#yaaaaaaaaaassss

Saitama fixed his gaze entirely on the flower in his hand, its rich color slowly fading the longer he held onto it. Genos was so warm beside him, his heat sliding over his frigid and lonely bones so firmly and pleasantly. It took all of his self-control not to lean closer, push further into that radiant warmth. His body was buzzing, begging him to get closer. His entire being was zeroing in on Genos, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. 

Saitama cleared his throat and said, “Hey.”

“Hello.”

Even Genos’ voice was mesmerizing. It was as if he had been born entirely with all of the qualities Saitama found attractive. Not fair.

Saitama chanced a glance to his right and found Genos staring straight at him, his gaze intense, his eyes enchanting. Saitama turned to look at him fully, a furrow at his brow. 

“You…do know who I am right?”

Genos blinked at him twice before saying, “Of course I do.”

“And that doesn’t bother you? Or anything?” 

The blonde tilted his head, his gaze drawing skyward. “No. It never will.”

That made something fuzzy blossom in Saitama’s chest, something that he would later admit felt nice. 

Regardless, he scoffed and looked away. “That’s surprising. Everyone gives me a wide berth when I walk by.”

“They simply don’t understand you,” Genos said with a frown. 

“And you do?”

The blonde let out a deep breath, “You are someone the world sees as dangerous despite how obvious it is that you aren’t. They’re scared of you.”

Saitama shrugged noncommittally. “Eh, whatever. As long as they leave me alone, I don’t care what they think.”

Genos drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. “It doesn’t bother you?”

“Nope,” He replied, his eyes finding the flower again. It was beginning to shrivel in his hand, its colors near indistinguishable. “I know who I am and that’s all that matters.”

Genos didn’t reply and they lapsed into a short silence before Saitama couldn’t help himself. 

“Are you?”

“Am I what?” 

“Scared of me,” Saitama said, keeping his voice decidedly neutral.    

“I wouldn’t be sitting here if I was.”

Saitama’s lips very nearly twitched into a smile. “Sorry. Just had to ask.”

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, Genos’ hesitant hand coming into view mere seconds later. There was a brief pause before he laid his hand over top of Saitama’s and, oh, it was so warm and soft and everything Saitama wasn’t. It was perfection. 

The wilted flower began to rise, its colors returning to its stem and petals. It wasn’t often that Saitama saw something grow in his hands. He was used to the decay of leaves as he went by, the souring of the air the longer he stayed in one place, the grass dying beneath his feet. But this…this was…

Saitama looked at Genos, the blonde’s attention occupied by the flower. He hadn’t of realized how close Genos had gotten, how he was leaning toward him, their shoulders nearly brushing. At any distance, it was hard to mistake Genos as anything other than beautiful but this close, with their faces mere inches apart, he was gorgeous. His golden hair fell over his forehead just enough to touch his eyebrows, his eyelashes distracting at this distance. 

“This is the way I’m supposed to be,” Genos said softly. “This is what I’m supposed to do.”

“But?”

"They always said I was more like the sun than the earth. I wasn’t supposed to come out that way. They say I have a fire in me that hurts. That’s why my eyes are the way that they are because ‘I’m burning myself from the inside out’.” 

“I like them.”

Genos’ gaze flickered up to him in surprise, those golden irises looking at him as if he had said something preposterous. “You do?”

“I think they’re pretty,” He said, resisting the urge to touch the blonde’s cheek. Genos ducked his head and Saitama used his free hand to tip his chin back up. “I’m not afraid of you either.”

When Genos smiled, it was as if the world had gotten ten times brighter, as if Saitama was looking right at the sun. The flowers around them seemed to gain more color, the grass greener than he had ever seen. Even the carnation trapped between their hands grew in intensity, its orange now fiery. Perhaps there was even a faint glow to Genos’ skin, light radiating from his arms, but it was hard to tell. 

Genos opened his mouth to say something, his other hand dropping to Saitama’s thigh. However, someone called his name, startling him slightly. He looked to his left and frowned. 

“I have to go,” He said. 

Saitama nodded and tried his best to look impassively indifferent to Genos’ departure. The blonde looked down at the carnation before he touched the ground beside them, just at the cusp of the rotted grass beneath Saitama. A beautiful white flower began to grow as Genos stood up. 

“It’s a gardenia,” He said hurriedly before walking away.