(no subject)

[sadtoaster]

[ saitama's secret stash...

...is something of a misnomer. there's nothing really secret about it, for one; the man doesn't have a lot of space to work with, and everything there is to see in his home is more or less in plain sight. he doesn't have much to hide, made abundantly clear every time genos performs a thorough bi-weekly sweep of their surroundings.

sensei, this flyer is from last month...
don't mind it, it doesn't expire for a while, you know?

the coupons tend to be long-expired, but genos won't say a thing. it's better to live and let live, or on those cases, not let his sensei know so he can pick up any wanted groceries in his stead. saitama doesn't need to know the real price. if he wants to keep thinking the value is worth something in the long run, so be it. frugality is one of his dozens of virtues, anyway.

what passes for the stash is typically nothing more than the latest magazines, advertisements, and other paraphernalia well-stocked by genos to ensure that sensei is continuing to thrive. originally it started out as something of a team effort (though saitama really hadn't seen the need at the time), growing into more and more of genos's side project over time. it makes sense, what with how busy sensei is these days. there's always a squabble here, a fight there, the here association pulling at their ears all the while...

lately saitama isn't even around, which leaves his young ward to his own devices, more often than not. there's no problem in it when genos has plenty of things to study, hero duties he can catch up on, plus the occasional tune-up at dr. kuseno's lab.

which leads him to wonder: what in the world is with this growing pile of discs in the living room?

video games... genos knows of them. his years spent as a cyborg of justice doesn't mean he's forgotten the past, forgotten some of the things which used to fill his spare time. but why are they filling sensei's? surely his hours could be better spent climbing the ranks of the association, just as he encouraged genos to do. not that sensei doesn't know best; he probably has a plan he hasn't told genos of yet, doing things in his own way. sensei, after all, is the strongest man the world has ever seen. what does ranking have to do with it?

at this point it's purely speculation. they could be here due to any number of things. there's no telling they belong to saitama in the first place. it's entirely possible they might have something to do with how much time he spends around the s-class's seventh best. as for why king would be influencing him to bring home piles and piles of games, it's beyond genos's reasoning. is it for training? it has to be for training.

now he's drawn a conclusion, able to proceed with no issues. a little tidying is fine, far from unwelcome, and sensei will appreciate it. if he asks, it's very possible they could play together too, like he does with the king.

if...oh.

wait.

a lot of these don't look like they're for two players at all...

and that is how the biomechanical boy has found himself sprawled out on the floor in the middle of the afternoon, transfixed by a now-empty jewel case with a scantily-clad girl on the packaging, her moans on the television screen ringing in his ears.

training. this is for training. sensei just needed a little...brushing up on how to talk to women. judging from how genos has fared in his game so far, he doesn't seem to have the same trouble. if anything, it's been all too easy to win over this virtual girl's affections and lure her into the bedroom. surely they don't act this way in the real world, too. genos's fanclub throwing themselves at them left and right is harrowing enough! ]

Comments

[fasthedgehog]

[ a walk was all sonic wanted to take after a day of rigorous training. really, that was it. he had no ulterior motives when he finished exercising, showered thoroughly, then slip on equally tight street clothes that doesn't quite put his villain wear to shame, but it's close enough. another short jog would suffice, if he so chose, tying his hair up in a looser knot than usual, not feeling up to going through the motions of pinning it up for a fight.

even sonic had times when he'd rather take in the world around him, remind himself that there was more to life than just an endless battle. sometimes the world could be fascinating, especially when he's not lurking in the underworld, or out on a job to mindlessly murder and add to his endless supply of cash.

alas, all good things come to an end. for sonic, it's very abrupt, a flare of anger possessing him from the inside-out with just one thought: he still hasn't beaten saitama.

why did it consume his life? why did that stupid egghead have to waltz into his life and ruin everything he's worked so hard for? he was speed of sound sonic, for heaven's sake, one of the most feared villains of his time... and yet that caped baldy had to go and show him up with so little effort involved, flicking him away as if he were an annoying insect and nothing more.

he doesn't know when he started to run, blood thrumming loudly in his ears, pulse racing to keep up with the frustration that abruptly clouds his vision. it always starts like this, too, a thought turned sour and a wish to settle the nagging inside his chest, fueling him to seek out his prey.

this was stupid. the entire situation was ridiculous. his whole life surrounded on being the fastest, quicker than the blink of an eye. so why can't he ever see himself defeating saitama? a man who looked so bored with the world, so foolishly nonchalant with the power that was contained inside of him.

maybe that's what angered him most of all. the guy had so much and he was so clearly taking it for granted. he was playing hero—as a damn hobby of all things, like it was so easy to reduce his strength to that—but never looked like he was enjoying it all that much. at least sonic appreciated the thrill, the rush of having a fight, a good, hard struggle, one he could eventually persevere. that excitement was all he needed to keep going, to show off his skills and remind everyone how good he was, that they'd never amount to the person he'd shaped himself to be.

a pout reached his lips, sniffing once in annoyance when the haze lifted and he was back on track. there, he'd gotten it under control. no problem. just reason it out, bring back the reason why he was such a determined individual, then go in for the kill. it's much easier to continue onward with his mind cleared, flipping backwards and up onto the top of a apartment complex with little to no effort. it helps to propel him forward further, gaining momentum as he continues onward to his destination.

sonic has no real intentions on just busting into saitama's living quarters. not because he's considerate, but he's not even sure if the dunderhead is even home. there's no point in that, he wouldn't just sit there and wait for him to show up.

that's bullshit, of course he would. ninjas actively stay in the shadows and strike when a person least expects it, after all, and he doesn't wear the outfit or carry around a sword for any old reason. right now said weapon is unavailable to him, sitting back at home waiting for his return, though it's not unlike him to somehow conceal other smaller, sharper objects to fight with. he never went without backup, not unless he's tossed into jail.

as always, he's graceful in his landing, standing a short distance away from the building he'd been seeking out. sonic gets into a comfortable crouching position, squinting his eyes in an attempt to see if anyone was home.

no good. he might have perfect vision, but that doesn't mean he has the ability to zoom in and focus on things without aid.

—wait.

sonic leans forward a bit on the tips of his toes, trying to get a better look. when that's a futile effort at best, he changes his mind and hops even closer, craning his neck a fraction.

well he'll be damned. speaking of robotics, it looks like saitama's dumb guard dog was home, immediately sneering down at him as if he were nothing more than a pet, or a kitchen appliance. great, that isn't what he was looking for. if he wanted a big clunky sheet of metal, he'd look elsewhere, not at his rival's home.

sonic's just about to bid the toaster a silent farewell before something else catches his eye: the television. or rather, what's playing on it, the series of images his sharp eyes can surely catch in the proximity he's settled upon. a wide grin crosses his face when his ears definitely aren't deceiving him, finding this... hilarious? entertaining? overall it's just bizarre and something that's outside his usual interests, and he intends on seeking this game (hah, a good double-meaning) out while saitama isn't around. the only question is: will he be able to approach without the cyborg instantly trying to blast him off of the ledge?

... eh. he'll be able to dodge it either way, no problem. it's not like he'd be the one destroying that idiot saitama's apartment.

with cat-like movements that could match any invisible thief, sonic nimbly sneaks in and perches on the table seated just inches away from the teen (was he a teenager? sonic couldn't tell, couldn't care less even more). cocking his head to the side, he watches for about thirty seconds, tilts his head to the other side, and then: ]

I didn't know household appliances could get aroused.

[sadtoaster]

[ something is amiss. genos can tell; his sensors pick up a shift in the air, a change in the room, occurrences he doesn't feel like acknowledging compared to the images he's seeing on-screen.

it fascinates him for all the wrong reasons. lacking the biological functions to follow through on his mild interest, he can only watch and wonder, both at how his former self might have felt about this, and at how his sensei might, if he does at all. has he played these games before? does he do so on a regular basis? is there a side to him genos hasn't already seen? he can't help but wonder...

...

...

ah. he can feel it now, something like a mosquito flitting too close to his synthetic skin, not big enough of a target to really register to him, yet making his the tips of his fingers itch, wanting to strike.

who is that? there, on the table? genos knows he's there, which is about all he can determine. the who, the what, the why remains unknown. if he's no hostile intruder, there's no need to instantly blast him aside. those days are gone, past him now. he's learned a modicum of patience, of diplomacy, compared to the hair-trigger reactions he used to display.

or so he'd like to think. it's equally possible his energy stores are running low; he's bored, he needs a nap, another package of cheap rice crackers, a change of pace. ]

I do not have that function. [ straightforward, to the point. he supplies it without thinking, heedless of who he's speaking to until his gaze shifts, settles on the unexpected visitor. speaking of arousal... ] ...you're that pervert.

[ from before. the lithe, nude figure in the rain, when the deep sea king threatened to swallow them all. ]

[fasthedgehog]

[ raises an eyebrow at that. huh, he did expect to leave an impression on every person that he crosses paths with, but he didn't think a robot or whatever the hell he was would commit it to memory. ]

And you're the lapdog. [ rocks back on his heels, arms loosely hanging off his knees. ] Fine, you can't pop one. Why are you watching this, then?

[ a short jerk towards the television clears any confusion, if there's any to begin with. honestly, sonic was just curious. and when he was curious, he wanted to know answers, to get to the bottom of things.

he didn't think the kid was thick enough to not answer appropriately. or maybe he really was just a hunk of junk that was pieced together after every fight he'd gotten into, unless he was made of something sturdier than aluminum and thin bolts. that might be another thing he'll have to pry out of him at some point. ]

[sadtoaster]

[ prepare to be disappointed: in genos's eyes, there's only route he can take here, and it involves explaining the obvious. ]

The bunny girl was the first character I became introduced to. By choosing the correct responses to her dialogue, and obtaining her Lucky Item, I was able to unlock this scene. According to the package it is one of the eight routes in the game, though given the nature of developers in this day and age, I would not be surprised if some secret paths were added into it as a bonus feature for long-time fans of the series.

[ his whole head swivels, now, turned to the side to glare at his guest head-on. ] Why are you?

[ your move, pervert. ]

[fasthedgehog]

[ halfway through the explanation, sonic's zoned out, eyes a little glassy from how uninterested he is...

wait, the question brings him back to center. he gets this look on his face, a sort of smirk, not anywhere near the excited expression he wears when someone puts up a good fight. ]

I came to fight my rival. [ finally takes a seat on the edge of the table, staring blankly at the tv. ] But he's not here, so I've decided to wait.

[ at least his response wasn't stupid. ]

a time later...

[aroundcircle]

[ sonic would be a liar if he were to say that his encounter with genos didn't have some effect on him. that's frustrating in and of itself, going so far as to doodle out a badly drawn image of him, pin it next to the equally poor version of saitama he'd hung up sometime after he met him. for days he's lay in bed and chuck shuriken at the cyborg's face (completely ignoring the C-class hero's), remove himself to do something else, then go back to burning holes into the picture with his gaze.

the anger subsided a few days after, ceasing his violence in favor of squinting at the holes left in the paper. he's barely able to make out the guy's face anymore.

it's after a week that he suddenly realizes he hadn't attempted to seek out saitama in a while, though he knows well enough that it's not that which propels him to go out into the world again, feet carrying him forward to the apartment complex he's already memorized the way to.

arriving at the scene of the crime came all too quickly, narrowing his eyes up at the building, where he knows the bald man and his guard dog reside. ]

This is stupid. [ stares down at his feet, repeating those words in his head several times to remind himself that his behavior is strange and uncalled for.

and then he's jumping, twisting gracefully in the air, landing on the edge of the small patio. he perches there easily, kind of like an oversized cat, his balance steady. a part of him already knows that saitama isn't there. another presence, one he's increasingly and awkwardly becoming more interested in (did he want to kill him, too?), might be in there, or will be soon. the curtains aren't drawn open, but he doesn't feel the need to peek inside this time. sonic knows his new prey will sense someone is outside. ]

[onicyborg]

[ the guard dog knows who's lurking outside. if anything, he's impressed it's taken this long for the brute to show his face again around here. days pass with no comment from saitama or any other hero he keeps semi-regular contact with. were it not for the real and tangible evidence of his arrival—the replacement television, the burnt edges of a throw pillow, a weird flowery fragrance his sensors refuse to let go of—genos would have a hard time believing the encounter ever happened at all.

and yet he's here, probably coming to call for the same reasons that'd brought him here once before.

feh, mister speed-of-sound. at least when genos had taken his name, it had some semblance of sense.

he'd love nothing more than to fling open the curtains, pull back the window, and push him onto the pavement for some mild amusement (it's not like it'd hurt the man). but he doesn't plan on giving him the satisfaction. he'll be taking his sweet time in vacuuming, sweeping, dusting, inching aside those curtains at the last moment to glare at his visitor.

sonic is visiting, right? he's impatiently waiting his turn this time, not eavesdropping on anyone. given there's nothing for him to eavesdrop on, unless the cleaning routines of a cyborg built for justice is really something to be so fascinated by. he wouldn't put it past some people... ]

We already get the paper. [ it's a crude joke, a vague attempt at humor to break the ice. while it's true genos is holding him in a mild amount of contempt, he can only go so far as someone who's only heard accounts of him harassing his sensei, and not witnessing it first-hand. as for the rest, it's a mixed bag; a large amount of that was brought onto himself, so it's unnecessary to dwell on the mistakes made when there are bigger and better things to tackle, errors to correct. he won't so succumb so easily now. ]

[aroundcircle]

Ha ha.

[ it's not funny at all. he'll keep himself firmly planted where he crouches, uncharacteristically allowing some silence to follow their words. sonic just wants to look at him, staring at him intensely, almost as if he wanted a showdown of some sort...

but then he's settling on his rear, comfortable with the clear, crisp weather, enjoying the light breeze that ruffles his long hair. unlike last time, it's tied up a bit neater, a single bun with a few wisps hanging low from carelessness. also unlike their previous meeting, sonic's not trying to bait him right away, much more quiet than his usual chatty self.

the moment only lasts for so long, much like everything in the villain's life. it's now that he cranes his head to look inside, taking note of the new television. ]

Not watching more porn? [ kicks his feet, a childish gesture. ] I'm surprised.

[sadtoaster]

I'm cleaning house. [ as if the blindingly pink apron tied around his form isn't a dead giveaway. at least his arms and legs have no extra attachments at the moment.

any critique is taken in stride, since he's assuming there are ulterior motives for this unexpected visit. ] Sensei is out.

[ still goofing off with king, more than likely. he hasn't come home lately, some nights, leaving genos's carefully-prepared hotpots to simmer by themselves into oblivion. even after eating his fill, so much is leftover there's nothing for it. such is what happens the week he starts considering putting in effort to some of their nightl meals.

but that's neither here nor there, wiping down the inside of the windows like it's of no consequence one way or the other. ]

[aroundcircle]

[ for some reason he bites back saying that he knows that much, pretends that he's unaware with a blink and tilt of his head. ]

Is that so... [ and that's all he has to say on the subject, hoping it comes off as nonchalant and not deliberate.

enough. sonic is quick to change his attitude, uncomfortable at how it's making him feel and act. replaces his slight frown with lips that twitch upward, offering genos a grin. ] Playing housewife today? How domestic of you.

time passes...

[sadtoaster]

[ speed of sound sonic's visits start becoming something of a common occurrence. since they tend to run on days where saitama is never actually home, his cyborg disciple grows more and more cautious over the whole thing. they're always masked in pretenses, ranging from the blatant i came here to challenge saitama to i was in the neighborhood to i'm hungry, buy me kototsu ramen, in which genos begrudgingly does.

they're acquaintances, friends of a sort. posing as a self-declared villain never sits well with genos when they run across each other in the middle of the street, but they've progressed to the point where they scarcely fight it out with words, let alone any of the weaponry they're often armed with. for someone who lacks a tendency to surround himself with company, it's become a novelty to genos, meeting up with a person for light conversation and no overbearing threat to rattle them senseless, or stop them from taking human lives.

genos still does plenty of that in his spare time. he can only assume sonic does much of the same, in the long and longer stretches where they don't see one another, though with more malicious means in mind. it doesn't haunt him as much as it should for a registered hero; luckily, none of his other associates are any wiser to it, either. sensei's just happy to finally have someone else to entertain him, with his fellow s-class heroes noticing no predominant changes in his habits, focused squarely on the mission when things come down to it.

being separated is normal. although they meet up often, there's no regularly to it. it could every couple of days, sometimes five, even a week or longer. genos never considered exchanging phone numbers (he's seen sonic with one, so it wouldn't be outlandish to ask), e-mails, or anything of the sort. he's simply that weird perverted round circle ninja who keeps dropping by to pick his brain, pick up bread for them, pick at him when he's feeling particularly presumptuous. yet when several weeks go by after hearing nothing, nor any news reports of the latest apprehension in city z, genos can't help wondering what's going on. did he say something to ruffle his feathers the last time he saw him? did he finally recognize the futility of being all buddy-buddy with a known and recognizable hero? is genos losing his mind?

perhaps it's all of the above. or none of those. regardless, he needs answers, weary of waiting for something or someone to turn up. it isn't necessarily that he misses sonic, his singsong prattle, his warm and slender hands. but to keep constant contact for ages only to cut it off out of the blue reeks of something fishy. sitting around won't bring him the news he needs to hear.

going on patrol is his lame excuse to saitama as he bursts onto the streets. he hasn't a clue of where to start, but he's no stranger to legwork by now, intending to use every resource at his disposal to find his missing...friend. for all intents and purposes, sonic is a friend, albeit tentative at best.

hours spent on the search reveal nothing in particular. genos is about to give up, consider a break, a dozen steamed buns from the nearest train station when he chances upon something out of the ordinary: a pool of blood. interesting. this area hasn't had any known attacks in the vicinity all day, with no signs of any creatures or criminals lurking in the crowd. it's too soon to call this any kind of a clue, since the odds of this being related to sonic number in at least the millions, maybe more. that doesn't mean it's not worth investigating. someone could be in trouble, for all he knows, and he isn't so hard-hearted of a demon killer to not help a person in need if he stumbles into them.

he looks for footprints, a trail, any sort of struggle or sign. no one bleeds and simply leaves it there without leaving behind some sort of indicator to follow. thanks to genos's enhanced vision, it isn't too gargantuous of an ordeal. in no time he's found the breadcrumbs, in a manner of speaking, seeing where exactly it's going to end up taking him.

someplace interesting, he hopes. ]

[fasthedgehog]

[ how sonic's gotten himself into this big of a mess is beyond him.

how did it start? where was he? did he even have his weapons on him? who was it that actually reduced him to a struggling, bloody mess? ]

Shit— [ is all he can muster as he continues forward to his destination, holding on tightly to his wounded side. his grip is weak, slippery and sticky from the blood that won't stop gushing, no matter how hard he presses his bundled up scarf against the deep cut. anger courses through him in waves, a follow-up to the pangs of pain that help fuel him forward.

there's a slight inkling as to who it was, one of the only people besides saitama who has successfully brought him to his knees. it helps him reach at least a little clarity, to push through his fuzzy and clouded vision, barking out a laugh before spitting a clot of blood onto the sidewalk. the fury has him shaking slightly (it's not from the loss of blood, it just isn't, it can't be) and grinning manically, a distraction for him to focus on so he doesn't immediately pass out where anyone could find him.

it feels like it takes hours for him to return home. his real home, not one of the multiple hideouts he's scattered throughout several cities. maybe it was foolish to go back there, especially after all of this, but he had more medical supplies there than he did in his other apartments.

a meow from below is the greeting he'll receive when he, by some miracle, ends up at his front door. hey is all he says to the black cat that's peering up at him, gingerly shooing her away with a foot. getting blood on his pet was the last thing he wanted to deal with, even if his cold, black heart was somehow warm and soft for the feline.

another slurred curse rolls off his tongue, a palm flat against the wall to steady himself. sonic follows the path towards the bathroom, tripping once over a stray article of clothing, only giving it a passing glance to see if he's stopped leaving a trail behind. when crimson is still the only thing that graces his presence, he squeezes his eyes shut, almost nauseous now from just looking at it. the smell of copper does nothing to help, stopping to gag from the scent, alongside the searing pain radiating through his bones.

he thanks himself for the ordeal being short-lived, scrambling to grab at the towels in his bathroom and toss the soaked scarf to the side. replacing that with the new items in his hands does nothing to help, bleeding through all of them in mere minutes.

should he look? sonic's no stranger to violence, to the sight of the aftermath of battle, but facing his own set of wounds was somehow different. maybe he just didn't want to admit that it was all that bad, though after taking a peek, he can't help but cringe, cover it again, then tip his head back to chuckle between choked gasps.

that's the pattern he'll take for the next hour, trying hard to stitch his skin back together between brief moments of blacking out.

he's tired. he's so tired, still bleeding, and quite done with the day already.

just like everything that's transpired, he loses track of what he's doing, how much time had passed when his head hits the pillow of his futon. blindly grappling at the bedding is a huge hindrance in and of itself, hissing out from twisting in a way that he knows ripped the haphazard nursing he'd performed on himself earlier. whatever, so long as he's covered in more than just the thin, oversized shirt he'd snatched along the way, sonic won't complain, not when he's finally able to slip into blissful sleep. ]

[sadtoaster]

[ how long is this trickle of blood through the streets going to go on? in intervals it dwindles to being nearly invisible to the naked eye, yet stretches on for what feels like miles. there's no way anyone could left this could still be breathing, and genos fears the worst as he weaves through main streets, side roads, and back alleys.

there are no heroes, no villains in sight. eventually, he stops running into other people altogether, alone and deserted. this has high and low points: while it means he can press forward unobstructed, it also means there's no hope for help if he winds up encountering something grisly all on his lonesome. weighing the odds, he chooses to tackle it head on. in the worst case scenario, someone will be able to track him down and cart him off to dr. kuseno's laboratory. it's happened before, on more occasions than genos is willing to count.

but it's fine. nothing he can't handle. ]

... [ twenty minutes later, he's very wrong. he can't handle this cat, this confounded cat who continues getting in his way each time he tries to cross the threshold of an open door. it isn't deliberately blocking him so much as he trips forward every time he makes a valiant attempt to move. it flops down on the ground, rolls between his legs, rubs up against his ankles, demanding attention genos doesn't have the brightest idea of how to provide.

bizarrely, it reminds him of sonic, anyway. lazy, boisterous, careless sonic, who could kill you in your sleep as easily as he could leer over your shoulder, somehow convinced he's going to catch genos looking over something else pornographic one of these days. it's become a running joke of theirs.

after too long of a struggle to avoid the friendly feline, genos arrives inside of...well, wherever he is. the sun descended eons ago, and here in what he can only assume are the outskirts of z-city, there's little light to be seen save for a string of street lamps he passed quite a ways back. whoever's home this is doesn't seem to have considered the concept of light switches, or even lanterns. the problem this poses is temporary, but it's a problem all the same.

there's still blood here. it's messier now, greater in some places more than others. hesitant on where to go, he stakes out his entire surroundings first, heading to the nearest toilet after a quick process of elimination. not only does he find a light at last, but more pieces to the puzzle, as well: dirtied clothes, rust-colored stains over the sink...a purple scarf?

no. it's a coincidence. sheer coincidence.

he won't believe it until he nearly trips yet again, this time not over a cat, but a bundle of a body on the floor. genos's sensors indicate it's moving, it's breathing, alive, though just barely.

he won't believe it until seeing it. seeing sonic, this man faster than the speed of sound, futilely bleeding through his futon and onto the floorboards. dozens of possibilities littered genos's mind while they were apart. this, however, was not one of them.

who did it? where are they now? is it too late to smash them into a pulp? there's no logic behind the jealousy coursing through his circuits, the mindless surge to protect, the desire for revenge. he's all too familiar with these feelings, and equally familiar with shoving them down while there's work to do.

he's going to have to act quickly. it's too late to rush to the nearest hospital, too late to cry for help. sonic will die long before they get there. he'll have to put his experience to good use, even if he's far more used to repairing machinery than he is for a living, breathing, full-fledged human being. ]

[aroundcircle]

[ the feeling of peacefully floating in water is a foreign one, as is the slow waves trickling over his body, urging him to rest, to sleep, to dream.

so dream he does. they're memories, sonic reasons, somehow caught between consciousness and the blackness that still shields him from the pain he'd suffered through. it's a slideshow of his life before he'd become a full-fledged killer, back when he was more innocent and ignorant of the world. there's his family, his friends, and other friendly, familiar faces, painting a comfort he hasn't known for years. nothing special is happening in these vision, just normal everyday things; a walk through the mountain's many forests that he grew up in, his mothers gentle hands, some figures that are too blurry for him to make out.

why now? sonic's consciousness muses, biting back some bitterness that breaks through the calm he's feeling.

oh. is he dying?

well this is a crappy way to go, he thinks, bored at the prospect of nothing of note happening. what, is he's supposed to be baited into watching all the good things come crashing down before he kicks the bucket? how cliche.

besides, he can't pass right now. sonic has so many other things he has to do, like scrub the blood off of every surface he's touched, feed his stray of a cat, defeat saitama once and for all, and also—

ugh. even without a face, the ninja is cringing, that embarrassment rising from the grave to haunt him again. he shouldn't be thinking about that stupid toaster, the one who he's been on better terms with for quite some time now. first of all, he was just his rival's guard dog, nothing more than a kid whose body was crafted into something bionic, much stronger than a normal human's body. secondly, he was a hero of justice, as he so liked to point out, a deadpan look on his synthetically created face whenever he declared his status. thirdly, there was no way he was going to be on a brink of death and thinking about how he hadn't seen him for some time, how he wants to see him, wants to laze about and boss him around and have him comply without trying to blast a hole through his head.

he's so fucked. or he would have been, had he not wound up getting killed. who the hell had the nerve to even try, anyway?

ah, well. he won't be finding out anytime soon. or at all, really, if the drifting didn't cease and carry him away to the afterlife (that's what happens when you die, right?).

just when he's about to end it at that, a shot of pain seizes through his body. what the—? no, there's no time to finish that thought, not when he's starting to sweat profusely, pushing down the bile that's rising up his throat. and then there's something cool on him, a sort of familiar sensation. what is it? he wracks his brain for answers, coming up short. it's interrupted by his lungs constricting, his breathing heavy and so, so hot, too hot for him to digest and stomach.

he's only half-awake now, panting through a fever that has no sign of going away anytime soon. were he aware of being quite alive and not dead yet, he'd be complaining up a storm, bitch out his body for betraying him like this at such a critical time. as it stands, he's in no state to do anything, let alone speak his mind. maybe some other time. ]

[sadtoaster]

[ on a good day there's no way genos would allow himself to get this up close and personal with anyone, enemy-turned-friend or not. but with no options, no time, and very few resources at his disposal, it can't be helped when he's stripping sonic down, poking, prodding, visually scanning how deep this main wound on him is, how far it goes.

the prognosis is difficult to determine. no vital organs seem to be in danger. blood loss appears to be the primary concern, and it's beyond his capacity to know whether or not he's bled out too far. there's clumsy stitching here and there, insufficient in fully closing the area up, insufficient in stopping the flow. stupid. why would he ever think to treat this without any outside interference? a scratch and scrape is one thing to mend when you're flying solo. severe, life-threatening injuries are a different beast altogether, and genos has never been more thankful than he is now for being moderately impervious to these pitfalls.

what to do... the bleeding needs to stop, first and foremost. afterward, genos can see to the rest. the boy rifles through his databases, pulls up the necessary procedures on how to give sonic the best care he can. instruction is no substitute for hands-on practice, of course, but desperate times call for desperate measures, something he's willing to wing his way through. he can't possibly make things any worse than they already are.

it's slow going, teetering on a razor's edge for the better half of it. every hiss of pain and stuttered movement is coldly ignored, following directions to the letter as optimally as he can, improvising when need be. there are moments where he's convinced he's lost sonic, only to bring him back from the brink in the nick of time. the experience is harrowing and exhausting, more so than any opponent he's had yet to face, likely ever will. he'd take aliens and deep sea creatures over this any day.

hours fly by until the last thread is sewn into place, the last linen plastered to pale, clammy skin. sonic will survive, until proven otherwise. it'll leave another nasty scar to join the ranks he already carries, but it beats being among the dead.

and...what? is that it? with genos's part out of the way at long last, is there nothing more than to leave sonic here to recover? he's incredibly unfamiliar with this situation, seeing as how sensei never emerges the worse for wear from a battle, and genos always has the doctor to be looking after him.

maybe tonight he'll play as sonic's doctor, hunched over his form with a modest metallic hand stuck to his brow. there's less heft to it than there usually is, unprepared for a confrontation, yet still fully prepared to face one if it'd come to that. but his arms have done enough work as it is. now they need to play the waiting game, let sonic recuperate from whatever nightmare he ended up getting trapped in. fortunately for them, genos is very good at waiting, has perfected it to a slight art.

not as much as a ninja's, though. he'll never match their level, no matter what. ]

during a Very Unexpected Visit...

[onicyborg]

[ genos has a problem: he's lonely.

it's preposterous. here in z-city he's got it pretty cushy. little by little, he's rising up within the ranks of the hero association, and sensei is, too. life is generally peaceful, only disrupted by the occasional monster attack or criminal squabble that's helped to put both of their names on the map. and more prestige means more money, which means it's easier to convince sensei going out for shabu-shabu on a saturday night might not be such a bad idea after all, since he won't have to feel like such a heel whenever it's genos's treat.

plus, he's gotten upgrades. he's stronger, faster than ever before...not to mention more lifelike in certain areas he'd never spared any thought to until recently. there are benefits and drawbacks to all of these, but the fact remains the future is looking bright for the s-classed demon cyborg.

so why is it he feels more hollow inside than one of sensei's empty tissue boxes?

there are doubts and there are theories. it could have something to do with his never-ending compulsion to keep his ears to the television, his eyes to the flicker of his computer monitor, and his nose buried deep within page after page of handwritten notes, hoping to catch wind of a certain modern ninja he hasn't run into in what seems like forever.

this isn't like the last time. sonic is alive, sonic is out there. genos knows; once in a blue moon, he'll catch a glimpse of the tail end of a purple scarf in the air, right before stumbling upon an unfortunate massacre he has no business in dallying with. sometimes he'll spot a loose topknot in the crowd of the city, hopes childishly high until a thug or horrendous beast muscles into his path, cutting off the line of sight he needed to get a closer look, complete his eagle-eyed scan to ensure it's really him. but he knows, and though he helps him sleep after powering down for the evening, it does little to keep the void inside of him at bay. he's hurt, affronted, it's petty and it's stupid.

he doesn't visit anymore. he's gone without a trace from the apartment genos had practically memorized every step to. with no phone number, no e-mail, no other friends or family to heckle, he's at a loss on how to flag sonic down and holler, what gives? didn't you want to finish marathoning wizard chasers or some drivel like that? he thinks he'd use television as an excuse, too unnerved to just come out and say how he really feels: i missed you, i was enjoying your company, i wanted to touch you again.

feh. the nerve of that guy. who needs him, anyway? training under saitama is all he needs. not even the blustering of a she-witch at their apartment door is going to faze him, looking nonplussed while his hypersensitive hearing hangs on to every word of their exchange. who does she think she is, barging in here like this? it reminds him a lot of...a lot of...

what the heck. why does everything lead back to sonic? forget this, he's going to go for a walk— ]

... ... [ the next several minutes pass like a whirlwind. one minute genos is angrily rising from his seat, ready to declare his next course of action (so sensei doesn't have to worry), when he's derailed by helplessly watching his sensei get blown out of his front door, over the railing now ridden with icicles, and through a hailstorm of rubble into the street.

his blond head pokes through the window, glancing outside, over the lackeys huddled in the hallway, and back out toward this new development, unable to make heads or tails of the whole affair. so much for that walk. he'll be stuck here for a time, torn with indecision on whether or not to race to his master's side. barreling through the cronies or leaping from the building wouldn't pose any challenge whatsoever, but he's well aware sensei doesn't need backup in any battle, that his devotion and dedication as a disciple are the sole reasons why the thought would ever cross his mind at all.

that's right. sensei will overcome this, no problem. nodding to himself, genos makes peace with continuing to be an observer. in case this escalates, he can always jump into the fray in order to hold back ordinary people who don't need to be involved, providing a diversion so sensei can continue enduring this escapade undisturbed. ]

[aroundcircle]

[ all the answers to genos's questions would be answered quite simply: sonic was flat-out avoiding him.

that's not entirely true. if anything, it's mostly an afterthought, not sparing a second to go out of his way to bother the mechanical boy. not when he's bunking in one of his dirty hideouts, where he'd hunkered down and stayed put while on the clock. none of his jobs were ever particularly difficult, so he had no real reason to linger, keep sleeping on a cold, uncomfortable mattress. but sonic, being the crude, bloodthirsty murderer that he was, cunningly convinced himself that it was all for the game. the thrill of seeking out his target, observing them in the shadows, then striking when they least expected it; this wasn't just a job... it was his hobby, too.

when did he forget something so important?

it had been a little over a week after he'd completely healed, the realization hitting him like a freight train: sonic was fine. the wound was closed up, and yet he was sharing space with that clunky robot like it was the most natural thing for him to do. the first few days after he'd last seen genos, he decided that he needed to accept an offer or two that was thrown his way, ones that had been previously ignored to... do what, exactly? play house with some kid? that was the first strike that fueled him to pursue another pastime, go back to his roots and familiarize himself with engaging in combat once more.

this still didn't stop him from thinking, always thinking, always going over the same scenes over and over again in his head. at first it was more annoying than it was confusing, an all-consuming force of nature. why the hell was he still thinking about that cyborg? even when he was covered from head-to-toe in blood, slitting someone's throat, or body-guarding for some fat rich man, it would all come back to genos, genos, genos—

anger swelled inside his gut at a rigorous pace, an agonizing, stinging sensation, one that left him tugging out his hair in frustration for days on end. no matter how hard he tried, sonic could not solve this annoyingly difficult puzzle, one he swears up and down that he didn't even want in the first place. —wait! that was all there was to it, right? just a momentary lapse in judgement, taking delight in how agreeable the toaster was. nothing strange or out of the ordinary, just another pleasant game for sonic to play.

so why did it still bother him? why did he have an onslaught of sleepless want that couldn't be sedated, no matter how hard he tried? and why the hell was he still so worked up over all of this, so bothered by what should have been trivial, a trite matter?

over a week passes by before those up and down cycles are long gone. he's returned to his natural state of being, mind cleared and full of nothing but i must be stronger. that's all it came down to, in the end. he was getting weaker, and not just from the phantom pain tingling at his side, reminding him of a failure he should have seen coming after so many years of stagnation. no, having feelings was the biggest misstep he's taken, whether it's simple affection or otherwise. there are very few things sonic holds near and dear, and a hero, that demon cyborg, would not be one of them.

none of these thoughts are fresh in his mind anymore, putting himself through rigorous training instead, pushing past the limits and barriers that only he could put up and knock down after trial and error. this is where he thrived, where he was most confident. how could he have put this all aside for something that would just go away in time? all of that nonsense before was pointless.

when he thinks he's finally got it, sonic begins his hunt again.

... or he would have, if he wasn't currently watching that damned, bald hero go soaring out his own window.

the unimpressed look that crosses his features is wiped off when the rubble and smoke clears, peering curiously instead as saitama brushes himself off, acting like nothing was amiss. che, that emotionless, insufferable show-off. why would something like telekinesis bother him? he's probably already passed the point of caring, of being surprised of anything that wasn't a sudden super sale at their local grocer.

wait, what is he doing? sonic might almost be... complimenting him? sure, he wouldn't (couldn't) deny the man's power, as it kept giving him a reason to go above and beyond after being content with where he stood. that's why they're rivals, right?

a wrinkle to his nose pulls him from those thoughts, feeling distinctly strange when regarding the man as a rival. why did it suddenly sound funny and lacked any actual weight to the word? there's no energy there anymore, the potential to be something bigger, greater. it just fell flat in the face of so many other things, moments and memories that still cloud his judgement, even after pushing them away.

all right, then. he's going to patiently wait, swinging into one of the weathered, unoccupied buildings just opposite of saitama's (sad, ruined) apartment, squatting down in the window in a very feline-like way. maybe things will actually get interesting, wanting nothing more than to attack, but still very much so relying on all that patience he'd spoken about before with—

oh. speak of the devil. or demon, rather, promptly ignoring the full-frontal punch to the gut from seeing him. sonic's quick to recover, so trained that he was to be nothing more than a mindless, killer of a villain, his trademark grin splitting straight across his face. what a great opportunity this is! ]

Hey, lover-boy. [ are the first words he says when he's hanging upside-down in front of genos, holding on strong to a sturdy cable jutting out from the complex. ] Lovely day for a fight, isn't it?

[sadtoaster]

[ there's another heat signature on his radar. he refuses to believe it's the same reading that's been burnt into his brain over the last couple of months. why would it take a brawl in the street for him to suddenly show his face here, now, the infuriating bastard— ]

... [ so infuriating. genos doesn't plan on gracing him with a reaction, that past, that redundant round circle of a man. his patented poker face is as expressionless as ever, blankly staring into the void of the ear-splitting grin in front of him.

why today? sonic's dressed for business to boot, his rich purple scarf fluttering behind him in the breeze. genos has half a mind to reach out for it, yank on it to reel sonic in, kicking and screaming. he isn't the type who'd give him a stern talking-to, uncovering the reasons behind what's kept him away for so long, but it'd at least provide him with some minor comeuppance. serves you right.

not being one to give him the cold shoulder, either, he'll speak at length, using the excuse of needing to keep an eye on the action. it's like sensei to draw this out, let his opponent exhaust themselves before dealing the final blow to show them just how pointless it is to drag things out. genos could learn a thing or two from that, making a note to himself to scribble that down the next time he has access to a pen and paper indoors. ]

Move. I can't see. [ he's bluffing; by enhancing the images in front of him, he can see every last detail down below perfectly fine. by moving, however, he doesn't have to continue looking at sonic any longer than he needs to. for being so lonely, actually getting a good glimpse of the guy isn't as fulfilling as he anticipated it to be. he'll consider his contrasting thoughts at another time. there's bigger fish to fry until then. ]

[fasthedgehog]

[ deterring sonic won't be that easy. if anything, the response is everything he wanted and more. ah, maybe his dear cyborg has finally moved past that lovesick, puppy dog phase sonic could see him slipping into, replaying in his mind all the instances in which genos scrambled to do whatever he said, just as obedient as he should be. he'd miss certain aspects of that, as he quite enjoyed watching the same scene play out over and over again, yet this made things less... complicated.

but having the luxury to destroy it with his own hands would be so much more satisfying.

sonic will play along for now, flipping vertically so he too can watch the battle in an upright position. or whatever it's supposed to be. saitama isn't even trying, that woman is just blowing debris around in a childish tantrum. boring. he's there and gone in a second, sliding around to face genos again. the ever-flexible ninja holds strong while lifting his free hand, caressing at the curve of the blond's face, the material wrapped around his form catching on synthetic flesh as his fingers move southbound. ]

Hey, I have an idea— [ twists away in one fluent motion, as if he hadn't touched genos at all. ] Let's play.

[ with the lack of unadulterated lust in his eyes, it should be clear where he's going with this, if the touch to the sword strapped on his back doesn't say enough already. ] Your sensei is busy, after all, so I'll have to make do with you.

[onicyborg]

[ it should be clear, but it's not. although he's constructed to be the ultimate fighting machine, a pinnacle of the technology great doctor kuseno has to offer, an abundant absence of intuition is one of genos's...many shortcomings.

what are you doing...?! he's ready to open his mouth, bark at sonic for invading his personal space without so much as a how are you doing, it's been a while. standing ramrod straight at the first sign of contact, natural instinct screams at him to shy away, widen the gap between the two of them. the touch is so familiar his stomach would spin in circles if he still had one to use. as it stands, his black and bleak eyes comically widen in alarm, moreso when the moment ends as startlingly as it began.

that's it? what is this? what just happened? is he out of his mind, or what... ]

I'm busy. Go heckle someone else. [ if sonic wants to treat him like it's old times, genos can, too, sticking his nose in the air. what is with that phrasing, anyway, playtime...any implications go straight through one ear and out the other. sonic is no threat, hasn't been since their first encounter, so why should that ever change? ]

fifteen days and fourteen hours later...

[aroundcircle]

[ two weeks have gone by in the blink of an eye. sonic, being the ever-moving enigma that he is, wouldn't have noticed if there was one small detail missing from his new way of living.

that damn cyborg and his confession still stuck at the forefront of his mind, clouded only by the jobs he's taken, the places he's lurked. it wasn't always a common pattern for him, but on his downtime he'd lay in bed, think about the things that have happened, what's taken place around his apartment complex one too many days prior. he didn't find it as frustrating as it could have been, surprised at how little anger he felt with every memory that touched the spaces in his home; his couch still remained a place of rest, kitchen untouched except to grab pre-made meals or one of many boxes of juice at his disposal, even though his hand would linger a tad longer than usual on the counter they'd shared when he used it as leverage to reach for a plate.

past that, everything was... normal, really. nothing felt wrong or out of place. sonic had stopped growing restless, angry, and perturbed over his feelings for genos, a big surprise that wasn't all that surprising in the least. the only thing that was different, maybe a touch odd to him was when he came home late one evening, slipped off his uniform and onto the floor before padding not to the closet to grab his futon, but to the empty bed he never thought about using until genos occupied it. sonic didn't dwell on it too much, not until he had a moment to spare and some time to laze around, question himself, his morals, then fall back on just breathing and reminding himself that there was nothing wrong with a little change. life was the same as it always had been, just with a new addition.

another extension that helped to segue into this lifestyle change were the texts he'd shoot back and forth to genos, or the voicemail they'd have to leave, since neither of them seemed to catch each other at the right moment. photos were rare on his end, being so flighty and sidetracked to even think about it until his head's hit the pillow, but after several challenging face-offs (selfie-offs, sonic would call them) he started to receive less of the teen's face and more of just random, mundane things—a flower blossoming in the depths of the sidewalk, stray cats idling in an alleyway, lunches he assumed were going to be consumed just after a photo was taken. sometimes he'd think about asking, always hovering his finger over the prompt to send before dialing it back, type out a response to the picture instead—pet it for me he once replied with out of maybe fifteen cat photos he still has saved, only to open a second picture where a very familiar-looking titanium hand was wrapped in the clutches of the feline's fangs and claws—before pocketing his phone and going on his merry way.

this was how it continued to be for fourteen days, now rolling into the fifteenth with the sun rising and greeting him bright and early. sonic wasn't the type to always be at his phone, needing to check up on all that social media crap people nowadays tend to stick like glue to, but now it was habit to reach for it for more than just the time, crack an eye open and roam a blurry gaze over a text genos would undoubtedly leave for him sometime in the wee hours of the morning, or at night before the ninja carted himself off to sleep. months ago sonic would have teased him for it, would have probably gotten the cold shoulder since the guy was so damn sensitive. unlike then, he too shoots off a message when something comes to mind, or to be insufferable and obnoxious by sending a raunchy picture right after genos tells him he's with his all-knowing sensei. it's become second nature by this point, a comfortable sort he's getting quite accustomed to.

still, it didn't beat having the living, breathing thing in front of him.

about halfway through his day (and his sixth iced coffee) sonic's wondering if he can track his... exception down, pop up and surprise him with that trademark grin of his. the text he woke up to this morning was a snapshot of the sun rising up and over the expanse of what he thinks is t-city, if all the skyscrapers and unopened shops littering the whole lot of it told him anything. hero duties always seemed to take him every which-way, didn't they?

a second glance to his schedule, the picture, then his trusty speedy mcfaster is incentive enough to go on a whim, see if it'll even take him anywhere to begin with.

for anyone that wasn't sonic, the trip there should have taken hours on end, but this speedy ninja makes it just in time to see a huge dust cloud explode somewhere in the corner of his vision, grin stretched to the brim when he hears the telltale signs of a canon-like noise going off. perfect! not only did he track genos down, but he also came just in time to witness what sounds like an interesting battle, practically vibrating from secondhand adrenaline.

cheerfully humming while bouncing from one landing to another, the villain flips out his cellphone, presses the second speed-dial before stopping just one building away from the fight. being this close means he'll have to dodge some debris flying towards him every now and then, but that's a small setback in an otherwise superb opportunity to really observe the s-class demon cyborg's true powers. he'll ignore his insides doing strange flips as soon as a tuft of blond, mussed up hair is barely in view, craning his head every which-way while cursing at the soot for blocking out most of the scene.

whatever, as long as genos picks up then he'll have accomplished his mission, reaching up to tug his violet-colored hoodie down further for coverage as he waits. ]

[onicyborg]

[ the more things change, the more they stay the same. at first genos how drastic of a change to his life this was going to be, juggling the desire to maintain contact with another human being roughly fourteen hours and forty-six minutes a day (excluding sensei) amongst his regular everyday obligations, like maintaining his hero ranking, and whatever else may come his way. the reality is actually a lot less daunting than he'd steeled himself for. it becomes second nature for him to send mail throughout the day, check in on his...on speed of sound sonic, see what he's up to, how lucrative business is, if he's remembering to eat and if he'd like to see how tall the trees in j-city are growing nowadays. in the absence of being by his side, he figures it's a decent substitute to show him his day-to-day happenings, eager to bond with him, tide him over until they can meet up again.

when will that be? he's never bothered to ask such a question outright. besides, it's already woven into the idle conversations they've started sharing at two in the morning, when sonic is fresh from twisting the knife and somehow unable to stifle the compulsion to ring up his friend, jar him out of a sleep cycle just to say you up? it's intertwined in the straightforward remarks genos is too tired to filter out when the moon is high, unfazed when they aren't returned with the same level of enthusiasm. he knows sonic is interested, isn't merely humoring him for being a dumb kid who'd sooner be joined to his hip than be forced to suffer through the hero assocation's same song and dance he's endured from the first day he joined. he expresses himself in his own way, which can be as exasperating as it is endearing. every word is documented, every photo saved into its own file, no matter how obscene some of them get. he's falling, falling hard, and he wouldn't change a thing.

other than the distance, anyway. z-city may not necessarily be the biggest place around, but between working and an otherwise humble existence at sensei's side, neither of them seem to be able to find the time for one another. although this was taken well into account, the demon cyborg by day and lovesick teenager by night inwardly does battle with the lack of a partner he was getting so used to constantly seeing. it's worse now that the truth is out, feelings wide out in the open instead of being hidden away and picked at whenever he has time alone, piecing together the meanings inside a secret heart he'd thought to be buried with his old way of life. it cuts more deeply than their first long-term separation, aware now of the arbitrary reasons why and wishing he could smash them into a pulp as effortlessly as the enemies he faces. he misses sonic, frankly. even a five-minute talk face to face would be better than fifteen on the phone where too little ground is covered, when sonic sometimes dozes off on the other end, waiting until his breaths are deep and even enough to hang up on the other end in good conscience.

the rising sun promises to bring more of the same. this is steadily becoming the new normal in genos's life, so he doesn't take it too bitterly, accepting things for what they are and carrying on with what the day has in store for him. he functions on autopilot while out on patrol, politely interacting with adoring fans who happen to catch him in the streets, faces he wouldn't normally run into when he's a few hours home. many of them are merely there for the photo opportunity, anyway; they know nothing about the dreadful demon cyborg who hammers his foes into the dirt with actual iron fists, drawn to the cool and collected image that sharply contrasts the fire and smoke he doles out. they aren't here for anything more. that's fair, he can accept it too, give them a show worth their time and money as he goes toe to toe wit the latest villains who dare to stand in his way. let them. it's an ample of means of letting out some of his frustrations, no matter how mild they may ultimately be.

he doesn't expect his phone to go off in the middle of his latest struggle. this is so not the time—it'd better not be sensei, because he already has the omiyage waiting to be delivered home, perfectly safe and sound, no problem. ] This is Genos. [ curt, perfunctory. he's wasting precious minutes, arm stretched out to the side to incinerate the blathering beast who lacks the brains to realize charging at demon cyborg is very much not the best course of action. ]

[aroundcircle]

[ oh, excellent. he got through.

instead of saying anything outright, sonic squats down low, legs locked at the knee while he cradles his chin in the palm of a hand, propped up with the help of his elbow. for a second he'll follow the pattern of movement genos makes, the well-timed blaze forced and projected from sweltering cores lodged into large, battle-worthy hands. the cut of mechanical breathing flowing through the receiver is calming, having relied on it a few times to lull him into a deep rest, though those are thoughts he'd rather keep to himself.

in any case, it's an interesting sight to behold, that's for certain, and sonic's more than proud of himself for taking the chance to see the teenage cyborg duke it out. it's almost a little inspiring, actually. ]

Hey, lover-boy~ [ sings it nice and high, a trill laced with a wide smile. it holds none of the cruel undertones he'd had just a few weeks ago, needing no reason to goad him, pique his interest high. ] What're you doing?

[ he knows what he's doing. he's watching him do a dance that's mesmerizing, mapping out every step he takes, memorizing it for the sake of... nothing, really. how unique and refreshing. ]

[sadtoaster]

[ this voice. genos knows this voice—that's what he gets for not screening the call, flipping the device open without sparing a second thought to the possibilities of who'd be pestering him. it isn't as though he has a large contact list, exchanging information with other heroes purely for appearances sake. they obviously will never be in touch. ]

...busy right now. [ the words are still clipped, border on the edge of rudeness, despite the fact he's now giving the voice on the other side his complete and undivided attention. sonic deserves nothing less, and the second monster charging straight at him can wait another moment, stepping around it mindlessly. ] Can this wait?

[ he really doesn't want to put him on hold. this is the first time genos has heard him in days, but he doesn't want to squander the opportunity, make mistakes and end up with his torso halfway across town. he's proud of having no major incidents in the last fifteen days, keeping his body intact and secure, and he'd like it to stay that way. ]

[fasthedgehog]

[ shrugs his shoulders even though genos can't see it. sonic can see him much more clearly now, narrowing in on his form and yes, how he's very much so in one piece. ]

Mm, I don't know. [ a fancy jump and twist is all he needs to close more distance between them, firmly planting a fist to his hip as he bends at the waist and tips forward to get a closer look down and at his friend. ] I mean, I came all the way out here to see you, but if you insist...