Welcome to DBZ Saiyan Garden

“Kakarot,” I say to him as I come around the corner, and I smirk even as I speak his name, well aware of just how anxious he gets around me.

I’m hoping to see a rise out of him. As I approach, I notice his smooth Saiyan skin with distinction. It’s just like my own, except his is paler, which only accentuates his flawless complexion, especially from the neck up. He is a beautiful man. None would deny it. But underneath his hideous orange and blue shirts I have seen his nearly invisible scars and I have touched them for myself a time or two during our spars. For some reason that is what I think of most when I first lay my eyes on him today.

I sensed him arrive here at my wife’s house, and although each time we speak it is few and far between, I still take the opportunity out of sheer desire. He doesn’t come here to see me, but I hope to change that. ‘Soon enough,’ I think to myself.

“Heyyy, Vegetaa…” He smiles at me and waves like the imbecile that he is.

I think far too much of him far too often, even for my tastes, and whenever he is around, I can no longer remain the normally indifferent man that I usually am. Why not? For absolutely no reason, other than the fact that he is my blood and the only other of my Saiyan heritage, and I have an affinity towards him for that and many other reasons. Nevertheless, it’s a guilty pleasure, speaking to him, one I don’t deny myself even though it’s going to get me into trouble.

I answer, “Did your annoying wife tell you to come here today? Bulma’s plans aren’t until tomorrow, you know.” Why do I act like I don’t care to speak with him? Well, because I do, of course. I’m a fucking teenager when it comes to expressing my emotions.

So is he. He never stops smiling as he explains, “I know! And don’t say that about Chi Chi… She’s nice most of the time. I’m here because I wanted to catch up with you, Vegeta. It’s been a while, and I figured you’d be free today.”

“The sight of your clothing is enough for me to wish not to see you,” I sneer.

He actually laughs at that. I can see that he isn’t offended by me, but I’m not so sure he actually finds me funny, either. Before I can say more to try and rile him up, he answers, “I didn’t think they bothered you that much, Vegeta! I like wearing my training clothes all the time. It’s convenient. Besides, they’re clean, and they smell good, too.”

I’m not used to socializing but whenever I do it’s usually with someone of more forward intelligence, so I have no idea what to say to such idiotic babble. On his face though, I see the Saiyan in him, the truth in his character that comes out even in his “earthly” way of speaking.

Just because his response is simple does not make him so. He is a man of power and a creature of battle and he spends his free time wisely. If that is not intelligence, in some ways, then I don’t know what is. Even if I can’t admit it out loud, I respect him more than any other person I have ever met. And I’m a prince, so that’s saying something. I have other feelings for him, though, feelings which lay dormant and patiently inside of me. My inner thoughts of this man consist of dark intrigues and curiosities which have never wholly subsided, even over long years of absence. I guess absence does make the heart grow fonder.

I have too much on my mind to respond to him with any sort of not-so-clever answer, but I have to say something, so, regardless of how I sound, I remark quickly but nonchalantly, “On second thought, what does it matter? You’re just going to end up getting them ruined or taking them off, as per usual. At least I won’t have to look at them that long. I can deal with that,” I smirk slyly.

Does he catch my connotation? Of course not.

He laughs and scratches the back of his head. I have seen him do this many times, and since Bulma has so willingly told me everything she knows about him, I can only assume that’s where he was hit as a baby when he fell off the ravine and rewired his brain. As it healed he was probably constantly rubbing it, like a tongue prodding at a sore in the mouth, and now that he’s an adult, he doesn’t realize the correlation between the event and his muscle memory, but a habit like that does not come from nothing.

I am brought from my thoughts as he says, “So, what do you say, Vegeta?”

Immediately I go on the defensive and I cross my arms, but inside I am wondering exactly what I should say to his blatant offer to spend some time together. I want something different from him, should I take this as an opportunity to make that something happen? Oh, he knows I won’t turn him away. He knows I won’t.

Asshole. Contemptuous fucking dick. How does he know me so well?
The same way I like to think I know him, I suppose.

I answer, “I would say ‘fuck off,’ but I’m bored.” In my mind I continue to explain, ‘and you excite me.”

He’s still smiling and then he says something I don’t expect: “So, what do you want to do?”

I’m confused and I know that my face has portrayed that much because I didn’t have time to mask it. Arms still crossed, lips parted, and eyebrows drawn together, I ask him, “What do you mean?”

Kakarot’s eyes focus on mine closer, something only a Saiyan like myself could have picked up on, as he explains, coming closer to me, “I thought that we could do something besides spar today. I’m still a little sore from training yesterday, anyways, and Chi Chi said-”

“I don’t give a damn what she said, Kakarot,” I growl and add, wondering in honesty, and throwing in a drip of sensual intrigue into my voice, “What in the world would you like to do with me other than train?”

“Um,” he rummages through his thoughts quickly as he steps closer to me, “There are lots of things we can do Vegeta,” and with his glaring proximity and the quickness of his touch, just like that we are off.
Now we are somewhere else.

I jerk my shoulder away from him, arms still crossed, and I answer, “You’re some kind of showoff, Kakarot. Your earthling friends may not think so because they could never hope to measure up to you, but—”
“Come on,” Kakarot smiles at me with an even and simple grin of unconcern, and he says interrupting me, “I’m not trying to rub anything in your face, Vegeta. Don’t get so mad over something so silly.”

I scoff, “This isn’t me mad.”

Ignoring me, he states, “Well, I actually thought that today you and I could take it easy for once. How about we just go for a swim, or lay out in the sun and talk?”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He’s already taking his shirt off, (just as I’d predicted) and then his shoes, and I’m just staring at him, rooted into the ground, unable to shake off my personal uneasiness as I watch him undress.

I realize only now that he must have ulterior motives. This couldn’t possibly be going where I would like for it to go.

“Come on, Vegeta,” he says again, reaching out and tugging on my shirt, “Don’t be shy. Swimming is good exercise, too, if you’re worried about losing a day and all.”

I make the decision to follow his lead with no urgency and no outward expression, starting first with my boots. I toss them aside and glance over at him. He’s watching me silently, still smiling. Off comes my shirt as well, and I make it a point to walk right past him and dive into the water first, hoping to splash him. Just to do it.

Under the water I’m significantly cooled off. I hadn’t been aware I even needed the relief.

If I get what I want from him, just once, will this infatuation end?
Should I stand on the sidelines like I have been and continue to play it safe, hoping that something else could spur between us, somehow, someway, or would that leave me in constant waiting forever more? Should I continue my subtle flirting? Will he eventually notice? Would it be more interesting to watch his reactions that way? To watch him slowly question if what he’s seeing or hearing is real? To watch him possibly come undone? Or should I just go for it, just to see what he says? Just to see where it takes us?!

As I break through the top of the water, I witness him doing what our kids call a “cannon ball” into the lake. He is clearly not on my same wavelength. It’s disappointing to say the least.

He comes up with his usual grin. He tells me, “What a beautiful day. See, this is nice, too.”

I’m suspicious of him, now more than ever, because I have excellent defense mechanisms, and I know him well enough to see that he is not so innocent or dimwitted as others think. Only wishful thinking on my part could bring him out here, this close, for no reason other than to “annoy” me.

I growl at him and ask impatiently, “What do you want, Kakarot? You’re not just here to get me out of the house for a little while. Tell me whatever you came to say!”

He laughs and looks nervous as he answers, “Well, okay, you’re right. I wanted to put you in a good mood first before I tell you the news.”
At this moment, treading water is the only thing keeping me from strangling him and demanding that he tell me whatever it his “news” is immediately.

He can sense as much, apparently, and so he explains, “Tomorrow, at Bulma’s party, I was gonna tell everybody that I’ve decided I’m leaving, but I wanted to tell you, first.”

“Leaving?” I ask in alarm, but default to defense, “Well, what else is new! Why are you telling me?!” I’m confused but I don’t want to show it.

He says, swimming closer, “I… I’m not the same man I used to be when we first met, Vegeta. Things are… different now. Let’s be honest; I’m bored… and I thought you might understand...”

“So,” I smirk at him, realizing that he’s serious, “You’re going to go out looking for trouble?” Many questions begin to arise within me, unasked, and as always, unanswered.

He laughs and says, “Something like that…”

‘You. You asshole. You can’t do this!’ my mind screams. I see thoughtfulness in his eyes, though. He’s already decided and there’s nothing I can do about it.

In my own rage at the idea of him leaving I respond before I can think twice about my reaction, and since I am a creature of violence, as I speak, I also act.

“Kakarot- you fucking third-class- piece of shit!” I shove his head under the water and watch him struggle, accommodatingly. He could fight me off, if he wanted. Knowing as much only spurs me on further, and so I let him go, but as he’s coming up, I punch the back of his head, hard.
It knocks him out cold.

The result is unexpected but it’s too late. Now, after noticing that he stopped struggling entirely and that he’s gone limp, I move quickly and work to drag him out of the water. He’s heavy, heavier even still because we’re both soaked, and the solidity of body in his unconsciousness is overwhelming, but I make it happen.

I struggle to wake up him up, cursing him all the way.

Goku’s Perspective (GP):

My head hurts. I’m groggy.

What’s going on?

I open my eyes slowly. There’s a man above me, looking down on me with a serious look in his eyes, but something close to a pout on his lips. He’s handsome, with dark and fiery hair, matching the dark and fiery look in his eyes. I blink. During my second look at him it's confirmed that I find his angular face very attractive.

I blink at him again, still processing as I take in the vision of him and try to push aside the pounding in my head. I can see that he’s soaking wet. Water is dripping down his skin through his hair, caressing the sharp lines of his face, falling off the tilt of his lips and the tip of his nose. My eyes trace down his neck, where the water is still running, rolling down his strong, chiseled chest.

Who is he?

I realize that I am wet, too, and I barely register that he’s speaking to me. I mean, I hear him talking but nothing he’s saying is getting through against the resonation of my own thoughts. He seems to be concerned, but I’m thoroughly confused. As I look around briefly before focusing back on his face, I realize that I must have some type of amnesia. Surely I know who he is. Don’t I?

Who am I? What happened? Where are we?

“What?” I finally say, and by now I know that I am lying on the ground somewhere outside in the wilderness. Upon speaking, it’s almost as if I’m just now hearing my voice for the first time.

The man’s demeanor changes slightly but his piercing gaze never leaves mine. What could the look on his face possibly mean? What were we doing? Why are we wet? There’s a lake, maybe there was some type of accident?

He speaks again, and I’m finally cognizant enough to hear him.
“Kakarot… What’s wrong with you?” His voice is deep and slightly accented. At least, I think it is.

What exactly does he mean by that question?

Offended, I reply, “Nothing!” and I sit up slowly, ignoring my throbbing head.

Then the pain really hits me hard. I reach up and grab onto the back of my head, groaning. It’s hurting something fierce. I clench my eyes shut and shake my head to rid myself of some of the initial shock at stirring up the excruciating pain. His question makes sense, I guess, but I can feel that the ache is actually starting to dull fairly quickly.

I’m more curious about what’s going on than sulking about a wound.
I’m beginning to wonder what we were just doing a few minutes ago that put me in so much pain and got him asking me what’s wrong, so I ask a question of my own, “What happened?”

His hesitation to answer is reasonable, I suppose, but I expect a response, and when I don’t get one in a timely fashion, I get angry and begin growling at him. I throw a glare his way, but his response is even more strange to me.

He stands to his feet and crosses his arms, looking down the bridge of his nose at me. Now I can see how truly beautiful he is. His gaze is what holds me the most captive- it’s cold, calculating, and somehow challenging- but there is more to be said from his stance than his face. I recognize the posture immediately, though I’m not sure what I’m comparing it, too. It just screams confidence, like he’s royalty or something.

He takes his time with his answer, which is fine, for now, I guess. His silence is at least giving me a few more seconds to contemplate everything.

What the hell is going on?

Finally, he says, “You wanted to go for a swim, Kakarot, don’t you remember? Don’t tell me I hit you so hard you forgot everything we were just talking about?”

At this point in time, I stand to my full height. It is my turn to look down at him. As I get my bearings, and look down at myself, I realize that I’m fine except for the pounding in my head, and apparently, I’m quite the toned machine myself.

The clearer I begin to think, I realize that I’m in a pretty shitty mood. I don’t know what I’m angry about, exactly, but it’s an anger that’s seems normal, so I don’t question it too much.

My eyes raise up to his once I’m done taking a mental assessment of my overall health, and I answer with a question of my own, “You hit me?”

His expression empties but I continue to look him up and down. He’s covered in battle scars. I look at myself and notice that I am, too. I look back at him and marvel at the two of us. Do we have experience with war or something? How did we get so banged up?

Can I even trust him? He hit me…?

Can I expect to get many straight answers from him? But… We obviously know one another pretty well… right?

“You don’t remember?” He wonders, and I can see his mind turning as he’s processing our predicament. His face gives away nothing.

In my irritation I reply, “Isn’t it obvious? Who are you, anyways? Where are we?”

He glances towards the ground, the only tell that maybe he’s deciding how to answer me.

I add, taking a threatening step closer, just for good measure, “I asked you nicely once. I don’t want to have to make you give me answers.”