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Senku’s been looking up at the stars for as long as he can remember.
Before Byakuya gifted him with all the scientific equipment his little heart had ever desired, before he’d even had a telescope of his own, he found himself staring out his window, besotted with the night sky. There was the moon, of course, which was just as besotted with him— or so Byakuya insisted. There was Venus, sparkling in the early evening. There were meteor showers, ever so often, as cosmic debris blasted through the atmosphere and streaked the sky with light.
And there were the stars. The stars held Senku’s interest like nothing else.
They shone so absurdly bright. Even at the tender age of four, Senku knew that everything in the universe ran on energy. If the stars were able to glow so intensely from so far away, they must have been able to produce energy on an unimaginable scale. Senku felt dizzy with excitement just imagining it.
But Senku was never content to just sit and daydream.
There was no option for him but to learn all that he possibly could. So Senku got his hands on every text he could acquire. He crammed his brain full of information, with single-minded determination.
He stripped the stars down to their bare essentials. They were balls of plasma that arose from dust clouds. They were the birthplace of the elements, the building blocks of galaxies. They were impressive but—
But they followed the rules of the universe, like all else. They were ordinary, in that sense.
Even plasma, Senku’s new favorite state of matter, followed rules. Even if it wasn’t quite understood yet, there was nothing magical about it. Plasma regularly struck the earth in the form of lightning. Senku could easily look up pictures of the aurora borealis. He passed by neon lights when he made his way down any busy street. Hell, Senku had even managed to make the stuff himself using a singular grape and a microwave.
Byukuya had been unimpressed by that particular experiment.
The point is, while the stars were still full of mysteries, Senku had enriched himself with enough knowledge for the time being. So, when the next thing inevitably caught Senku’s attention, he let the stars go.
But he never stopped looking.
Byakuya had wanted to venture among them, after all. It was a foolish thought, exactly the sort of thing his sentimental old man would come up with.
Whether up in space, or down here on Earth, the stars are just as far away. The difference in distance is too slight to be of any consequence. Senku knows that, of course. But even now, with no physical rocket ship in sight, he’s getting ridiculously excited.
Because past the veil of the atmosphere, the stars are sure to be brighter. They’ll sparkle. Not like diamonds woven into velvet, or anything so metaphorical. They’ll shine in a way only the stars are capable of, and Senku—
Senku will get a front row seat.
That much is all but guaranteed. There’s going to be a formal discussion, of course, a decision-making process for a decision that’s been made since Senku was an elementary schooler, with too big dreams trapped in a too small body.
Senku’s going to space. Like he’s always wanted.
It’s better to focus on the excitement. It’s what’s always kept him going. It should be enough. It should be more than enough.
But it falls short. Senku’s been looking up at the stars his whole life, but now, he can’t stop himself from wondering: will he get tired of them while he’s stuck up there?
While he’s frozen on the moon, encased in rock somewhere in the barrenness of space, unable to move on to another project, or whatever sparks his interest next— will he find himself bored?
Senku knows the answer already. He’s never been very good at standing still.
Counting the seconds doesn’t make time go by any faster. It only slows things down, and stretches each individual moment out to infinity.
It was thirty-seven hundred years last time. This time, the wait is bound to be shorter.
But this time, the rest of the world won’t wait alongside him. His Kingdom of Science will live on without him. They’re more than capable of it. Senku isn’t worried about them.
So what has him so uneasy?
At the moment, Senku’s sitting in the lab, hunched over rudimentary blueprints, enjoying a rare moment to himself. The Perseus is no doubt impressive. It’s his and Ryusui’s proudest accomplishment. But it’s entirely lacking in privacy.
Even at night, Senku finds himself in the company of someone else. None of his crew mates have a healthy sleep schedule. Really, there’s no schedule at all.
Usually, it’s Chrome or Xeno. Sometimes, it’s Ryusui, or Chelsea, or Sai. More rarely, it’s Gen. It’s strange how little he sees of Gen these days, by virtue of their vastly different skill sets. They used to be joined at the hip.
Even now, Senku can’t help but think of the village whenever he glances at Gen. It’s where most of their shared memories were created, after all. The memories are green and warm, and out of place, here at sea.
Thinking of Gen inevitably brings Senku back to the last time he’d seen him. To that tense conversation above deck.
“Hmph! So no matter how the battle against Why-Man shakes out…” Ryusui had said, as grim realization dawned upon him. “Whoever joins the moon mission isn’t coming back to Earth?”
The room had practically frozen over. Senku let his gaze flicker over each familiar face. Chrome looked horrified— he was pale, with eyes wider than Senku had ever seen them. Suika looked much the same. Kaseki looked despairing. The rug had been pulled out from under Kohaku’s feet.
They were all reactions Senku had been prepared for.
“Am I wrong?” Ryusui prodded. It was a rhetorical question. Senku knew Ryusui was bound to catch on, quicker than anyone.
So Senku set his jaw, and stepped forward. He pictured himself frozen in space, for years, for decades, for centuries— and hardened his resolve.
“The working Medusa is our one-way ticket on a rocket to the moon.”
There. Senku had said it. He never hesitated to deliver somber news. His job was to lay out the facts, regardless of how everyone else felt about them.
And based on everyone else’s unchanging expressions, their feelings were anything but positive. It was entirely silent in the aftermath of Senku’s declaration. Senku looked into a crowd of disbelieving faces, and offered his friends a rueful smile.
Everyone’s distress was evident. It was expected. But Gen—
Gen looked angry. Disappointed, even.
Even now, Senku can’t quite shake off the weight of his gaze.
Then again, that’s intentional, like every scheme Gen has ever orchestrated. He won’t allow Senku to forget his disapproval so easily.
So when Senku starts to hear footsteps outside his door— a back and forth pattering of feet —it’s easy enough to infer who it is. Someone is pacing, putting a deliberate amount of force into each step and demanding to be heard.
The facts point to one person.
Someone who hates to be ignored, Senku thinks, amused, when the footsteps only grow heavier.
With a sigh, Senku turns away from his blueprints. As soon as his attention is diverted, he’s acutely aware of the ache in his back. He rolls his shoulders back, groaning.
“Are you gonna come in?” Senku finally asks. He'd rather not spend all night listening to this. He’d rather not find tracks carved into the wooden floor in the morning.
The footsteps come to a halt.
Senku stares at the door in impatience. A moment passes, before it starts to open, with a high-pitched creak.
On Senku’s next inhale, his lungs fill with a gust of fresh air, carrying a subtle, floral scent. It settles under his skin, an all too familiar itch.
He’s unsurprised to find Asagiri Gen standing in the doorway.
Blue-gray eyes bore into Senku’s own. Gen’s face is deceptively neutral. He hasn’t directed an expression like this at Senku in ages— in years.
“Do you need something, Mentalist?”
Gen crosses his arms. His gaze narrows. He stares a little harder.
Senku feels the faintest hint of unease. He brings a finger to his ear and quashes the feeling.
“Well, spit it out,” he demands.
There’s a brief moment of silence that seems to last hours. Then, the hardness in Gen’s expression bleeds away. A pleasant grin splits his face.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re entirely lacking in tact, Senku-chan?”
The unease doubles. Gen sounds too normal. Senku can only describe it as fake as hell.
“Maybe once or twice,” he says dryly. “So, what do you need?”
Gen hums. “Who says I need omething-say? Maybe I just wanted to see what you’re working on.”
Senku highly doubts that. “Well, you’re welcome to look. Can’t promise you’ll understand any of it.”
Gen’s eyes dart towards the table behind Senku. Something flickers in his gaze as he registers what it is that Senku has been working on. There’s no twitch in his jaw or furrow in his brow. Gen has better control of himself than that.
But it’s near impossible for Gen to stop his eyes from widening instinctively. Senku picks up on his momentary weakness, catalogs it, and stores it away in his brain to analyze later.
Senku swallows as Gen’s eyes return to his face.
“Really, Senku-chan,” he drawls. “Don’t you feel an ounce of pity?”
“Hah?” Senku raises a brow. “What are you talking about?”
Gen breathes a tiny, disappointed sigh. It’s entirely manufactured, of course.
“You’re leaving that poor boy with so much weight on his shoulders. So much responsibility. How heartless of you.”
“Who?”
“I’m talking about Chrome-chan, obviously. Didn’t you see the miserable look on his face?”
It had been hard to miss. Senku shakes his head as he begins to understand what Gen’s here to do. This is far from his best work. It’s sloppy. Senku can see right through him.
“He’s not a kid anymore,” Senku says calmly. “He can handle this. And besides, he still has Xeno.”
“Great. He has a megalomaniac scientist for a mentor. Onderful-way~”
Senku scoffs. “Xeno was my mentor too. And look how I turned out.”
Gen’s eyes twinkle. “That’s exactly the point I’m making.”
Senku won’t let Gen lull him into a false sense of security. He doesn’t fire back with a playful remark. Instead, he gets to the point. “This discussion is pointless right now. It won’t necessarily be me on that ship.”
Gen tilts his head, as his smile stretches wider. “Don’t play coy, Senku-chan. It doesn’t suit you.”
Before Senku can defend himself, Gen says, “Everyone knows it’s gonna be you. You wouldn’t dare send a wild card like Xeno-chan. And you’ll need him down here for the launch.”
“There’s still—”
“And Chrome-chan isn’t even an option. He never has been.”
You’re a sentimental fool, Gen doesn’t say. His eyes spell it out anyway.
“Besides, you’d never pass up a chance like this,” he finishes smugly.
Senku sighs. There isn’t anything he can counter with now. It had been futile to try and win an argument against a mentalist. He keeps Gen around for a reason, after all.
Well, maybe more than one. Senku won’t dwell on that now.
“What are you getting at?” Senku asks Gen instead. Bluntness is his most effective weapon against someone this tricky.
Gen drops the smile, and the temperature in the lab seems to drop by several degrees in unison. Senku braces himself, though he doesn’t know what for.
“You didn’t tell me it would be a one-way trip,” Gen says quietly.
“It’s plenty obvious,” Senku tells him. “We don’t have the time or the resources to—”
“Not all of us are well-versed in rocket science.” Gen tucks his hands into his sleeves. He’s still holding his arms in front of his body, like a shield. He's closing himself off— like he’s on the defensive. By now, Senku’s learned to pick up on the signs.
“It’s not like I was keeping it from you. You never asked.”
“I never ask you to explain yourself,” Gen fires back. “You’ve always just told me anyway. But you didn’t this time… Why?”
Senku hesitates, just for a split second. “I’ve been occupied,” he says, but it sounds weak to his own ears.
Gen latches onto that weakness with nimble fingers, with sick satisfaction. “I think it’s because you knew I’d talk you out of it,” he sings. “Does that sound right to you?”
Senku doesn't grace him with a response. Instead, he grits his teeth. He hadn’t filled Gen in, for reasons he hadn’t allowed himself to consider. And here’s Gen, providing an explanation, like he knows the workings of Senku’s brain better than himself.
“You’ve never chosen the easy way out,” Gen tells him, voice uncharacteristically low. “Why start now?”
“Nothing about this is gonna be easy, Gen. Aerospace engineering is a pain in the—”
“Stop avoiding my questions.”
Senku’s eyes go wide. Gen’s do too, as he processes his loss of control. His response had been too quick. It had been too emotional.
It had been real.
Senku feels himself soften as he studies Gen’s bemused face. He’s impressed Gen made it this far without faltering, but he isn’t surprised.
His mentalist is more than capable. He always has been.
“I don’t want this anymore than you do,” Senku admits, almost gently. Gen stiffens imperceptibly.
“But we don’t have any other choice. You know that, don’t you?”
“I—”
“It’s illogical to spend time arguing over it.” It’s illogical for Senku’s chest to be aching as he watches Gen wrestle with his composure.
“It’s always about logic with you,” Gen says, under his breath.
“Yeah,” Senku says, just as quiet. “You know that.”
“I do.” Gen looks down at him, through feathery, coal-black lashes. His petrification scar had emphasized the coolness of his gaze, and the sharpness of his face.
He looks younger without it. He looks warmer.
Senku knows Gen is beautiful. His face is perfectly symmetrical. His eyes are striking. But Senku’s always been far more occupied with what lies under Gen’s skin, more enraptured by the brilliant brain he’s chosen to dedicate to Senku’s cause.
“Gen,” Senku says, as kindly as he can manage. “What are you trying to convince me of?”
Gen knows there’s no talking Senku out of this. He must know. This is what they’ve all been working towards for years. Ever since Senku broke out of the stone, flat on his back and faced with a brand new world, he’s been trying to fulfill an insurmountable goal. But the goalpost is finally within sight.
This is no time to give up. No time to hesitate. No time for earthly desires to tug Senku back down to the ground.
This isn’t the time for Gen to get a certain weight off his chest. Senku knows he wouldn’t. He calls himself shallow and superficial, but he wouldn’t dare.
“Don’t—” Gen cuts himself off with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I suppose I can’t just say that,” he tells himself, more than Senku.
Senku wonders if he’s really frazzled enough to resort to talking to himself. It’s more likely that this is another tactic.
He doesn’t mind the mind games, really. They’re what drew him to Gen in the first place. They’re spectacular to witness, even when they’re at his own expense.
But rather than talk Senku into another trap, Gen stays silent.
“Cat got your tongue? What happened to the world’s smoothest talker?”
The taunt is instinctive. Senku winces once he hears his own words. Even he knows when his bluntness is too much. Gen is more immune to his abrasive personality than the ordinary person, but even he must have his limits.
Senku just isn’t built for these kinds of conversations. Him and Gen are alike in that aspect. Up until now, he’s been spared of anything like this. So maybe, Gen’s next move is his way of punishing Senku for his thoughtlessness.
Rather than close himself off further, Gen looks Senku straight in the eye and says. “I just don’t… I don’t like this.”
That much is obvious, but Senku doesn’t say anything. Gen’s choosing to tell him the truth. He’s gracing Senku with uncharacteristic honesty. It’s a peace offering, and Senku will accept it, albeit warily.
“I don’t want you to…” Gen stops himself, once more. His eyes swim with emotion.
“You’re upset,” Senku says intelligently.
Gen excuses him. He doesn’t even blink at Senku’s less than eloquent attempt to soothe him. He gives him a wistful smile, and says, “You know why I’m upset.”
Senku turns his gaze to the floor. Of course he knows. There’s always been this unnamed thing between them, an invisible force much like gravity. Senku will let Gen get closer than anyone, as close as he wants. But Gen is never satisfied. He’s always pushed his luck.
Senku has never stopped him before. But this is one thing he can’t allow him.
“Yeah,” Senku says, quiet and remorseful. “I know.”
Gen laughs. It’s a sad, resigned sort of laugh, and it grates on Senku’s ears. Almost grates on his heart, though Senku knows that’s entirely illogical.
“I won’t ask you to stay,” Gen whispers. “I wouldn't ask that of you.”
Senku’s mouth dries. He nods.
“But I won’t stop reminding you how much I hate this,” Gen vows. “I’ll make these next few months miserable for you.”
“I’m sure,” Senku says fondly. It’s almost embarrassing, to be this far gone.
“But if someone comes up with a better idea…” Suddenly, Gen sounds fierce. “Promise me you’ll consider it.”
“I’m not an egoist, Gen. I’d never shoot down a sound suggestion.”
“Yes, yes, you’re a scientist,” Gen says, masking the tightness in his voice with playfulness. “No need to remind me.”
Senku swallows. Is that all Gen came here to say? Senku has the distinct feeling that even Gen isn’t sure what brought him here. Even Gen isn’t sure what he hoped to achieve.
The aimless way he’s scanning the lab further supports Senku’s hypothesis.
Unsure or not, Gen needed to see him, it seems. Senku would never begrudge him that.
Besides, he can’t deny that his own unease has trickled away in the presence of his mentalist. This— the two of them sharing one space —is familiar. If Senku was the slightest bit sentimental, he’d tell Gen as much out loud. Instead, he stares at him intently. He waits for Gen to do the speaking.
And Gen takes a breath then, preparing himself to do just that.
Gen’s head hangs low. His hair obscures his face, and if Senku were a braver, more disciplined man, he’d brush it away. But Senku knows that allowing himself to touch could spell the end of himself and his centuries’ long dream. He isn’t strong enough to take such a risk.
So Senku lets Gen hide himself away, as he murmurs, “I won’t see you, Senku-chan. Not for a long time.”
Realization hits Senku like a bolt of lightning. He’s electrified, from head to toe, as he pieces together what he’s been feeling. The ache in his chest, the pit in his stomach— Senku has felt this way before. When Ruri had sat him down with a somber expression, and shared a story that had been passed down for centuries. When he’d been left to stand in front of a dilapidated headstone, painfully alone and unguarded. When Byakuya’s cracking voice sounded through a hastily thrown together record player.
Senku knows this feeling. He’s grieving.
It’s a little too early. It’s more than inconvenient. But Senku doesn’t make a habit out of lying to himself.
Not for a long time is putting it gently. Really, Senku would be lucky to see Gen, or any of the others, ever again. And like Gen has always said, Senku’s luck is terrible.
He curls in his fingers and clenches his fists.
Gen hasn’t noticed his distress quite yet, or he’s pretending not to. He bulldozes ahead, uncaring of the effect his words have on Senku.
“And maybe we don’t see each other as often as we used to. Maybe you’ve found more like-minded people to spend your time with…”
Senku wants to interrupt. He can’t believe something so inane could ever come out of Gen’s mouth. But he holds back, because Gen isn’t finished.
“But I’ve never stopped,” Gen says, with another sad little laugh. “Wanting to see you, that is. I’ve never—”
A tug of Gen’s sleeve is all it takes. Senku reaches out and twists purple fabric between his fingers without thinking.
A tug of Gen’s sleeve, and he comes tumbling into Senku’s frame, into his open arms, inhaling sharply in shock.
“Senku—”
Before Gen can pull away, Senku’s arms are snaking their way up his back, grabbing fistfuls of his haori, and drawing him closer. Senku holds on tight. He presses his face against Gen’s shoulder and tries to stifle whatever emotion is crawling its way up his throat.
It’s a stiff sort of hug. Gen is tense and Senku is holding him close, with no regard for his comfort. This is for his own sake. It’s selfish.
This kind of thing doesn’t come naturally to Senku. He’s always let Gen get as close as he wants to. But this time, Senku is the one who wants.
He’s never wanted anything quite so badly before. Senku’s surprised by his own desperation. This unfamiliar urge snuck up on him.
At least like this, he isn't faced with Gen’s pained expression. Senku listens to him breathe, in and out, unsteady but—
But as time goes on, as Senku holds on tighter, as his arms start to tremble from exertion— Gen melts into his embrace.
Gen’s arms come up and wrap around Senku in return. He tucks his head into the crook of Senku’s neck and sighs. It’s a sigh of relief, as he lets himself fall into Senku, certain he’ll be caught. He’s placed his trust in the right person. Senku wouldn’t dream of letting him slip away.
Gen’s warm, in all the places their bodies are connected. His breath is hot against Senku’s skin. He smells of peonies and jasmine. The scent is richer, straight from the source.
Everything feels heightened, while Gen is in Senku’s arms. Senku knows what’s happening, of course. There was an adrenaline rush when he took a risk and pulled Gen closer to him. There was a burst of dopamine and serotonin as he tucked Gen into his arms. Then, a flood of oxytocin, as Gen held him back.
Gen is hijacking Senku’s brain, and his entire circulatory system. He’s seeping into Senku’s blood.
Senku suppresses a chuckle at the embarrassingly sentimental direction his thoughts are taking. And he thought Byakuya was bad. Maybe Senku’s inherited something from his old man, after all.
“I didn’t expect this from you, my dear Senku-chan. Are you going oft-say?” Gen’s teasing would be more effective if he could actually meet Senku’s eyes. Besides, his voice is unnaturally steady. He must be giving it his all.
“That’s funny, coming from you.” Senku smirks, lifting his head off of Gen’s shoulder. “Weren’t you just telling me how much you’ll miss me?” he murmurs into Gen’s ear.
Gen’s still hiding his face, like it’ll guarantee his victory. Too bad Senku can see the red flush creeping up his ears. Senku reaches up and brushes Gen’s hair out of the way, just so he can see it better. He’s making an observation. It’s the heart of science.
“You’ll see me again,” Senku tells him firmly. “Don’t think I’ll let you off easy.”
He smooths a hand over Gen’s soft, two-toned hair. “You’re not done repaying me.”
Senku can hear the pout in Gen’s voice as he asks, “For what?”
“For that cola.”
“Ah. That. I’d almost forgotten.”
“Aren’t you meant to be a good liar?” Senku taunts.
“I’m an excellent liar.” Gen’s mouthing the words against Senku’s neck. Each syllable feels like an electric shock. “You’re just immune, Senku-chan. You’re an exception.”
It’s funny how those are the words that finally send heat rushing to Senku’s face. He’s sure his face is a shade of red just shy of his irises.
Seeing through Gen’s tricks is one thing. Gen’s express acknowledgement is another. He’s acknowledging it like he’s grateful. Like Senku is something special— an exception in more ways than one. This is more than Gen complimenting his intellect.
This is an admission— a confession —only a hair’s breadth away from being too much. From crossing the unspoken line they’d drawn between them when Gen said, I won’t ask you to stay.
It seems Gen’s found a loophole.
And Senku reads him, loud and clear.
Senku won’t pretend the words haven’t affected him. He doesn’t have one millimeter of interest in putting on a poker face and hiding himself away. He’ll leave that to Gen.
So, rather than back away, Senku whispers a secret of his own into Gen’s hair. “You’re mine too.”
Gen’s fingers tighten their grip on Senku’s shoulders. “What?” he says, breathless.
My exception.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean.”
Gen laughs, syrupy sweet. He’s no longer short of breath. Maybe he never was to begin with. “I wouldn’t dare.”
He doesn’t deny knowing.
“Maybe… I just want to hear you say it.”
Oh, he definitely knows.
Senku tells him anyway.
On his way back down to Earth, Senku reserves his concentration for the mission at hand. A return trip through the atmosphere is no lighthearted matter. He has a more than capable pilot next to him, and another one standing behind him, and still, he remains on high alert.
Anything could happen as they start to pick up speed— as they start to pick up heat.
So, Senku is focusing as intently as he can. He keeps his eyes on the window. He keeps his ears open for any last minute notices from Xeno.
But the mind isn’t quite so obedient. Senku’s thoughts wander.
They’re coming back to Earth with a petrification device in hand. The possibilities are endless. Senku feels like he’s been set alight by flickering excitement.
One mystery has been solved, but really, Senku has more questions than answers at this point. It’s a scientist’s greatest dream. It’s exhilarating.
And Senku can’t forget that, a few mere moments ago, he’d been standing on the surface of the moon. The awe has yet to entirely wear off.
The curtain is closing on a years’ long dream. Senku isn’t feeling wistful, or anything so horribly sentimental. He’s just satisfied. He feels accomplished.
It had been a worthwhile dream. The stars had shone brilliantly.
Somehow, that thought, like so many others, leads Senku straight to Gen.
Gen, who bid him goodbye in private. Gen, who’s anxiously waiting for him to return. He’d never admit it aloud, but the truth was written all over his face the last time Senku saw him. He’d hidden behind his hair, and for once, Senku wasn’t the only one able to see right through him.
Still, Senku is an exception. He’s always been an exception, hasn’t he?
Senku grins at the thought. He ignores Stanley’s knowing look. They’re up in space. Why wouldn’t Senku be smiling?
What no one else knows is this: minutes before Senku suited up, Gen had thrown himself at Senku’s back and clung. He’d hidden his face where Senku couldn’t see it, forehead pressed to Senku’s shoulder blades, and had spoken soft words against the fabric of his shirt.
“See you soon,” Gen had said.
Senku refrained from pointing out the tremble in Gen’s voice. It was a tell tale sign. Gen was trying to convince himself of something.
Ever since Chrome and Suika had presented them with the possibility of a round trip, Gen had seemed a little lost. He’d been calmer, more settled, but hesitant. Like he wasn’t quite letting himself believe he was in the clear.
Plenty of things could go wrong, after all. Senku had watched rocket after rocket fail, and fall to the ground in a shower of scrap metal and sparks. He couldn’t exactly lie and tell Gen there would be no risks. Senku wasn’t a liar, and Gen wasn’t an idiot.
Senku could do no more than place his hands over Gen’s. So, he held onto long, slender fingers. He indulged in a few precious moments of warmth. He indulged in Gen.
And when the time came to go, Gen relinquished his grip before Senku could ask him to. He wouldn’t meet Senku’s eyes after that.
Senku bore the tense silence all the way to the spacecraft, up until he was seated in the cockpit.
But T-minus two minutes to takeoff, seconds before Senku petrified himself and his crew, he cleared his throat and leaned into the microphone. “Hey,” he said, seemingly to no one in particular.
“Two more minutes,” Xeno reminded him. But Senku wasn’t speaking to him.
Sure, Xeno would overhear what he was planning to say. As would the rest of Senku’s friends and allies. The whole world was probably listening, small as it happened to be these days.
Senku couldn't care less. As long as his message reached its intended recipient, he could lean back and enjoy the ride he’d been anticipating his whole life. He could make his way to the stars with an easy smile on his face.
So, Senku spoke loudly and clearly. Resolutely.
“I’ll see you soon.”
And even now, several days later, Senku can’t stop wondering what sort of face Gen made upon hearing the words. It must have been something to behold. Senku hadn’t missed Xeno’s amused huff, no matter how hard he tried to stifle it.
Their vessel moves a little faster. Green and blue and swirling white come into view. Soon is almost upon him. Senku will finally make good on his word.
Senku will return that hug. He's never liked leaving things unfinished.
Senku will forgive a years’ old debt. In its place, he’ll make a promise. He’ll put a name to something he’s spent too much time running away from. He’ll plant his feet on the ground and face gravity—or whatever invisible force he’s been feeling —head-on.
But most importantly, Senku will be met with a familiar pair of blue-gray eyes, half-lidded and half-hidden behind uneven hair. And Asagiri Gen’s eyes will sparkle.
Senku can’t help but think that the stars pale in comparison.