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migleefulmoments · 5 years

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I am a fan of Wentworth, and he was saying he wasn't gay in almost every interview at the time (before anyone read anything in that statement I'm not insinuating anything about D, just so we're clear). He didn't evade the question, he was stating "I'm not gay". Now when we were watching him (and of his own accord), the closeting had tremendous effect on his mental health.

There is an importance difference between “I’m not gay” and “I’m straight”. Gay men and women questioning their sexuality have often said “I'm not gay” but nobody says “I’m straight” and then walks that back. Darren has said it hundreds of time over 9 years. Sexual identity is determined by the individual and nobody else. Darren has been very clear that he identifies as straight. He has said it point blank many times, he has lived his life in a manner consistent with a straight man- he married a woman he dated for 8 years, he’s never dated a man that we know of- and the ccers have looked- and he has never insinuated he is attracted to men, even in a joke. There is nothing to suggest he is gay accept a group of fans who cannot let it go. This got long so ....

Wentworth has never talked about closeting being something that was forced on him by the show runner or in a contract form. His experience was like everyone else- the reality that LGBTQ actors get less work, are typecast as gay characters-which up until a handful of shows like Glee, Will and Grace, The L-Word and Queer as Folks, most gay characters where side kick, buddies, comic relief. There were other shows with gay characters but not many. It is changing, but when Wentworth was struggling, it was still scandalous to come out- they still had to do the big People cover stories claiming “I’m Gay”. Work was hard to find- so everyone giving gay actors advice to stay in the closet were giving good career advice. The problem is that they didn’t understand the mental health implications of this kind of pressure, they didn’t appreciate the struggle to be true to oneself and they seem to have lacked basic of compassion. Most of the actors who have talked about the pressure, also talk about their own struggle with accepting their sexuality and how that mixed in with the pressure to stay in the closet coming from their managers and casting directors. Coming out is not a one-size-fits-all process, it is a complicated, very personal experience that is affected by one’s upbringing, religion, whether there is family and/or friend support, and one’s own mental health status. All of those factors impact coming out but now add in “under the world spotlight” and “impacts your ability to earn a wage” and that gets much more complicated.

Several actors and singers have talked about being outed and the horror of being forced to talk about their sexuality way before they were ready. Some weren’t even ready to face their sexuality themselves and were forced to when people kept bringing it up. Whether they were outed by the media, by coworkers, by fans or a combination, these are all deeply disturbing stories of depression and anxiety brought on by being outed.

The problem with the cc trope is that the reality isn’t as simple as Abbu’s theory that one person pushed an actor inside the closet and locked it with a signed, never-ending, legally binding contract. In fact, cc theory is a simple, 1-dimensional look at what really goes on with LGBTQ performers and the closet. It is simply a prop in the CrissColfer fantasy that is used to further their “proof” but it is not based on the reality of what is happening in Hollywood, it discounts the individual’s struggle to be accepted and to accept themselves, to come out and be safe and earn a wage. The ccers out Darren daily with no remorse. They ignore the stories being told by actors who struggle after being outed and they fixate on their fantasy that “Darren wants them to out him”. Nobody ever wants to be outed.

Closeting in Hollywood isn’t based simply a misconception held by casting directors and managers who are out-of-touch with the times. As a society, we-and by we I mean ccers- still label people as gay based on effeminate behavior and gay kids are being threatened and bullied at school at an alarming rate. Gay kids are still committing suicide. The problem is much deeper than Hollywood. We are making changes but they are slow and the Trump administration and Mike Pence are trying to turn things back to 1950. They just barred transgender troops and have fought to end the rights that Obama administration gave to protect trans kids in school.

The cc fandom needs actually read the interview and quotes they post because the people aren’t saying what the cc fandom are hearing. They cherry-pick quotes to highlight and ignore the stuff that disproves their 1-dimensional theories. Today Valentinaheart posted and Abby reblogged (Bold is theirs) :

Garrett Clayton made headlines when he came out as gay back in August.

It followed years of unfair speculation from both the public and the media – many of whom pressured him to come out when he wasn’t ready – and closed out a chapter of the actor’s life that saw him hide his true self in the public eye.

Now, in his first interview since coming out as gay, the former Disney star tells Gay Times he “finally feels comfortable” with his sexuality – but there was a time that the homophobia he experienced in Hollywood pushed him further into the closet.

“One of the first things somebody who was instrumental in starting my career did, they sat me down and they said, ‘Are you gay?’ And I could feel the pressure of the question, so I was like, ‘Yeah, I’m gay, or bi, or whatever’, because suddenly I could feel that there was something wrong with that in this person’s eyes,” he says.

“They looked at me and said, ‘No one wants to fuck the gay guy, they want to go shopping with him, so we’re going to have to figure this out.’ It turned into this situation where I’d get calls and they’d say, ‘You still need to butch it up’. I literally had to change everything about myself at that point, otherwise I was never gonna make it.

“And that was so conflicting, because here’s somebody offering you your dream, but they’re telling you that you’re not good enough the way you are. You’re talented, but who you are isn’t good enough.”

Unfortunately, this insidious homophobia was something that continued long into Garrett’s career.

“They had me changing the way I walked, the way I spoke, the way I dressed, the way I answered questions,” he continues. “It got as petty as them saying, ‘People need to see that you’re into sports because they’ll think that’s more masculine, so why don’t you go buy a sports hat, take some pictures in it, and make sure people see you in it’.

“There’d be calls after I went into casting offices like, ‘Hey, this is how gay casting thought you came across today, so here’s what you need to do to fix it’. I even had cast members screaming drunkenly in the middle of a room, ‘Who here thinks Garrett is gay?’ and then yelling at me for not having come out yet.”

It felt “like being back in high school” for the aspiring actor, and the self-suffocation prescribed by those around him inevitably took its toll, leading to a period of reclusive behaviour and depression and, ultimately, therapy.

“I convinced myself that I was the problem, and I got into a really dark place for a couple of years. Then I went to therapy for about a year and a half to really sort through all the things I went through growing up and the situations I found myself in while in Hollywood. I got to work through all those conflicting things.”

The second paragraph was not in bold and yet says a lot to a fandom who outs Darren on the daily: It followed years of unfair speculation from both the public and the media – many of whom pressured him to come out when he wasn’t ready – and closed out a chapter of the actor’s life that saw him hide his true self in the public eye

The article says that

“...but there was a time that the homophobia he experienced in Hollywood pushed him further into the closet”

Interestingly, they did bold this section which could have directed at them

I even had cast members screaming drunkenly in the middle of a room, ‘Who here thinks Garrett is gay?’ and then yelling at me for not having come out yet.”.

How can they not see they are the cast members yelling “are you out yet’?

So, the taunting and outing took its tole and lead to depression? Hmmm.... they never listen to what their posterboys are saying.

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unicornninjabitch · 6 years

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Me, sliding in with a slushee: sup I’m sad my dudes

Followers: we know and your poor attempts at humor aren’t a funny or good coping mechanism so just get on with it

Me, slurping my slushee: alright then I’ll ramble for a little bit

So I think I’ve lost weight recently, which I’m not super shocked by cause I just don’t eat alot and without someone asking me if I wanna get food I can easily forget to eat for like days at a time, plus I just tend to lose/gain a few pounds pretty easy. I just generally have a small appetite and I don’t really like eating by myself. I’ve pretty much always had issues with my body and weight and eating and food and stuff, I mean since I was a kid I’ve had troubles with this shit and I still do but it’s different now. When I was younger I just wanted to be “pretty” and get attention from people and have people see me as desirable/lovable/fuckable cause that would give me worth and the the only way to get those things was to get skinnier and be more attractive. Now I don’t think that way and I don’t put all my worth into other people’s views of me, but there’s other parts of me that still desperately crave for a flat tummy and a thigh gap and my collar bones to poke out and to just e small. Logically I know that’s almost impossible for me and it would be insanely unhealthy for me to be that thin, but there’s still parts of me that would kill for it. Plus I naturally have a smaller waist and its much more noticeable when I lose weight cause of how I hold fat I guess, so I have this huge like constant internal fight where it’s like Skinny vs Less Girly Figure and it’s kinda exhausting. I mean I really don’t want to constantly hate my body and I wish I could just be okay with what I have, but I’m not. For fucks sake I got to the point where now I don’t like even being near scales like I know if a scale says a number I don’t like I’ll feel like I’m not allowed to eat or I’m disgusting. And logically I know I’m not as big as I think I am like I know at most I’m kinda chubby, but another part of my brain only sees myself as some weirdly shaped baby whale who shouldn’t be allowed to eat because it needs to be smaller. Like as a whole once I came out as trans I kinda became more okay with my body weight wise, but every so often I’ll lose/gain weight and notice it in the mirror and have my Skinny vs Less Girly Figure and I just wish it would stop. I just wish there were one day where I could look in a mirror and say, “Hey I don’t hate who’s looking back at me”, but I can’t right now and I don’t know when I’ll be able to. I’m scared I’ll never be able to. I mean the idea of getting weighed at the doctors gives me so much fucking anxiety and makes me so uncomfortable. Like I would ask that they didn’t say it out loud and I look anywhere except the numbers cause I know no matter what it says if I don’t suddenly and magically like my body then I will 100% fall back into unhealthy patterns and I mean back in freshman year of high school I got like obsessed with it. I weighed myself almost everyday and I refused to eat more than x amount of calories and I let it basically consume me and dictated every part of my life. Don’t get me wrong I’m still overly critical of my body and the food I eat, I don’t think I’ll ever really love my body, I still have a bad relationship with food (if that even makes sense), and I still care way too much about my weight, but I do try to be better.

Also I’ve said before going from where everyone called me Alex to home where very few people even know I’m trans has been super hard on me and yeah that shit hasn’t gotten easier. Though I’ve kinda gotten used to it. Like I know I can’t be sad all day everyday cause of being deadnamed and misgendered all the time, but the getting used to it bothers me alot. Like hearing my deadname/deadnaming myself or whatever and it makes me uncomfortable, but it’s like I’m getting a resistance to it which for some reason makes me feel like I’m some how faking everything and it doesn’t help when I feel dysphoric or whatever. Like somedays I half regret coming out just because like I mean t and surgery-and fuck just legally changing my name seem so far away so like what’s the point, you know? Like it feels like no one will ever see me as a guy and some days it’s hard for me to see me as a guy so why the fuck do I bother? Why couldn’t I just get comfortable in the very back of the closet and just stay put? I mean it feels like coming out and all the anxiety that came with it was for nothing. Maybe it’s just that I’m still feeling some kinda way about how coming out went and how my mom still calls me her daughter or whatever, but I mean it all feels like it was pointless. I mean it feels like I’m on my way to just being a statistic and I wish I didn’t feel that way- god I wish I didn’t feel that way, but I do. It feels like in a few years I’m just gonna be a number about suicides or something. And there are some days/nights where if I could muster up the willpower to stand up I’d go back to cutting up my wrist, but I’m either that depressed or that tired from trying to convince myself that things will eventually somehow be okay that I don’t and I hate that my depression is what keeps me from going back to cutting myself. I really, really, really fucking wish I weren’t this sad and I wish I could wave a wand and be okay, but I can’t.

And my dysphoria has been just generally awful lately in like a bunch of ways. There’s the constant reminder in my chest and pants that’s slowly been driving me insane and a growing rate and there’s thinking I’m only allowed to date bi/pan people but at the same time feeling like I’m not man enough for anyone and there’s stupid shit that almost always makes me feel like “hey maybe mom was right maybe this is just a phase”. Which is fucking ridiculous cause I tried to wait it out like 3 different times and it never goes away and I mean now the idea of ever wearing a bra/dress makes me want to like hide under my bed or something. I know this isn’t a phase or me trying to be a *~special snowflake~* so how come I always go back to thinking that. Like my mom calling me my deadname or her daughter, obviously I got to grow thicker skin cause I can’t be in a constant state of like one foot off the room, but because I’m getting used to it and it’s taking longer for it to bother me I feel like I’m now faking shit. And I know it’s just me trying to protect myself, but it still bothers me I guess. I mean my mom’s reaction really fucked me up. Like instead of coming out on insta/snap I just deleted them and started new ones. I went back to my old therapist and I’m not even out to her cause I’m so scared of her reacting like my mom and I get scared literally everyone ever will react like my mom. I mean Thanksgiving I avoided my sister and yelled over her because I was so scared that my dad’s family would like yell at me or something and that would make my brothers/dad/step mom be like “Oh!! Yeah!! We were dumb you ARE just a silly little girl” and I couldn’t handle that. And idk a part of me wishes I was angrier at her or something, but another part says I should’ve saw this coming cause when I first started questioning my gender I brought it up to her cause I used to tell my mom everything and she seemed mad that I even thought I maybe wasn’t cis.

I don’t know I feel like I repeat myself in these a lot, but I don’t really know I was just feeling really sad and had to get some shit out I guess

#personal #tw suicidal thoughts #tw cutting #tw dysphoria #tw eating problems #tw weight problems #tw interalized transphobia #maybe probably #honestly at this point all my ramblings are only good for the self depricating humor before the read more #but fun fact jokes about sad shit is a huge no no #dont get me wrong i know joking about dropping out isnt great #but if i get the first joke no one else does #so like my mom should let me have that #right?#idk im tired and rambling now #but yeah i present yall my issues #and tonight i apperently dont know how to stfu so sorry

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lesbian-ed-discourse · 7 years

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this just in: biological sex is not the only aspect of gender, oh my gosh how surprising. y'all act like what someone has in their pants automatically indicates exactly how they'll act and think, which is not feminist at all. y'all literally said you dont think transmen/women aren't actually men/women. good job on being "welcoming" and "positive" - while simultaneously treating trans ppl like shit. so yeah, thanks for that. (pt. 1)

And secondly, denying biological sex doesn’t deny someone’s gender. Insisting that they must actually be men/women depending on their sex does - which is what y’all are doing. Trans ppl may have some particular type of junk in their pants, may have been raised a certain way but that doesn’t make them men/women - it makes them fucking trans. (pt. 2)

Trans people experience the world much differently than cis ppl do, and our brains function and are chemically different to someone who’s fine with their assigned gender. The science behind this is there, and there are several studies which suggest that the brain structure of trans ppl is entirely unique to them, just like it is for men and women. (pt. 3)

Actively denying trans ppl’s gender - by saying stuff like, “well, they’re actually just a man/woman” does actually hurt them. It does actually get us killed. Bc you know who else says that? The guy that murdered a trans woman who fucked him and now thinks he’s gay. The parents of trans teens who deny their child’s gender, resulting in depression and oftentimes suicide. (pt. 4)

I’m not saying you shouldn’t talk about biological sex - of course that is important. I’m just saying there are ways to do that without calling transmen “females”, and transwomen “males”. Surprise surprise you can talk about biological sex and how it affects people without automatically assuming that everyone with that junk is a woman/man - and triggering dysphoria and possibly trauma. (pt. 5

Examples of treating people like more than just their junk include - talking about specific body parts without calling their owners any pronouns, ex. “People with vulvas” “people with prostates” etc. actually talking to trans women, and men to see how they feel about this. As a trans person, it makes me feel like shit to hear you say I’m not a man - but it’s not surprising either. (pt. 6)

A majority of the population thinks I’m not actually a man, so you’re not particularly special. Most people don’t give 2 shits about people like me, or they just dislike us/want us killed and gone. You know how many times I’ve been called a “fucking tranny”, and a dyke? The answer is a hell of a lot. And you don’t get to just come in here and tell me that that’s ok because I’m actually just a woman. (pt. 7)

Reducing people to their biological sex is transphobic. You can acknowledge that someone has certain bits, but you don’t know how trans people think or feel or how being seen as just a dick/vulva feels. We aren’t just sex, we’re actual people with feelings - who wanted to be treated like actual people. (pt. 8)

I just want to say that if you being gender critical plays into a societal norm of treating trans people like they don’t exist, what makes you any different than the homophobic and misogynist politicians who want to see us dead? Maybe if being gender critical makes people lapse into depression and dysphoria, you should think about why you think it’s a good idea. (pt. 9)

Because the fact of the matter is is that this kills people. It kills young people, maybe not actively, but it still kills people. Trans teens have such a high rate of suicide because of people like you who think it doesn’t hurt to be reduced to your sex, who think it’s ok to not listen to trans people and treat them in ways that hurt - even when they've told you very specifically what is transphobic. You don't get to decide what is and isn't transphobia. (pt. 10)

So, first off: we’re using totally different definitions of the terms “male/female” the way we use it, doesn’t mean “man/woman” (as in the gender and gender roles assigned to someone) but refer to a biological reality, what sex someone is, and what sexual characteristics they have. To us, using “female” is the same as you using “afab” or “people with vaginas” It’s merely a biological descriptor, it doesn’t come with any “you should be like Y, and act like Y, and follow these gender roles” It’s just stating what “junk” (and reproductive system and secondary sexual characteristics) someone has. No more, no less.

I’m sorry that this causes trans people dysphoria and distress, I get why being reminded of their bodies, and their “supossed role in society as a man/woman” like that would (but I don’t see why “people with vaginas” is considered more acceptable? Since it also reminds you of your anatomy?) And I would recommend that if any discourse that uses these words is too triggering for you, that you disengage from it for your own well-being.

Now, cis women also suffer from not aligning with what their supposed role in society is. That’s what gender roles are, and they’re a tool of women’s oppression, which we as feminists want to combat. To be able to do that, we need to look at the roots of it, why is patriarchy the way it is? And the answer, harsh as it may be, is that it’s related to bodies and the sex of them.

Being born a certain sex means you’re treated a certain way from birth. Little girls are raised to play with dolls (to learn to be “motherly”) and wear dresses, told that they’re less intelligent and inferior to boys, and that their only worth is how attractive they’re to men. Little boys are taught to be assertive, to be strong and to be leaders. This creates a divide, a hierarchy, and what each person is taught is completely dependant on the sex of their body.

This carries on to adulthood too, and yeah, there may be nuances, a non-passing trans man will be a lot more catcalled on the street than a trans man who passes as male. The same way, a non-passing or closeted trans woman (that’d be read as a cis man) may not experience misogyny BUT a passing trans woman will. And this is all because of the way misogynistic men assume what sex you are based on how you look. This is all because they see you as “female/afab” and that makes you a target for misogyny.

Now, I’m not gonna say that if the hypothetical passing trans woman I talked about revealed she was trans (so of the “male/amab/people with penises” sex) that was going to make people treat her like a man. Because society is transphobic and misogynistic and they’d see her as a “man deviating from their assigned gender role” which they hate.

And it’s this, this misogyny tied to what gender roles you’re supposed to follow because of your body, what causes violence against trans people, violence that is very often dished out by cis men. Cis men who in no way listen to anything radical feminists have to say because if they did, they’d be against gender roles.

Now yes, this also leads to trans women internalizing some “men” behaviours, because of being socialized as boys, including sexual entitlement (as we’ve seen with the cotton ceiling discourse, that lesbians are evil if they don’t open their legs for any trans woman) and we have to analyze that, but this doesn’t diminish the violence trans people face at all, and I want to reiterate that we don’t support that.

I’m sorry that this makes young trans kid want to kill themselves, but people shouldn’t stop speaking about important things just because it hurts you (and I’m saying this as someone who has struggled with depression and with wanting to commit suicide). We don’t want any trans kids to feel suicidal at all, but we can’t just not speak about sex when it’s relevant to us and our experiences, so again, I say that if this hurts someone that much, it’s better that they disengage from the conversation.

I support trans & dysphoric people treating their dysphoria however they see fit, I support them having legal protections and rights so that they don’t get discriminated against in any aspect of life, I support them in living free from male violence, and that they enjoy the same freedoms and obligations everyone else should. Calling them “male” or “female” when talking about feminist discourse (or about sexual orientation) where someone’s birth sex and the sex they’re read as is relevant to the conversation, doesn’t suddenly contradict the above.

We merely said we’d welcome any trans men that feel they could relate to our experiences in our positivity blog, because there is and has been historically a lot of overlap between the trans men and lesbian community (many trans men used to identify as lesbians and viceversa, many lesbians have dated trans men, etc) so yeah we share common experiences because of our shared sex, and if they’re female-attracted, even more so. So we just said they’d be welcome on our blog, if any of them wanted to. It doesn’t mean we want to force anyone to take on any label they don’t want to (re: straight trans men and the label “lesbian”) it just means that if any of them felt they could relate to what we post, that that would be perfectly fine by us. But we’re not going to make anything aimed specifically at trans men.

As for trans women, I personally don’t mind if any of them follow us if they’re able to relate to what we post. I don’t like obsessively policing who follows me or who other people follow (mod m speaking here) But, again, since our blog was made to be a space for female/afab lesbians, it’s the perspective we’ll be speaking from. So we’re not going to make anything specifically aimed at trans women either, because we feel there was a lack of spaces that focused on female lesbian sexuality and talked honestly about exclusive same-sex attraction, and what that entails (because with discourse like the “lesbian are bigots if they don’t like dick” we’re becoming less and less able to talk about our sexual orientation and desires and what that entails, because other people thinks us talking about our lives is inherently evil, when it’s not meant to hurt anyone, it’s just us speaking our truth)

This doesn’t mean we hate trans people at all or wish them any ill. All we want is a positive space for us and people like us to talk about our experiences.

Mod M :D

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batneko · 7 years

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Salaryman

I thought to myself “what about a ‘four years ago’ AU?”

And this is what happened.

Word Count: 6812 Rating: M for swears and a sex scene Warnings: Smoking, depression, lowkey self-harm, homelessness, offscreen character death, survivor’s guilt, implied offscreen ephebophilia, mentions of suicidal ideation Pairings: Reigen/Saitama as friends (with benefits), Genos & Saitama platonic Other notes: Trans Reigen, Saitama with hair (but it’s four years ago so that’s okay). Also worth mentioning that Genos calls Saitama “niisan” because it’s the polite way to address him with their current ages.

"I'm thinking about quitting," Reigen said as he passed Saitama the cigarette they were sharing.

"Yeah?" Saitama prompted before he took a drag. Reigen was a couple years older, and had been working longer and thus got paid more, but he was nice enough to share his smokes in exchange for a few yen and a listening ear. If he quit Saitama would have to start buying his own... which wasn't an option. "I'll do it with you. You thinking gum or the patch?"

He shook his head. "Here, I mean. This job."

Saitama raised his eyebrows. "I don't think I can do that with you."

"I know." Reigen took a long pull off the cigarette and gave it to Saitama with a kind of finality that meant Saitama could finish it off. They'd been doing this for the few months Saitama worked at the company and had settled into a comfortable rhythm that was one of the few things Saitama liked -- or at least didn't mind -- about the job. "I've saved up enough to start an office. Not much of one, I definitely can't afford to hire any help, but I found some places for rent that will work."

"An office? Doing what?" The company was in apparel manufacturing, the local branch of a worldwide brand, coordinating factories and warehouses and shipping. It was mind-numbing stuff; all numbers and codes and putting out (occasionally literal) fires. Today, for example, a batch of blue shirts had come out green, and Saitama had to sign off on re-dying them black. Which meant a surplus of black and a shortage of blue, and eventually the higher-ups would come calling wondering why, whether or not Saitama alerted them to the problem.

Either way, it wasn't something Reigen could do by himself in a little rented office.

"Consulting," Reigen said, after a long enough pause that Saitama didn't ask for clarification.

"Well, good luck and all."

"It'll be a couple weeks at least. Probably a month or more. I want to make sure everything is settled before I quit."

"Oh." Saitama tried not to show his relief. Most of their coworkers were family men, doing the job and going home to a nagging wife and misbehaving kids. At least that was what it sounded like every time Saitama was forced to make conversation. The few women in the office never lasted long, desperate to get transferred or promoted to an area that wasn't so mind numbing.

Reigen was Saitama's only real work friend. Hell, at the moment he was Saitama's only friend period. Saitama wasn't good at connecting or staying connected with people, and he hadn't spoken to any of his college friends since he graduated back in spring. Not that any of them had tried either...

Once Reigen left, and Saitama could not blame him at all, there would be nothing worth coming in for.

"You should look for options too," Reigen said, voice low. They were alone out here, taking a smoke break at odd hours, but being overheard was always a possibility.

"What do you mean?"

"Nobody's moved departments in a month." Reigen shoved his hands into his pockets. "No new hires in almost as long. The leggings contract ended but we haven't picked up a new one."

"So?"

In almost a whisper, Reigen said, "The head office is preparing to shut us down."

Saitama frowned. "You can't know that. So it's been a slow month, so what?"

"Trust me, Saitama-kun. I understand people."

That was true. It was almost supernatural sometimes how good Reigen was at reading people.

"It's like when your girlfriend doesn't want to make any plans for vacations or buy concert tickets in advance, she's planning to dump you."

"That sounds like something you learned the hard way, Reigen-san."

"I know what I'm talking about. The head office isn't giving us anything new, they already moved everyone they want to keep. I give it six months."

Saitama finished off the cigarette and stubbed it out on the unpainted concrete wall. "I'll start looking but I can't afford to just quit."

"I know. I'm sorry I can't take you with me." Reigen sighed as they started back toward the door. "If this doesn't work out I won't even be able to support myself."

"What'll you do then?"

"I was thinking throw myself off a bridge."

They both laughed. The woman at the front desk glared at them, as though offended by the show of a positive emotion. The lobby had a single plastic plant next to her desk as a bare minimum of welcoming, but back among the cubicles it was all beige as far as the eye could see.

Saitama went back to his desk and didn't move from his chair for the next four hours. He was meant to get another break, but management frowned on actually taking it. Emails were answered, charts were filled out, numbers and codes flowing past his eyes without impact on his brain.

At the end of his shift his fingers were starting to tremble from all the typing, and the lack of nicotine, and he met Reigen for another smoke before heading home.

"You wanna come over?" Reigen asked, forcing casualness. It had been a while.

"Okay."

Saitama would never admit it out loud, but the only reason he agreed was because Reigen's apartment was just one stop before his. If he'd had to go out of his way not even sex would be worth the effort.

Lately any kind of effort seemed like too much work.

Reigen noticed once they got to his place. They kissed, perfunctorily, in the doorway of the bedroom, and Reigen pulled back and asked softly, "Did you shower today?"

Saitama shrugged. It had been two days, in fact, but he covered up the BO with deodorant and cigarettes.

Reigen tilted his head at the bathroom. "Go on."

"You sure?"

"I don't want a UTI. Go on."

With his friend's heath as motivation Saitama could manage a real shower. He cleaned body and hair both with Reigen's cheap citrus-scented body wash, let the hot water soak into his skin, trailed his hands over his groin in an attempt to get excited for what was about to happen. It didn't work. It never did.

It wasn't that Reigen wasn't attractive; he was easily the most handsome guy Saitama knew, and though Saitama thought of himself as straight he'd hooked up with guys before. He even had a thing for blonds. And it wasn't that Saitama didn't like him. He did, a lot, but as a friend. There was no romance there, no spark.

And... Saitama hadn't been able to get it up even to porn in a long time. As though his body thought getting off took too much effort.

Reigen was waiting for him on the bed in a t-shirt and nothing else. He'd only taken his shirt off the first time they hooked up, when they were both extremely drunk, and Saitama hadn't been able to get hard at all. The second time, sober, Saitama wondered if he blamed his chest for that, but it was more likely the alcohol had temporarily overruled his own body shame.

Saitama didn't mind the scars. They were like battle damage. Proof of a victory.

Saitama ate Reigen out on his bed, still wrapped in a towel, and Reigen's fingers tugging on his damp hair were finally enough to get his motor running. After Reigen came he scooted back, spread his legs with his vulva flushed and still twitching, and said "C'mon."

It was quick, rough, the way Saitama liked it. He liked fingernails on his back and teeth on his neck, and Reigen was perfectly happy to comply. Last time he'd asked Reigen to slap him, which unfortunately ruined the evening. Saitama wasn't sure he was going to get another invitation after that.

They didn't talk about it. They never did. They were work friends, they talked about work, the weather, and occasionally food. Nothing more.

But Reigen was good at understanding people and he understood what Saitama needed. As long as it wasn't too violent, Saitama got to hurt and Reigen got oral, and they both got off. It was enough.

After he came, Saitama trailed grateful kisses along Reigen's neck and cheek. "Did you?"

"No," Reigen said after a pause. "S'okay. I already did before, so." He wriggled out from under him. "It's late."

Not like Saitama expected otherwise. He had given Reigen an orgasm with just his dick, but only once, and it was probably a fluke. Saitama wasn't one of those insecure guys who thought anyone with a vagina ought to be satisfied with exactly one kind of sex.

He dressed, slightly sweaty but significantly cleaner than he had been on arrival. Reigen walked him to the door and kissed him goodnight, which was more than he'd gotten from any previous fuckbuddies.

"See you tomorrow."

"Yep."

Saitama set off to walk the rest of the way to his apartment. He could have caught the train again, but it didn't seem worth it for only one stop. Besides, he sat all day at the office. It was good to get what exercise he could.

It was dark, dinner time judging by the crowd in the 24-hour diner halfway between his and Reigen's homes. Saitama's sense of time wasn't great. He didn't worry about the time as he took a shortcut through the park. Anyone who tried to mug him would be very disappointed.

There were still a few normal folks out. Salarymen like Saitama, rebellious teens. Saitama passed by one who had taken over a bench with his overflowing backpack and fought off a wave of nostalgia. Pining for school wasn't constructive. He hadn't been happier then, he'd just had more to distract him.

The kid looked middle school age, straw-thin with bleached hair that needed a wash, and a ratty hoodie over a uniform Saitama didn't recognize. For just a second Saitama felt like chiding him to go home, but it was none of his business. If the kid wanted to study by streetlight, let him.

When Saitama got to his apartment he immediately turned on the news for background noise. He was hungry, to his annoyance, the smell of the diner reminding his stomach he'd consumed nothing but a banana today. All he had in the kitchen was fruit and cereal. Somebody once had given him a very good sciencey-sounding explanation for why breakfast was the most important meal of the day, and it had stuck well enough to cut through the fog.

It would pass. It always did. The few times in the last week he'd considered eating dinner he only got as far as walking into the kitchen.

This too, the gray fog, would pass. It always had before. Saitama had to believe that, or Reigen's joke about jumping off a bridge would stop being so funny.

Sometimes he'd read manga (he still kept up with the longrunners he'd read as a kid, but new series were hit or miss, and he usually forgot about the weekly magazines so he just bought volumes), but for tonight Saitama could take off his clothes, put on pajamas, and lay on the floor watching TV. Lots of people did that. It wasn't unusual. It wasn't lazy, or slovenly, it was... relaxing. He was relaxing.

He would “relax” until his alarm went off in the morning. Sometimes he slept, sometimes he didn't. It didn't make a difference, he was always just as tired.

Tonight he drowsed. He only knew he fell asleep at all when he looked at the TV and realized it was late enough for porn ads, some kind of fake game show that involved a lot of pixelation. Awake and disturbed, Saitama switched off the TV, now alone in his silent apartment.

It was 3 AM and Saitama was wide awake. It wasn't the quiet so much as the lack of distractions; nothing drawing his attention away from his thoughts, from the crushing nothingness that awaited him tomorrow, from the knowledge that no one would miss him...

He needed to get out. He needed to not be in this apartment.

Saitama pulled on jeans and a hoodie over his pajama top and barely remembered his keys before he left. It would serve him right if he got robbed. Nothing to lose anyway. It was all stuff.

He grabbed his wallet anyway. Replacing his ID would be a pain.

Somebody – his mom? his sister? – had told him once that 3AM was the witching hour. Saitama could believe it. There were wisps of fog on the ground, stray cat eyes gleaming from alleys, fluttering moths and possibly even bats. The only people he passed looked drunk or exhausted, and Saitama supposed he fit that latter category.

Wandering aimlessly, Saitama found himself at the park again. It was quiet, but the good kind of quiet, the quiet where you could hear the bugs and the rustle of the breeze and the lapping of water from the river. Saitama had the distant idea that he could go to the bridge and wait for sunrise, when something caught his eye.

Blond hair sticking out of a hood. The boy from earlier, studying on the bench, was still there hours later. He was curled up, feet pulled to his chest, an open book resting on his knees. But he was sound asleep, head dropped, mouth hanging open, snoring faintly. His backpack was tucked up against his body where he'd feel it if someone tried to steal it, but he had plausible deniability if the cops came by.

Saitama wasn't sure how long he stood there and watched the kid sleep. This was creepy, no doubt. But Saitama couldn't stop wondering. He looked so young. Middle teens at most, painfully thin, but with the kind of pretty face that made girls feel at ease. Saitama squinted. The kid even had pierced ears.

A breeze picked up, making Saitama wish he'd worn more, and he started to turn back when he heard the kid snort and something thump on the ground. His book. Without thinking Saitama went back to pick it up for him, and when he straightened he was looking into brown eyes sharp with suspicion.

Wordlessly, he held out the book. The kid snatched it with nail-bitten fingers. “Thanks,” he muttered.

“You-” Saitama's voice croaked. He swallowed a couple times to clear it. “You want something to eat?”

The kid stared at him.

“No funny business.”

“No, I'm okay,” the kid said. Saitama didn't move. “No. Thank you.”

“I'm gonna eat,” Saitama said. He meant it as a lie, but now that the words were spoken his stomach was clenching again. “There's an all-night diner over back this way. So you could come.”

The kid shifted, pulling his bag closer. “I'm fine. I'm not hungry. I should... get home.”

“Kid. Come on. Who are you fooling?”

His face twisted in a way Saitama wished he wasn't familiar with on a teenager. Fighting off tears by trying to look angry.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, niisan.”

Saitama snorted, but allowed it.

The diner was much emptier at 3AM. The waitress gave them the mandatory smile, completely unfazed by a grown man and young teenager who both looked homeless. 3AM wasn't any kind of meal time, but since breakfast was still the only thing Saitama could force himself to eat, Saitama ordered pancakes. The kid ordered a huge burger and fries.

“Soup too,” Saitama said. “For him.”

“What kind?”

“What you got?”

“Chicken noodle or potato.”

“That one, potato.”

“Okay. And drinks?”

“Coffee,” the kid and Saitama said in unison. The waitress noted it and took off.

The kid was giving Saitama a dubious look. “You gotta start slow,” he explained. “If you haven't eaten in a while and then you shove a burger in your face, you're just gonna puke. Eat the soup slowly and see how you feel.”

“I've eaten, niisan,” the kid muttered. “Today, even.”

“Are you complaining about getting more food?”

He shrugged.

They didn't talk. Saitama stacked the creamers. The kid took one and drank it. Saitama laughed and they both looked startled at the sound.

When they got their food, the kid followed Saitama's advice. He ate so slowly in fact that Saitama suspected he'd been right about his stomach needing to adjust to having something in it. Certainly Saitama felt a little green at first, but he powered through. He was halfway through his pancakes when the kid started on his burger.

“How is it?” Saitama asked, as if he was a waiter. The kid mumbled something positive around his mouthful. “You're gonna choke.” He started to say something else and began coughing. Saitama couldn't help but laugh.

“Shut up!” the kid snapped, but there was no bite to it. “You talked to me with my mouth full. It's your fault.”

“Your mouth hasn't been un-full for like ten minutes!”

“At least say something worth responding to!”

Saitama grinned. “Okay. Whatcha reading?”

He quirked his eyebrow in a way that no doubt the seventh grade girls swooned for. “Seriously?”

“Well are you actually reading it or is it just camouflage for park-sleeping?”

“I read it already.” With that, the kid took a huge bite and a long time chewing. Saitama let him.

“For school or what?”

He shook his head. While waiting for an answer, Saitama began mixing the syrup on his pancakes. Butter pecan really didn't go with strawberry, but it wasn't like any flavors made it easier to eat anyway.

“I just wanted to read it. It's uh...” He turned a little pink under what Saitama realized was a layer of grime. “It's about Heian period literature.”

“You're reading old literature?”

“No, it's about Heian literature. Like... analyzing it.”

“Oh my god,” Saitama muttered. “You're a nerd. How does a nerd get to be homeless?”

He regretted it instantly, because the kid's face did that teary-scowly thing again. “I'm not a nerd. It's just interesting,” he said.

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

Turned out, and Saitama really should have known this, when you got a nerd started on their latest topic of interest it was hard to get them to stop. By the time the kid had finished his food – and he finished all of it – Saitama knew more about Heien era history and poetry in general than he'd ever retained in school.

The kid ate the remainder of Saitama's pancakes too, and a third cup of coffee. Saitama expected him to sneak out when he went to the bathroom, but he came back for dessert.

It was so late that people with night jobs were coming in for dinner. Saitama gathered up the cash he had for a tip and paid for the meal with his card. A good point of not buying groceries for the next few weeks was having the money to splurge on things like this. If he died he'd have enough in his account to help his sister with funeral bills.

The kid asked him what he was smiling about as they left. Saitama just shrugged.

He wasn't sure where they were going – back to the park? – when another cold breeze cut through his clothes and Saitama hugged his arms around his chest. He saw the kid hunch in on himself with a look like defeat. The diner had been a temporary respite, fueled by a crazy man, now he was back to this.

“You want to sleep at my place?”

The kid blinked, shifted his backpack on his shoulders, and finally nodded. “Okay. Thank you niisan.”

“Yeah well. Don't steal my TV after I leave for work, okay?”

“Okay.”

The kid followed him in silence. Saitama expected to feel better, to know he was doing something good for someone, but the kid's hunched posture made him itch. Why was he acting like this was a punishment? Did he think Saitama would call the cops on him?

When they got to the apartment Saitama offered the kid some slippers and looked around for some extra bedding. He had plenty, blankets seemed to multiply like rabbits, he was pretty sure he'd never actually purchased one. There was a nice blue comforter that Reigen gave him when he saw how old and worn his heart-print one was getting, but Saitama hadn't yet used it.

“Here, uh. I only have the one futon, but I've got extra pillows.”

“Okay,” the kid said quietly. He'd placed his backpack in a corner and folded his hoodie on top of it. He was making an effort to be neat, despite clearly having gone a while without a bath. He sat down, in polite seiza, on top of Saitama's futon. “What do you want?”

“Huh?”

In a very soft, but resigned tone, the kid said. “I'll do whatever you want.”

“What-” The pillows slipped from Saitama's grasp. “No, kid, what- No!”

He looked... pleasantly surprised, which was maybe the worst part. No kid should look so mild about being told they weren't going to be raped.

“Oh god. Have you had to-” Saitama shook his head, hard. “No don't tell me.”

“I haven't,” the kid said. “I've been propositioned, but I panicked, I ran.”

“You- you ran because you panicked?”

The kid stared down at his hands. There were scabs on his knuckles and around his fingertips. “It doesn't matter. I can't seem to stop going, so... I don't really care what I have to do.”

Saitama sat down beside him, keeping a careful gap between them. “Kid, why... why are you homeless?”

The kid took the offered pillow and hugged it to his chest. “My family is gone. Dead. I don't have anywhere to go.”

“But you're a kid. The government would take care of you. They have to. I know the foster system is garbage but it's better than nothing, right?”

The kid's eyes were big, even for his age, but that may have been the lack of food making them stick out of his thin face.

“Is... isn't it?”

“I ran away,” he said. Whispered, really, more to the pillow than to Saitama.

“From foster care?”

“From home.” The pillow was pressed to his chin, making his words muffled. “I saved my money. And I took the bus, here, to Z City. I spent two nights in manga cafes and then I ran out. But I budgeted, I planned ahead, I had enough for a bus ticket back. I don't know... I wanted to prove I could? Have a- an adventure.” He closed his eyes, sending tears down his cheeks. They left trails in the grime. “They wouldn't sell me a bus ticket. They asked, hadn't I heard?”

Saitama was very worried he had heard of the incident the kid meant.

“Everybody- The whole town. Everyone is gone. Everything. Every single person I know is dead.” He gave a shuddering breath and pulled the pillow up to cover his whole face.

“Kid, that- that's awful, but-”

“It's not fair.” Saitama could barely hear him. “Why did it happen while I was gone? Why did I do that? I should have been there.”

“You'd have died too!”

“I know!” He raised his head to glare at Saitama. “That's the point! I'm only still alive because I was an asshole to my family! It's not fair, it's not right!”

“Kid, life isn't fair.”

“Shut up.” Back into the pillow. “What's wrong with you?”

“Me?” Saitama blinked. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit. Why are you doing this? Are you on something? Your hands are shaking.”

“Only nicotine.” It had been almost eleven hours since his last cigarette.

“Why'd you- you feed me and take me home and- and you don't even want to fuck me? If you were a predator I'd know what to do. But you're crazier than even that. How do I know you won't murder me in my sleep?”

“How do I know you're not really a junkie who wants to steal my kidney?”

The kid snorted, wetly.

“I...” Saitama leaned back. “I think... there is something wrong with me. But I don't know what it is or how to fix it.”

“Okay.”

“I hate my job. I only have one friend, and I just found out he's leaving too. I... If I don't feel awful, I don't feel anything.”

“Oh.”

Saitama swallowed a lump in his throat. “I think about dying a lot.”

“Oh.” The kid turned his head enough to look at Saitama with one still-dripping eye. “Niisan, there's help you can get for that.”

“Yeah well, there's help you can get too.”

“I don't want help. Don't you want to be able to feel good again?”

“I don't know.” Saitama frowned. “That sounds like... effort.”

“You went to a lot of effort tonight.”

“That's different.” Saitama reached over and snatched the pillow away from him. The kid scowled, but didn't resist. “I- I can help you.”

“By feeding and housing me?”

“I... yeah.” Saitama straightened up, raised his chin. “Yes. How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“That makes it easier.” His head was spinning. “You're about to go into high school, right? So we'll tell everyone you're my younger brother living with me to go to a nearby one. I'll have to find out which ones are nearby, get you signed up for entrance exams... Do you need a middle school transcript or can you just take the test? I mean, if you pass it, why does it matter where you went before, right?”

“Niisan, I can't-”

“Sure you can! Why not?”

“Paperwork? Birth certificate? You- you don't even know my name.” He rubbed his cheeks with his sleeve. “I don't know yours.”

“Saitama.”

“I'm- Genos. I'm Genos.”

It sounded like a decision, not a statement. “Genos.”

“And you won't-” He choked on a sob. “You won't kill yourself, okay? Because I need you to pay rent and buy groceries and- and be an adult. Right?”

“I- I won't.” Saitama's eyes were starting to burn with tears too. “I won't, Genos.”

“Okay.” Genos nodded. “What time do you have to be up for work?”

“Uh. Seven. I have an alarm.”

Genos looked at the clock, which was stopped, frowned and looked around until he saw the small alarm clock on the table. “That only gives you two hours left to sleep. We should go to bed.”

“Oh yeah. Okay.”

Saitama took the futon, because Genos began setting up his bed on the floor without asking, and switched off the lights for once. He was tired. Today had been... long.

Genos, for his part, fell asleep instantly. He was probably used to sleeping in odd places. If Saitama was remembering right – and he might not be – the destruction of G Village had been two months ago. No one knew what happened; it had just disappeared off the map one day. When the mail truck arrived from the next city, the buildings were all destroyed, the people were all dead, even the road was torn up. There were no witnesses, no survivors. No clues.

The theory was a monster attack. They'd been getting more and more common since Saitama was a kid, and there were all kinds of weird sources of them. But with no proof there could be nothing but speculation.

Nobody really had much to do with G Village. Two months later, nobody cared.

There was a lot to do to help Genos get into school and start his life over. Saitama wasn't even sure if it was possible. He'd have to look up stuff, make lists, do paperwork, visit the civil service office... and that was if he could afford to feed a teenager.

It would have to wait, though, because getting on his laptop might wake Genos up, and the late hour and the sound of Genos' breathing were enough to pull Saitama into sleep.

He woke with his alarm, to find Genos already getting up and folding his bedding. Saitama mumbled a “good morning,” headed to the bathroom to shower, and when he emerged found Genos cleaning the living area.

“What are you doing?”

“Straightening,” Genos said, as though it were obvious. “Niisan, you only have breakfast foods.”

“Oh, yeah, you can eat whatever you want. I guess we'll go grocery shopping when I'm done with work.”

“I'll make a list,” Genos said, nodding firmly. “Do you want a banana cut up on your cereal?”

“Um, okay. Thanks.”

He ate it, all of it, despite feeling distinctly unsettled. Genos was acting more like he was the big brother.

On the way out, Saitama hesitated in the doorway. “You're... you'll be here later, won't you? You're not gonna steal my TV and disappear?”

“No I'm not, niisan.” Genos ran fingers through his hair, and winced. “I have free range though, don't I? If I'm living here.”

“Yeah, totally. You can watch TV, read stuff, borrow my clothes, whatever.”

“Okay, thank you.” With a bright smile, he added, “Have a good day, niisan.”

“Thanks?”

It felt like a fever dream. This dirty bedheaded homeless kid chiding him for not keeping food in the house, wishing him goodbye... He'd never been such a good younger brother to his older sibling.

Saitama got to work late, breakfast taking time, and as he walked up he saw someone waving at him from the corner of the building.

“Reigen?” There were two cigarette butts on the ground where Reigen was hiding. “What are you- It's too early for a break.”

“What are they gonna do, fire me? They can't hire anyone new. As long as we finish all our work on time they can't afford to get rid of us.” Reigen lit a new cigarette off the one in his mouth and offered it to Saitama. “I was waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“You seemed... off, last night. I was worried.” He unnecessarily ground one of the butts into the sidewalk and added, “I should have invited you to sleep over.”

“N- no, it's fine, it's...” That would have been nice, but then he wouldn't have met Genos. “I did feel bad last night. But it's okay.”

“You know.” Reigen put a hand on Saitama's shoulder. “You can talk to me. About anything.”

Saitama took a long drag on the cigarette. Reigen wasn't making a move to take it from him. “I need your help.”

“Of course!”

“I need a new job.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Well, uh... I'm not sure if-”

“You're better than me at people and... everything. So can you help me look? Tell me what to say at interviews?”

“Oh!” His shoulders sagged in relief. “Yeah of course I can. It won't be easy, you only have this one job as experience, but if we start now... Yeah I'm sure we can find something.”

“Thanks.” Another pull. Saitama let the smoke settle into him, poisons and carcinogens calming his nerves and stomach. “I need to make more money.”

“Saitama-kun, we all do.”

Saitama shook his head. “I really need to. I'm taking care of my little brother now.”

“I didn't know you had a little brother.” Reigen waited for more information, but when it didn't come, went on. “Okay, not easy but not impossible. I'll do whatever I can.”

“Thanks.” Saitama dropped the spent butt on the ground. “Okay.”

“Saitama-kun, are- Can't your parents help? Did something... happen?”

“No more than usual.” Saitama took a deep breath of crisp morning air and started coughing. Reigen patted his back.

“You look better today,” he said. “I mean, aside from- Yeah we probably should quit smoking if we both need to save money now.”

Saitama nodded. “Gum or patch?”

The day passed faster than yesterday. Saitama allowed Reigen to bully him into eating a riceball at lunch, and despite that morning's decision they took several smoke breaks. Saitama got the feeling Reigen was hovering over him, worried, but he couldn't work up the energy to be offended.

Just like Reigen said, they'd gotten a brief admonishment for being late, but nothing else. When he wrapped up the issue with the final leggings shipment, Saitama even got thanked.

Reigen invited him out for dinner, but Saitama said he had to get home to his brother. It was more or less true. He wasn't sure if Genos would be there when he got back, but he would need to go grocery shopping either way. No doubt the kid would have eaten everything in the kitchen.

Saitama walked through the door and nearly tripped over his feet. The apartment was spotless; vacuumed and dusted and organized and smelling like fresh air and lemon soap instead of old sweat and mildew. It smelled like Reigen's place. Genos poked his head out, his equally-spotless head, and forced a brief smile.

“Welcome home, niisan.”

“Uh, yeah, I'm home.”

He looked younger with clean hair. He'd even popped his zits and put on new clothes, clothes Saitama didn't recognize.

“What are you wearing?”

“My clothes. I- I brought a few days worth when I...” His eyes fell to the freshly-swept floor. “I had them on me.”

“Oh, right... Yeah...” Of course, since he'd started as a runaway. Still, he was fifteen, he'd grow out of them in a week . “We'll get you more. And-” Saitama glanced around for the ratty hoodie he'd been wearing and spotted it drying with some other laundry on the balcony. “Do you have a real coat?”

“Um. Not really. But,” before Saitama could offer to buy him one, Genos said, “it's almost spring. I won't need it and it wouldn't fit next year anyway.”

“Right... right.”

Genos disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Saitama to take off his shoes and tie and figure out where he fit in this unfamiliar clean room. “Niisan, do you want tea?”

“Tea? I had tea?”

“I borrowed some from the neighbor.” Genos emerged with two cups. “She gave me lunch also. I didn't ask for it.”

“You talked to my neighbors? I don't know any of them.”

His lips quirked in a wry smile. “I know.”

Saitama drank the tea. It was really good.

“I made a list,” Genos said, taking it out of his pocket. “Of all the things I know how to cook.”

“I can cook, kid.”

“I did the-” His voice cracked for a moment, but Saitama told himself it was just his age, “the grocery shopping for my family sometimes. I know what to get.”

“So do I.”

“But you,” Genos gestured at the apartment at large, “haven't.”

“Ah... no.” He drained his tea, too fast, burning his tongue. Reigen was sensitive to that stuff so he always brewed it lukewarm when Saitama came over. “Okay, let's go.”

Genos turned out to be very thorough. Along with food, he instructed Saitama in purchasing cleaning supplies and basic medications, and deodorant for both of them. Saitama snuck a pair of gloves into the cart when Genos wasn't looking, and presented them to him on the way home.

“I don't need-”

“It's chilly.”

“Not that chilly,” Genos insisted. But he put them on.

It made a dent in Saitama's bank account, but when he checked it at an ATM he discovered more than he thought. How long had it been since he actually bought anything for himself? Weeks? Months?

This amount of stuff wouldn't be typical. Saitama did the arithmetic in his head as they walked. If they spent about half this weekly, with his current paycheck, they'd be okay for... three months. Okay. He just had to find a job before then. No problem.

“Niisan?” He looked at Genos, hands full of shopping bags, wearing one of Saitama's old hoodies in place of the one still drying at home. “I can- I can get a part time job.”

“You don't have to,” Saitama said automatically. Practicality made him add, “Yet.”

Soon he'd have to go to the civil service office and figure out what, if anything, the government offered as assistance. This wasn't the time to be proud. Not to mention school books and uniforms once Genos got into high school. He'd need to study for entrance exams, maybe cram school?

“Niisan?”

Saitama got some cash from the machine and took his half of the shopping back. It was heavy, and he was out of shape thanks to... well... everything he'd done in the last year. Or few years. But Genos had been through worse, and Saitama was responsible for him now.

He took all the heaviest bags.

“Let's go home.”

“Okay niisan.”

They unpacked everything together – Genos had even dusted the unused shelves – and Saitama started getting out the rice cooker and pans.

“I can make dinner, niisan.”

Saitama ignored him.

“I- I'm good at it.”

“Let me,” Saitama said. “The stove is tricky. The back burner works better.”

“Okay.” Genos looked so dejected that Saitama backpedaled.

“You can make the takenoko. Do you know how?”

“Yes! Of course.” Genos got out the bamboo shoots and retrieved the cutting board from the drying rack. Saitama hadn't even noticed he'd cleaned it.

“It's a good time of year for cod,” Saitama said. He was getting hungry just from the smell of cooking oil on the pan. “I don't know if this stuff goes together?”

“It's all seasonal, so I think so niisan.”

“Hm.”

They talked like that, small comments, asking for opinions or advice, or to be handed the bonito, the weather. It was the kind of thing Saitama avoided with his coworkers, but with Genos it felt... homey.

The not-quite-conversation continued over dinner, and then Saitama got out his laptop to look up nearby schools while Genos read his manga, and by the time it was late enough for bed Saitama realized he hadn't turned on the TV once. He hadn't needed it to drown anything out.

Genos was stifling yawns and blinking a lot. They hadn't gotten much sleep last night, but Saitama had assumed Genos went back to bed after he left. Saitama wasn't used to three meals a day and he was too full to do much but bookmark the pages he'd been skimming and announce bedtime.

“We forgot to get you a new futon.”

“It's okay niisan, I don't need it.”

“You're young, you're growing. You need proper sleep.”

“Yes niisan, I'm young. I don't need to worry about back problems yet.”

Saitama shot him a glare. Genos smiled innocently.

“We'll go buy you one tomorrow.”

“Is... is there room in the budget?”

“Yes,” Saitama said, truthfully, though he'd have to start paying better attention to sales and coupons to save money on food.

“I can-” Whatever he'd been about to offer was interrupted by a yawn.

“We can worry about it tomorrow,” Saitama said firmly. “Go to sleep.”

“Kay.” Genos curled up in his pile of blankets and pillows, like a fluffy baby bird tucked into a nest.

For the first time in longer than Saitama cared to think about, he'd spent the whole day in the company of other humans. It ought to have exhausted him, and he did feel drained, but no more than usual. Instead of the crushing weight of nothing at all, Saitama felt... warm. Full. Anchored.

He could do this. They might have to scrape by, and they both might end up working minimum wage, and it might turn out he couldn't get Genos into school at all. But he could do this. He could keep another human alive and safe, and... and it was something to keep going for.

Genos probably felt the same way.

There were two people in the house, and they were both responsible for someone, and even if it wasn't themselves... that was okay. It evened out.

#batfics #one punch man #mob psycho 100 #mob punch man #angstbucket #opm #mp100 #trans headcanon #trans reigen

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