It’s No Surprise // A Genjo Sanzo Birthday Fic
Fandom: Saiyuki
Pairing: None (I mean, maaaaaaybe a touch of 939, but not a whole lot. This just isn’t a very shippy fic.)
Genre: Fluff / slice-of-life-ish / friendship / birthday fic!
Rating: G
Word Count: 1k
Summary: Sanzo doesn’t like surprises. Also, he’s not great at expressing affection. Goku, Gojyo, and Hakkai definitely know this. They also definitely don’t care, and decide to pull some birthday shenanigans anyway.
Author’s Note: I have decided that everyone in the Ikkou gets fanfic cake on their birthday this year. Apparently.
Also uh we can ignore the fact that I still haven’t finished Gojyo’s birthday fic, and skipped straight to Sanzo’s, right? Right? Cool. Uh. Thanks. I WILL FINISH IT TODAY THO SO HELP ME I mean I have to publish it before November’s over at the VERY least ohmygoodness
I’m not too sure when or where this fic takes place. Probably, something like a “Domestic AU” would make the most sense, or maaaaybe it takes place in some vague limbo time post-Burial but before their journey starts - however you want to slice it (ha-ha), it involves Sanzo living in a really mediocre apartment (and probably holding a well-respected but low-paying position in some corporation that kinda grinds at him day in and day out - like, haven’t thought this through, and it doesn’t come up anywhere in the fic, but that’s kinda the vibe I’m getting - but he also still has a gun?? idek), and being friends (not that he’d necessarily use that word) the rest of the Ikkou.
I’m still getting used to writing Sanzo and Goku, so, uh - hope that went okay? Admittedly, Gojyo and Hakkai are my faves, so it might take some time for me to get super comfy writing the other two - but I couldn’t ignore Sanzo’s birthday ^_^
Okie! Enjoy, friends!
This work is un-beta’d. All errors are mine.
The house smells funny, and it isn’t the kind of funny that makes Genjo Sanzo want to laugh. It’s the kind of funny that disrupts Genjo Sanzo’s hard-won sense of order, pisses him off ever so slightly, and makes him want to figure out what the hell is going on.
He dips a hand into his jacket pocket, withdraws his smokes, pulls one out, lays it between his teeth, and lights it. He takes a long, long drag, and then exhales, rolling his tired eyes up to the ceiling and to watch the smoke spiral lazily towards the flickering lightbulbs overhead. Maybe one day, he reflects grimly, the building supervisor will get around to fixing the faulty wiring in this dump.
One lightbulb surges brightly, and then blinks out, with a faint pop.
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