Goten and Trunks have shared many things throughout their lifelong history.
Toys and weapons, friends and enemies, laughter and anger… even the same body. An umbrella had not been one of them until today.
“Gotta protect your stupidly expensive suit.”
Goten, looking ridiculous (and adorable) in a hooded, green waterproof poncho, dutifully holds an umbrella up and over Trunks’s head, exceeding his role as a newly-hired executive assistant to an almost annoying degree.
“I'll just buy another if it gets ruined,” Trunks says, his blasé tone undermining his appreciation of the chivalrous gesture.
They were coming back from their lunch break at their favorite spot when the trickle happened, lasting just long enough for Goten to pull out his rain gear before the rain really started hitting.
His best friend, now turned employee, had warned Trunks about the likelihood of rain, despite the skies being blue and the clouds mostly white moments before the downpour.
His friend has always had a stronger sense of intuition when it comes to all things living and natural. A keen insight of people and animals, of monsters, gods, and aliens. Of nature and, of course, the weather.
Meanwhile Trunks has, much like his grandfather, relied more on strategy rather than instinct; on finding ways to succeed in both a battle and in business through methodical means over “gut feelings.”
Not that either one of the men is devoid of one quality to make room for the other; Goten doesn't jump into a fight without first assessing the risks and advantages he has over an opponent, and Trunks can read energy –or ki – without needing to hone in using his elevated Saiyan senses.
They work well together because of their innate, complementary qualities, combining forces to make an almost perfectly balanced whole. His Yin to his Yan. His other half.
Trunks fists a hand above Goten’s grip on the metallic stem of the umbrella, wrapping the other arm to pull Goten into and under the dome along with him, the patter of raindrops drowning the heartbeat– Goten’s heartbeat– drumming in his ears as they walk shoulder-to-shoulder to the Capsule Corp building looming just up the street.
They've been physically close numerous times. Besides joining bodies to become one single entity, they've fallen asleep on the couch together, have wrestled on the ground, bathed fully naked in hot springs. But the closeness that was once normal and regular between them has somewhat recently transformed into something that feels more…intimate, more personal. A layer of intimacy that isn't quite tangible, defined. Beyond physical.
“There's no point in us both being under an umbrella if you’re gonna get wet,” Goten says. Despite his words, he doesn't make an effort to separate from Trunks, his wet poncho cold against the blended material of Trunks's designer suit.
The two men shake off what wetness remains stuck to them and dry off with towels handed to them by an intern, making their way up the polished steps and matching their pace with one another, appearing more as business partners than an employer and employee. In a way, they are, though their professional relation is only one aspect of a deeper, infinitely more meaningful bond.
Goten runs his fingers along his dark, damp hair one more time, a simple act of grooming that has Trunks staring in, he realizes, appraisal. He stares even longer as he takes in how Goten's business-appropriate hairstyle has resumed to its natural, tousled and spiky state. Trunks prefers this hairstyle on him, however, in a professional setting, it unfortunately won't do.
Without further thought, Trunks whips out a comb and restyles Goten's thick, incongruously silky spikes to something like a business-casual pompadour, setting it with a salon-grade hair pomade he keeps in his briefcase in case of, well, rainy days.
“Lookin’ sharp,” Trunks declares, “You're welcome.”
With a roll of his eyes, Goten swipes the comb from his hand and does the same for him, tidying up his parted, indigo hair. Trunks suppresses the urge to contently sigh at the sensation of his scalp being scraped by the teeth of the comb, wishing for an unbidden, fleeting moment that it was Goten's fingers running through his hair instead.
Lately, he's been craving frequent physical contact from another person, and Trunks thought he could satiate that need by getting a girlfriend he hardly likes but is extremely attracted to. Nice, but ultimately unfulfilling.
What he really wants is not something he's ready to say out loud, to accept fully and openly, outb of fear it may ruin what they do have, what has always been and has always worked. Over and over he has rationalized that what he really wants will imbalance and disrupt their connection, will create an upheaval he's not prepared to fix and resolve the way he fixes and resolves problems that arise in the company, in battle and in lesser personal relationships.
“Your hair is getting long. You should let it grow,” Goten says, evaluating his work with a ponderous expression.
He hasn't given too much thought about his hair. Too busy, all the time. If not with work, with other thoughts.
“So schedule me an appointment with Ferrer.” Ferrer is the only hairstylist he trusts. Ferrer also hits on him on every visit, but Trunks doesn't mind because Ferrer is also super hot, though their flirtatious exchanges have never crossed professional boundaries. As it should be.
“You got it, boss,” Goten says with a salute, a minimal amount of sarcasm behind his words and gesture.
Sometimes it feels weird that he's technically his childhood best friend's boss, but as he often is in other aspects in life, Goten isn't bothered by being second rank to anyone. When your father is the savior of the world, of multiple friggin universes even, and your older brother saved the Earth once when he'd been almost a decade old, then you kind of learn to accept you're not the best of the best, but you're still pretty great on your own. Goten is more than great, really.
Before they separate to go to their individual offices, Trunks pauses.
“And schedule a training sesh with you for later today.”
The smile that tends to be perpetually stamped on Goten's boyish face widens, bright as the sun parting the clouds.
“Where at? The gravity chamber? A barren, neighboring planet?”
“Have your dad take us somewhere unexpected. Somewhere it's not raining.”
Though, Trunks thinks, it could be fun sparring in the rain, their clothes wet and clinging to their bodies, the wet sound of flesh hitting flesh, Goten panting and soaking… removing his top to unburden himself from its weight, his bare chest heaving as rain mixes with his sweat, slickening his taut skin…
“He's gonna want to spar with us and end up kicking our asses as per usual.”
“I'll ask Bulla to ask my dad to keep him busy.” Vegeta only ever listens to his little princess, and occasionally but not always, Bulma, his wife and Trunks's mom.
“It's a date,” Goten says and, upon catching on to how that could be misinterpreted as something unprofessional to the colleagues around them, he quickly adds, “You know what I mean.”
‘It's a date’ … Well, it could be, if Trunks stopped being a coward and closed in on the tension that's been brewing between them in the last couple of years since entering adulthood.
“Actually, Goten,” Trunks calls out from behind him, prompting Goten to halfway turn mid-walk. “Let's train at my place.”
In his family's vast sprawling land. In the rain.
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