Saitama tugged his well-loved jacket closer, laughing low. “And leave you naked?”

“It would not matter much to me, Sensei. I can maintain my internal body temperature regardless of how much clothing I wear.”

A leaf pattered across the broken concrete, leaving bits of itself behind with every bounce. “That’s not really the point.”

“If it would help you keep warm, I would be more than happy to lend it to you.”

“Of course you would,” Saitama muttered, eyes focused on the boots beside him. It was a familiar sight, now, and sound. The stomp-stomp, the chink-chink, the whirr of motors and a deep voice he could always rely on to answer him.

It’s weird, how quickly it became a habit for Saitama to call out to him.

“Hey Genos?”

“Yes, Sensei?”

Saitama smiled. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“...Do…what?”

“Give me anything I ask for.”

“But you would do it for me.”

It was getting harder to look him in the eyes sometimes, though. “Well…”

“And I’m happy to do it.”

“But you don’t have to.”

“Sensei, you misunderstand.” The steps beside him slowed. “I am happy to do it. Even if I didn’t feel that I should as your disciple, or because you deserved it for all that you are, I would still do it. I enjoy it.”

“...Yeah?” Saitama asked, looking up to the clear sky, matching the pace of the man next to him. “I guess that makes sense. You’re always looking out for everyone.”

Genos stopped, so Saitama stopped too. It was a second before he piped up again. “I do not feel that I am proficient enough to look out for everyone… But Sensei, is… You are not just anyone.”

The stars were so bright, and so many. It made Saitama dizzy. “You say that stuff all the time… I feel like a jerk.”

“Why? I didn’t mean to–”

“No,” Saitama interrupted, laying a hand on Genos’ shoulder. “Not like that. You’re not doing it. I just never say anything back to you.”

His ever-devoted disciple tipped his head. “Do you have anything to say back?”

“You don’t think I do?”

Genos blinked. “About me? I…” His breath steamed against the dark, catching the moonlight and curling around his face like a glowing picture frame. “I cannot imagine what you would have to say.”

He looked so...soft.

“Are you serious," Saitama asked, failing to make it sound like a joke.

“Yes.” He hid his eyes behind his bangs. Saitama was sure he didn’t know how much of a tell that was, or else he wouldn’t do it.

“You don’t think I…” Saitama swallowed. “Do you think that little of yourself?”

Genos shrunk back. “I am reckless and stupid in battle, and I am constantly forgetting things. It seems I can never get anything right, no matter how many chances I am given. If I could–”

Saitama put a finger to his mouth before he could go down that path. “Stop. No. You wouldn’t be here if all you did was lose.” He let his hand slip. “You know that.”

Steam whispered from under Saitama’s fingers. It was hot, and burned even worse next to the sting of the cold air. He moved his palm to rest it on Genos’ core and it pulsed gently in the night. 

It radiated a much nicer kind of warmth.

They stood like that in the dark, wind whistling through the trees around them. Saitama watched the blue light bleed out between his fingers. It was mesmerizing. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, quiet, “That I’m bad. At that. At letting you know.”

“Know…what, Sensei?” Genos leaned closer, like the hum around them was too loud and he couldn't hear over it. “You still haven’t said what you mean.”

They both knew he could though.

“What… What I think about you.”

Genos looked up, expectant. He stared like a frightened rabbit, but his eyes were locked onto Saitama all the same. 

When Saitama focused back onto his chest, those eyes followed. They were quiet again for the second time as Saitama thought. His silence was harsh and biting as the chill.

Then, with only a small uptick in his pulse, he took Genos' chin and tipped it up. And he was the one to look him straight-on this time.

It was still hard.

Genos’ hand tentatively curled around his wrist. Not pulling. Not pushing.

“I,” Saitama started, breathing out. He could feel the heat sticking to his skin. They were so close now there was nowhere else for it to go. “Genos, I…”

Metal fingers tugged at his open coat, scared. Hopeful. Inviting.

Genos’ lip was trembling. 

Saitama inhaled once more, tasting the electricity that buzzed beneath his hand. He swallowed it down, deep into his gut, and he pressed forward.

Genos would give Saitama the shirt off his back without a second thought. Of course he would. And he was right, Saitama would do the same for him. He would help keep the shiver from Genos however he knew how, no matter where it was.

To keep him warm. …To keep him near.

To try to let him know everything he meant to his dumb, grateful, overheating sensei, even if the feeling was too big to ever fit into words alone.

His lips could still make do.