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Today was a good day, he thought.
The sky was neat, clouds not too cluttered together nor too far apart. The sun wasn’t as scorching as much while it harmonized with the soft breeze caressing his skin, cape gently flowing behind him as he took in a deep fresh breath of air and raised his chopsticks up.
The salmon in between the wooden sticks then slipped right through, and Saitama could only gawk at how it flopped against the rim of his lunch box before flipping over the edge. Straight down a hundred fifty meters.
Hm, what was he thinking again? Ah yes, terrible. Today was absolutely terrible.
He could catch it, shoot right up from his seat and dash alongside this tower with a trail of smoke billowing beneath his boots before the meal could splatter into a pile of mush and oil on the concrete. Snag it using his chopsticks in the middle of its fall, maybe mutter a fumbled apology to any startled passersby, and run back up to his relaxing seat at the very top. Three seconds, easy.
He could.
Instead, his chopsticks quietly clattered into the box and a free hand moved down to rest against a tuft. Soft. Kind of messy, his fault. But hey, soft.
A low hum thrummed against his thighs, the tuft leaning further into the hand running through its strands and a nose snuggling a bit deeper into his—
“Oi.” Saitama flinched, pushing the head on his lap and thumping it softly with the bottom of his lunch box. Neither of his actions proved to be threatening, made clear by the boy only huffing out a breathy chuckle. An absolute brat right there. On second thought, maybe that salmon had to be worth it after all.
He chanced a peek below, eyes squinted. Ah, too late now. A pile of mush and oil. He wasn’t able to suppress his sigh, and it didn’t go unnoticed by the boy, who fluttered a single eye open to peer up at him. He found it baffling to discover how much concern can fit into a single iris. It could maybe rival against the beauty in it.
Genos opened both his eyes, and Saitama instantly took those words back.
“What is it?” Asked in a whisper. His voice was just like his hair. Okay, that seemed like a stupid thought. But to Saitama, it made complete sense. Stupid sense. Senseless stupid. Wait, that didn’t make sense.
He apparently took too long to reply, because Genos had sat up, and Saitama briefly mourned the loss of contact. But then Genos slid closer to him to the point of their shoulders touching, and continued to look at him with those really nice eyes, so everything had to be okay now. The gaze flickered from him to the lunch box held in his hand, filled with rice and void of a side dish. His head turned to the side, Saitama zoning into his profile. Of course the beauty could never be limited inside those amber orbs. It would overflow. Burst, giant explosion. Supernova. Where’d he learn that word from, again?
Genos peered down below with the same squinted expression Saitama had before. It was so frustratingly endearing. “Oh.” Realization flashed across cybernetic features. “I will run down to the nearest store and buy Sensei—”
“Nope.”
“But—”
“Nu-uh.”
“Sensei’s—”
“Sit.”
“You—”
“Down.” Aha, now he was threatening. He definitely was, Genos eventually settled back down into their world next to him. The fact that it was out of reluctance would be dutifully ignored.
That pout, though. Cupid’s bow slightly hidden behind a push of the bottom lip, that was definitely not being ignored. If anything, Saitama would like to zero in every fiber of his attention into those smooth, rosy, petty yet elegant—
“Sensei has nothing to pair his rice with,” Genos pointed out.
Saitama only waved him off. “It’s fine. Wasn’t that hungry.” He set the lunch box down by his side before scooching farther from the edge, only a little bit, and patting down his lap. Left hand on left thigh, right hand on right thigh. Up, down, up, down until Genos released another airy laugh and resumed his lying position, the temple of his head snuggling Saitama’s abdomen. Prickles of warmth swirling in his salmon-less gut.
The really nice eyes fluttered shut once again. The loss of the orbs wasn’t unpleasant, because Saitama then got front row seats to watch how long lashes fan over pale skin. He could spend all day just counting the individual threads, hands resting on the boy’s cheeks, thumbs stroking the patch of skin underneath the tiny hairs. Wouldn’t mind at all if it took the rest of his years to do so. As long as the one on his lap, in his hands, didn’t mind as well.
He barely resisted the urge to lean down and softly peck one of the lashes, neck straining a bit at the awkward position. The joy in the opened eyes paired with a stretch of a smile had him forgetting all about it. Never would he ever get tired of seeing the shade of amber, gleaming underneath the bright sky, only slightly getting covered by stray blond hairs because of the wind. Saitama chose to relieve the orbs from that with a palm pushing back the bangs and goddamn he’ll never get tired of those eyes.
“Wanna play a game?” Saitama asked. A tilted head was the reply. “Eye Spy. Wait— or, is it ‘I Spy’?”
“You said the same thing twice, Sensei.”
Saitama rolled his eyes. They sound the same anyway, it didn’t matter. “Do you wanna play?”
“What are the rules?”
The bafflement that bubbled within him had been immediately tampered down as soon as it arrived. Layered with a nasty feeling that couldn’t be silenced. But Saitama shook it all off to the far side. If Genos didn’t know what Eye/I Spy was, then Saitama would have no qualms explaining it to him.
“Okay,” Saitama started, fingers lightly scratching against the boy’s scalp. “So basically you start with saying something like ‘I spy with my little eye something’ blah blah blah. That 'blah blah blah' is supposed to, like, be describing what you’re ‘spying.’ Then the other would have to guess the thing you chose and if they guess it right, yay, they win. If it’s wrong, boo, the guesser loses.”
“Can we describe anything?” Genos asked.
“Yep,” Saitama went. “It’s gotta be something you’re seeing, though. Wanna play?”
Genos appeared to be thinking for a moment, and the expression was the third most adorable sight next to the pout scarcely a minute ago. His eyes roamed skyward as he pondered, over what exactly, Saitama didn’t really mind. The motion had the boy’s head dig deeper into his lap, resulting in the fingers shifting from a simple scratch to a gentle massage. “What would be the stakes?” He eventually asked, to which Saitama startled a bit.
“Stakes?” He repeated. “You wanna have stakes?” For a simple game such as this, apparently, because Genos nodded.
“Nothing wrong with a good challenge,” said Genos and of course it was said by Genos, who lived every single day of his life as if he were in a competition. Or at least he used to. Because now, as Saitama’s gazing at the boy lounging around six inches away from the edge, a leg fully stretched out while the other was bent with its knee swaying ever so tamely, he can practically just breath onto the voice for it to topple over at how light it is.
It was a good thing.
“What d’you even want though?” Saitama asked him.
“If I win, I get to buy Sensei his salmon.”
He scoffed at that, despite the warmth flowing from his chest to his cheeks, because a fleeting sense of a flutter had taken over it. “No you will not.”
“Are you willing to bet on it?” Absolute brat strikes again. Saitama was more annoyed at the fact that he wasn’t that much annoyed.
“Fine.” Saitama exhaled. “If I win, you’re not buying anything because I’m perfectly fine , Genos, I’m not hungry, I’m not, do you understand me, Genos, my stomach is fed, Genos, I don’t need to eat anymore, Genos, it’s okay, you don’t have to—”
“Best of three,” Genos announced.
Saitama only rolled his eyes, but the motion had him catching something in the corner of his vision. “I’ll go first, I’ll go first. You ready?” At Genos’ placid nod, he cleared his throat and thumped a fist against his chest before graciously declaring, “I spy with my little eye… something in the sky.”
“That’s a bit vague, isn’t it, Sensei.”
“Nothing wrong with a good challenge, Genos.” It had been Genos who rolled his eyes this time. The fourth most adorable sight in Saitama’s personal hierarchy. He watched as the boy adjusted his position as he searched the sky, really nice eyes flitting from one portion of the light blue mass to another, skimming puffy clouds and Saitama began wondering whether the sun would burn the mechanical irises or not. Then again, the boy could burn brighter.
Saitama was also wondering whether Genos would be able to answer any moment now, because he would be missing the object pretty quickly. Probably.
“That bird.” Genos pointed upward, to a small, dark-colored figure soaring through the sky by itself. Wings flapping once or twice, a stark contrast amidst the bright blue void.
“Nope. Wrong.”
A crease had formed in between confused brows. One that persisted as Saitama lightly pinched Genos’ index finger and redirected it to their east, just in time for a flimsy red balloon to be seen floating higher and higher into the atmosphere, before it eventually popped.
“Woo! One point!” Saitama cheered.
Surprisingly, Genos started grumbling. “That was completely out of my peripherals.”
“You weren’t looking hard enough, Genos.” Surprisingly, Saitama cooed. “Your turn.”
Genos shifted to lay on his side for his search. The new position presented Saitama an ear, where the fingers buried into a blond mop began tucking locks in. The wind disturbed the strands, pushing them out of place. Saitama tucked them again.
The wind blew them again.
Saitama tucked them again.
“I spy with my little eye…” Genos’ voice sounded in the air. “Something fluffy.”
“Hair,” Saitama blurted out, before his eyes widened in horrific realization. “Wait, no—”
“Wrong. You weren’t looking hard enough, Sensei.” The mocking tone was accompanied by the sound of a chuckle, one filled with so much amusement that Saitama didn’t think too hard on wondering if they were really playing Eye/I Spy or Repeat After Me. Because everything was still okay, as long as the laughter kept going.
“What was it?”
“A cat.”
“Where? Where, where?”
On Saitama’s turn, he lost once Genos successfully pointed out the two-story bus he was describing, a two-to-one.
He won afterwards when he guessed Genos’ billboard, two-all.
Lost as the boy correctly chose the orange alien-looking monster rather than the orange alien-looking hero fighting it, three-to-two.
Then Genos said, “I spy…” And the game continued.
“Something sweet.”
“Alright, I spot a candy shop right there… but there’s an ice cream truck over there…”
And the laughs continued.
“Sensei, that was a terrible description.”
“He’s literally a walking blueberry. ”
And fingers kept running through soft, blond strands.
“Genos, that’s cheating!”
“I spied it.”
“That’s, like, four hundred meters away!”
“Four hundred and sixty two.”
And the boy kept smiling, pools of amber gleaming with mirth.
“Sensei, now you’re cheating.”
“Genos, I’m telling you, that cloud looks like King.”
And the wind kept blowing. And the sun kept shining. And the single bird found its flock, the stray cat was given some leftovers to snack on, and today… Today was—
“Is it the salmon you dropped?” Genos asked, to which Saitama groaned out loud because, yes, it was the pile of mush and oil. Now patterned with the soles of a rubber shoe, where a jogger stepped right on it and continued on her merry way. As Saitama watched her disappear right around the corner, it was at this moment that he remembered that the two of them definitely went past the initial three rounds they planned.
“Yo, who won?”
“Me,” Genos answered.
Saitama snorted at the amount of confidence that oozed right out of the boy’s voice, completely contrasting his languid posture. He was having fun.
He was having fun.
Such a great feeling.
“I meant overall. Who got to three first?”
Genos hummed, his hand hovering past the edge. Delicately swaying in the air, ever so slightly brushing against Saitama’s boot. “Me.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“Because Sensei is a sore loser.” The brat shifted his position, resuming his lay on his back as he looked back up at Saitama, making no effort to hide the smugness radiating from within those damn eyes of his.
A definitely not so childish blow of a raspberry was Saitama’s response, paired with an equally not so childish shake of his head. “I demand another round. An all-or-nothing! Winner takes all!”
Genos finally sat up from his lay, looking at the giddy hero up and down. “Sensei really doesn’t want that salmon.”
“Sensei really wants to win,” Saitama shot back, hands rubbing together as if plotting some secret super plan that would get him triumphing in this incredibly serious not at all childish game. “Okay, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go. Give me your best shot— and don’t you dare use your optical superzoom thingamajig, Genos, I swear to all things under a hundred yen—”
“I love you.”
And the prickles of warmth that had once resided in his gut, that had once coarsed to his cheeks, transformed into a wave surging all around him, encompassing the tips of his ears all the way to his toes. One giant blanket embracing his entire being in the form of three words.
Supernova.
Inside his very soul and inside those eyes gazing at him.
“I apologize,” Genos told him, but remorse did not paint his features. Something softer decorated it. “Seeing Sensei be so… lively… How his feet start kicking up into the air from time to time, how his head tilts side to side whenever he’s thinking carefully, how he brings up a fist to his lips once he finally gets an answer… His lips, a small smile on them, spreading as wide as ever once he gets a point, the stretch having crinkles forming at the edges of his eyes. Four on the left, three on the right…”
Gazing at him, as if he were everything he too sees in the boy.
“It was impossible to keep those three words in, Saitama.”
And the eyes moved closer, and closer, and closer, until Saitama could feel a nose touching his, a hand on his jaw, a thumb on his cheek, and lips on his.
Ah, so that’s where he learned that word from.
Genos pulled back, not at all faltering in giving the other a lingering peck once he chased after him, and continued to look into Saitama’s face.
“I spy,” he began, "with my little eye..." The whisper not so much registering into Saitama’s warm, fuzzy mind as he was returning the tender gaze aimed right at him, “something… red.”
Unintelligible mumbles gurgled out of Saitama’s mouth, a warm cheek squishing a bit into Genos’ palm. “...’s not me.”
“Oh, Sensei.” That goddamn lilt in his voice, goddammit. “It’s so unfortunate that I must relay to you that you are wrong.” Another peck on the lips. “I win.”
Brat, brat, brat. Saitama sighed, before escaping Genos’ hand to situate his face into the crook of the boy’s neck, leaning his whole weight into the other’s body. “Whatever. You’re a cheater.”
“I’m a winner,” Genos said. “Now excuse me, the rules established stated that I am to go now and buy—”
“Nope.”
“But—”
“Nu-uh.”
“Sensei—”
“Sit.”
“You—”
“ Stay .” Hands reached up to wrap around the boy’s shoulders, gradually pushing him to lean further and down on his back with little to no resistance. Saitama laying on top of him, Genos encircling his arms around his waist. Back down into their world.
A huff blew against his ear. “Who’s cheating now?”
“Oi, game’s over. Shh.”
A laugh, soft like fluffy blond hair, and the arms around him hold tighter, while Saitama too buries himself deeper into the world. The neat, blue sky above them, clouds neither clutter nor scattered too far, sun shining just the right way as it matched with the cooling wisps of the wind brushing against skin, cape flowing a bit, acting as a sort of hovering blanket over the two boys. Saitama took in a deep breath of the scent on the other’s neck, sighing contentedly afterwards.
Today was a good day, he thought.