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Demon Cyborg was alone tonight, no little robot buddy following along to help, no hovering drone providing air support. Which was fine – from what Saitama had seen the guy could take care of himself – but it made him feel a little awkward. Just the two of them, alone, on a rooftop.
“Please, Caped Baldy!”
“I told you not to call me that!”
“Then let me call you sensei!”
“Not that either!”
The remains of the monster had taken out the building next to them, a fact which Saitama would feel worse about if it wasn't one of those sketchy payday loan joints, and Demon Cyborg's arm had gone down with it. Saitama tried, he really did, but the monster had a death grip on the limb, and Saitama had to act before it smashed Demon's brains out.
He was pretty sure there were brains in there. “Cyborg” was right in his name, after all, despite the silver skin.
Demon stood there, listing to one side, clutching the socket where his arm had been ripped off, glaring at Saitama with those black-and-gold eyes. He was always wound so tight he looked like he was ten seconds from punching the nearest living thing's teeth out.
“Look. I'm sorry, I am, but I don't have time for students.” Saitama shook a glob of monster meat off his glove.
“I need to get stronger!”
“You say that, but you're plenty strong.”
He shook his head, short gold hair matted down on one side with blood. “I won't be strong enough until I'm certain I can defeat anything that I come across.”
“Dude. Even I'm not certain of that.” Demon Cyborg looked at him like he'd started speaking in tongues. “Well, okay, pretty sure. But you never know, right? Besides, I... I don't like being this strong.” Saitama let out a little sigh. “I think maybe... being untouchable isn't a good thing to be.”
“I don't care what happens to me. I don't care if I lose my humanity.”
“You should care about that!” Saitama rubbed his head. If he still had his hair he'd be tugging at it fitfully. There was only one person besides Demon Cyborg who triggered the old urge.
“I need to find someone. A particular individual.” Demon clenched his remaining fist. “I need to find them and destroy them. Nothing matters except that.”
“Yeesh.” Saitama really wished he had something to pull on. Digging his fingernails into his skin would probably scare the guy. “Okay, fine. You want some professional advice?”
“Yes!”
Saitama pointed at him. “Get laid.”
Demon Cyborg's mouth dropped open, and after half a second, steam erupted from his joints. Saitama had seen that happen several times before, usually during their conversations, or when he watched Saitama finish a fight. Probably something to do with cooling down from combat.
“Sorry,” Saitama said, rethinking his words too late. “Maybe you're not interested. That's fine, I don't know. But seriously, relax! Do something nice for yourself! Get a massage! I know a guy, I can give you his number.”
“I- I have too much to do to waste time on- on-”
“It's not a waste if you're so stressed out you're gonna bust a gasket! Just, like, take a night off. If you like sex, have some sex. If not, eat an entire pint of ice cream and watch cartoons. Or you know, both, if you have a cool romantic partner.”
Another short hiss of steam. Demon Cyborg bit his lip, looking achingly human for a moment. “I... will consider your advice.”
“Good. Nobody wants to see you busted up, man.” Resisting the urge to pat his shoulder, Saitama backed up. “Well, I better go see what else is happening. You're gonna get repaired, right?”
“Yes, Caped Baldy.”
Saitama sighed. “Please don't call me that.”
He got in to work the next morning, well, afternoon, with a grand total of four hours of sleep under his belt. There'd been several more monsters to take out, along with the mundane types of crime, and in the end he didn't get home until after dawn. Luckily he had the late shift. Unluckily, he couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned and wasn't sure he slept at all, except the clock hands seemed to jump now and then.
Saitama had tossed on an old shirt he'd found wadded up in the corner of a drawer, and didn't notice how tight it was until he was tying on his apron at exactly 3 pm. Normally he tried to wear baggy clothes, both because it was more comfortable, and he got less attention that way. The last thing he needed at work was somebody muttering, “That bald guy is ripped.”
Not much danger of that today, though. The customers were bleary-eyed and hovering between mania and depression. Aside from a few teachers and professors, who were merely avoiding eye contact with anyone young enough to be a student.
Ahhh finals. Not something Saitama missed from his college days.
After a day of putting extra espresso shots in every other order, things finally started to slow down around dinner time. Saitama took his last break, shoved food in his mouth, and got back to it in time for the rest of the evening shift to head out. He was closing alone tonight, not until eight, and would be cleaning up for probably a good hour after that.
Then he'd go home, put on his hero suit, and fight baddies until dawn.
It was the same every day.
One thing that wasn't every day, but was a mixed blessing when it happened, was Genos. He came in late, often when Saitama was already abandoned by coworkers, and ordered something with enough caffeine and sugar in it to kill a chihuahua.
Tonight he was wrapped in a beige cardigan and plaid shirt, soft blond bangs hanging in honey-colored eyes. Everything about Genos was warm and gold.
“Can I have just like... five shots in a cup?” he asked, eyes narrowed as if the lights were hurting them.
Saitama smiled in spite of the day. “I mean. You can. But I don't think ethically I should sell it to you.”
“I only have one more paper to finish. My first draft is almost done but I have to add sources.”
“When's it due-due?”
“Not until Friday.”
That was three days from now. “Not so much of a rush, then.”
“I have exams to study for too. I have a schedule, I-” Genos took a little notebook out of his cardigan pocket. “Look, tomorrow I study for my Engineering classes, then it's PoliSci on Wednesday.”
There was a color-coded grid on the page, which if Saitama was reading it correctly, actually gave Genos most of the day off. “I guess... But are you sure you don't just want a nice cold brew?” He smiled. “I made a fresh batch.”
Genos' eyes lit up, almost literally. If it wasn't crazy, sometimes Saitama thought Genos looked more like a doll than a person. “Okay... but I'll want refills.”
“I can do that.”
Genos parked himself in a corner with his laptop and notes, and went to work. Saitama cleaned around him, wiping tables and chairs and mopping tracked-in dirt. A lot of the more serious cleaning was supposed to wait until customers were gone, but Saitama had known Genos for long enough now that he was more of a friend than a customer. He'd known him since before he started working at the coffee shop even, having run into him at his last couple jobs. The convenience store made sense, it was also close to campus, but he never did find out why Genos was wandering around a construction site after hours. If Saitama hadn't forgotten his keys the kid could have gotten seriously hurt.
About an hour in Genos leaned back and stretched, and Saitama checked his cup. “Refill?”
“You don't actually have to.”
“It's fine. Nobody else likes it when I make the cold brew.”
“Really? Why not? It's smoother.”
“You think?” It was sad how an offhand compliment about coffee made Saitama happier than his night job did.
“I'm almost done.” Genos tapped the screen. “First draft is done.”
“Great! Good job.”
Genos smiled softly up at him. “I know you're being facetious, but thank you.”
All of a sudden it was too hot to wear his beanie. Saitama left it on anyway, tugging down the loose fabric to cover his no-doubt bright red ears. “I'm not. Joking, I mean. All the stuff you talk about sounds way too smart for me.” He started backing up toward the counter. “I'll let you get back to it. And I gotta clean out the grinder, so... yeah.”
“Okay.”
In all that awkwardness, Saitama forgot to get Genos his refill until another thirty minutes had passed. He got the majority of his cleaning done at least. Usually a few more people came in, but it was pretty cold out, and there were other coffee shops on campus rather than just close to it.
It was almost closing now, so Saitama would have to kick Genos out or risk the boss coming in to bring him change and get in trouble. He brought the last of the cold brew in a to-go cup as a silent apology.
“Hey. You almost done?”
Genos nodded without looking up. A few keystrokes, and a broad grin split his face. “Done! Really done. I can go grab a nap.”
“A nap? It's eight.”
Genos went stone-faced. He did that sometimes, when Saitama asked questions he didn't want to answer. Instead of pressing, Saitama held out the cup. “Oh! Thank you.”
“It's time for me to close.”
“Oh, right...” A couple more taps and Genos closed his laptop and bent over to tuck it into his bag. Saitama, despite the money-counting part of closing still waiting for him, stood there and watched Genos lean over his chair.
“Saitama?”
“Huh?” Saitama remembered to reach under his glasses to rub his eyes. He'd popped the lenses out after he found them on the bus, but he was keeping up the fiction of them being real.
“Um...” Genos had stood, putting them on the same eye level, but he was fidgeting with his bag strap with one hand and kept glancing down at what he was doing. “I was thinking... Well.”
“Yeah?”
“I know this is sudden, but I- I like you. I think we get along.”
“Oh.” Saitama's beanie was getting hot again. The fact that it was a gift from Genos didn't help. “I think so. Too.”
“Well, I- I recently got some advice that I've been considering. And, um.” Genos bit his lip, adorable in a distinctly unfair way. He took a step toward Saitama. “Do you... want to come to my place tonight?”
Saitama was sure he was misinterpreting the question. Despite the lip-biting, despite the personal space invading, there was no way Genos was offering sex. “Like... to hang out?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Saitama gulped. “Oh.”
“I know it's sudden,” Genos said quickly. “And it's fine if you're not interested. I thought maybe some of what we've been doing was flirting? But maybe- I'm not always good at reading people, so I don't know if-”
“Genos.” Saitama held up a hand, surprised by how steady it was. “What kind of advice was this?”
“Oh, well... someone I admire, in my field, said that I... I was too stressed. He recommended I find a way to relax.” Genos pulled his mouth into a frown for a second. “Specifically he told me to get laid, which was rude, but he apologized. And he's very casual in his speech most of the time anyway.”
There was a ringing in Saitama's ears, a gray blur around the edges of his vision, and he was only distantly aware of the worried look on Genos' face as Saitama sunk into the chair on the opposite side of the table.
“Saitama?”
“Sorry,” he choked. Genos was waiting for an answer, but...
But...
God, if Saitama said yes now, despite how much he wanted it, he'd be a monster. You couldn't just order someone who admired you to have sex to be a better hero, and then be the one to have sex with them.
How had he not seen it before? The hair was different, and the eyes, and the skin, but Demon Cyborg was a cyborg. He had new arms every other week, surely it wouldn't be difficult to replace a wig cap and face. Was it like a rubber mask? Or snap-on plate?
The face was the same though, that was the stupidest part. It might be winter-pale peach right now, and silver when he was Demon Cyborg, but the face was the same. Same cute lip-bite, same intense stare when he was working, same little wrinkle between his eyebrows when he was worried.
And it was there now.
“Thanks,” Saitama said. “Really, I'm flattered.”
Genos' expression went from worried to disappointed. He said he had trouble reading people, but even he could hear the “but” coming.
“But,” Saitama added, inevitably, “I can't. I'm not really... in a place right now where I can handle a sexual relationship.”
There was that worry-line again. Genos was concerned for him, and Saitama had been dismissing his feelings, making jokes about his sex life, offering business cards for masseurs as professional advice.
What Saitama knew about Genos was: he worked too hard, he was smarter than just about everyone, and he'd lost his family a long time ago.
What Saitama knew about Demon Cyborg was: he worked too hard, he threw himself into battle like he didn't care what happened to him, and he was out for revenge against a mysterious enemy.
“I am going to kill myself,” Saitama groaned, realizing a second too late he'd said it out loud.
Instantly the worry-line deepened. “What?”
“Joke,” Saitama added. “That was a joke. Not really gonna.”
He couldn't deny the temptation. It had been there for a while, but only in that low-key way that never quite seemed to leave. Saitama knew it wasn't healthy to feel this way, but as long as he was getting up in the morning and punching monsters at night, he figured he was doing okay.
“That wasn't a very good joke,” Genos took the other seat, clasping his hands on the table, counselor-style.
“You don't have much of a sense of humor.” Saitama wagged his finger. “Remember? You don't like any of my shirts.”
“Your shirts aren't funny!”
“I have great taste.”
Genos reached across the table and grabbed Saitama's hand, nearly making him jump. “Saitama, that didn't sound like a joke. You sounded like... you looked like...” His voice was very quiet. “You looked like you hated yourself.”
Saitama tried to smile. “Who doesn't though, right?”
“Saitama, please.”
Sensei, please!
Saitama snatched his hand back. “Look, you- you're just making my point. I can't be in a relationship right now. I can't even have casual sex right now, I'm a mess."
“I don't care about that! I like you, I don't like that you feel this way.”
This was not helping the guilt crushing Saitama's windpipe.
“I think you should come over to my place,” Genos said.
“Did you not hear what I just-”
“Not like that! As friends. We- we can eat ice cream and watch cartoons.”
Saitama groaned and dropped his face into his hands.
“Do you not like ice cream?”
“I love ice cream! That's why...” He shook his head without looking up. “You're going to hate me.”
“How could I hate you? You're my friend.”
“I'm not. I'm the worst.”
He felt Genos' hand on top of his, warm and strong, but oddly stiff. Was it metal under the skin?
“I don't want to leave you alone right now.”
“It's... it's really not what you think. I promise. I'm not gonna do anything to myself.” Saitama peeked over his fingers. Nope, the sight of Genos worrying about him was still too painful. “Probably.”
Damn, that was out loud too.
Genos curled his fingers around Saitama's, putting them in contact with his cheek. “Please come home with me?”
Saitama was running out of reasons to refuse. It didn't help that he didn't really want to keep saying no. “Don't you have stuff to do? Homework? Night job?”
A flicker crossed Genos' face, but he shook his head. “Nothing that's more important than keeping you company.”
Somehow Saitama had ended up clutching Genos' hand to his face. He could go. He could have a slumber party with Genos, become real friends, maybe more, go on knowing what he knew now...
The longer Saitama put it off the worse it would be.
“Okay. But my place.”
Genos brightened up. Were there really lights behind his eyes? Demon Cyborg used them to blind opponents sometimes, but were they in there now?
“I have to show you something,” Saitama said. His hero suit was hanging up to dry just inside the door. It would all be over, one way or the other, as soon as they walked in. “You'll probably hate me once you see it.”
“Saitama, unless you have a freezer full of human meat, I don't think there's anything in your home that would make me hate you.”
Saitama snorted, smiling in spite of everything.
“See? I have a sense of humor.”
“Oh my god, was that you trying? You went straight for cannibalism, and you thought my joke was too dark?”
“I still don't think you were joking!”
Saitama finally felt stable enough to get back to work. Work which he'd been putting off for over ten minutes at this point. It was lucky no one had walked in, since the door was still unlocked.
“I have to count the till and do the deposit. But... you can stay there. It won't take long.”
“Okay.” Genos pulled out his phone. “Should we get pizza to take back to your place?”
“Dammit. You are making it so hard not to fall in love with you.”
Genos smiled, ducking his head shyly, and didn't say anything.
Counting up the day's money was something Saitama was used to by this point. He'd been working various customer service jobs since he was fifteen. It was pretty distracting to keep glancing up and seeing Genos waiting patiently and drinking his coffee, but the boss didn't stop in, saving his job for at least one more night.
Once he was done with that, he made a final garbage sweep and bagged it all up. He recruited Genos to take it to the dumpster, locked everything, and then they were on their way.
They stopped at the bank, so Saitama could drop the deposit in the slot, and the pizza parlor, so Genos could buy dinner. It was nice, like a date, or whatever normal people did with friends they didn't have guilty crushes on.
“Where is your place, anyway?”
“Not far. Why did you think I keep getting jobs by your school?”
Genos shrugged. “There's lots of places to work around here.”
Saitama's apartment was the only occupied one in the building, the landlord losing the approval of the college after he stopped doing basic maintenance. Saitama didn't mind, he was pretty handy, and not having anyone complaining about the hours he kept was convenient.
He paused in the hallway, juggling keys and food, wondering if it was too late to back out...
Wondering if Genos would let him keep the pizza after he stormed off in anger.
“Okay,” Saitama sighed. He opened the door, let Genos in, kicked off his shoes and left them loose while he took their dinner into the kitchen. Out of habit, he took off his glasses and placed them on top of the dryer.
He heard Genos say “Is that-” and then silence.
Saitama switched on the stove and put a kettle on the burner before coming out to answer for what he'd done.
Rather than the hero suit, which Saitama had to admit just looked like loose fabric the way he'd hung it, Genos was holding his glasses.
“Saitama, your glasses don't have lenses?”
“Ah, yeah. You know. Fashion.”
“But you're not fashionable.” Genos frowned and, thoughtfully, reached up and took the beanie off Saitama's head. His eyes went wide. “This can't be... You can't be...”
“Sorry,” Saitama said. It wasn't enough, it would never be enough, but he didn't know how to say it better. “I didn't know, before. About you. I just figured out when-” He couldn't stop a huff of wry laughter. “When you used my own terrible advice to hit on me.”
“You? All this time?”
Saitama nodded, once. “I kinda thought you'd notice my costume there before my glasses.”
Genos glanced at it and did an actual double-take. Saitama had never seen that in real life before. “That's- That's really-” His eyes were so big Saitama wondered if they might break. “Oh god I hit on you!”
“Um, you also basically put me on suicide watch? That's more embarrassing, isn't it?”
“No! I had good reason for that! I still-” He gripped the beanie in a fist. “Is that why you said that? You felt bad for telling me...”
Saitama nodded again. “I stand by you needing to relax. But it's not like I knew you were a full time college student on top of being a hero!”
Genos still had his laptop bag slung over his shoulder and was strangling the cashmere beanie he'd given Saitama out of pity months ago. He looked like he needed food and a nap, not to go out and get in fights.
“Maybe we both need a night off,” Genos said. Saitama must look awful too.
“I don't know, there's a lot of... crime. And stuff. I was expecting you to be a lot madder at me.”
“I'm not mad at you, Saitama... sensei.”
“Oh god.”
“You didn't know either! And you never lied to me, exactly.”
“I would have if you'd ever asked me about what I do outside work.”
Guilt crossed Genos' face, the same guilt Saitama had been feeling all evening. “I should have. I should have asked more of Caped Baldy too. I demanded that you train me, I never wondered if you had a day job. I never-”
“Okay, one.” Saitama held up a finger. “The internet named me Caped Baldy. Do not call me that.”
“Oh... Sorry.” Genos handed him the beanie, but Saitama just shoved it in his back pocket. “And two?”
“Two: I'm not your sensei.”
“But you're the strongest man in the world! You're the greatest hero-”
“And I'm not training you!” Saitama waved his arms at his apartment, at the trash he hadn't bothered to pick up, old dishes, the clothes in wrinkled piles. “Look at my life! I make coffee and I punch monsters and I come home to this. Is that what you want?”
“I don't... I don't know.” Genos squeezed his eyes shut. “But I... if I can't get stronger, I...” He couldn't go on, standing there next to Saitama's hero suit with trembling fists.
“Maybe if we didn't both have day jobs? Maybe if I hadn't gotten to know you like this first? But I... I like you too much. I don't want to be teacher and student.”
“I like you too,” Genos said softly. “I want to keep being friends. I'm sorry if I can't stop being attracted to you.”
“You don't have to apologize for that.” Behind him in the kitchen, Saitama could hear the kettle popping as it heated up. “Believe me, I wish I... Truth is, there's a part of me that really wanted to take you up on your offer.”
Genos' lips pulled up in a smile and he opened his eyes. “Truth is, I wanted to make the offer to Caped Baldy too.”
Saitama snorted.
“I thought I had a type! I didn't know they were both you.”
“Oh my god.” Saitama laughed, for the first time in longer than he wanted to think about. “I... I thought both of you were cute too.”
Genos laughed along with him. “Why didn't we figure it out sooner?”
“I really don't know. We're idiots.”
“We- we're such a mess.”
Saitama grinned. “Do you want to eat pizza and see what's on TV?”
“That sounds really nice, Saitama,” Genos said firmly. “Yes I do.”