Welcome to DBZ Saiyan Garden

The morning sunlight poured through the kitchen window, soft and golden, brushing against bare skin and warming the air like a quiet blessing. The room smelled of butter and frying eggs, a simple, comforting aroma that grounded them both in the present. Gohan stood at the stove, his movements steady, deliberate, but there was an edge to his focus—a quiet determination to make this first morning perfect. Not for himself, but for Trunks. For the man who had returned after ten years, carrying the weight of a fractured timeline on his shoulders.

Behind him, Trunks leaned against the counter, cradling a mug of coffee in one hand, the other hanging loosely by his side. His lavender hair was still damp, tied back with a red ribbon that Gohan had given him the night before. It was a small thing, but as Trunks ran his thumb over the edge of the fabric, he felt its weight—a token of love from someone who had waited longer than anyone should have to.

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” Trunks murmured, his voice low, intimate, as though afraid to disturb the fragile quiet of the morning. Yet even as he spoke, he couldn’t take his eyes off Gohan—the way his broad shoulders moved with unspoken confidence, the way the sunlight kissed every line of his body.

Gohan didn’t turn, but his lips curved into a faint smile. “It’s not trouble,” he said softly, almost to himself. “I just… I wanted this to be perfect.”

Trunks stepped closer, the air between them narrowing until his chest was almost flush against Gohan’s back. The warmth of his body radiated outward, and his tail, moving of its own accord, curled around Gohan’s waist in a slow, deliberate embrace. It was instinctual, almost subconscious, yet it carried a weight no words could match—a silent promise, a claim, a declaration that this was real.

Gohan stilled at the touch, his own tail twitching once before curling upward, seeking Trunks’ in an unspoken response. Their tails intertwined naturally, moving with a life of their own, revealing emotions neither of them could say aloud. Trunks’ grip tightened slightly, his breath brushing against Gohan’s ear as he leaned in.

“You waited for me,” he whispered, his voice breaking the stillness with a quiet vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. “After all these years… you waited.”

Gohan swallowed, his hands tightening around the spatula as he turned his head just enough to meet Trunks’ gaze. His dark eyes were steady, brimming with the kind of love that had weathered time and distance. “Of course I did,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “How could I not? No one else could ever—” His voice caught, the rest of the sentence hanging in the air between them, unnecessary.

Trunks leaned in closer, his forehead resting gently against Gohan’s. “I’ll make it worth it,” he promised, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every second you waited—I’ll give it all back to you.”

The moment stretched, the quiet hum of the stove the only sound. Their lips met softly, unhurried, as if savoring the years they had lost. The kiss was gentle at first, a hesitant exploration, but it deepened as their emotions spilled over. Their tails tightened together, coiling like twin threads weaving their story into something unbreakable.

When they finally parted, Trunks’ lips curved into a grin. He glanced toward the stove, a glimmer of humor breaking through the intensity of the moment. “Your eggs might be past saving,” he said, his voice lighter now.

Gohan let out a laugh, the sound breaking free like sunlight through clouds. “You’re such a distraction,” he teased, though his tone held nothing but affection.

“And you love it,” Trunks shot back, his smirk widening.

As Gohan turned back to the stove, Trunks didn’t step away. He stayed close, his arms resting lightly around Gohan’s waist, their tails still entwined. The sunlight framed them both, catching the curve of Gohan’s smile, the glint of mischief in Trunks’ eyes. It wasn’t just breakfast. It was a moment ten years in the making—a quiet promise of everything that lay ahead.