Our Last Hope | Future Trunks

Chapter 3: Training Begins

Chapter 3: Training Begins

Hope's P.O.V.

"No she's not." Trunks declared. I just told him that Cheri agreed to train me. My patience with that boy was running out. We tree outside my home being single handedly renovated by Uncle Buruto. "You're only four years old."

"Yuh huh! Cheri promised that she'd train me soon."

"But you're four." He repeated.

"Well you're five."

"Yeah and that means I'm older and maturer."

"Maturer isn't even a real word."

"I still am."

Ugh! Trunks is such a meanie! A big fat one. I'm going to train A's he's going to be so jealous. He'll see.

"Why are you staring at me?" Annoyance was hinted in his voice.

I snapped back into reality realizing I zoned out, facing Trunks' direction. His sky blue eyes stared back, the wind slightly blew his short lavender hair. His tan skin grew red.

"W-What are you staring at? Hope?"

"I-I. Um. I really don't know. You I guess." I struggled to confess.

"Why-"

"You look like your dad." What did I just say? Now he's going to ask.

"How do you know?" The lavender haired boy asked, exchanging his harsh tone for a gentle one. He leaned in a little, appearing intrigued.

"You knows how Cheri draws a lot?" He nodded. "She sneakily drew him sometimes. There's only two drawings. She said he caught her once and she was too scared to do it again."

"An actual accurate drawing?"

"Mhm."

"...Hope."

"Yes Trunks?"

"...Can ...Can you show me them? Please?"

A grin formed on my face. "Follow me."

We sprinted through the doors, nearly knocking Buruto off a latter, and went up the stairs into Cheri's room.

"It's around here somewhere," I began as a searched her closet of art works. "Here! This guy with the spiky hair." I brought the sketchpad with the drawings to him. His face lit up.

"Wow. I really do look like him, huh?"

"You do!" But tears became apparent in his eyes. I'd usually tease him and say, "You're five! Don't cry." But this was a harder topic.

"Hope. Thank you so much." I lost it then. Screw cooties, four year old me thought.

I wrapped my arms around him to show how I cared about how he felt. The oddest thing to me then was the fact that he actually hugged me back, squeezing me hard too.

I really did care about him, albeit the times I would tease him and run from his "cooties".

He's my best friend.

Suddenly, a figure appeared at the door.

Uh oh.

Cheri's P.O.V.

They pulled away from each other and stood facing the door with their hands behind our backs.

"What do you trouble makers think your doing?"