The cool winter air blew past Yamcha's face as he walked down a sidewalk in West City. The fringes of his jacket flowed gracefully in the wind, his hands comfortably stuffed in his pocket to stave off the cold. It was funny, he thought, that he could shoot energy from his hands, and yet he was still somehow susceptible to the elements just as a normal human would be.

It seemed as though the cold January weather hadn't discouraged anyone from leaving home, however, as the city was bustling as ever. Faces quickly passed the former bandit while he made his way through the city, a small fraction of whom seemed to recognize Yamcha's face for the briefest of moments before writing it off as their imagination, no doubt due to his Baseball career. Perhaps, he reasoned, if he weren't in such a rush, and if the weather weren't so frigid, he could have said hello.

As he turned his final corner around a local grocery store, he spotted his destination. A smirk escaped his lips as he neared the door, thankful to finally escape the cold air that beset the city. The door to the bar swung open, and a cascade of hellos and welcomes came from just about everywhere. The scar-faced man greeted back with a warm hearted smile, as he usually did. The bar quieted down as many of them turned back to face their respective televisions, Yamcha making his way to the bartender to order a drink.

"The usual." He grinned, resting his elbow on the newly shined counter. From behind the bar a slightly overweight balding man stared down at Yamcha's elbow with a resigned sigh.

"Always after I've just cleaned." He shook his head and turned around to make Yamcha's drink, "sometimes I think you do it just to annoy me."

"Gotta keep you busy somehow, right?" Yamcha joked, the bartender handing him a frothy mug of alcohol.

"Heh, yeah, whatever you say." Frank picked up a towel from behind the bar and wiped the smudge from where Yamcha had laid his elbow. "You almost missed the opening kick off."

Yamcha took a deep swig of his beer as he glanced at the television. Players from both teams were setting up on their respective sides, soon to begin the game for which many people at the bar were eager to witness. He walked over to a table of a few men, already clearly a few drinks in, all taking bets on who would be winning todays game.

"Hey, put 5000 Zeni down on me for the Yules." Yamcha bet, sliding a seat over to the table.

"The Yules? I know football ain't your forte, but I thought you knew better!" One of the men teased, laughing along with a few of the others. Yamcha chuckled along with his drinking buddies, the few friends that he seemed able to see on a regular occasion.

"Ahh lay off, we all know Yamcha don't know shit about anything other than baseball." Another man joked, patting Yamcha on the back "gotta cut him some slack! Hey, drink up, you're about to lose 5000 Zeni!"

Yamcha of course laughed it off, and as was predicted he did indeed part with his 5000 Zeni. A drop in the hat of course, he could make that money back within a day if he wanted, but it was more about the novelty than anything. It had been nice settling into normalcy after everything that had happened with Cell, the Androids, even the fight with the Saibamen still seemed fresh in his mind, but days like these reminded him why he and his friends fought in the first place.

It still seemed to hurt, even months after the fact, that Goku would now be gone for good. Yamcha barely spent time with the man but it was clear how much of an impact that Goku had left on the lives of everyone around him. That he hadn't visited him more often was a point of great sorrow for the former bandit, one that he had found himself tearing up about on more than one occasion. It was the reason he tried to spend so much time with these people, why he had visited Krillin just a week ago to say hello, and why a few weeks after Goku's demise at the hands of Cell that Yamcha began to drink himself into stupors on regular occasions. Some days were worse than others, but on the whole Yamcha found that he was recovering from the loss of his friend slowly but surely.

As people shifted from their seats in the bar to go home after the game, Yamcha and his bar friends remained for a while, talking of years passed. It hurt that he couldn't tell these people of the events of his past, but he appreciated that he could share the company of anybody at all. While they were in the midst of talking about their college experiences—something of which Yamcha had no experience in—he drifted off into thought as he often found himself doing more and more as he grew older. What if he had been stronger? Did he take his training seriously enough, or was he just weak? It plagued him more often than he liked to admit, the thoughts of inadequacy and what could have been. He accepted long ago that he wasn't nearly in the same league as Goku, Gohan, Vegeta or even Piccolo, but that didn't stop him from daydreaming about a world in which he could have been.

Nappa and Vegeta defeated by his hands, the Dragon Balls on Namek found by him and Krillin and used to bring back all innocents killed by Frieza and his tyranny. Stopping Cell from absorbing the people in Ginger town and destroying him before he could absorb the Androids… And at the end of it all, a giant, happy feast at Capsule Corp. with all of his smiling friends.

But reality soon came crashing down on him as one of his bar friends lifted himself from his seat and announced his intention to go back home. The rest soon followed, but it seemed as though Yamcha had no desire to head back to his apartment just yet. Perhaps he could visit someone? The loneliness of his living room couch just seemed too crushing for him to bear at the moment.

He pulled out his phone and cycled through some contacts, and though he wished it weren't the case, he chuckled at the fact that most of his friends who practiced martial arts never seemed to pick up on the trend of cellular devices. He didn't have to go far down the list before hitting a name that made his heart drop down to his stomach. He couldn't, though, not after everything that had happened between them. It seemed as though everyone around them had just ignored the circumstances surrounding Yamcha and his former girlfriend, and it too seemed as though he ignored it himself for the longest time, but here in this moment he felt it the hardest.

He so desperately wanted to call her, to talk to her about days passed, about Goku and the old Worlds Martial Arts tournaments… But there was no doubt in Yamcha's mind, or so he thought, that she had moved on, that he was just another footnote in her life at this point. Still, he felt a burning deep inside that refused to go away, and as he sat alone at the table for what felt like hours his finger inched closer and closer to the button that would allow them to speak once more.

…

…

*bzzzzzzz*

*bzzzzzzz*

Every tone was agony to him. Each millisecond he struggled not to hang up, but he tried to pull through as best he could.

*bzzzzzzz*

*click*

"H-hello?"

Her voice rung in his ears, not as a symphony as he would have expected, but more like a cacophony. Memories of the past rushing through his mind as he struggled to come up with even a single word to speak back.

"Um, did you call me by accident? Are you even there? I know it's you Yamcha."

"A-a… H-hey Bulma."

"Oh there you are, I thought you pocket dialed me for a second. Is something going on?"

"Well, n-no, not really…"

A silence hung in the air between the two. Though it was merely over the phone, the tension was all too palpable.

"Then… did you just want to talk about something?" She finally responded, clearly unaware of her former boyfriend's intentions.

He wanted so much to ask if they could meet somewhere, catch up after so many years of pretending that nothing had happened between them, but the words wouldn't come.

"I uh… sorry, my mistake." Yamcha awkwardly chuckled, though a hint of his worry came through his wavering voice. He was about to hang up when he heard her respond once again.

"Is it about Goku?"

Yamcha looked at his phone, hand hovering over the red button that would end the call. He stared for a while, but slowly ended up placing it back to his ear.

"Yeah, I've been… thinking about him." Yamcha choked out, on the verge of tears. By a thread he held onto his composure, continuing "I've been thinking about a lot of things."

Another silence followed, though Yamcha could hear Bulma rushing towards… something. A door closed somewhere on the other side of the phone.

"I uh… I saw Gohan the other day. He seemed to be recovering well, Chi-Chi is still taking it pretty hard." Bulma finally said.

"Gohan's a strong kid, he'll be alright." Yamcha smiled, not sure of how to continue. He could hear her pained sigh as the silence continued, but he hadn't the words to comfort her.

"I keep seeing him in my head. The little boy who used to hunt Dragon Balls with me." She sniffled "He's such a jerk… I know why he decided not to come back but…"

"Yeah…" Yamcha sighed, remembering that it was Goku's choice to not return, insisting that it was him who had brought all of the threats they had faced to Earth. "I think, if I could have talked to him one last time, I would have told him that no one cared that the world was in danger. That whatever came, we could handle it together."

"It just… it seemed so unlike him to abandon the planet he loved so much. I know why he did it but… Ooooh, I just hate him a little for it." Yamcha chuckled at Bulma's frustrated declaration. It reminded him of all of the small personality quirks that made him love her in the first place… But this wasn't the time to bring those things up.

"With all of these weird guys coming to look for Goku, you'd think he'd want to be here for the challenge." Yamcha joked, getting a small laugh out of Bulma. "I guess I'll just have to step up my game, right?"

"Well, I think Vegeta has that one covered, he's been training a lot lately."

"Ah, yeah, I guess so…"

"I mean… I didn't mean…"

Yamcha stared down a particular spot at the table for a few moments, unable to bring any words to his lips. He could tell that Bulma was inwardly cursing herself, but that didn't help him much.

"We're still friends, alright?" Bulma assured "and so is Krillin, and Tien, and even Piccolo… though he won't admit it." She let out a soft sigh "we're all still like one big family, just like the old days. Maybe I should invite everyone back for a party, that could be fun."

"Yeah, I'd like that." Yamcha admitted, giving a smile at the thought of a big cookout. "You just tell me when and I'll be there."

"You bet. It was great talking again, but my dad and I were working on something… Do you want to talk later?"

"No, that's alright, I've got things to do, people to see." Yamcha lied. "You take care, and say hello to your folks for me, would you?"

"Yeah, of course. Bye Yamcha…"

"Bye Bulma…"

*click*

Yamcha held his phone in his hand, staring at it for a few minutes before placing it back into his pocket. He gave a sigh, but rose out of his chair with a small grin. Though the conversation had been short, it was something he needed. With a nod at the bartender, Yamcha was out the door again into the cold night air.