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Stay, This Time
by The Great Saiyan Romancer
More by this Writer
They fought for the world.
But never had time to become friends.
Or lovers.
Or perhaps even… themselves.
When Trunks returns—with no urgency, no mission, just a light suitcase and silences too full—Gohan isn't sure what to do with him.
So they walk.
They eat.
They laugh.
A little.
And in these quiet moments between battles, they might finally discover what the world never let them have before:
the right to stay.
This time.
A gentle, spiral-shaped fanfiction about love that doesn't rush, but settles. Day by day. Silence after silence.
But never had time to become friends.
Or lovers.
Or perhaps even… themselves.
When Trunks returns—with no urgency, no mission, just a light suitcase and silences too full—Gohan isn't sure what to do with him.
So they walk.
They eat.
They laugh.
A little.
And in these quiet moments between battles, they might finally discover what the world never let them have before:
the right to stay.
This time.
A gentle, spiral-shaped fanfiction about love that doesn't rush, but settles. Day by day. Silence after silence.
Prologue – The Return
The sun was high and heavy over Mount Paozu, the kind of summer heat that made everything feel a little unreal.Gohan lay sprawled in the grass behind his house, shirt clinging to his back, staring up at a sky too wide to answer him.
He wasn’t exactly bored.
Just… stranded.
Everyone was off celebrating the defeat of Buu in their own chaotic ways.
His parents had claimed the house for their rediscovered honeymoon phase.
Videl was busy with her father and—if Gohan was honest with himself—just not what he needed right now.
And even Piccolo had told him to go have “fun.”
But no one had bothered to define what fun actually meant.
So he lay there, in the heat, half-sticking to the earth, thinking he might just dissolve into the afternoon.
A rock flew lazily from his foot into the underbrush.
Crack.
“Ow!”
Gohan shot up. “Oh my god—!”
He rushed toward the sound, heart hammering.
Part of him genuinely worried he'd just committed accidental murder.
He pushed through the foliage, and there, standing upright, brushing dirt off his shorts with a crooked smile, was a face he hadn’t seen in years.
Not this way. Not like this.
“Trunks?”
Older. Taller. Hair cropped short again. Eyes somehow both familiar and distant.
“Hey,” Trunks said, as if this were the most casual thing in the world. “Someone just hit me with a rock. Know anything about that?”
Gohan stared.
He couldn't move.
Not from shock.
Not from disbelief.
But from the way something cracked open inside him—
something sealed too long, too deep.
“Is someone attacking? Now? In the future?”
He was already half-rising, ready to respond, defend, return.
Trunks chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “No. No crisis. I mean… unless you count me trying to take a walk without getting ambushed.”
Gohan blinked. “Wait… how long has it been for you?”
Trunks looked away, eyes searching the tree line like it might give him a better answer than his heart could.
“Less than a year. I think. But… it feels longer. Or shorter.
I don’t know. Time’s… weird.”
Gohan exhaled.
It had been seven years for him.
Seven long, messy years.
They stood in the summer silence.
Then Gohan smiled—small, careful.
“Want to tell me about it?”
Trunks nodded. “Only if we can sit somewhere that isn’t a battlefield. Or my ass.”
Gohan laughed before he could stop himself.
It came out real.
And maybe… maybe that was a start.
