Hello world! Today I bring you a new story! I am obviously syked about it and proud of it, because a lot of the subjects here are ones I never used for my writing before. I hope that you'll take as much enjoyment out of reading it as I did writing it.

A very large part of this story has already been written. Guessing from what I have now, I think I'm a little over two thirds of the way in. So, if you happen to see anything that you might find strange, not in line with canon or something that seems like a plot hole to you, be patient. I'll cover my tracks, I promise :)

This will not be a very big story. This chapter itself is small for my doing, and I think that the story wil become no bigger than about 4 chapters. So, if you want something that you can read in one sitting, I'm your guy :)

Many thanks to ~Boboleta, who always helps me through the rougher patches and is a great motivational screamer.

I've said everything I've wanted to say. Please read, review and enjoy!

A good cup of finely burnt bean coffee was the Nectar of The Gods. Gohan had always held to this conviction. With good reason though; every single experienced teacher could tell you that without the daily cup 'o Joe, blackboard rulers suddenly became a whole lot more threatening and possibly deadly.

This morning, however, it quickly became apparent that today would not be his day. He wasn't entirely certain what had been the giveaway; finding a fine underneath his window wipers and nearly squashing the cat on his way out the door were contending for first place at the moment. He'd hardly gotten the time to say goodbye to his wife and child after sleeping through his alarm, forcing him to fly about his daily routine with the speed of a Super Saiyan. This had led to him nearly breaking his neck over a stray Furby as he tried to struggle out of the suffocating hold of his necktie.

As he was –obivously- hopelessly stuck in traffic, Gohan longed for a cup of coffee from that new machine in the teacher's lounge. South City's board of funding had decreed that the school was losing money, and had therefore decided to stop issuing the school newspaper on a monthly basis. This was good according to most, because that had cleared the budget for a hot beverage maker, from a manufacturer that no one could pronounce correctly. Priorities, priorities….

When he had finally arrived at work, cramming his lunchbox of a car in the single spot still left available, the first set of classes had already begun. He silently thanked Dende that his own lessons weren't due to start until second period, leaving him with some time to sit down and drink himself a cup.

The trip from the parking lot to the door was always the least favourite part of his workday. Gohan told himself to breathe through his nose while he bee lined for the main entrance. A few of the older students stood in front of the row of doors, which led to the lockers and coat racks available to students. Cigarettes fumed softly between their fingers, and the smell was simply excruciating. Gohan nodded curtly to a girl that waved and smiled at him, and then he retreated inside, where he could breathe freely without the inhaling tar and toxins.

Most of the school's interior had been designed by a renowned decorator, one of the kind that always calls his own work 'art'. Gohan figured he was a lot more colour-blind than artistic. The small shiver of disgust upon seeing the walls around him had become just as much a part of his daily routine as drinking coffee. Basically, most of the walls, floors, lockers and pillars were multi-coloured, in tie dye fashion. The teacher always reckoned that the board of South City High School had chosen the new look in an attempt to be 'hip', and appeal to the younger crowd. Gohan would personally get to his knees in worship for the person who managed to get any fourteen-year-old-motivated for education; having your hallways painted as ugly as sin itself certainly did not contribute to that.

With his fake-leather briefcase slung over his shoulder, he casually strolled over to the information booth at the end of the entrance hallway, reading the time on the clock above it. It was only 8.47 a.m., so he still had plenty of time to kill before his first class of the day. He halted at the counter and tapped the little golden bell perched on it; it was the kind of thing you always saw at the check-in counter for some luxury hotel.

A portly woman with horn-rimmed glasses glared up at him, and then smiled. She put aside the clipboard she had been reading from and began to stare at Gohan dreamily. The blonde beehive on top of her head wobbled dangerously.

"Good morning, Mr. Son." she greeted.

"Morning, Cynthia," Gohan said. "And how many times do I have to tell you? It's just fine if you call me Gohan."

She waved it off as if she hadn't heard him. "Slow going today, isn't it?"

"For you maybe," Gohan told her. "I've been to hell and back already, and I haven't even had my morning coffee!"

"Well then don't let me keep you waiting!" Cynthia giggled and then returned her attention to the previously discarded clipboard.

Gohan turned away from the information counter and once again made way for the teacher's lounge. He could feel Cynthia's eyes staring holes into his back. The woman had always had a thing for him, he knew. After marrying Videl, he had gotten a lot better at picking up the signs that told him so. He tried to feel empathy for the woman, and tried to envision him a day in her love life, but all he saw were cats, and lots of them.

The teacher's lounge was empty for the time being. Gohan threw his briefcase aside and loosened his tie. He felt that he should dress appropriately in front of his students, to set the right example, but at the first second of privacy that curt man in his suit would completely evaporate into thin air. The steady hum of the coffee maker grinding out his first cup of the day was like sweet music to his ears.

Two minutes later, with the truly satisfying smell of burnt coffee beans in his nostrils, Gohan read through some notes for his upcoming lesson. The subject was 'Literature'. It would've been a bit strange to see how his academic interests had shifted, to an outsider at least. During his early teens he had been at Capsule Corps more often than not, tinkering with many of Bulma's inventions and learning the mechanics and physics of genius. Then again, if only his mother had taken the trouble to really check what he was up to, she would've noticed the worn-out copy of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' behind his algebra book.

He sipped his coffee once, then put the cup down and stirred. He hadn't put any cream or sugar in his coffee for fifteen years, but the habit had never left him. He sank back a little further into the cushions of the sofa, and reached for his book. The new school year had begun only a week ago, but due to unfortunate sickness Gohan hadn't been able to teach the whole first five days. He would face his first new class today. He had been told that most of the kids there would be about fifteen or sixteen years old. A fair few of them had only just come from junior high, so Gohan saw no reason to worry over anything.

Today's first lesson would not be about a specific book, nor would be the rest of the classes. The literature teacher firmly believed that if he wanted to get his students motivated, throwing dusty old stories at them from day one would not be the way to go. He had instead opted to use the hour to talk about literature itself. That way he got to know just where their reading interests lay.

Having finished his coffee, Gohan made to put his cup away. He then head towards his classroom for the final preparations. He was halted in the doorway, however, by none other than Mr. Grayson, the school's principal. Gohan had never really liked he man; whether it was his short demeanour, short temper, or the fact that a ten foot stick up his ass, Gohan couldn't tell. His greying hair was parted at the size with such precision that Gohan suspected him from combing it against a ruler every morning.

"Good morning, Professor Son," Grayson said, courteous as always. "I hope that you are all well to teach again?"

"Yep," Gohan confirmed. "Absolutely, one hundred percent fine."

"Good, good. Well I wish you the best of luck for the oncoming period. From what I've heard, the class you are facing seems to have a bad reputation already."

"Ah," Gohan waved the older man's distress away. "I'm not too worried over it, how bad can they be?"

Grayson blinked at him twice stupidly, as if he teacher had just told him that unicorns were real. Then he spoke. "Well I've only heard rumours, but apparently most of the troubles in that class are the work of two individuals."

"Well if they turn out to be any trouble, I'll give 'em the Demon's Eye." It was his made-up name for the death glare he had used to pierce through villains the likes of Cell. It worked surprisingly well on high school students, sometimes even a little too well.

"Let me know how that turns out for me, will you?" Gohan could swear he saw Grayson smirk, likely at the thought of a fifteen-year-old boy soiling himself in fright. "If you'll excuse me now, I have to grab some files from my mail slot and be on my way."

And with that, the bell rang, sounding in another nine months of demotivated students and bad essays about Charles Dickens' novels.

The flow of students moving into his classroom was slowly beginning to decline. Soon the second bell would ring, but Gohan figured he would have everything inside by then. The kids who walked inside he offered a friendly smile or a little wave, to give them the sense that they were welcome. It was nothing more than a standard teaching trick. He was delighted to see that most of them took their seats immediately. Some of them were already unpacking their books.

He took a look at the group of youngsters. They didn't seem to be much out of the ordinary; you had your jocks, geeks, girly girls and from what it seemed even a pretty girly boy.

When most of the ruckus had settled down, Gohan walked to the front of the class and held a hand up, effectively silencing his new audience. He couldn't resist smirking; he still had it.

"You will not need your books today," he said, gesturing at the many text books scattered across the tables. "Today is just for introductions."

This was received with a concert of loud whooping and cheering. A boy in the back, with a Capsule Corps shirt and a beanie on his head, decided to join in on the noise by belching from the pit of his stomach, for which he received gales of laughter from his peers. Class clown, duly noted.

Gohan figured he wouldn't need to check the absentee list today. He was going to discuss his students' reading preferences anyway, so he could ask them their names themselves.

"My name is Son Gohan, but you can refer to me as Mr. Son." The collective groan that came as a response sounded just delightful. "Today I just want to get to know you guys. Sure enough, we're gonna have to talk about books too, but we won't read anything this week yet."

He shrugged off his jacket and threw it at his desk chair. He undid the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie. He was certain that would do away with some of the 'uptightness' of his outfit, and sure enough the atmosphere in the class seemed to relax quite immediately.

"So, seeing how this is Literature class, I expect you guys to know that we will be doing a lot of reading this year." Groans filled the room again. Gohan didn't mind them. "Do any of you actually have reading as a hobby?"

There was a pregnant pause filled with deafening silence. Then slowly, a petite girl in the back of the class raised her hand. As a response, seven other students did the same.

"Ah, so that's about seven out of thirty. Wonderful!" The teacher cheered. "Now, for today's lesson I only want to talk about the kind of books you guys like. You there, up front." He pointed at a boy who had more metal than skin on his face. "What's your name?"

The kid in question looked at him with purple eyes, obviously the work of some sketchy set of coloured lenses. His piercings clicked together with a metallic clank as his lips moved.

"My name is Chad."

"And tell me, Chad, when you read, what kind of stories do you like?"

The gears in Chad's brains seemed to need a strenuous amount of effort to answer a question that simple. His face was contorted in concentration.

"I like stories with dragons and hobbits and all that stuff."

"Dragons and hobbits and all that stuff," Gohan parroted. "Well Chad, that's just excellent." Chad began to glow with pride.

"Now, you there," The petite girl in the back who had raised her hand first piped up immediately, now that the teacher's attention was on her. This was likely the kind of student that would ask if she hadn't made that one mistake in question 14b of an exam on which she had scored a 112 percent. "What might your name be?"

"Lisa, sir," she said. "And I really love drama stories! But I love romance too! And detective novels are so exciting too!" Gohan raised a hand to cut her off. Her words had begun to speed up the further she came along a sentence, and he had to stop her before she became an avalanche of speech.

"Okay, okay," he reasoned. "It's good to see so much diversity already. That means that we all get to read something we actually do enjoy this year."

Someone in the back snickered. Gohan turned around, half a look of amusement on his features. It had been the boy with the beanie on his head. On the left side, he noted the kid had pinned a button that read "Just Saiyan'". Gohan reckoned it was just the slang these days, but that didn't take away the fact that it hit home really close.

"Hey, Mr, Beanie," the teacher said, smiling. "Why don't you tell me your name?"

"Sure," the kid replied, more interested in the scratches on his desk than the man in front of him. He threw an arm over the backrest of his chair and slung his feet on the empty one beside him. "The Name's Obody, Nicolas Obody." The class erupted with laughter at the unfunny joke. Beanie Boy inclined his head in a bow of gratitude.

"Well then, Mr. Nobody," Gohan only had to hold up his hand to make the silence return. He walked over to the boy's table, bending over to look him in the eye. The boy suspiciously avoided his gaze as much as possible. "Tell me, what kind of books do you like?"

"Do the magazines with the naked girls in them count too?" he grinned at his own words. "I sure do like those, but every time I read those, my pants shrink two sizes."

Even Gohan had to laugh at that one. Granted, the kid may have been a complete wise-ass, but he knew how to crack a good joke.

"Unfortunately, no," he said. "But we do get to read some books that you could use your other head for."

'Nicolas Obody' grew as red as a ripe tomato. His classmates nearly cried in laughter, their heads on the tables and their faces muffled against the wooden surfaces. Chad had even fallen off his chair.

"Now, Nicolas, if you don't want to tell me your real name, that's fine with me," Gohan said truthfully. "But if you would please take your feet off that chair, I would very much appreciate it."

"Hey, don't blame me; I'm just keeping the seat occupied."

"And where is the rightful butt this chair belongs to?"

"I dunno," Beanie Boy said. "He's probably just late. I saw him at the beginning of school though, so I'm sure he's here."

"Well, that's great and all, but still." He moved his hands, gesturing for Beanie Boy to remove his feet, which he did.

The rest of class went on by normal standards for exactly five minutes. Gohan had just ordered the class to make a word cloud of things they associate with reading, when the door to the room swung open. Gohan was hardly paying attention; he knew this was the kid Beanie Boy had referred to. Along with the newcomer came the penetrating stench of tobacco.

He heard the new arrival take his seat. "Why are you late?" It was much more a demand than a question. The addressed teenager whispered some quick words to his neighbour before answering.

"I'm sorry sir; I had to bring some books back to the school's library."

The teacher turned around rapidly at the sound of the far too familiar voice. The new kid himself looked at Gohan with eyes as dark as freshly turned earth from behind black strands so wild, yet so similar to Gohan's, that the teacher felt like he was looking at a photo of himself, taken about ten years prior.

"Goten?"

Yes, it was his little brother alright, but there were so many things about him that were… different. Gohan had not been around a whole awful lot during the summer holidays, so the shift in tone in Goten's voice didn't escape his notice. His little brother was barrelling into puberty right now, his voice croaking and hair probably sprouting wherever it could reach. Yet it still wasn't the most remarkable aspect.

No, what was different about Goten had nothing to do with the kid finally hitting puberty the way he should. It was still the little boy that Gohan had grown up with during his teenage years, yet everything about him was different. While their mother wouldn't allow her children to wear their training clothes to school, Gohan didn't think she'd agree with her youngest son's attire either. The vest that he wore was baggy and hung limply over one shoulder. A cap –they were called 'caps' these days, not hats, Gohan had been told- stood askew on his head and the bottoms of his jeans dragged along the linoleum floor.

Gohan turned to Beanie Boy, who he suddenly suspected of throwing his voice all along. The kid, understanding that the game was up, pulled the cloth from his head. Lilac haired tumbled down in thick strands, falling over blue eyes. The boy grinned at his teacher, and Gohan found himself smirking. Little runt, he should've known!

"Wait, hold the phone," a plump, red-haired girl in front of the class called Gohan back to attention. He had just learned that her name was Monique. "Do you three know each other?"

"Yes, we're distant relatives." Goten said in a 'don't-ask-me-again' undertone.

While Gohan would've perfectly understood Goten's will to not have the whole school know that the Literature Teacher was also his big brother, the remark still stung deeply. He had said it was such aloofness, as if even something as small and far away as 'distant relatives' held no value to him whatsoever. Gohan tried to find his brother's eyes; they had always been an open book where the rest of Goten was silent. His own orbs softened, but Goten's stared back without blinking, an irritation in them that was unfamiliar to Gohan.

"Yup," Gohan confirmed the painful lie. "Mother's sister's second cousin, I think it was."

"Well then perhaps you should check the family tree again sometime," Monique suggested. "You two do look an awful lot alike, if you ask me." Then she whispered to her neighbour. "Perhaps Mommy liked Daddy's brother just a bit too much"

Class had to be continued; there was no way around that. Now that Goten had also taken his seat, Gohan slapped his palms together, effectively catching the collective attention.

"I would like all of you to finish your word clouds right now." He eyed his watch. "I'll give you about five more minutes to round of the last of it. After that we'll discuss our findings."

As his class turned their faces towards their work again, Gohan's eye fell on the duo in the far back. He had no doubt that these were 'the two individuals' that Grayson had warned him about. If only that old geezer knew just how problematic the two half-Saiyan's could become, he'd surely crap himself, maybe even twice. With a bit of luck that stick would also be unstuck from his anal cavity.

He would have to figure out the reasons behind Goten's hostile attitude later. About Trunks he had no concerns. The Briefs Boy had obviously known that Gohan would be his teacher, and had then decided that he could always try and play a good joke.

The two of them were at bay for now, but there were still some things to see that a competent teacher would never allow, and therefore Gohan didn't either.

"Goten," said boy looked up. "Please take of your cap."

Goten scoffed. "Why should I?"

"Because," Gohan sighed. "The school has a set amount of rules regarding to dress code. Either you lose the cap, or you can step outside and I'll grade you as low as I can go. That also means that you won't have to be coming back. Now, while that may sound super sweet to you, it also means that you get to flunk the year and give it another try in six months. So, what's it gonna be?"

He was beginning to get irritated himself also. He had managed to push aside the fact that Goten was his brother for the time being; all of the frustration he felt was the anger that always came when students were disobedient. His students always did what he said, always.

"How about this," Goten held his hand out, literally 'weighing the options'. "How about I keep sitting right here, you don't flunk me and I still keep my cap on?"

Gohan smirked despite everything. The kid wanted to play hardball. Let him come and get it.

The teacher rose from his desk, taking along a notepad and a pen. He observed the class briefly, and then returned his gaze to Goten. His stare hardened. A collective chill went through the classroom, and suddenly every pounding heart in the room could be heard.

While Goten may have long since learned to not be afraid of the Demon's Eye, he still shrank back in his seat as Gohan came to tower over him. For a second or two he was once again that little seven-year-old boy that had smashed Mommy's vase, and hid underneath the house's crawlspace to avoid a blistering spanking.

"Now listen, Goten," Gohan never took his eyes away from the teen. "Just because 'Auntie Chi' is your mother, doesn't mean you'll be getting any special treatments. So either you remove that cap right away, or you can march on out that door and stay out. I refuse to work with the hopeless cases." He added just the teensiest bit of bite to the 'Auntie Chi' part, and he was certain he saw a flicker in Goten's eyes, likely of either doubt or guilt, Personally, Gohan hoped for both.

Goten gave him a glare in return, but Gohan never blinked. Finally, Goten grumbled in obvious annoyance, pulled the cap from his head and tossed it across his table. The eye contact lingered for just a little longer. Then Gohan turned away, smiling at the rest of his students, hoping to get rid of the bad atmosphere. His little brother glanced at his best friend, with eyes that lingered just a second longer than the standards of comfort allowed.

The only thing that defused the tension was Trunks's long-stretched "Pfffffff.", a sound like the deflating of a balloon. Yet Gohan heard in them all the words he needed to hear.

Ouch man, when did your Brother become such a pain?

Gohan walked down the entrance hallway of the school, feeling defeated. The scene that had unfolded earlier that morning kept replaying in his head. Why had Goten given him the cold shoulder like that?

The teacher rubbed his temple with his free hand, feeling a headache rise to the surface. He saw no reason for his younger brother to treat him with so much apprehension, disdain even. Goten had looked at him like one might do to a cockroach, before stomping it flat and erasing its existence.

Honestly, Gohan wished he'd gone over to his maternal home over the past few months. In the eyes of a fifteen-year-old, absence was absence, no excuses possible. At least, Gohan thought that that was the underlying reason; there wasn't really another logical explanation.

He recognized himself in that line of thinking, though. Once upon a time, his own father had disappeared from the face of the Earth for seven whole years. The man hadn't even bothered to call in, which is weird, regarding the fact that he was always in the company of a deity being. It seemed only reasonable to Gohan then that he felt abandoned, even a little betrayed. Yet, in hindsight, he had learned to look past his hormone-fuelled thought process and see the greater good.

So in theory it all added up. Gohan's textbook knowledge told him that Goten's behaviour was nothing more than the hormonal escapades of a teenage Saiyan. But the teacher found it impossible to ignore his own emotional input ion the issue. What if there was an underlying reason to the irritated glares and the casual nonchalance?

Gohan walked past the information booth. Cynthia had already clocked out and left the desk empty. Homing in on home, he put the bad thoughts to the back of his brains; they were concerns for later. Maybe he should call his mother and see if she could shed some light on the problem.

The teacher drew in his breath out of pure habit. For once, he paid no mind to the floor beneath his feet, or the assault on his senses that it usually represented. He wanted nothing more now than get home, hug his daughter and kiss his wife. He walked out of the door towards the parking lot.

"Yeah, so I already hate this P.E. bastard," A voice came from the left. "Thinking he can make me do ten laps. If only he knew I could do ten thousand and still have some time to have a cup of tea before the end of class."

"Don't bullshit me, you hate tea and you know it."

"Fine, I'll go for a hot chocolate then!" the first voice again. "And I'll have some biscuits to go with it. Are you happy now?"

They stood to the left, leaning against the dark green fence that had been put up around the school's premises. Gohan recognized them instantly; it was the duo that every teacher in South City High feared like the possibility of a fatal heart attack. The right one, dark-haired and slightly shorter than his friend, was tossing his cap in one hand, catching it by the flap on front every time it came down again. With the other he held a lit cigarette.

The two looked up, and then fell silent immediately. While his common sense urged him to walk away, Gohan let his emotions lift his feet from the ground. Trunks tried to lean back farther into the gate, as if he hoped he could disappear into it completely, and spend the rest of his days guarding the institute of learning he probably so despised. Goten didn't budge an inch, folding his arms in front of his chest defiantly.

"Hey boys," Gohan quipped, shoulders loose and a feigned smile on his face. "I honestly hope to keep seeing you guys in my classes."

Goten coughed, in an attempt to disguise the words that Gohan made out to "Yeah, as if." The elder Son chose to ignore this.

"Say, Trunks," the teacher said. The purple-haired boy looked up at him. "Great thing you did in class, throwing your voice and all. I hardly recognized you without the hair and that shrill squeaking you always do." Trunks was always in for a good joke, and sure enough, the kid laughed. Gohan felt no hostility from his end, only from the glowering teen beside him.

"Yeah, I thought it'd be fun to mess with ya," Trunks admitted. "Did you like the part about the porn magazines?"

Gohan chuckled. "Yes, I did. It was horribly, inappropriately funny."

"That's what I'm here for."

Suddenly, the second and silent teenager emitted something that sounded more like a growl than anything, a harsh grunt of anger or irritation, or both.

"Will you please cut crap?" Goten snapped, eyebrows pointing down and creasing his forehead. "We all you are the perfectly loveable teacher, you can drop the act now."

At first Gohan could only scoff. "You think this all an act?" he asked in utter disbelief. "Do you honestly believe that this is all for show?"

His little brother said nothing. He merely pulled smoke from his cigarette, blowing it in his sibling's face in an act of childish rebellion.

"Does Mom know?" Gohan pointed at the cancerous stick between the other's fingers. "She'll have a fit when she finds out her little boy is a smoker."

"Why do you even care?" Goten bit at him. "Since when did I become this delinquent that you have to play police over?"

For the entirety of the conversation, Gohan had been suppressing the ever growing tendency the smack his brother across the face. His fingers tingled, simply begging to be curled into a fist and launched with force. Goten would probably only bruise a little anyway, no matter how hard he lunged. Giving them something else to do, the teacher brushed the trembling limbs through his hair, pulling at the roots and laying knots in them. He glanced at Trunks in the hope of finding some form of assistance, but Bulma's son could only raise his shoulders. The look he gave Gohan, however, was one of concern. It seemed he felt the same way about the whole situation; confused and annoyed, even a bit desperate.

Gohan turned back to his partner in this argument. He gnashed his teeth before speaking, looking for the right words.

"Well, perhaps the reason I care…" he nearly breathed the words through gritted teeth. "…is because I am your older brother. Have you ever given that any thought? You do realize that I was the one that changed your diapers and fed you and even sang you to damn sleep, when you weren't even old enough to walk on those stubby stilts of yours?" He stared Goten dead in the eye. "Is it so hard for you to believe that Big Brother's care about their little ones? What do you want me to do, just ignore your existence?"

He was silent for a few seconds, and so was Goten. Gohan could see the wide range of rebuttals milling through the kid's head. When Goten made no reply, but simply flicked it cigarette on the ground and crushed it under his heel, Gohan turned around.

"If you're going to act this way," he said, glancing over his right shoulder. "At least have the common damn decency to stay away from my classroom." And with that he barged away, leaving Goten standing, stupefied and outraged.

"Damn it!" Goten tossed the controller onto the table in front of him, disregarding it as it fell in between a stack of worn-out magazines and crushed cans of energy drink. He could hardly focus on the video game itself, and the letters that now flashed on the television screen just had to go and point out how much of a failure he was.

Literally all he wanted to do now was go home, lie on his bed and bury his face in his pillow. His mother had never told him much about the school he was supposed to attend, but he had hated the idea of going to an actual institute of education so much that he had hardly listened to any of her words.

Finding his place in the pecking order had been easy enough. During his second day he had been called out by the school bully –he had been told so later on-. Apparently Goten's existence didn't sit right with the guy, so he had decided to teach him a lesson after P.E. class. Sure enough, the idiot had gotten the surprise of a lifetime, and was probably still picking blades of grass from his teeth even now.

It had immediately labelled him as the new kid to watch out for. Nicknames as ridiculous as 'the Black-Haired Menace' had been used to describe him; it was quite amusing, really.

The only good thing that had come from this whole school ordeal was that Bulma had backed the idea one hundred percent. To show her support to the cause, she had decided that it was time for Trunks as well to attend public school. He had protested, screamed and even thrown a tantrum, but his mother wouldn't budge an inch. So on the first day of the New Year Trunks had accompanied Goten to their first class together.

The boy in question was sitting on the old, dusty couch across from the TV, flat on his back with his legs over the armrests and his head nearly in Goten's lap. The whole room around them was the embodiment of irony; the ancient sofa and television set, along with the walls that could definitely use a lick of paint, it created a stark contrast with the rest of the Brief's residence. The family had so much money that not flaunting it was not an option.

"Hey, chill out, man," Trunks said. His eyes never left the nudy magazine he held suspended over his head. When Goten glanced over the cover he was greeted by a pair of out-of-proportion beach ball breasts, attached to a stick thin woman who could have her ribs counted from a distance.

"I wish I could chill out," Goten said, resting a hand on his forehead. "I suppose today is getting to me."

"Well, that whole thing that happened with Gohan," Trunks moved the magazine, so Goten could see his face. He never finished his sentence, but his facial expression exclaimed the perfect level of 'ouch!'

"I'm not happy with how that turned out either." Goten hoped that Trunks would drop the subject; he had no desire to discuss it any further.

"Why did you act like that to him anyway?" Trunks asked. "It's not like he deserved it."

"Can we please not talk about this?"

"I really think we should."

"Fine..." Goten mumbled. He took the controller back from the table, but didn't do anything with it, he just let it sit there and be useless. "I suppose I am a bit pissed at him." He said, avoiding his friend's eye. "I mean, he's been gone all summer and all of a sudden he's my teacher. A little bit of notice up front would've been nice."

Goten looked down, immediately wishing he hadn't. Trunks had always had the ability to make him uncomfortable by simply looking at him. It was near impossible to turn away when he decided to stare Goten down. All he could do was stare back.

"Liar."

"What?" Goten was at a loss for words.

"You're a liar," Trunks repeated. "There's no way in hell that you're mad at Gohan because of that. You told me yourself that the two of you texted regularly during his time away. So please cut the crap and tell me what's really going on."

There was no use in denying it now; he could never lie to Trunks. His best friend was far too deep into his comfort zone to be fooled. It was almost as if he could smell the fallacy.

"Okay, okay," Goten rubbed his temples. "It has to do with reputation, okay?"

Trunks blinked at him stupidly. "Are you kidding me?"

"No, I'm not." And that was the truth, harsh as it may have been. Goten hated everything about his current school situation, and every little thing that could make it better he would grasp with both hands. "I just mean, like, we have another four years to go in this hell hole. Right now our rep is working for us, so we have a chance of making this all somewhat bearable. We can't spoil it by being all friendly with the Literature teacher."

"Goten," Trunks's tone had shifted from questioning to pressing. "You made Wicked Walter eat dirt, how can talking to Gohan like a normal person instead of a dog harm your 'rep' in any way?"

Goten let the remark about dogs slide by; the truth of the statement was too harsh. He found that he'd removed his cap from his head, his fingernails absentmindedly picking at the golden sticker on the bill. It was obvious that Trunks didn't understand him, nor that he would. Some things weren't even safe to share with someone who had transcended that status of 'best friends' over a decade ago.

"You wouldn't understand."

A purple eyebrow went into the air, forming a perfect arch. "Well at least try to explain." Trunks said. "I think you owe me that much, at least."

The younger of the two sighed, tossing the cap aside like a dirty dish rag. Why wouldn't his friend just drop the subject and let him wallow in his self-pity? Yes, he had always told the Briefs Boy everything on his mind, but times changed as much as people did. Being such an open book was taking its toll now, and perhaps it was time to snap it shut and let the outside world see nothing but the cover.

"Maybe I just don't want to be myself anymore," It sounded ridiculous, but it was the only way Goten could put it to words. "Perhaps I'm tired of always being that happy-go-lucky kid who clings to his family like a lifeline."

"So you're saying that you're running into maturity now?" Trunks's tone was slightly unbelieving. "You're going to fly out of the parental nest and spread your wings?"

"No, no," Goten raised his hands in defence. "No, it's not that. But I suppose I just want to be someone else, someone who is not me."

"So that's why you turned into Mister Hardass?"

"Yeah, kinda," Goten said, truthfully. "Just think of this: If I don't keep up with this… this alter ego, people will find a way to break down your walls. I'd like to keep them up, thank you."

A moment's silence followed, both boys looking at each other; Trunks trying to get a good reading on his best friend, Goten doing his best to not let his eyes betray his thoughts. Cerulean and onyx matched each other in intensity, but the darkness turned away before the light.

"You have secrets?" Trunks asked eventually.

"Yes," Goten said, almost feeling guilty. "But it's not like you don't have them either."

"Of course I do," Trunks snickered. "But I wasn't talking about us being super-powered half-aliens who make a hobby out of saving the world. I meant other secrets, things you haven't even told me."

Goten remained silent.

"You mean you do?" Trunks's voice went from curious, to outraged.

"Maybe I do," Goten gnashed his teeth and frowned. "Is that a problem?"

"Well, no," the purple-haired boy was taken aback. "No, man, if you want to keep stuff to yourself, that's fine, but it's just that I don't know you this way."

"People change, Trunks." And with that the discussion was at an end. Goten returned to losing his video game, but his mind was absent during it all. Trunks spent some more time leafing through his magazines, occasionally holding a centre fold out for Goten to drool over, but Goten only glanced over them; somehow a naked woman printed on paper didn't exactly rouse his interest.

So here he was, wrapped in his little cocoon of solitude, hoping that neither Trunks nor Gohan would start to chip away at the walls that currently protected him.

If they would break, there would be catastrophe.