Raindrops

Chapter 8: Soul of a Man

A/N: I was inspired by Kinky Boots (LOL). If you ever read a T/OC fic that I deleted called "In Other Words" then you'll recognize this title. I may have taken a lot of ideas from that story transferred it over to this one. They really are similar in that way. I uh, may have taken a literal scene from it. Is that plagiarizing myself hmmm?

Marron sat in her cubicle, glancing at the spread she was working for the next copy of La Mode. But her mind was hazy from the night prior. She could feel the dryness in her eyes from the lack of sleep, heavy dark ringlets circling her usually bright eyes. Her mind continuously replayed the same scene of Trunks' arms around her, her chest swelled at the thought of being caught between his chest and arms one more time.

She understood now that her feelings for him have been growing, violently. Much like a monster in the night, she tried to pretend it wasn't hiding under her bed. But it was everywhere. Her feelings for him were spilling from her closet, spreading across her bedroom floor drowning her.

She palmed her forehead. It was bad. It was bad to think these things of a friend who was equally as vulnerable as she felt right now. She could enjoy pretending Trunks was back to normal but the distance she felt that morning when he gave her a single glance told her all she needed to know.

She needed to step away. It wasn't her doing, it wasn't her problem.

Marron grabbed a pen, scribbling circular shapes onto a paper. Her expression dejected before she glanced over to her phone which laid upside down on her desk. She simply sat, and let the waves of emotions come crashing over her. She should get away from all of this, it wasn't her business. She kept drilling the mantra into her head.

She didn't know what felt worse, the fact Marron's longing grew with a simple embrace or that Goten and Trunks were fighting and there was nothing she could possibly do. She went back to the night before, thinking of his enigmatic pools of blue. Marron swore she could swim all day in them. She recalls the orange light hitting the top of his scalp watching the orange glow as it reflected against his soft lavender hair.

He had been watching her, glancing at her. It felt wrong.

Marron heaved a sigh, turning her head to the computer screen where the same spread was left unchanged. She struggled with how to design it, unsure if the red and purples looked good together. Her mind was too fuzzy to know what to do, or even, how to do it.

For the first time in about a year, Trunks decided he wasn't going to work. His reasoning for this outrageous idea was that Vegeta was going to demand him out of the office anyway. Trunks slumped down on the couch, staring at the empty apartment, sensing his father's ki as he approached the skyscraper. It was going to be minutes before he burst into the penthouse yelling about being a disgrace to the Saiyan name or something along those lines. You can never make everyone happy, Trunks mused. His mother had argued with him for months on fixing his work ethic, which he did and began making great strides for the company.

Sacrificing his own happiness for it all.

His father, he wanted Trunks to be strong. He didn't want Trunks to stoop to the level of humans in these times of peace...and wasn't happy with Trunks' extreme focus on working. Trunks felt himself separating from his family, sensing that Vegeta and Bulma both expected too much from him.

Did anyone care about what he wanted?

He was just another successor to his grandfather's genius. Trunks will never even reach the same level of greatness as him. Trunks accepted this the moment he realized all the hard work he was doing, all the late nights he spent in Capsule Corporation was not making him happy. Not much made him happy anymore, not working, not training, not even partying - as Goten so grossly assumed would work. He looked to the side and saw his father floating in front of his window. He could see Vegeta's face contorted in what seemed like disappointment.

He cocked his head to the side, calling Trunks to come outside. Much like a child, he followed his father's command. He exited out of the balcony and blankly stared at his father, attempting to make sense of what he would do next. Trunks flew closer to his father, who gave him a domineering glance. "Trunks," Vegeta began, "your mother wants to see you."

Trunks bit the inside of his cheek, his molars squeezing tightly until the hybrid tasted iron on his tongue. "Guess I don't have much of a choice, huh?" Trunks asked, his head cocked in the slightest attempt of defiance. "What are you going to do, drag me over there," Trunks stated, sarcasm laced in his voice.

Vegeta scoffed at his son, arms still stuck to his chest, "If you know what's good for you boy, you come with me." It didn't take much else to have Trunks trailing Vegeta like the child they both knew he was. Vegeta sniffed the air as he made his way towards Capsule Corp, turning to eye his son. "Have you been around that spawn of the toaster," Vegeta sneered.

Trunks recalled his father's distaste for Eighteen and his mother's friendships with the woman, he didn't know exactly why Vegeta disliked her or called her such derogatory names, there were only mere whisperings of what truly happened. Trunks believed the woman must've hurt his father's ego beyond repair. "That stench is all over you."

Trunks quirked a brow at his father, "how do you even know that-"

Vegeta rolled his eyes at his son's less fine-tuned senses, "the girl smells near identical to that wench," Vegeta fussed. "I'm not interested in what late night affairs you are doing with the robot spawn, just don't bring her around here, that smell is insufferable."

The hoops Vegeta jumped through to even reach that conclusion was absolutely astounding. Trunks' was utterly flabbergasted at the assumption. "Well you're wrong there, I'm not sleeping around with people, Dad," Trunks responded matter-of-factly, "what does that even have to do with mom?"

"Kakarot's brat came to me this morning," Vegeta responded nonchalantly. "The boy wouldn't stop yapping about some quarrel between the two of you."

Trunks groaned as he landed on the Capsule corp lawn, "seriously?" Trunks questioned. "That's why you dragged me out here?"

Vegeta snapped his neck towards Trunks giving him a warning glare, "watch your tone boy." The Saiyan Prince recomposed himself, breathing in sharply. The reality of it all was that Vegeta was actually, in his own way, concerned for Trunks. When Goten came frantically to him complaining of his strange mannerisms and behavior that was rather very unlike Trunks, he felt perhaps it was time to break the ridiculous argument that his stubborn wife and son had been having for nearly a year. Vegeta tossed his son a spandex suit and cocked his head towards the gravity room. "Gravity room, five minutes."

Trunks groaned, carefully stepping into his old home. He glanced at the images of his family hung from the wall and Trunks couldn't help but feel the wave of nostalgia wash over him. Then his eyes landed on an image he almost forgot; it was Goten, Marron, and him smiling cheesily in clothes almost destroyed at Marron's uncle's reservation. His grin was toothy and arms still somewhat stubby, Goten equally-so and the blonde stood proudly between them, her chest puffed out attempting to pose with her nose in the air- but to no avail for the lack thereof.

The hybrid set the picture back on the table and headed towards the bathroom.

Training with Vegeta was intensive in every way. Trunks understood that he required the labored training, yet he dreaded it. A disgrace, Vegeta would bite out when he struggled to keep up with the bots. Inside that metallic room, a flamed-haired Saiyan floated upside-down whilst staring at his son who was on all fours with droplets of sweat rolling down his forehead. The hybrid's labored breathing allowed for speckled vision as his arms and legs grew numb. In an immense battle with his worn muscles, Trunks craned his neck upward, met with his father's eyes.

"Up, boy."

Trunks laboriously brought one leg up, attempting to stand under the crushing gravitational settings his father had set for him. He could feel the tension weighing down on his bones, as though if it were any heavier his bones would inevitably snap. Vegeta grunted, disappointed at his son's current state. Vegeta knew that these peaceful times made his son grow weaker by the day, the sheer disinterest in training to become stronger wasn't as important to the half-breeds.

Despite the Saiyan blood that coursed through his veins, his passion to fight was seemingly halted by other Earthly worries. Vegeta always understood the boy was never destined to be like him, much like Kakarot's older brat. He too was bound tightly to this planet and its frivolous delights.

But he also understood, Trunks, at least this version of him has never had anything to fight for. He lived beneath the shadow of Vegeta's strength, almost like a shield and something like that didn't sit right with the Prince. Every passing moment struck fear into Vegeta's heart, fear of a fate that was seemingly inevitable. Eventually, the pride of a Saiyan and its many customs were doomed into oblivion. Vegeta wanted to retain whatever he knew of the Saiyan Race in his son (though admittedly, all Vegeta knew were mere fragments and stories of his race).

"You're becoming soft, Trunks," Vegeta stated, returning right-side-up with both of his feet planted on the metal flooring.

Trunks looked off to the side, where he was met face-to-face with one of the bots in the machine. "I know, there's no need to remind me," the hybrid responded, emitting a frustrated sigh before stretching his back. "Work at Capsule Corp has been making me slack off but—"

"There is no excuse!" Vegeta barked back whilst he entered his fighting stance. "Come now, let us continue."

Trunks walked into the kitchen, watching as his mother came into the light. "I see you came, Trunks," Bulma replied, not even wanting to look at her estranged son. "I thought you were gonna avoid it like every other time I've called," Bulma stated looking at a notebook that laid on the island counter, he could sense the acidic nature of her words. As if listening to them could kill you.

"Mom, I wasn't trying to avoid you," Trunks began, barely choking out his words before the bluenette held a finger up in the air. Her blue-fire eyes lit aflame by her statement.

"You think I'm going to buy that crap, Trunks?" Bulma began "Why did it have to take your father to get you to come here and talk to me?" She asked tapping her foot against the marble flooring. Trunks could sense her voice faltering, she wanted to say something but was angrily blinded and frustrated by her own tears.

"Why didn't you call me? It's been nine months, Trunks," Bulma said as her tears welled up in her eyes.

The lavender-haired hybrid closed his eyes, breathing slowly as to not become overwhelmed before his mother. "Mom, I didn't know if it was fine yet...I've been working hard because of what you've said," Trunks started, "I'm doing this all for you, why are you pushing me away."

Bulma stayed silent, her eyes wandering over her son's attempting to decipher his frustration. He had begun to make strides for the better, but Bulma had been so stubborn as to not congratulate him...afraid that he was going to relapse into the excessive partying which tanked the stocks of the company. Bulma stepped forward glancing at her much taller son, shaking her head as she held his olive-toned hands. "I just want my son home, Trunks," her eyes daring to cry.

Trunks stared off distantly, not wishing to reply. The argument was stupid and he understood that she had every point, every reason to be upset at him. Trunks felt nothing more than a disappointment to both of his parents despite his efforts he never felt he could live up to his mother or father's expectations.

He understood it was a long road to recovery to his broken relationship with his family. Bulma simply placed a hand on his shoulder and shook her head, "I can't wait forever, Trunks." And with that, the greying bluenette walked off leaving Trunks feeling dejected. He wanted to end this just as much as anyone in their house did, the tension when his mother enters the room is seemingly thick...near impossible to breathe.

He should have never stayed away so long. Trunks knew he wanted to speak to his mother, but this...it just wasn't the way to do so. He raked his hands through his hair, letting out a frustrated grunt. It was time to go.

Trunks sighed, laying his back against his bed. His body in a full ache due to the pain received from training with his father. He realized the gruesome training was necessary for the future, but he still yearned to scream at the world. The weight of everyone's expectation seems to topple over him, feeling as if it would cripple him. Trunks knew deep within himself he would never be what the world expected him to be, and yet the hybrid stretched himself thin. Trunks truly attempted to be a warrior, player, businessman and genius all at once, simply to not disappoint those who already had some sort of notion of his façade.

To be like his mother was to be everything the company expected of him, and that simply wasn't something he could bring himself to do. To be like Bulma Briefs was to amplify every part of yourself and become larger than life until you find a space in which to crumble apart. Even for a moment in time, Trunks wished he had an escape from this faux human caste system. A world morphed around the idea of status and power, rather than people. It seemed like the laymen lived a life away from it all; what of the public eye? No one seemed to care for who they were or where they came from.

To be like his father was to relinquish all the bottled emotions within. To hold your emotions hostage and to suffocate them until they dissipate: a practice Trunks partook in. Compassion, love or sensitivity were signs of weakness.

"Your emotions are your weakness," Trunks could recall his father's words of advice, given to him at the tender age of seven. Vegeta was an intense, brooding character with the sensibilities, outwardly at least, of a rock. He was blunt and acerbic in his word choice, carrying himself with pride in which no one else understood.

To be like Vegeta, Trunks would have to sacrifice his one humbling feature for an over-stroked inflated ego. Trunks has tried both and neither have worked for him, Trunks was tired of hearing his family and friends chant the same juxtapositions.

"Think of the company legacy!"

"Think of your Saiyan Pride."

"You are just as human as everyone else."

"You are a Saiyan warrior, nothing else."

Trunks wouldn't admit any of these secrets to Marron but he thought of his father quite often. From a young age, he had desired to be like him: strong and powerful. Trunks realized that try as he might, he would never be able to create the kind of image his father had wanted.

Though he never could admit, he cried.

He cried for his father, and all the sacrifices he'd made for him and his mother.

For the horrors he had been thrown into at such a young age, and the fearsome battles that an eight-year-old mind could never comprehend.

The trauma that will never be erased, the trauma no one truly understood.

The hybrid felt his eyes sting before shaking his head vigorously, breathing in deeply, attempting to keep himself calm. He sunk into his bed and glared at the ceiling, trying to fight back his tears, the feeling much akin to that of someone scratching your eyes agonizingly slowly. The hybrid's chest heaved before releasing his tension with a deep exhale. He looked outside and watched as the rain poured down, feeling much like the raindrops that chased each other colliding violently. Chaos reigned.

A/N: Hey guys, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter and if you did please let me know in a review as I always appreciate those ;p. If you recognize some stuff from In Other Words, that's because the last scene was taken and completely revised but still kept to those similar events.

I am trying to refrain from very quick updates but I get excited about updating as I always have the next chapter already ready for consumption but patience is a virtue!