Chapter Text
Genos was up before him as usual.
Saitama sat up slowly, languidly stretching his arms and yawning loudly as he watched his roommate busy himself in the kitchen.
“Good morning Sensei, breakfast won’t be too long away now.”
Saitama mumbled a sleep-slurred greeting and crawled off his futon towards the low table. It was only a short while later when Genos entered the room, bowls of rice in hand and green tea, pickled vegetables and fried fish following shortly after.
“Napa cabbage is on sale today, it's a start of the month sale or something. I’m going to head down to the supermarket after this,” Saitama managed between mouthfuls of rice.
“That’s great Sensei, I’ll accompany you.”
Genos was smiling, it struck Saitama in that moment how much things have changed since their first meeting. His rigid disciple had really softened over the last few months. Well at least with him. Genos was still just as forward and offensive to anyone else. That was when he noticed Genos hadn’t touched his food, eyes glued to Saitama.
“You alright there dude?”
Genos splutters a bit, eyes darting away and hurriedly reached out a hand for the tea.
“Of course Sensei, just lost in thought.”
As he takes a sip, his phone rings.
“Please excuse me Sensei.”
Saitama grunted through a mouthful of food as his disciple left the table to take the call. He can hear him through the window, having completely dropped any politeness he had been using over breakfast. It must be the hero association.
He hears the phone click shut.
“Sensei, there’s an emergency down in K city. I need to leave immediately, but I don’t think your presence is needed. I should be back by lunch.”
Saitama looked up from his empty bowl of rice and gave a thumbs up.
“You do what you gotta do Genos, I’ll see you later.”
*
With Genos gone for the morning, Saitama went to score his sale price Napa cabbage by himself. He navigated the grocery aisles, weaving between a few elder ladies to get to the vegetable section of the shop. He proudly nabbed the last one, earning himself a few annoyed glances by fellow shoppers. In a sense he was glad Genos wasn’t there. It would’ve killed him if Genos went off at any of the others glaring at him. He was a good guy, but at times he was really just a bit too much for Saitama. Sometimes he just needed a morning to spend by himself.
*
Genos was still out when he arrived home. A quick glance at the clock confirmed it was midday, but with Genos going to be out for who knows how long, lunch could wait.
After putting the cabbage away Saitama flopped unceremoniously onto the folded futon and reached for a manga. This was the one time he felt a bit annoyed at not owning a phone. He was just going to have to wait until Genos came back until he started up lunch. It was Saitama’s turn to cook today and he just knew that his overly attached cyborg roommate was going to hijack the kitchen as usual. Honestly his cooking surely wasn’t that bad, after all Genos always praised it without fail. He really should be used to Genos’s overeager demeanour by now, it had been months since he moved in. But the pile of over 50 notebooks stacked neatly on the desk seemed to loom over him a little ominously.
Saitama flops over, facing the other way. He’s thinking too much, having Genos around is good. It had honestly been years since he last felt anything. Waking up to a freshly cooked breakfast was more than he could ask for. It didn’t provide an overwhelming feeling of joy, but it was a little comfort that he was welcomed in his own house and made waking up each day a little easier.
He was really going to have to cook Genos a good meal when he came home.
*
Saitama groaned and stretched out his stiff shoulders. He shuffled a bit against the timber floor – wait? When did he end up sprawled across the floor?
His eyes snapped open to a pitch black room. He stares up at the hazy ceiling obscured by the greys and blacks of his sleepy vision. But the overwhelming part of lying there wasn’t the view but the silence.
Was Genos still not home?
He shifts his body with a grunt and sits up. A brief scan around the apartment confirms that. The curtains were still open, the notebooks untouched, it had only been Saitama in this room. He flicks the light on and widens his eyes at the time.
It’s 8pm. Genos was supposed to be back for lunch.
His arms are on automatic, grabbing the remote and flicking on the TV without a conscious thought. The 24 hour news channel flicks to life and he’s greeted with a view of the destruction of K city.
He’s out the door only a moment later, coin purse in hand and bare feet slapping along the concrete of his home town. He makes it to the edge of the abandoned zone eyes locked on the only working payphone anywhere close to his apartment.
It takes three tries to get the coins in, the first time clinking off the slot and bouncing down around his feet, the second dinting the edge with his strength. He tries to limit his panting breaths as he punches the number in after the third successful attempt and torturously waits through the dialling tone. He briefly realises he can hear the sound of his blood pumping over the rings.
“Hello this is the Hero Association direct line, please state your hero name.”
“It’s Sai – uh Caped Baldy,” he manages, eyes burning a hole through the payphone in front of him.
“Caped Baldy… ah rank B 63 how can I help you?”
He swallows loudly, “Can you tell me where Demon Cyborg is? I think he was in K city this morning.”
There’s the clicking of keys over the phone. Saitama briefly hopes it’s just that they’re looking up his relations, that they know where he is. That he’s getting a few minor repairs, so maybe helping out with the causalities. Maybe Kuseno called the association earlier, Genos headstrong as usual ran into battle and trashed his new arms. Or legs. Or both. He probably had to get picked up and he’s already planning his 20 minute long speech for Saitama to beg for his forgiveness or perhaps-
The typing stops and the phone is completely silent for a long few seconds.
“Demon Cyborg was defeated earlier this morning in-“
“Wait so he’s dead?” Saitama interrupts.
There’s another tortuous moment of silence.
“Yes.”
Saitama hangs up the phone.
His arm moves like a whip and in an explosion of screeching metal and lashes of freed electrical wires the phone booth is gone into the wind.
*
He doesn’t remember walking home that night. But he finds himself laying down in the middle of his apartment. His back against the wooden floor, and eyes fixed on the empty space above him - his panting breaths and overworked lungs the only sound filling the room.