The frayed edges of the cornstalks waved in the breeze and shuffled the sunlight back and forth between their dry leaves. Golden beams broke through the spaces in the foliage like brim slipping between a child's loose, clumsy, overexcited fingers. Above them, a trail of black birds cut across the sky like the shadows of swimmers drifting over the ocean's surface, their guttural voices echoing over the field.
Saitama pulled the front of his straw hat lower over his eyes as he considered them. "Hey, Genos," he said. "This corn maze is a lot tougher than I thought it would be."
Genos's sleek, artificial neck turned as if to call attention to how out of place it looked extending from his cream peter pan collar wrapped around it, and how serious his expression looked atop the soft sweater falling over his torso in thick braids the color of cinnamon. "In what way, teacher?"
"Well," Saitama scratched at his nose, "see, the sun was up there," he pointed to the apex of the sky, "and now it's more like," he gestured to a little less than halfway down from the most stalwart and tall papery fronds of the surrounding maze, "there. We've been here a while, and we've only found maybe half of the checkpoints. I don't exactly know how to get out, either. I kinda dropped the map a while ago."
Genos's golden eyes glinted, and he thrust his palms out in front of himself with a strained whirr. "I see", he said, and violence sparked in the center of his palms. The sunlight stared down the twin barrels of Genos's canons and the corn quivered in fright.
Then, suddenly, Saitama's own palms covered over Genos's, and thin, calloused fingers knit between thick metal digits. "Woah," he said. "Let's not burn down the cornfield, huh?"
"But teacher, I only thought to simplify your task of finding each checkpoint and completing the objective of the maze," Genos contested.
Saitama blinked beneath the woven edges of his straw hat. "Oh. Yeah." He released one of Genos's hands to gesture to the flaxen forest of stalks around them. "But, like, completing the maze isn't what's important. Getting lost is part of the fun, you know?" He nudged Genos's shoulder. "Kind of, like- uh. Like how the journey's what's important, not the destination." Then, Saitama scratched at his neck. "You are having fun, right?"
Genos's bright eyes widened until the light captured the curve of his pale cheek and even the black of his sclera to lace it with a gilded sheen. He took in the surrounding, nodding, waving plants with new interest, with lips parted and his captured hand relaxing in Saitama's grip. "I see."
"Besides. There's not much point to a maze made of maize if there isn't any maize," Saitama added, shaking their intertwined hands back and forth with a grin.
Genos's metal knuckles reflected gold, too, like the rest of his forearms- and like his hair, like the corn, like sun streaming through the partitions in the plants, like the petals and shining seeds of the stray sunflowers that found the will to spring up among the shade of the corn and persist, despite all odds, despite the chill of the fall.
"Amazing," Genos said, as if he had stolen the word right from Saitama's mouth.
So Saitama laughed instead, and turned on his heel to follow the narrow dirt path parting the obscuring sea, Genos still in his grip. "Ha!" New words came forth, eventually. "A-maize-ing. Good one, Genos."
"No, I mean that!" Genos insisted, tugging Saitama to a stop. "You're amazing, teacher Saitama, and I want to share this journey with you, always!"
Somewhere beyond the deepening sunset, a crow released a belated cackle of mirth while Saitama and Genos stood stock still and alone in the middle of a maze, far away from where they started and untold leagues from where they would finish.
Saitama's eyes peeked out from beneath his straw hat as he turned back to Genos. Flecks of stray light pierced through the guarded weave of his hat and dappled over his face, illuminated where his unspoken thanks stayed hidden behind his lips, onto the flannel shirt hanging from his shoulders.
"To teach me lessons like this one, with you. You're amazing," Genos repeated, falling in step with Saitama and bringing their arms together. "And I want to stay with you forever."
"Oh?"
"Yes!" Genos said, barely too loudly, with eyes that drank in the whole world and a mouth curved into a smile. "Yes."
And Saitama, with one hand wrapped in Genos's and the other by his side, unconcerned with the map he had long ago lost track of, said, "Whatever you wanna do, Genos."
