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At first, Genos missed it entirely.
He’d been going on about his business as usual, quite used to the fact that his sensei was mostly immobile whenever he pulled out his well thumbed omnibus of Sailor Moon. He’d made sure to have the apartment key his sensei had gifted him (my key, he had to remind himself) securely in his hand, as well his other necessary items needed to go grocery shopping. He was thinking that they’d have vegetable and chicken stir fry with all with coupons he’d collected and hadn’t told his sensei about to surprise him.
“I’ll be back later, Sensei,” Genos had said to his master, sticking his head out into the living room for just a moment. And he saw it.
“Okay, make sure you’re cool,” Saitama-Sensei said without looking up from his manga, completely ignoring the fact that his student couldn’t take his eyes off him, “Don’t want you overheating.”
Genos didn’t know if it was a test of some kind, to see if he noticed or reacted or something. Saitama was just reading on his side, his head supported on his hand and apparently completely ignorant to the fact that he was wearing an off white crop top that covered nothing but his pecs and part of his biceps. Genos had no choice but to run a quick systems diagnostics to see if he’d allowed his fantasies to cloud his mind.
SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL CAPACITY: 100%
The sky was blue. The apartment was clean. The sun was hot, the air was dry, and Saitama-Sensei was wearing a crop top.
Saitama finally looked up from his manga to give his disciple a mildly concerned look. “Dude, you okay?”
“Yes,” Genos heard himself say like it echoed from the back of his mind, “Are you aware of what you’re wearing?”
Saitama glanced down at his form and Genos couldn’t help himself from doing the same on a much more thorough scale. “Sweat pants? It’s what I always wear.”
“No, Sensei. I’m referring to the crop top.”
“Oh, this?” Saitama fiddled with the top edge of the top, so far below beautiful collar bones and fuck he just kept playing with it, “I found it on sale at 90% off. I needed some new clothes and the deal was too good.”
Genos could admit to himself that he only caught half of that. The vast majority of his attention was diverted to the way his sensei was lounging in the warm sunlight like a cat, sunbeams bouncing off of warm exposed skin and casting shadows in the dips and creases of every muscle and bone that caught its way. Genos concluded himself to be well and truly fucked and not in the good way.
“Do you,” Saitama’s hesitant words snapped Genos out of whatever deluded teenage fantasy he was entering, “Do you think it looks stupid?”
“Absolutely not,” and that might have come out stronger than he’d intended but Genos was nothing if not adamant in defending his sensei, especially from himself. “You look…”
“Stupid-”
“Hot.”
“What?”
Genos finally understood the term ‘internal screaming’. “Sensei looks very hot,” he said, “which is very clear from my internal body temperature readings. The sun might be a little too warm, so it might be best to consider moving out of the way for a few minutes to cool down.”
Flustered backpedaling could only go so far, but Saitama seemed to buy it. “Okay, as long as I don’t look too stupid.”
Genos could feel some of his internal fans struggling to cool himself down. “Sensei could never look stupid in that,” he said, and bolted out like his inappropriate thoughts were going to dance themselves into existence.
It even took him five blocks to realize he’d passed the grocery store he was intending to visit in the first place.
Saitama made sure to keep his ears open for his disciple a few minutes after his hasty exit before he picked up the cellphone Genos had bought him a few weeks ago.
“Mumen,” he’d said in lieu of greeting, “I think it’s working.”