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Vegeta was pissed. Taking entrance to his barely furnished, hardly used apartment, he looked upon his son, fuming. Being slightly buzzed and recently laid still wasn’t helping.
Monetary frustrations aside, his sixteen-year-old is not making things easy on him. Meanwhile his ex-wife is constantly barraging him to “do better” even though she’s never available to anyone for more than an hour at a time unless she wants something. She constantly pushes their son onto him because she’s too busy to watch him properly, and while she keeps their seven-year-old daughter, Bra, most of the time, she still wants Vegeta to come by more often than not. Vegeta can’t stand not being able to see his little girl on a daily basis, but the idea of going over to Capsule Corp., his previous home and his ex-wife’s ridiculous mansion, wasn’t an appealing one.
Now, even years after the divorce, which he went into with a good bit of money from being on his own, despite his shitty upbringing and life decisions, he’s been left with nothing but two kids he barely knows and a long-term reoccurring headache. At least Bulma doesn’t make him pay child support, not that she needs the money, but even he has to admit that he’s been struggling to make ends meet while trying his best to maintain some sort of normalcy in his home with a rowdy teenager.
“Damn it, Trunks…” he growled to his son. The girl he’d brought over was leaving as quickly as she could, still scantily clad, closing the front door behind her too irritatingly audible for Vegeta’s already throbbing head.
Pissed doesn’t do his current state any justice. Neither does the word rowdy accurately describe his son.
He couldn’t blame Trunks, really. He blames Bulma. And himself. After all, she’s a rich, snobby, conceited woman who thinks Trunks and Bra can do no wrong. Bra is much too young to get into any trouble as it is, and whenever Trunks is with her, he’s perfect (to her knowledge), and Vegeta’s an arrogant, rough around the edges type of man, who is less compliant than he should be, especially when it comes to things like keeping his mouth shut, holding a job, and dealing with the law. Well, at least he hasn’t had any run ins with the cops in the last few years.
“What?” Trunks shrugs, half-covered by the blankets he and the girl had brought into the living room, and he was sporting a devilishly charming smile, only a little embarrassed at being caught.
Embarrassed isn’t the right word to use here, either. He’s been caught before. Several times. Perhaps he was just feeling stupid for being out in the living room where he was more likely to get caught in the first place.
Vegeta resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead he felt his lip curl up and his glare deepen. He thought of things to say, of course, but nothing he could say was going to change anything. His words would only be half-hearted comments about keeping his dick to himself that Trunks wouldn’t obey, or a crude remark about how unacceptable his attitude has been recently, or worse, a berating stab at the inadequacies of his ability to at least try to be discrete about his juvenile, and therefore illegal, sexual endeavors.
Honestly, it wasn’t the fact that his son was having sex that bothered him. He’s sixteen, and as a man, he gets it. As a father though, he wasn’t supposed to just let it slide. It wasn’t even about the act so much as it was the blatant disrespect his son was showing him. The complete disregard for any and all rules he has in his house. (Which he wasn’t sure he ever covered the girl topic clearly- the rule was more of a “don’t do anything that might be bothersome to me” thing and he figured that pretty much covered it, but apparently not). The problem was the disobedience Trunks was more than willing to act upon in his stubborn, willful desires to do as he pleases regardless of anyone else, or the consequences.
The problem was that his prissy, rich, pigheaded son was growing up to be increasingly more like himself, and that’s the last thing he needs.
The problem was that Vegeta felt like he was constantly fighting his own fight or flight instincts, especially when it came to his children. To his life. Should he stay and risk damage to their wellbeing by exposing them to the shit person that he is, or should he leave, and possibly risk their own psyches turning against themselves, blaming themselves, questioning themselves, and then becoming like him anyways because they’d then have a similar taste of the same bitterness that Vegeta knew all too well in not having his own father growing up.
It seemed to be a lose-lose.
And Vegeta was, beyond everything else, pissed. Pissed because he has no control, and he needs control.
He was pissed because he got fired last month. Again. He’s been trying to hide it. He just can’t keep a damn job. Because he’s an asshole. Now he’s about to lose this apartment and have to move. Again. He hasn’t told Trunks about any of that, yet, and he has a feeling he’s not going to be happy about it.
Furthermore, he’s pissed because he can’t seem to do anything right. In his life. Because he’s just as selfish and stubborn as his ex but without the money to back it up.
Pissed because he lost the money that he had when he got into the damn marriage in the first place.
Pissed because it was all his fault that he even got a divorce.
Stupid fucking libido. Stupid fucking attraction to men.
Trunks, upon not receiving any type of verbal bashing from his father thus far, gathered the blankets around him and stood up. “Well, I’m gonna just head to bed…”
Vegeta didn’t say anything as he watched him leave. He didn’t know what to say that would make a difference. What could he tell him when he knew Trunks would just combat him for his own shortcomings? Like he’s done before. Every single time.
Trunks escaped as quickly and as dignified as he could, leaving Vegeta standing there, now staring into the wall. He hardly even blinked as he waited for the door to Trunks’ room to shut before he finally snapped back to reality and decided to move through the home himself.
Trunks would probably invite the girl back over after an hour or so, once he thought his father was asleep. He’s done that before, too.
‘Fuck,’ Vegeta thought, and he threw his keys onto the counter, placing his wallet and his phone down beside them.
He didn’t know what to do anymore.
In all honesty, he wasn’t all that mad at his son. He was just fed up with how things were going, even now, five years after the divorce.
Trunks knew why his parents had divorced. No one had tried to hide it. The saddest part was that Trunks’ only concern about the separation was the fact that his father was apparently bi, which he admittedly never saw coming, and apparently, he was more interested in men than in his beautiful mother. And even more so, he had been willing to throw away everything he had- his perfect life-on a not even above average one-night stand. At least, that was the one he’d been caught by.
Trunks is mad at him, still, for cheating on his mom. For admitting it and moving out like it was nothing. For never apologizing. For not even bothering to make it better or drag it out like ever cared to begin with.
He’s mad at him for agreeing to leave Bra behind, even though both Vegeta and Trunks know that she needs her mother more than them. Still, he wasn’t trying hard enough to see her in his eyes.
He’s mad at him for failing at everything he’s tried to do after the fact, too, and becoming the very thing his mother said he was- a deadbeat jerk who can’t hold a job to make ends meet even when all the tools to do so are handed to him, which they had been.
Is this acting out some sort of payback? Or is this simply… learned behavior? After all, Trunks had just had over a different girl last night.
How could Vegeta blame his son for his bad behavior when his own has been less than acceptable?
Less than desirable, even.
He was never there for him as a kid. Well, rarely, anyways. He is still in his life and he would never abandon him like his own father did, not, at least, while he’s still so young. But he was never comforting or talkative. Never inviting or inclusive. Never warm and kind, like he’s overheard some of Trunks’ friends describe their dads. He was rarely supportive if he was ever in trouble, or even interested in what he was doing whenever he went out, or how things were going for him at school.
Vegeta sighed as he sat at the kitchen table and went through the laundry list of things he’s messed up over the years. Yes, he blames himself, but how could he not? An even better question: How could he give Trunks those things, and have those qualities, when he’d never gotten any of those experiences as a child for himself. He doesn’t know how to be those things. He doesn’t know if he ever can be those things.
He figured that, at best, Trunks would eventually turn eighteen, be legally allowed to move out on his own, in which case he’d probably go off to some fancy college out of town, on his mother’s dime, of course, and he’ll never come around to see him again. Never be exposed to his bad fatherly conduct again. Never be left less than satisfied by Vegeta’s lack of compassion again. Never be affected by his poor decisions again.
Bra will be okay, at least she’s not exposed to him like Trunks is, right?
As sad as that sounded, Vegeta didn’t doubt that it was true, and to some degree, it made him feel a little better about things. He knew Trunks’ mother would set him up for success. He is the heir to her fortune, after all, and so he knew his son would never have to deal with any of the troubles that life has thrown his way. And Bra, well, she’ll be perfectly fine under her mother’s dominion until she gets old enough to start making her own decisions.
At least one of his problems will be resolved.
His other problems… Well… He didn’t know what do about those.
His other problems involved staying out too late with random strangers he couldn’t care less about just to get some kicks. Fighting in fight clubs around the city just to score some cash. Getting arrested for disorderly conduct and blowing the money he’d just won on court costs. Hopping from job to job until no one would hire him for his track record of “bad-attitude” and “does not work well with others”. Oh, and always going out to eat, which doesn’t sound that bad, but it was a waste of money that resulted in never providing any sort of home cooked meal, or any sort of food in the kitchen, period. And never being around. At all. Unless it was times like this.
Times like this were more frequent than not.
Who knows what Trunks does when he’s not here?
“Trunks!” Vegeta bellowed, suddenly at his son’s bedroom door, pounding away at it like the law. He would know.
“What?!” he heard his son’s muffled voice call, unaffected.
Vegeta tried to open the door, but it was locked. Force it is.
“Hey!” Trunks cried as the door was kicked open, lock broken, the whole door now barely hanging on by the hinges.
“Don’t lock the damn door next time,” Vegeta sniped.
Appalled, Trunks stood to his feet, setting his controller down. He yelled, “You can’t just-”
“No more,” Vegeta interrupted, his eyes angry upon his son.
Trunks might have flinched in his younger years, from sheer intimidation of the man, but Vegeta never lifted a finger to him. After another moment, Trunks dared, “No more what?”
“No more girls over here.”
Trunks scoffed, “Yeah, okay, like I’m gonna listen to you! You’re never even around!”
“You will listen to me, damn it! I won’t have you getting some girl pregnant on my watch! That’s the last night I need!” He thought, ‘Forbid the girl is a fucking gold-digger.’ Given the rich school that Trunks attends, and the fact that Trunks is probably the wealthiest of all of the students there, Vegeta assumed she probably was.
Mockingly, ignorantly, Trunks answered, “I was going to use protection!”
“That’s not the point! I don’t care! You have a car! Go somewhere else! Don’t bring them here!”
“Oh, is that what you do?! Cause I’ve been wondering where the hell you’ve been going off to all the damn time! Because I know it’s not to work! You don’t work that late! Or maybe you wouldn’t care so much if I was bringing guys home, is that it?!”
Vegeta argued, ignoring his question, “What I do is none of your concern!”
“Wasn’t any of Mom’s concern, either! Right?!”
“Don’t you dare bring her into this!”
“At least I’m not cheating on anyone! I don’t have a girlfriend! I can do what I want!”
Vegeta sneered and growled, but lowering his voice, he argued, “Don’t…”
“Don’t WHAT?!” Trunks challenged.
This is how it is. This is all there ever is between them. All there ever is between him and Bulma, too, for that matter. At least Bra was unaware of her mostly absent father’s track record.
‘Don’t be like me…’ Vegeta thought, his eye twitching. “Don’t argue with me. I give you plenty of freedom. I don’t ask anything from you. So give me at least this much. I can’t stand coming home to your… conquests.”
“Feh,” Trunks crashed back down into his bed, crossing his arms over his chest, and glaring at him.
This whole thing is pathetic. Vegeta knew it. Trunks knew it. There was no point in arguing further, and they both knew it.
Vegeta turned heel and walked off, heading to his bedroom. He could hear Trunks trying to put his door back together as he closed and locked his own. He knew he’d figure it out before long. The boy has his mother’s genius.
He kicked off his boots and fell into bed, not bothering with any of his other clothes or even bothering to get under the covers. He needed sleep. The sooner the better, especially since he figured Trunks would call the girl back over anyways, just to spite him. He has his arrogance, too, after all.
He didn’t want to be awake to have to deal with that. Not tonight.


The next morning when Vegeta awoke he thought he was running late only to remember he didn’t have anywhere to be. It was always like that. Being in between jobs really messes with his schedule. He grumbled to himself, somewhat relieved to know he wasn’t late to anything, but more overwhelmed by other thoughts than not, and after mulling over his options, he decided that he needed to at least get up and make sure Trunks made it to school.
After relieving himself he walked by Trunks’ bedroom, the door was fixed and open. The room was empty, but Vegeta noticed a shirt that didn’t belong. Groaning, Vegeta headed to the kitchen. Trunks was definitely gone. Good. He wasn’t in the mood to yell at him some more.
He made some coffee and checked his phone, which was dying because he hadn’t bothered to charge it last night. It was only seven forty-five in the morning. No wonder he felt rested. He was never one for sleeping in. He grumbled again as he waited for the coffee to brew and looked through the fridge where he knew nothing was stored. Bad habit from living in luxury with his ex for over ten years.
He figured he’d have to get something to eat eventually, and that he’d need to attempt to find a way to make some money today, again, but he also planned on working out to relieve some stress, so after showering and dressing in something interview worthy, he grabbed his gym bag, his car keys, his dying phone, and his wallet, and headed out the door.
At least he still has his sports car. Not everything was a total loss.
He plugged his phone into the car charger and drove through the city in search of a place to get a light breakfast and do some research. Once he found a small café he deemed good enough, he parked and opted to sit outside while he ordered some food and rummaged the internet for new work options, whether long-term or short-term, making sure to mark the days and times and locations for fight nights available in his calendar. All of them. At least those never let him down. His winning streak was a perk to growing up in rougher areas, he supposed, but that couldn’t last forever. It wasn’t a way of life. Not anymore. It was a good way to stay on the good side of some of the cops in the area though. So long as he never told on them for being there and they always padded their pockets whenever he won, he’d get let off with a warning if they ever encountered him in a lesser desired compromising place.
After eating, finding some success in the job hunt, and contacting a few businesses with his resume, like he’s done almost every day for an entire month, now, he paid the bill with some loose cash in his wallet and headed to the gym, planning on hopefully dropping by a few places in person to solicit an interview once he was finished with his workout.
He arrived at the gym quickly and was eager to get inside. This was the best part of his day. Getting to work off the stress of everything else, and maybe even meet someone who might be interested in spending some time between the sheets.
He was usually successful in both endeavors, but he didn’t always call whatever poor sap decided he might be worth wasting some time on. Not until he looked into his background a little bit anyways. He wasn’t interested in the married men, (Most of the time) or the confused ones. And while lifting weights only did so much to relieve the tension of having no income at the end of the day, at least he has a new name and phone number to stalk later on if he gets bored. When he gets bored.
He got back into his car, and while his body was humming with the satisfaction of exercise, his mind was still reeling with unease. Something nagged at him that he should probably try to be at least a little more responsible and the feeling urged him to head out of the city and towards a marketplace where he could at least get some food for the fridge at his apartment. Since he still has one. For now.
He didn’t know why his mind was telling him to be a little more domestic at the moment, but he didn’t fight it, for once. When he pulled up to the grocery store, he parked and glared at the entrance for a moment before heading inside.
This was so out of his comfort zone, still, something was tugging at him, telling him this is what he should be doing. Like he was here to get something in particular. Like he was forgetting something.
Normally the only things he bought at grocery stores were hygienic items and coffee, but today, like a fucking loser, he was filling up the cart with whatever he could think of that might be easy to make, or that might sound appealing to a sixteen year old who could definitely eat up his damn rent if he wasn’t careful.
He supposed Trunks gets his appetite from him. Trunks, unfortunately, gets a lot of things from him.
Vegeta stood staring at the fruits and vegetables for some time. His cart is only half full, but his mind was overflowing with unfinished thoughts, and he couldn’t seem to focus on what he was doing when a voice calls out from behind him.
“Hey!” It says, the voice of a man with a tone way too chipper for Vegeta’s sensitive ears, “Are you… gonna pick something?”
Vegeta turns around and glares at the man who he suspects is standing way too close to him.
The man merely smiles. Vegeta glanced down. He had him blocked in with his cart. He was about to say something smart about personal space when the other man interrupted him.
“Do you mind?” he asks.
“Do I mind what?” he retorts, somewhat absentmindedly, now staring the idiot down.
The man, taller and broader than him, and obviously not disturbed by Vegeta’s attitude or their proximity, reaches over him and grabs a bundle of bananas, placing them in his own cart. Still smiling.
Vegeta still glares, but his curiosity is piqued the longer he looks at him. Up and down.
“Those are the good ones,” the man points at something Vegeta doesn’t bother to check for, and then walks off.
Vegeta, who at first wasn’t paying any attention to him other than to warn him of his annoyance, is suddenly caught staring at him as he walks away. ‘Stupid clothes,’ Vegeta thinks, ‘but fucking hell, he’s hot.’ Vegeta shakes his head and grabs a bundle for himself, not really thinking much more about the fruit, and trying to get the man out of his head when his phone goes off. It’s a text from his ex.
Bulma: Don’t forget that today is Trunks’ birthday, Vegeta. You forgot last year. He was really upset about it, too, in case you don’t remember. The least you could do is get him a cake. He likes chocolate. I’ll be taking him and Bra out to dinner, but he’s going back to your place for the night. I’d invite you to go with us, but I know you won’t come.
‘FUCK.’ Vegeta growls and heads over to the bakery section. That’s what he was forgetting. That’s what brought him here. At least some functions in his brain are still firing, even if only at half power. Damn it.
He stands there staring at all the different options for some time before grabbing one and putting it in his cart, overly annoyed at this point.
She’s right. It’s the least he could do. It’s also the best. He’s going to have to put all of this on a credit card as it is.
He heads down a few more isles to grab some last-minute items. Beer. Water. Chips for Trunks because he doesn’t eat that garbage. Then he goes to stand in line, embarrassed to even have to do this much.
When he finally reaches the register, he goes for his wallet.
“156.09$” the woman says.
Where are his credit cards? Where is his debit card? They were all definitely in there last night… He searches and searches. Where are they?!
“SHIT!” he yells, interrupting several of the other customer’s otherwise pleasant day, and many of them turn to stare at him. Either the man he fucked last night stole it from him or… “Damn it, Trunks!” he cried, running a hand through his hair in distress.
“I got his groceries…” a somewhat familiar, sweet voice calls from right behind him in line.
The cashier looks almost as shocked as Vegeta, but not quite, especially when Vegeta turns around and sees him.
“No,” Vegeta argues flatly, “Forget it. I don’t need them.” Upon second glance into his face, he’s just as handsome as Vegeta thought the first time, but clearly, he’s also got to be a fucking moron. Who just pays for a stranger’s groceries? How far away from the city is he?
“No, really,” the man smiles, “It’s no problem,” and he flashes his card at him before handing it to the cashier.
“I said no. I don’t want your help,” Vegeta glares, feeling nauseatingly upset by the gall of this guy and he’s pretty sure he’s blushing at this point. At least, his face is flushed with anger.
The infuriating man simply smiles and tells her, “Go ahead,” and he nods at Vegeta as though to say, ‘Don’t worry about it.’
She swiped the card before Vegeta could say another word and he stared at the other man, glaring, embarrassed, and pissed as the customers around them all gushed and commented about how sweet he is to have done something so nice like that. The other man just laughs it off.
Vegeta’s items are already being loaded into the cart as he’s still processing what to do. There’s way too much chatter going on around them and towards him, even, and he can’t just glare at the man all day, so eventually, he moves out of the way and heads outside, where he waits for him, cart and all, at the entrance.
The moment the other man comes out of the grocery store he’s met by an angry, mortified Vegeta, who snarls firmly, “Who the hell do you think you are?! What was that?! I told you I didn’t need your charity!”
“Oh, um,” the man stares at him, blankly, “You’re welcome?”
Vegeta blusters, “I didn’t say thank you!”
“I know,” the man chuckles, “I guess I just thought that’s what you were trying to say.”
Balking, Vegeta shoves his cart at him, crashing it into his, “Here! They’re yours!” and he stomps away, heading to his car all the while shaking his head at the audacity of the man.
The man follows after him, though, and grabs onto his wrist as he asks Vegeta to stop.
Vegeta turns and throws an old move he learned back when he used to study martial arts, it was meant to release his arm and knock the other man away from him, but Vegeta finds himself even more surprised when his legs are swept out from beneath him as he’s being laid gently on his back on the ground, the man’s hand holding him by his shirt. Now he’s staring up into the other man’s face with wide, wild eyes, and the guy is looking down on him somewhat apologetically.
“Sorry about that,” the man says, letting go of his shirt and offering him a hand up. “Looks like a nice shirt you have on, too. Didn’t mean to get it dirty. It was just a reflex…”
‘Who is this guy?!’ Vegeta blinks, ‘What just happened?!’
Swatting the offending hand away and standing to his feet, Vegeta is, at this point, enraged and seriously confused. He takes a step back, assessing the entirety of the situation. His anger at this point far outweighs his desire to get away, and he looks the man up and down for a moment before blurting out, “What the hell do you want?!”
“Um…?”
“I said you can have the food, damn it! You paid for it! Now leave me alone! And by the way, that was just a lucky move!” Vegeta bristled.
“Okay…” the man answered, holding up his hands in submission to go along with his honest face.
Vegeta sneered, straightened his shirt as he glared at him, and turned to leave.
“Wait!” The man cried, “What about… the birthday cake…?”
Vegeta halted. Had he been… watching what he was buying? “What about it?” Vegeta growled over his shoulder.
“Well, I figured it would be a waste for you not to be able to bring it home to whoever you bought that for…”
“Maybe I just bought it for myself, hmm?” Vegeta argued, finally turning back to him.
“I doubt that…” he replied, and he gave him yet another small smile.
Vegeta opened his mouth to speak, but the man stopped him with the simple gesture of taking a quick step forward. Vegeta took a quick step back.
He offered, “Hey… I think… Since you obviously feel like you’d owe me something if I let you take the groceries… why don’t you just… pay me back? I got my own cart full,” he points behind him without looking where he’s pointing, and missing the mark, as he explained, “I really don’t need yours. Or want them. Honest! I was just trying to be nice… Maybe we could meet up some time and… Make it even? That way you get to keep the items and not have to feel so bad about it.” He was scratching the back of his head now as he added, “Geeze, it’s as though no one’s ever done anything nice for you before.”
Vegeta didn’t know what to say to any of that. He wasn’t wrong.
Another few seconds ticked by in his reluctance to respond. People were exiting the grocery store, staring at their carts by the front door, and then the two of them, in the middle of the parking lot. Vegeta looked around and decided he needed to get the hell out of here.
“What do ya say?” the man smiled, “You can give me your number and-”
“Sure! Yes! Fine! Whatever,” Vegeta conceded, brushing past him and heading towards his cart. He grabbed it and turned, rattling off his number to the man, who had pulled his phone out and was heading back to grab his cart as well, barely ready to put the number in his phone. Once Vegeta dislodged his cart from his, he practically ran past him, heading to his car once more.
“Hey, wait!” The man called out to him, following him through the parking lot.
Vegeta’s shoulders tensed and he turned around, annoyed, embarrassed, and wanting to disappear. “What?!”
“Your name… What is it? So I can add you as a contact…”
He hesitated. He wasn’t sure why. He’d have to rethink this entire thing over again when he gets back to his apartment. Finally, he told him, deciding not to lie about it like he sometimes does, “Vegeta.”
The man smiled, “I’m Goku. Well, my real name’s Kakarot, but you can call me Goku. Everyone calls me Goku.”
Vegeta nodded and glared and remarked, “Okay, Kakarot,” rudely, disobeying his request to call him otherwise, before turning and heading back to his car for the third time.
“I’ll call you…” the man, Kakarot, smiled.
Vegeta refused to even so much as glance back at him as he was all but throwing the items into his car and then peeling out of the parking lot. Even as he was driving down the road, he didn’t know why he was still so pissed, but he assumed it probably had to do with the fact that this Kakarot guy had not only bought his groceries, but made him feel guilty about trying to refuse bringing home a cake to his son, and also somehow laid him out on the damn ground all within a fifteen minute time period.
And damn is he fucking hot. ►