Chapter Text
Asagiri Gen had always been good at reading people. Too good, perhaps.
It started before the magic tricks, before the stage lights and the television specials. His parents were distant shadows in his life, more interested in their own dramas than in shielding him from the world’s sharper edges. They didn’t protect him from the bullies at school, or from the “friends” who only stuck around when he could do something for them – lend money, cover for their lies, or entertain with card tricks that made him the center of attention for all the wrong reasons.
By the time he hit his teens, Gen had learned to spot the tells: the micro-expressions that betrayed greed, the subtle shifts in tone that screamed ulterior motives. He honed it into a skill, a weapon.
Mentalism to him became a way to survive.
Lovers came and went – beautiful faces with honeyed words that turned sour the moment they got what they wanted. One girlfriend convinced him to invest in her ‘sure thing’ business venture; another used his connections to climb in the entertainment ladder, only to vanish when a bigger name came calling.
They all lied more than they loved, and Gen got used to it. He expected it, even started to mirror it, weaving his own deceptions to stay one step ahead.
People are predictable. Everybody has an angle, hide something.
Then came the green light. He was 3,700 years frozen in stone, mind awake but body trapped. When Tsukasa shattered him free, Gen played the part – spy on this Senku Ishigami kid, confirm if he’s dead or alive. Easy enough. Playing with Tsukasa’s mind was a little tricky but nothing he couldn’t do.
But Senku… Senku was different from the start.
Gen arrived at the Kingdom of Science’s makeshift camp under the guise of a defector, cola craving on his lips as bait. He watched from the shadows first, the way he always did. Senku was scrawny, with wild green-tipped hair and those sharp red eyes focused on grinding herbs or tinkering with primitive tools.
No hidden glances o calculated pauses. Senku said exactly what he meant. No fluff nor manipulation. When Gen finally stepped out, revealing himself with a dramatic flourish and a demand for cola, Senku didn’t flinch or probe for motives.
“You’re Asagiri Gen, the mentalist from TV. Your books were garbage – full of pseudoscience – but if you are here, that means Tsukasa sent you. Spy or ally?”
Straightforward. No accusation laced with threat, no fake warmth to lure him in.
Gen blinked, thrown off. “Well, Senku-chan, aren’t you direct? ~ ”
Senku smirked, a trademark leek-stalk grin. “Why waste time? If you’re spying, I’ll convince you to switch sides. Science wins in the end.”
And he did. Not with threats, but with ramen – real, steaming ramen in a Stone world. The light bulbs, the promise of cola. Senku laid it all out: his roadmap to rebuild civilization, no secrets withheld. He treated Gen like a tool first, sure – “You’re good at psychology; help me manipulate the village chief” – but never like a pawn to be discarded.
As weeks turned into months, Gen kept waiting for the catch. The hidden agenda. The moment Senku would reveal his true colors, demand something twisted in return. But it never came.
One night, around the campfire after a long day forging iron, Gen couldn’t hold it anymore. They were alone for once – Kinro off hauling logs, Kohaku patrolling, Chrome experimenting with some ore.
“Senku-chan,” Gen said, lounging against a tree with his usual lazy drawl, but his eyes sharp. “Why are you like this?”
Senku glanced up from sketching plans in the dirt. “Like what?”
“You tell me everything. Your plans, your weaknesses. You even told me straight-up that my mentalism tricks are just psychology and misdirection. No one’s that open, everyone has an angle.”
Senku chuckled, not ofended. “An angle? Nah. I’m ten billion percent focused on science, reviving humanity. Hiding stuff wastes time and I have enough with Tsukasa.”
Gen leaned forward, studying him intently – the way he always did with marks on stage. Pupil dilation normal, no fidgeting, voice stady. No tells.
“But… people lie. They use.”
Senku shrugged. “Some do. Tsukasa does. But not everyone, and even if someone ever tries, science doesn’t. They can’t win against facts.”
Gen’s mind raced. This kid – barely a teenager when petrified, now leading a kingdom – treated him like an equal. Not a tool (maybe sometimes), not a threat. An equal.
“You’re not as smart as me in math or chemistry,” Senku added casually another day, while they worked on the revival fluid formula with the little they had left of nitric acid. Gen had suggested a psychological ploy to recruit more villagers, something clever involving fear and awe.
Gen froze, there it was – the jab. The reminder that he was inferior.
But Senku continued, “But you’re clever as hell in ways I suck at. Reading people, negotiating, pulling off those insane bluffs. Psychology’s a science too and you are a genius at it. You’re top-tier in your field.”
Gen stared, mouth slightly open. No condescension, just acknowledgment. He couldn’t believe it.
Flashbacks hit him then – his parents dismissing his magic shows as “silly games,” friends laughing behind his back when he fell for their pranks. Lovers whispering sweet nothings that were all lies.
Senku saw him, really saw him. And didn’t exploit it.
During the Stone Wars, when Gen infiltrated the Tsukasa Empire again, risking everything to feed intel back, Senku trusted him implicitly. No paranoia, no backup plans assuming betrayal. When Gen returned, battered but triumphant, Senku just nodded. “Good work, mentalist. Knew you could pull it off.”
That night, after the cell pone invention connected them across distances, Gen lay awake in his hut. The stone world was harsh – wild animals, endless labor, threats from empires. But here, with Senku…
For the first time, someone wasn’t hiding bad intentions. Senku was an open book. Blunt, crilliant, unflinchingly honest.
It terrified Gen. Because if this was real – if someone could treat him like this without wanting something twisted in return – then everything he’d built his life on was wrong.
People weren’t all predictable liars. Some were just… good.
As the kingdom of science grew – sailing the seas, battling on Treasure Island, reaching for the moon – Gen stuck closer to Senku than ever. Not for cola (though that was a perk), not for survival.
Because Senku made him believe that trust wasn’s a trick. That equality wasn’t an illusion.
One quiet evening on the Perseus, stars overheard like in the old world, Gen sidled up to Senku at the railing.
“Senku-chan,” he murmured, voice softer than usual, no playful lit.
“Hm?”
“I still can’t read you.”
Senku turned, smirking. “Told you, science never lies. Nothing to hide.”
Gen smiled – genuine, no mask. “Yeah, but you are something else.”
Senku rised an eyebrow. “Getting sentimental?”
“Maybe. Don’t ruin it.”
They stood in silence, watching the waves. For once, Gen didn’t need to analyze tells or plan deceptions. In this stone world, he’d found someone worth trusting. Someone who saw his cleverness not as a threat, but as strenght.
And he doesn’t know since when, but he believed it too now.
Gen had always prided himself on awareness. He could spot a lie from across a room, sense shifting loyalties before words were even spoken. But love? Love was sneakier than any con he'd ever pulled.
It crept in slowly, disguised as comfort.
At first, it was just relief. Relief that Senku never looked at him like a means to an end. That when Senku said ‘Good job’ after a successful negotiation, it wasn't laced with expectation of repayment. That late nights brainstorming inventions turned into easy silence, shoulders brushing without tension.
Gen got comfortable. Too comfortable.
He started seeking Senku out more than necessary. "Just checking on the distillation process, Senku-chan~" he'd say, lingering by the lab setup long after the question was answered. He'd volunteer for supply runs if Senku was leading them. He'd position himself at the edge of the campfire closest to wherever Senku sat, claiming it was for ‘better light.’
Senku never questioned it. Why would he? He accepted Gen's presence the way he accepted gravity—constant, reliable, unremarkable.
But Gen noticed.
He noticed how his chest tightened when Senku laughed at one of Chrome's explosions, that rare full laugh that crinkled his eyes. He noticed how he'd catalog Senku's habits—the way he tugged his hair when thinking, how he always saved the last sip of whatever drink they had for ‘quality control,’ how he'd fall asleep mid-sentence during planning sessions, trusting everyone around him to keep watch.
Most of all, he noticed the warmth that spread through him when Senku casually said things like, "Gen's the only one who can talk Moz out of killing us all. He's irreplaceable for this mission."
Irreplaceable.
No one had ever said that to him before. Not without wanting something in return.
Of course his needy heart latched on. Of course it did. Senku was the first person who'd ever given him stability without strings. The first person who saw through his masks and liked what was underneath anyway. The first person who made the world feel a little less like a stage full of actors waiting to betray him.
Gen swallowed it whole. He buried it deep, under layers of playful teasing and dramatic sighs. "Senku-chan is so cruel, making me work overtime without even a cola reward~ ♪" he'd whine, while inside something ached at how easily Senku rolled his eyes and tossed him a bottle anyway.
He couldn't risk it. Couldn't risk ruining this—the one genuine thing in his life. Friendship with Senku was already more than he'd ever had. Love? Confessing love? That was asking the universe to laugh in his face again.
So he watched from the sidelines as their group grew. Watched Senku interact with everyone the same way—blunt, honest, caring in his scientific way. Watched beautiful, strong people orbit around him like planets around a star. Kohaku with her fierce loyalty. Chrome with his eager admiration. Even Ryusui, bold and charismatic in ways Gen could never match.
He told himself it was fine. That being near Senku was enough. That watching him achieve his dreams—radio towers, ships, flights to the moon—was privilege enough.
But some nights, when the Perseus rocked gently on calm seas and everyone else slept, Gen would stand at the helm with Senku during his watch shifts.
"Can't sleep, mentalist?" Senku would ask without looking up from his star charts.
"Something like that," Gen would reply, leaning against the railing beside him.
They'd talk about nothing important. Plans for tomorrow. Old world memories. The probability of finding certain resources on the next stop.
And Gen would memorize the way moonlight caught in Senku's hair, the quiet intensity in his voice when he spoke about humanity's future. He'd store these moments like treasures, knowing he'd never ask for more.
Because Senku deserved someone uncomplicated. Someone who matched his drive, his brilliance. Not someone broken by a lifetime of lies, clinging desperately to the first real thing they'd found.
So Gen swallowed it. Day after day, mission after mission.
He became the perfect right-hand man. The strategist who could read anyone except himself. The one who made impossible negotiations possible, who kept morale high with his performances, who stood at Senku's side through every triumph and setback.
And if sometimes, when Senku clapped a hand on his shoulder with a proud "We did it," Gen's heart stuttered painfully in his chest...
Well. No one needed to know.
Especially not Senku, whose honest eyes would see right through him anyway.
Some truths, Gen decided, were better left unread—even in an open book.
The Kingdom of Science had settled into a rhythm on the mainland after the Perseus voyage. New alliances, new tech, new problems. One of those problems had a name: Sapphire.
She was one of the Sparkly Sisters from Ishigami Village—blonde, bright-eyed, and relentlessly persistent. According to villagers gossip (and Kohaku's exasperated reports), Sapphire had decided Senku Ishigami was husband material. Handsome? Check. Smart? Double check. Leader of the future civilization? Triple check.
Never mind that Senku barely noticed her existence beyond polite nods and the occasional "Thanks for the herbs."
She started showing up at the lab more often. Bringing food, asking questions about science she clearly didn't care about. Lingering. Touching his arm when explaining something. Senku, being Senku, responded with blunt facts and zero romantic interest. "Yeah, the revival fluid needs nitric acid. No, I don't need help carrying test tubes right now."
But Sapphire didn't take hints. She escalated to full-on wooing: flowers left on his workbench, invitations to "walk by the river at sunset," outright declarations of admiration in front of half the village.
Senku finally cracked.
It happened late one afternoon. The sun was dipping low, painting the camp in gold. Gen was helping sort revival fluid batches when Senku appeared at the entrance of the tent, expression unreadable but... off. His usual confident slouch was tense. Fingers twitching at his sides like he was calculating something dangerous.
"Gen," Senku said, voice lower than usual. "Need to talk. Privately."
Gen raised an eyebrow, playful mask sliding into place automatically. "Oho? Senku-chan wants a secret meeting? Should I be flattered or scared~?"
Senku didn't smile back. He just jerked his head toward the edge of camp, away from prying ears.
They walked in silence until they reached a quiet spot near the treeline, out of sight. Senku stopped, rubbed the back of his neck—classic nervous tell, though Gen had never seen it on him before. His red eyes flicked away, then back, like he was forcing himself to maintain contact.
"Look," Senku started, exhaling sharply. "Sapphire's... persistent. She's starting to interfere with work. Keeps showing up during critical experiments. Distracts the team. I need her to back off."
Gen tilted his head, amused. "So tell her you're not interested. You're good at being direct, Senku-chan."
"I did. Multiple times. She thinks it's 'tsundere' or some nonsense. Village girls hear too many old romance stories or something." Senku grimaced. "Science doesn't have time for this drama."
Gen chuckled. "Poor Senku-chan, the heartthrob of the stone world. What do you want me to do? Hypnotize her? Stage a dramatic rejection scene?"
Senku looked at him then—really looked. And there was something vulnerable in those eyes. Fear? Anxiety? It was so out of place on Senku's face that Gen's teasing died in his throat.
"No," Senku said quietly. "I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend."
Gen blinked.
Once.
Twice.
The world tilted.
"Excuse me?"
"Just... act like we're together. Publicly. Hold hands or whatever. Make it convincing enough that she gives up. You're the mentalist. You can sell anything."
Gen's brain short-circuited. His mouth opened, closed. Heart slamming against ribs so hard he thought Senku could hear it.
Pretend. Boyfriends.
With Senku.
The man he'd spent months—years?—carefully burying every inappropriate feeling for. The one person who made him feel safe, seen, equal. The one he could never risk losing by confessing.
And now Senku was asking him to play the part. To touch him. To look at him like... like that. In front of everyone.
Was this a dream? A cruel, beautiful dream?
"Senku-chan..." Gen managed, voice cracking just a little despite his best efforts. "You're serious?"
Senku nodded, cheeks faintly pink—another tell Gen filed away even as his own mind reeled. "Dead serious. Ten billion percent. It's the most efficient solution. She respects relationships. If I'm 'taken,' she'll move on. And you're... you're the only one I trust to pull this off without making it weird."
Without making it weird. The irony burned.
Gen stared at him. Senku looked genuinely uncomfortable—shoulders hunched, avoiding prolonged eye contact. Scared, maybe, that Gen would laugh or refuse or make it into a joke.
But how could Gen refuse?
How could he say no to being allowed—even fake-allowed—to have what he'd secretly wanted for so long? His needy heart, the one that had latched onto Senku like a lifeline, screamed yes before his brain could catch up.
"...Okay," Gen heard himself say, soft and stunned. "I'll do it."
Senku exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for hours. Relief flooded his face, followed by that small, genuine smile that always made Gen's chest ache.
"Thanks, Mentalist. I owe you one."
Gen forced a laugh, light and theatrical, even as everything inside him trembled.
"Oh, you'll owe me way more than one, Senku-chan~ ♪ A lifetime supply of cola, at least."
They walked back to camp side by side. Gen's mind was a whirlwind.
He couldn't believe he'd accepted.
Couldn't believe Senku had asked.
Couldn't believe how badly he already wanted this fake thing to feel real.
As they approached the main area, Sapphire was there—perched near the lab entrance, waving enthusiastically at Senku.
Senku glanced at Gen, gave the tiniest nod.
Showtime.
Gen slipped his hand into Senku's without warning. Senku stiffened for half a second—then relaxed, fingers curling back around Gen's in a grip that was surprisingly warm, surprisingly steady.
Gen's heart stuttered. Sapphire's eyes widened. Her smile faltered.
Gen leaned in, resting his head lightly against Senku's shoulder, voice dripping honey. "Senku-chan~ You've been working too hard. Let your boyfriend take care of you for once, hm?"
Senku played along perfectly—arm sliding around Gen's waist in a casual hold. "Yeah, yeah. Just making sure the distillation doesn't explode."
Sapphire stared. Blinked. Then slowly, color rising in her cheeks, she backed away.
"I... oh. I didn't realize. Sorry to bother you two!"
She fled. Mission accomplished.
Senku let out a long breath once she was gone. "That... worked faster than expected."
Gen didn't move from his grip. Couldn't.
"Yeah," he murmured, staring at Senku’s hand on his hip. "It did."
Senku glanced down too, then up at Gen's face—searching, maybe noticing something off.
"You okay?"
Gen swallowed the lump in his throat. Forced another smile.
"Never better, Senku-chan."
But inside, everything had changed. Because now he knew what Senku’s hand felt like in his. Knew what it was like to be claimed, even if only for show. And he wasn’t sure he could go back to pretending it didnt’ matter.
Not anymore.
Gen had convinced himself the performance was over.
Sapphire seemed to back off completely after some more public displays—blushing apologies, hasty retreats, and no more flowers or sunset invitations. Mission accomplished. Efficiency achieved. Ten billion percent success, as Senku would say.
He told himself the hand-holding, the casual arm around the waist, the little “my boyfriend” teases he’d thrown in for flavor... all of that could be neatly packed away. A temporary act. A successful con. Back to normal.
Normal meant distance. Professional teasing from a safe emotional perimeter. Watching Senku from across the campfire instead of beside him. Letting the ache in his chest settle back into quiet, familiar background noise.
He went to sleep that night almost relieved. Almost.
Then morning came.
Gen stirred slowly in his small tent, sunlight filtering through the woven mat walls. The usual camp sounds drifted in: Taiju hauling logs, Chrome shouting about some new mineral find, the crackle of the central fire being stoked for breakfast.
He rubbed his eyes, sat up, hair a mess, still half-dreaming.
And then Senku was there.
Crouched right at the entrance of his tent, sleeves rolled up, that familiar determined expression on his face—but softer around the edges. Before Gen could even form a greeting, Senku leaned in.
A quick, deliberate press of lips against Gen’s.
Soft. Warm. Casual.
“Good morning, Mentalist.”
Gen froze.
The entire camp seemed to pause with him.
Taiju stopped mid-step with an armful of firewood. Kohaku’s spear clattered against a rock. Chrome’s jaw dropped so fast it nearly hit the ground. Even the birds in the trees went suspiciously quiet.
Senku pulled back like he’d done nothing more unusual than hand Gen a cup of water. He stood up, dusted off his knees, and offered a hand to help Gen out of the tent. Gen took it on autopilot, his brain still rebooting.
Senku’s fingers squeezed once—subtle, private—before letting go.
Gen’s gaze snapped to Senku’s face, searching for the tell. The twitch. The hidden motive.
There was none.
Just those steady red eyes looking back at him, calm and certain. A tiny, almost imperceptible nod. The message was clear: we’re still doing this.
Gen’s heart slammed against his ribs so hard he was sure everyone could hear it.
He forced his trademark lazy smile into place, even as heat crawled up his neck.
“Senku-chan~” he drawled, voice only slightly higher than usual, “starting the day with romance? How bold.”
Senku shrugged, turning toward the lab area like this was routine.
“Gotta sell it. Sapphire’s been watching from the treeline every morning. Better make it convincing.”
Gen followed him, legs feeling oddly unsteady.
He glanced back once. Sapphire was indeed there—half-hidden behind a tree, cheeks flaming, eyes wide. She ducked away the second she realized she’d been spotted.
Okay. That tracked.
But the kiss... That hadn’t been necessary. Not in front of the whole damn village.
Gen’s mind raced. He replayed it: the way Senku had hesitated for half a second before leaning in. The faint flush on his own cheeks that Gen had almost missed. The way his voice had been quieter than usual when he said “good morning.”
Was Senku... nervous?
No. Impossible. Senku didn’t get nervous about anything except maybe failing to revive humanity.
And yet.
Gen caught up to him at the workbench. Senku was already measuring out revival fluid components, movements precise as always. Gen leaned against the table, arms crossed, studying him.
“So,” he said softly, so only Senku could hear, “how long are we keeping up the act, Senku-chan?”
Senku didn’t look up from the beaker.
“Until she stops showing up entirely. Could be a week. Could be longer. Village gossip moves slow.”
Gen hummed.
“And the... morning greetings?”
Now Senku glanced at him. A quick, almost shy flick of eyes.
“Part of the package. Gotta be consistent.”
Gen’s throat went dry.
Consistent. Right. He could do consistent.
He could do mornings where Senku kissed him like it was habit. He could do casual touches in passing. He could do being called “boyfriend” in front of Chrome and Kohaku and Taiju and the entire Kingdom of Science.
He could do it.
Even if every second of it carved another shallow, aching line into his heart.
Because it was fake. It had to be fake.
Senku didn’t do feelings like that. Senku did science. Ten billion percent logic. No room for messy emotions.
So Gen smiled—brighter, lazier, more theatrical than ever.
“Fine by me~ I’ve always wanted to be the center of attention.”
Senku snorted.
“Liar. You hate being the center when it’s real.”
Gen’s smile faltered for half a heartbeat. Then he recovered.
“Maybe I don’t mind when it’s with you.”
Senku paused—just for a second—then went back to measuring.
“Flattery won’t get you extra cola.”
But his ears were pink.
Gen stared at those pink ears like they held the secrets of the universe.
And for the first time since this whole ridiculous arrangement began... He let himself hope. Just a little.
That maybe—maybe—the performance wasn’t entirely one-sided. That maybe Senku was enjoying it too. Even if neither of them would ever admit it out loud.
Gen turned away before Senku could catch the soft, stupid, helplessly fond look on his face.
He had a role to play. And for once... He didn’t mind playing it forever.
The act became routine so seamlessly that Gen sometimes forgot where performance ended and reality blurred.
Mornings started with Senku’s quiet “good morning” kiss—delivered with the same casual precision he used to measure chemicals. Gen learned to time his waking just right, so he could catch the faint hesitation in Senku’s movement, the way his breath caught for half a second before their lips met. It was never long enough. Never deep enough. Always just enough to make Gen’s pulse stutter.
They held hands walking through the village now. Not dramatically intertwined fingers like lovers in old movies—nothing that theatrical. Just Senku’s hand slipping into his when they passed groups of villagers, a loose, comfortable grip that felt practiced and natural. Gen’s thumb would brush the back of Senku’s hand without thinking, and Senku never pulled away.
At dinner, Gen no longer sat across the fire. He sat beside Senku—close enough that their thighs pressed together on the log bench, close enough that when Senku reached for another skewer of grilled fish, his shoulder bumped Gen’s. Sometimes Senku would lean in to mutter something scientific under his breath (“The sodium content in these leaves is ridiculous; we need to leach them better tomorrow”), and his hair would brush Gen’s cheek. Gen would nod like he was listening to strategy, when really he was memorizing the scent of smoke and herbs and Senku.
The village started calling him things.
“Chief’s boyfriend is here again.”
“Look, the mentalist’s got the chief smiling—miracle of the century.”
“Gen, tell your man to stop working past midnight; he’s going to collapse.”
Gen played along flawlessly. Dramatic sighs, playful eye-rolls, the occasional “Senku-chan is so hopeless without me~ ♪” thrown in for laughs. Inside, though, every casual “your lover” felt like a stolen treasure he wasn’t allowed to keep.
Then came the night that changed the boundaries again.
It was late. The central fire had died down to embers. Most of the village was asleep. Gen and Senku had stayed up troubleshooting a new battery prototype—Senku sketching furiously, Gen offering psychological insights on how to motivate the workers tomorrow. They were both exhausted, words slurring slightly.
An old woman—Grandma Kokuyo’s aunt, sharp-eyed even at her age—shuffled past their workbench on her way back from the latrine. She stopped, squinted at them.
“You two still working? Young love should be resting together, not burning midnight oil like this.”
Senku snorted without looking up. “Science doesn’t sleep.”
The old woman clicked her tongue. “And couples don’t sleep apart. Everyone’s noticed you two never share a hut. If you’re really together, why the separate beds?”
She really looked a little pissed off while she left the lab.
Gen felt the air leave his lungs. Senku finally looked up. Expression neutral. Calculating.
“She’s right,” he said after a beat, voice low. “Gossip spreads faster than wildfire here. If we want the act to hold, we need to sell it completely.”
Gen stared at him. Senku met his gaze—steady, unflinching, but with that tiny flicker of something Gen could never quite name.
“Move your sleeping mat to my hut tonight,” Senku said, like he was assigning lab duties.
Gen opened his mouth. Closed it.
Nodded.
That was how he ended up lying on a second mat dragged into Senku’s small private hut—the one reserved for the chief, away from the communal sleeping areas. The space was cramped: workbench in one corner, shelves of tools and notes, two sleeping mats now pushed close together because there was nowhere else to put them.
Senku stripped down to his undershirt and shorts with zero ceremony, lay down on his back, arms folded behind his head, staring at the thatched ceiling. Gen followed suit more slowly, heart hammering. He lay on his side, facing Senku, knees drawn up like he could protect himself from whatever this was becoming.
“Goodnight, Mentalist.”
“Goodnight... Senku-chan.”
Silence.
Then Senku’s breathing evened out—slow, deep, steady. Scientific even in sleep.
Gen couldn’t close his eyes.
He watched the rise and fall of Senku’s chest. Listened to the soft exhales. Felt the warmth radiating from the body less than an arm’s length away.
And then—slowly, unconsciously—Senku moved.
First just a shift. Then an arm flopped across the gap between mats. Then Senku rolled onto his side, facing Gen, and curled in closer. His forehead ended up pressed lightly against Gen’s shoulder. One leg hooked loosely over Gen’s calf. Breath warm against Gen’s collarbone.
Clingy.
Senku Ishigami—cold, logical, ten-billion-percent-rational Senku—was a clingy sleeper.
Gen’s throat closed. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t dare breathe too loud.
He just lay there, drowning in the impossible reality of it: Senku’s arm around his waist now, face tucked into the crook of Gen’s neck, soft hair tickling skin. Senku mumbled something incoherent—probably equations—and nuzzed closer like he was seeking heat.
Gen’s eyes burned.
This was everything he’d never let himself want. And it was temporary. He knew it was temporary.
One day Sapphire would give up completely. One day Senku would say “I think we can drop the act now” in that same casual tone he used for everything else.
And Gen would smile, say “Of course, Senku-chan~ Back to normal,” and walk away before the cracks showed.
But tonight... Tonight he could pretend this was real.
He lifted a trembling hand and—very carefully—rested it on Senku’s back. Felt the steady heartbeat against his palm. Felt Senku sigh in his sleep, content.
Gen closed his eyes.
Just for tonight, he told himself. Just enjoy the warmth. The breath beside him. The weight of an arm that chose to hold him even in dreams.
Tomorrow he’d be afraid again. He’d remember this was borrowed time.
But right now... Right now, Senku was clinging to him like he belonged there.
And Gen let himself believe—just for a few stolen hours—that maybe he did.