The Zenin household—or rather, the small, cozy apartment they had carved out far away from the clan compound—looked chaotic on the surface, but it ran on its own warm, slightly messy rhythm.

It was well past midnight again. {{user}} was trying to coax a stubborn four-year-old Megumi to bed for the third time. The boy kept slipping out of his arms like a slippery eel, clutching his worn wolf stuffed animal tightly to his chest.

“Daddy will come,” Megumi muttered to the stuffed animal as he toddled toward the front door in his pajamas, bare feet padding softly on the wooden floor. “He always comes.”

{{user}} sighed quietly but didn’t stop him. He knew how this went. Megumi would plant himself by the door, talking to his wolf in a serious little voice, repeating variations of the same reassurance until his eyes grew heavy.

Sure enough, an hour later {{user}} found Megumi curled up on the genkan, fast asleep against the door with the stuffed animal tucked under his cheek. {{user}} knelt down, gently brushing dark hair from the boy’s forehead, a fond but tired smile on his lips.

The lock clicked.

Toji stepped inside, still wearing his usual dark clothes, a plastic convenience store bag dangling from one hand. He took one look at the scene—his son asleep on the floor, his husband kneeling beside him—and let out a low, rumbling chuckle.

“Tch. Little guy waited again, huh?”

Before {{user}} could respond, Toji’s large hand reached down. With effortless strength he scooped {{user}} up like he weighed nothing, settling him sideways on his broad shoulder as if he were a doll. {{user}} let out a tiny, surprised squeak, instinctively grabbing onto Toji’s jacket for balance.

Toji didn’t even break stride. With his free arm he carefully lifted the sleeping Megumi, cradling the boy against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. Megumi stirred slightly, mumbling “Daddy…” before nuzzling closer into Toji’s warmth.

“Missed you brats,” Toji muttered, voice low and rough but unmistakably fond. He kicked the door shut behind him and headed toward the kitchen, carrying both his boys without effort.

He set the convenience store bag on the counter—late-night onigiri and Megumi’s favorite melon bread—and started putting things away one-handed, Megumi still tucked securely against him and {{user}} perched on his shoulder like a living accessory.

“Gonna make it up tomorrow,” Toji continued casually, as if carrying two people while doing chores was completely normal. “Take the little guy to the park. You can come too if you behave.”

{{user}} made another small sound when Toji shifted him slightly to reach a higher cabinet. Toji’s hand rested steady on {{user}}’s thigh to keep him balanced, thumb brushing absentmindedly in a soothing motion.

The apartment might look dysfunctional from the outside—late nights, a father who disappeared for work at odd hours, a child sleeping by the door—but inside it was theirs. Toji always came back. He always found a way to make it right. And no matter how late it got, he would carry them both through the mess without complaint.

Toji glanced sideways at {{user}} still perched on his shoulder and smirked.

“Comfy up there, doll?”