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It was hard for Genos to tell that Saitama had aged. He didn’t move any slower, or complain about any aches and pains, and it’s not like he could go any more bald. Genos supposed that it hit him when Saitama came home from his latest physical examination and said in a casual tone that he was dying.
Although his sensei had a strange sense of humor, he wouldn’t joke about something like this. “What do you mean, dying?” Genos asked, as if there were any two ways around it.
“I mean I’m sick. Dying. Nothing they can really do.” Saitama kicked off his sandals and flopped down on the couch. He turned on the TV to a sitcom. The blue light flickered on his expressionless face.
The tinny voices and canned laughter propelled the situation from dreamlike to outright unreal. The world stood still outside the apartment- the birds outside stopped chirping, and trees’ leaves stopped rustling- and all that existed were Genos, Saitama, and the recorded voices of people fake laughing at fake scenarios in fake places.
Genos didn’t want to acknowledge it. If he acknowledged it, it would become real. Yet he’d always faced his problems head-on, from chasing down a certain rampaging cyborg to reciting a 5-minute long speech about how much he loved Saitama in an attempt to ask him out.
And, after that speech, Saitama had just said ‘Yeah’ and kissed him. That was his way of doing things. It wasn’t that he didn’t care- Saitama was the best lover and partner he could imagine- but he preferred to keep it brief. On his latest birthday, he’d asked Genos to not light the candles so he could save the trouble of blowing them out. Genos had asked if he wanted his wish, and Saitama had said that he already had everything he could wish for.
(While the cyborg had buried his face in his hands in embarrassment, Saitama added that he actually would wish for a bean bag chair.)
Genos’ mind raced with calculations. If he knew more, then he could research and find solutions. Yet Saitama had already turned on the TV and thus turned away from the situation. Perhaps he felt that everyone died one day and there was no use worrying about it-- but Genos couldn’t accept that.
He remembered himself, his head still spinning, and walked over to the couch. Saitama lifted his feet up and Genos sat down. Saitama rested his feet on Genos, then, and the two watched the vapid show for a while. The glare from the window was bad, but neither wanted to get up to close the blinds.
From the screen’s reflection, Genos could see the world outside continue on. The trees stood eternal in place, carved with names of people who have long since moved on. The traffic lights on the empty streets continued to turn even with nobody there. And from the TV, that canned laughter played even if the people who recorded it may already be long dead.
Genos wanted to say ‘I love you’ or ‘What can I do?’. But instead, all he managed was: “How long do you have?”
Saitama shrugged, not changing expression. “It depends. Few months to a few years.”
He’d said it so casually, as if he were discussing the show they watched.
“Are you upset?” Genos asked.
The older man shrugged again. “If there’s nothing that can be done, I don’t wanna spend my last few months or years or whatever crying. I just want to relax.”
Something clicked in Genos’s mind. “Don’t you worry!” he said. “I’ll arrange for a cruise that will go all across the world! I’ve saved enough money from the Hero Association! You can spend this time in luxury--”
“No, Genos.”
The words were spoken so quietly, even underneath the noise of the TV, that Genos was surprised he heard them. The screen’s blue light highlighted the bags under Saitama’s eyes and the first wrinkles that had worn into his face. “I just want to be done.”
Done? Done with the illness? “Allow me to speak with your doctor,” Genos said. “We’ll find a cure. I won’t rest until this has been solved. I--”
This time, Saitama just shushed him, as if the effort to form words were too much. He nodded his head toward the screen, as if to say that he were interrupting the show.
Saitama had picked a random time during a random episode of a random season and his eyes glazed over watching it. Genos had to study the TV for a while before realizing it wasn’t about tuning into the show, it was about tuning out the bad news he’d been given.
“Sensei,” Genos whispered.
Saitama ran his fingers down his own face, and for the first time Genos saw something in his sensei’s eyes that might be considered weakness. “If you want an order from me, then I’m telling you to do nothing. I only told you ‘cause you’d find out anyway.”
For a moment his circuits ran hot and his hair stood on end from anger. How could his sensei-- how could anyone just give up on life like that? He had crawled out from the rubble of a ruined building. He had dragged his broken body for a mile in an attempt to get help before running into Dr. Kuseno. But Saitama, who had taken down aliens and demons and everything in between, was just giving up?
The only thing that extinguished the rage was his love for the other man. He loved Saitama’s arms, how they were so defined but could hold him so gently that the nightmares finally stopped. He loved Saitama’s laugh, the way he could let himself go and dance in the grocery aisle to an old song, enjoying every moment of life while Genos chained himself to the past. He loved Saitama’s body, how warm his bare form was pressed against him, reminding Genos of the existence of a heartbeat and body heat and everything he had left behind.
There was so much that Genos didn’t know. He had come to Saitama in the first place to learn. And if his lesson was to sit still and watch the TV, even if his mind was still in overdrive, then he supposed he could do that for now.
---
Genos began to notice the little things in his sensei more than ever. If his age showed anywhere, it was in his hands. Veins and calluses dotted the surface, and when Saitama wasn’t wearing his gloves, Genos traced his fingers along them.
The other way he noticed that Saitama had aged was that people looked at them strangely when they were together. At first, Genos just thought it was because they were a gay couple and thought nothing of it. It first hit him when the old manager at the discount grocery store they frequented had quit, and the new manager asked Genos if Saitama was his father.
“My creator is Dr. Kuseno, scientist of justice,” Genos said. “This is Saitama, my boyfriend.”
The manager hadn’t been able to look either of them in the eye after that.
The bell above the door jingled when they left. Genos stared down at their feet, deliberately not holding Saitama’s hand, but his sensei was just chewing on grapes that they had bought.
“Do I look that young?” Genos said, once they were halfway home.
Saitama shrugged, tossing a grape into his mouth. “Dunno. I guess. It’s not like you really age.”
Genos remembered when his birthday was, but he didn’t like to celebrate it. He had last celebrated it when his family was alive. Back then, he had been having a tiff with his mother and took his slice of cake to his room to hide away from her. He had taken life for granted then and just assumed there would be plenty of better birthdays.
And then there weren’t.
“How old are you now, anyway?” Saitama asked. He began counting on his fingers, then quickly ran out of fingers, and looked at his sneakers in dismay as they blocked him from counting on his toes. “Let’s see… you were 19 when we met, and that was when I first started at the Hero Association, so…”
“It’s been exactly fifteen years,” Genos realized. A bit over fifteen, actually, but Saitama would get annoyed if he began rattling on about leap years and calendar cycles.
Fifteen years. Eventually his searches for that rampaging cyborg became less and less pronounced. Eventually he began to wonder if that cyborg even was still alive. Would his village have wanted justice, in the end? Would the other cyborg’s death have made them feel better, even if it cost Genos becoming a ‘demon cyborg’ of his own? What would his mother have said?
“Haha, you’re old,” Saitama said.
His mother’s last words to him had just been ‘see you later’. Genos had gone out for the afternoon on the day of the attack. He lived by chance, caught under the rubble of a strange building, pretending to be dead until the rampaging cyborg was gone. His family wasn’t as lucky.
“Yes,” Genos said. “I am.”
It didn’t feel right. His family didn’t know they were going to die. They thought he would come home that afternoon and they would have a nice dinner and discuss their day. And here was Saitama, who did know he was going to die, and the man was just throwing grapes into his mouth as if nothing were wrong.
He wondered if Saitama were acting happy for him. The image of his sensei’s haggard face bathed in that blue light had been burned into his mind. Anytime Genos had tried to broach the subject since then, Saitama gave half-answers or ignored him. Genos would almost let himself think it was all a bad dream if he didn’t feel the bed trembling in the middle of the night, when the world was still again, when Saitama let himself cry.
(Genos wasn’t sure if pulling his boyfriend close would help or not, considering how much Saitama had wanted Genos to not do anything. Despite his best attempts, it had all hurt Genos deeply. But what would someone like him know about pain? He was just a machine.)
---
“You haven’t seen that Dr. Kuseno guy in a while, huh?” Saitama asked, as he pulled on his old hero suit.
They weren’t going on a mission; the suit was just his most convenient and durable outfit to run in. Genos had begun to become more and more irritated at slow buses and trains. He wouldn’t whittle away Saitama’s last moments sitting on public transport. A month had passed already. He didn’t know how many more he had left.
“It has been a while. The both of us have been busy,” Genos said, slipping a tank top on.
“You sure you want me to come with you? I never know what to really say to the guy,” Saitama said. “And if you wanna get upgraded, it takes a while.”
“Please come with me,” Genos said. He wasn’t sure what else to say. That he was afraid Saitama would be gone when he came back? That Saitama would just say ‘see you later’ to him and Genos would leave and the both of them would be expecting to see one another again?
Fortunately, Saitama just shrugged. “Sure. I haven’t gone for a run in a while, anyway. Let’s get going.”
The two of them ran the whole way there. It felt nice, just hearing the rushing air and the crunching terrain. Their hero missions had become more far and few between. It felt as if the world had begun to reach peace-- or, as Saitama put it, leaving him needing to find a new hobby.
They soon arrived at Dr. Kuseno’s lab. Genos knocked four times on the door in a particular pattern. The doctor had electronic locks and security measures, of course, but it was an old ritual. Genos found himself wanting to cling to familiarity more than ever now.
The intercom was silent. Genos knocked again. Nothing.
“Maybe he’s asleep,” Saitama suggested.
It was 2 PM. Even in his advanced age, Kuseno never slept in.
Genos pressed a button on the intercom as he disengaged the electronic lock. “Dr. Kuseno? It’s Genos. I’m coming in,” he said.
The first thing Genos noticed was the stench. The lab usually smelled like oil, but now it smelled just like mothballs and microwave meals. Their footsteps clanged on the metal floor; their presence alone uprooted a thin layer of dust that had taken hold of everything that had once been spotless and new.
“Dr. Kuseno?” Genos called out. “Hello?”
They reached a room full of Genos’s own spare parts. These, unlike everything else in the lab, were spotless. They hadn’t been used for anything; the cyborg hadn’t been here in a while, and there was no evidence that Dr. Kuseno was using the parts for anything else. There was no logical reason for only them to be clean-- cared for, even.
“Dr. Kuseno?” he said, much more quietly.
No response. Then he bolted. Genos sprinted from room to room, analyzing everything, so drunk with desperation that he even overturned pillows in case he were hiding underneath them somehow. “Dr. Kuseno?! Where are you?!”
The only room they hadn’t checked in the end had been the bedroom, and that was out of respect and privacy; Genos had never been inside of it. It felt so plain when muttered an apology and finally opened it-- a dresser, a small mirror, a futon with the old man lying atop it. He almost passed over Dr. Kuseno, the elder was so still.
As soon as Genos kneeled by his side, he knew the man was dead. There was no logical reason why. He hadn’t checked Kuseno’s pulse. He hadn’t observed his chest to notice he wasn’t breathing. He just knew, using the type of intuition that couldn’t be built into a machine.
Dr. Kuseno’s eyes were closed and his arms were folded over his chest. He looked peaceful in death. By his bedside sat a half-finished bottle of water, unopened letters from colleagues, and a half-finished crossword puzzle.
Out of all things, what broke him was the thought that Dr. Kuseno thought he would wake up and finish the puzzle but he never did. He couldn't stand the thought that a man of justice had whittled away his last days while his greatest creation had settled down and gotten a boyfriend instead of bringing that rampaging cyborg to justice.
The doctor had been supportive whenever Genos came by for maintenance and gave updates, even as his visits became less and less frequent. Eventually Genos reached a point in his life where he had spent more time loving Saitama than he had hating that malicious cyborg. Even then, his life still revolved around someone else. And now, when he needed Kuseno’s guidance more than ever, the man was gone.
Saitama put a hand on Genos’s back and let him cry, let him weep until all the oil in his tear ducts were gone and all he could do was tremble. The warmth of the hand only made Genos feel worse; his boyfriend was there for him and all he could do while Saitama cried was lie there and feel bad for himself.
Genos had cried over his family, but the crying spells were scattered and disjointed. One moment he might be cleaning Saitama’s bathroom and the next he might be trying to steady himself with deep breaths. One day he might come across an old memory and lie down and let the tears come. Mostly he just felt angry, or empty, or- more recently- at peace. But with Dr. Kuseno’s passing, he cried until Saitama took him into his arms, until he couldn’t cry anymore.
When he had regained enough strength to stand, he did so, and walked right outside the lab to phone emergency services. The dispatcher was bright and responsive and offered a nugget of sympathy when Genos said he had discovered Dr. Kuseno dead. He told them the address, and they said the paramedics would arrive soon, and then apologized for the loss of his dad before ending the call. Genos didn’t feel like correcting them.
As the pair waited for the ambulance to arrive, Saitama turned to ask him a question. “Hey, uh… I’m sorry this happened, but I was thinking. Is there a reason you needed to see him today?”
“I wanted him to make me look older.”
“Huh? Why?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Saitama gestured back at the lab. “Could you do it yourself?”
“I could exchange my own parts, but creating new ones is outside my realm of expertise.”
“Is there anyone else who could do it for you?” he asked.
Genos didn’t answer. Maybe there would be another Dr. Kuseno. And maybe there would be another Saitama. But that didn’t mean he wanted either of them.
The question hung heavy in the air. Finally, Saitama decided to take his boyfriend’s hand into his own. He stroked Genos’s palm with his thumb, subconsciously running the digit over where the life line would be.
Genos supposed it was good that they’d been given less and less hero missions, then. Once he ran out of parts, that was it. The thought didn’t upset him as much as he thought it would. It’s not like they could replace parts of Saitama to fix him, either.
---
One morning, Saitama woke up with a severe cough. He assured Genos that he just had something in his throat. Besides to get water, Genos didn’t let him get out of bed and held his sensei- his boyfriend- as close as he could.
“I want to marry you.” The words slipped out before Genos could catch them.
Saitama shifted a little in his arms so he could look at him. “Why?”
“Because I love you,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Nobody has ever meant as much to me.”
The older man thought about it for a moment. “Even though I’m dying? You still want to marry me?”
“I want something so I know this was real,” Genos answered, truthfully. “I have nothing left of my family. I don’t know if that rampaging cyborg is even still alive. Everything Dr. Kuseno owned is being disputed because of his lack of a will.”
“So you want a memento?” Saitama asked. “What about all the stuff in our apartment? What about my pizza boxes?”
“I want something better to remember you by than the mess you never cleaned up.”
Saitama chuckled. “I know, I know. You’re still so easy to mess with. Okay, then. I’ll marry you on one condition.”
“Anything.”
“You can’t tell anyone I’m dying.”
He had wanted to, but it didn’t feel like his secret to give away. He had longed for comfort but felt selfish seeking it out. He wasn’t the one dying. Not yet.
Admittedly, Genos had found himself wanting to complain to someone. He had just lost Dr. Kuseno without having gotten to say goodbye and now Saitama wasn’t saying goodbye to his friends, either. But he loved Saitama. He couldn’t be mad at him. He couldn’t let Saitama pass away with his last memory of Genos being a fight. “I understand. I promise.”
“Then I’ll marry you,” Saitama said.
Others made grand displays when they proposed. Genos was happy that it happened while they were in bed, holding one another on a lazy morning, laying in sunbeams streaming through the window. It was a moment he wanted to freeze in time, and now he was sure he would be able to remember it forever.
---
It turned out that Saitama didn’t like any gemstones.
“They’re so pricey,” Saitama muttered, turning down everything, especially diamonds. The owner of the ring shop glared at them as they walked out.
“What kind of ring do you want, then, sensei?” Genos asked.
“I dunno.” Saitama shrugged. “I never thought anyone would want to marry me.”
“What do you mean?” Genos asked.
“I mean what I said. It surprised me you stuck around for so long. And then things happened and now we’re here,” he said. “I always thought I was gonna die alone, too, but I guess you sure do wanna prove me wrong.”
The words weren’t said with malice, nor were they a sick joke-- they just seemed like a fact that Saitama had long accepted.
Genos rested a hand on the back of Saitama’s neck and pulled him in to kiss him, not giving a damn who saw. He wished he had some type of comforting words to say, but he didn’t know any, because he had felt the same way himself.
---
They decided on tungsten.
“Did you just want tungsten rings because they’re cheap?” Genos asked.
“Not just ‘cause of that,” Saitama said. He ran a finger over his solid black engagement ring. When he took it off, it revealed the sunset orange color on the inside. He showed it again to Genos, squeezing it between two fingers. “They’re super tough. I think they’re really cool. If someone hit their hand and it swelled, they’d have to take the ring off ‘cause you can’t cut through it. They’d lose the finger if they weren’t careful.”
“Interesting,” he said. He watched as Saitama slipped the ring back on. It wouldn’t be a concern for either of them. Both of them were at least one step removed from humanity in that case, even if they both were born as normal people.
His own engagement ring matched Saitama’s. When he wore it, he felt as if he were home. He didn’t know if he meant home, back in his old village, or home, back in their messy apartment. He just knew he felt whole.
---
Saitama complained he didn’t feel very well. Genos eyed the red circle on the calendar. Just three more weeks until their ceremony. Everything was in place. Mumen Rider would be Saitama’s best man. King had been asked, but he'd been a bit too nervous to make big public appearances since he retired from the Association; he would still happily attend, though. Saitama had sent invitations to the rest of his friends in the Hero Association. Genos didn’t have anyone else, and the thought left him feeling scared, readjusting his ring again and again.
---
Saitama decided it was a great day to do some training, but he couldn’t finish the 10 km run anymore.
---
Saitama hadn’t been able to eat in days. On the morning of the third day, Saitama’s phone rang. Genos picked it up for him.
It was the doctor. She was reluctant to speak with anyone besides Saitama himself, but Genos introduced himself as his new husband, and fortunately she was too polite to ask why.
“There’s… a treatment that may work,” she said. “It’s a procedure that we’re testing. It’s not out of testing, but the idea is that we might be able to-”
“We’ll do it,” Genos said, immediately. Saitama had fallen back asleep already. He had lost the strength to pick up the glass of water that Genos had given him.
The doctor told them to come in tomorrow morning. Genos almost asked if they could come any sooner.
---
“Aren’t you scared?”
“That’s a question I should ask you,” Genos said, to his fiancé laying in the hospital bed.
“They said it might not actually cure me. It might already be too late for me.”
“It will work,” Genos assured him.
The same old sitcom show was playing muted on the hospital room’s TV. Genos watched it for a moment before recognizing that it was even tuned to the same episode that it had been when Saitama first came home with the news.
"If I don't make it, I want you to know that you can find someone else," Saitama said. "You can find some other mediocre dude, even if you’re engaged to this one."
"You are not mediocre. We will get married and I won't need to find anyone else, because you'll be fine."
"I'm getting older, Genos. It's only a matter of time."
Genos couldn't argue with that, a vision of Dr. Kuseno's body flashing through his mind. To a hero, death was something they faced every day. Yet it felt glamorous, in a twisted way. Explosions, bullets, knives-- there were so many things that could take their lives in any moment. Yet, in the end, the only thing that could kill the strongest man was his own self.
"This is the last thing I can teach you as your sensei," Saitama said. He looked uncharacteristically serious.He held Genos's hand tight, and Genos felt the ring against his palm. "You've gotta live for yourself. You've gotta be happy. Okay? If you're not happy, then I'm gonna haunt you. But in a friendly way, so you smile."
He broke into a weak chuckle at that. "I'll... try."
"Thank you," Saitama said. He let his hand fall limp to his side. They could hear the click-clack of his nurse's heels approaching down the hall.
"Sensei," Genos started.
"Hold on," Saitama interrupted. "One last thing. I'm not your sensei anymore. That was the last lesson I had, remember?" he said. "If you really wanna marry me, you've gotta just call me Saitama."
Saitama. It felt foreign on his tongue, but not bad. Saitama was so many things to him- a teacher, a partner, a confidant, a friend, a lover- and it felt as if no one word could encapsulate all that. But this came close. "Saitama," he said, trying it out for himself.
"Good," he said. The clicking of the nurse's heels got closer. "What did you want to say to me?"
"I love you, Saitama."
He grinned. “Love you, too.”
And they would have been nice last words-- if they were going to be last words. As much as Genos wanted to believe that his future husband would be fine, he knew deep down that there was no guarantee. And even if he did make it, like Saitama had said, it was only a matter of time.
Saitama was aging. Genos wasn't.
Instead of those being his last words, though, Saitama called one last thing as the nurse ushered Genos out of the room: "See you later."
---
He sat in the waiting room until they told him to leave. It was taking longer than they thought. Saitama apparently needed a lot of time to recover. Genos went home and stared at the blank TV screen. He didn't want to hear the fake laughter. He already knew he was a joke; he didn’t need to hear the dead people rub it in.
He wasn't sure if he fell asleep, but before he knew it, the sun was rising. He didn't want to go sleep in their bed. It felt wrong without Saitama there. It would be like trying to rest on a bare mattress with no sheets or pillows. Saitama belonged there.
Time passed, but he wasn't sure how. Genos felt as if he always had some clear idea of what to do. Someone would give him a mission to slay a monster and he'd slay the monster. Saitama told them that they were going to the amusement park and so they went to the amusement park. Now he sat on the couch, watching the traffic light change back and forth from the window. A mindless machine, just like him.
A knock on the door caused him to get up. Mumen Rider, in his biking outfit as usual, had come by to discuss last-minute preparations for the ceremony. "I brought lunch, too," he said, gesturing to the Chinese take-out boxes he held in a big plastic bag. "Could I come in?"
Genos invited him in. They sat across from one another at the kitchen table. Genos noticed that Mumen Rider had brought three boxes of take-out, but was too polite to ask where Saitama was. The two discussed catering and parking as they ate-- rather, as Mumen ate and Genos picked at his food. Mumen chattered on about preparations and his idea to retire from hero work and open a bike store. All Genos could think about was that Saitama looked as peaceful as Dr. Kuseno did, lying down in that bed.
"Genos."
He blinked. "Huh?"
"Ah, did you... hear what I just said?"
Genos sighed and put down his chopsticks. "No. I can't focus. I apologize."
Mumen put his chopsticks down as well. "I know it's not my place, but I wanted to let you know that you and Saitama have the full support of all of us. If you ever need to talk to anyone, day or night, you can call me. I'll even cycle right over if you want me to."
He gave a weak nod. The comfort meant no more to him than it would to the traffic light. "Thank you. I appreciate your words,” he said, because he was nothing if he couldn’t lie to himself.
Eventually Mumen had to go, and left the extra take-out box in the fridge for Genos. The cyborg bid him farewell and watched to make sure he left safely and then returned to sitting on the couch, unsure whether he should preserve the spare parts he had left or destroy them.
---
The phone rang at 4 AM, a time when the world was still. Everything was asleep. The clouds obscured the stars. The only things real in the world were his trembling hands, the phone held precariously in the balance, and the disconnected voice telling him that Saitama was dead.
'There were unfortunate complications' were the last words Genos heard before dropping the phone on the ground. The battery popped out the back, and thus no calls back reached him. He wasn't sure what there was left to say. He sat down on the couch in front of the blank TV. His own reflection stared back at him. It looked the same as ever, unlike Saitama with the bags and the wrinkles and the humanity.
With his family's death, his crying spells had been sporadic. With Dr. Kuseno's death, his tears had come out in a flood all at once. And now with Saitama's death, he had no tears at all.
He slapped his own face, doubled over and held his knees, wracked his body in sobbing motions trying to cry. Nothing came out. He didn't understand. His tear ducts were full. He could cry. So why couldn't he? Did he not love Saitama enough? Did he not love Saitama at all? He was created as a heartless killing machine and maybe he always would be, and the only piece of soul he had was wrapped around his finger, given to him by someone who had more than enough to share with everyone he saved.
---
A series of things happened without him being able to interfere, the way the traffic light continued to endlessly cycle.
First: the venue didn't refund their money when he canceled the wedding reservation. He was too tired to fight it.
Second: the hospital finally reached Genos and informed him that Saitama had no next of kin, so the decisions fell to him.
Third: Genos wasn't even sure if Saitama could be cremated, and he didn't want to think about it, so he arranged for a burial.
Fourth: the Hero Association posthumously awarded Bald Cape the S-rank hero status.
Nothing else fazed Genos. Not the loss of hundreds of thousands of Yen that they'd placed on the venue. Not the fact that Saitama had nobody left in his family, either, a fact that he hadn't disclosed even to his future husband-- or, not future husband anymore. Not the knowledge that he was a widow now. Not the fact that Saitama was really, truly gone. But for some reason, the same way that the unfinished crossword puzzle had caused Genos to snap over Dr. Kuseno's death, the Hero Association finally recognizing Saitama for the wonderful man he was only after his death caused Genos's vision to run red with rage.
He immediately phoned the director and shouted more curses and malice than he thought were possible. He cursed the entire board of directors, he spat personal insults for every hero that ever worked there, he condemned the public that kept them in business. It was as if Saitama's presence was the only thing holding him back from returning to being a creature of hate, and now that he was gone, Genos had to make up for lost time. He shouted hatred and threats until the line went dead, and then he shouted more, and then he started addressing them to himself.
It wasn't fair. It didn't make sense. Why was it that Saitama had only gotten to live half of his life? Why had Dr. Kuseno died without his getting to say goodbye? Why was he, Genos, alive when he was the only one out of all three of them that should be dead?
Only once all the hatred had left his body did he sit down and cry. He knew that he didn't hate the Hero Association, or the director, or anybody. He needed a scapegoat to hate, something else to revolve his life around. Because without it, he had no idea what to do.
---
The streets were flooded with people. Genos hadn't seen so many gathered in place since everyone had evacuated from the Deep Sea King.
It turned out that hundreds, if not thousands, had made their way out for the funeral. A boy that Saitama protected from being hit by a drunk driver. A lady who's cat Saitama found one time. The new and old manager of the discount grocery store Everyone in the Hero Association, or so it felt. It felt as if his presence were truly missed in the world. It brought Genos no comfort that he wasn't alone in his mourning, but he didn't turn anyone away.
Mumen Rider gave the longest eulogy, detailing how he and Saitama met and how much his friendship meant to him. He had to stop once, to wipe his tears away, even if they were hidden under his glasses. "... But, if he were here, he'd be saying... 'keep it 20 words or less!'" he said. A light laugh washed over the crowd. "The bottom line is... Saitama was a true hero. Someone who didn't do it for fortune or fame. Someone who just wanted to do the right thing. And I know his legacy will live on for generations. Thank you."
Applause rang out. Genos clapped too, feeling something stir inside where his heart would be. Even if Saitama were gone, his legacy did live on. Even as selfish as Genos was, wishing he could have Saitama all to himself, the hero had touched a lot of hearts.
Other heroes had a few words to say as well. King made a rare public appearance, and then Fubuki, and even others that Genos himself didn’t know. Mumen had taken the seat next to Genos. "You don't have to go up there if you don't want to," he whispered.
He didn't know what he would even say. Saitama had meant too much for him to put into words. And now, after his death, he only felt upset. If Saitama had trusted Genos more, then he could have comforted Saitama. Or maybe, if Genos were more trustworthy, Saitama would have told him that he had no next of kin. He had failed Saitama the way he had failed Dr. Kuseno.
In the end, Genos didn't give a eulogy. Maybe it would be better that way. He thought, if Saitama were here, he'd say to get on with it already. The thought made him chuckle a little. Impatient, even at his own funeral. Maybe his ghost really was haunting him.
They lowered the coffin into the grave and Genos cast the first bit of dirt onto the coffin. When it was covered fully, he just stared at the ground. Now, the man he loved was really, truly gone.
Maybe he was human because of his anger, his regrets, rather than just feeling pure performative sadness. The studio audience in those shows would laugh or cry on command, and right now, Genos wasn’t sure which he felt like doing. He hadn’t been able to help Saitama’s depression before he passed, but it wasn’t that simple. Even if Saitama let him reach out, they were both made to harm, not heal.
He had never disobeyed his sensei's lessons-- and he felt that he couldn’t start now. It felt apparent somehow, staring at the grave, the bundles of cut flowers sitting atop it that were doomed to wither. He couldn't just get rid of his replacement parts and give up. Even if it were confusing, even if it hurt, Saitama would want him to live. The tungsten ring hugging his finger reminded him they had both come from similar places, and their love had been real.
Even if Genos felt as if he were destined to die in battle somehow, or that he at least wouldn’t need to live anymore after having killed that cyborg, he couldn’t let himself think that way anymore. He had to live a full life so that he could tell Saitama all about everything he had learned when they met in the next world. He would have to become a whole different person-- but in a metaphorical sense, not like his transformation into a cyborg. So long as he felt the assurance of the ring on his finger, he always felt like he would be recognizable enough.
"See you later," he said, to the grave. And then he turned, and faced the crowd of all of Saitama's friends and fans, and headed toward the future.