Chapter Text
1 month ago
3. Pitcher/Catcher Dynamics
In all honesty, Saitama hadn’t even known B-City had a baseball team.
Or, for that matter, that Genos used to play the sport in middle school.
“You did? Ah, that’s so cute!” Saitama gushed, mind filling with images of a pipsqueak Genos signaling to his catcher with that super serious face of his - all while the real deal began stuttering in front of him.
“I- I’m not too sure about that, Sensei. As I recall, I wasn’t very skilled at the game.”
“That just makes it more cute! I could totally see you striking out and formally apologizing to all your teammates.” Saitama cracked a smile.
“That’s- I never- Some players took the sport quite seriously and-”
Saitama’s smile grew even wider. “Wait, you mean you actually did?!”
The resulting cloud of steam may as well have spelled out a ‘Yes’.
A laugh escaped Saitama. “That’s so great! Classic middle school- such a weird time. I bet you were way cooler than me though. You must’ve been the dude all the other guys hated ‘cuz you got all the valentines, haha.”
“Sensei!” Genos yelled (too loud, as always).“Are you implying you did not receive many valentines? I find that difficult to believe.”
Pfft, as if. “Aha, you don’t have to say that. And yeah, I was a bit of a loser, and hardly a looker.”
Blond bangs shifted to shade Genos’ eyes. “I hope your classmates someday realize the grave error of their ways.” His bangs fell even further onto his face. He’s always so melodramatic. “They were clearly missing out. Sensei is a very handsome man.”
Whelp, apparently it was Saitama’s turn to be flustered, the hero’s ears burning. It was high time for a subject change.
“Um, thanks. So what were you saying about those tickets the HA gave you?”
“Ah, yes.” Genos pulled a folded pair of said tickets from his pocket, presenting them proudly. “The Association decided to reward the ‘hard work’ of the S and A Class heroes with free tickets to various games; ours are for an upcoming playoff round between the teams of B and F City. I believe spectator attendance is expected to increase with the appearance of celebrities.”
Saitama hummed. “So it's all a profit ploy, huh. Well, who cares, ‘cuz we got free tickets!”
Except, wait. It was rude of Saitama to assume that Genos - a young and handsome celebrity - would pick his bland old teacher as his first choice in companion, and the hero felt a tad sheepish. The kid was 19; he was probably itching to go with a cute girl, maybe sneak off in between innings and round a couple bases (ha).
And so: “Unless you want to go with someone else, that is,” Saitama amended.
The metal arm holding the tickets wilted, and Saitama could’ve sworn he saw the tickets themselves droop. “Oh,” Genos said, and nothing else.
Shit, the kid looked really bummed out - and this was coming from the guy who normally couldn't spot a social cue if it punched him in the face (ha, again).
“Not that I don’t want to go! I’d love to be your plus-one, if you’re sure you don’t wanna invite anyone else.”
It was crazy how quickly Genos lit up at that (metaphorically and literally, thanks to those fancy arms). “I am certain, Sensei! I would be honored to have you as my,” Genos’ voice softened slightly, “plus-one.”
Saitama coughed. What’s with this sudden heartburn? “Let’s get going, then!”
For perhaps the first time in the history of mankind, public transportation ran early. More specifically, the bus connecting Z and B city- which worked out rather nicely, seeing as Saitama and Genos, as usual, were its only passengers and had also arrived at the stop ‘7 minutes and 47 seconds ahead of schedule’ (Thanks, Genos).
As it turned out, the ‘B-City Bears’ actually had a fairly swanky stadium, and there were countless murals of a certain Basho the Bear (self-proclaimed ‘Berry Best!’ of mascots) decorating the concrete walls. Saitama spotted a souvenir table as they made their way to their seats, a plush Basho catching his eye. Cute! Too bad it probably cost more than the hero’s monthly vegetable budget.
Genos led Saitama to their seats - really good ones, only ten or so rows from the field fence. The cyborg’s seat groaned in protest as he sat down, and Saitama settled next to him. To the hero’s left, a girl looking slightly older than Genos and wearing a NASA t-shirt waved.
“Dude, this is awesome!” Saitama enthused. “And no one is even freaking out over you being here.”
“You’re right, Sensei.” Genos smiled slightly. “It is very nice, for a change.”
Everyone cheered as the Bears made a double - except Genos, who stayed sitting. Weird. Two strikes later, Saitama shielded his eyes.
“Ah, it’s so bright! Does the sun not bother you, Genos?”
“No. My optical sensors are designed to fluctuate their sensitivity based on ambient light. Please excuse me, Sensei.” And just like that, Genos up and left, clunking up the concrete stairs.
“Wait, where are-? Ah, whatever.” What an odd guy.
Luckily, it was shaping up to be a good game, and Saitama found himself plenty entertained. The first inning rounded up with no runs from either team and talk of the F-City Falcons making an early pitching change.
“Sensei!” The plastic of Genos’ seat squealed as he returned, two outs into the top of the second. He grabbed something from a plastic bag, and suddenly, half of the hero’s vision was blocked.
“Wha-?” Saitama reached up to feel fabric on his head. “Oh, dude, you got me a hat! Thanks, I can pay you back when we get home.”
“Recompense is never necessary, Sensei.” The cyborg had a pleased look on his face. “It is my gift to you. Besides,” Genos turned to face to the field, “Sensei looks very… looks quite handsome in it.”
Yup, there went the rush of blood to his ears again. “...Thanks,” Saitama murmured.
The rest of the inning was spent in comfortable silence, until he began noticing an unprecedented number of glares sent his way. Odd - he wasn’t normally much of a spectacle to look at.
“Hey, Genos,” Saitama leaned over and whispered into his synthetic ear. “Have you noticed all these people giving me the stink eye?”
Genos stiffened, then relaxed slightly, replying somewhat distantly. “Ah, well. Um. That may be because you are wearing a hat representing the away team.”
“What? Dude! Why would you sabotage me like that?! And how did you even find merchandise for the away team?”
“There was a small booth,” Genos muttered. “And my intention was not to sabotage you! Never. I just- I occasionally watch Major League Baseball online and…”
“Aww! You’re totally a Falcons fan!” Saitama cooed.
“Yes, Sensei!” Genos turned in his seat to face the hero, leaning in excitedly. “And this year, their roster is especially promising! With Rikuto’s incredible ERA and Hiroshi’s batting average…”
Saitama soon tuned him out, but made sure to nod along as Genos rambled. It was… gratifying? No, endearing to see Genos totally fanboy over something like that. He briefly took off his cap to look at the logo. I guess the falcon mascot is pretty cute, too.
Mid-discussion of the Falcons’ ‘incompetent recruitment habits’, Genos cut off suddenly. “Sensei! I forgot to give you something I picked up earlier.” And with that, he fished around in his bag and pulled out… aluminum foil?
“Genos, why…?”
“Hopefully it is still warm!” The cyborg shoved the bundle into Saitama’s lap, and the hero peeled it back to reveal a corndog.
“A corndog?” Saitama quirked his eyebrow.
“Yes, Sensei! I was worried you might get hungry and…” Genos paused. “You should really eat that corndog.”
“Eh, I don’t know,” Saitama eyed the snack. “I’m not super hungry.”
“Please.” Genos stared at the stupid thing. “I do not want Sensei to become hungry.”
Eh? But he just said- well, whatever. Saitama had come to learn that sometimes it was easier to just give in to Genos’ odd requests; the cyborg could be pretty goddamn stubborn. It’ll probably taste good, anyway.
And so Saitama shrugged and unwrapped the rest of the corndog. He gave the tip a quick lick to gauge the temperature. Eh, pretty cold, until he bit into the snack.
He flinched. “Shit, it’s all hot inside!”
The hero heard a violent choking sound, followed by a shaky: “I am glad, Sensei!”
“Yeah. It’s kinda hard to fit in your mouth all at once, though.”
Cue yet another bout of choking. Saitama shot Genos a worried glance.
“Dude, are you alright?”
“Never better, Sensei!” the cyborg replied, doing a weird lip-bitey thing when Saitama returned to his food, shrugging it off. There was no telling with that kid, sometimes.
As it turned out, the damn corndog actually turned out to be pretty tasty, so Saitama was sad to gaze upon the bare wooden stick in his hand five minutes later. All good things must come to an end.
“Hey Genos.” Saitama nudged the cyborg with his elbow. “They knocked those corndogs out of the park. Haha!”
Despite Saitama’s self-satisfaction over the (fantastic) joke, Genos didn't so much as reply (much less laugh), his gaze trained somewhere over Saitama’s shoulders.
Damn - Tough crowd, huh. “Get it? Like, it's a baseball pun because— woah, Genos, what's wrong?!”
Seriously - the kid’s eyes had suddenly gone wide as saucers, and Saitama got that horrible, horrible sense that tons of people were staring at him.
“Sensei,” Genos’ voice was shaking, inexplicably. “Look at the jumbotron.” Saitama complied.
And promptly withered inside.
Oh no, oh no. For on the cursed screen was a massive image of himself, the girl with the NASA shirt, and a large… heart-shaped…. border.
Fuck him sideways, he had somehow been chosen for the Kiss Cam. How the fuck had the people in the booth even concluded he and this random chick were a couple?! Saitama couldn’t suppress a groan.
NASA seemed similarly distressed, as they quickly spun to face each other in their panic and made some of the most awkward seconds of eye contact of Saitama’s life. God, why did shit like this always happen to him?
A small crease formed in between NASA’s well-maintained eyebrows, and Saitama unintentionally let out the poorest excuse for a laugh he’d ever had the displeasure of hearing. Distantly, from the murkiness that was the real world, the hero could hear chants of “Kiss, kiss, kiss!” from the oblivious spectators. Oh god.
The furrow in NASA’s brow smoothed out as Saitama began babbling. “Look, Miss, we don’t actually have to—mmph-!"
Wha—
Saitama felt a quick, wet pressure on his lips.
Holy shit.
Holy shit! NASA had kissed him, kissed him - and without so much as a warning. Over the cheers of the audience and his pure shock, Saitama heard a sharp clink! as Genos flew to his feet.
NASA pulled back with a sheepish grin, her hands held up in a placating gesture. “Hey, I’m really sorry. I just wanted the camera to get off of us.”
Saitama rubbed the back of his neck, characteristic nonchalance taking over. It was only a kiss - and a rather chaste one - after all. Nothing to get his boxers in a twist over. “Nah, it’s chill. I just wasn—holy shit, Genos, what are you doing?!”
A primed and glowing incinerator had suddenly appeared in front of Saitama’s face, and NASA’s wish was granted as the jumbotron swiftly switched to stock footage of Fumiko the Falcon’s ‘Greatest Moments’.
“I hope you are prepared for a swift and fiery end,” Genos seethed, expression downright murderous. “No one is allowed to assault Saitama-sensei in such a manner.”
“Genos!” Saitama moved so that his chest stood between a fairly terrified NASA and the hand cannon. “Just what the hell are you trying to pull?”
“Sensei, I cannot allow anyone to degrade you as such without due retribution.” Now everyone was staring - Great! Saitama hadn't felt this mortified in a long fucking time. “Therefore, it is my duty as your disciple to – ack!”
Genos’ rant was blessedly cut off as Saitama snatched his outstretched forearm, hard, and began dragging the kid up the bleacher stairs. Jesus Christ, so many fingers were being pointed their way - Genos being the goddamn Demon Cyborg certainly didn’t help things. Saitama yanked his cap down as far as it would go.
After what felt like hours, Saitama reached the top of the stairs and stomped into the relative safety of the stadium hallway, his disciple still in tow.
“Woah, is that Demon Cyborg? And who’s that bald guy holding his hand?”
Not safe enough, apparently, as Saitama growled and led Genos away from the incredulous fans and into the safest place he could think of - the Bears locker room.
“S-sensei, I am not certain we have clearance for this area!”
“Zip it, brat,” Saitama cut him off. “If we get caught I’m sure we can wiggle our way out of punishment with your shiny ranking, anyway.”
Besides, the game was only at the top of the fifth inning, and the teams seemed fairly well-matched. Saitama had nothing but time - nothing but time to get to the bottom of his disciple’s little stunt out there.
He released Genos and turned to face the cyborg, who was gawking at his wrist with a rather faraway look. Which was odd, really, because as hard as Saitama had been gripping it, he’d made sure that the pressure wasn’t to the point of causing pain. But that was besides the point.
Saitama crossed his arms. “Alright, I’m gonna give you one chance to explain just what the fuck that was right then.”
In reply, Genos leaned against the wall and stared resolutely off to his left, scowling deeply. Alright, then. Time to pull out the big guns.
“Genos…” Saitama spoke in the low tone he reserved for ‘teacher mode’. “If you respect me as your teacher and truly consider yourself my student, then you’re gonna answer me right now.”
It was almost impressive how quickly Genos’ demeanor changed. His head whipped up to face Saitama, and the scowl practically crumbled into an intense look of guilt. Shit. Maybe Saitama shouldn’t have been so harsh.
But before the hero could say so, Genos dropped into a deep bow. “Saitama-sensei,” the cyborg’s voice wobbled from under a mop of blonde hair. “I am deeply sorry for acting in such an inexcusable and disrespectful manner. Please know with the utmost confidence that I consider my role as your student to be an incomparable honor.”
“Genos.” Saitama sighed, even as his heart clenched at the words. “You’re stalling. And stand up straight - I’m not actually that mad at you.” Not anymore, at least.
Genos complied, albeit slowly, and carefully avoided the hero’s eyes. “I… er. The reason I acted so rashly is-” An intense, golden gaze swung up and landed just short of Saitama’s eyes. “I-is, um.” The cyborg bit his lip. “That woman did not deserve to kiss you! Sensei!”
Saitama pinched the bridge of his nose. “And just what makes you the judge of that?” Genos opened his mouth. “-Don’t answer that.” The mouth clicked shut.
“But that isn't even relevant,” Saitama continued. “The point is, you - a professional hero - aggressively threatened some poor girl just because she got dragged into some hokey tradition. And it wasn't even anything crazy - just a kiss! No biggie. I’d kiss anyone! Hell, I’d kiss you if you asked.”
"What?!” Genos choked, voice suddenly raspy.
The hero winced. “Ah, sorry. I'm not trying to be weird or anything - it was just an example.”
Jesus, one would’ve thought all the showers were blasting hot water with all this steam. Saitama needed to start thinking about his words more before he made his disciple any more uncomfortable. Genos was a hot, famous teenager - he’d hardly want to think about kissing some old, bald guy.
Something tweaked in Saitama’s stomach. Maybe that corndog wasn’t a home run, after all.
“No, Sensei, I definitely don’t mind the tho— wait! I mean that, I, if Sensei wanted… um.”
The corndog jumped in the hero’s gut again. “Ah, just drop it, Genos. I wasn’t offended.”
“But-” Genos gathered himself, somewhat. “Sensei, I am curious. Would– If the wretched camera had landed on the,” (more steam) “on the two of us, would Sensei have taken the same action?”
“Ok, for the record, it was totally NASA-girl who ‘took the action’. But yeah, like I said, it wouldn't be a problem to me if it’s not for you.”
Genos seemed positively gobsmacked. “So, Sensei would not be bothered by the fact that I am male?”
Saitama let out a pffft at that one. “Nah. Like I said, it’s just a quick kiss. Doesn’t mean anything. Besides, I've been around the block on both sides of the track before, if you catch my drift.” Saitama grinned. “In fact, you could say I’ve swung both ways, haha.”
“B-but–” Golden eyes had blown even wider. “You told Armored Gorilla that you ‘weren’t into dudes’!”
“Armored Gori…? Oh! That guy. Well, yeah, I said that. He wanted to cart me off to some creepy lab and study me.” Saitama’s eyebrows furrowed. “-Hey, what are you smiling so much for?!”
“Nothing, Sensei,” Genos blatantly lied, his grin broadening into an honest-to-goodness beam.
The kid really was a looker, especially when he smiled like that. Some times, like now, the fact hit Saitama harder than usual. The corndog triggered yet another round of weird squirming in his gut that he chose to ignore.
“Also, Sensei, there is something I would like you to know,” Genos continued, after getting that teen idol smile of his under control.
“Yeah, shoot.” Saitama tossed his disciple what he hoped was an easy grin.
Genos froze for a second, steamed, then shook his head slightly and continued. “I– Because I know Sensei to be a fair and kind man, I feel comfortable admitting that I am, um. I’m gay.”
“Oh.” Saitama straightened. While that wasn't quite what he’d expected, it also wasn't exactly shocking.
Case in point: A month or so ago, Saitama had overheard a snippet of a conversation between Genos and his doctor. The old man had asked Genos if he had his eye on any cute boys recently - to which Genos had replied with something along the lines of that perhaps Kuseno should use the word ‘men’ these days.
It was endearing, when Genos acted all mature for his age like that. But again, Saitama digressed.
“Obviously, that's totally fine,” the hero added, reaching out an arm to clasp Genos by the shoulder. “I'm glad you feel you can tell me stuff like that.”
The kid was steaming (again), and his intense stare had drifted slightly downward again.
“Thank you, Sensei,” he whispered, in a tone that made Saitama feel like he was missing something big. The hero licked his lips nervously.
“Hahh,” Genos exhaled shakily. And holy shit, had there been a voice crack in there? Was that even possible?
The awkward silence and heavy atmosphere were getting to the hero, and he decided they had more than met their bonding quota for the day. But before he could make up an excuse to leave.
“Sensei…” Genos’ face was cast in shadows again. “Does Sensei realize that we are all– um, all alone down here?”
“Well, yeah, that was kinda the point. So what?”
“Um,” Genos repeated, and Saitama raised an eyebrow.
“Wait, don't tell me you wanna vandalize the locker room or something. That would be a dick move, man.”
Genos’ hair floofed as he straightened in surprise. “What– no! I have very much learnt the wrong of property damage from Sensei.”
That coaxed a slight smile from the hero. “Good. So what's with all this talk of being alone?”
Genos began steaming again.
“Sensei, I…” The cyborg took a step towards Saitama. Woah, we’re really close. “Does Sensei know I have a camera function attached to my optics, somewhat similar to what is connected to the jumbotron?”
Saitama huffed. “Now it really sounds like you wanna do something illegal.”
“No, Sensei,” Genos had adopted - of all things - a smirk; one that Saitama had a great view of, considering how close the kid’s face was. And can’t this damn corndog quit jumping around, already?! “As I have said, Sensei is much too good a teacher to encourage such…” the kid leaned in even closer “illicit activities.”
And suddenly, the smirk dropped. “Too good a teacher,” Genos repeated to himself in a whisper, nearly too quietly to understand. The cyborg took a step back, the thud of his shoe on the tile jarring. “I can’t— Sensei, we should leave before someone catches us trespassing.”
“Uh, yeah,” Saitama responded thoughtlessly, every one of his instincts yelling that something was wrong, something needed fixing. But Genos was already at the door, palm pressed against the wood.
Saitama jogged slightly to catch up. “Hey, well, do you wanna catch the rest of the game? I bet we have at least an inning left!”
The kid shook his head. “Thank you, Sensei, but I do not know how wise that would be, considering my earlier outburst. We can see the rest on television.”
“O-oh, ok then!” Saitama knew Genos was right, but still felt pretty shitty as they took the bus home. The poor kid apparently loved the sport, but probably would never receive free tickets from the HA again - not after that Kiss Cam PR disaster, certainly.
For perhaps the first time, Saitama got a real sense of the burden of S-Class, of fame, of having the public eye constantly trained on you. Because of his status, Genos wasn’t allowed to have one moment of teenage stupidity (because, granted, it had been stupid), one moment when he slipped up. And that sucked.
The gloomy atmosphere followed the roommates across their apartment threshold, Genos immediately dropping to the floor and huddling in blankets in front of the blank television screen.
Saitama sighed and sat down next to the blob. “Hey, Genos?”
“Sensei,” he replied blandly, still not even bothering to flip the game on.
“I just, uh. I just wanna tell you that even if I get kinda peeved at you, you should know that I’m really always on your side. And if the public puts you through some bullshit, I’ve got your back. Yeah.”
Genos said nothing - just huddled further into his blanket cave.
“Hey, you gotta say something, I’m kinda thinking I said something wro— fucking hell, Genos!”
Fucking hell was right, as the kid turned around and revealed the inky tears streaming down his face. “Sensei!” he croaked, “You are so kind!”
For once, Saitama didn’t even bother denying the way his heart sailed. This was one of those moments; the kind one would smile over in reminiscence, the kind that could thaw the iciest of hearts, the kind that was perfe—
“Shit, stop crying! You’re gonna get oil all over the blanke… oh. Damn.”
Oh well. Saitama had secretly been wanting a new blanket anyway.
And if the predictably-loud shouts of gratitude towards Saitama as he returned from shopping a week later - F-City Falcons (TM) stadium blanket balled under the hero’s arm - were any indication, Genos had felt the same way.
Saitama never did tell his disciple how he had paid full retail price for the damn thing.