Chapter Text
He ungracefully wakes to a feeling similar to that of a brick thrown into his forehead. Maybe even completely through his skull. He growls, nearly gasping for air before the realization of a stuffy nose and strange, thickly swallows catch his attention, almost like ingesting his own tongue.
From ceiling to floor, there's a light viridian blue cascading inside the apartment, and his gaze falls upon the slowly billowing curtains against a cracked window.
Quiet. Peaceful.
Those words begin to dance in the haze of his mind like rare and precious jewels. Of course, his only known treasures have been half-off or BOGO sales at stores, the frantic hustle and bustle itself is his true reward worthy of every effort. This kind of peace here however is peculiarly nice - unlike the typical boredom and unnerving restlessness he so often endures. And Saitama allows this sentiment to sink in before a yawn takes over; a painful throat becoming increasingly too wet and too dry all at once.
Saitama rubs the sleep out of his eye sockets and manages a tight sniff of his nostrils; a long open-mouthed sigh escapes him, and just as drowsily, he mumbles.
"Oh...(I'm sick)."
The hell did I get sick from? Maybe King sneezed on a game controller?
He just shrugs, chuckling to himself.
"Well. Challenge accepted."
He begins with sitting upright, kicking off the too-warm bed quilt, and observing how the multiple hearts appear to spin more than they really should.
Oh man, I am sick.
A scuffle at the front door distracts the hero then from his apparent vertigo. The familiar jingling sound of metal echoes in his eardrums, the door pushes open, and a cool breeze meets the fire upon his skin. A silhouette with bright gold spots for eyes steps in, and tentatively too, as if its footfalls could shatter the earth.
"Genos...?", he narrows his eyes a bit from the glow, wiping away collecting tears.
"Sensei? I'm sorry, did I wake you?", the cyborg replies, closing the door with a soft click anyway.
"No, I've-I've been up. Sorta. What were you d-hnngh! "
Saitama grimaces as the world spins even more, quickly finding solace in the squishy palm of his hand.
"Sensei?! Are you alright??"
Hellllll no.
He tries again.
"Ugh, it's okay. I'll live (hopefully). What were you doing out?"
Genos became noticeably hesistant, worrying more about Saitama's current state.
"I...was just taking a walk."
Saitama raises a brow, slightly suspicious. "Eh, really? This early?"
"Yes. Not many people are out at this hour. I enjoy the time alone."
Saitama nods in agreement and coughs harshly before replying, "Oh, yeah. No people wanting to get your autograph, locks of hair, or trying to kiss your hand and stuff..."
Genos cringes at this statement - the events occurring one too many times this week.
And the cyborg's sudden change in expression causes his teacher to laugh some. Genos grew very fond of the sound, especially when he personally caused it himself. The beautiful laughter is cut short then with a dreadful choking, like thunderclaps in a hailstorm.
Saitama curses softly in a breath, attempting to regain the balance in his lower back.
"Okay. I might just be a little under the weather..." He grumbles, more to himself to actually believe it.
"Saitama-sensei..."
Genos was at his side immediately sitting seiza-style, already running a health report, scanning and confirming results.
"Sensei. You may have strep throat. Symptoms can include fever, sore throat, headache, nausea, and vomiting."
I might just vomit on you.
Saitama looks up in a daze into the cyborg's golden lights. And Genos simply smiles, rests a hand on his, and summarizes with pride:
"Everything is okay, Sensei. I will take care of you."
In surprise, the hero turns his own hand over to grasp the other's and Genos blinks with uncertainty at the sight. They've never held hands before. And his eyes grow wide as Saitama lifts it up towards his pounding forehead.
"Ahh," he exclaims, pressing the metal deep into tough skin. "That feels so good..."
The cyborg's core temperature is still quite low from the chilly morning air. And Saitama instantly feels such wonderful relief. He treats the hand like an ice pack, firmly pressing against hot cheeks and even near his throat.
"Sensei...?"
Saitama pauses for a moment, realizing in embarrassment of what he's actually doing. After a few coughs, he tries to joke about the situation.
"Oh. Sorry. I'm uh, gonna need a hand here."
And again, Genos just smiles.