Nothing was beautiful anymore. Nothing was fresh or pretty or sexy or light. It was like he walked through a world of shadows, touching everything and watching through stoic eyes as it crumbled, turned to ashes. Like a perpetual world of black, white and gray.
But his memories had been safe. They had kept him alive. Or so he had imagined. Yet when they failed him now, what was there to cling to? His entire life was memories of better times than that. It was how he dealt with the world he'd created; by knowing at some previous time, it'd been better.
He rested his face in his hands, letting his fingers crawl up through his hair as he just bent himself over and breathed. Gohan had been an enigma to him. A reward, a prize, a petty competition. But it wasn't until today that he'd even seen the man as a person, as a living being. He'd just been another conquest. A terrific fuck to be enjoyed and then passed along. He'd even so pathetically concluded that somehow, he'd helped Gohan by breaking his lies to pieces, by shattering that pitiful facade. A service for sure, a kindness.
But as he'd watched the man today, his eyes never misted over with insane lust, he'd seen the pain, the anguish and the haunting sadness in Gohan's eyes. Maybe he'd never wanted to see it before. And in that, he couldn't blame himself. Because in these moments, when for the first time in so long, he'd sat, unhindered by any drug, thinking about his mistakes and seeing them as such, he felt that maybe rather than Gohan, he was the puppet of his own design.
Things had been shown that day that he hadn't wanted Mirai to see, yet hadn't recalled them clearly enough until it was too late. The jealousy and bitterness that he so secretly harbored for much of his life, it'd been shown, thrown out for display. He shook his head, closing his eyes to the memories.
All the thousands upon thousands of times when Goten and him were children, sleeping in the same bed at ChiChi's house and BEGGING Gohan for a bedtime story. It wouldn't matter what story was told or the theme, Mirai was always the boundless hero. It was Goten's favorite tale to hear of how legendary Mirai had faced off against Cell, even when the unbeatable Vegeta had been thrown to the wayside. Yes, brave Mirai had accepted his fate, standing up against a perilously stronger being with pride and honor; fully prepared to die for his friends.
Goten would rant and rave about how lucky Trunks was, how unimaginable such a fate would be. Yet the timeless tales of the perfect Mirai were also constantly self defeating. When Trunks would fail at a subject, like math, it was unheard of. What was wrong with him? Everyone knew that MIRAI was terrific in all subjects. If he ever disobeyed, as was his nature, it was an insult not only to his parents, but to the young, flawless man that he was supposed to be. He was never enough! Good grades came and went and even when he thought for CERTAIN that he must have overwhelmed even the highest of expectations, while he MAY have lived up to the legend, he certainly would never surpass it.
It was as though all parts of his personality were instantaneously shaped to be that of a seventeen year old, battle hardened hero. Like he was never really supposed to be a child or make childlike decisions or mistakes.
So he rebelled. Sure, there was a lot more to it, a lot of time and pressure and pain that created within him the ultimate drive to purge away all emotion. There were enough failures and defeats and disappointments to push him towards the point of detachment. And there were a thousand other things that lead to it.
In sex though, he found himself. Because sex, as emotional and as euphoric as it was, could also be as insensitive and cold as bumping into a stranger on the street. Nymphomania was an orgasmic release, an excuse to hone his own skill of detachment. Because not everyone saw sex as unfeeling. Many people couldn't discern the real difference between fucking and making love. And through that, he'd had his first victims, watching their world destroyed as his own was selfishly erected. Maybe he wanted to harden them, to make them as cold as he was inside. Maybe he wanted to disappoint their expectations, as he'd been doing his entire life, deliberately or not.
But sex became one of his quickest and earliest drugs. His hobby, his sick little conquests. After a while, achieving it wasn't the greatest reward; after a while, the greatest part was when he'd watch them break, crumble and fall to pieces. And yet, maybe for their weakness, maybe for their ability to love and to throw themselves outward enough to BE breakable, he envied them. Because he wasn't brave enough. He'd accepted that. It takes courage to love, to at least try; and perhaps even more courage, to fail and try again.
And then the drugs had taken their spree over him, his only real emotional outlet the sputtered ramblings and induced confessions while under the influence. It was the only time he didn't feel ugly inside. Because drugs wouldn't allow ugliness. Everything was on fire, everything sparkled and glowed; even the ashes on the inside. He felt more alive with drugs, more beautiful, more justified in all his cruelty.
But Goten had paled even the most gorgeous of acid trips. Because there was no artificial happiness that turned to cold nausea in the morning and left you barfing blood into your toilet. There was no tell-tale bruising lines down your arms from a heroin needle, no deviated septum from too much cocaine. And the only hang over was when he'd realized that it was a life he couldn't live.. or more specifically, didn't deserve.
Goten.
He buried his eyes against his palms, his breathing becoming fluctuated as he sighed sorrowfully.
Who was the fool now? Who was the puppet now?
When all was said and done, when all things were written as they occurred... he was alone. When every conquest eventually came and went, when his numbers soared to the point of countless, he was alone. Eventually, he'd gotten completely what he wanted. He'd purged himself of caring and in that very ordeal, purged everyone else of caring about him.
"Hey kid," Vegeta said calmly from the door, having let himself into Trunks' house without need of invitation. Trunks just buried his face even more, embarrassed and ashamed suddenly that his father could see him like this. That the one person who probably could relate to his detachment would see him actually giving two shits for once. Ah but the bitter taste of yet another failure.
"You... ok?" Vegeta asked, setting down an overnight bag and moving over towards the bed. Instinctively, the Saiyan Prince kept his distance, Trunks inwardly cringing. Knowing he deserved it, knowing he really shouldn't care yet doing so all the same.
So he didn't even answer, rubbing his face as he just stared down at the floor, bent over in contemplation. Goku, as time had shown, was never the hardest of his conquests, surrendering even easier than he'd ever expected. Perhaps that was the point where whatever sense of ego Trunks had had was suddenly forgotten and he'd surrendered himself to ultimate selfishness, thinking that though others might not love him, he was certainly capable of supplying enough via himself. So when he'd realized the ultimate victory he had achieved, he never took a moment to understand how much he'd lost at the very same time.
It wasn't even until he'd seen his father that any regret or concern towards another person had registered. And it wasn't even until now that he finally really understood what he'd cost his father. While time in Goku's world was but one more second wasted not fighting, Vegeta's days with Bulma were numbered. Human disease and old age wore away at the shell of the undying spirit, Bulma's body quickly weakening with approaching death. Still, Vegeta stayed unstraying by her side. But what when she finally did surrender to the inevitable?
Then, Vegeta would ultimately be as alone as Trunks had made himself. And why? Because Trunks had so desperately needed his conquest.
"Somethings come up and.. I need to take off for a while," Vegeta said in a solemn voice, still standing over his son as he interrupted the wounding thoughts. "It's a trip I've been dreading for a while. But ... certain things have come to my attention and I know it's time now."
Trunks just nodded, refusing to look at his father, eyes darting away when the older Saiyan attempted eye-contact.
"That's great dad," he cleared his throat, glancing away. "When will you be back?"
Vegeta remained silent for a moment, watching his son contemplatively. His eyebrows slanted in confusion at the young man's strange, almost shameful behavior, making him wonder if he was on drugs yet again.
"I don't really know kid," He scoffed, turning around to walk out. "Just thought I needed to let you know before I took off. Lay off the blow Trunks."
With that he headed towards the door, his smooth movements making no sound over the wood floors as he walked over them. Trunks just continued to stare at his wall, doomed to once more be left to the barrage of sneering memories and shadows of thought. To be tormented with guilt because he'd refused so long to succumb to its guidance.
"Dad," he quickly called, never moving but sensing the energy of his father still in the room. Vegeta paused, turning towards Trunks' back.
"Yeah?" He asked, cocking his head to the side and wondering silently about the odd actions of his son.
"Dad, I'm..." Trunks started, dropping his head when he couldn't even summon enough strength to finish his thought. Vegeta knew his son well enough to move closer, coming towards the bed and sitting down next to Trunks who just shook his head in shame.
"Trunks," he breathed calmly, placing his hand hesitantly on the younger man's back. "What are you trying to say? What are you trying to tell me?"
Trunks stared forward, eyes shaky with what Vegeta could clearly see...were tears.
He moved backwards in shock, blinking to be certain his eyes weren't playing tricks in this dark lighting. Trunks dipped his head in shame once more, the back of his hand angrily wiping away at the offending tears. He covered his mouth, still refusing to look at his father, battling back emotions that came crashing down all around him.
"Dad," he breathed, voice shaky with sporadic feeling. "I am... so sorry."
Vegeta was still blinking in confusion, unable to come to grips with this unparallel surprise. It was entirely chaotic and unpredictable, the prince never having seen his son to the point of almost crying; at least not since a very young age. It had seemed for years as though Trunks didn't possess the power enough, or even the concern enough to cry. He waltzed through the world, sporting his nihilistic attitude like a trophy: now seemed to be in a constant battle with emotions Vegeta wasn't even aware he could contain.
"I'm so sorry that I..." Trunks sniffed, glaring at the wall through the beading tears that threatened to fall. "That I'm.... not the son you wanted."
His lips curled downwards as he bit back a sob.
"That I .. couldn't be what you and mom dreamed I would be." he blinked repetitively. "I'm sorry if you look at me and only see all the ways you must have failed to have spawned this...this thing that I am." He choked. "And that I couldn't be Mirai even as hard as I tried for you."
Vegeta had remained silent, staring still in confusion.
"I wish I could take it back dad," He looked upwards, still biting back tears that despite his blinking, remained where they were. "I wish I could say enough sorries that .... that what I did with Goku would just be washed away by them. I know I hurt your feelings Vegeta, I know I failed you. I'm....."
He couldn't even continue, burying his face in his palms, bent over his knees as he fought away the tears relentlessly. He breathed hard, teeth clenched in anger with himself. Vegeta, in the meantime, was beside HIMSELF with shock, unable to believe the immense change that had taken place in Trunks. He looked down, lacing his fingers together as they shared a moment of silence, both lost in their own chaotic thoughts.
He had never really understood the extreme difference between Trunks and Mirai. In fact, he had never felt the need to compare them at all. Mirai's past was entirely unique from Trunks', thus, despite their genes, they were never bound to be the same person. In Trunks, Vegeta honestly saw more of himself than he EVER had in Mirai. Had it been Trunks that had come from the future, basking in his own sexuality and romping with whatever good looking people were in attendance, he would have known immediately that it was his son. Trunks reminded Vegeta constantly of himself at a young age. The boy was his father's son in almost every aspect.
Rather then display his bitterness towards weaker beings by simply destroying them, Trunks represented his power over others by different means. But it was power over others nonetheless.
"Trunks," He said calmly, placing his hand soothingly on the others back. His mouth twitched to the side and before he knew it, the dignified Prince nearly rolled off the bed, throwing his head backwards as he roared with laughter. Trunks just stared in horror as Vegeta bawled with it, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. "Trunks you moron!"
Trunks had to crack a small smile, shaking his head in bewilderment at his father. The man was unpredictable. That was true.
"God kid," Vegeta rolled his eyes. "you never failed me!"
"I... didn't?" Trunks asked, staring in confusion.
"No!" Vegeta shook his head, still chuckling. "Trunks... you are PRECISELY as you ought to be. I never expected you to be anything other than who you are. And yeah, you do shitty things and yeah, you act like an asshole the majority of the time. But Trunks, I never set a bar for how I wanted you to be. I never had a mold I wanted you to fit in." He patted his son's back gently. "Kid, you should have seen ME at your age! You can't even imagine the kind of shit I pulled just for fun. You're growing up Trunks, you're going to make mistakes, you're going to be someone that not everyone approves of. But they're YOUR mistakes and YOU'RE.. MY son. As you are."
Trunks just continued to stare, unable to believe what he was hearing.
"But.... I...." he breathed, shaking his head.
Vegeta just sighed, pulling Trunks against him in a rare hug, closing his eyes as he simply held his son. Trunks sighed sorrowfully against him, breathing like the weight of the entire world was set on his shoulders. It was amazing that his father could do this to him. He always had. The world could be bursting to dust around their feet, yet his father would choose that moment to erase away every pain with just one hug. One gesture could heal the heart of a breaking world. And it was a power only Vegeta had ever possessed over him.
"And as far as Kakarot goes," Vegeta now breathed, feeling Trunks tense in his arms. "Trunks...I love your mom."
The younger Saiyan pulled back in surprise, gulping loudly at this admission. It was rare for Vegeta to even talk this much in one setting, let alone mention anything so revealing about himself. Vegeta just shrugged.
"You live and you learn kiddo," He sighed. "You grow up. I love your mom. I do. I'm going to love her until the day she's gone.. and far beyond that. I belonged to her the first time I ever saw her and even when she's not on this earth, she's still going to be with me. I choose to be with her Trunks," He put his hand softly against Trunks' cheek. "Not because I have to be, not because it's the noble choice or what people want to see me do.... but because I want to be."
Trunks nodded, looking downwards as he took everything in.
"Kid," Vegeta lifted his chin, smiling through kind eyes. "Me and Kakarot... well, that is a story for another day. But your mom and me... that's reality right now. How could I NOT love her Trunks? She gave me you."
Plump lips parted when Trunks' mouth fell open, his eyebrows turning upwards as he tried to grasp what his father had just told him.
"You know what I thought the first time I ever saw you?" Vegeta continued, unwilling to let his son's shock hinder him from something he knew needed to be said. "I thought of everything I'd ever done in life; all the revenge I took, all the challenges I let myself be absorbed in... all the useless, wasteful crap that had ultimately become my existence. And I held you one day when no one saw us, right in your old room...and I told you that of every thing I'd ever done..every good thing, every mistake.. you.." He patted Trunks' cheek. "YOU were the single greatest accomplishment of my entire life. And that has never once changed."
Fresh tears suddenly filled Trunks' eyes and for a moment, for just a passing second, he allowed two to course without interruption down his cheeks. He looked down, blushing slightly, biting his lip. Vegeta grinned, shaking his head as he patted Trunks' cheek once more before standing up.
"So stop trying to seek forgiveness from someone you don't need it from," He instructed. "Besides, we both know that that isn't what you need right now anyways."
Trunks looked upward in confusion, the entire day having been one big ball of emotional distress.
"What do you mean?"
Vegeta just grinned ever wider, walking towards the door and lifting up a bag he'd carried into the room.
"Maybe what you're searching for has been there all along," He shrugged, lifting the bag over his shoulder as he stood with his hand on the door frame. "You and me kid? We may not love easily.. but when we do, it's unceasingly. Maybe we even love stronger because we don't share it with many people. So maybe... just maybe.. the ones we do or the ones we HAVE...." He winked, walking out the door. "Are worth fighting for."
.........................................
He flew over the miles of spacious wheat fields, casting no shadow as the sun beat down over him, flying at break neck speed. Wind coursed through Mirai's silky hair, his eyes closing for but a moment to smell the sweet scent of flowers and trees. How often as a child he'd taken for granted peaceful moments, yet had so few it seemed now. A lifetime spent in the last moments of one's life, you would think that even the smallest graces would have permanently burned themselves into his memory. But that's the funny thing about memories... you don't' get to always pick and choose what stays with you.
Sometimes, the things you think you could never possibly forget,.. you do. And the things that you don't want to stay with you from one day to another, walk beside you every step you take.
In these moments, as he stared down at the grass that fled beneath him, he recalled days when him and Gohan would train, their shadows soaring side by side over hills and trees and a thousand things that probably didn't even exist anymore.
"Keep it up kiddo!" Gohan would laugh, sparking with energy as he flew past Mirai, racing the other. "You can't give up now! You're so close!"
Mirai closed his eyes to the memory. He really never had beaten the other. He'd never gotten the chance.
Today had been a cutting experience for both him and Trunks. Trunks, for having to relive the monstrosities he'd committed, and Mirai.. for so many other reasons. Seeing Gohan, had brought back so many memories. All bittersweet. Living on the brink of death from the day you're born, perhaps, even though young, he had learned quickly to appreciate some things.
Now as he flew at perilous paces, he thought of Gohan. No, not the clouded Gohan of this time, the poor, wretched creature that he had unfortunately allowed himself for many years to become. He thought of the Gohan he had long ago, at a young age, learned to love. No, it wasn't the all encompassing, obsessive love that he'd shown Trunks. It hadn't even been romantic really. It was love. Simple love.
Gohan had been his father, his brother, his only real male influence in life. He'd raised him, he'd coached him, he'd watched him since the day he was born. As Trunks had grown up with stories of Mirai, Mirai had been raised on the inspiring stories of his own father's, somewhat begrudging, heroics. The unbeatable Goku and ruthless, brave Saiyan Prince: rivals forced together for the good of mankind. Yet the story had never ended as reality had upheld. Because rather than admitting the haunting truth--that both had died long before their times; that both had met horrific, violent ends-- Gohan would almost instead, imply that they still lived.
He would smile down at Mirai, with his kind, wise eyes, putting his warm hand over the young boy's forehead. And then he would tell Mirai his favorite part of the story. That rather than choosing to finish off the monsters himself, Vegeta had chosen instead to unleash a secret weapon in the form of his own son. A son who would eventually grow to be the strongest of them and defeat the androids once and for all. As Mirai had been the constant hero in Trunk's fairytales, it was exactly the same in his childhood. He was the prodigy that would deliver the world into freedom.
"You're going to show this world something they've never seen before," Gohan had promised, when he'd thought Mirai had already drifted off one night, the room dark and shadowy as he knelt over the young boy's bed. "And when you do... I'll be right there beside you Trunks. I promise."
Mirai blinked sadly, swallowing hard. Promises weren't always what they used to be. And some promises, no matter how much one wants to keep them... can't always be upheld.
He winced away memories that he'd long since concluded could do him no real good. As Trunks' refused so often to deal with his present and the affects it had on others, Mirai refused to dwell on his past. So many memories, albeit a constant sore in his subconscious, he pressed far away from his mind. He couldn't relive them. Even now, as he felt the weight of these days on his body. Things were becoming harder, more heavy as he understood that he truly didn't belong here. What had been almost an experimental attempt had now hardened into a day to day struggle.
Time was taking its toll and he felt it now more constantly than ever.
He began to dwell on the difference between him and Trunks. How variable they seemed to the naked eye, yet in so many ways, weren't so opposite at all. Lifetimes had merely torn their personalities in two, sociologic theories more tested in their example then ever. Mirai had never known his father in his youth. And perhaps, in that sense, he'd never known his youth at all. Whatever person he had been destined to be was cut short by the prospect that he'd never grow at all. He'd been born into a world of constant, gnawing chaos.
Born a potential champion and thrown into shoes that never seemed to fit. Yet he'd forced himself to mold into the perfect hero, the flawless antidote for evil.
Inside? He felt like the ultimate Hemophiliac.
Like a walking, talking, moving wound. The kind that can't clot or heal yet repetitively feels as though it's seeping with blood.
Actively repressing your own memories can do that. Because everything, he realized in these minutes, manifests itself. Whether one chose to accept, to acknowledge, or expertise repress, every pain in childhood eventually sets one of the path of adulthood.
And now his path, it seemed, led him to the door of Gohan. A final meeting, he understood, yet detrimental to everything. If Gohan loved him, even now that their lifetimes had torn them apart, then it was worth saying a farewell. Because he knew now, as he closed his eyes to the warmth that built behind them, what it was like to not get your goodbyes.
...................
Again, the ethereal face lay bound in the embrace of a book binding, the soft, dirty hair laying limp amongst the pages. Mirai wanted to just watch this for a moment, to sculpt this memory forever in his mind. His fingertips moved of their own accord, delicately lifting the strands of black hair. Yes, he closed his eyes, swallowing the moment. Don't forget this. Don't let this be like a dream, forgotten with time. Don't forget even a single moment.
The thin strands suddenly yanked away, Gohan's red rimmed eyes gazing upwards beneath them, understanding peering out from the depths that now were a much a part of Mirai as the sorrows he'd encountered in all his journeys. He smiled into those deep, syrupy eyes, having seen them every day of his life growing up. The soft gaze that had watched over him as days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months and months turned into the years of his young life. Mirai smiled back a tear, trying not to think of the day when he'd seen those beautiful eyes go cold, trying to swallow down the memory of saying goodbye to a person that couldn't say it back.
He ground his teeth together, turning away, trying to repress so many memories that could make him weak. Trying to beat back the weakness that always followed when he would accept the past for only a second.
The days when Gohan had been the only driving force in life, the only thing that kept him fighting. Days when he'd cried against that muscled chest, making his tutor promise that they'd seek the vengeance that they never really got. A thousand deaths had never brought Gohan back to him. Breaking the monsters that had stolen him away had never returned what had been lost. And if he had spent his entire lifetime fighting evil, it would never heal the seeping wound that had been inflicted that day.
He suddenly could remember the feeling of the cold ground against his knees, water seeping in what had suddenly felt like an empty body. He now could recall the feeling of emptiness, the perfect emptiness that sunk inside his entire being. And he could remember trying to understand, trying to accept why something like emptiness, the void of everything, could hurt so completely. He had just stared into those beautiful eyes, begging them to blink, begging them to move, to be sparkly again.
But they never had.
He closed his eyes, feeling a hot tear drip down towards his chin. Gohan just stared up at him silently, watching this display with slight confusion.
"I just sat there," Mirai suddenly sobbed, chest heaving sporadically. "I just sat there and begged you to get up."
He sobbed, closing his eyes as a never ending stream of hot tears drained out, his lips just bawling as he finally let go; letting old pains overwhelm him as though they were new.
"You wouldn't get up."
Gohan moved quickly to his side, not touching him, not comforting him at all but standing close nevertheless.
"You just laid there and..." Mirai looked upwards, trying to blink away the blurriness of the world. "You wouldn't get up."
His body convulsed as he closed his eyes again, remembering the day he had forced out of his memory so long ago. He recalled letting the rain and dirty puddles sink into his shirt as he'd laid down beside his fallen friend, wrapping the one arm around his body. He could remember wanting that body to provide heat, comfort that it couldn't give him anymore. He had buried his face into Gohan's neck, letting the emptiness overwhelm everything. Letting the understanding poison everything that Gohan had ever taught him.
Love, devotion, courage, strength.... never giving up.
Mirai's bottom lip formed a sob as he held his arms around himself, reliving the very moment when he'd gone cold. When it was almost as though everything he'd ever been taught had died with Gohan, and his soul had gone along with him. So many years of believing the older Saiyan was invincible, that he was the one thing in the universe that couldn't be broken; the one person that wouldn't fall down and die. Life should have taught him that eventually, everyone goes away, but it was the harshest lesson he'd ever had to learn on his own.
He'd lain his face in the blurry puddle, his cheek and chin nearly covered by the cold, acidic water as he'd sobbed. Every memory came back, even ones that had escaped for so long. Times when Gohan would tell him stories of their fathers, of the battles they'd fought together. And every one had seemed pale in comparison to the war they fought every day. Maybe the grandest irony of all, was that Gohan had believed that the stories were what kept Mirai's courage alive.
"Trunks," He'd once whispered, as they had hid amongst the rubble of a fallen city, the androids scanning the wreckage for them. "People live and people die. But just because we can't see them doesn't mean they aren't still there. Bodies can perish with time but a soul... a soul is never really gone."
Mirai had been suddenly cradled in the great arms of his teacher, his face pressed protectively against the solid chest.
"That is why we will always be greater than them," Gohan had whispered, glancing upwards as he swallowed hard. "Because we will live forever."
It was in that puddle that Mirai had died and been reborn again. As the coldness of hypothermia had crept into his broken system, he had heard those words repeatedly. He had turned his face towards his friend, seeing that hours had dimmed the eyes, making them almost blue and foggy. He had curiously touched the soft skin of Gohan's cheek, bloated with death yet still beautiful.
He'd closed his eyes, his lips shaking with hypothermia; touching his forehead to cold, dead lips, embracing Gohan one last time. His love, his friend, his father, his everything.
"Rest in peace my friend," He had sobbed, holding back his tears bravely before he pulled away. "You will live forever."
That day a young boy had died in the arm of his greatest friend. And in his place, a cold, young man had arisen.
"We're not so different, are we Gohan," He laughed bitterly, choking back the tears. "We were both young men that fell in love with someone that went away without saying goodbye."
Gohan just scanned his face, his features concerned.
"I suppose," He nodded.
"I thought," Mirai struggled, looking at the ceiling. "I thought after Gohan died that.... that I'd never be able to love anything again. And I was right."
Gohan just looked away, glancing anywhere but at Mirai. He gently gestured towards the chair, moving it for Mirai to sit.
"I understand now," He said slowly. "why you're here, what you're doing. I spoke with Vegeta about it and he's...." He looked downwards. "he going to go looking for you."
Mirai just nodded, wiping away the last of his tears as he righted himself.
"I also know that that means you don't have a lot of time left," He spoke softly, his kind eyes landing on the other. "So before you go, I need to tell you some things.. if only for my own closure."
He stood slowly, his tall, impressive frame hidden by a long, frayed jacket as he paced the room.
"I'm sorry that I never told you how I felt," Gohan began slowly. "I'm sorry that I wasn't strong enough for you to see me or to understand me. I'm sorry that I didn't dispose of Cell quickly enough and that...." He swallowed. "That you died because of it. I'm sorry that I couldn't bring you back to life with how sorry I was. I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you how I felt, how much I loved you before you went. Because I think... maybe if I just had..." he choked up, turning shamefully away.
"I'm sorry that I slept with Trunks," He tried to right himself. "I'm sorry that soiled everything because I was selfish enough to fool myself into wanting THAT to be real. But it wasn't, not even at the time. I'm sorry that I pissed on your memory by ruining everything you stood for, by forgetting everything you'd taught me. I'm sorry that I've wasted my entire life since trying to be something and someone that I thought you would approve of. I'm sorry that I spent so much of my life believing that maybe, just maybe if I was so perfect, you might come back for me."
His voice broke and he swallowed hard.
"I'm sorry that I failed my wife and daughter so miserably so many times."
He turned suddenly, his eyes brimming with tears though his voice had not betrayed them.
"But I'm not sorry that I loved you," He said solemnly. "Because you made.... every moment of my life worth living it."
He turned away once more, opening the blinds to the one small window in the room, gazing out.
"The others will understand soon enough," He said calmly, sniffing slightly. "so you don't have a lot of time. Teach him Mirai. Give him one more good example of love. Show him the pain, show him the sacrifice, but show him that it's well worth every single second. Because loving you? That has been my life's one big goal...." he shook his head. "And I don't see my life as any sort of failure."
Mirai nodded, though he knew Gohan couldn't see, watching the regal back of the other Saiyan. Gohan, for all his self neglect, would never be anything but beautiful, even if he tried. Again, Mirai had to remind himself to hold onto these moments, to cherish them, to burn them into memory for all time.
"You know," Gohan breathed softly, gazing upwards. "I used to trace the stars and see your face in them. I used to think that maybe, sometime throughout your life, you had seen the exact same ones as me. That maybe you'd looked up in the exact same way or stood in the exact same place. It made you closer to me.. it made the void of time and space so much smaller. But I don't think you were ever really gone from me, Mirai." He turned slightly, a small smile in his eyes. "You were in every good thing I ever did. You were every great accomplishment I ever achieved. You are in my daughter's eyes, you are in the sun and the sky and everything beautiful on this earth. And I thank you for giving me hope and a reason to keep going every day."
He came suddenly close to Mirai, gesturing for the other to stand. Mirai quickly came to his feet, staring upwards at the taller Saiyan.
"I know I don't deserve your kindness," Gohan swallowed hard, lips shaking. "I know that a thousand sorry's won't take back the things I've done or the people I've hurt in the process. But I'm asking for this last gesture, this last mercy." He gazed deeply into Mirai's eyes as Gohan's own were covered in tears.
"Be real for me," He sobbed suddenly, startling Mirai. "Be mine for just a moment."
Mirai nodded in understanding, closing his eyes as he embraced Gohan tightly, the hardness of his body enveloped by the strong, kind arms. He held tighter, both men resting their heads on the other's shoulder, faces buried in warm throats. The warm wetness soaked the soft skin of Mirai's throat, yet he held only firmer when Gohan's body began to convulse with his sobs. Gohan began to just bawl, his entire body shaking violently as Mirai held him close.
Mirai breathed hard, saying a farewell to his own memories. Holding onto the body of his fallen friend, alive and coursing with life. The irony that yes, Gohan had continued on and that this time, as they inevitably had to part.... Mirai got to say his goodbye.
His fingers laced around the soft hair of Gohan's head, gently caressing the delicate strands.
"You..." Gohan sobbed. "You will never age for me."
Mirai hadn't even realized he was crying until he pulled back slightly, hot tears drenching his face.
"You will never be anything less than beautiful," Gohan breathed. "you will never be anything less than the person I fell in love with so long ago. And I will never regret a moment I spent, being with you in my dreams."
He swallowed hard, whispering beautiful words.
"Soar always on wings of angels Trunks.....you were everything to me."
Mirai pulled back, suddenly forcing his mouth against Gohan's and passionately kissing him. Their lips locked in a timeless kiss, their tongues expressing what human words could never do justice. Lifetimes spent apart but complete in one moment in time where every sacrifice, every tear, every loss and every sadness was forgotten. Tears dried and breaths were lost as Gohan and Mirai shared the greatest kiss ever experienced by either one.
The moment held for but a little while longer, the two locked against each other as though they would never part. A moment in time seemingly perfect, when all in the world was put right for but a single passing second. And then, as all good things must, it came to an end, Mirai pulling back and gazing at Gohan before smiling softly.
"Perhaps in another life," He whispered. "Fate won't be so cruel and we can share many more of those."
Gohan smiled, pushing his mouth once more against the other's, breathing deeply before pulling back.
"Perhaps in the next," He nodded.
"But not soon," Mirai warned, squinting his eyes.
He looked backwards as he left, seeing the life and brightness so often reflected in the old Gohan's eyes, now beaming in the present version's. Like life had been breathed into the body that long ago had said it's goodbye to the earth as it lay, face against concrete and puddles. Like the softest kisses of a sobbing young boy had brought back his precious teacher, at least for a little bit longer.
Yes, burned for eternity into his memory, Mirai walked out the door, the sunset kissing his beautiful locks of hair as he left.
Gohan watched him leave, now fully awake as he sat once more at his lonely desk, surveying his surroundings. The door had closed, the sunlight now nothing more then thin, pink rays that occasionally stretched through the covered window. Dust particles danced around the room, the dim shadows once more embracing the tall being. Gohan traced his fingers over his lips, the remainder of Mirai's kiss like the powder of a butterfly's wing. He closed his eyes, leaning back as he simply breathed in the remainder of the moment, sighing contently as he gathered energy into the palm of his hand.
He recalled the beautiful face as he had seen it for the first time, ages ago. The kind, striking blue eyes that had filled him where a void must have been. Remembering the first time he'd heard that soft, deep voice, like the bells of angels in heaven; calming his soul and telling him that everything would be alright. That life, for all its hardships, every day was worth it--If only for the fact that every pain, every loss, every failure had led him up to this moment--had led up to the kiss that made it all worth while.
He once more touched his lips, savoring the kiss as he put his palm to his head.
"Yes," He breathed, closing his eyes with a smile. "Worth every second."
........
Mirai's eyes closed as well when he heard the blast, the sound of power entering and leaving a skull, the splash of blood and brains hitting a wall. He swallowed hard, letting the realization sink in. The cool breeze was suddenly warmed for but an instant, the rays of the sun kissing his skin for just a second before a cold wind swept them away.
"Rest in peace my friend," he whispered. "You will live forever."