In his defense, there were no obvious signs that things were amiss. No sudden flash of awareness or passing information that could have sparked a suspicion. It was…subtler than that. The sort of awareness that sneaks up on you a little bit too late, because you've already waded too deep into a predicament before it even begins occurring to you.

For as long as he could remember, the sense of fatigue that continues to plague him even to this day has always been there. Hanging over his days like a hazy shroud in the background, not intense enough to demand immediate attention, but present enough to be noticed. Then there's the aching- dull yet persistent. Sometimes he'd wake up and it would be there, heavy against his bones. In the base of his lower back, the tightness of his shoulders, the soreness of his thighs. But with the intense training he undertook on his path of becoming a hero, physical pain was to be expected.

It was only long after his physically demanding training practices turned into easily accomplished daily routines that he realised the fatigue and unexplained aches were persistent.

The small change in awareness was enough to act as a catalyst in the discovery of more signs that things are not quite right with himself.

There was the lack of motivation and interest in things he used to enjoy. The heaviness in his chest that weighs down on him as he goes about his day. The odd and stifling discovery that he can't seem to feel much of anything anymore after gaining immense strength. Some days were okay, other days he wakes up and his tongue feels like sandpaper. Some days he can't really bring himself to do anything but laze around at home and spend hours upon hours with manga or television because everything required energy he did not have in himself that day. On the really bad days, he doesn't feel good even with a lot of sleep and has to force himself to eat even when he isn't hungry. On the bad days, there was never any point in doing anything.

With Genos around, things were a lot better. Chores were quickly and easier managed with the effort of two people. Meals were a lot better compared to the discount cup ramen Saitama would stock up on when he doesn't feel like eating out or getting groceries. They patrolled, fought mysterious beings, and met new people over the course of their encounters. Before he knows it, Saitama's balcony is slowly graced with more easily kept plants and succulents, to accompany his one lone cactus. It was better. But the disquieting lethargy and problems don't quite go away.

There are still days where Saitama doesn't feel quite right. Days like this one. Where he wakes and the exhaustion beseeches him to return to sleep. Where he has to fight to go through the motions of the day with a heaviness in his eyes and an even heavier crushing weight against his chest. Days where he's existing and everything feels bad.

Everything feels bad and he doesn't know why but he's tired of feeling this way even if he can't help it. He tries his best to just get through days like this but sometimes even his best falls short. And everything becomes too much. The tears come, like water escaping from a broken dam, faster than he can wipe them away. His shoulders shake despite his best efforts and it hurts- His eyes sting, his nose clogs up and the heat traversing to his head because of how hard he cries hurts. But he's never able to stop because it's too much, everything is too much. It takes a while to register the soft sensation of his own blankets being wrapped around himself when he finally gets his breathing under control, their familiarity a small grounding comfort. That momentary distraction prompts the hero to look up at Genos, still shaking. He sees the concern written on his normally chatty disciple's features. He can see the hesitance and worry plainly, feel Genos tightening his hold on the blankets he draped over him.

The cyborg barely has a chance to get a word out before he's crying again, breathing in sharp gasps and trembling with the effort to form words. He knows the other wants to ask about the cause of his distress. He knows that Genos is worried. But he doesn't have the answers to what he's trying to understand himself.

"I'm hurting." His voice cracks with the exertion. Raw. "I don't know why."

He doesn't know how long he remained in Genos' arms.

But he must have cried himself to sleep, for when Saitama opened his eyes again, it was to softly glowing biolights, a firm embrace and small circles being traced against his back as he was rocked gently. He's still tired and he's pretty sure his head is splitting from the godawful headache he's developed from crying too hard. There's an emptiness inside that has him quaking, but at least it doesn't hurt anymore for now.

And that will have to be enough.