Work Text:
It was quiet in their apartment. Not that that was too odd. Living out in Z-City, quiet is pretty much expected. Today, though, not even idle chattered filled the space. The heat was too oppressive for sound to cut through the heavy air. The sputtering of a cheap fan, likely grabbed from the side of a road, tried its best to alleviate the atmosphere with little success. The incessant chirping of cicadas filled any possible room for words, even in this ghost town.
In the middle of this two men lie on the floor, their feet lightly touching. It was far too hot for more contact than that. The high temperature made Saitama drowsy (as did overly cold weather… and perfectly comfortable weather, but that’s a story for another time). There was no hurry to move. They had run their errands this morning and even monsters seemed to agree it was too hot for anything. What motivation did Saitama have to get up? He’d lie there all day, the heat enveloping him like a blanket. If words could pierce this moment, he’d complain it was the hottest day this summer.
At which point, Genos would remind Saitama that it was actually two degrees warmer last week and “you say that every day, Sensei.” But since Saitama said nothing, neither did Genos. He was content to spend this time in silence. Saitama wouldn’t be able to say how long they had laid there, seconds, minutes, hours, days… they all blurred together. Genos knew it had been just over 54 minutes since they collapsed onto the ground. Despite the time that passed, he wasn’t restless. Normally his fingers would itch to do something. To write, to clean, to tap. It wasn’t in his nature to just do nothing. Yet, today, Saitama’s laziness washed over Genos as well. It was nothing to do with the rising temperature. Such things didn’t affect Genos’s system. At this moment, though, nothing felt more important. Not the dirty plates in the sink, not the journal, sitting discarded on the table, not even the desire to become stronger could slice through this haze. There would be time later. An idea Genos was slowly becoming used to.
His gaze was drawn to the distance between their two hands. It was minimal, in the grand scheme. All he had to do was reach out. He wanted to. Yet, this weight seemed too heavy—what if the movement, no matter how small, ruined this moment. Genos’s eyes moved to Saitama. He had expected to see the other dozing peacefully, eyes closed. Instead their eyes met. Perhaps Saitama was thinking the same thing. Once their gaze locked, their hands seemed to move of their own accord, fingers gently wrapping around each other. Genos couldn’t help the smile that crawled across his face, growing even wider when Saitama gave a sleepy grin in return.
If one were to ask Saitama, he’d claim any day was a good day for a nap. Perhaps, though, today was better than others. They both let their eyes fall closed, enjoying this rare moment of peace in their loud lives.