Work Text:
1.
There is laughter coming from the television. Genos recognises the actors and is mentally recalling which episode it is from reading the TV guide this morning. It doesn't actually matter, he realises, because Saitama isn't watching the show. He is looking at the television screen but he might as well be looking at a blank wall.
Genos is on his knees, beside him, saying 'Saitama-sensei'. His hands make several aborted gestures towards Saitama's wet face. Saitama blinks once, twice, inclines his head laconicly as if waking from a dream. "Welcome home," he says, taking the proffered tissues in surprise and confusion.
2.
Genos piles the sun-warmed clothes into the laundry basket and steps back into the apartment. He sets about folding them in quick, precise motions, the way Saitama taught him. Once he's satisfied they're in a neat pile, he looks eagerly to where Saitama is washing the dishes in the window, searching for praise.
Saitama is a creaking robot, putting the plates under running water, running the sponge over them. His face is a drawn blank. Genos rushes to his side, surprising Saitama, who stares at him incomprehensibly. The edge of his mouth quirks up as Genos dabs fretfully at his cheek with a paper towel.
3.
Genos wakes like digital clockwork at 3am every night, and every night he lies awake for exactly 30 seconds before re-entering sleep mode. Tonight is different. Saitama's futon is cold and the balcony door is open, letting in a cold breeze.
Saitama doesn't turn when Genos walks up beside him. His fingers twitch as if they're used to thumbing a filter or flicking a lighter. "Am I too strong?" Saitama asks the night. It swallows his words but he doesn't flinch, doesn't even move as Genos catches a stray tear on his finger.
4.
A stray cat greets him on his way past the park, and Genos is careful not to jostle the eggs too much when he leans down to stroke it, lest they break. Further ahead, he sees a familiar figure clad in red, yellow and white, reclining on a park bench watching the setting sun. It casts him in gold, but his cheeks are highlighted with silver.
He pats the bench as Genos draws near and allows Genos to guide his head onto a stiff, but warm, shoulder.
Bonus
Losing part of his leg when he clipped the side of a building slows him down, but Saitama had showed up relatively early, sparing him from what would have been a more serious loss of limbs.
"Alright, then?"
"Y-yeah, thanks mister Baldy."
"No worries, and who're you calling bald, kid?" Genos hears a childish giggle and a familiar voice coming from behind a pile of rubble.
"Are you going to be okay, mister?"
"Me?" Genos rounds the corner in time to a small boy of about ten get up to stand in front of Saitama, sitting on the curb of a cracked pavement. The boy has a scraped knee, and he's pointing to his reddened eyes. Saitama's back is to him but Genos sees him lift a gloved hand to his face and draw it away to examine it. "Huh. I guess I should find him," Genos hears him say. "He worries."
The boy grins, "I'm glad, mister Baldy, my mommy worries too."
He waits until the boy had left before he stands, spotting Genos still a fair distance from him. "I do worry," Genos says, closing the distance between them when he meets Saitama halfway, the words fall unbidden from his mouth. "I worry a lot."
Saitama thumbs the area under Genos' eyes, flicking away oily fluid and draws him closer still. His lips are thin and chapped and wet. Genos can taste his smile.