Wowwie…chapter 10 already! I can't believe this, but, I'm actually sad to be writing! Just seven more chapters after this…sniff, sniff.

But let's not be sad! We now have a (solid?) relationship between our boys. Kudos to the both of them; Trunks for not being blush-y or held back by his past (future? Ack….I hate time travel…), and Sev for not being a stubborn ass hole ;).

Again with the question of 'how-hard-can-it-be-for-me-to-write-Trunks?'…apparently very hard. it's weird because I know his quirks, I know his moves, I know what he likes to eat when he's bored at home (well, I can make a good guess anyway) but for the life of me, I can't seem to put it down on paper as easily as when I write from Sev's point of view! I think it might be because I like to write inside people's heads. This is easy with Sev because he's calculating and doesn't say much; but Trunks is more action than thought. I mean, sure he thinks about things, but he tends to be very rash. Anyways, my point is that if he seems a bit off in this chapter, you will know why.

Thank you to all of those who have stuck with the story all the way through so far! It makes me feel special…

Chapter 10: Tpov

I'm glad I found him that day. It was hard, since he doesn't have any ki to sense, but I did it. We went back to the apartment afterwards, and everything has been going well enough; although, he's been writing in that school journal a lot lately. I'm curious, to be sure, but know all too well that those who don't regard others' privacy only end of in a huge bout of trouble. I've seen it happen too many times not to.

Speaking of which…

I walked into the living room to find him in his usual spot, leaning against the couch on the floor, and sure enough, he had book and pen in hand.

"What are you writing about this time?"

He glanced up a second, then answered,

"Stuff."

I sighed, and flopped on the couch, absently beginning to play with his hair.

"Have you ever thought about cutting it?" I asked.

"Never."

"Not that you should…"

"Good, because I won't."

"OK."

"OK."

It was quiet; very quiet. Except for the pen. It seemed to speed across the paper with a life of its own, and I smiled. I'm not sure why, but I did. 17 huffed and switched the pen to his left hand. I was surprised.

"You're ambidextrous?"

"Sure am."

"Why are you answering so shortly?"

"Cause I can."

"Oy."

He paused our banter for a minute, thinking.

"Angry?" he asked

"Annoyed."

I saw him stumble with the pen just then (it wrote 'taknnoyed'), and growled as he scribbled it out furiously. I thought about it, then asked coyly

"You can't talk and write at the same time very well, can you?"

"Do you have to point out everything I can't do?" he returned bitterly.

I laughed and answered, "If it'll shrink that ego of yours, it's quite possible."

He let out a quiet "hmph" before continuing whatever he was writing. I glanced down and saw the word 'time' by accident. My blood froze; time. I was spending too much of it here, I needed to get back to my own, and I was most certainly running out of it to do something. I had to get working…

And leave him behind. Why? Why does life always turn out this way?

"Can I have a piece of paper and a pen?" I asked. Without stopping the pen, he turned the page, tore out the next blank sheet, and handed it to me, pointing to a cup full of pens and pencils on the coffee table. I got up, took a pencil, and sat writing

"List of bad/weird/cliché things that have happened to me while here:

-crashed

-found by enemy

-fell in love with enemy

-enemy/lover's sister had baby with friend of family

-now that there is significant other, must leave

-life has become a soap opera

"done." I heard him murmur. He capped the pen and shut the notebook.

"Do you mind if I ask what it was about?" I questioned. He looked thoughtfully at me, then my paper.

"Only if you tell me what you wrote."

I hesitated,

"A list."

He shrugged and said, "Poem."

I already knew where this was going. He wasn't going to budge. The less I gave, the less he'd give. I wouldn't mind this childish game if it weren't for two things; one, I was oddly curious that day, and two, I didn't want to risk the chance of hurting his feelings. So I was stuck somewhere in between. Taking a deep breath, I decided to take the plunge.

"Ok…it's a list of clichés I found in this trip."

He snorted and replied, "Life in general is a cliché. I've gotten used to the fact that it will always play out like some child's bedtime story."

He picked up the notebook and casually flipped through the paged. I noticed an odd look somewhere between nostalgia and nausea come across his face and began to worry.

"It's…about you," he started then frowned.

"You'll…leave eventually, right?"

I frowned sadly as well.

"I guess at some point I'll be going home and—"

"NO!" he threw the book to the floor with a loud, echoing smack. "That's not what I meant! I meant…you'll leave. All humans do. All living things do. They'll die."

I could do nothing but stand there, watching this poor confused thing click the pieces together. The look on his face said all too clearly that his mental puzzle was nearly complete, and he didn't like the picture it was about to become. I felt my heart and stomach sink when he spoke again, tears forming in his piercing gaze

"You started this, Trunks! Don't think you can just drop it when you don't want it anymore. What's wrong? You were nothing but smiles when I told you I loved you on that rock and now you don't want to stick around? It won't work that way, EVER. I died the day Gero strapped me to that table. Then you came along and I felt like maybe you could breathe life back into me. You did. But now, after that, after so long of struggling to claw that deeply into me and reach my black heart to turn it whole, you squeeze out the blood and tear it out?!"

His sad expression turned dark, and I felt a stab in my own heart when he finished,

"You can't do this to me. Even I don't deserve that."