EMIYA kept the lube and the condoms. Not because he was expecting to use them—not any time soon, maybe not ever—but because he had a simple rule in life: Never throw away useful supplies. Especially the kind that could theoretically be bartered for antibiotics, emergency fuel, or untraceable favors in the middle of a collapsing society. You never knew how fast civilization could nosedive until you'd bled out on a battlefield in a world that forgot your name.
…Stil, the vibrator had been too much.
And the frilly maid outfit in his size? Straight into the burn pile. Satoshi had nearly tripped over his own dignity tossing it in.
Now, dressed in clean, fitted jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt that looked casual enough to avoid comment, EMIYA stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, knife in hand, helping prep vegetables with all the quiet efficiency of someone who'd once field-dressed rabbits during wartime.
Riley stood across from him, elbows up on the counter, peeling carrots with a concentration far beyond her years. Her hair was still slightly damp from the bath, tied back in a loose ponytail. Ralts sat nearby on the counter, humming gently and glowing with subtle happiness, like a contented teapot.
And Satoshi was at the stove humming a tune under his breath. A wooden spoon in one hand, moving with the unconscious grace of someone whose hands knew food better than anything else.
It was strange. After everything they'd done that morning—trash bags of inappropriate "gifts," discussions about child custody, and the ever-lingering cloud of legal relationship—this?
This was peaceful.
He sliced a bell pepper in even, efficient cuts.
Satoshi glanced over his shoulder. "You're scarily good with that."
"I've had practice."
"You say that about everything."
"Because I've had practice with everything."
Satoshi rolled his eyes but grinned anyway. "Just don't out-chef me in my own kitchen."
"I'd never try."
"You would, but I'd still win."
Riley giggled while Ralts twirled in place on the countertop like a happy dinner bell.
And EMIYA allowed himself to relax.
Just a little.
.
Lunch was simple, which was to say, Satoshi cooked like a Michelin-star chef who thought humility was an aesthetic choice. The meal was a delicate stir-fry with perfectly seasoned rice, steamed vegetables, and miso soup that somehow made time slow down when you tasted it.
EMIYA sat at the table across from him, chewing slowly. "You do know this is lunch, right? Not an audition for Iron Chef."
Satoshi arched an eyebrow. "Sorry. Muscle memory. Want me to burn something next time for authenticity?"
"I'd like to see you try."
"Careful. I've been known to weaponize tofu."
Riley giggled, halfway through her second helping already. "This is amazing!"
"I think I accidentally made too much," Satoshi said, placing another small bowl beside Ralts, who was nibbling delicately at tiny steamed dumplings. "Might need to open that soup kitchen earlier than I thought."
EMIYA sipped the miso in silence, letting the warmth settle in his chest. This kind of peace wasn't normal for him. Hadn't been for… longer than he could remember. And yet, here it was.
Warmth.
Laughter.
Food that didn't come in rations or get cooked over the back end of a tank.
Riley set down her bowl with a soft sigh, her face flushed from eating too fast. She looked around the table—at EMIYA, at Satoshi, at Ralts still glowing pink from contentment—and then…She smile a small smiled, fragile, but real. "…This is the best day I've had in years."
The words weren't dramatic. She didn't say it for effect. There was no waver in her voice. But they hit EMIYA like a hammer to the ribs. He saw the way Satoshi froze for a second, chopsticks hovering halfway to his mouth. How his throat worked around a knot of emotion he didn't say aloud.
"…Then we'll have more days like it," Satoshi said quietly.
Riley smiled harder. Ralts hummed in agreement.
EMIYA said nothing, but he reached for the rice pot and refilled her bowl.
.
The car was quiet they found out in the garage was simple but functional. Satoshi drove them to a small supermarket. Riley sat in the back with Ralts, who pressed against the window with wide eyes and a hum that resonated faintly with every passing tree and road sign. EMIYA rode shotgun, silent and watchful. He wasn't even trying to be cold—this just was him. Guard mode. Detached. There to intervene if things turned sideways.
But Satoshi kept glancing at him and eventually broke the silence.
"So, toothbrushes," he said, tapping the steering wheel lightly. "We'll need at least two for Riley. One for now and one backup."
"She's not going to eat one," EMIYA said flatly.
"You never know. Kids are unpredictable."
"I'll keep a tranquilizer dart ready."
From the back seat, Riley laughed. "I'm not a gremlin!"
Satoshi grinned. "Says the girl who tried to eat three servings of rice at once."
"That was different! That was delicious."
Satoshi gave EMIYA a sideways glance. "See? You're missing out. Be weird with us."
"I'm weird in my own way."
"Brooding in silence isn't a personality."
"Coming from a man who panicked at lace."
Satoshi's ears turned red.
"…Low blow," he muttered.
They pulled into the small town's general store twenty minutes later, the parking lot mostly empty, the old bell over the door ringing as they stepped inside. They moved through the aisles like a slow current. Towels. Socks. A set of pajamas Riley picked herself—oversized and lavender with little cartoon stars. Toothpaste, hairbrush, shampoo, and a bath bomb that she held like treasure.
EMIYA stuck close. A silent sentinel, pushing the cart until Riley reached up and placed a bottle of strawberry-scented conditioner into the cart beside some tea.
Emiya blinked. "You need that?"
Riley beamed. "I wanna smell like dessert."
Satoshi chuckled. "Hard to argue with that."
They passed a small toy rack, and Riley pointed to a simple, plush fox with bright blue eyes. "Can I…?"
Satoshi hesitated, then looked up at Emiya. "You're the one with the voice of reason here."
"…It's five dollars."
"Is that a yes?"
"It's a fox. It's harmless."
Riley hugged it tightly before they even made it to the checkout.
Emiya, arms crossed, watched her carefully—and didn't say anything when she clutched it tighter as they paid.
Outside, as they loaded the bags into the car, Satoshi leaned against the trunk.
"So. Not a bad outing, huh?"
"You didn't burn anything or cry," Emiya said. "I call that a win."
Satoshi snorted. "You're learning how to joke. Proud of you."
"I regret it already."
But he didn't really. Not when Riley smiled at him like she already considered him safe. Not when Satoshi kept looking at him like he wanted him to be part of this. And definitely not when the warmth in his chest didn't feel like a trap.
.
They ate leftovers in silence.
Mostly.
Riley was too tired to talk—half nodding off with a fork in her hand, her head drifting closer to her plate with every passing minute. Ralts had already curled up in her lap, humming low and sleepy.
The soup and rice were just as good as before, and even the stir-fried vegetables still had enough life in them to feel freshly made.
Satoshi was quiet, chewing slowly, elbow propped on the table. His eyes were half-lidded, but they flicked toward Riley now and then with a kind of soft vigilance.
"She's going to pass out," he murmured.
"She's already passed out," Emiya corrected, nodding at the fork that had now fully slipped from Riley's hand.
Satoshi chuckled under his breath. "Alright, you win."
He stood and helped Riley up, gently coaxing her to the bathroom. "Teeth first," he said softly, even as she grumbled.
When they returned ten minutes later—Riley now in her pajamas and blinking slowly like a dazed kitten—Satoshi led her to her room. He tucked her in beside Ralts, smoothed the blanket over her shoulders, and whispered something Emiya couldn't hear. Then he returned, quietly shutting the door behind him.
They met again in the living room.
It was quiet now. Late.
"…So," Satoshi began, rubbing the back of his neck, "sleeping arrangements."
EMIYA didn't even flinch. "We're married. And Riley is here. We can't not sleep in the same room."
Satoshi blinked at him. "I'm kind of surprised you're the one proposing that."
EMIYA shrugged.
"PRT. Social services. They're going to monitor us. Until the adoption is finalized, we have to look like a normal couple." He crossed his arms. "I'll sleep on the floor."
"Yeah, no," Satoshi said, giving him a flat look. "If we're sharing a room, we're sharing the bed. It's big enough for both of us."
EMIYA arched a brow. "You say that, but you look annoyed."
"I'm not!" Satoshi quickly shot back—then looked away. "It's just…"
A pause.
"…I usually sleep in the nude."
EMIYA blinked, heart skipping and expression carefully blank. "You're not sleeping nude with me in the bed."
"I know! That's why I'm annoyed. Not like you my type or anything, but—"
EMIYA's brow ticked. "So I am not pretty enough to be your type?"
"No," Satoshi said quickly. "You're too… manly for me."
It was a joke meant to be funny, but the words landed harder than Emiya expected. His face didn't change. Not a flicker. But something stung just beneath the surface.
"…Right."
Satoshi looked up and blinked, seeing the flatness in his eyes. "I didn't mean it like—"
"It's fine."
"It's really not—"
EMIYA turned toward the hallway. "Let's go. Long day tomorrow."
He didn't wait for an answer.
Just moved.
Quiet.
Efficient.
Unshakable.
Like always.
.
.
.
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