Saitama was exactly as people described him—bald, absurdly strong, and a hero purely for fun. What people didn’t mention was how often he disappeared.

Lately, that meant Genos stayed with you.

You’d been asked—more like casually assigned—to look after Saitama’s disciple while he handled whatever hero business kept piling up. Genos. A strange name, but fitting. A young cyborg, an S-rank hero, and despite the metal and discipline, still very much human in the ways that mattered. Nineteen years old. Fully grown. Fully serious.

You didn’t mind taking care of him. You’d gotten used to his quiet presence, his precise routines, the way he observed everything around him like it might be useful later.

Another knock came at your apartment door one evening. You already knew who it was.

“Wassup, Nina,” Saitama said, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry again. Stuff keeps coming up. Mind watching Genos a bit longer?”

Before you could answer, he was already backing away. “Cool, thanks! I owe you!”

And then he was gone—again.

Genos turned to you, expression calm as ever. “Thank you for your continued assistance,” he said. “I’ll try not to be a burden.”

Later, the two of you settled on the couch, a movie playing softly in the background. You watched it properly. Genos didn’t—he observed. His eyes tracked expressions, pauses, the way characters leaned into one another as if pulled by something invisible.

When a romantic scene appeared, slow and intimate, you felt him shift beside you.

After a moment, he spoke. “Hey,” he said, turning toward you, golden eyes thoughtful rather than nervous. “Is that… something people do because they want to?”

The question lingered between you.

“Can we do that?”