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The hot-headed Tatsumaki managed to dispel the storm monster’s rage and destruction, repeatedly claiming only she could withstand its power. Random S-Class heroes stood by to watch while some just fled and handled smaller enemies on the ground. Tree limbs and telephone poles already strewn about, Z-City was half in shambles anyway after the chaos.
“Idiots. I could’ve done that with my eyes closed!”, Tatsumaki grumbles, wiping the dust off her sleeves.
“...So why didn’t you?”
“Hmph! I don’t need to prove anything to you, Baldy!”
Genos stomps forward, “You little- ”
Saitama claps his hands and redirects those metal (and scorching hot) shoulders in the opposite direction.
“-OKAAAY! We’re going home now, Genos.”
“BUT-!”
“-NOPE! ”
The cyborg dutifully complies, but glances right back with a deathly stare at Tatsumaki’s floating green locks.
.
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Saitama’s apartment, evening
“...Well, storms don't last forever,” he sighs over the incessant water drippings into a few buckets.
He's uncertain if perhaps that was said to himself for comfort. Eyes scattered all across the ceiling, Saitama rechecks it again for further damage.
Genos meanwhile angrily towel-dries his rain soaked hair, upset and frustrated. At least he made sure to purchase those two small bunches of bananas early this morning (on sale!). And all the cabinets were now stocked plenty of canned food. A great disciple, no doubt.
He'd overanalyzed the exact portions and caloric content which would sustain Saitama's energy; his appetite having increased upon the start of a new workout plan. Exercise gave him something productive to do - when he wasn't out fighting monsters, that is.
He’ll have to admit that Genos meticulously studying (and drawing) him while he’d perform yoga poses to be rather cute. It became a new favorite pastime for the both of them. Flexing his leg muscles, the warrior pose in particular had Saitama feeling like a brand new superhero. He'd even don his cape just for kicks (and punches).
“You were awesome today, Genos! Those people were in good hands.”
He scoffs, “Some hands...my blasters failed to destroy that monster. If it weren't for you stepping in, I-”
“-You did your best. That's all that matters.”
A sigh escaped Genos, however the sound was more like that of an enraged bull.
“...Saitama-sensei. Will I ever be as strong as you? Will I ever see myself as more than a cyborg?”
“...Uh-”
He stutters ungracefully; his flashlight waning in its sickly brown-beige hue splashing elongated orbs across the floor. Even it knows. (He really should've bought a new one with LEDs.)
“...Stop comparing your chapter to mine. Belittling yourself now will get you nowhere near what you’re aiming for, okay?”
Vocabulary lifting somewhere beyond him didn’t seem so fake and plagiarized as usual. He genuinely felt a lot around Genos; a bit more soft compared to the hard shell he’d been so used to carrying. He learned to let go of some mental baggage concerning his unemployment, general dissatisfaction with life, and a touch of heartache he couldn't quite understand.
Saitama wanted to know if Genos admired him on a certain kind of level - not that the space between them here was awkward and uncomfortable.
Frankly, the desire for a partner in his life didn’t make sense at all. He’s always thrived best in solitude like a cactus, quiet and at ease on his own. Aside from those thirsty mosquitos during the hot summers, nothing really bugged him much.
Loneliness became quite rare, in fact.
When Genos was out late at Doctor Kuseno's lab and had left a note behind to eat dinner without him, Saitama would go out and had enough money for his favorite bowl of ramen. King or Mumen often ate there too; mere coincidences when he'd felt down about something outrightly stupid. Yet again he'd remember the subtle but sweet joys of life, and simplicity was always rich to him.
But a companion was that anonymous someone he’d frequently daydream about, if anything.
Would it remain platonic though?, he worried.
Eyes closed, the man became so lost in thought that he gasped at a sudden drop of water on his forehead - but thankfully it didn't come from another spot of the ceiling.
Saitama turned away upon his pillow, embarrassed.
“...Just do me a little favor.”
“Yes, Sensei?” The cyborg’s eyes flickered awake.
Saitama cringed at the blatant overuse of such an honorific.
But whatever. Eventually he'll get used to it.
He can certainly get used to Genos.
“Please don't give up...on you. ”
He wasn't sure if that too was said to himself; the grim pause filling with an almost tribal drumbeat of the buckets like a ceremony for yet another hailstorm to come.
Saitama turned back to meet crystallized wet tips of blond bangs illuminated by the glow of those eyes.
So beautiful, he almost says out loud.
It was Genos who created the bonfire and the passionate igniting embers of his soul. (Or something artsy like that.)
And he wants to know why his heart leaps when they make eye contact (he’s counted seven times today).
He longs to ask his future self if he's doing this whole life thing correctly.
For what else is missing?
What else can Saitama be other than the hero he is?
Can he be one for himself when the whole world seems so heavy and ominous even, looming over inside out; fingers pointing in ridicule and disgust?
And he used to do this hero thing for fun.
“...A true hero never gives up, right?”
Genos nods promptly, “Before, you stated that 'storms don't last forever', correct?”
“Yeah?”
“...I will always be there to help you through it, Sensei. Rain or-”
*THUNDER CLAP*
An unfazed Genos watches Saitama quickly dive under the blanket. The cyborg’s hand delicately lifts it up to uncover a hidden fear in such a strong gaze.
“...Saitama-sensei, are you afraid of-?”
“-NO! It was just sudden!” His eyes dart about, frantic. (It was pretty loud.)
And Genos snorts in disbelief, “May I join you?”
Saitama hesitates.
“Uh...okay. Yeah.”
A soft smile is permanently resting on Genos now - quite the difference displayed previously. Saitama shifts to make room for him, mumbling something. It’s like a chant - solemn, slow - and yet so familiar. Memories of his favorite childhood film are sifting through; the curly, unkempt hair of a little girl and her dog walking side by side.
Of course.
For even the best of friends refuse to give up on each other.
“The sun'll come out tomorrow, so ya gotta hang on 'til tomorrow...come what may…”
Genos completes it, singing softly.
“Tomorrow, tomorrow...I love ya, tomorrow...you're only a day away…”
And he inches closer to Saitama’s blanket-covered (and flushed) face, whispering:
“...For tomorrow is another day with you.”
...Oh.
Make that eight times his heart has skipped today.