Pan

"Um…"

"Hi to you too." Bulla says, welcoming herself inside. Well, this is more unexpected than I'd expect Bulla to be. It's barely bearable that she appears in my front porch, without any previous warning, when I've told her countless of times that she, or anyone else, isn't allowed at home. But appearing in my front door with a suitcase in hand… this can't be good.

"What are you doing here?" she doesn't answer, she just keeps walking like if she knew the place. I follow her up the staircase. "What do you think you're doing?"

"You used glasses?" she mocks, stopping on the, around 7th step–out of 12–, to contemplate our family pictures.

"I don't think that's an appropriate topic at this time!" I snap before she looks at the family pictures with closer attention—and starts asking questions I'm not willing to answer.

"It's not. Where's the guests' room?"

I sigh, deeply, and loudly. Just wanting to make sure she knows I'm pissed off, but even if she knew, which I bet she does, she wouldn't—or doesn't—care.

"You are not staying over for the night, or the evening, or for the next 2 minutes."

"Hey! Give me my case back!"

If running down the stairs wasn't exhausting enough, add 12 pounds. How long was she planning to stay? A month?

However, I can't keep running because Gran's voice tells me not to. "Panda-Chan!" she screams from the kitchen. "You'll crack the wood if you keep stomping your feet like that!"

And then, before I even realize Bulla pushed me, I'm already on the ground.

"Panda-Chan?" she mocks.

"There's no way you're staying."

…

I sigh, as I tend a sleeping bag on the hardwood floor. "You could've at least called."

"It was a last minute emergency, I told you." She's sitting on my bed, behind me. Probably filing her nails like the sassy diva she is.

"You're so impertinent." I mumble.

"You know, dragging your words is not synonymous of inaudible."

"Can't be hurt by something you don't know the meaning of, right?"

"Um, are you calling me dumb?"

I snort. "If the slipper fits, Cinderella."

"Drop the bitchy attitude already," she snaps, "remember we have a deal, and I'm not willing to help you if–"

"Are you threatening me?" I cut her off real quick while simultaneously making this all-in-one move by turning around and standing up, thanking Kami I didn't trip. That would've been embarrassing and so not professional.

"I'm just warning you."

I humorlessly laugh out a sigh. "Ok that's bull. Your brother is engaged. Done deal, I don't want your help or your presence." I take a hold of my golden knob and pull the door open, rather harshly.

"I can't leave, Pan!" She walks up to me and closes the door. "I know he's engaged, and I know I could've told you before you found out on your own. I'm sorry."

Did Bulla Briefs just apologize? I huff mentally. Unbelievable.

"Are you?" I turn my eyes from some random object to my left, up to Bulla's blue ones.

"Don't make me say it again."

My sharp glare relaxes with a huff. "Don't worry. I don't even care anymore."

"Really?" she asks, I surprisingly notice a hint of hope in her voice.

"…Really."—Lie.

…

10:45 p.m.

The rest of the day turned out rather apathetic. I never thought Uncle Goten would reject Bulla's staying. They made out. They nearly got to second base. She's Bulla Briefs. But of course, he's Son Goten. Blowing opportunities and chopping wood is what he does best.

"Isn't it a bit early to be in bed?" The bluenette breaks the silence in the middle of the dark.

"Not at all. Puffy eyes look awful in girls our age."

"Since when do you care about puffy eyes?"

"Now?"

Someone knocks on my door and opens it right after. It's Uncle Goten, peeking his head inside.

"Sorry, it's for you." He whispers, handing a phone towards Bulla and leaving afterwards.

"Yeah?" she speaks. "What? Do you have the foggiest idea of whom I'm staying with? You're—wait, what?"

"Is everything alright?" I ask, standing up to turn the lights on. It's until then when I notice her eyes widely open and her brow strongly puckered.

There are two bangs on the front door.

"Bulla…" I say.

"I'm sorry." She mouths.

I attempt to run downstairs, but I suddenly stop at the mid top of the staircase, my hands resting on the handrail.

"What are you doing here?" Uncle Goten asks, with a soaking Trunks standing at our front porch. It's raining profusely.

My sight starts blurring and I feel as if my heart had tripped. I can't hear anything but my heart pounding in my right ear, still my brain manages to process the necessary words. "…Need… somewhere… stay."

I turn to his sister, standing on the entrance of my room. "You idiot! Why aren't you where you're supposed to be?"

I regain consciousness, at least enough to notice how he frantically gives a glance to Goten, then to me, then to Bulla, and then back to me. He's panting.

"Are you okay?" I manage to not stutter. He doesn't answer. He just stares, shivering.

My panic melts into worry, so I run towards the entrance and pull him inside, as I see Goten not being too helpful. He's just standing next to us, staring at the scene with a mix of rage and confusion.

…

"Thank you, Pan." He says after I hand him a cup of hot tea. Though it's almost summer, windy, wet, nights are always chilly. He's wrapped up in thick blankets, and under that he's wearing some dry pajamas/underwear he borrowed from Goten.

"Anytime. Wait–! Don't drink it yet, you'll burn your tongue."

"We don't want that." He teases with a chuckle, then he goes back to deadpan.

"So when's the wedding?" I ask, applying hydrogen peroxide with a cloth napkin to a deep wound on his right wrist. A raccoon attacked him, or something like that.

He grunts in pain and I back up the napkin an inch, before looking up into his eyes. I raise my eyebrows and nod, as if asking for his permission to heal him. He nods back, and hisses at the touch.

"How come you have so many scars,"—how can I possibly know that? A male's pajamas equal their underwear, which also equals a pair of boxers—"and still can't manage to man up with peroxide, huh?" I mock.

"Pain will remain painful, Pan…"

"Water will remain wet."

"…To both of your questions." He continues, ignoring my joke.

That rings my bell. "It doesn't make sense."

"It does." He deadpans. "You do not have a clue of how much it does."

"Hmm." I muse, my eyes jumping from his left iris to his right one, both turquoise. His pupils are dilated. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Can you?"

I decide to ignore that. "There are no raccoons in this mount. I thought you were smarter than that."

"I am. I got this lie under control."

"Trunks, why aren't you at Marron's?" Bulla suddenly comes in, first aid kit in hand.

"Just watch me." He mouths me with a wink, and then to Bulla: "She's bipolar, possibly mental. When I told her I was leaving, she buried her nails in my arm. Then she took my car."

"And why were you leaving her?" She blasts back.

"Isn't what I told you enough reason to leave, Bulla?"

But if this is a lie, they're starting a discussion over nothing.

"You're so irresponsible," she raises her voice, which makes me cringe, "mom was right about you."

"To all this, Pan, where are your parents?"

"Sleeping."—Partly true, as for my grandparents are sleeping and my actual parent is, I'm sure, working. I keep wrapping Trunks' venous forearm with micropore tape.

"See?" he says back to Bulla. "They're sleeping, you'll wake them up. You should probably call it a night."

And she did, even before he finished his sentence she was already storming up the stairs. I followed her footsteps, about 15 minutes later, when I finished with the nursing.

I have mixed feelings, like fireworks and queasiness. Like if something didn't fit quite well in, besides him being engaged. It's hard to tell, inconclusive.

A/N: Inconclusive, indeed. It's been a long time since I post anything and I apologize for that. I got stuck. I didn't get that rush of inspiration that gives me the right words to type until recently. It hardly happened this time. Mahalo