The Nature of Moonlight

Chapter 8

Goku didn't show up to dinner that evening. He opted to devour as much as possible from the cafeteria instead. When a servant came by his room later and asked if he was joining, he said no and that was it. No push back. He spent the evening alone in that room, either people watching from the window, meditating or performing katas. Much to his relief, his ki didn't spike when he performed those katas. It stayed neutral, in control. On occasion, he checked up on Vegeta's ki, on where it was within the palace, and not once did that ki gravitate towards his chambers. Part of him sighed in relief. The other part yearned to talk to him, to tell Vegeta what he went through, what he saw. But it wasn't time yet. He didn't feel ready. There was too much to process first.

Thinking this much didn't feel good or right. It was a lot. He didn't like thinking this much about things in general. He was very much a do now, think later person, his gut and his intuition guiding his decisions more than his brain. The only times when he thought really hard were on the battlefield, and even then, he trusted his gut more than his head. His gut told him all he needed to know and care about. But this—this thing with Vegeta, the mate thing, the r'bhon'or, what happened at Kohltavi's—he needed to do this. It was important. He had to think over everything he went through in that temple, in that weird dark place.

But it hurt, thinking that much. It tired him out like a hard spar did. Anytime he stood somewhere or sat down on the bed to think—Vegeta, Chichi, Kohltavi's words, his mother, his father—a headache soon popped up, starting from the back of his head, right where his old scar rested, and it pulsed and ached throughout. Meditating helped stave off those pounding headaches. So did moving in his katas. Then he'd go back to thinking, and thinking, until the headache returned and he had to do something again to stop it.

A decision had to be made, and it was going to be tough, no matter what he chose. Goku knew that. Whatever he decided would be final. There were some nice thoughts, at least, mainly when he thought of his parents. It was really nice that he got to see more of his parents and how they interacted together. They really did love each other and acted like Goku thought two people in love would act. They almost reminded him of his time with Chichi. But the stark difference in emotion—the passion, the yearning and the need—that stuck with him, hard.

Of all the images of his parents, the one of the two of them at sunset stuck with him the most. When the sun set outside his window, Goku looked out and could see his parents there, their intertwined hands wrapped in red ribbon, never looking away from the other as they circled each other in perfect unison. It was beautiful. An honor and a privilege to witness their 'wedding.' He couldn't help juxtaposing that against his own, how weird and foreign and fun it was at the same time. Chichi looked pretty, she smelled nice and acted very sweet, but it was so different from what he saw with his parents.

There was a lot to think about, and not enough time to mull over it all. By the time the sunlight faded and the night sky settled in, Goku flopped into bed, stripping his gi off and flinging it to the ground. His head spun, as did the room. The sheets felt cool. The soft breeze from outside felt cool too. He placed a hand to his forehead, rubbing away at the tension there—and the image, the sensation, the visceral memory of Vegeta's fingertips and how they soothed him in his time of need—sucker-punched him hard, forcing a soft groan to slip out. He buried his face into his hands, rubbing at the skin, as more images of Vegeta popped up in his head. Vegeta's smirk, Vegeta's thumbs up, Vegeta's arms around his trembling body, Vegeta's look and Vegeta in that darkness, the silver light around him, his outstretched hand and his words—

Goku curled up onto his side, reaching for two pillows. He shoved them on top of his head and hugged his arm over each one to keep them in place.

With every meditative breath, the images of Vegeta faded away, thankfully. The pounding headache didn't stop, but at least he wasn't thinking about Vegeta anymore. It wasn't long before he succumbed to sleep, curling more into the sheets and the pillows.