It was barely the crack of dawn when Piccolo landed in front of the West City apartment building, Yamcha's unconscious form slung limply over his shoulder like a sack of flour. He glanced down at the driver's license he'd pilfered from the man's wallet, making sure the numbers of this building matched the registered address on the card. Seemed about right. Now he just had to find which of these apartments were his. He turned over his hand to look at the set of keys tucked into his palm. One had a worn tag hanging from it, the numbers "805" barely visible written in faded blue ink on it. Somewhere on the eighth floor, he was guessing.

Stepping into the foyer of the building, Piccolo found that it was not quite as empty as he'd hoped. He spotted a little old lady shuffling documents at the front desk, a task she immediately looked up from when she heard the door open and close. She was halfway through the first word of a polite greeting when she suddenly froze in place, her eyes widening in clear terror behind the thick lenses of her glasses. This pulled little more than a world-weary sigh from the Namekian, and he tried his best to ignore the woman as he made his way over towards the staircase. He was accustomed to such reactions, though that didn't mean he was immune to the effects it had on him. He tended to avoid populated areas for this very reason. It was hard to keep your morale intact when every human you meet stares at you like you're a monster. To be fair, carrying a body with him probably didn't help that image.

Thankfully, her instinctive fear of him meant that he wasn't told to stop when he started up the stairs. He tried his best to put it out of his mind as he made his way up to the eighth floor. He seemed to have better luck up there, the landing and hall being mercifully vacant. It was simple work from there to find apartment 805. As final confirmation that he'd found the right place, the labeled key worked to open the door without any trouble.

"Lord Yamcha, you're finally ba—!"

The high-pitched squeak of a voice that greeted him upon entering the apartment was so grating to Piccolo's sensitive ears that it caused him to physically flinch. Luckily, the owner of the voice instantly clammed up upon seeing who it was that actually walked in. He stared down at the tiny floating cat that seemed frozen in fear at the sight of him, though at least he knew the changeling had seen enough of what he was capable of for that fearful reaction to be well justified.

"Where's his room?" he asked flatly, really not in the mood to deal with Puar more than was necessary. Unfortunately, this seemed to stoke some latent bravery in the little blue feline, as she abruptly transformed into a large, fearsome tiger that would have been plenty intimidating to any normal intruder.

"Wh-what did you do to my Master?!" she demanded, though she couldn't seem to keep a frightened tremor out of her voice even as she bared massive fangs at him.

"Right, because what I did to him is really the most pertinent thing to discuss right now," Piccolo grumbled somewhat derisively under his breath, a small bit of lingering embarrassment rising up in him to give his cheeks a slightly purple hue. He then merely walked around Puar into the apartment proper, ignoring her since she didn't seem all that interested in helping. He was sure he'd be able to find the bedroom on his own, in any case. It was a small apartment, after all.

Sure enough, the first door he opened led to a small bedroom sparsely decorated in baseball memorabilia, the most prominent piece being the framed West City Taitans jersey with Yamcha's name embroidered across the back hanging over his bed. Of course, Piccolo never saw the point in big spectator sports like that, so it all held little interest to him. Instead, he merely hefted Yamcha off his shoulder and onto the bed, leaving him sprawled there however he happened to land. The man hardly stirred at such treatment, still fast asleep and likely still a little drunk.

Piccolo hardly spared him another glance before turning to leave. He'd already taken the time to dress him and carry him all the way back here, which was much more than he might normally be bothered to do. There was no sense in lingering any longer, and especially not long enough for him to finally wake up and see him there. Best to just keep last night in the past and move on like it never happened.

As he made his way out to the living room again, he set Yamcha's driver's license and keys on the coffee table where it would easily be found. He then headed for the sliding glass doors leading towards the balcony, preferring to fly off from there rather than waste his time going down through the building again. Besides, the fewer of Yamcha's neighbors that saw him there, the better.

He slid the door open and went to step out, but paused just before he could. He glanced back over his shoulder, spotting Puar still floating there about where he'd left her. She'd transformed back into her normal tiny form, though she had a look more of confusion than fear now. He let out a sigh almost in defeat, some small bit of stubbornness breaking away for a moment.

"Look… Keep an eye on him, will you? And don't let him wander off like an idiot again. This is the only time I'm going to do something like this for him, understand?"

Of course, it was clear by the look on the cat's face that she didn't understand at all. In fact, Piccolo's words only seemed to confuse her all the more. He wasn't terribly interested in clarifying further, however, instead taking off into the sky without another word and heading off to the East.

By the time Piccolo had made it out to the East District, he found that both Goku and Gohan were still eating breakfast inside their home. He wasn't surprised. He'd shown up quite a bit earlier than they'd normally start their daily training. Rather than going inside to join them, he merely sat down at the base of one of the trees just outside their house, crossing his arms and legs and closing his eyes to sneak in a bit of meditation while he waited.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he was soon pulled from his quiet concentration when he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder.

"So… Did you have fun last night?"

Piccolo's eyes suddenly shot open wide at that teasing remark, his head slowly turning until he met the sly smirk plastered across Goku's face, a look in his eye like he'd just caught the Namekian red handed. At first, Piccolo had no idea how to respond to that, his mouth hanging open in mixed horror and astonishment at what the normally oblivious Saiyan was asking him. There was no way… On the list of people he'd expect to be able to suss out what he and Yamcha had done the night before, Goku was… Well, he wasn't even on the list! He was probably the one person he knew that was even more socially inept than himself! There was absolutely no way he of all people could have figured it out already!

And yet… That look the normally childlike warrior had him fixed in, a look like he could read him like a book, like there wasn't a secret he held, no matter how deep or dark, that he couldn't see plain as day. Piccolo actually had to swallow at the nervous lump that had gathered in his throat at that look alone.

"I-I… I have no idea what you're talking about!" he shot back defensively, unable to keep his sudden wave of anxiety completely out of his voice. This stammering response only seemed to deepen Goku's amusement, his smirk shifting into a full on grin.

"You can't play coy with me, Piccolo. I could sense you out there last night," he taunted confidently, even going so far as to rest an elbow against the Namekian's shoulder. "So, why don't you just stop pretending I don't know what you're up to and just come clean; who were you with that managed to get you so worked up?"

"Th-that's hardly any of your business!" Piccolo retorted immediately, shaking the other man's arm off him and backing away until he felt his back hit the trunk of the tree behind him.

"Sure it's my business!" Goku pressed on further, closing the distance between the two of them once more before adding, "'Cause next time, I want in!"

Piccolo's face turned the deepest shade of purple it ever had been at that, unable to stop his mind from replaying the night before, but with Goku added into the mix. Was he seriously asking..?

"Have you lost your damn mind?!" he growled out in an almost offended tone. "What would your wife say if she heard you asking to do that with two other people?!"

At that, Goku's conspiratorial expression melted away into his usual cluelessness, complete with a questioning tilt of his head.

"Huh? What do you mean? What does Chi Chi care who I spar with?"

Piccolo could only stare in dumbfounded silence at Goku when he asked that. What did he just say..?

"S-spar..?" he repeated tentatively, which seemed to spark the return of the Saiyan's cocky attitude.

"Yeah! You thought you were real slick, sneaking off last night to get an extra training session in on the sly, but I caught on to you! So, c'mon, who was it? Your ki kinda drowned theirs out, so I couldn't tell who it was. Are they super strong and just know how to conceal their ki in a fight? Think they'd join us to train?"

As it became abundantly clear what Goku actually thought was going on, Piccolo felt much of the tension — and perhaps a bit of his soul — leave his body. On one hand, he was infinitely relieved that his former arch enemy hadn't miraculously figured out what he'd done out there in the woods the night before. On the other hand, he could kill Goku for needlessly freaking him out like that, leading him to quite possibly out himself if that misunderstanding had gone much further than it did. In the end, the two sentiments merged to produce a withering glare.

"Goku… Do you know what a double entendre is?" he asked eventually, earning another confused head tilt from his companion.

"Nope! What's that? Sounds tasty!"

At that, Piccolo could do little more than bring a hand up to cover his eyes as he shook his head in utter exasperation. He honestly couldn't decide if the sheer stupidity on display here was better or worse than being caught getting railed by Yamcha.

"Goku, for everyone's sake, I beg you… Just stop talking."

If left to his own devices, Yamcha probably would have slept through the rest of the day with how tired he was. At least then he'd be able to sleep through what was surely one monster of a hangover. Unfortunately, as seemed to be the case lately, he wasn't left to his own devices. Slowly, the sensation of a tiny paw gently bapping his cheek managed to penetrate through to his consciousness.

With a reluctant groan, Yamcha allowed himself to be roused from sleep, cracking open one eye to spot the familiar shape of a blue and white feline cat-loafing on the pillow next to his head. Her ears perked up when she saw him finally start to wake up.

"L-Lord Yamcha!" she squeaked out as he lifted a groggy arm to rest over his eyes and block out the stinging daylight that was streaming in through the window.

"Puar? Somethin' happen while I was out?" he mumbled out, now rubbing at his eyes with his palms in an effort to dispel the stabbing headache centered behind them. Instead of receiving some sort of explanation, however, he instead felt his shapeshifting companion suddenly cling to one of his forearms, burying her face against him and practically sobbing.

"Oh, Master! I was so scared you wouldn't wake up! I thought you were really dead!"

"Relax, Puar," he assured with a sleepy grin, scratching her lightly between the ears with his free hand. "I just went out to blow off a little steam and ended up drinking a little too much. I'm fine, I promise."

Of course, it was the matter of him magically finding his way back to his apartment that he simply couldn't explain. He didn't recall flying back, though he supposed he could have done so while shit-faced drunk and not remembered it. If that was the case, it was a damn miracle he made it back in one piece, and to the right apartment on top of it all.

Before he had the chance to wonder further on it, he heard a knock at his front door. For a moment, his heart skipped a beat, though whether it was from hope or dread he couldn't decide. The only person he could think of that would be visiting him so early — or at all — was Bulma. He swallowed at the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. Was she here to try to reconcile? Or perhaps to bitch him out more for how he'd left the night before?

He was contemplating either pretending he wasn't home or escaping out the balcony when a second knock came, this time accompanied by a distant voice.

"Yamcha? Are you home, dear?"

Yamcha seemed to relax at hearing not Bulma's hotheaded shouting, but the concerned tone of the little old lady that managed the apartment building. He knew her to be a very sweet woman who tended to look after her tenants as if they were her grandchildren, to the point that most just called her Granny. He promptly got up and went to answer the door, not wanting to keep her waiting.

"G-good morning, ma'am! Is everything alright?" he asked, still a little shaken from the boomerang flight his emotions had just gone on.

"Actually, that's what I came to ask you," she replied, her concern for him plain on her wrinkled face. "You were out cold when that frightful man brought you home, and your hair and clothes were in such a state! He didn't hurt you at all, did he?"

"'Frightful man?'" Yamcha repeated, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Who do you mean? What did he look like?"

"Oh, he was quite terrifying indeed!" Granny replied, seeming to shiver at the memory of this man. "He had to be over seven feet tall with green skin and strange patterns on his arms! In fact, I dare say he bears a striking resemblance to that demon fellow that tried to usurp King Furry all those years ago. What was his name again? King Flute or some such?"

Yamcha's eyes widened in utter shock at who she was describing. There was no one it could be other than Piccolo! But why?! And how?! He was out in the middle of nowhere, right? Finding him passed out by that lake should have been impossible, and even then, why would someone like Piccolo take the time to bring him home?

Then, the memory of the dream he'd had hit him like a freight train; his and Piccolo's bodies practically tangled together in ecstasy, deadly claws raking down his back, his dick buried deep inside the trembling Namekian's alien oriface as he fucked him harder than he'd ever fucked anyone before in his life. He had to cover his mouth to keep from gasping in shocked disbelief, his cheeks flushing bright red at the sudden recollection. But… that was just a dream, right? Right?!

He had to physically shake his head to banish the vision, not wanting to get too worked up in front of the landlady. He did his best to regain his composure, flashing the woman a nonchalant, lopsided grin.

"O-oh, him! Y-yeah, I kinda know that guy! We, uhh… We're sort of working together on a big project early next year, and, uhh… I-I guess he met up with me after I had a few too many and decided to bring me home! Y-yeah! He's, umm… H-he's an okay guy once ya get to know him a little, he's just got one hell of a resting bitch face, you know how it is…"

Granny seemed to accept that story, giving him a small nod.

"I see. Well, whatever this 'project' is, just try not to get mixed up with the wrong crowd. I'd hate to see a sweet young man like you get himself into trouble," she replied with a little wink. "In any case, I'm glad you're okay. I'm sorry if I woke you up. You know how I worry sometimes. I'll leave you be to get some rest."

With that, she gave him a small wave and started off down the hall. Yamcha maintained his casual attitude until he closed the door, at which point his eyes widened in utter panic once more. That story he just pulled out of his ass wasn't complete bullshit, right? But if Piccolo brought him home…

Once again, he shook his head as though denying that possible reality. No, he must have simply gotten the order of events mixed up. Perhaps Piccolo did find him out there drinking his sorrows away, and that's when he passed out. That had to be it! That would also better explain why he was dreaming about Piccolo in the first place; it was because he'd literally just seen him before that!

A hopeful grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, but something wouldn't let him simply accept that rationalization and move on. Something still didn't fit. Then, he remembered Granny's comment about the state of his clothes. He looked down at himself, still wearing the clothes from the night before. They were a bit wrinkled and had a few grass stains, but otherwise weren't worth mentioning. Shifting to try to look at himself at a different angle brought a strange stinging sensation to his back. It didn't really hurt all that much, but it was enough to get his attention.

With a strange hesitation, Yamcha reached behind his head to grab the back of his shirt collar, pulling the garment off with one motion. A brief inspection found several smooth rips in the fabric that would have covered his back, as though they were cut by something sharp. As final evidence, he could now clearly feel several long scratches running down his back, just deep enough that they didn't noticeably bleed. A flash of memory struck him again — black claws digging in along the path of those scratches as their owner moaned loudly in pleasure beneath him. His shirt slipped from his hands as the realization finally sunk in.

It hadn't been a dream. He really did have sex with Piccolo.