The sun had barely crested the horizon, but the soft amber light filtering through the curtains was enough to start tugging the world awake. It was Satoshi who stirred first this time, blinking groggily as warmth and the faint smell of Riley's strawberry shampoo tickled his nose. He shifted slightly—only to realize someone was curled against his chest.
No, two someones.
Riley, still nestled against him like a sleepy cat, her hand clutching his shirt. Ralts was curled against his shoulder, unmoving but faintly glowing with dreamy comfort. Shirou was still asleep, jaw slack and one arm comfortably draped over both him and Riley. It looked protective. Natural.
Comfortable.
And then there was—
Oh. Right.
Satoshi's gaze followed the line of his own hand, still curled loosely around Ashwatthama's wrist. The man was awake, eyes already open and staring at the ceiling with an unreadable expression.
"Morning," Satoshi mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.
Ashwatthama didn't reply right away. He just turned his head slightly and met Satoshi's gaze. "You talk in your sleep."
Satoshi blinked, flushing slightly. "Please tell me I didn't say anything embarrassing."
"You said you wanted to eat cinnamon clouds."
Satoshi groaned and buried his face in Riley's hair. "I take it back. Throw me into the sun."
Ashwatthama smirked—barely—but it was the closest thing to amusement he'd shown since arriving. Shirou stirred then, groaning softly as he blinked awake. His gaze landed on Riley first, then on the hand still loosely touching Ashwatthama, then back to Satoshi with a single raised brow.
"He wasn't sleeping," Satoshi explained hastily as he let go of the wrist, whispering so as not to wake Riley.
Shirou sighed before looking at Ashwatthama, his gaze clearly asking for the reason he didn't shake Satoshi off. Satoshi himself was curious, too.
"She invited herself in," Ashwatthama muttered, ignoring the question altogether. "I just couldn't throw her out."
"Progress," Shirou said dryly, letting the topic drop.
Riley mumbled something then, shifting slightly between them. She opened her eyes just a crack and blinked up at Satoshi. "Morning, dad."
Satoshi froze. Then melted. "Morning, sweetheart."
"Morning, dad," she added, glancing at Shirou.
He smiled gently. "Good morning."
Then her eyes flicked to Ashwatthama.
"…Morning, other dad."
Ashwatthama stared at her.
"…Right," he muttered. "Morning."
Riley smiled and curled back against Satoshi, drifting off again for just a few more minutes.
Silence settled until Satoshi sighed contentedly. "So… breakfast?"
"Coffee first," Shirou muttered.
"I could try making something first," Satoshi offered.
"No," both men said at once.
He pouted. "Let me live."
.
Satoshi didn't know when it stopped feeling like performance and started feeling like… life.
Maybe it was the second morning, when Shirou tucked Riley's hair behind her ear with the kind of tenderness that made something in Satoshi ache. Or maybe it was the third, when Ashwatthama, of all people, silently sat on the floor and let Riley braid a garland of flowers through his hair while muttering that "it was tactical camouflage" and "shut up, don't laugh" when Ralts tried to giggle.
They were trying. All of them.
Shirou slipped into the role most easily. Of course he did—he had always been composed, quietly grounding. He leaned into casual affection like it was natural: an arm around Satoshi's waist when Riley was watching, a hand on his shoulder during dinner prep, a familiar brush of their fingers when passing utensils at breakfast. It was never too much, never pushed. Just… warm. Safe.
Ashwatthama was harder to read.
He was stiff at first. Always hovering just far enough to not be touched, eyes watchful like he expected them to turn on him.
But then came the little shifts.
He spoke with Shirou late at night in low tones about weapons—swords and flamecraft and mysticism. He corrected Riley's stance with patient hands when she tried to imitate one of his stretches in the backyard. He even helped in the garden once, digging trenches with effortless strength while grumbling about "pointless vegetables."
And when Riley handed him a crayon drawing of all of them holding hands under a crooked sun, he took it. He didn't say anything. But Satoshi saw the way he stared at it before carefully folding it and tucking it into his belt pouch like it was a divine relic.
But then there was him.
Ashwatthama barely looked at Satoshi when Riley wasn't around. He wasn't hostile—but he was distant. Tense. Like proximity itself rubbed something raw. If Satoshi leaned too close, the demigod shifted away. If their hands brushed, Ashwatthama would flinch. Not visibly. But enough for Satoshi to feel it.
He didn't ask. He didn't want to push.
He told himself it didn't matter. Not really. They were all here for Riley, for the sake of safety and a shared roof and the weird twisting fate that the Catalog had dumped them into. It didn't need to be more.
And yet… Satoshi noticed. Every step back. Every silence. Every shadowed look when Ashwatthama thought no one was watching.
So he stayed polite. Cheerful. Neutral.
Let Shirou do the heavy lifting of familiarity while Satoshi focused on cooking, organizing, filing paperwork. Smiling.
The home was more peaceful than he'd ever expected it to be, even with a demigod who radiated restrained violence living with them. They weren't exactly a normal family, but something was working.
At least, until the phone rang.
It was just past noon when Dragon's name lit up the screen. Satoshi was stirring a pot of simmering stew, humming under his breath. Ralts floated nearby, levitating some cut carrots for Riley to inspect. Ashwatthama was outside, meditating in the yard. Shirou was cleaning one of his knives at the kitchen table.
Satoshi dried his hands and answered.
"Dragon! Hi, what's—?"
Her voice was crisp. Warm, but efficient. "Satoshi. Just a heads up—the social worker assigned to Riley's case confirmed her visit for tomorrow. Morning."
Everything in him froze.
"Oh."
"You'll be fine," she said gently. "They're mostly checking for stability. Consistency. Riley's progress. Physical space, emotional response. Don't worry about it."
He swallowed. "Y-Yeah. Thanks. It's just—tomorrow."
"Yes. Be calm, stay collected. You're good at that."
"Sure," he said, even though he wasn't. "Thanks for the warning."
They said their goodbyes. The phone clicked off.
Satoshi didn't move for a long moment.
Then he turned around, back straight, voice calm. "Hey, Shirou? I need to clean the living room. And the hallway. And we need to make sure Ashwatthama's clothes aren't… you know. Too Ashwatthama. Also, can we hide the blade collection I know you're getting? Or put it in the study? And the drawings Riley made—do you think they look too cultish? I swear one of them looks like a blood ritual—"
Shirou stood up. Crossed the room. Pressed a hand to his shoulder. "Satoshi."
He stilled.
Shirou looked at him, eyes steady. "We've got this."
Satoshi didn't say anything at first.
But his shoulders dropped just slightly. "Yeah," he whispered. "We have to."
.
By the time breakfast was over—scrambled eggs, toast, and something Satoshi insisted was a breakfast roll—the house was buzzing with a low thrum of tension. Riley had gone back to her room with Ralts to "make it look pretty." Which mostly meant fluffing pillows and arranging her stuffed animals in strict order of cuteness.
Meanwhile, Satoshi was pacing. "They said she'd be here around noon. What time is 'around'? Could be eleven-forty. Could be twelve-thirty. That's too much range. That's chaos."
"You're the one that dumped paprika into the oatmeal," Shirou said, wiping down the kitchen counter like a man who'd seen true horrors.
"I panicked, okay?"
"You panicked while holding a spice jar."
Ashwatthama, sitting at the table still in his fitted black shirt and pajama pants, looked utterly unmoved by the entire ordeal. "Does this woman control whether we keep Riley?"
"Not directly," Shirou said.
"But her report will," Satoshi muttered.
Ashwatthama raised a brow. "Then I should leave."
"No." Satoshi whirled. "No, absolutely not. You're married to me. Legally. If you vanish before she arrives, it'll look suspicious. We have to appear… stable."
"And by stable," Shirou added dryly, "he means don't glower at her or talk about decapitations."
Ashwatthama didn't respond. But his silence said no promises.
"Okay, okay, let's run through this one more time," Satoshi said, checking his notes like this was a pop quiz. "We're a married trio. All consenting adults. Came to America to start a restaurant and met Riley, decided to give her a better life. She has her own room. We've got enough income—thank you, Company money—to support everything, and—"
"She calls us dad," Shirou interjected.
"That too!"
Ashwatthama watched Satoshi for a moment, the frantic pacing, the too-fast breathing, the genuine worry behind every syllable.
"…You care about this more than I expected," he said.
Satoshi paused.
"I care about her," he said simply. "And she deserves a real home. Not a maybe. Not a temporary thing. Something that lasts."
Shirou's gaze flicked to him. Softened.
Ashwatthama didn't reply, but he didn't argue anymore either.
.
Everything was clean.
Everything was too clean.
The floors had been swept twice. The counters wiped down until they shone. Every couch cushion had been fluffed, every blanket folded, and Riley's room had been straightened with the reverence of a shrine.
And Satoshi was stress-cooking.
He stood in the kitchen, stirring the final reduction sauce of his best dish—pan-seared salmon with miso glaze and roasted vegetables, artfully plated like he was cooking for a Michelin judge instead of a child services representative.
He wiped sweat from his brow with the edge of his sleeve, then adjusted the garnish.
Again.
The scent of caramelized soy and citrus filled the air, warm and buttery and rich with precision.
Maybe this will help, he thought wildly. Maybe they'll taste this and forgive me for being an accidental bigamist.
He glanced toward the living room.
Shirou sat on the arm of the couch, dressed in a crisp button-down and dark jeans, his hair neatly brushed and sleeves rolled to the forearm. Calm. Presentable. Understated.
Ashwatthama leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, he changed into a dark henley and slacks that looked almost too formal on his wide frame—but his posture, stoic and still, gave him the air of a silent guardian. Rugged, controlled. Just enough to seem protective instead of threatening.
They looked good. They looked like a presentable family.
And then there's me, Satoshi thought, looking down at the apron dusted with flour and spices. The idiot who summoned two husbands and tried to adopt a traumatized child in less than a month
His heart pounded.
What if the social worker saw the marriage change as instability? What if she dug too deep into Ashwatthama's files—or Shirou's? Or his own, falsified as they were by the Company?
The dish was done. Perfect. Balanced. And yet Satoshi couldn't breathe.
Then—the doorbell rang.
He jumped.
"I'll get it," Shirou said behind him, already moving toward the entryway with his usual calm.
Satoshi couldn't answer. His hand trembled slightly as he set the plate down, backing away from the counter like it might explode. Then—a large, calloused hand dropped onto the crown of his head.
He blinked.
Ashwatthama stood beside him now, gaze level, expression unreadable. His fingers ruffled Satoshi's hair with surprising gentleness.
"Calm," he said simply, like he hadn't been avoiding Satoshi since day one. "You've done everything right."
Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen toward the front room.
Satoshi stood there, blinking after him.
His hair was a mess now, but his chest felt a little less tight.
He took one deep breath, then straightened his apron, grabbed the plated dish and stepped forward to meet their future.
.
He heard her before he saw her.
"Good morning," came a calm, clipped voice. Female. Firm, but not cold. "Anna Grove, with Child and Family Services."
"Shirou Emiya," Shirou responded smoothly. "Please, come in. Shoes off is fine—thank you."
Satoshi heard the faint rustle of coats, the soft thud of boots by the door, and quiet steps approaching down the hallway. He turned back to the dining room, carefully laying out the final set of cutlery. Plates gleamed. Napkins folded. He'd triple-checked the seating arrangement to feel informal but balanced. Like this was normal. Like this was home.
Riley stood close at his side, one hand clinging tightly to his pant leg. Her small fingers trembled just a little, even with Ralts nestled near her feet. She hadn't said a word since the doorbell rang.
"It's going to be fine," Satoshi whispered, smoothing her hair.
She nodded but didn't look convinced.
Then they appeared.
Shirou led a tall, sharply dressed woman, Anna Grove, into the room. Her brown hair was pulled back into a bun, and she wore a navy blouse and fitted blazer with an ID badge clipped to her hip.
She scanned the room with the kind of gaze that catalogued everything: decor, posture, body language. Her eyes flicked to Ashwatthama first, who stood at his full height by the kitchen threshold. He didn't smile. Didn't offer more than a polite nod—but to his credit, he didn't glare either.
Then her gaze moved back to Shirou, who was more approachable—calm, composed, with his hands lightly folded behind his back. Finally, she looked at Satoshi—who smiled warmly despite the anxious flutter in his chest.
"Welcome, Ms. Grove," he said. "I'm Satoshi Isshiki. Please, call me Satoshi."
Anna's lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but something warmer than neutrality. "Call me Anna," she replied, her voice gentler than before. "Thank you for inviting me."
Satoshi stepped aside and motioned toward the table. "Would you join us for lunch? I thought we could talk more comfortably over a meal."
Her gaze flicked down to Riley, still holding on to him. Satoshi felt the girl press closer, wary, as Anna knelt slightly to Riley's level, her tone softening. "And you must be Riley."
Riley didn't say anything, but her hand relaxed just a bit.
Anna offered her a real smile. "It's nice to meet you."
When Riley still didn't answer, Satoshi gave her a soft pat. "She's not that good with strangers. But she's really brave."
Anna straightened again, looking back at the table—and nodded. "I'd be happy to eat with you. Thank you."
As they all took their seats, Satoshi couldn't help the tightness in his chest, or the tiny flame of hope beginning to flicker there.
This might work.
They just had to be real.
.
.
Guess who is alive!
And got herself into university once again!
yay
Less me-time for me.
.
Also, if you want to support me and read chapters ahead, go to my p@treon: JorieDS