Queenies: TySm! Don't worry, you sure will lol

polkadotpublicty: Yeah lol, I'm glad you get it. Thanks!

Betterdays623: That's so uplifting!1! Here you go!

Trunks

By the time I woke up it was dark, not entirely, but I could still see the stars through the living room's window. It was strange waking up to this kind of rustic environment, so foreign. It was still raining, except the downpour soothed into a quiet drizzle.

I sat up on the couch I'd slept in. The same quilts I used yesterday were wadded up around my waist and thighs. I didn't notice someone was sleeping on a second couch until after rinsing my face and putting my dry clothes on. I didn't even realize there was a second couch.

I believe it was a she, for the shape was too tiny to be a guy's—hence Goten's. Her body was gathered in a ball, with a white blanket covering her completely, from head to toe, leaving a small gap somewhere near her face to inhale fresh air and exhale the inhaled one. She's either Bulla, or Pan.

But what am I so worried about? I mean, Bulla, she's my sister—

She might want to kick you ass

Or it could also be Pan... but she doesn't want to kick my ass, or do me any harm at all, at least not that I know of.

You know she does—GAH! I swear someday I'll end up hitting my head with a hammer.

I suddenly notice the white bump moving and making stretching noises.

"…Pan?" I whisper, finding myself not wanting it to be her.

"No. Bulla."

And I feel like I can breathe again.

"I thought you'd be gone by now." She tells me, sliding the blanket off her head.

"I was." I admit, scratching the top of my head. "I might. It's not too late, is it?"

"5:03, perfect timing." She yawns, wrapping the quilt around her shoulders.

"Great…" I speak to myself, struggling to make my left shoe fit in. Oh—wrong foot. "Why did you come down?"

"I was scared." She says bluntly.

I puff a laugh out. Just like the old days, I thought.

"Why did you come here?" she asks back in an atonic, serious, fully awake tone. "I mean, why here and not Grandma Bunny's or—"

"What about you?" I retort, avoiding to answer that. "Why here? You and Pan are not exactly friends, you said it yourself."

"I have my reasons."

"Well, so do I."

…

4:10 p.m.

Finding a job is certainly harder than what movies make it look like. If they're not interested in curriculums, they're interested in your plans for your future. If they don't like your plans for your future, you're screwed. Your plans. Your future. Isn't that shit supposed to be, like, personal, subjective?

Finding a job, and failing at it, by all odds makes your self-esteem drop to the ground, maybe it even goes lower than that.

I surprised myself by entering to a bar in the city. How can you stoop so low? I thought. You are not becoming an alcoholic.

I then convinced myself that it'd be just for today, one or two cups at the most.

But at the second I sat at the barstool, I realized that alcohol costs, and I'm moneyless. Utterly drained out, literally, not a coin in my pockets.

I rested my elbow on the bar and massaged my temples with my two fingers.

"Crap…" I mumbled.

"Rough day, huh?" I heard the voice of a man behind me. I spun the spin-able stool to face him. He looked oddly familiar, taking a sip of what looked like whisky.

"Certainly..." I say, an unsure tone in my voice. "Have we met before?"

"You're Trunks Briefs, right? I work for your mother." He continues swiftly before I can even answer his question, as if it were rhetorical. "Not sure if you've seen me or heard of me. I'm Gohan."

I unconsciously let out an extended "oh", my eyebrows going up. "So you're the famous Gohan mom always complains about." I mock. He shrugs.

"Guess so. I'm not surprised to hear that." He says, in a manner of joke rather than hurtful.

"Man, and I thought my life was bad." I joke back with a husky laugh. "No offense."

He raises his hands in front of him in defense. "None taken. You're very right."

"My biggest condolences—wait. You work for mom. Please tell me you're here to tell me some good news." I ask desperately.

"Sorry, kid. I'm a daily customer." He waves at the barman, who waves back from the other end of the bar, proving his point. "See?"

The man turned out to be a fun geek. I never thought those existed. He invited me a couple of drinks, as we pitied our miserable lives. He said his wife died at some tragic accident, or something like that. I wasn't exactly listening. Not that I didn't care or whatnot, I unconsciously zoned out.

I found myself thinking about the baby, about Marron, just worrying my stressed ass a bit more. Do I love her? My thoughts fought with my feelings until I finally came to the conclusion that, yes, indeed, I didn't feel the same way. Things have changed dramatically. Will it be possible to love Marron again? What if I never actually did? How can I love our baby when I can't even love her? What if I don't love my child? All these suffocating questions clouding my mind were cleared out by one thought–

"Have you got somewhere to go?" Gohan wakes me up from my trance, rearranging his glasses behind his ears.

I shake my head. "Not at the time."

And I'm not sure if it was because he was drunken enough to make stupidities, or he was behind some pay rise, but Gohan offered me shelter. I accepted, I took the offer because why the hell not? I had nothing to lose.

At 9 o' clock we arrived to wherever we had to arrive. We made about 2 hours afoot. He doesn't have a car, at least not now.

"It's um…" he said, "in the garage."

I didn't even care. At least I had somewhere to stay and I felt so grateful.

I thought the ground I was stepping on felt familiar, or at least I had the intuition that it should feel that way. I opted for ignoring it.

"You're not a serial killer, are you?" I asked, a small, hidden, truthful fear behind the joke. You can't blame me. It's dark, just a cellphone lighting the way, and I'm his boss's–Bulma Briefs's–son. Enough reason to murder someone.

"Not yet." He retorts, hopefully jokingly.

And it's until then when I spot yellowish, warm lights past the hills.

I've been here. I thought. Oh, I sure know it here.

"You live in the Sons' household." I ask affirmatively.

"I am a Son."

Dun dun.

What a quick update, huh? Trunks's POVs are somehow easier to write. OH WELL, I guess we're just that compatible ^.^ (NOT, please don't throw tomatoes at me)

I just wanted to let you know that your favorites, follows, but mostly reviews make me feel so uplifted and inspired, which makes me work harder and better just for you, my fellow readers. I'd appreciate a gesture of your opinion in my story.

Mahalo :)