BY : Felix_McKraken
Category: Dragon Ball Z > Yaoi - Male/Male
Dragon prints: 1872
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z or any of the characters. This was made purely for entertainment purposes and no profit is made off of it.

Nowhere: 23

Waiting for Kakarot only keeps my anxiety simmering. I keep wondering where I am and how I got here. I was travelling, I’m fairly certain, but the “to” and “from” destinations are a blank. This room indicates it’s not quite in a hospital, but it certainly serves as one. Little details give it away such as the lack of patient, nurse, or doctor information posted.

I think I was sick. Considering my condition it’s not unreasonable to induce that I was rescued. That… basically matches what the woman was saying, although her familiar tone irked me.

As time passes I wonder if Kakarot will really come. I could imagine the bastard declining in order to teach me a lesson. To effectively punish me for my arbitrary decisions.

I consider examining the room in detail, but two things keep me in place. One is that I am cold, weak, and prefer the small comfort afforded to me. The second is I do not want to be caught in a more vulnerable position if he does arrive.

My head tips back, leaning heavily against the pillow as exhaustion pulls at me. My memory feels so small and shrouded. I have the impression that if I search myself for answers I will wind up where I started like someone lost in the woods. If Kakarot doesn’t have an explanation, I’m not sure what I’ll do. Although, oddly, the idea doesn’t upset me as much as I thought it would. Maybe my expectations have been tempered.

I hear voices approaching so I sit up fully, blanket tucked under my arms and fists clenched by my thighs. The door opens and it’s him. Kakarot.

He looks ridiculous, but his grin is the same, and I feel relief trickle through me.

“Hey, Vegeta,” he says awkwardly, as if he’s uncertain of himself, “You wanted to see me?”

I look over to the blue-haired lady, and she folds her arms. I don’t particularly want to drop hints, so I simply tell her, “Woman, kindly fuck off.” For how much anger flashes in her eyes, perhaps I was a bit too sharp. She barely manages to not completely slam the door as she leaves.

Kakarot is frowning at me, however, “Do you really have to speak to her that way?”

If it was anyone else I’d probably brush off being chastised, “I suppose not.” It was a bit hostile, and it’s not like I have anything personally against her beyond her being a busybody. He’s hovering near the door which irritates me. “I’m not infectious,” I tell him, remembering the diagnosis of hypothermia, “You can come sit down.”

He takes up the offer and sits where the woman had. “You look like a fucking clown,” I tell him with laughter in my voice. I expect him to make a facetious retort.

Instead he laughs with a nervous edge and agrees, “Yeah, I guess I do.”

I’m beginning to wonder what happened while I was gone. He’s not acting the same. Or is he? The Möbius strip of my mind is of inconsequential help. He lets our conversation lull into quiet reverie, but I find that unsatisfactory. Asking is the only way for progress to be made, so I question, “Are you going to tell me what’s happened or what?”

His posture straightens a bit before he fidgets into a more comfortable position, “Uh, well, Bulma called me up and asked me to find you because she lost contact. It wasn’t easy, cuz you were really far away.” My expression likely shows my perturbation if his sudden need to elaborate is any clue. “I know you like your privacy, but she doesn’t worry for nothing, so…”

The words trail off into a chasm while I try to remember the person of Bulma. It’s as fruitful as bailing water on a capsizing ship and only serves to ignite my anger. I know it’s really frustration born due to my incompetence, but the knowledge doesn’t lessen the deflagration. So I let the gap in conversation widen while I take the time to compose myself.

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