She was home. It had been a month, and the nightmares had stopped, but she still sat and pondered it every evening as she lay in bed. Home. Something she wouldn't ever take for granted. The first week back had been wonderful, masked by the celebration of Trunks life and her return. Bulma hadn't changed, and still treated her like the sister she never had, but Trunks, on the other hand still seemed distant.
She knew she couldn't expect him to forget how and why his father was killed, and it pained her to think that it just may be a wedge in their relationship for the rest of their lives, but she wasn't about to leave again because of it. Vegeta had made too many enemies when he was alive for her to rescind her protection. Come hell or high water, she was part of their lives now.
That's what she'd remind herself of anyhow, when Trunks would walk by with a curt nod instead of a slug in the shoulder, strained smiles instead of playful banter, or when he'd start a conversation, only to walk out when it hit a lull instead of basking in the comfort of their friendship. There wasn't much comfort in their friendship anymore, and it was only complicated by weird, unmanageable urges that left her thinking that another trip with him to the Keona Club might not be so bad.
It was something she tried not to think about, which was hard because she faced it everyday. Moroshka sighed.
There was a knock on her door.
Trunks quietly entered her room, closing the door behind him. He was dressed in his flannel bottoms, giving her the impression that he'd just gotten out of bed, unable to sleep.
He stood there holding the knob with his hand as if gathering the courage for some momentous conversation. Finally, he let it go and walked over to her. She got out of bed and stood as he approached.
"Hey," he said, his eyes shadowed. "We need to talk."
She took a deep breath, feeling the beginnings of nervousness course through her veins. Conversations that started like this always seemed to be filled with ultimatums, or that's how it seemed with Bulma's soap operas, anyhow.
He clasped his hands and then dropped them to his sides, as if unsure what to do with them. "Things are…awkward… with us," he said finally. "There's an uneasiness that wasn't there before."
She nodded and looked down, absently picking at the corner of her nightshirt. "I know," she said quietly. "I…can't expect you to forget that I killed Vegeta. And I imagine that it might be more comfortable if I wasn't around, but I can't…I won't leave you again, Trunks. I'm sorry."
There was a pause. She didn't know what expression crossed his face right then because she couldn't bring herself to look at him. Instead she saw his hands fidget at his sides, and his weight shift from one leg to the other. Finally, after a brief, but drawn out silence, he said deeply, "That's not the only tension between us, Roshka."
She frowned, and looked up at him. His eyes were heavy, but just as intense as the night they had danced. What other offense had there been? And if it was an offense, why was he looking at her like that?
He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, and chewed it thoughtfully. "You'll stay regardless of what I say or do?"
Again, she nodded, distracted by the way he was looking at her. Pursing his lips as if satisfied with her answer, Trunks closed the distance between them and hesitantly slid a hand around the small of her waist, pulling her close. She immediately felt the heat radiating off his body, and thought he meant to embrace her, but he instead tilted his head and locked her in his gaze, as if to prepare her subliminally for what he was about to do.
It dawned on her a split second before his lips tickled her own. For a brief moment, Moroshka wondered how such a concentrated sensation managed to affect every square inch of her body. For the first time in her life she understood what the big deal was, and found herself delightfully dizzy when he finally pulled back.
It had left her practically incoherent, and she figured she would have gawked at him had her eyelids not been so damned heavy. "What…happens when…you," she swallowed, trying to stop her speech from slurring as he rested his fingers lightly on her neck and traced her jaw line with his thumb, "get bored with me two months down the road?"
His eyes widened briefly and a small smile curved his lips. "That won't happen."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Because," he leaned over and began to nuzzle her neck, muffling the next words in her hair. "I was wondering what you were doing for the rest of your life, and if you'd like to spend it with me."
Her breath escaped in a light chuckle as she tilted her head to the side. "Considering that I was going to anyway, why not?"