Chapter Text
Saitama glares at the receiver in his hand. What the fuck just happened?
This sort of nonsense was why he didn’t use a cell phone. This sort of nonsense was why nobody was supposed to have the number for his old home phone.
Genos’ voice filters in from the kitchen. “Sensei? Who was calling?”
Good question.
Without answering, he puts down the phone and makes his way to the kitchen, navigating his way around Genos and all of his cooking clutter until he can reach the fridge to dig around for snacks. When in doubt, avoid talking about your problems by way of food.
He pretends not to notice Genos’ disapproving stare as he starts munching on an apple. Genos’ glaring is usually pretty intimidating, but he’s bobby-pinned his bangs back and they’re sticking up in odd directions, like ruffled feathers, so he comes across as more ‘adorably disgruntled bird’ than ‘rage-fueled deadly machine’. Genos tuts like the mother hen he is, swatting him on the arm with his spoon as he scolds, “Sensei, dinner is soon, you’ll spoil your appetite.”
Saitama takes another bite. He’s not sure that his ‘wise teacher’ voice will be quite as effective when he’s speaking around a mouthful of apple, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t going to try. "Well, Genos, due to my intense training, I've developed a digestive system like a black hole…"
Genos raises an eyebrow. Well, you win some, you lose some. It’s probably for the best; the aromatic smell of Genos’ curry is starting to fill the kitchen, making his mouth water in anticipation, and much more of that apple probably would’ve put him off. He’s using the big pot, too, so lots of leftovers. In the past year or so, Saitama has acquired two new favourite things: Genos, and microwavable tupperware.
Genos opens his mouth to speak, but Saitama steamrolls through him, hoping to avoid the inevitable lecture on either bullshitting excuses out of his ass, or talking with his mouth full. "It was my uncle calling, actually."
Ha, that was enough to make Genos freeze, mouth still half-open. Cute.
"I…" Genos begins hesitantly, "I was not aware that you were still in contact with your family, Sensei." Well, at least Genos is getting a little better at subtlety, if nothing else. The last time they'd had this discussion, Genos had basically threatened Saitama’s parents for neglecting him. Now, he only sounds vaguely murderous, so he’s counting it as an improvement.
Saitama shrugs, and makes a wiggly hand gesture. "I'm not, really. I haven't spoken to any of them in years–not since way before I became a hero." Not since he'd dropped out of college, actually, now that he thought about it. Where had he been living back then? Not City Z, that’s for sure.
"He's probably not actually my uncle, he's like, my, uncle's cousin's, uh…" Alright, so apparently his knowledge of relationships began and ended with 'first cousin'. "Whatever. But I guess he still has the number for the old phone." He’s going to destroy that phone, one way or another. Would it be more satisfying to punch it out of existence, or to let Genos incinerate it?
Genos looks at him expectantly. Ugh, there he goes again with the innocent, curious puppy eyes. That look is going to be the death of him, one of these days.
Saitama sighs, dropping his eyes to the floor and swallowing uncomfortably. The 'using food to run away from your problems' plan had lasted a grand total of less than a minute. He scrambles for a way to explain the situation he’s gotten himself into.
"Thing is, some of my dad’s side of the family is living in Seasoning City, and their schools just got out for break, and they’re wanting to go on some family trip but they’ve got kids, and, um."
Genos looks about ready to break out his notebook, so he sighs and quits beating around the bush. "Look, long story short, I think I accidentally agreed to look after a teenager for a week." He hadn’t even explicitly agreed to it, but when someone says, “Oh and by the way he’ll be on the first train to Z City in two days appreciatethehelpgoodbyenow” and hangs up, there isn’t much room for argument.
Genos frowns down at the curry, brows furrowed. “It’s quite presumptuous to assume that Sensei is willing to take a near-stranger into his house without compensation.” Saitama snorts. At least Genos had had the decency to offer to pay rent before he shoved his way into Saitama’s life.
“Eh, it’s fine. I mean, it’s kind of boring out here, but the kid’s like, fourteen? So he can probably entertain himself. We’ll just pull out your old futon for him. Actually, it might get crowded in here, with three people, and you didn’t exactly sign up for sharing space with a kid… would you be better off staying with Kuseno, for the time being?” The thought of Genos leaving, taking the warmth and comfort he fills the apartment with, even temporarily, is more than a little painful, but he feels like he should make sure Genos knows he isn’t obligated to stick around…
Except apparently it doesn’t matter, because Genos doesn’t seem to have heard, still deep in thought as he plates the curry. “Additionally, it’s incredibly irresponsible to send a minor to stay in a danger-ridden place such as City Z, even staying with two heroes. I will inform the Heroes’ Association of our temporary responsibility, so that his safety is ensured.”
“That’s probably a good idea, actually…” He’s been using the HA handbook and brochures as bathroom reading, and that sounds vaguely familiar. “Wait, isn’t that what married heroes do?”
Genos nods. “Yes, Sensei, it is a regulation designed for couples within the Association who wish to ensure that they are not both called out on assignment at the same time, leaving their offspring alone in a potentially dangerous situation.”
Well, pretty much the entire HA acts as if Saitama and Genos are already married, so Genos shouldn’t run into too much trouble there. It’s pretty endearing, the way he’s worrying over this kid before they’ve even met him.
Thank fuck Genos is here. He doesn’t know the first thing about how to deal with an actual teenager, with needs and wants and stuff. He could feed the kid, sure, but he hadn’t even considered how monster-ridden and dangerous City Z was until Genos had brought it up. Shit, little monsters sometimes crawl out of the pothole across from the apartment, and he’s pretty sure that that purple gunk on the sidewalk that nobody ever cleaned up is acquiring sentience. Hell, the kid might run into trouble with the fruit vendor two blocks over who has a vendetta against everyone under the age of 30.
What was he thinking? He can’t look after this kid for a week!
—
No, yeah, they’re looking after this kid for a week. Genos has spent the last two days figuring out the logistics of the matter down to the last speck of dust, from the best place to put the futon (he’d rearranged the entire living room, for reasons unknown), to how much extra food they need to buy, to whether they have enough toilet paper, and he’d woken Saitama up early to ensure they made it down to the train station in time, regularly checking the internet on his phone to make sure that the kid’s train wasn’t delayed or moved to another platform.
It reminded Saitama of when his parents had gone on holidays or business trips when he was a kid, and they’d spent the week prior stocking up on supplies, checking passports, flight tickets, suitcases, babysitting arrangements, over and over again. It was the kind of meticulous preparation that was exhausting just to watch, even if Genos’ staunch professionalism about the matter made it kind of adorable.
Saitama is barely awake as they walk through the city towards the station, Genos’ hand in his. He yawns periodically, looking around at the pitch black streets. The streetlights had flickered off a while ago, but the sky was still dark, and the sun showed no signs of rising anytime soon. Honestly, anytime before five AM could barely be qualified as morning. Even as they pass out of the abandoned area, the city still feels like a skeleton, empty roads and buildings with darkened windows, not a movement, not a breath, no sign of life aside from their footsteps and the gentle hum of Genos’ core. Seasoning City is a fair distance away from here, Saitama remembers, far enough away that it hasn’t even petitioned to come under HA jurisdiction like some of the other cities around here. The kid, Shigeo, he must’ve been on the train all night.
“How long until the train is supposed to get in?” He asks, just to break the silence. Genos glances over at him.
“About another twenty minutes, Sensei. If the train is on time, we should be able to make it back home by around six AM–enough time for you and Kageyama to get some more sleep, if you want.”
He presses up against Genos’ side, leaning his head on his shoulder and groaning by way of answer. Genos laughs softly, and he feels a quick brush of lips on his head. As much as he wants to stay like this, absorbing the heat radiating off of Genos, he’s turned their walk into an awkward three-legged race style-gait, so he settles for reluctantly pulling away and shifting his grip on Genos’ hand so that their fingers are threaded together, and squeezing gently.
—
For obvious reasons, there’s not much traffic in and out of City Z, and Saitama’s honestly a little lost as to why there’s a train at this time of the morning anyways. He and Genos stand on the deserted platform and wait for the train to pull in, watching as a small crowd of yawning men and women in rumpled-looking suits shuffle off and disperse, until finally, the kid steps out of the train.
Kageyama Shigeo is about the plainest looking kid Saitama’s ever seen. Nondescript, Saitama thinks, the word coming to him suddenly. There’s nothing about him that’d really stand out in a crowd, except maybe that bowl cut. Thankfully, there weren’t any other kids on the train, or they might’ve had some trouble picking him out.
His eyes are heavily hooded, his expression blank, and he blinks around at the station kind of blearily, swaying slightly on his feet with the handle of his rolling bag loose in his hand. There are the beginnings of dark shadows under his eyes, and he looks like he’d really rather be sleeping. Sai knows the feeling.
“Shigeo?” Saitama calls, waving to get his attention. Shigeo startles, looking at him owlishly for a few seconds before he seems to remember to walk over.
“My apologies, Saitama-san,” he says, and wow, the kid is soft-spoken, enough that he’s straining to hear it even in the complete silence of the morning. “I didn’t recognize you, for a moment.”
Saitama squints. “You’ve seen me?”
“Uh-huh,” Shigeo nods in agreement. “I’ve seen pictures, but you had hair in them, so I had difficulty recognizing you.”
Saitama’s grip on Genos’ hand convulsively tightens, and he swears he can feel the amusement radiating off of him. What was it with teenagers today, and talking about premature baldness so casually? Rude, is what it is. “...Right,” he says, letting it go only because he’s too tired to be properly angry about it. “Anyways, this is Genos, he lives with me.” Saitama belatedly realizes that he’s gesturing to Genos with the hand that Genos is holding, bending his arm kind of awkwardly.
Shigeo doesn’t mention it, just looks up at Genos and says, “Oh, it’s nice to meet you.”
Well, at least he seems to be polite. Saitama’s not remotely in the mood to deal with teenage sass. Genos nods at Shigeo, somewhat stiffly, and Saitama snorts. He has no idea how the media’s managed to paint Genos as a suave, stoic type of hero. He’s never met anyone more awkward than this guy.
Shigeo stifles a yawn with the back of his hand, making Saitama yawn in response. “Well, home’s not too far away, we can sleep for a bit when we get there.” He points a thumb over his shoulder. “Ready to go?”
—
After the second pothole that Shigeo’s bag gets stuck in, he picks it up by the straps and tries to carry it on his back, but it’s clearly too heavy for him, because he immediately teeters to the side, almost falling flat on his face. Saitama lets go of Genos to in order to steady him, and helps him to ease the thing off of his back. It doesn’t feel like it contains anything denser than clothes. It barely weighs anything…
Genos holds out a hand, and asks, “May I, Kageyama?”
Shigeo nods, so Saitama shrugs and hands it to him. Shigeo’s eyes widen comically, his mouth forming a little shocked ‘o’ as he watches Genos throw it over one shoulder like it’s made of feathers. Well, to a several-hundred pound battle cyborg, it’s probably close enough.
By the time they’re crossing back into the abandoned area, the city is starting to show some signs of life, the poor bastards who have to go to work at this time of morning shuffling out into the streets and into their cars, kind of awake, but not really. The sun is in much the same state, as if its alarm is going off, but it keeps snoozing. It shows no sign of rising anytime soon, but the sky is lightening, somewhat, going from black to a dull, cloudy grey that casts the streets in muted colours and harsh shadows. It really makes all of the destruction of the city look bleak and depressing, like he lives in the aftermath of an apocalypse.
Whatever, at least the rent is cheap.
Shigeo barely seems to notice, because the entire time that they’re walking his eyes are locked on the sky. Saitama can’t tell for the life of him what the kid is thinking, or if he’s even thinking anything, because he seems kind of checked out, slowing down until he realizes he’s falling behind, and has to trot forward to fall back into step on Saitama’s left. He doesn’t have much experience with kids, but Shigeo strikes him as… odd.
Heh, maybe it runs in the family.
—
Shigeo is fast asleep, already.
When they’d gotten home, Genos had set down Shigeo’s bag near the newly-made futon, while Saitama had given him the basic rundown.
“You’re sleeping there, I sleep there, kitchen’s in there, bathroom’s in that hallway.”
Shigeo had nodded and sat down on the futon, pulling his hoodie and shoes off. He’d lined up his shoes at the foot of the bed, while the hoodie, he’d folded neatly before opening his bag and putting it inside. Saitama had gone into the kitchen for water, expecting Shigeo to grab some pyjamas and probably go change in the bathroom.
When he walks back into the living room, however, Shigeo is curled on his side, feet hanging awkwardly off of the futon, quite obviously conked out. Same, kid, he thinks, glancing at his own futon longingly. Genos had disappeared into the hallway at some point to dig in the closet, and he comes back out now with a few of the fuzzy blankets that Saitama usually only uses during winter piled in his arms.
“Kageyama-” Genos starts to say, but Saitama softly shushes him, pointing to Shigeo. Genos nods and pads over to Shigeo, setting the blankets down on the end of the futon. Saitama watches as Genos carefully rearranges Shigeo so that he’s fully on the futon, and drapes one of the blankets over him.
Saitama runs a hand over his face. I need to go to bed, it’s too early for him to be doing cute stuff like that already.
He’s just in sweatpants anyways, so he pulls his hoodie and shirt off all in one go, and tosses them vaguely in the direction of the desk, ignoring Genos’ quiet sigh behind of exasperation and flopping onto his futon.
“Sensei, did you want a blanket as well?” Genos walks over to the futon, holding up one of the other blankets in offering. It’s not as cold now as it had been in December or January, but when you live in an area that’s so wrecked it barely offers running water, let alone heating, even spring can be pretty chilly. Saitama considers the offer, and then, because he’s actually six years old, he reaches out and makes grabby hands at Genos. “You’re better than a blanket, though.”
On one hand, Genos, as a general rule, didn’t sleep as much as Saitama, and he was usually awake and out of bed long before him. On the other hand, Genos was surprisingly tactile, and wasn’t likely to pass up an opportunity to cuddle.
Sai grins triumphantly as Genos slides under the covers, and he rearranges himself until he can wrap himself around Genos’ torso without any metal parts poking him in odd places. He feels the telltale whirring of Genos’ systems speeding up just slightly, making Sai’s chest vibrate, before the little blanket cocoon heats up.
Saitama likes to listen, before he falls asleep. It’s a habit he picked up from back when he’d lived alone, on the nights he couldn’t sleep. It had been a much more challenging game then, straining his ears for the near-silent hum of the fridge running, the sound of a cricket, the wind blowing around some trash outside, a siren somewhere in the distance. These days, he’d become intimately acquainted with the various sounds that Genos made.
He listens. The loudest noise, Genos’ heating system, has evened out into a low whir, more of a hiss, than anything, and he’s pretty sure some cool air is being pumped out of one of the seams in his shoulder plates. Genos’ breaths are coming deep and steady, but not evened out enough to mean that he’s asleep yet. As always, there’s a soft buzzing from Genos’ core. He’s not sure what kind of energy makes Genos’ heart run (both Genos and Kuseno have explained it to him on more than one occasion, but neither of them are really able to translate technobabble into an understandable language,) but the constant little noises it makes come out as a low whine, almost a humming, and if Saitama were absolutely, disgustingly sappy, he’d probably think it was Genos’ soul singing or something.
He’s half-asleep, counting the seconds between whirrs in the fan in Genos’ shoulder blade, when an unfamiliar sound breaks the pattern. From across the room, there’s a soft huff of breath and the sound of rustling blankets, quickly settling into silence again. Ah, right, Shigeo. Even sleeping, the kid is ridiculously quiet, almost completely drowned out by Genos.
Saitama is too tired to really think about the fact that, yeah, there’s actually a kid in his house now that he has to look after, but there’s a low pang of worry in his gut that’s been sitting there ever since Shigeo had stepped off of the train. Yeah, sure, it had been funny to watch Genos plan everything out and be a worrywart, when Shigeo had been an abstract concept, not a person. Now, well…
Ah, he’ll leave it for tomorrow’s Saita–
He’ll leave it for later today’s Saitama.