Chapter Text
Like most things, it started with a bang.
Well. More specifically, a Supreme Being—that’s what it called itself—rampaged the streets of Q City. Watchdog Man was preoccupied with its multitude of minions, which continued cloning themselves every time one was torn apart. His stare remained stubbornly impassive, but a thin sheen of sweat proved that the constant onslaught of enemies was taking its toll.
Genos was faring little better, he hated to admit. He leapt to dodge a massive ball of black sludge that slipped from the creature’s… leg? It was hard to distinguish the features of this… oozing… thing. As it moved, the foreign material inside it glittered and it almost looked like the night sky, only… more disgusting. And wet.
The black sludge Genos avoided burnt a hole into the road where it landed and he grimaced as he watched it drip into the earth. He hoped that wouldn’t do any lasting damage.
But—if this thing was acidic, would Saitama still be able to… punch it?
Genos scowled, half at himself for even questioning it, but – but what if? This was just another reason he had to become stronger; to take on any enemies Saitama-sensei might be unable to. As nigh impossible as that was. But even so…
“Yo.”
He whirled around to find his sensei perched lackadaisically upon a small pile of rubble, rubbing his nose as he gazed blankly up at the thing. “Right on cue, sensei,” he said, managing a small smile. Serious as this was, it was hard to act it when Saitama looked so chill about everything. And besides—
Saitama smiled back.
“And I was going for fashionably late,” he said, standing and brushing dust off his knees. “So, what’s his deal?”
Genos looked back at the monster, frowning. “I’m not sure,” he muttered. “Watchdog Man’s not been able to hit it. It seems to be made of… toxic sludge.” He glanced purposefully at the fuming holes in the ground behind it. “His attacks won’t work.” He turned to see Saitama’s reaction, not surprised to find him giving nothing away.
There was a long pause.
And then, “Okay.”
He frowned. “Okay?”
“Yup.” Saitama rolled his shoulder before hopping down from the rubble and ambling towards the monster.
“What will you do, sensei?”
Saitama shot a blank look behind him. “Punch it?”
Genos couldn’t hold in an exasperated sigh. “Sensei, it’s toxic sludge,” he reiterated, trying not to snap. There was a difference between physical enemies and—and… whatever this was. But maybe he could beat it. Watchdog Man and Saitama-sensei both relied on raw physical strength, but Genos could use fire.
This time, he could be the one helping sensei.
This time, he wouldn’t be a liability.
This time—
“It’s fine, Genos,” Saitama said. “It can’t hurt me.”
Genos bristled. He knew his sensei was invulnerable, knew he was the strongest man alive, but – “But what if—”
“A – AHHH!”
His thoughts were halted by a scream cutting through the air. They both jerked their gaze towards it to see a man scrambling to get out of its path. He must’ve fallen out of that building it just walked through, Genos realised, firing up his jets to boost towards him—
But Saitama was already there.
“Sensei,” he breathed, eyes wide. His flames sprang to life.
Saitama grabbed the man and lifted him. The monster was right behind them.
He dashed. Buildings around him blurred into one; he scarcely noticed Watchdog Man call his name; he couldn’t tell how many of this monster’s minions were closing in around them.
All he could see was Saitama.
He couldn’t completely slow down, so he skidded in front of his sensei and raised his arm to release a whirlwind torrent of blue flames. Before he even came to a stop, everything was black.
The last thing he heard was—
“GENOS!”
And then, nothing.
He was… floating.
It felt as though he was in deep water, sinking slowly lower, but he couldn’t see the bottom. He blinked slowly, feeling sluggish and lethargic. His feet felt like cinderblocks and he couldn’t unshackle the invisible bonds.
Where… was he?
“Why… did you come here… boy…?” spoke a slow, deep voice that sounded almost like water rushing through your ears.
“Where?” he tried to say, but it didn’t come out. He could hear it though, almost like his thought had been resounded outside his head.
“Inside… my body,” it said. “I would have thought… that the acidity… would have put anyone off… of getting close.”
He took a few moments to process the words and tried to shake the odd weariness. “I didn’t want to,” his thoughts said for him, “but I had to. My sensei – he would have tried to defeat you. I had to…” he trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence because he never had to – “protect him,” he thought and said all at once.
The voice went quiet for some time, and Genos almost felt himself falling asleep, or unconscious, or something. He wasn’t sure, but he was tired and so, so heavy…
“You wished… to protect him…” the voice mused to itself. “What are you… boy? Human?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, tiredly, “not anymore. I’m a cyborg.”
“Amazing, how much time can change…” the voice said, and a low chuckle made the waves carry Genos further on. “You wished to protect him, hmm…?” it said again, sounding curious, and Genos felt he should be demanding answers from it, but his head felt full of cotton wool. “Why would you… put yourself… in harm’s way… for this human?”
“Saitama-sensei is the strongest,” Genos’s mind supplied, without having to think about it. “He doesn’t need protecting. But I want to be strong enough to do it anyway. I want to be strong enough to fight anything. I just need… more time… and I’ll prove it…” His eyelids felt… so heavy…
“More time, eh…?” it considered, and Genos was lulled to sleep by its soft hums and ocean waves.
And was woken, very rudely, by a kick to his leg.
He jolted, jets flaring to life and core whirring furiously, and grabbed the instigator by his collar—only for his flames to fizzle out when he was met with the wide, dark eyes of a young man.
“Hey, sorry, man, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said, placating, raising his hands inoffensively. “I’ve been trying to wake you for a good few minutes. Thought something might be wrong.”
Genos let go of his collar as if he’d been the one burnt, and the young man staggered back. He stared at him for a while; he looked just like…
“Um, I am really sorry, dude. You don’t have to glare at me so much,” he said uncertainly, and Genos blinked. He hadn’t realised he had been. He forced himself to smooth his facial features and gave a small bow.
“I apologise,” he said stiffly, and then looked at him through his bangs. He’d seen some old photos of Saitama-sensei, and this man looked just like him. (Sensei had hidden them, of course, but Genos inadvertently stumbled upon what appeared to be a year book when he’d been putting laundry away. It was filled with photos of people he didn’t recognise, and a couple of Saitama-sensei when he had hair.) Was he a relative? Saitama-sensei had never mentioned any and Genos never asked, because sensei had been polite enough to not probe into his past either.
“Huh? Uh, no, you’re fine, it’s fine.” He stood back to full height to see the man rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Um, so, maybe a stupid question, but you are fine – right? D’you need me to call an ambulance or something?”
Genos blinked a few more times. He could tell he was a cyborg, right? It’d be obvious if he needed repairs—and why did he suggest an ambulance, of all things? “I assure you,” he insisted, wanting to get away and find his whereabouts so he could check on—Saitama-sensei. The monster. “I’m fine. Can you tell me which City this is?”
The young man stared for a moment, tilting his head slowly. “Z City…” he answered carefully.
Genos raised a hand to his chin as he considered it. “How did I get here from—?” He stopped and shook his head. He shouldn’t show uncertainty in front of civilians; Saitama wouldn’t want him to worry anyone. He just had to find Saitama-sensei and everything would be fine.
The man looked concerned now, brows furrowing under messy black bangs. He glanced at his watch, then at Genos, and sighed, mumbling under his breath, “This is just my luck,” and “I’m gonna be so late,” quietly enough that Genos knew he hadn’t intended for him to hear. He sucked in a deep breath and nodded to himself before looking up at him again. “Look, no offense, but you might’ve hit your head or something. You don’t look like you’re from around here, so I’d like to show you to a hospital, even if it’s not an emergency.”
Genos stared at him. He was in a (somewhat ill-fitted) suit, tie messily done up, and was holding a beat up looking briefcase. He was obviously on his way to work when he spotted Genos. “There’s no need to worry,” Genos insisted. “But may I ask your—”
A shrill sound cut him off and the man cursed and scrambled for his phone. He grimaced before flipping it open with a, “Hell—” and then cringed, holding the phone away from his ear as unintelligible shouting escaped from it. “Ah, yes, sir, I understand. I’m right outside, sorry, I just had too—right. Yes, of course. Sorry. I’ll—” The line went dead. He stared at his phone. “He hung up.” He breathed in deeply again, as if to steel himself, and then stuffed his phone in his pocket. “Listen, please go to a hospital or something. Um, the nearest one is only a twenty minute walk from here. You can wait at that bus stop and it’ll take you right outside. You’ll know when you see it.” He gave him a half-hearted wave as he began jogging. “Good luck!”
Genos stared after him. It looks like you’re the one who needs luck, he thought, before remembering his situation. Never mind.
He wandered out onto the near-empty road – that, at least, was familiar – and glanced up at a street sign. It was only half an hour from here back to his and Saitama-sensei’s apartment. That’d be the first stop.
Genos wandered down familiar-yet-unfamiliar streets, feeling the buzz of worry stirring in his core. Saitama-sensei hadn’t been home. His lights weren’t even on. Saitama-sensei rarely got home late – and if he did, normally Genos was with him. He couldn’t quite recall what had happened… there was a monster, and… and what? What happened? Saitama-sensei must have defeated it, but… he just couldn’t remember.
“—he’s after you! Get outta here!”
Genos jolted. That voice sounded… almost like sensei’s. When he got pissed off about bald comments, anyway. Could it really be him? His legs started carrying him in that direction before he’d even thought about it.
“You’re gonna kill him over a harmless prank?” the same voice demanded, and Genos’s core whirled in his chest. It was sensei. “Think about this!”
“Anyone who makes fun of me pays the price!” another voice roared. Must’ve been a monster. The damn things never seemed to deplete in number, not even when Genos was in a hurry. He finally skidded around the corner to see—
A giant… crab… man. Thing.
Didn’t Saitama-sensei fight a crab man once? He’d told him that once, up on that rooftop, when Genos had suggested getting a better hero suit made. Could he have returned?
“Get in my way, and I’ll make sure you never go job hunting again!”
Genos’s eyes snapped to where he was pointing—but sensei was nowhere to be seen. But – that was the man from earlier, in the same black suit. He looked like he was protecting a kid. He was staring back at the monster, brows furrowed, and Genos wondered if he was too scared to move.
And then he started laughing.
The crab monster drew back, baffled, and the man looked back at him with tears of mirth in his eyes. “Sorry, it just came to me,” he said, “you look just like the bad guy in an anime I used to watch.”
He barely got the words out before a massive claw wrenched him from the ground and sent him crashing into a wall. Debris erupted from it and Genos frowned. Stupid man, why did he say anything? Of course he couldn’t fight that thing.
“A-ahh!”
His eyes jerked back to find the kid scampering back as the crab loomed over him. He took a step forward – as a rock hit the side of the crab’s face. Two beady eyes turned towards the rubble, and Genos looked too. The suit-clad man stood, a little shakily, and wiped his lip.
“You know something?” he muttered as he stood properly, clenching his fists at his sides. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be a hero.”
Genos stiffened. This… seemed somewhat familiar…
The man yanked down his tie. “Not some businessman, but a hero who could send villains like you flying with one punch!”
Saitama-sensei—hadn’t he told him he’d said those exact words? The day he decided to be a hero?
“Some hero you are!” screeched the crab, throwing out his hefty claw and slamming into the man’s face. He was sent flying, blood exploding from his mouth. Before he could even land, the other claw smashed into his side; he landed before his blood splattered across the ground. “You don’t stand a chance against me,” the crab insisted, footsteps booming as he loomed over the bloodied man. “Your life ends – now!”
Genos’s eyes widened. That guy couldn’t take another hit. Just as he lurched forwards to block it—the man jumped atop the crab’s claw, leapt off his arm, and snagged his tie around its eyeball – and pulled, hard, ripping its socket out along with… all its innards.
The man stared at its carcass while he caught his breath. Finally, he sighed, nodded to himself, and began to just… walk away.
Genos watched him for a moment, looked at the dumbstruck kid, and said, “Shouldn’t you say thank you?”
The kid startled, as if he hadn’t realised he was there, and then sucked in a breath and shouted, “Heeey!”
The man paused and turned back, looking a bit lost and somehow innocent, despite the blood oozing from his temple.
“Thanks for helping me! That was pretty cool!”
The man’s eyes widened a little and he straightened, then his lips twitched into a small smile and Genos’s core stopped turning for a moment. He barely registered the kid running off, and instead jogged up to the bleeding man.
“Aren’t you forgetting your briefcase?” he said. “You’ll need it for work, won’t you?”
The man looked up at him and paused, obviously not recognising him right away, before saying, “Oh, the guy from earlier. Glad you’re okay.” And then, “Nah, won’t be needing it anymore. I don’t have a job anyway.”
Genos blinked. “But earlier, you said you were late…”
“For an interview,” the man said, beginning to limp away. “They said no. As usual.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he replied. “I’m done with that now anyways. Like I told Krabby over there,” he said, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder, “I’m gonna be a hero.”
This man…
“Anyway, nice meeting you.”
Genos looked back at him—his tattered suit, the blood smeared across his face, and the untidy black hair, and he just felt too familiar not to ask: “What’s your name?”
“Oh. Uh, it’s Saitama.”
Genos’s core really did stop that time. He felt like a programme had crashed in between his pseudo-synapses, and had to kick-start them himself. His core began to whirl, a little too loudly, and maybe it needed replacing. His body temperature spiked a little too high and he had to release some steam from the vent shafts on his arms because—
Was this Saitama-sensei?
But he was – he was younger here, at least a little, because he had hair and he was going to interviews and his eyes were… different. He didn’t seem vastly different from the Saitama-sensei Genos knew, but he seemed… a little less empty. The thought was enough to calm Genos’s overworking fans, suddenly feeling a little heavy. He knew Saitama-sensei was bored without anyone to contest his strength, but… if this was him, and he’d changed this much…
“What’s the date?” he suddenly asked as this Saitama started walking away again – and really, his actions almost affirmed who he was; he hadn’t thought to ask Genos his name.
This Saitama looked at him a little oddly, like he thought he was a bit mad. “Uh. Twelfth of January, 2013?” he said, as if questioning it himself.
2013.
…
2013?
He’d—he was apparently three years in the past? How could this have happened? Had Dr. Kuseno been experimenting? No. No, not even Dr. Kuseno had ever experimented with time travel. And if he had, he wouldn’t test it out on Genos. But then, how…?
“Hey, man, are you really okay?”
He blinked out of his thoughts to see this Saitama’s concerned face frowning up at him and—realised Saitama was the slightest bit shorter than usual here. “Yes,” he answered, a little delayed, and he looked unconvinced.
“Only, it’s a little odd to ask the date,” he mumbled. “Y’sure you didn’t hit your head?”
“I certainly didn’t crash into any walls,” he said; for once, it was true. Saitama looked chagrined and Genos fought off a smile. It felt kind of good to be the one saying that for once, instead of being on the receiving end.
“Touché.” This Saitama shrugged, rubbed his arm, and huffed again. “Look… d’you have anywhere to go?” He looked uncomfortable and sounded even more so.
And, come to think of it, if this was three years ago… he didn’t have anywhere. Except Dr. Kuseno’s lab, but the present him didn’t need to be there. He winced, remembering the trouble he put the man through.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Saitama sighed and ran a hand through his messy black hair. It was thick, Genos noted. “Where’re you from, anyway? Not to be rude. You just, uh, look… like you’re not from here?” he said lamely.
“I’m not,” he said simply. After a beat, he realised he was meant to answer where he was from, and answered as truthfully as he could, “I can’t go home right now. I’m looking for someone.”
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Saitama said, scratched his head—he did that a lot, Genos realised. He must really miss his hair.
“You don’t have to worry,” he started to say the same time Saitama said, “You can stay with me.”
There was an awkward pause as a breeze flew by them. Saitama cleared his throat. “If you want.”
And, well… he did want to. He could afford to stay in a hotel—or, wait. Maybe he couldn’t. He didn’t have much money or his card on him, so he’d have no access to his bank account. Moreover, would his current account exist here? Unlikely.
But what could he do now? He couldn’t sit idly by and wait for three years to pass to get back to the present. He had to find a way back. Forward. Whatever, he thought in annoyance. But how would he do that? His first thought was Dr. Kuseno—but wouldn’t turning up like this be weird? During this time, Dr. Kuseno would currently be working on Genos’s old upgrades, still trying to get him to function properly. He could hardly explain the situation and request the old man’s help.
Besides, he knew he was… a bit of a brat back then. Now.
“That’s kind of you,” he finally said, “but I am looking for someone. I need to get back to them.”
Saitama regarded him and shrugged. “’S up to you,” he said, “but the person you’ve gotta find would probably wanna know you’re safe. If you’re lost or something, you can stay with me ‘til you figure something out.” He paused. “If you don’t mind ramen.”
Genos smiled, unbidden, because Saitama-sensei truly was too kind. An overwhelming warmth pulsed through him from his core, and he bowed politely to hide his face for just a moment. “I appreciate your help,” he said.
“Hey, it’s no big deal,” he mumbled, sounding uncomfortable. “C’mon, let’s go.”
So this is why the lights were off in Saitama-sensei’s apartment earlier, Genos realised, as they wandered up to a different apartment block. He doesn’t live there yet.
“Be quiet, okay?” Saitama suddenly whispered and Genos frowned. Why did they have to be quiet? But he followed his lead, ascending the stairs quietly until they reached Saitama’s front door. He struggled with the lock and had to lean against the door to push it open. As Saitama let out a sigh of relief—
“Saitama-saaan,” a woman’s hoarse voice sang.
He stiffened, grabbed Genos’s arm, and shoved him into his apartment. “Be quiet,” he implored, and turned around. “Good evening, ma’am,” he said with as much nonchalance as possible. (Not that much.)
“Yes,” she replied, sounding unimpressed. “My rent?”
“Your rent? Ohhh. Oh, of course, your rent,” he said. “Yeah, I’ve—it’ll be with you tomorrow evening. I swear.”
“Didn’t you swear that last month too?”
“And didn’t you have it the day after?”
A long pause – a bump against the door – had she pushed him? “You better not screw around,” she hissed. “I got a bunch of people lined up who’d want your apartment and could afford to pay for it. On time,” she snapped before he could object. “If I don’t have that money tomorrow, you’re outta here. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed brightly. “See you tomorrow.”
There were five seconds of silence, and then Saitama stepped into the apartment and slammed the door behind him, leaning against it heavily before sinking to the floor. “Christ,” he breathed, burying his face in his arms.
Genos stared, not sure what to say. He knew Saitama-sensei didn’t have much money, but was he really doing this badly before he joined the HA? And that was only after Genos met him…
Saitama peeked through his hands. “Sorry,” he said, averting his gaze, and Genos stiffened. He looked so… sad. No matter how much hate mail Saitama-sensei got (and he didn’t even let Genos see it any more), no matter how many people called him a fake, no matter how many insults he had thrown at him, he never looked this sad.
And Genos didn’t know what to do. He clenched his fists, hating himself a little. Saitama-sensei always knew how to make him feel better, but he’d never had to return the favour.
“Anyway, uh… you’re probably hungry, right?” Saitama said, rubbing his face tiredly. He lifted himself of the floor with a little more effort than it should’ve required, and leaned against the wall. “Like I said, I’ve only got instant ramen, so…”
“I like ramen,” Genos said, a little awkwardly, and big brown eyes looked up at him in relief. He wasn’t used to seeing much emotion in Saitama-sensei and felt almost uncomfortable, unsure how to act around this… stranger.
“Cool,” Saitama breathed, tugging off his ruined blazer as he hobbled into the tiny kitchen. He flicked the light switch and the bulb flickered a few times before swathing the room in a faint yellow light. With feet feeling like led, Genos followed dutifully, and watched Saitama as he kicked the stove until it ignited. With a quick glance around the kitchen, he realised there was no microwave. “It plays up a bit. Y’gotta kick it sometimes, like when you blow on a game cartridge, you know?”
He knew. “What is your favourite game, Saitama-s—” don’t call him sensei, don’t call him sensei, don’t call him “—san?”
“Just Saitama’s fine,” he said absently, leaning up on his tiptoes to peer into the higher-up cabinets. “My favourite game… y’know, I’m not sure.” He grabbed two packets from the back of a cupboard, clicking his tongue in annoyance to find it almost empty. Genos frowned. How would he get money for tomorrow to eat and pay that rude woman her rent? “A bootleg of Pokémon Yellow was my first game, I think. Then my mum got me an actual version of Pokémon Red a couple years later. I think Gold and Silver were out by then, but I was stoked,” he said, chuckling, as he poured the ramen into a pan. “I spent a lot of time in arcades. Found a lot of loose change on the floor, so I managed to play a lot of Donkey Kong and Street Fighter with my friend. But I guess… I guess Pokémon Red’s my favourite. Must’ve been hard for my mum to buy it.” He turned to smile at Genos. “You?”
Genos suddenly felt a wave of guilt weigh him down, recalling the fairly extensive video game collection he’d had a kid. He’d shared it with his sister, but they spent hundreds of afternoons playing Super Mario Bros. after school. “Let me finish the ramen, se—Saitama-san,” he said, standing and gently pushing Saitama away from the stove, “you should really wash that blood off.”
He blinked and rubbed forehead, making a face when dry flecks of bleed fell. “Oh, right, that,” he said, then looked up at Genos again. He looked too small to be Saitama-sensei. “But what is your favourite?”
He nearly said he didn’t have one, but Saitama actually looked interested, so he was about to say the most recent game his sensei had played—Deus Ex—but that game wasn’t out yet for this Saitama and, ugh, this was annoying. So he settled on a half-truth: “I played Super Mario Bros. with my little sister a lot as a kid, so maybe that. I’ve never really thought about it.”
Saitama narrowed his eyes and he tensed, wondering if he’d said something wrong or strange, and then he said, “You look like you’d like Final Fantasy.”
Oh. He blinked several times. “Uh.”
“You remind me a bit of Cecil from FFIV.” Saitama tilted his head, staring at him, and Genos leaned back a bit.
“Go shower, Saitama-san,” he finally said, not sure how to answer. He’d never played IV. “Then I can help you with your injuries.”
Saitama shrugged and wandered out the kitchen, leaving Genos alone to stare at boiling ramen. How long did Saitama-sensei live like this before moving in where he does now? How many days did he live on instant ramen alone? How long had he struggled to pay rent or get a job?
Genos clenched the stirring spoon so hard it cracked and he immediately loosened his grip. He heard the shower turn on and put the ramen on a lower heat, pouring a packet of sauce in.
He had to get back to his time, the present, and make sure Saitama-sensei was there. Tomorrow, he’d seek out Dr. Kuseno; he would believe him, he knew he would. But, until then…
“Smells good,” Saitama said, leaning against the doorframe. He was wearing pyjamas similar to the ones that present Saitama-sensei wore, but these ones drowned him. They must have been three sizes too big.
He must have got them on a discount, Genos thought. When he got back to his time, he was going to buy his sensei new ones.
He turned away before he could say anything jeopardising and switched off the stove, pouring the ramen into two bowls. He placed them on the work surface. There was no table in the kitchen; it’s not as if one would fit anyway.
“Allow me to assist you with your wounds before we eat,” he said.
Saitama stared at him, surprised, and waved him off. “Nah, man, it’s cool, I’ve got it.” He slipped past him and grabbed a small box from the cupboard. He blew dust off its surface and tugged at it. “Man, this is stiff,” he mumbled, fingertips going white with effort to open it.
Genos’s lips twitched. He’d never seen his sensei struggle to open anything before. It was… cute, honestly.
“Oh my god. Open, you dickhead.”
He almost wanted to watch him struggle more, but it felt too mean. “Here, let me try,” he offered.
Saitama huffed and tossed it to him. He barely moved his finger and it snapped open. He grabbed a small roll of gauze and a packet of plasters.
“Here, let me…” he trailed off when he saw Saitama’s face. His expression was a strange mixture of awed and annoyed. When he saw Genos looking at him, he scowled.
“I loosened it.”
Genos tried not to smile. He really did. “Yes, Saitama-san. Please sit down.”
With a huff, he fell into the chair beside him. Genos unravelled the gauze and wrapped it around his head, pleased to note his forehead cuts were shallow and would likely stop bleeding soon. He’d probably have to wake him up throughout the night though, just to make sure. There was a small cut across his nose and a fairly deep gash and bruise over his lip. He stuck a plaster on his nose and cut off a tiny strip of gauze to place on his lip. Leaning back to appraise his work, since he’d never had to bandage anyone up before, he decided he’d done a sufficient job.
Saitama’s stomach growled lowly. “Uh,” the man said, “are we done? Can we eat now?”
“Just be careful of your—”
“Ow.”
“—lip.”
Saitama, he found out, slept on an old futon which definitely didn’t provide any warmth. Even so, he insisted Genos should use it as the guest. It didn’t really matter either way, since they were both sleeping in the living room so Genos could wake Saitama every couple hours. So Saitama ended up curled inside the small futon and Genos was perched on the sofa.
And really, Genos shouldn’t have expected his heating to work when he’d only sorted out his current apartment’s heating after Genos had moved in.
So, as he had done when he’d first learned that, he turned on his own heating system.
“Oh my god,” Saitama breathed, “you can do that? You’re amazing.”
Genos felt the niggling sense of worry in the back of his mind as he recalled present-Saitama-sensei saying the same thing.
“Best roommate ever,” Saitama joked, but Genos’s heating unintentionally warmed up even more at the comment.
Saitama fell asleep fairly swiftly, but Genos couldn’t shut down for a long while. He hoped his Saitama-sensei was doing okay without him.