#gohan.

body growing weak with each passing day of peacetime, son gohan is little more than a heap of tired limbs after their latest sparring session. chest rises and falls with each recovering breath, words catching in his throat, but he manages an answer in a stiff nod. “ sort of. i figured i'd just wear my saiyaman costume ... goten seemed to think it was a good idea. ”

gohan, still holding up the very world in the rose-colored gaze of his younger brother, is only happy to have his approval. it's a finite privilege, he knows, to be enjoyed for each passing day he may retain it. it's why he's taken up training again: to be bested by a pair of children is an embarrassing reality, and older trunks is patient with him in a way that his other options in vegeta and his own father are not.

hands raise, eyes curving to crescents in an uneasy smile. " oh, it's okay ! i don't really know ... how much of the future i want to know about. " rumination draws lips together, stoic otherwise. it's an expression a child should not make. legs uncross from where he has been meditating, leaping from the boulder he has made his perch to approach trunks.

liar. of course he is curious. who wouldn't be ? where trunks sits beneath the grasping branches of the tree, gohan makes himself comfortable, leaning forward as though to fail to do so would have him miss another important detail. like the fact that he was gone in the future. " say, what kind of a person was future me ? " it's a strange pressure in his chest, to acknowledge son gohan's death, even if technically isn't his own. he is a warrior, has had far too many encounters with blood and gore and violence, but he's survived unscathed by some divine miracle. the fact that it may not last is an ominous threat. a peek into the great unknown.

                          ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ’ᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ——                                ( ɪs ᴛᴏ sᴀᴠᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴅᴀʏ ᴛɪʟʟ ᴇᴛᴇʀɴɪᴛʏ ᴘᴀssᴇs ᴀᴡᴀʏ )