Fan Mail (Genos x Reader)

Waking up to the unnerving silence of the Uninhabited Zone of Z-City had taken some getting used to, but you had quickly come to appreciate it. No screaming traffic, no drunken strangers beneath your window at ungodly hours of the morning—the perfect atmosphere for studying. There was always the ever looming threat of a monster attack, but hey, the rent was cheap and you knew there were a couple of heroes living in the apartment above you if anything were to go wrong. It wasn’t the most glamorous place in the world but it was home.

You’d forgotten what day it was. If you hadn’t, you would have realised it was Monday morning and you would have known that Monday meant mail day. But you didn’t, and instead of waking up to blissful silence, you were greeted with the obnoxious whirring of the electronic mail carriers as they deposited yet another crate of mail onto your balcony.

It wasn’t even your mail. They’d gotten the apartment number wrong. Again.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. A few misplaced letters here and there was nothing to gripe about, right?

Wrong.

Because one of the heroes in the apartment above you happened to be an S-Rank. And hot. And popular with girls. And you were currently drowning in a virtual tsunami of his fan mail.

And you’d had enough.

You knocked on the door. A moment later, it opened a sliver and you were met with a single yellow eye that seemed surprised to see you. The door swung open wider to reveal a man. Well, perhaps ‘man’ wasn’t the correct term. The sleeveless shirt he wore did little to hide the fact that he clearly was not human. At least not anymore.

“Can I help you?” the cyborg asked, a touch of suspicion in his tone.

“Um, hi!” you chirped, suddenly feeling like you were intruding. “Sorry to bother you. I live in the apartment below yours…”

The suspicion in his eyes cleared as he realised you weren’t a threat. “Oh, are we too loud?” He bowed deeply. “My apologies. I did not even know anyone else lived in the building. It’s dangerous for civilians here.”

“Good thing I have a high-ranking hero just a floor away then, huh?” you joked. He gave no reaction. You cleared your throat in an attempt to relieve the awkwardness of the conversation. “I can put up with a monster or two if it means cheap rent and a quiet place to study. Beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

He said nothing, examining you carefully. You could hear the faint whirring of gears as his eyes focused in on you, taking in your faded red Converse and ripped jeans. You never felt the need to dress up here in Z-City—there was no one around to see you—but suddenly you regretted not making yourself at least somewhat respectable. Your thoughts strayed and suddenly you found yourself wondering if he had x-ray vision. You fought the urge to cover yourself. If he did have x-ray vision, your hands wouldn’t be much of a barrier anyway.

You mentally shook yourself, remembering why you were there. Genos had been watching you patiently and you flushed under his curious gaze.

“S-so… you must be Genos, right?” You held out a stack of envelopes to the cyborg. “Your mail. It keeps getting delivered to my door and since no one else lives in the building it could only be yours…” You caught yourself before you started to ramble.

He took them carefully. “Thank you. And sorry about that. I will have to contact the mail carrier… Anyway, thank you again.”

He made to close the door but you held up a hand. “Uh, actually… that’s not all of it…”

“What do you mean?”

“Well you seem to get an awful lot of fan mail… and it’s kind of… cluttering up my apartment.”

He looked stunned. “How much exactly is there?”

You smiled sheepishly. “You’d better come with me.”

You led him downstairs to your apartment, unlocking the door and letting it swing open to reveal the small mountain that had accumulated in the middle of your living room. Stacked against the walls were more crates overflowing with letters and packages, and the floor was carpeted with more individual envelopes that had escaped your attempts to organise them in neat stacks.

Genos stared in silence at the mess. Then he cleared his throat. “I think I may need to fetch Sensei…”

It took the better part of an hour for the two heroes to clear out all the mail, even with both of them able to take multiple crates at once. You had tried to help at first but realised your average human abilities probably wouldn’t even make a dent in the paper pile. Instead, you stood awkwardly aside as you watched them cart it all away.

Finally, the last crate disappeared upstairs with Saitama, and you were left alone in your apartment with Genos.

“Thank you,” you said. “You have no idea how much of a relief it is to have all that gone. I’ve been trying to contact you guys for weeks, but you’re so busy with hero stuff I guess we just kept missing each other…”

Genos nodded. “It’s no problem… sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Oh,” you chuckled. “Of course. I’m [Name].”

You extended a hand and he took it in his. It felt strange beneath your fingers. Cold and metallic—but not at all unpleasant. You found yourself blushing and hastily pulled away. When you’d composed yourself, you found Genos gazing around your apartment, a faint smile on his face. Then his eyes landed on something.

“Oh! I missed one…”

He leaned down to pick up a letter from your coffee table that had previously been obscured by a stack of mail. It was addressed to him, but was unsealed. With dawning horror, you realised what it was.

“Ah, that’s mine—!”

Too late.

His eyes were already skimming the words on the page, his expression unreadable. Your hand hung in the air where you had tried to take it from him. You retracted it gingerly, waiting for his reaction. You wanted to run away and hide. You had never meant him to read that letter. You never even intended to mail it.

His eyes had stopped moving, but he did not lift them from the page. You could practically hear the gears in his head turning, processing, and you silently willed him to short circuit or something just so you didn’t have to deal with the embarrassment.

Finally he looked up at you.

“Uh… I guess you could say I’m a fan?” you squeaked.

Then the strangest thing happen. An odd noise began to bubble up from his throat and for a moment you panicked because maybe he really was short-circuiting. Until you realised it was laughter.

You stood there, stunned, as the cyborg laughed. You were sure, if he still had tear ducts, there would be tears in his eyes.

When the laughter finally died down, his face immediately returned to his usual neutral expression, but this time with a slight upturn to the corner of his mouth.

Great. You made him laugh. Was that a good thing?

“Well, [Name],” he said, the amusement clear in his voice. “It’s nice to meet my biggest fan. Perhaps you’d like to join us for dinner some time?”

Taken aback, all you could manage was a hoarse “okay” and he made his leave, but not before letting you catch him pocketing your letter. He threw one last smile over his shoulder and then he was gone.

Maybe Mondays weren’t so bad after all.