Satoru didn’t think settling down and having a child would be that difficult. Well, not that he’d ever actually do that. In a sense.

The whole thing started as a cover. The agency needed someone inside Eden Academy—old money, high-level clearance, the kind of place where important people whispered important things behind private doors. To get in, you needed a child enrolled, a stable family, a pristine background. So he forged one. Megumi was the child—sharp-eyed, quiet, adaptable. The perfect piece for the puzzle.

You were the other. Assigned to him on paper, but surprisingly cooperative in reality. It was convenient—for him, to have a partner who made the illusion airtight. And for you, too. In a time like this, being single raised more questions than answers. Families looked safer. Less suspicious. Tidy little households were easier to ignore. So you played the part. Dinners. PTA meetings. Casual affection at school pick-up. A full closet of domestic normalcy between two people who were never supposed to get close.

But the act had its cracks. Like tonight.

The three of you had piled onto the couch after dinner, Megumi drowsy and curled up half on top of him, half on top of you. Some animated movie still played in the background. Your head was tilted toward Satoru’s shoulder, eyes closed, one leg brushing his. The apartment was warm, quiet, soft.

Satoru twisted a bit of Megumi’s hair between his fingers, murmuring, “He’s a good kid. Grumpy. But good.” You didn’t respond, but he felt you smile.

“It doesn’t feel so bad,” he said after a beat. “This. You. Him. It’s weird, right?” He sighed, leaned his head back against the couch. “I’m gonna get groceries tomorrow. Real stuff. Not just ice cream and cereal. Might even buy a vegetable.”

You gave him a side glance, deadpan. He smirked. “I’m growing. As a person.” Megumi snored. Satoru didn’t move. Didn’t want to. Not yet. It was fake. Sure. But tonight, it didn’t feel like it.