Work Text:
It’s 3 in the morning and the world outside is quiet, lulled into slumber by the soft fall of rain. But whatever siren song the rain might be singing, it doesn't seem to have any effect on him; his limbs are filled with a restless energy and he can’t pinpoint why. He sighs, loud and brimming with frustration at his inability to fall asleep, as he turns over onto his side.
“Genos, are you— oh.” He’s facing nothing but a wall and empty floor space where the teen usually sleeps; he’d utterly forgotten he was alone in the apartment.
[“I apologize, Sensei, but Doctor Kuseno has informed me that the damage I sustained is very extensive, more so than I thought previously. I will not be able to return home for another fortnight. The monster we fought managed to sever my spinal column between the L3 and L4 vertebrae as well as completely destroy a portion of my wiring that serves as—”
“Yo! I get it Genos. Just come home in one piece, okay?”
“Yes, Sensei!”]
He returns to laying on his back, watches the shadows of raindrops race across the ceiling, illuminated by the warm yellow glow of the streetlights outside. It’s too quiet he thinks, finds himself missing the soft whir of internal fans and the gentle orange light his kind-of disciple emits like some sort of human shaped nightlight.
Somehow, in the year he’d gotten to know Genos, the cyborg brat had managed to meld so seamlessly into his life. It was like Genos had become molten gold and seeped into all his cracks and hollows and it almost could have been considered a beautiful thing had Saitama been made of fine porcelain. But if Genos was molten gold then he’s a chipped plastic cup left at the bottom of the bargain bin. Sooner or later Genos would realize his mistake, realize that Saitama honestly had nothing worth sticking around for and would pack his things and move on.
‘But is it really a mistake?’ A small part of him whispers gently as he sits up cocooned in his favorite blanket. Another part of him wants to argue, to say: ‘Yes, yes it is a mistake. A great big mistake because…because…’. He squashes both parts down, wishing his thoughts were paper that he could shove into a bottle and throw out to sea, never to been seen again.
“That guy…” He mutters to the empty room, not entirely sure why he says it at all, and flings his blanket off of himself. He’s just cold, that’s all. He’s cold and needs something hot to drink and then all would be right with the world. He’d be fast asleep in no time at all; any lingering thoughts of cyborgs and kintsugi dishware would drift far away once he was asleep.
Mind made up, he rose from his futon, pausing to scratch at a spot on his back that was particularly itchy before shuffling over to the kitchen. He sets the kettle on the stove to boil and then begins his search through the cupboard for tea.
“Ah!” He exclaims as he catches sight of what he’s been looking for. He draws out a small, slightly dusty tin of tea. It's dented in some places, the floral design scuffed in others, and any logo that might have been on it had been slowly rubbed away by time and continuous handling. Opening it he’s hit with the subtle smell of lychee tea, a small tired smile settling on his lips as his thoughts wander into memories of years long since passed. Distantly he can hear the sound of his mother’s voice….
“Ku areba, raku ari, Tama-chan.” His mother said as she sat across from him clad in her pale white nursing outfit with her hair, still damp from an earlier shower, curling around her ears.
He had come home from school that day covered in cuts and scrapes, his pockets 200 yen lighter, and his uniform torn in multiple places. His mother, in the middle of getting ready for her evening shift at the hospital, had ushered him inside, worrying in the way only mothers seem capable of. She sat him at their tiny kitchen table with an ice pack to press against a particularly nasty bruise on his cheek. Then, without asking a single question as to ‘how’ or ‘why’ he came home looking the way he did, she pulled out a floral tin from the cupboard and set about making tea.
That was how he found himself sitting with her at the table, staring into the tan colored depths of the mug his mother had given him. She kept her own nestled within her hands, content to let the warmth leach out to her palms as they sat in silence and listened to the rain outside fall steadily down to Earth. When it suddenly became too much he spoke, eyes never leaving his tea.
“These upper classmen beat me up and stole my money today,” He omitted the part about the piggy bank monster as the telltale pressure of tears began to build up behind his eyes. “and when I told my teacher what happened, he refused to believe me.”
His mother let out a soft “Tama-chan” and he could see her reach over to grasp his hand in hers, but—whether out of his own damn stubbornness or wounded pride, he couldn’t rightly tell—he pulled away and curled further in on himself instead.
“What am I supposed to do? These guys are way bigger than me. I’m not strong enough to defend myself or anyone else. And the worst thing is that a part of me wanted to walk away. Wanted to just give them my money and let them go pick on someone else. God, what does that make me?!” His chest was heaving, hands clenched tightly into fists, “I always talk about wanting to be a hero but I’m nothing but a coward! A stupid, weak, spineless coward! I’m-I’m—!”
And suddenly he was surrounded by a warm embrace, a hand carding gently through his hair. And it was too much, it had always been too much, because he’s crying now, loud sobs wracking his body as if to say ‘This is what happens when you bottle things up and leave them to collect and fester!’.
It wasn’t until he had cried himself out, his body limp like a noodle from the effort, that his mother pulled away and cradled his face between her hands.
“Saitama.” She said, her voice firm and strong. “You are one of the bravest people I know. So what if you wanted to tuck tail and run? You didn’t and that’s what matters. You don’t need brute strength to overcome your enemies, you just have to be willing to stand up for what you think is right regardless of who opposes you!” She smiled brightly at him, hands moving from his face to grip his shoulders lightly. “That’s what really makes a person a hero. Think about it, if all the heroes run and hide, who will stay and fight?”
He had hugged her, thanked her, and then proceeded to lament over the fact that their tea had gone cold as they sat back down. She had merely laughed, drained her cup and left for work while he went to go take a bath before bed. While he had been settling in, hands poised to pull his blanket up to his chin the doorbell had rung, but why was it so shrill? He doesn’t remember it being so—
He's abruptly pulled from his thoughts as the kettle continues its shrill screaming, the air heavy with moisture. He shuts off the burner and grabs the handle, nearly dropping it when he registers just how hot the damned thing has gotten. One oven mitt and a hearty helping of milk later and he is once again sat on his futon and cocooned in his blanket, tea resting on his coffee table. A quick glance at his clock lets him know it’s now 4 am.
How the hell am I going to get through the next two weeks if I can’t even deal with the brat not being here tonight?
He huffs, thoroughly annoyed at both Genos’s absence and his own childish inability to deal with the quiet of his apartment. If anything, he should be relieved! A whole two weeks of peace and quiet. It meant no “Sensei this” or “Sensei that”, no near constant scratch of pen on paper, and no long winded speeches or external monologues! This was going to be great! But…that also meant there would be no one to clip coupons with, or go shopping with, or fight monsters with.
He stares down into the depths of his tea. No one to drink tea with.
“Tch.” He grabs the remote and turns on the TV, flipping through channels in an attempt at drowning out the silence.
He settles on an infomercial channel, the spokesperson on the screen demonstrating the use of something that looks vaguely sexual and is apparently meant to enable weight loss. He looks once more into his tea cup before taking a large gulp, the tea still scalding hot but he can’t seem to bring himself to care.
It’s 4 in the morning and the world outside is quiet, lulled into slumber by the soft fall of rain. He turns his attention back to the TV, his face blank and body numb as he thinks:
Genos, won’t you come home soon?