Welcome to Boxer & Rice

It was almost easy to ignore the incessant ringing of the telephone through the torrents of rain that bombarded the Son household. Sighing quietly, Goten picked up another of the thin, aging objects that were strewn out before him on the antique patchwork of his childhood quilt. He heard his father speaking calmly to the person on the other end of the line and the python of apprehension that coiled around his gut constricted, leaving him with a sick distorted feeling. The sound of the receiver being replaced preceded the heavy footsteps that came to a halt outside his door, the soft knock that he knew would come causing him to toss the photograph back onto the pile and draw his knees further against his chest.

"Goten?" The concerned voice of the eldest Son harmonized with the gentle creak of the door as a large hand pushed it open, the tall figure popping his dark head around the corner. "That was Trunks again. Are you sure you don't want to talk to him?"

~ Like anyone would be
I am flattered by your fascination with me ~

The demi-Saiyan swallowed the heartbreaking cry of 'yes' that almost wrenched itself from his tightening throat and shook his head of unruly Saiyan hair. He couldn't talk to him, not now, not yet...not without breaking down and shattering completely. Resting his chin on his knees, he watched as his father heaved a sigh, walking forward into the room and shutting the wooden door quietly behind him.

"You wanna talk about it?" Goten pressed his lips together, stifling a sob at the thought of returning to those moments of emotional torment. The yelling, the fighting, the hollow sound of ultimate finality created by the echo of Trunks' footsteps as he walked out of his life...

"I don't think so, Dad," he whispered hoarsely as his battle with the salty tears was proclaimed forfeit and he slowly brought his chin down, laying his forehead against the curve of his knees. He didn't want his father to see him cry, not like this...this wasn't an enemy the older Saiyan could fight.

The bed dipped with a sighing creak, the wooden legs shifting slightly against the floor beneath as his father settled his impressive bulk across from him. A butterfly wisp of sound reaching his ears as the other man flipped idly through the photographs Goten had retrieved from the worn out shoebox beneath his bed.

"This isn't healthy, Goten. You've been in here for days. Your mother's worried about you." He didn't have to say that he was worried as well. His youngest son could tell by the quiet tone of his voice. A light slap as the picture in his hand was cast back into the scattered pile. The older man cleared his throat, pulling one leg up sideways to face the demi-Saiyan more fully, pushing the tide of 3x5's forward gently with a sweep of his broad hand. "I..."

Huddling deeper in his tiny ball of self-loathing, Goten vainly wished the other would leave. He needed to talk about this like he needed a spinal tap, minus the beauty of an anesthetic. The agony obtained from both would be about equal in his eyes--excruciating and enough to reduce him to a mindless mess of tears.

"I know about you and Trunks, Goten..." Red rimmed eyes raised slowly from the sanctuary of his knees. Any thoughts that may have existed before that stunning declaration were abruptly disposed of. Only one remained, and even it was hazy in his weary, sleep deprived mind.

"What?" He wasn't ready to release the shielded barrier that had been created with his curled position, though his head continued to rise from its previous motion until he was looking in glazed disbelief at his father.

"Yeah..." The Saiyan glanced sheepishly at the floor, one hand moving habitually to scratch at the back of his neck as the man was prone to do in embarrassing situations. "Gohan kinda let it slip a few months back. He made me swear not to tell anyone. Even you." Gentle raven eyes glided upward from their vigil of the floor to glance with obvious trepidation at his unmoving son.

"He left me." An eerie sensation of serenity seeped into the mind of the younger man as he spoke. The tears were still there, like siegers at the portcullis of his mind, though that flimsy blockade was enough to hold them temporarily at bay. "I told him to choose between telling his father and leaving me and he left me." Swallowing thickly, the young man unseeingly fingered the curling corner of one of the myriad of frozen memories that Bulma-san had caught on camera. Somehow saying it out loud made it more real, twisting the steely blade in his gut and increasing the nauseous sensation of vertigo that plagued him in sporadic intervals.

"You mean he doesn't know about Vegeta?" Goten shook his head negatively, bringing the picture up to his face. Trunks looked remarkably young and handsome as he jokingly mimicked his father's confrontational position, the younger demi-Saiyan leaning against his back, right hand behind his head with a trademark Son smile plastered goofily to his features, an exact duplicate of his own sire. The corner of his mouth turned slightly as he recalled the day it had been taken. Bulma-san had barely been able to hold the equipment steady as she lost herself to laughter...

"Why didn't you tell him? Wouldn't that have stopped all this from happening?" It was valid question, one that Goten had asked himself numerous times. But, hidden within the simple wishing of another lifetime, the demi-Saiyan knew the answer.

"I couldn't tell him, Dad. I needed him to do it on his own." He let the photo flutter down to join its companions. "To show me that he wasn't ashamed of us."

"He told me to tell you that he's sorry..." Goku's voice was hopeful--low and laden with worry as he addressed his son's statement.

Goten sighed dejectedly. "He's always sorry, Dad." The younger Son tugged absently at the stark whiteness of the gauze that concealed the crimson slashes beneath. They hurt like hell and he was thankful for that. Every movement was agony and it aided in his pursuit to find another outlet for his pain, something, anything to ignore the insistent agony brought on by the neurosis of his ravaged mind--exactly what he said, the inflection, the tone...what had made Trunks go off like that? Goten had done something, said something irreversible. He stared in rapt amusement at the scarlet stain that bled through the thick cotton bandages. It was a vibrant reminder of the incredible torment that repeatedly played in a haunting melody of anguish through his very core. Goten could feel the vibration of his pain amplified with each motion, no matter how fleeting, how mundane. It hurt to move. It hurt to think. It hurt...

~Like any hot-blooded man
I have simply wanted an object to crave~

"How are your hands?" The question was quietly, hesitantly spoken. He hadn't offered an explanation to their gashed existence when he had appeared at his parent's door three days ago, broken, bleeding, incoherent save the definite need to sleep, to rest...to forget.

"Fine." A seventeen year old Trunks was visible past the pathetic sight of his hands, smirking with that enthralling glint of mischief he had possessed in his youth...Dende, how he missed that. Ever since his mother had died, the younger prince had sobered so dramatically, intent on his work with a vehement passion rivaled only by Goten's impeccable love for the man.

"Goten..." Dende, dad, please, don't ask, don't wonder, don't worry...I can't explain, I can hardly remember to breathe. Trunks...The incomprehensible ache in his chest intensified tenfold at the older demi-Saiyan's name. I need you so much...how could you... Drawing his lower lip in between his teeth, the sweet sensation of pin points of pain dulling that forceful yearning that left him prone and helpless, mindless, unable to do more than stare at the memories they had forged in a simpler time. I can't help it, I love him...I couldn't stop if I tried...Trunks...

Hot like he knew they would be, scorching, relentless in their quest to reach his collar, the unshed tears multiplied, pushing forward those that had congregated in obstinate defiance of his wishes. The young demi-Saiyan felt his father clear his throat in uncertainty, shifting the bed frame with his larger mass. Dende, that was a good picture...when Trunks' hair was still sun-kissed with the dying rays of early autumn and hadn't yet darkened with the stark influence of winter. He lost himself briefly in the oceaneous depths of his exotic eyes. Even two dimensional, and they were causing his heart to skip unwarranted beats. Dende, I can't stand this...

"Go--" He didn't look up as the phone rang, chose not to release the safe confinements of his wrapping arms, the bars of his knees as his father rose with a soft sigh, the glaring chime of the phone increasing in pitch with the mandatory opening of his door. Goten's self imposed prison was so much more comforting than the harsh brilliance of reality that blinded him with its garish brutality and he welcomed it with a quaking groan.

~ But you, you're not allowed~

Dende, the boy just wouldn't quit. The wailing cry of the telephone was cut short as his father picked up the receiver with a fumbling clatter. Goten swallowed thickly against the perpetual knot in his throat, fingertips reverently sifting through the only true moments of happiness in his young life. The glassy coating of the colour photographs were slick beneath the worshipping pads of his fingers, stroking, wishing, needing the man he knew and loved that smiled his father's shitty little grin with unbelievable confidence. Dende, Trunks...when did you lose that?? When did we begin this battle? I don't know how to fight it...I don't know...

"Goten, that was Gohan, he said--" His father didn't need to finish his anxious statement. The knock on the door resounded with a pang of familiarity that belonged to no one else. Trunks...Trunks...

The demi-Saiyan's throbbing heart stilled with immediate clarity. Trunks was at the door. Trunks had braved the unrelenting rain and savagery of wind that pounded with a ruthless, almost sentient quality at his window to see him. He could feel the constant pulsing of his ki, that energy of rapturous intensity that thrummed in the back of his mind.

~You're not invited~

No, no...nonononono--

"He doesn't want to see you, Trunks." When had his father left the room? Goten's red rimmed eyes threaded through with bloodshot scarlet snapped toward the sound of the voice that answered his father's protective tone.

"I need to see him, Goku-san--he doesn't understand! I need to tell him how sorry I am...please, Goku-san, please, I need to see Goten..." Shivering hard in response to the other demi-Saiyan's voice, Goten carefully placed the picture he had been holding back into the stack, gathering them one by one and placing them gingerly into the brown shoebox, cracked with age. A final, lingering glance and the demi-Saiyan replaced the battered lid; closing his weary eyes, the Son slid forward, pushing his legs outward, dutifully ignoring the cramp of muscles too long unmoving. Bracing himself on the firm edge of the worn mattress, Goten convinced his limbs to cooperate, standing with difficulty.

"I know he doesn't, but I have to!"

Trunks...the pleading quality of the older demi-Saiyan's voice was slowly worming in through the rift of his self-doubt. Dende, he sounds so sorry...maybe...

Somehow, through Dende's divine guidance, Goten made it to the door, pale fingers tracing the cool familiar wood with dazed mesmerization as he stepped through. The elder's voice was drawing him forward--resistance was a thought easily swallowed by the dark maw of his guilt, his sorrow.

The broad orange back of his father couldn't completely hide the source of his infatuation; so human and yet his hair still insisted on the unruly nature known only to Saiyans, the soaked locks dripping with the crystallized interpretation of his indescribable grief.

"It's ok, Dad," he whispered quietly into air chilled by the invasion of spring rain. Both men ceased their argument, Goku turning in rapt concern for his youngest.

"Goten, are you--" How had he ended up so near to the threshold of the front door? He could smell the powerful scent of nicotine mingling and entwining with that indescribable musk that was Trunks. Dende, but he couldn't meet those inquiring indigo eyes. Not yet. Not with what he knew he had to do.

~A unfortunate slight~

"Yeah, Dad, I'm sure." The larger Saiyan bristled slightly at his son's passive calmness, his unearthly aura of resignation. Goten didn't miss the severe glare of warning directed to his paler haired counterpart, the uncharacteristic clenching of his father's jaw before he yielded his place to the smaller replica of himself.

"I'll be right in the other room if you need me." The youngest Son managed a lucid smile at his guardian's fierce distrust.

"I'll be ok, Dad." A last withering glance and the elder Son relinquished his position. Goten's eyes followed his retreating back with latent affection, not able to turn that one degree to his left needed to focus on his agitated lover.

~ Must be strangely exciting
To watch the stoic squirm~

The silence was oppressive, broken beautifully by the gentle static of pouring rain. The rain, yes, it was lovely, melancholy, reflecting his abnormal mood. Focus on the rain over his shoulder, the clothes soaked a darker colour than originally intended, the red of the mud on Trunks' hastily donned sneakers. The off white laces were tainted with the orange tint of clay and earth, untied and dangling onto the floor. He smelled like freshly tilled earth, spring leaves and crisp rain. Dende-sama...The man's presence offset his inherent resolve, played well-known games of fond remembrance with his senses. He could do this, he had to...Dende...

"Goten..." It was amazing how many creases there were in the drenched fabric of the other man's pants, how many intricate valleys created with every fidgeting movement. The demi-Saiyan didn't have to look up to know that Trunks was tucking his disobedient hair behind one ear. He could feel it. It was a part of him, an endearing trait of the man he loved.

"I'm sorry, Goten, I...over reacted. But I did what you wanted. I talked to Papa..." Oh, so he knows...that's why he's here.

"How's Gohan?" Goten's eyes slid dully upward, hands that clutched at his ribs burrowing further into the groove of his underarms. Wouldn't do for Trunks to see his hands...Probably wouldn't understand...

"What??" The shock that cascaded over the dismayed pallor of his lover's face was proof enough. Trunks actually thought that he didn't know.

"My brother," he answered quietly, insanely calm. "He's living with Vegeta. That's where you went, isn't it?" The drum beat in his temples caused his head to spin, his vision to crisscross sickeningly. Dende, it had been too long since he slept...Leaning heavily on the frame for support, Goten's head lolled toward the older demi-Saiyan, glossy onyx eyes settling on the other's troubled form. "And you think that coming here and telling me this is going to make it all better. Right?" Trunks' pale blue eyes were awash with amazement; his mouth moved around the syllables he fought to utter, though none managed to penetrate the haze of his mute disbelief.

"You knew...? But...why...?" Goten's lip curled over his teeth in a shallow façade of a smile.

"What? Tell you and give you the easy out you wanted?" Trunks' open mouth shut with a hot flush of shame. Gnawing on his lower lip, the man raked an uncertain hand through sopping lavender tendrils.

"Goten, I...I'm sorry. This whole thing is my fault. I love you, koi--"

"Don't. I'm tired of your excuses, Trunks. I just can't handle it right now." The Son closed his weary eyes with a soft sigh. He was too damn tired...why did he have to come here...Dende, the rain was picking up, stray droplets blown in by the rampant wind tickling his fevered visage.

~You speak of my love like
You have experienced love like mine before~

"Goten, please...I need you, koi. I'm sorry..." Dende, he sounded desperate. How strange: Trunks was always so in control, so composed... "Please, koi..." He didn't like it--the words fell unnaturally from his lover's lips. Trunks' apologizing irritated his nervous stomach even more. A soft groan followed the hand that smoothed over his face, rubbing at his tired eyes.

~But this is not allowed~

No, he couldn't give in to the other's guilt ridden pleas. He'd heard it all before.

"You're always sorry, Trunks." Heavy lids crept open with some effort. Dende...sleep... "You left me, Trunks." The adrenaline in his system gave him the crutch needed to push himself off the debilitating door jamb, to stand straight before the speechless man. "You left me," he repeated quietly, voice adopting a betrayed tone that was mirrored in the pained expression on his taut features.

~You're uninvited~

"Goten...I-I...I don't know what to say..." The words were saturated with the sincerity of his predicament. It was hard not to fall into those powerful arms that had sheltered him from so much in his life...even as children, the two had been inseparable, becoming one unified being that had absolutely nothing to do with fusion.

The demi-Saiyan allowed the comment to drift, opting not to answer. After all, there really was nothing to say...

~ I don't think you unworthy~

"I love you, Trunks...but I can't do this right now...I can't think about us...I can't..." Goten's unseeing eyes flickered back into the yellow haze of the room behind him. His father's impressive shadow fell across the hallway, its enigmatic source housed in Gohan's old room that his mother insisted be kept spotless. No one had quite gotten around to telling their mother that Gohan wasn't coming back. He'd found somewhere more...interesting to live.

~ I need a moment to deliberate.~

"I need some time, Trunks...before..." his hollow words trailed off with a sigh and he saw the other man nod reluctantly in his peripheral vision.

"Alright, Goten...I understand." Dammit, that voice, that damn voice that made him feel guilty as hell for what he knew was a justifiable reaction to Trunks' behavior. Gritting his teeth and meeting the other's pained eyes with an inner fury, Goten put one hand on the edge of the door, relishing the flaring pain of his shredded palm pressing against the grainy wood, the soft gauze not enough to prevent the welcome ache--anything to substitute the agony he felt at his own words. Moving backward into his parent's house, the demi-Saiyan rested his head back against the side of the door.

"I think you should go." Those eyes of stricken blue tore at the feeble resolve and the demi-Saiyan choked back a harsh sob as his lover nodded slowly.

"Alright, Goten." The man turned, glancing out into the rain that drove the trees in the surrounding area to bend and writhe against the smoky grey of the thick cottony sky. "Will I see you Friday?"

Sighing deeply, the youngest Son nodded once.

"Of course. I keep my promises, Trunks."


Song: Uninvited by Alanis Morissette