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If Saitama-sensei noticed a subtle increase in the quality of their household products when Genos did the shopping, he never said so. He didn’t have any particular brand loyalty, he’d buy whatever was cheapest when he happened to be in the store, and he believed the difference between products was minimal. Genos, who despite everything else in his life was the type of person who ran chemical analysis for fun, disagreed.
So when he was shopping alone for dish soap or laundry detergent or anything along those lines, he’d buy the best quality products regardless of the price. Saitama gave up asking for receipts to pay him back after the first time Genos launched into a lecture about deforestation and paper waste.
Now, Genos carefully selected the body and face soaps he knew were best for Saitama’s skin type, picked up some bath bombs that were legitimately on sale, and considered the shelf of hair growth stimulation aids.
Snake oil. And Saitama wouldn’t appreciate Genos buying them, even if he bought them for himself.
The shelf was near the window, along with products designed to add thickness or luster, but which relied on claims of miracle berries from the Amazon instead of vitamins or protein. Either way, it was preying on insecure people passing by on the sidewalk to pull them into the store. Genos would be disgusted if he didn’t know it was standard practice.
He’d learned a lot about scams and fads like this since coming to live with Saitama.
Maybe it was because he was thinking of him, or maybe it would have caught his eye no matter what, but as Genos stood there with his shopping basket, lost in consideration of the hair loss market, a man walking past the window jolted him back to reality. He was young, maybe mid-twenties, with thick black hair and sharp eyes, dressed in a business suit. And between forehead and collar he looked exactly like Saitama.
Genos set his basket down on a shelf, every intention of coming back for it once his curiosity was sated, and rushed out of the store. From the back it was hard to see the resemblance. The loose cut of the suit hid the shape of his body, and the shoulder pads of the jacket made it impossible to tell how broad they were. But there was something about the way he walked that brought Saitama to mind.
It was three blocks before Genos realized he was simply stalking the man. But he didn’t stop until he reached his apparent destination; an office building that Genos had never spared a second thought. He got another good look at the man’s profile as he walked in, and took a few quick photos with his eyes. Compared to the photos he had saved of sensei… they were identical.
Except for the hair.
Genos could have gone back to the store and finished shopping. He could have called Saitama at home, at least to rule out one possibility. What he did was climb to the top of the neighboring building and peer through the windows for the next hour, until the man emerged from the front door once again.
Genos followed him to another office building. To the train station. To another part of the city and another office. Genos followed him out to a restaurant and watched him eat, alone, until the alarm he’d set reminded him the bath store was about to close.
In the end, he’d spent almost five hours following this man, and knew nothing about him except that he appeared to be a contract attorney (he’d managed to find a view of two of the meetings the man attended), and he was facially identical to Saitama-sensei.
He was still reviewing the footage when he got home. Saitama-sensei was there, same as ever (bald as ever), preparing dinner in the kitchen. He leaned out of the doorway when Genos arrived.
“I’m home, sensei.”
“Welcome home. You were gone a long time. Run into trouble?”
“No, nothing like that.” Genos took his bags into the bathroom to unpack. “I saw something strange, though.”
“Yeah?”
“It was a man.” Genos looked over at Saitama, who’d abandoned his cooking to watch Genos put soap away. The prospect of a direct comparison was too great to resist, so Genos brought up the pictures he’d taken in the corner of his vision. “He looked just like you, sensei. Face, height, even his expressions sometimes. But he was dressed like a salaryman, and, well, he had hair.”
The expression in the picture Genos was looking at now didn’t match Saitama’s at all, and it took a moment to realize that was because Saitama was scowling furiously. For just a second, Genos remembered what it was like to be scared of him.
“You mean…” Saitama’s voice was rough with emotion. “My asshole twin brother is in town?”
It took several minutes to convince Saitama to stop packing. Apparently his brother being in the same city, for work, with no desire to see or speak to him, was enough to make Saitama want to go into hiding until he was gone.
“Sensei, he might not even know you live here.”
“No, he does.” Saitama started speed-folding shirts and shoving them in a bag. “I moved here to job-hunt. He made a big deal about it, since this is a bigger city than our hometown.”
“How long has it been since you saw each other?”
“Four years I guess. Since then.” Saitama reached for some more clothes, and frowned when he saw Genos had moved the laundry basket out of reach. “What?”
“Why did you never tell me you had a twin?”
“You know why,” Saitama muttered.
“Tell me anyway, sensei.”
He sighed. “It’s not fair, is it? I don’t get along with what’s left of my family, and you don’t…” Saitama started unplugging his laptop. “I didn’t want to be a jerk.”
“It’s not being a jerk,” Genos said, quietly. He began taking clothes out of Saitama’s bag. “I want to know things about you.”
“My brother’s an asshole who can’t let things go. There. Now you know something.”
“Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”
“No, it was just the two of us.” Saitama straightened up, armful of electronics and cords, to see his bag unpacked. “Hey!”
“However bad your brother might be, sensei, we have a duty to protect this city.”
“Look, you don’t know Hideo. He’s nuts. He’s obsessed with showing me up, even though I don’t care! Ever since we were kids, he…” Saitama trailed off. “Why are you smiling?”
“Saitama Hideo, huh?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Hiroto and Hideo?”
“Oh like that’s even the worst names someone could give to twins.” He rubbed his forehead for a moment, finally running his hands all the way back over his skull. “Fine, we won’t leave town.”
“Good.”
“But I’m not going out unless I have to.”
“That’s fine.”
“I mean it! You have to do all the shopping.”
Genos smiled to himself again. “I don’t mind.”
Brand name it was.
Saitama Hideo was a hard man to find, as it turned out. Genos spent a few hours each day in the areas he’d seen him before with no luck. By evening the third day he was starting to worry he’d already finished his business trip and gone back… wherever.
Feeling defeated, Genos checked over his shopping list for dinner and prepared to head home. It was a silly idea to begin with, and Saitama would only have been upset with him if he went through with it. Still, he’d hoped…
Screaming drew him out of his thoughts. From down the street, coming out of the train station, panicked shouts and a stampede of frightened people had Genos running before he even finished assessing.
The last car on a train had transformed into something vaguely crablike, with the passengers still visible through clear plates in its body, and a huge metallic claw on one side smashing the support beams and snapping at the terrified civilians who hadn’t managed to get to safety. Genos threw himself down the stairs, letting gravity help his impact, feet-first into the area between the monster’s eyestalks. The shell was so hard it felt like it really was metal, but Genos left a dent as he bounced off, skidding to a stop just before the edge of the platform.
“Get to safety!” Genos shouted at the civilians. The traincrab made a burbling noise as it turned to swing its larger claw at him. He dodged easy enough, but it brought down a chunk of ceiling that threw off his landing.
Genos stumbled, but the huge claw was clumsy and slow. He braced his feet and started charging up an attack.
“On your right!” Saitama cried out. Genos reacted instinctively, jumping out of the way just in time as the traincrab’s smaller claw swung at him. He’d forgotten to take it into account, but it smashed the concrete where he’d been standing just as well as the other.
“Incinerate!” He blasted off the nearest claw and a good chunk of the traincar torso, leaving a gap in the exoskeleton that Genos could direct his attacks at. The battle was over in minutes.
It wasn’t until he was helping the shaken passengers from the corpse of the monster that Genos realized he’d heard Saitama’s voice warning him. But he wasn’t here, was he?
The civilians he’d urged to escape had never managed, the traincrab too large and the fight too quick. Genos saw one of them reunite tearfully with one of the unlucky passengers, and the rest start picking their way over the crab’s giant spiny legs. Saitama Hideo, in the same suit he’d been wearing when Genos followed him a few days ago, was helping a girl in a fast food uniform across.
Genos walked up to them, something in his face making the girl yelp. “Saitama-san?”
It was very strange to see fear and apprehension on a face identical to Saitama-sensei’s. “Yes?”
“My name is Genos. I’d like to extend you a dinner invitation.”
He’d been half-expecting Saitama to shut the door in their face. But something, his respect for Genos, his lingering affection for his brother, or the bags of fresh hotpot ingredients they were carrying, kept him from outright kicking them out.
“I apologize for not telling you, sensei,” Genos said, not mentioning why he hadn’t. Saitama knew.
“I could have cleaned,” Saitama muttered.
“Or put on a shirt,” his brother said, lighthearted, teasing. But Saitama’s fists tensed. “So you’re not just a hero, you’ve got a sidekick?”
“No,” Saitama snapped. “Genos is a hero too.”
“Ah, right.” Hideo turned to Genos. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I know, Saitama-san.” Genos set down his bags and took the others from him. “Sensei, could you give me a hand?”
“Absolutely.” Saitama practically shoved his brother out of the kitchen. “You, sit.”
As soon as he was out of sight, despite the small apartment meaning he could probably hear them no matter what precautions they took, Saitama rounded on Genos and grabbed him by the arm.
“What were you thinking?” he hissed.
“It’s been a long time, sensei, maybe he’s changed.”
“I will bet you actual cash money he hasn’t.”
Hideo appeared in the doorway. “You have.” He pointed at his scalp. “What’s that all about? I saw pictures online, but it’s even worse in person.”
“Shut up,” Saitama grumbled.
“At least no one will mix us up ever again. My coworkers never even made the connection, even when you were just going by your real name.”
“So you knew I was a hero?”
“Of course I did. How could I miss my own brother’s debut?”
Saitama hesitated for a moment. “Does Dad know?”
Hideo went stiff. “I don’t know. I haven’t mentioned it. We don’t talk except for holidays.”
“Mm.” For some reason that lightened the mood, and Saitama shoved him back toward the table. “You’re a guest. So sit down and let us make dinner.”
The meal went pretty smoothly, Genos thought. He and Hideo did most of the talking, Saitama only answering direct questions, but at least he did that much. Genos was happy to explain how Saitama became a hero, how they met, how many times Saitama had saved cities or even the world.
“What about you, Saitama-san? What do you do?” Genos asked, as if he didn’t know.
“I’m an attorney. Contracts and paperwork kind of thing, not courtroom. But it’s steady work and pays well.”
Saitama snorted into his bowl. “All that bragging about law school and you’re not even a regular type lawyer?”
Hideo frowned across the table at him. “I didn’t brag.”
“You did nothing but.”
“Well I had to say something!” Token denial aside, Hideo sounded huffy and defensive. “Dad was so proud of you for graduating early.”
Genos turned to Saitama. “Sensei, you graduated college early?”
Saitama shrugged. “I was sick of school so I just took as many easy credits as possible. It wasn’t a big deal. My degree is pretty worthless.”
“Exactly!” Hideo agreed. “But Dad-”
“Look, I’m on your side,” Saitama said. “Going to law school is a billion times more impressive than graduating a couple semesters early.”
“Right…” Hideo settled down a little, taking more vegetables even though his bowl was already full of them. For a moment they all ate in silence.
Genos cleared his throat. “May I ask a question?”
“Sure,” Saitama answered for the table.
“Did your father… compare you?”
“No,” Hideo said, his voice harsh.
“No,” Saitama agreed. “Not how you’re thinking. It was more like… I’m the older one.”
“By seven hours,” Hideo added. “We don’t even have the same birthday, I was born after midnight.”
“And our dad always wanted things from me. I was the one who was supposed to carry on his name. So when I got good grades, or did a sport, Dad was really happy and proud. But when Hideo did stuff like that…”
“Which I did.”
“Which he did. A lot. Way more than me. But it didn’t matter to our dad, because he wasn’t the oldest. Wasn’t the heir.”
“That’s not fair,” Genos said, quietly. “A parent shouldn’t… Especially with twins.”
Both Saitamas shrugged.
“What did your mom do?” The silence was deafening. After almost a full minute of no one speaking, Genos said, “Never mind.”
“No, it’s not…” Saitama jabbed his chopsticks in his bowl. Straight up. “She’s gone. We were still pretty young when she died. So…”
“I- I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Saitama made a noise that was probably meant to be a chuckle. “Well, now you know my whole dark family history.”
Hideo frowned and sounded chiding when he said, “Hiroto…”
“The important parts anyway.” Finally noticing what he’d done, Saitama snatched the chopsticks from his bowl. “Hey so did you guys get dessert or anything?”
“Yes, sensei!”
All in all, it was a pleasant evening, at least as much as could be expected. No one fought, much. There were only a few awkward pauses. And after the meal Saitama even walked his brother back to the train station, in case another monster attacked.
When he got back it was still a little early for bed, but he changed into his pajamas and settled in front of the TV. Genos was writing down his thoughts on the day.
“Sensei? Are you upset with me?”
“I guess not,” Saitama said, eyes not moving from the screen. “I know you meant well. And Hideo behaved himself. But… you trust me, don’t you?”
“Yes, sensei!”
“Then can you trust that I know what I’m doing? That there’s a reason I don’t talk to him any more?”
Put like that, it was more than reasonable. Genos’ stomach churned with shame. “I’m sorry sensei.”
“It’s okay. I get it.” I sat up and turned to look Genos in the eyes. “I’m sorry my family isn’t going to be a good replacement for yours.”
Genos felt himself start to choke up. “N- no, I… It wasn’t…”
“It’s okay.”
Genos couldn’t tell him the real reason he’d done it. If Saitama ever found out Genos had wanted pictures of the two of them for… personal use, he’d be horrified and disgusted. He’d never want to see Genos again.
Genos spent most of the next day cleaning. He’d been slacking while he was trying to find Hideo, and there was plenty to do. Saitama was busy for once too; making repairs to his costume and giving the futons a good beating. There was a monster around noon, and afterward they got hamburgers for lunch, and Saitama helped Genos attach new fingers.
It seemed like everything was going to continue as normal.
But later in the afternoon, Genos got a text from Hideo. They’d exchanged numbers yesterday, though Genos never expected to use it.
-I’d like to buy you a drink, for saving my life.-
Genos glanced over to where Saitama was spot-treating his cape with bleach.
-I’m underage, but you can buy me dinner.-
He knew Hideo wasn’t really offering out of gratitude. After all, his warning during the fight had saved Genos from a repair trip, at the very least. If Saitama’s brother was asking him out, it was for another reason.
-When and where?-
They were tucked into a booth at a Korean barbecue restaurant, little grill on the table ready to go, Hideo on his second beer and Genos nursing a barley tea.
He was beginning to have some regrets.
“Do you want to know a story?” Hideo asked. He wasn’t visibly drunk yet, but he was a little more talkative, a little more intense.
“Okay.”
“Hiroto told you how we were born. Seven hours apart.”
“Yes, and late at night. It must have been very hard on your mother.”
“Yeah,” Hideo agreed, just a little too loud. “And do you know where my father was, when all this was going on?”
“Where?”
“Out!” Hideo gestured vaguely. “He got off work, found out he’d had a son, confirmed they were naming him after his father, and then went out celebrating! He didn’t go to the hospital, he didn’t check on my mom. He knew we were twins, but he was so happy to have a son he just… went out. He didn’t know I existed until he woke up with a hangover after noon.” Hideo raised his glass. “And that pretty much sums up my life.”
He drained it.
Feeling like he had to defend his teacher, Genos said, “Saitama-sensei doesn’t think you’re less deserving of anything than him.”
“I know. That’s part of it, though. Hiroto… doesn’t care. He’s good at not caring.” Seeing Hideo push the call button, Genos quickly finished his tea to make it look like they both wanted refills.
“But you care, Saitama-san?”
“Oh, call me Hideo, would you?” He perfectly composed himself as the waitress appeared with their drinks. “Thank you.”
“Everything else all right?” the woman asked, eyes on Genos.
“Yes, thanks,” he said.
She left them, door to the booth swinging shut and muffling the ambient noise of the restaurant. Hideo took a swallow of his beer and immediately dove back into his rant.
“I always cared. Still do. I care how I look, I care what people think of me.”
“Saitama-sensei cares about those things too.”
“Yeah, but he can let them go. He can… shut it off. I don’t understand it.” He sighed and shoved his bangs back. Genos couldn’t imagine Saitama making a face like that, even if he drank. “Maybe it’s something normal people can do.”
“You don’t think you’re normal?”
“I don’t believe the world could function if everyone was as wound up as me.” He sighed again. “Sorry about this. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Genos relaxed a little. If he was still self-aware, maybe this wouldn’t end in disaster.
“After this you should probably walk me back.”
“All right,” Genos agreed, and, seizing the opportunity, asked, “Hideo-san, how did your mother die?”
Hideo didn’t choke on his beer, but it was a close thing. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
“I try not to.”
He took another long drink before answering. “She killed herself. When we were ten.”
Genos reached out and put a hand on Hideo’s. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Yeah well. Hiroto probably wouldn’t. I think he’s… He always had more in common with our mom. For better and for worse.”
Genos sipped his tea to force down the lump in his throat. “Oh.”
Hideo was giving him another strange look. Almost… calculating. “Genos, are you in love with my brother?”
It was Genos’ turn to nearly choke. “I- I admire him, and, um, he’s personally very important to me. I…” He swallowed again. “Yes. I am.”
Hideo squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t much later that they left. It was full dark now, only people going to and from bars and restaurants on the street. Hideo was staying at a small hotel squeezed in between a coffee shop and a larger hotel.
“You should come up,” Hideo said, voice low.
“Oh, really?”
He huffed a laugh. “You’re very young, aren’t you?”
“Nineteen.”
“I mean,” Hideo took his hand and drew him into the narrow alley next to the hotel. It smelled like burnt coffee and laundry lint. “You should come up.”
Husky. That was the word. His voice was husky, almost a growl, matching the darkness in his eyes as he leaned in and…
Genos tilted his head to meet the kiss. It was tentative, he still tasted like beer and barbecue, but with Genos’ eyes half-lidded and his face so close, it was almost like kissing Saitama.
Almost.
When Hideo pulled back, Genos took a step away. “I’m sorry.”
“What’s wrong?” Hideo stepped closer. “I’m close enough, right?”
“You’re very nice, Hideo-san. And it’s not that you’re not handsome.”
“But I’m not him.”
Genos said nothing. He didn’t have to.
“I’m as close as you’re going to get, you know? Hiroto’s straight. He can’t love you how you love him.” Hideo didn’t sound angry, just… sad. Sad for Genos, sad for himself.
“I know,” Genos said, fighting off the part of himself that would take anything to fill this ache. “It hurts, but no one else will do.”
“Of course.” Hideo rubbed his face. “Of fucking course.”
“I’m sorry,” Genos said again. “But Hideo-san, don’t you think you deserve someone who likes you for you?”
Hideo stared at him over his hands, as if Genos had just started speaking in tongues. “Who’s going to do that?”
Saitama was in his pajamas when Genos got home, pouring a cup of tea. He handed it to Genos as soon as he had his shoes off, and went to get himself another one.
“Sensei, I think I need to tell you what happened tonight.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I had dinner with your brother.”
Saitama only barely frowned. “I kind of wondered.”
“I… I wanted to know more about you, about him, about how you grew up.”
“Huh. Well I hope you know to take whatever he said with a grain of salt.”
“I got that feeling,” Genos admitted. “He didn’t tell me anything bad about you.”
“Hm.” Saitama raised his cup to his mouth.
“He… invited me up to his hotel room.”
Hairline fractures began to appear in the porcelain mug. “Did you go?”
“No. But I kissed him.”
The cracks widened. Tea began leaking down Saitama’s hand. “You kissed him, or he kissed you?”
“It was mutual.”
Saitama took a very long slow breath and set the cup down. It fell into pieces, tea spreading across the table. “I see.”
“I’m sorry sensei.”
“Don’t be. If you like him, you like him. You can make your own choices.”
“I don’t like him that way though, sensei. I was caught up in the moment, I think. I won’t be seeing him again.”
“Oh,” Saitama brightened. “Well in that case I’m going to go murder him.” He stood up and started taking off his pajamas, apparently completely serious.
“Sensei!” Genos leapt to his feet. “Don’t do that!”
“Gotta,” he said simply. He hopped into the sweatpants he’d been wearing earlier.
“Sensei! You might think he was crossing a line, but-”
“No.” Saitama jabbed a finger at Genos’ face. His tone was still casual, but he was radiating malice. “I know exactly why he did what he did, and I cannot forgive him. Not this time. Not after I gave him a chance, I trusted him, I confided in him, and he…”
“Confided?” Genos repeated.
Saitama faltered, clenched both hands into fists. “I told him something. When I walked him back last night. And he turned it against me because he’s a dickbag.”
“I don’t understand, sensei.”
“I know you don’t!” Saitama threw his hands up. “Confiding in someone means it’s a secret!”
“Sensei, please don’t make me try to stop you.”
Saitama froze, hoodie in his hands. “You couldn’t.”
“But I’d try.”
“I’m not gonna kill him. Just break his face a little. It’s my face too.”
“If you don’t tell me why you think he deserves it, how can I let you go through with something like this?” Genos gently took the shirt from Saitama’s hands. “Please.”
Something in Saitama deflated. He let the hoodie go, and dropped into his usual seat on the floor. “I guess… I know you won’t leave me even if I do tell you.”
“Never!” Genos sat down in proper seiza position. “Not… not unless you asked me to, sensei.”
“Okay, well… Last night, when I was walking Hideo home… I told him there was something he could do, like, to impress our dad that I’m never going to do.” Saitama started picking up pieces of the mug and stacking them. “Get married and give him grandkids.”
A weird mix of emotions filled Genos’ core. The fact that Saitama never intended to get married was good for Genos’ desire to stay by his side, but didn’t Saitama want that? Family, companionship?
“You’re not, sensei?”
“Well, that’s what I told him. ‘Cause…” The little tower of pottery toppled from his fingers. “'Cause the only person I’ve ever been in love with is a guy.”
For a long time, the only sound was the intense whirring of Genos’ cooling fans, and the steady drip of tea onto the floor. If Genos hadn’t set his cup down earlier, he was sure he would have broken it as well.
“Sensei, you…” Before he could think of anything sensical to say, a confession of his feelings, a demand to know who it was, a memory surfaced. “Hideo-san said you were straight.”
Saitama blinked, then scowled. The malice was back. “He said that? Specifically?”
“Specifically! You- you told him you had feelings for a man, and he told me you were straight!” Genos stood up. “Sensei you may not kill him, but I think I need to go threaten him. Badly.”
Saitama was looking up at him, eyes slowly widening. “Genos, wait, why are you so upset?”
“Because he- He said you-” Genos’ fans kicked into high gear again. Quietly, resignedly, Genos admitted, “He said you’d never return my feelings, sensei.”
In a flash, Saitama was right in front of him, on his feet. Genos had just enough time to register that he was still shirtless, then he was wrapped in thick muscular arms and kissed so hard he was afraid he might combust.
He kept his eyes open, too startled not to, and the face that was so close to his was nearly identical to the one that had kissed him before.
Nearly. This close he could see a few minuscule lines that weren’t on the other one. An old scar near the eyebrow. A softness to the expression. This Saitama tasted like toothpaste and tea and just a little bit of pudding from earlier. And he kissed like he’d never wanted to kiss anyone as badly as he did right now, as if he never wanted to stop.
“S- sensei!” Genos gasped, when Saitama, reluctantly, pulled back.
“Sorry.” He was red-faced, either from embarrassment or getting a faceful of steam. “I got excited. Uh. So, I love you.”
“I love you too, sensei!”
They grinned at each other for a moment, both lacking experience in what came after this moment. One thought rose above all else.
“Your brother is an asshole.”
“I told you!”