Work Text:
He did not enjoy his new life, but he did accept it.
There were few things in the world that he could control, and one cannot fight the wind for blowing, the sun for shining, nor the people for their emotions. His control was only over himself, and so he had strengthened this control, refined it, perfected it. When you are capable of destroying and entire city in a fit of rage, you must learn to not to act on that emotion, and going further, you must learn to let the emotion itself occur. For nine years Saitama had held his entire being in complete control, never once using his strength to his full potential. For five of those years he had been able to test his limits in control, he had allowed himself failure from which he could learn from, but that luxury was no longer available. His failure to control himself now would not only mean the destruction of the world, but the destruction of himself.
There was a reason why he accepted his new life after all. He didn’t have to go to this “prison” because it could not and would not ever be able to actually hold him. It had been his choice in the end, and he didn’t regret it. If he had refused he would have been forced to fight other heroes, to fight good people who did not deserve to be hurt. His friends, who were also heroes, would have had to choose a side, and he did not want to force them to choose between him and their own wellbeing. To run, he had considered. Long before Genos had suggested it, he had thought about leaving. But to leave a place that was already teetering on destruction was cruel. There were people living in these cities with nowhere else to go. People who had families and friends, who were parents and grandparents and children and young adults about to start their own futures. He had lived his entire life in these cities, he had changed so much, and he had watched the world around him change too. He had gained his strength here, he had met Genos here, made friends here, been thanked, been hated, been sad, been happy, been in love. This was his world, fragile and beautiful, ugly and durable. He would protect it.
His world did seem more limited now though. Some days it seemed his entire world only consisted of white walls and white furniture with three not terrible meals a day and a very irritable green haired little woman.
“You know you look just like a bald monkey sitting like that.”
She was, very unfortunately, his only source of social interaction.
“Pretty sure little kids are supposed to respect their elders.”
However, she was very easy to provoke, and very entertained when provoked.
“I SWEAR on this fucking planet I will figure out how to KILL YOU!”
“Ok.”
A block of solid steel ripped from the wall was flung at him, and he honestly didn’t even feel like dodging it. It felt kind going underwater for a moment, just with steel and no water. He was engulfed, and then free, with nothing but the sensation of texture on his skin. Of course there was now a very large hole in one of the white walls, and he no longer had a couch. Both would be replaced quite soon though, so he didn’t really care. He looked at the hole, completely unfazed and unharmed as usual, and easily blocked out the white noise that was Tatsumaki screaming profanities at him. God he was so bored.
“Hey, so I know I’ve asked this like, four million times but please for gods sake, can I have the TV back?”
Tatsumaki stopped her half finished tantrum to glare at him.
“So you can what? Watch cartoons? Infomercials? You’re not allowed to watch the news anymore, dumbass.”
“I like cartoons. You don’t like cartoons?”
“I am the most powerful esper in this entire world, I can control the very gravity of the earth, I could crush every continent into dust and then disperse the ocean into space, I can stop a man’s heart from beating without even looking at him. And yet I am miles below the surface, babysitting.”
“…Alright, but, do you really not like cartoons?”
~
Watching cartoons with Tornado wasn’t the best thing ever, but it sure as hell beat siting around thinking about nothing.
“That character’s stupid. They’re all stupid. This is stupid.”
“Eh, it’s a stupid show. Still better than nothing.”
“I hate you so much. I hate being here! I should be outside saving everyone’s useless heads but no. I’m here. With you.”
“Why don’t you just leave then?”
“Why don’t you?”
They looked at each other for a moment. Saitama saw an agitation against life itself that no one could help. Tatsumaki saw a type of broken she didn’t want to understand.
“Why cant people come see me? Why can’t I talk to Genos? What’s the harm in seeing my friends?”
“Idiot. They’ll give you a reason to break out.”
“No, being isolated is giving me a reason to break out.”
“Its better than one of your little followers running in here crying for help and watching you jump through the ceiling like a lunatic.”
“Let me rephrase it. I am loosing my damn mind.”
“Well that’s just tough, baldy!
“Ok, last try. When people snap, they do stupid shit. When strong people snap, they do stupid shit that’s dangerous. And when really strong people snap, shit gets really dangerous. Do you get what I’m saying?”
“Are you threatening me? How da-
“For fucks sake! Tatsumaki you of all people should know how hard it is to control power! How hard it is to keep it in check all the time. The precision it takes just to put a cup down without accidently making a crater! The line between in control and out of control is thin.”
Tornado stared at him for a time before turning her head and making a noise of contemp. She didn’t argue with him though, which Saitama had learned was the closest thing to agreement he could get. He didn’t really know her, but he knew there was no way she had full control over her powers her entire life. There must have been a time when she was still learning, a time when she didn’t understand, when she messed up. She had to understand.
“Look, I get that you don’t like me, but I’m not asking for much. I just need to remember the good stuff so I don’t give in to the bad stuff. The association wants to break me, and its kind of working and its bad.”
Saitama couldn’t help but wonder what the association would think if they knew they were breaking something that was already broken. Would they feel triumphant?
“…So you want to what? Go visit your robo boyfriend?”
“Well yeah but I know you wont let me. I mean something I could get away with, like a phone call? Just, I don’t know! Anything!”
“No phone would work here unless it was a land line and they wouldn’t ever allow that.”
“What about using your powers? Like, manipulate cell coverage?”
“It doesn’t work like that you stupid eggplant!”
“There has to be something!”
Saitama flopped backwards on the floor, staring at the ceiling that had been patched over and over. When was the last time he had seen the sun? Heard Genos’ voice? Weeks at least. Months? It felt like years. He felt old. Old and tired.
“Well I’m going to my room. I’m not forced to sleep on a futon like you.”
Saitama knew Tatsumaki had a rather lavish apartment made for her a few years back somewhere near his own “room”. At first she would watch Saitama during random times of the day or night, throwing visitors out the door (or in this case up an elevator shaft) but eventually returning to her own home to sleep and do whatever. This seemed to be too great a risk for the association since Genos could manage to blast his way through without Tornado, and even with her coming immediately the two men could still talk for a few minutes before interruption. It had been nice in a really weird way. But then Tornado became a permanent thing, and visits no longer existed. She wasn’t happy about it, and when Saitama asked she refused to answer. Through occasional information gathered on his rare time above ground, he put together that it involved Fubuki somehow. Even if someone tried to get in while Tornado was asleep, she’d be able to stop them without effort. This also brought up the question of why the hell she spent time with Saitama when she could just stay in her own area. The answer to such a question had been more objects smashed on his head and enough curses for him to get the feeling she didn’t want to talk about it. He figured she might be just as lonely as he was.
“Ok. Bye then.”
She didn’t respond, but floated over to the large steel doors, opening them herself rather than waiting for security to unlock them, causing a few terrified noises from guards. The doors were slammed back shut, and Saitama was left in silence. It was the kind of silence he could enjoy for a bit, feeling drained by Tatsumaki. But the relief was soon replaced by the aching feeling of loneliness, which had so often been cured by Genos, and then by King and Mumen and Fubuki and Bang and so many others still.
Sighing, he made his way to the little table he was supplied with, reaching for a boring manga he had snagged from the ground after a monster incident a while back. A few pieces of paper landed on his lap, and Saitama groaned. Of course the shitty manga would fall apart now that he wanted to waste time reading it. Grabbing the papers he realized they were different from the dirty pages of the book, clean and white and almost blank except for a few small words scribbled in green on one.
Egghead. Write him a letter
He almost smiled. When had she even done this?
~
He stayed up about the entire night trying to figure out what to write. How to fit it all in one little letter, how to accurately say what he felt. This wasn’t his thing, writing and talking. It was Genos’. That boy had always been so precise about voicing everything and in such depth too. Yes it had annoyed Saitama at first, but Genos had been accommodating, had been respectful and learned to speak when it mattered but still with such vigor and drive. God he missed Genos’ voice. He would kill to hear the guy rambling on about anything. Saitama wanted to hear the sound of his core running, the little clicks his fingers made against hard surfaces, the sound of his fans booting up when he was embarrassed.
How much time had passed since his life of peace with Genos had disappeared? How much time since the words I love you had finally been spoken out loud despite already being etched into skin through smiles and touches? The relationship he had so easily fallen into with the cyborg was unkind to both of them, for the saying distance makes the heart grow fonder did not seem to apply to hearts that were forced into distance. The heart had always been fond, and it was still fond, but distance had made the heart ache and strain.
Looking at the wrinkled paper in his lap, Saitama finally picked it up and began to write.
~
“I’m not a carrier pigeon by the way. I’m not gonna bring it to him and wait for him to give me a letter just so you two can send me back and forth. This is going right in the mail and if he doesn’t open it that not my problem.”
Tatsumaki floated back and forth, her chin up and arms crossed as she waited for Saitama to seal the letter. When he did it flew right to her fingers and then up her sleeve.
“Thank you. I know I make your life suck, but you’re really helping me out here.”
“Whatever. Just stop acting so pathetic all the time, it pisses me off.”
Saitama smiled gently at her retreating form, and if he were a less tired and worn man he would have chuckled. She really was kind, in her own way. One day he’d tell her that.
~
The mail drone dropped off the usual box of mail to Genos. There were fewer letters these days then when he began, probably because he had only grown more hostile to strangers and the press over years. He did read the letters though. There were always some that were genuine thanks, letters from people grateful for his help and not just asking him out on a date. The bright pink envelopes bursting with glitter were thankfully very few, and they could be cautiously handled later. For one hour a day he allowed himself to go through the letters, silently accepting the thanks he was receiving, quietly organize the paper into piles. Some he would keep, but very few. Most were recycled. Some were simply burnt. Reading the words of other people allowed for an escape from his mind, and his mind was a place he did not often want to be.
As he reached into the box for the next envelope, he was curious to see the one he had picked had no return address. People were usually quite persistent on adding those, in hopes of him answering them. The address was written messily, as if in haste. But it was nothing more than a very ordinary envelope holding very ordinary paper.
Genos,
First of all the only reason this got to you (if it did get to you) is because of Tornado, so leave her alone ok? I know you hold grudges forever but she’s not so bad. I don’t
Genos stopped reading. He looked at his name, written in plain black ink with small smudges and lazy strokes. He read the first sentence again, and then again. There was no way it was him. This was some kind of weird fan messing with him.
He put the letter down and walked the small length of the apartment. He took a deep breath and then another. He went to the balcony and cooled down. He was ok. He was in control. If the letter was fake, he would burn it. He would not be manipulated like this. Should the letter be real though, should it be from who he thought it was from…he did not know. He returned to the letter, small and terrifying.
I don’t know what to write really, other than that I miss you. It’s weird, being able to say all the things I couldn’t say before, but now that I can, I feel like I can’t remember them. I keep thinking about that one time you burned eggs because we kept talking and I kept distracting you through the window and since you didn’t want to be rude you always looked up to talk and suddenly the eggs were all black and smoking and we just kind of stared at them, and then I started laughing and you were apologizing but also laughing. That one stupid memory just keeps coming back to me for some reason. Maybe because you looked so happy while you were laughing with me about burnt eggs. Maybe its because I felt so happy laughing with you about burnt eggs. You don’t expect little things like that to really stick with you, but here I am, years later, thinking about burnt eggs and a stupid cyborg I’m in love with. And I am in love with you. I loved you for such a long time without realizing it, and I think I knew you loved me, and that made me happy. You make me so happy Genos. You’re the best thing that every happened to me and I don’t tell you that, do I? I don’t tell you that you really are so gorgeous. That you’re smart and selfless and honestly just way too good for me. I should have kissed you before everything happened. Maybe then we could have had a normal relationship for a bit instead of jumping straight into this fucked up mess. Not that I want to stop it because again, you’re the best thing in my life and I love you so much. It’s just frustrating that I can’t reach across the table and hold your hand. And now when you smile at me you always look a little sad, and I want to make all that sadness just go away because if anyone deserves to be not sad its you. You deserve so much, and you take so little. One day we’ll have our burnt eggs moment again though. Except next time I’ll kiss you when we’re done laughing, and I’ll tell you how perfect you are and how happy you make me. You’re my best friend but also my boyfriend kind of? Or partner? You’re just really, really special to me. And I’m proud of you. And I love you. And don’t forget other people care about you too! Bang really cares, and I know Mumen and King do too. Fubuki probably does too, but she won’t say it. Oh you should check on Fubuki actually, Tornado is really worried about her for some reason, and it makes me a little worried but don’t ever tell Fubuki that ever. Tell her and everyone I said hi! I probably should have said that this is Saitama earlier but hey you probably know that by now. I’m out of paper space so I love you miss you don’t get hurt no dying
The words ended there. Genos put the paper down very carefully, not trusting his rough hands to handle something so important anymore. The words were tiny, crammed together to fit on the front and back of the paper. The handwriting was unmistakable, the wording familiar. It wasn’t some joke or trick, it was real. Those words were Saitama’s words, and they were all for Genos. He read everything ten times, devouring every sentence, imagining Saitama writing the words, thinking about the memories, thinking about Genos. He read the scribbled little word love and counted each time it appeared, and each time it appeared in a sentence about him.
He folded the letter so very gently, slipping it back into its ordinary little envelope. Such a normal thing at first glance to turn out so unexpectedly amazing, to hold something so important. It was just like Saitama.
Genos held the little paper to his chest, his body folded inwards as if he could embrace the words themselves. His teacher would think this letter a small thing perhaps, but this letter was hope and promise and love, sealed by hands full of care. This letter was proof that the man he loved was real and not a part of his desperate, mangled imagination. This was proof that Genos was loved back. This was everything.
This was not a moment to be mourned over. It was not an event to dwell on with longing and anger and pain. This was a celebration to his gently eroding heart, a victory for the fragility of his soul. He would not cry because he missed Saitama. He would smile because he would see Saitama again.
~
For both men, weeks past like years, but still the time passed and still the monsters came. And in the small corner of time reserved for the two men, they were able to open their hearts to each other and smile. The words shared only existed to them, held like the greatest secrets of the world. Tender was each touch, questioning, wanting, are you real? Delicate was each kiss, marveling, devoting, only if you are. A moment held together by paper-thin chance and ended with not the ripping of that paper, but the burning of it. However, fragile lovers will collect the ashes and make new paper from what was thought ruined. The moment would be formed again, but the process takes time, and that is the time of separation. For one man, this meant the return to a darkness that had not yet succeeded in overtaking him. For the other, it meant waiting with a resolution as strong as the metal of his core. It was not a goodbye. It was a promise that if what must go up must also come back down, then what is separated is bound to come back together. The moment would be reformed, crafted from the ashes of fragile lovers.
~
p.s. don’t forget to water the cactus