Mar 27, 2016
I’ve done it
Distance Removed is finished. And now to beta!
seen from Australia
seen from Spain
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from India
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Croatia
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from United States
I’ve done it
Distance Removed is finished. And now to beta!
Distance Removed
Rating: T
Relationship: Genos/Saitama
Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Soulmates, With A Twist, Soul Bond, Slow Burn, ish
Chapter: 9/10 | 3K~
CH1, CH2 …. CH8, CH10
Also on AO3
Summary: The final piece fits.
“When will we catch a break?” Saitama asked, sighing explosively. “Who is it? Can you tell?”
“One moment, sensei.” Genos pulled away from Saitama—much to his consternation—looking at a faraway point with laser focus.
“Can’t we ignore it?” Saitama whined, feeling uncharacteristically petulant. He’d been eager to get back into the field since they had gone out of commission, but that was before Genos had confessed his mutual attraction.
Due to his general lack of knowledge, Saitama didn’t really understand much about these types of relationships—or his feelings, for that matter—but he was willing to find out. That was, if they didn’t get interrupted again.
"Sensei, would you really be okay with that?” Genos asked, sounding as if he already knew the answer. “Wait—the signal changed. Something large just tripped my sensor.”
Saitama sighed again. He felt that his reaction was warranted, considering the situation. This only added to the long list of bothersome things getting in the way of understanding his relationship with Genos—soul bond and all. He slipped his hands down Genos’ shoulders, tracing the lines on his shirt absently.
Genos’ mouth twitched, lips turning up into a smile.
He should smile more, Saitama thought, staring unabashedly into his face. Even if his smile is a little weird, it’s still cute. I wonder what his face is like when he’s laughing.
Genos rarely smiled, so all attempts at imagining his expression mid-laughter resulted in a vague sense of unease. Saitama shoved the thought aside, filing it away in his memory for further consideration.
While he was lost in his thoughts, Genos was already moving away, saying something about fetching his combat arms. Saitama watched him go, disturbed at how quickly Genos had grown to occupy the space in his mind. There he was, thinking about his smile and laughter while what was likely an enemy stood just outside the precipice of their home.
“Ah, I’ll put on my track suit since my hero suit is dirty.” Saitama’s feet slapped the wooden floor as he followed Genos into the hallway. He was in the middle of pulling the closet open, fishing through his bag for his other pair of arms.
Saitama approached his prone form and reached over his shoulders for his tracksuit, but Genos’ bulk made it nearly impossible to maneuver around his broad shoulders.
“Hey, can you hand me my tracksuit?”
“Of course. Is it in your bag?”
“Yeah.”
Saitama watched Genos bend down and reach for his sports bag lying at the bottom of the closet, pulling his jeans tight against his ass. As a cyborg, the normal play of muscles that would have been drawn tight due to strain didn’t exist for Genos.. Saitama put his hand on Genos’ shoulder and felt him tense. His metal skin was harsh and unforgiving, lacking the warmth people normally associated with another human being.
To anyone but Saitama, he probably appeared cold and heartless—a robot intent on destruction. He dragged his open palm down to the small of his back and rested it where he felt a slight warmth emanate into the center of his hand.
Genos was no different than the rest of them. In fact, he was more human than most people.
“Sensei…? What is it?”” Genos unzipped Saitama’s bag with more force than was necessary; the quiet cling of the zipper handle ripping right off the bag made Saitama smile.
“It’s nothing. Just keep being yourself, Genos.”
“I am not entirely certain what you mean by that, sensei.” Genos stood, depositing the bundle of clothing into Saitama’s hands. “Have I been acting strangely?”
“No, not really.” He pulled Genos by his lapels for another kiss. When they parted, he patted Genos’ arm. “Let’s go defeat that monster. Assuming it is one.”
“Yes,” Genos replied, looking star-struck. “I—I will be ready for anything.”
Saitama stepped away and quickly zipped into his tracksuit, shoving his sneakers onto his feet. Since they were just going to be in front of their house, and it was the one thing Saitama didn’t mind dirtying. After he finished tying the last lace on his sneaker, he flashed Genos a thumbs up, and they headed for the front door, expectations raised high.
Outside, everything was quiet. The snow had stopped falling, and the roads and sidewalks were painted white. Saitama squinted against the bright reflective light.
“Sensei, look.” Genos stepped forward and knelt, picking up a piece of paper that was lying innocently on the concrete. “It says: ‘congratulations on your relationship’. There is no sender.”
Saitama bent down, resting his hands on his knees. Genos held it up for him.
“Do you think it’s from that mask guy? Amai, was it?”
“That’s right.” Genos flipped it over a few times, then scanned it. When nothing revealed itself, he incinerated the paper in his palm. “It’s possible, but what was that large signal I received?”
“Maybe whatever was it was just passing through?” Saitama padded to the balcony and leaned over, turning his head left and right. Nothing . “Well, either way—“
He stopped short as something warm brushed the back of his head. Another gust of warm air urged him to look upwards towards the source.
“Genos,” Saitama said, keeping his voice even. His fingers tightened on the railing. “I think found it.”
A huge monster in the vague shape of an animal loomed just above him, its tail swinging lazily in the air. It was holding onto the building by sharp claws buried deeply in the wall. A few pieces of rubble fell when it leaned closer, dusting Saitama’s shoulders with small pebbles and debris.
“What?!” Genos scurried to his side in order to see it from Saitama’s point of view.
The moment the monster saw Genos, its ears went flat and it hissed, opening its maw and revealing rows of sharp, shining teeth. Deep, jet black fur ran along the length of its body, pointed upwards with tension.
All in all, it looked like a really, really big cat.
Crouching against the building, its muscles bulged as it propelled itself away and landed in the snowbank on the opposite side of the road. The crack of the concrete splitting under its feet sounded like a gunshot.
“How many times are we gonna have to fix that?” asked Saitama, turning to look at Genos.
Before he could respond, the monster opened its mouth and spat, sending a spray of saliva their way. Saitama knew from experience that nothing good could come from that and ducked, followed closely by Genos.
Almost immediately sections of the wall started to droop—scratch that, melt, and Saitama exchanged a troubled glance with Genos.
“Sensei, I will lure it away from the house.” His eyes lit up as he scanned the area. “There is no one else around. It should not take longer than a few minutes to blast it into smithereens.”
“I can take care of it, you know. Actually, I want to.” Saitama’s brows furrowed, a sharp feeling of worry worming into his gut.
“I can do it!” Genos exclaimed, raising his fist. “Please let me, sensei.”
“I don’t think acid and cyborgs made of metal really get along.” Saitama paused to peer over the wall. The cat was watching them warily, eyes narrowing into slits. When it noticed him, he earned a fresh spray of acid for his trouble. Saitama ducked back down. “Not that I could really stop you. Are you sure?”
“Yes, sensei. I do not think that its appearance was mere coincidence, and I have my suspicions about Amai Mask.” Genos leaned into Saitama’s personal space, staring at him with an intensity that was almost endearing. “I believe he planted the enemy here. Please. It is a matter of pride.”
“That’s not fair,” Saitama hissed. “You’re playing dirty. Using your…face.”
“I have no idea what you mean.” Genos’ lips twitched. “What about my face?”
“Agh,” Saitama grit his teeth, “fine! But I’m going to help, got it?”
He pulled Genos closer by the arm. His metal was cold against his bare skin, but something in Saitama felt inexplicably eased by his touch.
“And be careful with this one. Seriously, no reckless moves, okay?” His hold tightened imperceptibly. “I just don’t want to have to pick up pieces of you in the snow.”
Genos stared at him, a look of surprise on his face. Belatedly, it occurred to Saitama that he could probably tell what he was feeling, which consisted mainly of concern for Genos’ wellbeing.
“I understand,” said Genos with sincerity. He laid his hand over Saitama’s. “I will not fail you, sensei.”
Pushing himself to his feet, Genos straightened fully and turned to face the monster. After chancing one final glance at Saitama, he sprinted in the direction of the stairs. The giant cat’s head swiveled, following Genos’ movements. Once he disappeared around the corner of the building it chased after him, pounding steps leaving the ground shaking in its wake.
What am I doing sitting here? Saitama asked himself, still slumped against the drooping section of the wall. I have to follow.
He jumped to his feet and headed in the same direction as Genos and the monster. Jumping from the top of building to building, it wasn’t difficult to keep up with them, but he nearly fell more than once as his feet skidded over the rooftops, snow and ice making his journey slippery.
Once Genos was in sight, Saitama heard him shout “Lightning Eye!” The flash forced him to blink rapidly for a few seconds before he dropped to the ground, landing in a soft pile of snow.
“Sensei, watch out!”
Saitama watched as a billowing pillar of flame sliced through the air directly in front of him. He whistled.
“Nice, Genos! But you missed completely. It’s over there.”
He pointed to the monster, which was in the middle of scaling one of the taller buildings. Sections of the wall crumbled to the ground, launching powdery snow into the air.
“I know, sensei,” Genos said, spreading his stance for another attack. Hissing steam burst from his vents, a loud whirring sounding coming from his body as pieces of metal parted, revealing a variety of guns. Genos braced his feet in the snow and jerked as his guns fired, directing a column of flame at the monster.
Crawling along the upper wall of the building, it dodged Genos’ attacks with surprising ease, moving with a strength and agility that was unexpected for its size.
“Tch.” Genos lowered his arms. “Direct attacks like this will not work, it seems.”
The monster hissed, using its claws to dig into the wall and hurl a large chunk of concrete in their direction. Saitama moved on instinct, jumping forward to punch it midair.
Genos followed closely behind him, aiming with shorter, more precise bursts. The monster continued to evade, crawling along another edifice as the buildings it left behind exploded in the wake of Genos’ attacks, sending debris flying.
Pausing at the top of the building spit at them in retaliation, sending acid flying in every direction.
Thinking fast, Saitama pulled Genos tight against his body and sidestepped the projectiles. Genos was quick on the uptake, following his movements once he realized that his chances of surviving intact were far better with Saitama leading their strange dance.
Eventually the monster gave up trying to melt them and headed in the opposite direction—on a direct route for the center of city Z.
“We have to stop it!” Genos cried, grabbing Saitama’s hand. “I thought it would stay on the offensive, but I believe it has realized it is up against enemies that will not down go down easily.”
“Why does this keep happening to us?” Saitama sighed. “Well, whatever. Let’s go.”
Genos nodded sharply.
They set off in a dead run, quickly cutting off the monster a few dozen blocks from the center of the city. Spreading their defenses, they flanked it, forcing it back towards the outskirts from where they had just come.
Most of the buildings, already worn down, sagged and fell as the monster’s acid attacks deteriorated them further. Likewise, Genos’ aim was deadly but inaccurate, destroying far more of the surroundings than the enemy.
As they chased it away from the city, they passed each other a few times, and every time their eyes met, Saitama felt an airy, warm feeling swell in his chest.
It wasn’t a very exciting battle by any means; in fact, Saitama hadn’t even landed a single direct hit. Even so, he felt a sharp thrill run through him.
What is this feeling?
Following the monster as it scurried out of reach, Saitama hopped on top of a nearby building, darting over the falling rooftop. He could have easily destroyed the monster with a single punch, but he kept Genos’ request in mind; chasing it across the roof’s edge, he led it to where Genos was lying in wait.
“Machinegun Blows!” Genos shouted, launching forward. His form was a blur in motion, fiery explosions obscuring him further. The monster followed his attacks, snaking around each rapid-fire punch with shocking agility.
When the smoke cleared, the monster was sporting a smoldering wound on its side, but it was otherwise relatively unharmed. It opened its mouth and sprayed acid at Genos; he flew back too late, droplets landing along his arms as he used them to propel himself safely to the ground.
Should I help more? Saitama wondered, skidding down the sloping wall of the building to reach the ground. Worry still held a place in his heart, but as they continued their assault, that same feeling of excitement continued to grow inside him.
Meanwhile Genos was hard at work, using his speed to the best of his abilities in the limited terrain. At one point, the monster narrowly slipped between two large slabs; following its escape, Genos aimed at its position and leveled the area with smoldering bullets of fire.
Why is my heart beating so fast? Saitama thought as he watched the proceedings, clutching the fabric of his suit between his fingers. It doesn’t feel the same anymore.
It didn’t make sense. When fighting monsters, he was used to disappointment. What followed was like an empty, hollow void where his heart should have been, too far removed for him to feel anything substantial. This time, like any other, he’d been expecting the same thing; in fact, he was prepared for it.
This monster was nothing compared to what they had fought before, and yet, the feeling in his heart that was building felt suspiciously like happiness.
“Sensei,” Genos called, jogging to reach his position. “It seems to have slipped out my grasp for the moment. I’m sorry.”
Saitama smiled at him. Genos’ eyebrows rose to his forehead.
“We’ve nearly cornered it,” Genos continued, perturbed by Saitama’s reaction. “It shouldn’t take long now. I know that I asked for this opportunity to prove myself, but you seem—“ Genos paused. “Did you want to deliver the finishing blow?”
Saitama considered his request. The thought of destroying the monster didn’t give him that same sense of satisfaction that he was feeling now. For some reason, he felt an honest sense of happiness. He was happy.
“Am I dying?” he muttered, gripping his chin between forefinger and thumb in thought.
“What are you talking about?” Genos asked slowly.
Saitama stared at Genos’ face. The warm, fluttery feeling in his chest that was ever-expanding stretched further, spreading from his fingertips to his toes. He felt light.
“Why are you staring? Have I been damaged?” Genos touched his face with both hands, prodding the skin.
“That’s not it. Genos…” Saitama trailed off, clenching his fists. Where did he even start?
“Sensei, you’re…smiling.” Genos took a step closer, his frown deep. “Did you get injured?!”
Shaking his head, Saitama felt something quietly, finally click into place. It felt like finishing a marathon for the first time; like eating a frozen banana on a hot summer afternoon; like listening to the television’s low murmur on quiet, lazy Sunday.
It had taken Saitama a stupidly long time to realize what was happening—what had been happening since the day that Genos had stepped through his door. The woman—Rina—hadn’t been talking about finding something outside of the bond.
His smile stretched wider.
It couldn’t be explained by a moment in time, or even a sequence of events. Developing feelings—real feelings, not just an attraction—for someone happened gradually, although it had been kickstarted by events outside of their control.
The reason he felt like this, and the part of him that he’d been trying to find, had only one explanation—one source.
It was Genos.
It had always been Genos.
“Genos,” Saitama began, the thoughts in his brain scrambling for a foothold.
He was interrupted by the approach of the monster, apparently having decided that it had waited long enough. Looming just behind Saitama, its massive jaws opened, spit dribbling from between its teeth. Genos cried out as it raised one paw, razor sharp claws extended, and brought it down directly over Saitama’s head.
“Sensei, watch out!” Genos aimed his arm and fire exploded from his open palm.
Saitama barely acknowledged the monster’s presence; he only had eyes for Genos.
Moving on instinct alone, he raised his fist and extending it behind him. The sound of a body caving in on itself echoed and body parts squelched as they hit the ground. Blood rained in a massive spray up in the opposite direction.
However, he noticed too late that there was one final rain of acid falling above their heads.
Genos!
Saitama reached out, Genos’ falling from his lips.
Anticipating the attack, Genos ducked his head and shielded it with his arms. Metal sizzled and burned, melting the frame and wires in his arms. A smattering of different shaped holes decorated the rest of his body, collateral from the remaining splatter. His right arm, which bore the brunt of the attack, twitched, trembling as he lowered it.
“Genos! Are you okay?!” Saitama shouted. He jumped forward took hold of Genos’ arm, jerking as an intense pain spread throughout his body.
“I am fine, sensei!” Genos said, pulling his arm back. From the way that painful sparks traveled down Saitama’s spine, he was aware that it must have hurt. “Let go of my arm. You’re in pain!”
“Yeah, but it hurts more for you, doesn’t it?” Saitama asked, ignoring his query. He was starting to understand the point to all of this. At the very least, it felt like he was. “Instead of worrying about me, let’s get you home.” He examined his arm, hissing in sympathy. “That has to suck. Sorry, Genos.”
“It’s not your fault!” Genos protested, gripping Saitama’s tracksuit fiercely between his fingers. "I was reckless. I knew of its capabilities and yet I—when I thought that you were in danger, I stopped thinking.”
Me too, Saitama thought, feeling warm. “Let’s get you home before the rest of you falls apart. You have the extra parts, right? We don’t need to see the old man?”
“No.” Genos shook his head. “You were amazing, sensei! The way you destroyed that monster will remain in my memory forever.”
“Don’t say such embarrassing things.” Saitama started walking, keeping a careful eye on Genos in case there was something wrong that he was missing. “I was just distracted by something. Did I really look that cool?”
“Of course!” Genos nodded his head sharply. “What were you thinking about during such an important moment?”
Saitama stared at him, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Something even more important.”
“I understand,” Genos said after a pause. He didn’t ask for further clarification.
They moved in tandem, their hands coming together naturally before either of them realized it. Genos cast the monster’s remains one final time, his gaze heavy. Saitama tugged him closer and tightened his grip, careful not to jar his weakened body.
Previously, knowing that he would always face exposure with the inability to hide his emotions had made Saitama’s stomach turn with nerves, but this time he felt nervous for a different reason. He had no confidence in his ability to hold in own in a relationship with someone like Genos, but he wasn’t willing to give him up after everything had fallen into place.
He did his best to pour what he was feeling into the bond.
If Genos noticed, he didn’t comment; however, the small, secretive smile on his face was answer enough.
“By the way Genos,” Saitama began, “are you still hungry for breakfast? It should still be warm.” He shot him a sheepish look. “I left the stove on, I think.”
“Sensei, that’s dangerous,” Genos scolded. “If I remember correctly, you left it on low, right?”
“That’s right.” Saitama nudged him. “If I wasn’t so distracted, I might not have forgotten.”
“Should I get rid of this distraction?” Genos smirked, yanking teasingly on Saitama’s hand. “If it is so detrimental.”
“No,” Saitama replied, squeezing his hand. “It’s not bad. I might actually be getting used to it.”
“I see.” Genos gazed at Saitama for a few seconds, and then looked forward. “That’s good, because I feel the same way.”
Out of curiosity would you be ok if I wrote a drabble IN DF's universe? I mostly want to wrote something that's been on my mind since the fic started.
Wow, anon, that is super flattering!! I’ve never gotten a request like this, so I don’t know what people normally say, but I don’t see anything wrong with that! As long as you credit me I guess? (or do the inspired thing on ao3). You should definitely tag/link me when you write it!!!
Distance Removed
Rating: T
Relationship: Genos/Saitama
Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Soulmates, With A Twist, Soul Bond
Chapter: 7/10 | 3.9K~
CH1, CH2,...CH5, CH6, CH8
Also on AO3
Summary: Everything changes.
Objectively speaking, it should have been obvious.
It made sense. Genos’ naivety was profoundly exasperating at times, and this was just another thing that Saitama didn’t know how to explain to him. Which begged the question: what, exactly, was he trying to explain?
The answer was something Saitama didn’t quite know himself.
He sank further into the tub until his chest was submerged beneath warm, soapy water. Genos continued to rattle on beside him, unbeknownst to the fact that his words went unnoticed by the man next to him.
I should be glad, Saitama thought, bringing his hand up to splash water over his soapy head. It was difficult to dunk himself when he had to hang his hand over the edge of the bath.
“That’s why—“ he paused. “Do you need help, sensei?”
“No thanks,” he muttered—too quietly, apparently, because Genos ignored him, switching on his optics and turning to Saitama. He nearly gave him a heart attack when his eyes slid down to look at the water.
“I—I’ve got it,” Saitama protested, sinking down further, but to no avail. Genos used his free hand to pick up the bucket beside the tub, filled it with fresh bathwater, and then dumped the contents unceremoniously over Saitama’s head.
“Genos!” he sputtered, wiping haphazardly at his eyes. “A little warning would help.”
Seriously, he’d just wanted to take a normal bath, like a normal person. It was all Genos’ fault because he was completely oblivious.
Genos gazed at him serenely, the bucket handle swinging from his fingertips.
“Once more, sensei?”
All his fault.
It began with a simple enough request. Saitama caught himself staring longingly at the bath, having gone without for almost a week and counting. Genos, annoyingly perceptive at times, had offered his help.
Saitama had stared at him for a beat before forcing himself to look away, his heart beating hard. It was a symptom that seemed to arise when he looked at Genos’ face for too long. Maybe he had indigestion.
“I dunno, wouldn’t that be weird?” Saitama walked over to the bath, pulling Genos with him, and bent down for inspection. It was clean, ready for use.
“I guess you could just sit outside the bath and hold my hand.” He glanced at Genos. “Right?”
“Of course, sensei. We are—“ Genos’ mouth worked for a second, and then he continued on a different track, as if he hadn’t spoken previously. “It is your choice, sensei.”
Saitama repressed a sigh, knowing all too well what was bothering Genos. He still wasn’t talking about the bond— soul bond—other than a half-hearted promise from him the night before.
I will work on a solution, sensei, Genos had said.
“All right. I feel gross enough to suffer sitting naked next to you,” he joked. When Genos offered him nothing but an inscrutable stare, Saitama repressed another sigh and ushered them out of the bathroom.
They spent the same afternoon lazing around the apartment, curbing their boredom with menial tasks that could be completed around the house. Saitama had been itching to go do hero work—something he had never imagined himself longing for when his schedule was purely at his discretion—and he was trying to figure out the whole accepting-the-bond thing.
He had an inkling that Genos was the one making it particularly difficult, but he still didn’t know how to approach him about his reservations, afraid of the answer that he might receive.
What am I afraid of? Genos has never said anything bad before, he thought, immediately recalling several instances where said badmouthing had occurred. Well, not to me.
“Hey, Genos,” he called out, clutching the remote tightly in his fist.
Genos looked up from his laptop. “Yes, sensei?” he asked, instantly attentive.
I can’t do it.
“No, never mind.”
Saitama could practically feel the force of Genos’ stare. He focused on changing the channel so he wouldn’t have to look to his left.
After finishing dinner that night, Saitama set down his chopsticks and turned his attention to Genos. He pressed his hands together and pointed at Genos with his index fingers, expression serious.
“About the bath...you can close your eyes, right?”
“Yes.” Genos replied instantly. “I have the same functionality as a human.”
“I’ve seen your irises disappear, but I wasn’t sure. No funny business, got it? Just a normal bath, between normal people.”
“Of course.” Genos’ lips formed a smile. “I can turn off my optics if it makes you feel better, sensei.”
“Really?” He blinked. “Well, that’s pretty convenient, but wouldn’t that feel weird? If I were you, I wouldn’t want to go to blind.”
“It would only be for a little while. It doesn’t bother me.”
Saitama squinted at him.
“Really?”
“Remember that I am not human, sensei. My limitations exceed the normal person’s.”
“There’s that again.” Saitama pointed an accusing finger at him. “What’s with that? You keep saying you’re not human.”
Genos raised an eyebrow, taken aback.
“The only ‘human’ quality that I retained from original body is my brain.”
“That’s not true at all,” Saitama protested, lightly prodding Genos’ thigh with his foot. “You have feelings and wants and needs. And you look like yourself from when you were all human, right?”
“That may be true, but intelligent monsters also have those qualities.”
“Yeah, but you’re not a monster. You’re a cyborg: part human, part robot.”
“You can’t deny I’m not entirely human, sensei.”
“That’s not the point. You still have humanity, like me.”
“I’m not like you,” Genos said; then, as if realizing what words had come out of his mouth, his eyes widened and his mouth twisted remorsefully. “Sensei, I…we’re on different levels. I will never come to a place where I’m worthy of being compared to you.”
“Hey,” Saitama sat up, and poked him again with his foot, harder this time. “You know that’s not true. I’m just an average guy. I’m not—“ he scowled “—more worthy than you or anything. If anything, I’m less worthy. I just sit around, read manga, and watch the news. You have a goal in life and you stick to it.”
“You can’t honestly think that, sensei!” Genos slapped his hand down on the table, jarring Saitama. “You surpass the realm of humanity, and yet you stay humbled by your circumstances. You’ve survived traveling to the moon; you single-handedly destroyed a meteor. You are worth ten times the Hero Association and all its inhabitants!”
“Everyone has their own worth, Genos,” Saitama said firmly, growing quickly uncomfortable with Genos’ distilled praise. “I’m not really as interesting as you make me sound. I’m just an average bald guy.”
“You don’t understand, sensei. You are—”
Genos cut himself off, letting the silence drag on after his little outburst. Saitama didn’t have the heart to continue the conversation. Talking about worthiness made him uncomfortable because Genos was wrong.
Saitama was the one that wasn’t worthy.
What would anyone see in someone who lived alone in a place abandoned by everyone else?
Being a recluse isn’t admirable. Not that I avoid people, I just prefer to do my own thing. And I’m not popular, or that attractive.
At some point, when Saitama returned his attention to the television, Genos pulled out one of his notebooks and began writing furiously, his focus concentrated fiercely on the page in front of him. Saitama’s fingers felt the mimicry of Genos’ weaving patterns on the page. His hands occasionally brushed the table, or tapped a brief rhythm against the surface as he paused in writing.
What is he thinking? Saitama wondered. Why won’t he open up to me?
“What are you writing in there, anyway?” he asked.
“Nothing important.”
I’ll decide what’s important to me, Saitama thought with a rare savagery.
Probably sensing his flickering irritation, Genos looked up at him, one eyebrow raised in question. “Sensei, did you still want to take your bath?”
“I guess.” Saitama reached his hand across the space between them and waved it, waiting for Genos to take it. “Are you still up for it?”
“Yes.” Grabbing onto his hand, they stood. At the same time, Genos’ phone began buzzing. “Ah, I believe that’s the Association. They keep calling me.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to ignore them? You won’t get in trouble?”
“It would waste more time answering only to deny their requests.” Genos pulled out his phone, checked the number, and then shoved it back into his pocket.
“You won’t lose your rank or anything, will you? You should probably apologize for ignoring them.”
“I will not fall in rank,” Genos said, hesitating a fraction of a second, “but I will have to speak with them later and do so.”
“Good. I’m sure they’ll forgive you.”
“Are you ready, sensei?”
Saitama nodded and then lead Genos into the bathroom.
It was a relief that undressing in front of Genos was no longer an issue; it made getting naked in front of him easier. Once the tub was filled, Saitama was eager to get in and finally be clean.
Before he could start undressing, Genos reminded Saitama of his offer to turn off his optics.
Saitama hesitated, and then nodded.
“Sure, if it makes you feel better.”
Once Genos’ irises faded away, something in Saitama eased.
It’s not like I’m worried he’ll look, he thought, tugging at his shirt. Now that Genos was without sight, he used his hands to feel his way down Saitama’s body, settling the cool metal on his hips.
Saitama felt his cheeks start to grow hot as he fumbled with his shirt, getting caught at his elbows. The longer it took him to get undressed, the more awkward he felt.
Genos sighed.
“What?”
“No, it’s nothing, sensei. I am going to put my hands on your back now so you can take off the rest of your clothing.”
“Okay, I guess.”
Genos’ hands settled just under his shoulder blades. Saitama shivered. He tried to speed through the process by shucking off his pants and underwear all at once, and would have tripped backwards on his pant leg if Genos hadn’t steadied him.
Get a grip! I’ve been in a speedo with him, and it’s not like he’s the one naked.
When he was nude, Saitama grabbed Genos’ hand and hurried to climb into the bath, sloshing water over the edge of the tub.
“Ahhh,” he breathed, relaxing back into the water. Genos perched in seiza right in front of the tub, his hand resting on the rim, palm up. Even though he had turned his optics off it was still creepy to have Genos’ face staring at him blankly.
This would be so much easier if I could tell what he was feeling. Saitama scrubbed his fingers over his shoulder with a loofah. Anyway, it’s not fair that he gets to know all my emotions. What’s with that?
“Sensei,” Genos piped up, his fingers tightening briefly over Saitama’s. “Actually...while I’m unable to see your face…there is something I’ve been meaning to say.”
Crap. Saitama went still. Was he finally going to confront him about—?
“Wha-what is it? You can say it, Genos.”
“I know that you told me to stop apologizing, but—“ Genos bowed his head. “I’m sorry, sensei, for causing you so much stress. I have been keeping quiet until now, so that I don’t exacerbate the issue, but it only seems to be getting worse.”
“Wait, stress?” Saitama let his hand fall into the water with a splash. “I mean, yeah, this is a stressful situation, but I thought we had already established that.”
“I can sense it right now,” Genos clarified. “You don’t have to be kind, sensei. I have been aware of your feelings for a while now. Every time I’m near, your heart-rate picks up, you start sweating, and you experience a level of anxiety I have never associated with you before.” He slammed his fist against his knee. “It’s all my fault!”
Saitama’s face ploughed into the water.
So that’s what he thought. All this time, he thought it was stress.
“I know you do not want my sympathy,” Genos continued, oblivious, “but you have it nonetheless, sensei. You are the greatest person I have ever known; to be bonded in this way must frustrate you. I have been searching for a means to fix this mess, but so far nothing has jumped out at me. I even went back to that website—”
It was at that point that Saitama tuned out.
And so, that was their current situation at present.
“Once more, sensei?” Genos lifted the bucket.
“I’m fine, idiot!” he cried. “You know, Genos, you’re still thinking about it the wrong way. Do I need to spell it out for you, man?”
“About…the bath, sensei?”
“No, what you were talking about earlier.” His hand splashed through the water as he gestured to himself. “About me being stressed and frustrated with the bond. Listen to me, Genos. I don’t,” Saitama reached over and poked Genos’ chest, “mind,” poke, “being,” poke, “bonded,” poke, “to,” poke, “you. Got it?”
“But, your reaction to my presence—“
“Has nothing to do with the bond,” Saitama finished. “It’s completely different. This situation is...not something I’m used to, okay? Just give me some time to work through it myself. In the meantime, you should finally work on accepting it instead of looking for a solution.”
“I see,” Genos said slowly. “I still find it difficult to believe that you are accepting this so easily. Why aren’t you bothered by the bond?”
“It’s more like I’ve already gotten used to the idea. Bothered or not, it’s just the way it has to be. We’re supposedly bonded by our souls, right?”
Genos nodded reluctantly.
“So, that means we’re meant to be,” he continued, heart thumping in his throat. “Or something. You remember what that woman said; we give each other something the other needs. If we ever want to figure out what that is, we need to first get past this.”
He motioned to their hands.
“I…understand. If that is what you want, I will do my best to work on accepting it.” Genos looked at the tap. “By the way, would you like me to drain and refill the tub?”
“Like I need you for that.” Saitama sighed; he wasn’t really in the mood anymore. “Nah, I’m gonna get out. Just hand me that towel over there.”
“Right away.” Genos reached to his right and grabbed the fluffy, white towel from the rack. Handing it to Saitama, he closed his eyes and waited patiently.
Saitama stepped carefully over the tub, using Genos’ hand as leverage. When he placed his foot on the floor, Genos took a step to the right to accommodate him.
This was a mistake. Genos accidentally pushed the bath mat at an angle when he moved, so Saitama’s foot slipped out from under him; he flailed wildly for a split second before his momentum carried him forward.
He slammed into Genos, pushing them both to the ground. Genos grunted as his back hit the floor. Saitama braced himself by his hands, one knee slotted haphazardly between Genos’ thighs.
“Are you okay, Genos?!”
“Yes,” Genos answered, blinking. His mouth parted, words failing him as he looked up at Saitama.
His face hovered above Genos’, mere inches apart. A few droplets of water rolled down Saitama’s nose and dripped onto Genos’ cheek.
A strange, new feeling punched Saitama in the chest.
Crap. I really want to kiss him.
Genos’ eyes widened imperceptibly. His mouth, which hung open, snapped shut. Saitama shifted back, as if to pull himself away, but when he felt Genos’ knee brush his inner thigh, he froze.
The air between them shifted.
“Sensei, the—the towel,” Genos stammered, his voice beginning in a whisper. Steam started to erupt from his body, but Saitama was too concerned with his own nudity to pay much attention. He scrambled backwards, snatching the towel off of the floor so he could wrap it hastily around his waist.
“Thanks, Genos.” Saitama’s didn’t turn around. Their legs were still touching, so he could safely have his meltdown while facing mostly away from Genos. “And sorry that I fell on you. I didn’t break anything, did I?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“That’s good.” When he was no longer in danger of having a heart attack, he gripped the towel with one hand and offered the other for Genos to take.
When he did, the goosebumps that pebbled Saitama’s skin had nothing to do with the cold.
After that, the barrier holding them back from addressing the issue seemed to crumble.
Genos finally started talking about a future that didn’t involve eliminating their bond; although he still had strange ideas about his worth compared to Saitama’s, he was willing to listen.
Meanwhile, Saitama had finally figured it out. He didn’t know if it was because of the bond, or if it had been there all along and he was too blind to notice, but he was mostly relieved that Genos didn’t realize that the source of his “stress” was actually the object of his attraction.
Saitama was trying to sort through his newfound feelings while they were seated at the table, legs tangled.
That stupid hairstyle of his is really cute, Satiama thought, hiding his face in the pillow of his arms. Why did it take me this long to notice?
He still stood by the fact that he wasn’t into dudes—generally speaking. Maybe he was wrong about that, but it still stood that Genos was something else entirely. They lived together, ate together, and slept together. Genos, at first an annoying gnat, had grown on him like a fungus, and Saitama was more than a little horrified that he didn’t mind.
Genos’ phone started ringing. Saitama lifted his head.
“The Hero Association again. They’ve been incessantly calling for the past few hours. Do you think I should answer, sensei?”
“Probably. If they won’t give up, you can try to explain the situation. Or just tell them you’re broken right now.”
“Right.” Genos put the phone to his ear. “This is Genos. What is it?”
Saitama waited patiently, leaning his head on his hand.
“Yes. Yes…no.” Genos’ brows furrowed. “Now? But—“ He paused for a long few seconds. “I see. Then we will come immediately.”
“What is it?” Saitama asked, once he’d hung up.
“The association. They want both of us to come to the headquarters here for some reason.”
“Both of us? Why would they want that?”
“I’m not sure.” Genos stared at his phone, and then shoved it in his pocket. “They would not say.”
"That’s weird.” After scratching his hip, Saitama reached over and grabbed Genos’ hand. “You don’t think it has to do with—any of this, do you?”
“I don’t see how they would know. I wonder if it has to do with our recent popularity on the internet—although I don’t see why that would concern the association.”
Saitama shrugged.
“Well, we have nothing better to do. Let’s go.”
As a precaution, he pulled Genos towards the closet so he could wear his hero suit under his winter coat. Genos reached for something that Saitama didn’t see as he slipped on his gloves and pulled them tight.
“Ready?”
“Yes, sensei.”
When they stepped outside, Saitama cried out in surprise. It was snowing.
“Snow!”
“It seems like winter is finally here.” Genos looked up at the sky, squeezing Saitama’s hand. “I noticed how you’ve been eager for snow, sensei.”
“Really?” He watched the falling flurries, a happy feeling swelling in his chest. “I didn’t think you’d notice, Genos. I like snow. It’s pretty.”
“I notice everything about you, sensei.”
Saitama smiled.
“You’re as creepy as ever, Genos.” He pulled him closer by his waist and ruffled his hair.
“Sen-sensei?”
“We shouldn’t keep them waiting.” Releasing Genos, he started walking, a little embarrassed by his actions. “Let’s go, Genos.”
“...Okay.”
They left the apartment complex, making their way towards the center of town at a leisurely pace. The snow was just starting to stick, lightly dusting the ground around the abandoned district. It made the desolate, crumbling streets look less lonely.
With snow, the cold is more bearable. It looks like powdered sugar. I wonder if Genos likes it.
Saitama looked over at Genos, who kept tilting his head to the sky. He was unconsciously wearing a soft smile on his face.
“Do you like snow, Genos?”
“I suppose you could say that,” he replied, tearing his eyes away from the sky. “It reminds me of—elements of my past.”
“Oh, that’s nice.” Saitama didn’t want to push the issue if Genos wasn’t ready to talk, but he was honestly curious. “What was it like? You must have some good memories.”
Genos came to a stop, silent. A cold wind blew through the area and Saitama shivered, wrapping his coat more firmly around himself.
“Sensei…”
For a moment, Saitama thought Genos was going to talk about his past, but then he smiled in a way that was achingly painful and pulled a hat out of his coat pocket, offering it up for inspection.
“You’ll catch a cold. Humans require regular temperature regulation, and a good majority of heat escapes from the head.”
“Oi, are you calling me bald?!”
“I would never, sensei.”
Genos stepped into his space, and Saitama’s hand settled on Genos’ hip of its own accord as Genos pressed the hat gently onto his head.
As they gazed at each other, neither moved. Genos’ hair was already starting to weigh flat, heavily dusted with snow. Saitama felt his heartbeat slow.
Making a split-second decision, he put Genos’ hand on his waist so he could pull the hat off of his head with both hands. Then he used one hand to brush the snow out of his hair and proceeded to plop the hat firmly onto Genos’ head.
“Sensei—?”
“Didn’t you say it yourself?” Saitama smiled, cupping Genos’ cheek. “You’ll catch a cold, Genos.”
Genos’ eyes widened.
Steam suddenly started venting from his body, melting the snow on his shoulders before drifting languidly into the air.
From one moment to the next, it felt like the most natural thing in the world for Saitama to lean forward and press their lips together.
Genos stiffened, steam spewing out faster, warming Saitama’s hands and ears. Genos gasped against his mouth when Saitama threaded their fingers, his pulse pounding hard against Genos’ wrist.
Time slowed; the space that between them altered. With abrupt clarity, Saitama felt Genos in his head, his thoughts, his heart. A veracious pleasure washed over him; overcome, he kissed him harder.
After a millennium, Genos inhaled sharply, lips parting as he pulled Saitama against his body like a lifeline.
“Sensei,” he hissed against his lips, hands burying into the folds of his coat. The air around them sizzled with steam and heat. Saitama’s head was swimming.
“I’m glad I came to see you on my own. This is exactly what I wanted to address,” came a voice from their right. “These deplorable public displays are unbecoming of heroes.”
Saitama turned his head to see who had spoken.
Amai Mask stood in front of them in all his glory, dressed stylishly in a fur coat and hat.
He didn’t look happy.
Distance Removed
Rating: T
Relationship: Genos/Saitama
Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Soulmates, With A Twist, Soul Bond
Chapter: 6/10 | 5K~
CH1, CH2, CH3, CH4, CH5, CH7
Also on AO3
Summary: The answers to all their questions are as unexpected as they come.
“Sensei,” said Genos, grabbing Saitama’s attention. He was in the middle of reading, his feet once again resting in Genos’ lap. Saitama could detect a strain of mixed emotions through the bond, so he moved into a crouch, placing his hand on Genos’ shoulder so he could lean over to look at what he was doing.
“What’s wrong? Did you find something?”
“It appears that the public noticed our excursions yesterday,” Genos said, pointing to the title of a post from the Hero Association’s forum. Saitama blinked, not sure that he was reading it correctly.
“‘Does the Cyborg Prince have a new princess?’ he read, wrinkling his nose. “What kind of title is that? What are they talking about?”
Genos scrolled down in response, revealing a string of candid photos that depicted Genos and Saitama holding hands from various angles, walking down the street that lead to the abandoned area of City Z.
The topmost photo was blown up to large proportions and therefore of grainy quality, but this one particular garnered the most comments, and it was easy to see why; Saitama and Genos were walking closer than Saitama remembered, fingers clasped tightly. Saitama’s eyes were crinkled with mirth, a wide smile spread across his face.
Did I really look like that?
“Are any of these photos edited?” he asked.
“No. They are in original form. The topic of the—” Genos visibly paused, “—events in particular blew out of proportion overnight. In this age of technology—I didn’t even think about what this would mean. I’m so sorry, sensei.”
Saitama silently patted him his shoulder, too preoccupied trying to process the newfound information to be of much comfort.
“It’s not a big deal,” he said eventually. “Like I said, it’ll blow over, right?”
Cautious, but curious, Saitama took control of the mouse and started scrolling through the photos.
Most of them were ingenuous—although one person had captured the moment Genos nearly tried to use his incinerate on the bystander—but there was an undeniable element they all shared.
They looked like a couple.
“People have way too much freetime. And anyway,” Saitama said, “why am I the princess?!”
“It’s possible that they have misunderstood your magnificence,” Genos said thoughtfully. “If anything, I should be portrayed as your princess.”
“Genos, how can you say that with a straight face? Seriously...” After scrolling through the rest of the photos in an act of morbid curiosity, Saitama had had enough and exited the screen, closing Genos’ laptop with minimal force. His cheeks burned. “Anyway, we don’t have time for this! Let’s go find that Tina girl and get this over with.”
“Her name is Rina.”
“Who cares, let’s just go!” He tugged on Genos’ hand, wanting nothing more than to escape from the strange thoughts that were worming their way into his head and focus on more important matters.
They were on the way to City G when the ground started shaking. A crack appeared next to Saitama’s boot, and then the asphalt between them split apart.
“What—?”
Working on pure instinct, Saitama jumped backwards. Genos was thinking something similar. Unfortunately, they attempted to go in opposite directions, making their departures ineffective. Genos, who was powerless to resist Saitama’s strength, went sailing over the crack—straight into Saitama’s chest.
They fell back into a heap. Genos was the first to recover, scrambling to pick himself up; however, Saitama’s iron grip on his hand prevented him from moving.
“Dude, you’re stepping on my leg!”
“Sorry, sensei. But I can’t get up when you are holding me down like that.”
“Oh. Sorry,” Saitama said, struggling to find a way to prop himself on his elbows without pulling Genos back down to the ground. “I’ll put my hand here—” he placed it on Genos’ knee, “—and you get up.”
“Okay.” Genos stood and then offered Saitama his hand, which he took gratefully.
Once he was standing, Saitama used his free hand to brush dirt and grit from his clothes.
“I just got these pants, man!” Saitama cried. “And they weren’t that cheap, either.”
“Sorry, sensei. I will have it dry-cleaned when we return—hopefully with answers to our problem. As for this,” Genos cast his gaze across the street, which was now littered with cracks. “What do you suppose happened? I can’t pinpoint any specific enemy in our midst. Perhaps it was just a small earthquake?”
The rumbling had stopped, and their general vicinity appeared completely deserted. Saitama inspected the largest fissures that ran along the roadway and sidewalk; they reminded him of the mole monster that had attacked him not long after meeting Genos.
“Maybe,” Saitama said doubtfully, and was reminded of their original goal. “Anyway! We don’t have time for that! We need to find that woman.”
Due to the fact that Saitama was, well, himself, and Genos was a tireless cyborg, it was an easy task for them to adjust their pace to something that they both could sustain for a long period of time. Saitama had wisely forgone his hero suit and instead wore jogging pants and a running jacket to remain anonymous. Genos wore something similar, but there was nothing they could do to hide his metal arms.
Saitama was growing accustomed to holding hands with Genos; it didn’t even bother him anymore. At some point, Saitama had gone from ‘tolerating’ their connection to ‘enjoying’ it. He’d never been an affectionate person from the start, but Genos’ lack of concern for the standards of society was strangely refreshing.
“Hey, Genos,” Saitama said, slowing down so they could talk.
“What is it, sensei? Do you sense something?”
“No, that’s not it. I just…was wondering, I guess. What do you think it will be like after this is over? I mean,” he rubbed the back of his neck, feeling oddly exposed under Genos’ gaze, “we won’t have to hold hands or touch or do anything like that. And I’m getting kind of used to it.”
Genos was silent. Realizing how that sounded, Saitama let out a sharp laugh. “That must make me sound crazy, huh?”
While he waited for a response, Saitama averted his eyes to focus on the road in front of them, speeding up slightly when he noticed that they were receiving a few pointed looks. He could no longer feel Genos’ emotions through the bond, which meant that he was as inscrutable as ever.
“No, I understand,” Genos finally said. At some point, the position of their fingers had changed. Rather that resting palm to palm, Genos’ fingers had threaded through Saitama’s. He squeezed his fingers, and then twitched, jerking his face away from Saitama’s view.
I think he just realized what he did, Saitama mused, feeling strangely giddy and reckless enough to return the gesture.
They were silent after that, keeping it up until, hours in, they reached the outskirts of the city. As they approached the crowds that normally inhabited the area were suspiciously absent, and there was an oppressive nature to the air surrounding them.
“Genos,” Saitama said, breaking the silence. “Something feels off.”
Genos tilted his head, acknowledging him with a thoughtful sound. He was focused on the space just to his left, irises illuminating briefly as he scanned the area.
“I sense no abnormal heat signatures, sensei. We’re nearing the city; just a few more blocks until we reach the main road.”
“Hmm.” Saitama followed Genos, keeping a careful eye on their general vicinity. His instincts wouldn’t have been acting up had there not been a good reason. Something about this place just felt off.
“Maybe we should hurry,” he suggested, pulling Genos further along the road. “The faster we get to this woman, the better.”
That same bad feeling kept itching at the back of Saitama’s mind, but he ignored it in favor of focusing on their current task.
When they reached the center of the city, Saitama made them stop to gather their bearings. Genos had his mental map, but Saitama didn’t like going into a situation blind, so he pulled Genos towards the visiting center to pick up a city map.
“Let go of my hand,” Saitama said. Genos obeyed, absentmindedly wrapping his arm around Saitama’s waist.
As Saitama spread the map between his hands, it occurred to him that Genos could have picked any form of contact, yet he unconsciously decided on something that would display their relationship in a very particular light.
“It’s pretty detailed. Do you have any coupons for the shops around here, Genos?” Saitama asked, trying not to think too hard about where Genos was touching him and failing miserably.
We must look like a couple.
Saitama was suddenly, keenly aware of the point of contact between their bodies. He twitched when he felt Genos’ fingers absently tease the fabric over his hip; and when he shifted, bringing their sides together, goosebumps broke out all over his skin.
Suddenly, there was the sounding of ripping paper.
“Sensei?!”
Saitama blinked dumbly at the two separate pieces of the map in each hand.
“Ah. Ahaha! Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. You know where we’re going, right? We can find some good sales later.”
“Yes,” Genos said slowly, blinking at him. “Are you alright? You never turn down the opportunity to save money. You’re not in any pain, are you?”
“It’s fine; I’m fine,” Saitama said quickly. “Where are we headed next?”
It was a long few moments before Genos pulled his gaze away, nodding his head in the direction of the train station.
“If we follow the train tracks,” Genos pointed in the direction of the station, “then we will be led directly to the street where Rina lives.”
“Mm. But we should probably take the back roads to avoid more public exposure.” There were already groups of people whispering around them, but there wasn’t much to be done about that. Saitama crumpled the map into his pocket and then threaded their fingers, taking a step away from Genos in order to put some necessary distance between them.
“You’re right, of course.” Genos glanced around until he calculated the shortest possible route that would still lead them to their destination and motioned for Saitama to begin walking.
They headed in the way of the detour, taking alleyways and quiet streets hastily in order to lose anyone that tried to follow them.
When the apartment complex that Genos described came into view, Saitama felt his stomach twist. He generally didn’t get nervous during situations involving confrontation, but this was a special occasion. Whatever was happening, whatever the cause: this woman was involved in big way.
Saitama took a deep breath. “Which floor?” he asked, studying the building.
"Third floor, second door from the end of the row,” Genos replied, scanning the area for signs of life. “It appears that she’s not at home right now. What should we do, sensei?”
After tearing his gaze away from the building, Saitama held up their hands and met Genos’ eyes.
“We wait.”
Rina didn’t return to her apartment until the sun started to set.
Genos decided that the best course of action would be to wait directly in front of her door. Despite how other residents might potentially view two weirdos loitering by her apartment, Saitama was in no mood to disagree.
After the first few hours of waiting, Saitama was already bored out of his mind. He leaned over the railing to watch the passersby, while Genos remained utterly still beside him, his eyes searching their surroundings like a hawk. Whenever someone turned to go into the apartment, the tension between them skyrocketed.
Technically speaking, the photograph they had of Rina could be an inaccurate depiction; she could have changed her appearance in any way she saw fit.
“Hey, Genos,” Saitama said at length, his voice quiet, “even if—even if this woman can tell us what’s going on, what are the chances she can do anything for us?”
Genos squeezed Saitama’s hand by way of an answer, his brows furrowed unhappily.
“I suppose we’ll just have to wait,” Saitama continued, his heart pounding from the brief gesture. He was relieved that the link between their emotions seemed to have closed—otherwise, Genos would probably be able to tell how worked up he was.
It’s just holding hands, Saitam thought. What’s wrong with me?
“Sensei,” Genos said, interrupting his thoughts, “look! Doesn’t that look like—?”
“Rina,” Saitama finished. He pulled away from the railing just as the woman that appeared to be Rina started to climb the stairs to the complex.
She had long, dark hair and was dressed in a thick winter coat and dark jeans. Her arms were laden with groceries; a variety of vegetables, fruits, and packaged food peeked out from the brown paper bags. As she reached the top of the stairs, she began to adjust some of the produce that was leaning heavily on one side.
Saitama could tell the exact moment that something in her mind clicked; she glanced their way casually, but then her body went still and her face drained of color.
“Hold on a sec,” Saitama told Genos. He went against his better judgement and released Genos’ hand, taking a step towards Rina.
The groceries toppled to the ground. Rina had barely made it to the stairs when Saitama appeared behind her, clamping a hand down on her shoulder. His fingers trembled against the onslaught of pain caused by the separation, but nothing would stop him now.
“We have some questions for you,” Saitama said firmly, his gaze hard. “You’re Rina, aren’t you?”
“Let me go,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes. She jerked away in a weak attempt to throw him off, dark hair spilling over her shoulder. “I don’t know what the Hero Association wants with me, but whatever it is, I can’t help you.”
Saitama traded a significant glance with Genos.
“I think you should answer my sensei’s questions,” Genos said, raising his palm threateningly. “He is not a patient man.”
Rina swallowed, eyeing Genos’ open palm warily.
“Why now?” she whispered, her voice quivering. “How did you find me?”
“Why don’t we go inside?” Saitama suggested, his expression softening in face of her fear. “We really need your help.”
“Fine. Just let me go so I can open the door.”
When Saitama released her and returned to Genos, she visibly gathered herself, taking a few deep, solid breaths before she knelt to pick up her groceries. With the key in one hand, she unlocked the door and then nudged it open with her foot.
Once they were inside, Genos had the patience to wait a few seconds before immediately accosting her.
“Earlier, when you saw us, you recognized something.”
Rina flinched. “You’re a top-ranking member of the Hero Association; of course I recognized you.” She walked over to the counter and set the bags down, turning to face them.
“Did you recognize me?” Saitama pointed at himself hopefully.
“No,” she said, dashing his hopes, “but I didn’t have to. I know what’s happening to you because—well, before I get into that, what does the Hero Association want with me? I’m not interested in helping them, if that’s what they’re after.”
“We’re not here because of them," Saitama said.
"Oh," Rina said, color returning to her face. "I thought that you might be—well, that's good. I don't want to get mixed up with monsters again."
“Sensei is correct.” Genos nodded. “We aren't here on behalf of the Hero Association, but we have been experiencing an inexplicable phenomenon for the past week that has affected our personal and professional lives. You something about it, don’t you? I demand you tell us what you know.”
“Awfully rude for a prince,” Rina muttered to herself, fidgeting in place for a few seconds before she walked into the kitchen. “If you’re not here to try and get me to do something for your association, then….yes, I think I can help you. Sit down over there.” She pointed to the love seat in the middle of her living room. “I—I have to leave in a few hours for work, so I can’t entertain you for long. But I’ll explain as best as I can.”
“We will stay as long as necessary—“ Genos began.
“Okay, thanks,” Saitama interrupted, his grip over Genos hand like iron, begging no arguments. “We’ll be out of your hair as soon as you fix us.”
After that, Rina didn’t speak for a while, working through the motions of making tea. She kept brushing her hands through her hair, shooting them worried glances every so often. When the tea was finished, she piled cups onto a tray and set it down on the coffee table in front of them.
“What exactly do you know about what’s happening to you?” she asked.
Genos looked at Saitama for confirmation. He nodded.
“Okay.” Genos straightened and rattled out their tale with much less finesse than he had offered Bang, a sign of his impatience.
Rina listened quietly, understanding in her eyes as the events in particular were described. When Genos finished, she leaned back with a sigh, her teacup clutched tightly between her palms.
“How did you find me? I—I haven’t dealt with any of this for years.”
“The Internet,” Saitama said. “Besides, your website is still up. And I saw your flyer.”
“Website? Flyer?” Rina seemed startled by this information. “They—we-we hadn’t put out flyers in years. Where the hell do you find it?”
“In the middle of the street,” Saitama answered. “It seems like somebody is still running the operation.”
“Who was in charge of the website?” Genos pressed.
“Okay, okay, hold on. Ownership moved around a few times during the process of—“ she paused, raising her hands, and took a deep breath. “Why don’t I start from the beginning? The reason I recognized you two was because I can—it makes me sound crazy, but I can see people’s, um, souls. Auras. Whatever.”
“Souls?” Saitama wrinkled his nose. “Is that why the website was all about soul mates?”
“Yes, exactly!” Rina said, her shoulders slumping in relief. “You told me that you knew what happened years ago with people—normal people, people like you and me, suddenly felt pain and sensation without a noticeable source. Well I—" she broke off, gathering her thoughts. "People would occasionally show up on the news, and I noticed that their, you know, soul was trying to escape from them and go somewhere else.”
“You expect us to believe that?" Genos challenged. His grip on Saitama’s hand tightened and his lips curled back into a scowl. "Even if that were true, I’m a cyborg.”
“And what does any of that have to do with what’s happening to us?” Saitama held up their hands in display, which they hadn’t released despite the multitude of opportunities to do so.
“I’m getting to that,” Rina said, setting her tea down so she could worry the edge of her sweater. “You don’t have to be human to have a soul. Just—just listen to me, okay? I’ll give you the short version of a very long process: some friends of mine and I—we figured out that this was their spirit, or soul, trying to reach their soulmate, which was what we called them at the time. If they didn’t find them, they’d eventually die, right? The connections were easy to make, at the time—”
“Wait, wait,” Saitama interrupted. “How did you know? You mean you guys didn’t do this to people?”
Her eyebrows rose. “Of course not. I had seen it before then, but hadn’t made the connection until it became a global issue. It was—it made sense. I can see it happening to you two now. It’s all a product of your own needs and desires.”
“That's not possible!” Genos exploded, launching to his feet, nearly ripping their hands apart. “You’re lying. I would never do that to sensei!"
“I’m not lying,” Rina urged. “I have nothing to do with this. You two caused this, not me.”
“How is it triggered?” Genos continued, making frantic motions with his hand. “Can it be stopped?”
“You don’t understand,” she snapped, standing up to be at Genos’ level, refusing to be intimidated. “It’s not something you stop. It would just…happen."
She worried at her lower lip with her teeth, eyes going unfocused. "Back then, monsters were starting to crop up in larger numbers monthly, and then weekly. Because of them, hundreds of people lost their lives. The Hero Association was a fledgeling with barely any power. To the rest of us felt like the world was ending.”
Rina paused to wipe at a few stray tears clinging to her eyelashes, taking a fortifying breath.
“When it was at its worst, this was our theory: people were so desperate for any sort of hope that the willpower of hundreds was enough to cause a chain reaction. Soulmates already exist within us, but it takes a lot to make us need them. That’s why after the association started helping, the need under duress died away.”
“So you’re saying that everyone has a soulmate?” Saitama asked, having been quietly listening while Rina was telling her story. “That doesn’t make sense. What if people have more than one soulmate. Or none?”
“I don’t know,” Rina admitted, shrugging her shoulders. “But don’t you get it? You two are so, so lucky. This is a gift!”
“That’s a load of crap!” Genos exclaimed. “You call this luck? I respect Saitama-sensei, and I would do anything for him, but we’re not—“ Genos faltered. “We’re not soul mates.”
Saitama tried to ignore the way that stung.
“Do you really think that?” Rina met Genos’ eyes, all previous traces of fear gone. “You worried about it, thought about it, about him,” she jerked her thumb at Saitama, “so much that it, and he, became a part of you.” She looked at Saitama. “Isn’t that right?”
Saitama returned her gaze silently, in stark contrast to Genos’ blatant anger.
“Genos,” he said, pulling him back to the loveseat by his hand. “Give it a rest; that’s enough.”
“But, sensei—!”
“Rina,” Saitama turned to the woman in question, “if what you’re saying is true, then what do we need to do to make it stop hurting us?”
“It’s simple, really. This should be the easy part.” Rina sat back down and smoothed her hands over her hair, eyeing them both.
“What you have is a bond; it’s shared between the two of you. Currently, your souls are trying to plug together and connect,” she said, pantomiming two plugs meeting with her fists. “Because you’re touching, it’s stable. That’s why other people died; it was unstable, and they weren’t able to connect with their soulmates. All you have to do is let it happen. Stop rejecting the bond and the rest will take care of itself.”
“We’re not rejecting it.” Saitama threw his hand into the air. “I didn’t even know it was a soul mate bond thing until you told us!”
“It doesn’t have to be actively thinking about it. This whole time you two have been seeking out ways to stop it. Once you accept it, things will sync and stabilize.”
“Would it be possible to find a way to keep it stable until we find a permanent solution?”
“Even if that were possible, it wouldn’t work.” Rina rolled her eyes. “The bond doesn’t stay static; it will keep changing, trying to find its equilibrium. It developed in different ways with you two, didn't it? Emotions, headaches, and pain.”
“That is true,” Genos admitted reluctantly. “Not only the pain and headaches, but after we discovered our emotional connection, the more we touched, the stronger it grew. When we first touched, it felt like sensei was pulling something from my body and—”
“Really?” Saitama interrupted. “Was that why you looked so afraid?"
“Yes,” he admitted. “Was it not the same for you?”
“No! It was like I was given a direct feed to your brain. I didn't really feel anything. That’s—weird.”
“It appears we should have been more frank with each other. I had assumed it was the same.” Genos frowned. “I could barely tell what you were feeling at first. Now that is no longer an issue; I can now feel your emotions clearly.”
“Eh, really?!” Saitama blanched. “I haven’t been getting really anything from you since this morning. It’s like the gate’s closed.”
So this whole time when I thought Genos couldn’t tell what I was feeling, he really—?
Saitama could feel his face burning. Genos looked at him with concern, and Rina just looked smug.
“It’s stable, but not for long,” she clarified. “Things are just going to get worse. Especially if you keep rejecting it.”
“That’s it? Accept it?” Saitama asked. “There’s nothing else you can tell us?”
“I'm sorry. I don't know more than that. It was a long time ago, like I said. I wasn't even in charge of helping the people; I would just find them."
"This is a waste of time," Genos said coldly. "We need a solution, not half-baked theories based on people's souls."
"Look, I—I don’t know what else to tell you. I've given you all the information I have. I don't know why that website is still running. Maybe with the monster attacks increasing, they want to start it again, or maybe now it’s just a regular dating site now. I haven’t talked to them in years.” Rina’s gaze was pitying. “And I don’t really care to. Take my advice: I wouldn’t give up something like that for the world. I already lost my soulmate, but you two still have a chance.”
Genos inhaled sharply.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said, standing, “I’m gonna kick you guys out. I really, really don’t want to deal with this anymore and I do have to get to work.”
Saitama was still buzzing with questions, but could tell that Rina was emotionally drained despite the brave face that she put on near the end of their conversation. They handed her their teacups and stood, walking towards the door.
“By the way, good luck,” Rina whispered to Saitama in the hallway, patting his shoulder. “He’s a keeper.”
Saitama raised his hand in a wave as she shut the door behind him.
“Well, we know what’s happening to us,” he said as they descended down the stairwell. “I guess we’re...soulmates? Or something. It still doesn’t make much sense.”
Genos wouldn’t look at him, his gaze fixed firmly forward. Saitama didn’t press it, giving him time to absorb the fact that they would be stuck like this for the foreseeable future.
Just accept it. That should be easy.
He chanced a glance at Genos out of the corner of his eye. Saitama didn’t really understand how he was meant to accept something that he hadn’t exactly been rejecting. He focused on the positives of their situation, trying to ignore the way that Genos’ fingers were trembling.
Neither of them were in the mood to stay the night in an unfamiliar place, so they made a wild rush for home—as fast as their busy surroundings would allow. The comfort that their connection had previously given Saitama now felt nonexistent; he was angry at something he’d never asked for, softened only by the fact that he had realized some time ago that being bonded to Genos wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
When they neared the city edge, backed by the glittering lights of the surrounding buildings, Genos came to a sudden stop.
“Sensei,” he began, his voice wavering dangerously. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Saitama looked over, surprised. “You didn’t do anything.”
“But you’re angry. And I understand it now; it’s my fault that this happened!”
“Genos, calm down.” Saitama reached out, hesitating. “What do you mean it’s your fault?”
“You would have never created something like this,” Genos said, lowering his head in an attempt to hide his expression. His lip trembled. “Saitama-sensei, you’re so amazing. In power and wisdom, you are always so far away out of reach. At the beginning of our relationship I wasn’t bothered by the distance.”
“Oi, Genos,” Saitama started. To his horror, thick, black tears slid down Genos’ cheeks, collecting and dripping from his chin. “Genos! You-you’re crying—”
“Then my priority shifted; instead of focusing solely on my goal to destroy the cyborg that killed my town, I wanted to be closer to you.” He swiped the heel of his hand against his cheekbone, smearing the oil over his skin. “I don't deserve to be in your presence. I have failed you as a disciple, sensei.”
The tears kept coming, despite Genos attempts to wipe them away. Oil was smeared across both cheeks now, and it was so awkward that Saitama almost laughed.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Saitama patted his shoulder, out of touch when it came to comforting people. “It’s not your fault. You shouldn’t feel bad about it.” He nudged Genos with his elbow. “It’s normal to worry about the people closest to you. Besides—”
“But I can’t protect you!” Genos shouted, lifting his head. “I’m not strong enough! If your pain is connected to mine, how am I supposed to fight? I will not hurt you, sensei; that is why we need to destroy this bond. What does it matter if we’re soul mates?” Genos turned his head away. “How can you continue to take this so lightly?”
“I’m not taking this lightly.” Saitama turned Genos’ shoulder, forcing him to face Saitama. “I’m serious, Genos. You can feel it, can’t you?”
He projected as much reassurance as could to convince Genos of his sincerity. When Genos still appeared doubtful, Saitama followed his instincts and drew Genos into a hug, wrapping his arms tightly around him.
“It’s not about who can protect who, Genos,” he continued, stroking Genos’ back. “We’ll figure it out because we’re both a part of this. Together, right?”
“But sensei,” Genos said, “I—”
“Got you!” something hissed, dark and dangerous.
Three dark figured burst from the ground, lumbering towards them with murderous intent. “We’ve been following you all day, waiting for the perfect opportunity. Now that he's tired and distracted, let’s take out that cyborg.”
They lunged for Genos, but before they could even come close, Saitama pulled his fist back and then punched the air.
“That’s really rude, you know!” he shouted. “Seriously, we were having a moment!”
It took a moment for Genos to recover, staring blankly at the space the monsters had occupied. Then, he noticed something.
“Sensei, look,” he said at length, pointing to the large fissures the monsters had created. “That’s the same pattern from earlier today. As expected: you were right about something being amiss.”
Saitama shrugged, the day finally catching up with him. Exhaustion weighed him down, making him feel sluggish and heavy.
“Well, they were right about one thing: I’m tired.” He offered his right hand for Genos to take. “Let’s go home, Genos.”
Genos stared at it for a few seconds, and then took it in his own, threading their fingers.
Distance Removed
Relationship: Genos/Saitama
Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Soulmates, With A Twist, Soul Bond
Chapter: 4/? | 3700k~
Also on AO3
CH1, CH2, CH3, CH5
Summary: Things always get worse before they get better.
A/N: I have absolutely no idea what Kuseno's lab looks like (except for the bit we saw in the anime), so this is all a product of my imagination.
The trip to Dr. Kuseno’s gave Saitama some time to think.
Running at top speed made their surroundings appear like a distant blur. He pointedly kept his head facing front and resisted the urge to look at Genos running beside him, arms pumping to an endless beat.
Saitama was glad that he had convinced Genos to give up his “aerodynamic” running form for something less strange. Convincing him hadn’t taken long—Genos took what Saitama said to heart whether or not he intended to impart knowledge. Seriously, he was weird.
Despite his best efforts, his gaze gravitated towards Genos. The wind was whipping his hair back into a tangle mess, but his face was pristine, his expression calm. Without his hair covering most of his forehead, Genos somehow looked older. Since he didn’t age appearance-wise, he could have technically chosen any age to project, couldn’t he?
Honestly, he was serious enough to pass as an old man.
When Genos noticed him looking, he met Saitama’s eyes, his gaze curious.
What? he seemed to be asking, his face expressing it just like any human. Saitama didn’t really understand how his face worked, but it had to be pretty high-tech to seamlessly translate what he was thinking into an expressive form.
He looked away. It no longer bothered him to look into unblinking black sclera, but he was reminded once again that Genos wasn’t exactly human in the strictest sense. It was hard to imagine a situation like that for himself , no matter how life-changing the events leading up to it. For a moment he allowed himself to wonder what Genos must have been like when he just an average kid with an average family.
There is much about me that you don’t know, Genos had said.
What was with that? Saitama knew about the little things—like the fact that the food he enjoyed the most was oil sardines, and that his favorite color was grey—but the fact that aspects of Genos remained a mystery; well, it bothered him. Conversely, Saitama was an open book; there wasn’t much more to read than what was on the front cover.
Despite Saitama’s former protests that they were nothing more than acquiantances, it was clear that they were on the path to something more. It was even clearer that Saitama didn’t really know how to navigate that path.
Saitama sighed, propelling himself over a large rock without breaking his momentum. Genos’ words from the previous night were stuck in his head on replay.
Am I really taking this that lightly?
Before he could contemplate it any further, Genos slowed to a stop ahead of him, drawing Saitama to his side.
“We’re here,” he announced.
The doctor’s lab was not far from one of the cities, but the surrounding vegetation reminded Saitama of the House of Revolution (or whatever). Thick greenery obscured it at first glance, and when they pushed through the thicket, he realized how large the building was.
Saitama whistled.
“Wow. Dude, it’s huge.”
“It is impressive, isn’t it?” Saitama could imagine Genos’ chest puffing with pride. “Dr. Kuseno is also a skilled architect.”
Saitama craned his head to look at the large antennae that sat atop the dome-shaped building. It was built entirely of thick, seamless metal that shone brightly under the sun, reflecting it with a mirror-like quality.
Not bad, Saitama thought, brushing his hand along the outside wall.
“This way, sensei,” Genos called, walking up to a metal door. It was virtually indistinguishable from the rest of the lab, but when he pressed a seemingly random part of the metal wall, a keypad rose from within and Genos spent a few seconds entering a passcode.
Saitama shifted from foot to foot. If he were honest, he would admit that he was feeling a little nervous. This was the guy that had created present-day Genos and he was like a father figure to him.
Genos motioned for him to follow, and Saitama tentatively peeked around the door before following him into the building. When he crossed the threshold, the door slid shut behind him soundlessly.
They walked down a long, dark steel corridor, their footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. The end of the corridor opened into a reasonably well-lit laboratory, equipped to the nines with glittering, beeping technology. The room was constructed entirely of metal; there didn’t seem to be an iota of organic material in the vicinity. Saitama looked around in awe, nearly bumping into Genos when he came to an abrupt stop.
“Doctor Kuseno,” Genos called, sounding unlike himself. If Saitama had to guess, he’d say Genos was nervous . “This is my sensei, Saitama. Saitama-sensei, the doctor is aware of our situation. He has agreed to help us.”
Whatever Saitama had been expecting Dr. Kuseno to look like, it hadn’t been anything close to the real thing. He looked like a mushroom . He was wrinkly, old, and moved with a speed that did not suggest he would have spent hours handling delicate equipment—much less a cyborg. However, his eyes glimmered with a wise intelligence that Saitama couldn’t begin to fathom.
“So you are Saitama,” he said politely. That was a good sign. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Yeah.” Saitama raised his hand halfway in an approximation of a wave. “You, too. So this is where Genos was born into a cyborg?”
The doctor smiled, hobbling over to the opposite side of the lab to mess with some equipment. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Genos, would you like to prepare the device? I received your message and have done as you asked, but I’ll leave the final calibrations up to you.”
“Yes, doctor.” Genos glanced between them for a moment before taking off in the direction that Dr. Kuseno had indicated. Saitama shifted, feeling awkward all of a sudden. The moment Genos left the room, a headache started to build, but it wasn’t bad, and he didn’t expect it to last for long.
“So, Saitama,” Dr. Kuseno began, turning to face him, “Genos has told me so much about you. I was beginning to wonder if I would ever get to meet you.”
“Mm. It’s not the best time for a family gathering.” He flashed a small smile. “So Genos told you what’s going on?”
“Yes. It’s unprecedented; I’m very interested to see what our findings will tell us.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Speaking of, it has been a long time since Genos made your acquaintance, hasn’t it?”
“Yep. It’s been an interesting couple of months,” Saitama agreed, walking further into the room to inspect one of the towering machines. It stood not far from a chair that had several surgical arms attached to it. He could easily imagine Genos sitting there, getting his repairs done.
“How does he seem to have grown since you first met?” asked Kuseno. “Does he seem stronger?”
“As strong as his parts, I guess. He has a lot of power.” Saitama pulled down his hero suit to scratch at his collarbone. “He’s a little reckless, though.”
“So you agree. I see.” Kuseno’s tone made Saitama turn, his curiosity piqued. “Saitama, do you know why I sent Genos ahead? You see, I could have made those calibrations myself, but he is always eager to help when he doesn’t see it as a waste of time.” His lips quirked into a half-formed smile. “Clearly, you are not a waste of time. He holds you in high regard.”
“I guess,” Saitama said carefully. “He’s pretty stubborn. I didn’t want him to be my disciple in the first place, but it’s hard to say no to him.”
“That’s right.” Kuseno smiled fondly. “He is persuasive in that he fully believes what he is doing is right and that it will lead him on the correct path.”
The doctor regarded Saitama seriously. “I’m afraid I had an ulterior motive for bringing you here. I have something I would like to ask you. Will you hear me out?”
“Shoot,” Saitama replied.
“Genos told me that you despise long conversations, so I will make it quick. In short: I would like you to ask Genos to stop being your disciple.”
Saitama blinked at him, taken aback. The request was unexpected, but not surprising.
“Why?” he asked.
“Genos has always been reckless on his own. When he asked me to transform him, I knew this. However, with you, his recklessness takes on new levels.” Dr. Kuseno’s cheer had disappeared, leaving behind a something incredibly cold. Protective. “You set goals that are too high for someone of his caliber. I don’t doubt that you care for him, but I’m afraid that if he isn’t careful, your association with Genos will eventually result in his death.”
Saitama stared at his hand, feeling the sensation of heavy equipment weighing Genos down. As far as he could tell, he’d saved Genos’ ass more times than he could count. The only reason that he’d given Genos the goal to become one of the top ten in the Hero Association was an excuse to keep him off his back for a while. Was Genos really in danger of dying with him?
When Saitama considered what the doctor asked of him, a dull sense of dread washed over him.
“Sorry, but I can’t,” Saitama said. “We’re kinda stuck together.” Then he straightened his shoulders, remembering Genos’ harsh words from the other night.
Stop treating this so lightly!
“And even if I could,” he said, louder now, “it’s not really my choice. Genos may be reckless, but he works hard. He’s a good hero on his own. All that disciple and sensei stuff, it’s a load of crap! Genos is more than that. He’s—“
“Sensei,” Genos called, interrupted him mid-sentence. His voice crackled and popped before the sound system above adjusted. “Preparations are ready. Head down the steps leading into the training room and we can begin.”
Dr. Kuseno stood staring at him, his expression inscrutable. Saitama waited for a few seconds, but when the doctor’s response wasn’t forthcoming, he nodded his head politely and took off in the direction of Genos’ voice, pretty sure that he’d just dodged a bullet.
The stairs that Genos had mentioned led into a gigantic room that stretched at least a few hundred yards. Saitama craned his neck to peer at the ceiling, almost tripping over Genos from his position further into the room.
“Sensei,” Genos greeted calmly, busily pulling a coil of large cords out of the way, “this is the training room, as I said. Occasionally new equipment testing is done here. The walls are impenetrable by any force—except for you, sensei.”
“I see. So, what are we doing here?”
“I originally wanted to test the parameters of our link outside, but there were too many factors that could potentially ruin our experiments. This room offers solitude and space.”
“It’s nice,” Saitama said. “What’s first?”
“First, let’s test out the purview of distance that we can achieve. Wear this.”
Genos held out a strange piece of headgear that flashed colored lights at random intervals. Wires decorated the outside, criss-crossing and weaving together like stringy, metal hair. Saitama took it with suspicion.
“What do I do with it?”
“Just put it on your head. It will monitor various factors and report back to the machine upstairs. Once we have concluded the tests, we can examine the data feed.”
“This better work,” Saitama grumbled, sticking it on his head. It automatically adjusted to the size of skull, tightening until it was firm and unmoving. He tested its strength by hopping up and down a few times in rapid succession.
At Genos’ sharp look Saitama stilled, chastened. “Guess we should get started, huh?”
“Yes.” Genos raised his hand and pointed to the nearby wall. “I will walk over there first. Ready?”
“Yeah. Let’s get this over with.”
Genos nodded and started walking away. The task was simple enough. They were still relatively close to the entrance, so Genos had neared the opposite wall before Saitama could feel the beginning of the link causing problems.
“Sensei, how do you feel? Your face looks pinched.”
“My head hurts, but it’s not bad.”
They tested it a few more times to see if the result would be the same. It didn’t seem to change in intensity, but Saitama noticed that the more they tested the bounds, the faster it fluctuated.
Maybe we just needed practice, he surmised.
When Genos approached him a final time, it only took an alarming few seconds for the tension to revert back to normal levels.
“Let’s try going further. This way,” Genos said, sounding oddly curt. He pivoted on the spot and marched towards the center of the room.
“Got it.” Saitama jogged to keep pace with him, stopping once they had reached the center. They had agreed to start at a greater distance from each other, so Saitama’s temples were subject to a dull throbbing.
“Just say when!” Saitama called.
Genos motioned for him to wait, then, after a pause, he nodded and they started backing away from each other. It didn’t take long for Saitama to feel the effects; he struggled to keep a straight face as the strain took a toll on him. It wasn’t the worst that Saitama had experienced, but it was relentless and punishing all the same. They stopped once their backs touched the wall.
When they returned to their starting positions, the ease at which the headache faded felt like whiplash. They repeated the process a dozen times, and every time it felt worse than the last. The level of intensity didn’t change, but it was beginning to wear on Saitama’s energy reserves. At this point, he just wanted to sleep.
Genos also wasn’t looking so hot. He seemed…twitchy. They were a few feet from the wall, cycling through the steps once more time, when Genos suddenly lurched to the right and pressed his hand against his forehead in pain.
“Oi, Genos, are you okay?!” Saitama shouted, wincing when the sound of his voice reverberated. He hurried to reach him, but stopped a few feet away when Genos held up a hand.
“Don’t worry about me, sensei,” Genos assured him. “The doctor has a strong signal that can occasionally affect the machinery. Since I have an internal secondary system that aids my functionality, it sometimes causes issues.”
“Really?” Saitama asked doubtfully. “I’ve never seen you have this problem before. You don’t think it has to do with—“
“No,” Genos replied evenly. “Anyway, I think that’s enough. We should look at the results.”
“Well, if you say so.” Saitama pursed his lips, but let the matter drop.
They found Dr. Kuseno hunched over the control panel when they arrived back at the main part of the laboratory. He was fiddling with the controls, punching in numbers every so often. Genos approached him with a greeting, announcing their findings quickly and succinctly.
“I see,” said the doctor thoughtfully. “The readings that Saitama gathered with the headset read something similar. However, there is a slight anomaly with what you’ve given me.”
“What?” Genos leaned forward to look at the calculating displayed across the screen, but it was too advanced for him. “What do you mean, doctor?”
“Before all that, can you take this thing off of me?” Saitama ventured, pointing to his head. Dr. Kuseno stepped towards him and hit a few buttons on the side, releasing a small hiss of steam as it disengaged and relaxed. Pulling off the headpiece, Saitama set it in Dr. Kuseno’s waiting hands.
“Doctor, please continue,” Genos pressed. “What have you found?”
“The readings were progressing at a rate that I can’t explain,” Kuseno continued, setting the headset onto a nearby table. “At first, the—shall we say, headache—revived itself at a normal rate, but then it began to quicken; it returned with a ferocity I would normally associate with a virus.”
“What?!” His head whipped around to look at Saitama. “Sensei, did you notice this?”
“Oh, yeah.” Saitama nodded, looking uncomfortable. “I wasn’t sure if it was just my imagination or not. The more we repeated the process, the faster it came back.”
“Then it’s getting worse.” Genos looked worried. “What do you think this means, doctor?”
“It’s difficult to say,” Kuseno admittedly reluctantly. “I will have to examine this further, and it would be helpful if you two could continue your stay for more testing. I know everything about Genos here, but Saitama is another story.”
“Aw, Give me a break.” Saitama’s shoulders dipped in disappointment. “I didn’t even bring anything! Do you at least have a television set?”
“I have a fully equipped living space on the upper floor. You two are welcome to stay. If possible, I would like to continue to monitor you while you sleep, Saitama. It will be entirely remote and noninvasive.”
“That’s a little…creepy, but, I guess. As long as you don’t do anything weird. Anything that helps, right, Genos?”
Genos wasn’t looking at either of them; his eyes were distant and unfocused. When he realized that two sets of eyes were trained on him, he snapped of his reverie.
“Ah. Yes, sensei. Have you made your decision?”
“Guess there’s no helping it. We’ll stay the night at least.” Saitam crossed his arms and glanced around the room. “Speaking of, where’s your toilet?”
“Please show him the way, Genos.” Kuseno nodded to him, and then turned around to face his machine. “I will stay here and continue to analyze the data that you two have provided.”
Genos nodded. “This way, sensei.”
Genos led them up another flight of stairs into a series of rooms that were sparsely furnished. A few photo frames underneath a lamp on a nearby table caught Saitama’s eye. He strayed from Genos and picked one up to get a closer look.
“Ah, it’s you, Genos. Somehow, you look—your hair is shorter and you seem less—” he worked his index finger over his chin, searching for the right word, “—advanced?”
“That is an earlier prototype of my model,” came Genos’ voice from behind him. “As you can see, the technology has changed dramatically.”
“You look funny. Why were your arms so big?” Saitama held the picture up into the light to get a more clear look at it. “And you’re wearing a very scary expression. Were you angry?”
Genos went quiet, his silence stretching on for a few uncomfortable seconds. “Yes,” he said without elaborating further. Then: “Didn’t you have to use the bathroom?”
“Right. Thanks for showing me around, Genos.”
Genos didn’t answer him, but kept on walking in the direction of the bathroom. When he gestured for him to go, Saitama brushed past him and went inside, shutting the door with a click.
Now that he had a chance to look at himself in the mirror, Saitama was shocked to see deep bags developing under his eye-sockets; his eyes were rimmed red from strain, and he was paler.
“I guess I’m stressed,” he mumbled, poking the discolored skin under his eye with his finger.
The last few days had been an unexpected whirlwind. It was getting increasingly difficult to find the same willpower that Genos seemed to have in constant reserve. Would they really figure this out?
Thinking of Genos’ stoicism and his secret, Saitama slapped himself with both hands and then splashed cold water on his face. His forehead felt hot, and his head ached.
Wait.
With a start Saitama realized that even with his close proximity to Genos, his headache hadn’t gone away. It was still there, a constant pressure even though they was only a wall between them.
What’s happening? he wondered, watching the droplets fall from his face.
Once Genos sensed that Saitama was busy in the bathroom, he moved into one of the nearby rooms and collapsed against the wall.
I don’t know how much longer I can hide this from sensei, Genos thought, desperately combing his brain for a solution.
The further he drew from Saitama, the more painful it became. There was no use in denying it now. At first it had been just a twinge; similar to that of sore muscles after a bought of rigorous training. When it disappeared, Genos didn’t question it further. Then the same night that he had used shopping as a vapid excuse to escape Saitama’s invasive questions, he felt it again—as if he was once again in a body that could feel genuine pain throbbing under easily bruised human skin.
Genos was under the initial impression that he was experiencing phantom pain, and pushed the matter aside, but when Saitama came running towards him and the sensation disappeared, his suspicions grew. It was part of the reason his conclusions regarding Saitama’s condition had come to him so quickly—he was experiencing the same thing.
Which brought him to current predicament.
Their exertions in the training room had nearly been unbearable. The bombardment of pain made it hard to concentrate and move without alerting Saitama. His earlier stumble that had garnered Saitama’s curiosity was an unintentional blunder—one Genos didn’t intend to repeat.
Even now he could feel it, pulsing under his skin like sharp nails, scraping the walls of his insides. It came from no particular original, radiating agony all over his body. He buried his hand in his hair and grit his teeth, his expression crumbling. Even though he wasn’t far from Saitama, it was undoubtedly growing steadily worse.
This is nothing, he reminded himself.
Clutching his abdomen and staring into his lap, Genos took deep, calming breaths.
For all that sensei bears every day—this is meaningless . This is nothing!
If he could just keep up the charade until they discovered the cause of this link and decimate it, they could return to a semblance of—
“Hey, Genos, I think it’s getting worse,” came Saitama’s voice from the doorway. “My head is really starting to hurt.”
Shit! I wasn’t paying attention. Sensei is—! Genos struggled to control his expression, but it was too late. Saitama was staring at him, his brows knit with concern.
“Genos, what’s wrong?”
Distance Removed
Rating: T
Relationship: Genos/Saitama
Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence. Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Soulmates, With A Twist, Fluff, Slow Burn, ish
Chapter: 2/10 | 3k~
CH1, CH3, CH4, CH5
Also on AO3
Summary: Saitama is frustrated, Genos is worried, and an old friend pays them a visit.
“Run through it once more, sensei.”
Saitama's eyebrow twitched. They had been retracing his steps that day in great detail in hopes that combing over the elements of his memories might reveal what had triggered their current…situation.
He was exhausted, but sleep eluded him for the time being.
“Seriously, Genos, it’s been hours. I told you everything that happened three times. Isn’t it enough?”
“Not nearly,” Genos answered seriously, his focus returning to his wrist. He had some sort of tool in his left hand that worked as the glue for the twisted metal that Saitama had torn clean off in his haste. Or something. “If something is wrong, then we need to pinpoint the source and eliminate it.”
Genos clenched his fist as if to prove his point.
Saitama felt it before he saw it, as if his own hand was completing the action, which was the strange part. He also seemed to be the only one suffering in this sense and Genos couldn’t get sick, which indicated that whatever had infected him could be related to a virus. Maybe.
“Give me a break,” Saitama whined, resting his head on the pillow of his arms. “I’m tired. What time is it?”
“Three,” Genos answered immediately. He flipped his repaired hand back and forth, inspecting the quality before setting his tools away in a sealed metal box. “Please, sensei. One more time.”
Saitama sighed and closed his eyes. “Man, you’re persistent. I don’t think that’s gonna help, but fine. First, you woke up, did the dishes leftover from last night—which I didn’t ask you to do—and then I woke up.”
“How did you wake up?”
“Are we really going to do this again?”
“Please, sensei. Any information may pertain to the matter at hand.”
“Fine!” Saitama grumbled. The lack of sleep was making him feel irritated and jaded; Genos’ persistence was grating on his nerves. The sole reason that he wasn't trying to strangle himself if it meant passing out and getting some sleep, was the fact that he was secretly freaking out.
“I was lying on my side, so I rolled over and sat up, then I went to the toilet and…well, you know.” He scratched his neck, avoiding Genos’ eye as he recalled every step of his day, up until his trip to the grocery store.
“So I grabbed the shrimp—“
“Wait,” Genos interrupted, holding up his hand. “Why didn’t I realize it? You’ve never bought shrimp before. You always complain how expensive seafood is. Why did you purchase it?”
Saitama could feel a blush crawling up his neck. He was hoping Genos wouldn’t notice that little tidbit of information. Buying food like that was usually for special occasions, not simply because your cyborg roommate mentioned a craving in passing.
“Why does it matter? I don’t think it has anything to do with—“ he gestured to himself, then Genos, “—all of this.”
“I disagree,” said Genos. “In this situation, that could be the key. Perhaps someone poisoned the supply.” He pressed his finger to his mouth in thought, tapping it against his lower lip.
Saitama tried not to twitch. He could feel it against his own lips, as if Genos had reached over and mimicked the action.
“The shrimp themselves could be contaminated. Could there be a monster shrimp?” Genos thought aloud. “Later today, I will bring the groceries and the bag to Dr. Kuseno’s lab for inspection. Maybe that will give us a clue. Excuse me.”
Saitama watched Genos go into the kitchen to collect the groceries. He knew exactly when he opened the fridge, grabbed the shrimp, milk, eggs, a few other perishables, and put it all inside a bag.
This was so weird.
“You think?” He leaned on his arm, tracing meaningless patterns on the surface of the table with his fingers. “Whatever’s happening, it’s linked to you.”
“If it’s connected to me, that may be what our enemy wants us to think,” Genos continued from the kitchen. “It could be someone who holds a grudge against you, sensei. What about that perverted ninja?”
“Panic?” Or was it pancake? “Ah, I don’t think so. He’s more of a ‘look before you leap’ type of guy. He wouldn’t have planned anything like this, even if he was capable.”
“Still, it’s worth investigating,” argued Genos, who returned with the full bag.
Saitama poked the contents, earning a half-hearted glare from Genos. “Hey, why do you think that whatever this is only affects me? Is it because you’re a cyborg?”
Genos cocked his head in thought. “It’s possible,” he said, sounding reluctant. “You said that you felt my pain and physical sensations. I experienced phantom pain while I was separated from parts of my body, but you claimed that had no affect on you.”
“Yeah.” Saitama pushed away from the table and made a dive for his futon. Even though he didn’t think he would be able to sleep, he was tired of sitting up and staring into Genos’ face.
What’s he think of all this? Saitama wondered.
Genos preferred to remain stoic and incalculable, and to others most often appeared dispassionate and cold. Every movement was too sure, too practiced. Saitama was always secretly relieved whenever he slipped up and became embarrassed, or gleeful, or sad.
Still, it didn’t take an idiot to see that Genos was being uncharacteristically careful as he walked around the apartment. He was worried, and probably didn’t want Saitama to know about it.
This situation served to raise more questions about Genos than he had ever previously considered; Saitama was quickly beginning to realize how little he knew about the cyborg. He pulled the futon closer to the table and spread out, leaning on his elbow to look at Genos.
“What’s with that anyway?” Saitama studied him. “Why do you feel pain at all?”
“Since I am not a robot programmed in any specific way, my strength relies on signals from my brain,” Genos explained. “If I wanted to grab this table with my strength unchecked, it would break. For this reason I have false nerves and padding that senses pressure and translates that into physical sensation. That is how I can open doors without ripping them off their hinges, or handle slippery dishes.”
“I see.” Saitama yawned. He felt surprisingly okay with what was happening, which made it easier ignore half of what Genos said. “So, basically you have a fake nervous system.”
“Yes, sensei.” Genos smiled weakly. “When my nerves are ripped apart, the sensation feels painful, but I have a fail-safe that blocks the transmitter once it has been disconnected or damaged. In order to fight effectively, I regard pain as a necessary human experience.”
“That’s good,” Saitama drawled, his eyes drooping. After a jaw-cracking yawn, he dropped his arm and rolled over, burying his arms underneath his pillow. It felt soft and cool against his cheek, welcoming him into a light doze.
Just for a second, he promised silently. Then Genos could pester him about his day as many times as he wanted.
Something weird brought Saitama into an instant state of wakefulness. He stared blearily at the ceiling as his brain powered on, belatedly realizing that water was cascading over the palm of his hand was the cause. Except, the feeling was entirely unfamiliar to him because it didn’t feel hot or cold; it didn’t seem to have a temperature, but it was definitely water.
“What’s that?” Saitama shot up in bed, expecting to find his hand wet. When he looked down and examined every inch of his very much dry hand, he was puzzled, until it hit him.
The sound of water the running kitchen faucet caught Saitama’s attention. He stood up and peered into the kitchen; as expected, Genos was busily working, up to his elbows in soap bubbles. He was doing dishes, billowing clouds of steam rolling past his face. He looked up when he noticed Saitama at the entrance.
“Sensei, good morning. How did you sleep?”
“Morning. Fine,” he said, distracted. “I can feel that, you know. The—water. Over your hand.”
“What—really?” Genos’ head snapped up and he looked at Saitama with wide eyes. He snatched his hands away from the sink, looking stricken. “I’m sorry, sensei, I wasn’t thinking. It doesn't hurt, does it? Did I wake you?”
”No, you’re fine. It’s just weird. It’s like—my hands are doing the work, but they aren’t. I can’t really explain it.”
“I see. Should I stop?” Genos looked uncomfortable, hovering over the sink like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.
How should I know? Pressure was building against the back of his throat. Saitama swallowed against a scream. It wasn’t Genos’ fault that this was happening. “Well, do whatever you want. I’m going to the toilet.”
“Ah, sensei.” Genos made as if to follow him, but Saitama quickened his pace and slammed the bathroom door behind him.
Saitama sat on the toilet, attempting to calm himself. The casual acceptance that he’d felt last night was nowhere to be found, an overwhelming panic took its place. He stood up and paced the length of the bathroom, trying to take deep, calming breaths.
What’s happening to me?
If it was somebody playing a trick with his mind, or If it was all part of some elaborate plot, it didn't matter as long as whatever was messing with him came forward and started the fight. Anything, anything was better than the feeling of not knowing what he was up against. He suddenly wished he had hair so he could pull at it. As it stood, he just leaned over the sink and focused on breathing.
There was a tentative knock at his door.
“What?” he croaked.
“Sensei, since I won’t be useful here, I am going to go to Dr. Kuseno’s. Will you be all right?”
“Go ahead,” Saitama said, managing to sound nonchalant, if a little shaky. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Maybe a little distance will help. Have a safe trip,” he added, as if it wasn’t clear.
“I will.” There was an elongated pause, and then Saitama felt Genos press his hand against the door. The sensation was more sharp than earlier than the previous night (morning, really). Saitama remembered belatedly that Genos was wearing his housework arms.
Without another word Genos walked away, leaving Saitama alone with his thoughts. He sat down on the toilet and scrubbed his hands over his face. Saitama was just an average hero that did average things like shopping, watching television, reading manga, and punching monsters. He couldn’t imagine anyone who might have a grudge against him—that he hadn’t killed—being capable of this.
He brushed his teeth and washed his face mechanically, keeping an ear out for Genos’ departure.
Once the coast was clear, he exited the bathroom and changed into a shirt and lounge pants. His stomach rumbled, so he padded into the kitchen and grabbed his breakfast—a banana—from the fruit basket. While peeling back the skin, he could feel the beginnings of a massive headache wrap around his skull like a tight band.
He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead, willing it to disappear. He drank a glass of water, but it didn't seem to help as much as he’d hoped. Somehow, it was getting bad, fast.
For once, Saitama was immensely glad that he wasn’t a top-ranking hero. With this new peculiar weight on his shoulders, he wanted nothing more than to stay inside until he could sort through what he was going to do. He pushed away his futon and grabbed a book from his shelf, wary of making his headache worse by staring at a television screen. A book wasn’t all that much better, but he wasn’t going to sit around stare into space.
Hours passed. It was raining outside. The room was quiet save for the pitter-patter of droplets hitting the house and the quiet shlip of turning pages.
To his disappointment, the headache didn’t seem to be going away. It was growing steadily worse—to the point that Saitama couldn’t read the words without feeling the strain. He set the book down with a sigh and rubbed the heel of his hand against his eye socket, regretting his decision to read. Why did he have to have the worst luck?
“I think I have some old pain relievers around here somewhere,” he mumbled, standing up.
Reaching into the medicine cabinet in the bathroom revealed emergency pain relievers that were just a few years old. When he picked it up, a clean ring of dust was left in the space that the bottle had occupied. After considering the date, he decided it didn’t matter and twisted the cap. Two pills tumbled onto his palm. Saitama placed them on his tongue and washed them down with a glass of water from the sink.
That takes care of that.
Expecting the situation to resolve itself, he returned to the living room and went back to reading. However, the second he picked up his book and started following the lines, the pounding in his skull sharpened into a painful point behind his eye.
Can medicine go bad? he wondered, rubbing his temples to no avail. With every second that passed, Saitama’s state deteriorated until he was feeling shaky from the effort of sitting upright.
Maybe I’m just hungry. That’s probably it. Breakfast is important, but three meals a day is essential to healthy living.
With that in mind, Saitama put the book on the table and wandered into the kitchen, pulling out two packets of salmon-stuffed onigiri. After ripping through the plastic, he placed the contents onto a plate and returned back to the living room.
Eating something and drinking another cool glass of water seemed to help a little bit, so Saitama chanced turning on the television while he ate. He perked up when he realized his favorite show was on.
It served as a distraction for only a little while. Working a finger beneath the waistband of his boxers, Saitama scratched his hip for a few seconds, engrossed in the program. About five minutes in, he was feeling pretty good about his day. Five more minutes passed, and the first set of commercials appeared on the screen. Saitama closed his eyes, pleading for his headache to fuck off. It had turned up a notch, pulsing with the beat of his heart.
Eventually giving up on the TV and turning it off, Saitama crawled back under his futon, wondering if he shouldn’t have taken those pills. It had been a very long time since he’d felt this bad. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had the cold.
Maybe it’s seasonal. Someone at the store probably had a weird virus and that’s what’s been messing with me.
The thought gave him some hope. He sat up to check on the time and immediately regretted it; nausea forced him to close his eyes and count to ten, praying that he didn’t get sick. Moving seemed like a bad idea.
He lay there for what felt like hours. When he managed to lift his head without spontaneously combusting, he realized it had only been about twenty minutes. He thought about calling Genos to bring home some stronger relief, but his phone was at the opposite end the room—by the remote.
The tiny expanse of his living room had never seemed so daunting until that moment.
Saitama weighed his options. He could either a) suffer the consequences of exacerbating his headache and reach Genos—if he was free to answer—or b) suffer in silence until he came home.
Another wave of nausea made the decision for him. Saitama stumbled to his feet and rushed for the sink to dry-heave. Luckily, nothing came up. He didn’t want to lose his lunch that quickly.
“This is the worst,” he murmured, leaning unsteadily against the counter. “Okay! I can do this. Just get the phone and call Genos.” Saitama shuffled into the living room, ignoring how the room swayed, and grabbed his phone, dialing the correct number.
He waited.
There was no answer.
Seriously, he was going to punch Genos once they figured out what the hell was wrong with him. Of all the times to be busy—
His phone suddenly started vibrating in his hand and Genos’ face appeared on the screen. Saitama nearly dropped it in his haste to answer.
“Genos?”
“Sensei, you sound stressed. Is everything all right? What’s wrong?”
“Mm. Yeah, I’m fine. Just a headache,” he said. “Genos, when, uh, do you think you’ll be home? I think I took some bad pills or something because it’s not getting any better.” He scratched his head absently, regretting the motion when his vision swam and his pulse pounded in his ears. “If you could pick up something stronger, that would be great.”
Genos was silent.
Saitama could hear faint beeping in the background. He sounded like he was inside, probably fiddling with those tests of his.
“Genos?”
“Sorry, sensei. I was checking on the results. Since they will take another hour to be completed, I’ll will return immediately,” he announced. “With medicine. Just wait a little longer. We will discover the cause of this and destroy it.”
Genos’ endless determination to help Saitama drove home a little bit of the confidence that Saitama had lost over the course of the morning. For a few seconds, he felt his heart lurch hopefully.
“Yeah. Got it. Don’t get into any fights on your way back.”
When the call ended, Saitama swayed on his feet. He stared down at his phone and suddenly, the positivity of talking to Genos sputtered and faded into nonexistence, leaving behind a hollow void.
Who was he kidding? He was useless like this, and his headache had gotten so bad that it felt like it was going to explode. They were no closer than they'd ever been. Saitama crawled back into bed and curled into a ball, trying not to die.
Genos raced to get home as quickly as possible, clutching a bag full of ten different types of pain relievers. The rain was beating down on his back and Genos folded the bag in his arms so none of it would get wet. He wasn’t sure what brands Saitama preferred, so he bought them all.
He was walking up to the apartment, fishing for the key when he his alarms went off.
Someone tripped the sensors!
Genos whipped around and let the bag slide to the ground, his fists raised to fight. That perverted panic ninja stood in front of him, his sword brandished and gleaming.
“Oh, it’s just you,” Genos said, straightening. “I don’t have time to entertain you and sensei is very busy. Piss off.”
“Shut up!” he snapped. “And it’s Sonic, you asshole! Where is Saitama?! I have a debt to pay.”
His sword stood gleaming, a dangerous promise. Unaffected by the threat, Genos turned around and started walking. I don’t have time to waste. Sensei needs me.
He had a split second to react as the Sonic appeared in front of him and swung his sword downward. Genos raised his arm to block the attack an instant before he realized what that would mean.
Sensei! Genos instead lowered his arm and bent his body backwards; the sword missed him by a hairsbreadth. Then he lifted himself and aimed a kick for Sonic’s side. As expected, he dodged with inhuman speed. It wasn’t Genos’ intention to fight him; presuming the situation hadn’t changed, he needed to protect Saitama by protecting himself.
I’m glad I received an upgrade on my speed. It should come in handy.
The veins running along his arms grew hot with power, steam hissing and erupting from the vents. Sonic grinned, mistaking his intentions as preparations for an assault.
“You think you can hit me with that? What a joke.” Sonic flashed a maniacal grin and disappeared.
With his sensors and his speed, Genos was able to keep at a distance from Sonic. The fact that he could not risk a full frontal attack was killing him; for the time being, he could only play a defensive role, using his acrobatic flexibility to dodge Sonic’s variety of attacks.
“Why aren’t you trying to fight me?” Sonic hissed from behind his ear. “Scared?”
Genos crouched and shot forward, narrowly missing Sonic’s wind blade kick. He skidded to a stop in front of Saitama’s apartment, thinking fast to devise a way to escape without Sonic noticing. There were a few precautionary weapon systems surrounding his house; if he could activate and aim them to a distant location from inside, Sonic might think he’d vacated the area and possibly follow.
“It just might work,” Genos said to himself, then to Sonic: “Is that all? It’s as I said: I don’t have time to play with you. This is a waste of my time.”
Sonic’s face purpled with rage. “You—!“
Genos pushed his feet into the ground, centering all of his power on his movement speed. More steam billowed up from his body. Sonic barreled towards him, a distant blur on his sensors. Genos grit his teeth and leaned forward, activating his blasters.
It’s now or never—
“HEY!! YOU TWO!”
What—? With his concentration lost, Genos stumbled forward and flailed wildly, rocketing straight into Sonic, whereupon they crashed and fell into a tangle of limbs.
“Will you two shut up?!” Saitama’s voice shouted from above, his fingers white against the railing.
“Sensei…?” Genos pushed himself off of Sonic and looked up, meeting Saitama’s eyes. His cheeks were flush with rage, but Genos’ sensors revealed that Saitama was pale and sweaty under the grey light, shivering in the rain.
“Seriously, what is with you guys? I have a headache, and you two assholes are gonna make it worse!” Saitama waved his fist wildly and then pointed it at Sonic. “You! Panic guy, leave! Some of us are trying to sleep. And you!” He pointed at Genos. “Stop messing around and get up here!”
“Y-Yes, sensei. At once!” Genos sprang to action and scrambled to pick up the grocery bag, making swiftly for the door. “I bought the pain relievers!”
“Good! Now hurry up!”
Sonic remained splayed across the pavement, blinking dumbly up at where Saitama had disappeared inside. Genos didn’t pay him a second glance, pushing the key into the door and rushing inside.
“What just happened?”
Holy shit the response to this fic has been amazing. I guess I did something unique?