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Genos liked holding hands.
It was a versatile gesture that conveyed a vast range of emotions. He could appreciate the utility of it, the simplicity of it.
If he was honest with himself, it reminded him that he was human.
Tactile sensation was a strange thing for a cyborg; especially one built for battle. One could argue it was a necessity, that it allowed for fast and appropriate action to be taken in dire situations. It allowed for complicated calculations to be made with an ease that would have been impossible without the sensory data. Texture, pressure, pain, these were important variables to consider when fighting an enemy.
But they could also be a burden, especially pain. As long as a power-source was present, and the brain remained undamaged, a cyborg of his build could survive a tremendous amount of punishment. Pain was just as much an indicator of Genos's limitations as it was a limitation in and of itself. What did it mater-if he lost a limb or two-as long as he accomplished his goal?
Because of this, Genos had requested the doctor alter much of his sensory processing. Most of the sensations that could act as potential hazards or distractions were barred from eliciting any physiological response, and were instead converted to raw data. By running this information through his battle program, Genos was able to make decisions without the hindrance of his senses' physical drawbacks.
Genos's hands, however, were a different story.
Certain day-to-day tasks required a delicate touch. Analyzing such massive amounts of data for trivial tasks would be exhausting, and a waste of his power. As a result, the sensors on his hands were designed much like the receptors in organic skin, and he could control the sensitivity with ease.
He had never anticipated for this specification to become so ridiculously important to him.
In the revenge-fueled haze of years past, he had forgotten much of what it felt like to be organic. The rain on his face, the warm sun on his back; those memories had not been pertinent to preserve. But his sensors would not let him forget the feeling of grass beneath his palms, the gritty texture of sand on the beach, the warm embrace of another's hand in his.
Sonic's hands were good for holding.
They were smaller than his, but not overly so, fitting nicely into his palm. His fingers were not slender, but nor were they overly thick. For the most part his hands were soft, meticulously cared for. But if you brushed across the surface of the his palm, you could feel calluses indicative of blade use and acrobatics. They weren't bulky, they weren't delicate, but they were somewhere in the middle. And Genos's favorite thing about them was how perfectly they fit into his own.
So he held Sonic's hand whenever the chance to presented itself. It was already a habit of his to reach across the armrest and grab one whenever they went on a movie date, but that soon extended to other activities as well. He would hold his hand while strolling through M City's nature park, while walking in public in disguise, when saying goodbye.
The older man had been reluctant to do it in open spaces at first, disgruntled even. The first time the young hero had grasped his hand while they strolled own the street, Sonic had looked up from under the shadow of his hooded jacket and cast him a withering glare. But he had done nothing to remove Genos's hand from his own, choosing instead to roll his eyes dramatically and continue walking forward.
"Am I embarrassing you?" he had inquired, flashing a grin from beneath the hood of his own jacket.
"No. I'm just trying to figure out at what point I quit my job as an assassin to become a full-time babysitter," the ninja shot back. But as good as he was at hiding any outward indication of it, Genos easily noticed the slight increase in his body temperature.
Frowning, he had moved to untangle his fingers from Sonic's, only to find them gripped tightly.
"Too late for second guesses," Sonic had hissed under his breath. "Don't make it weird; you've got to commit."
And that had been the end of it.
The times after that had been easier, more natural. Genos would reach between them to grasp a dangling hand, and Sonic would grip back, gently, without complaint. Sometimes, if Genos was feeling a little cheeky, he would even swing their hands gently as they walked. Sonic again made a comment on it the first time, amounting to "So what, are we going to go skipping through a field of daisies now?" but otherwise voiced no protest.
But he did inquire about it.
It was a strangely quiet day in Z-City. The over-cast sky of the morning had given way to a beautiful midday sun. Considering their location, Genos did not anticipate the peace to last long, though he was determined to enjoy every last bit of it.
The coffee shop they sat outside of resided at the edge of the inhabited portion of Z-City. Genos wasn't normally one for such places, but he made an exception for this particular store. As it was, the baristas were courteous and respectful of his privacy. Sure, they had been enthusiastic the first few times he had dropped by, but that excitement had quickly petered out into a gentler fondness. They knew how to make his drinks just how he liked them, and they never pried into his private life, choosing instead to make small-talk while they prepared his order. About the closest things had come to getting personal was when the manager had wordlessly handed him an envelope, along with his drink, shortly after Genos had returned from his much-needed hiatus from the hero scene. Of course they hadn't believed the story the Hero Association had pushed about him doing undercover work. Genos wasn't surprised; it hadn't taken them long to figure out his preferences, meaning they were incredibly observant.
Inside he had found a simple card offering a non-specific message of support, with brief words of encouragement written by each barista. The manager had smiled softly at Genos but said nothing (and he still had it, tucked away safe with what few other sentimental belongings he owned.)
And so Genos had felt no reservations about striding into the place that day with Sonic at his side. The assassin, of course, had the hood of his jacket drawn ridiculously tight so as not to show his face. The hero had repeatedly reassured him that the remoteness of the shop, coupled with the secrecy of the workers, would insure their privacy. But Sonic would not hear it, throwing on the ridiculously over-sized garment in spite of the nice weather. 'And he says that I have no sense of fashion,' Genos had silently mused. The man had proceeded to make things awkward by behaving like a child, mumbling his order through the fabric before scooting quickly outside. Embarrassed, Genos had apologized to the woman behind the counter, offering to translate the assassin's grumbled command. She had laughed good-naturedly and waved him off, telling him that it was alright.
"He just seems shy is all. And I think I got his order: a medium green-tea late, skinny, right?"
"Yes, that's correct. Your observational skills are amazing as always."
She had blushed slightly, laughing again. "Thank you, you're always much too kind. I'll have your drinks out in a couple of minutes."
After she was finished, he had tipped her generously before taking the drinks outside, and sitting down at the table Sonic was slouched over. Genos handed him his tea, receiving a grunted "thanks," in return. The two of them had sat wordlessly for a while, enjoying the weather in silence. Out of habit, Genos had reached across the table to grab Sonic's hand, running his thumb gently across its surface. Gray eyes watched the action inquisitively before looking up into Genos's own.
"Hey Genos, not that it matters, but why do you do that? Like, all the time?"
The hero honestly hadn't been expecting that question. True, Sonic was curious by nature. But he normally gathered his information through a combination of espionage and intimidation. He had caught Genos off guard, and part of him, the part of him that was still just a boy, wanted to tell him everything.
That it grounded him, made him feel safe. That it reminded him of when he was human, fully human, not a mind trapped inside the body of a metal monster that had destroyed everything and everyone he had once held dear. That when he held Sonic's hand, he could remember how it felt to hold the hands of other people. His parents' hands, warm and reassuring. The hands of his childhood-friends, jittery with excitement.
His sister's hands, as he sat by her bedside. Even when she was so sick, barely able to move, they always felt the same. Soft, trusting, loving.
" It just feels nice," the adult part of him answered, the Genos of the present.
Sonic had stared at him for a long time, saying nothing. The man had an unnerving way of calling him out on his lies, and for the better part of a minute he expected him to do just that. Finally the other man just shrugged, sipping on his tea noncommittally. "If you say so," he replied.
The next time they met up was at a local festival in J-city. It had been years since Sonic had been to anything similar, and Genos had used this as an excuse to insist they attend, despite the assassin's protests. In truth, Genos himself wanted to go. Before, the hero would never have allowed himself to enjoy something so frivolous, dedicating his time instead to training on getting stronger. Pushing himself, fueled by hate, fueled by revenge, fueled by the need for justice.
There was no need for any of those things anymore. Not unless he turned that hate, that need for revenge, and that need for justice on himself.
But he had promised Kuseno that he would try not to. And the Doctor was so dear to him; Genos couldn't begrudge him that request.
So he did his best to forget, and if attending brightly-colored festivals helped him do that, than he would attend as many as he damn well pleased.
It was tiring having to walk together in disguise, but it was a necessity. Luckily for Sonic, the air was cold that night, making his jacket much more comfortable to wear than it had been before. Despite their garments they were still cautious; Genos's face was arguably one of the most recognized in the world. By the end of the night Genos half suspected that, had his spine still been organic, he would need to see a chiropractor, lest his head was angled permanently towards the ground.
They left shortly before the fireworks went off, choosing instead to watch from afar on a grassy knoll some distance away.
Sonic stretched out languidly on the blanket Genos had brought, purposefully taking up the entire rectangle of fabric in the process. He looked up at the younger man with a smug grin, a dare. 'Make me,' it said.
Genos shrugged, and sat on him.
Sonic squawked indignantly, writhing beneath him, cursing. Genos caught snippets here and there: "Get your shiny metal ass off of me, UGH, what is wrong with you, you're an ANIMAL, move it fat-ass, I hate you I hate you I hate you!"
He chuckled, rolling off of his partner with surprising grace, and lying back, face towards the sky.
Sonic smacked the top of his head playfully, but offered not other retaliation. Instead, he lay down next to Genos with an angry grumble, stilling soon after.
They were close. Much closer than they had been before, even in the theater.
It was at times like these that he regretted ever asking Kuseno to change how he processed sensory information. True, his sensors still alerted him of the body heat rolling off of the man at his side, and indicated to him the exact P.S.I. Sonic's shoulder exerted on his arm as he scoot closer. But it was fed to him blandly, mechanically. There was no real feeling behind it, nothing to prove to him that he was alive, that-
Fingers intertwined with his own, without the slightest hesitation.
He glanced over. Sonic was doing his best to ignore him, eyes fixed firmly above their heads.
Genos looked down at the smaller hand on top of his. The other man's hand moved slightly, thumb rubbing gentle circles over his wrist.
Slowly, he leaned back, bringing both of them to his chest. He covered them with his second hand, gripping Sonic's firmly between his.
Explosions split the sky, bright, jovial.
"I've been thinking...and you know what, you're right," Sonic said beside him. "It does feel nice."
"Thank you," Genos said.
The other man didn't answer. He didn't need to.
Genos smiled.