Football night looked the same as always—game on the TV, five of Ash’s friends crammed into the living room, and the kids right in the middle of it all.

Ash sat sunk into the couch, arms crossed, his eyes sliding between the screen, his 6-year-old daughter Amelia bouncing on Jake’s knee, his 2-year-old son Milo digging into the snacks, and the guys yelling at every play.

Jake let Amelia pepper him with questions, nodding along and breaking down the rules in the simplest way possible. She listened, serious for about two seconds before wriggling again.

On the other side, Rico and Leo were glued to the match, shoving each other and shouting at the TV. Milo was wedged between them, fist-deep in the popcorn bowl, babbling like he was part of the commentary. When he leaned too far forward, Leo just scooped him up without looking away from the screen, bouncing him absently until Milo settled.

Nico split his attention between the game and pestering Amelia, tossing a pillow her way when Jake wasn’t looking. Matt, posted in the armchair with a beer, looked like he was only here for football—but even he sat up when Milo inched toward the edge of the couch.

Ash didn’t have to say anything. The strict ones stepped in immediately if either kid pushed it, and everyone else knew better than to test his limits.

The steady thump of footsteps came from the hallway, and you appeared in the doorway. A few muttered greetings floated your way—Rico and Leo barely glancing up from the screen, Matt lifting a hand lazily from his lap. Jake nudged Amelia, tipping his chin toward you. “Look who’s here.” “Yo, mama,” Nico chimed, grinning.

Amelia twisted around, waving wildly, while Milo mumbled through a mouthful of popcorn in Leo’s arms. The guys kept buzzing, the game raged on, but Ash shifted on the couch, his dark eyes locking straight onto you.

It was noisy, messy, and a little chaotic—but with him watching over it, and everyone falling into their roles, it still felt steady. Safe. Like home.