Trunks woke at sunset, having fallen asleep around midday, from a very nice dream to discover that waking was just as good. The object of his dreams was in his bed, curled up to him and tangling their limbs to the extent that it would be impossible for one to get up without waking the other.

Gohan was lying half-on top, half-beside the teenager, who was flat on his back. The boy had one leg flung across his bedmate's own limbs, pinning them to the mattress, and the other was curled around the nearer of Trunks' legs very cozily. His blonde head rested on Trunks' shoulder, one arm draped over the teenager's chest, and the older demi-Saiyan had, in his sleep, encircled Gohan's waist with both arms. And the little part-human in question was currently sleeping like a baby. Trunks couldn't remember ever feeling so comfortable in his life.

Time to back up a second: ~why~ was Gohan in his bed? There had to be some reason. Trunks twisted his head around as much as he could to look at Gohan's bunk. It appeared relatively whole and unharmed (well, as unharmed as a bed can get when an 11-year-old half-Saiyan is sleeping in it) so that ruled out the possibility of Gohan being forced to share Trunks' bed. There was also the chance that the boy had simply got in the wrong bed by mistake, but somehow Trunks didn't think so. Maybe it was his secret desires clouding his judgment, but the lavender-haired teen began to think that Gohan might actually have slept with him out of choice. A warm, cozy feeling spread through him and Trunks cradled the sweet body in his arms tenderly.

At that moment Gohan stirred slightly, cuddling closer to his bedmate than ever. Slowly, lids lifted on sleep-hazed aqua eyes and the young Super Saiyan focused blearily on his friend's face. A sleepy smile appeared. "Hi, Trunks," he said.

"Hey Gohan," replied the teenager. "Did you notice you're not in your bed?"

Gohan nodded as he burrowed further beneath the blankets, his head and one hand now resting on Trunks' chest like he was listening to his breathing and feeling his heart beat at the same time. "Yeah, I noticed," he answered.

"Can I ask why?"

"Cos it's comfy here." The blonde demi-Saiyan looked up. "Why? Do you mind?"

Trunks' heart answered before his head did. "Of course not, it's fine Gohan, really."

"That's what I thought." Gohan wriggled up, gave Trunks a quick kiss on the mouth, and snuggled down again.

There was a few seconds' pause while Trunks blinked, confused, and Gohan waited nervously for his reaction. Then, when the teen spoke, his words were slow and uncertain.

"What was that about?"

"Depends what you want it to mean." Up until this point Gohan had kept cool as a cucumber, but now he was blushing bright red. He talked in a nervous mumble and buried his face in Trunks' chest to his crush couldn't see the colour of his face.

He could hear and feel Trunks' heart thudding painfully loudly. It calmed him somewhat that the older boy was as unnerved as he was, and he dared a glance into the cornflower-blue eyes.

Gohan's uncertainty didn't vanish as soon as he met Trunks' gaze. It grew worse as the pain in the blue orbs became more pronounced and Trunks started tensing up.

"Gohan," he said carefully, "that couldn't have meant what I want it to mean."

The younger half-Saiyan's lip trembled as he felt the last of his confidence, his courage, dissolving. It didn't matter that Trunks felt the same as he did; he still thought Gohan was too young. He sat up jerkily, forcefully untangling his limbs from Trunks', and demanded, "Why not? Tell me, Trunks, give me one good reason why not!" Stubbornly he stared at his crush, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on him as he, too, sat up, slowly and reluctantly.

"Because, Gohan, you're only eleven years old."

"So?" It would have been difficult to tell who was the more stubborn of the two. "I'm ~not~ too young. Everybody thinks I am but I'm ~not~. I'm old enough to fight, old enough to do anything ... I'm old enough for you." Gohan held Trunks' gaze firmly, his words earnest, his eyes serious. All pretences of childhood innocence were gone. "~Please~ believe me, Trunks, I am."

The purple-haired half-Saiyan hesitated, the internal conflict visible in his face as his emotions warred with reason. At long last his gaze softened. "I believe you, Gohan."

The boy's face lit up like candles on a birthday cake and Trunks found himself suddenly assaulted by a jubilant demi-Saiyan. Gohan knocked him on his back, dragging him onto his side, hugging him fiercely and planting dozens of overjoyed kisses all over Trunks' face. Overwhelmed but equally delighted, Trunks returned the sentiments until he eventually captured Gohan's mouth.

Between his own breathless excitement, Gohan's adorable glee and the fact that both were trying unsuccessfully not to laugh for sheer joy, it wasn't the most intimate kiss Trunks had ever had. But it was by far the sweetest. Their tongues tangled messily, grinning mouths joining and merging quickly in mutual impatience. Trunks felt so swollen with happiness that it was a wonder he didn't burst. It felt too good to be true; Gohan, the boy he'd loved for seemingly forever, loved him back. He felt like he was melting into a blissful little puddle of Trunks.

A long while later, when they were weak from laughing, Trunks and Gohan simply lay there, smiling like total fools. An air of total bliss had settled over them, the kind of contentment that could keep them there, in the same place, for a minute or a day.

*Fig jam* thought Gohan again.

"Fig jam?" Trunks asked curiously. "What's that?"

"Nothing," smiled Gohan.

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