Chapter Text
Three weeks after the twins were born, the apartment finally developed a rhythm.
Not a functional rhythm.
Nobody was sleeping properly enough for that.
But a rhythm nonetheless.
Akari cried loudly and dramatically whenever ignored longer than thirty seconds, which unfortunately meant she was undeniably Satoru’s daughter. Haru remained calmer overall, but possessed the deeply unsettling habit of staring at people with unnervingly focused dark eyes like he was silently judging their life choices.
Yaga called him “the old man baby.”
Suguru looked deeply offended every single time.
Shoko’s recovery remained frustratingly slow.
The doctors insisted this was normal considering the circumstances—twin pregnancy, prolonged labor, cursed energy complications, old scent gland trauma reacting badly to physical stress—but Shoko herself hated every second of it.
She still tired too easily.
Some mornings fever lingered faintly beneath her skin. Her body ached constantly, especially around the deep scars labor left behind. Worse, omega postpartum instincts had turned her emotions into complete betrayal.
Yesterday she cried because Haru sneezed.
The day before that she nearly started sobbing because Suguru folded the baby clothes too neatly and somehow that felt emotional.
Satoru had cried with her.
Suguru simply accepted chaos as his permanent reality now.
Currently, the alpha stood in the kitchen at six in the morning wearing sweatpants and one of Shoko’s oversized shirts because Akari had spit up on him twice already.
He looked exhausted.
Warm.
Beautiful in the deeply unfair way he always did.
And completely doomed.
Suguru bounced Haru carefully against his shoulder while simultaneously trying to prepare breakfast one-handed. The baby blinked sleepily up at him with all the solemn gravity of a tiny monk.
“Your son is judging me,” Suguru muttered.
“He’s correct to,” Shoko replied weakly from the couch.
“You named him.”
“Yaga named him.”
“Traitor.”
Across the room, Satoru sat cross-legged on the floor with Akari stretched against his chest while he explained, with devastating seriousness, why cream-filled mochi represented “an important emotional experience.”
The baby stared directly at him.
Entranced.
Shoko narrowed suspicious eyes.
“She already thinks your voice is soothing.”
“Because I’m delightful.”
“You’re loud.”
“Charismatically.”
Akari made a tiny cooing sound.
Satoru physically stopped breathing.
“Oh my god,” he whispered. “Did you hear that?”
“She made that sound yesterday too.”
“But this one was emotionally significant.”
Suguru snorted softly under his breath.
Shoko watched the three of them quietly from the couch while morning light spilled gold through apartment windows.
Her family.
The thought still overwhelmed her sometimes.
Not because it felt fragile anymore.
Because it didn’t.
That was the strange part.
For so many years, happiness had felt temporary in their lives. Missions ended badly. Sorcerers died young. Love often came tangled painfully with grief.
Yet somehow this remained.
Even after sleepless nights and pain and emotional disasters and babies screaming at impossible hours—
They remained.
The bond between all five of them had deepened terrifyingly fast after the birth. Shoko felt it especially during quiet moments like this, sitting wrapped in blankets while Suguru moved steadily through the kitchen and Satoru hummed softly to Akari nearby.
Safe.
The word still felt miraculous sometimes.
Akari suddenly sneezed violently.
Then immediately burst into outraged crying.
Satoru panicked instantly.
“Oh no.”
“You sneezed too hard at her,” Shoko muttered.
“She’s emotionally delicate.”
“She’s three weeks old.”
Suguru laughed helplessly while crossing the room toward them both. Haru remained peacefully asleep against his shoulder despite the noise.
“How are they complete opposites already?”
“Genetics,” Shoko replied dryly.
Satoru bounced Akari carefully. “Princess, please stop crying, your father is sensitive.”
“That narrows it down absolutely nowhere.”
The baby continued screaming.
Satoru looked increasingly desperate.
Then Suguru leaned down and gently pressed one kiss against Akari’s forehead.
Immediately she quieted.
Silence.
Satoru stared in betrayal.
“…Excuse me?”
Suguru blinked innocently.
Shoko burst into laughter hard enough her stitches protested immediately afterward.
“Ow—”
Both men turned instantly.
“What hurts?”
“You okay?”
The speed of their reactions still startled her sometimes.
Not because she doubted them.
Because being loved this carefully remained unfamiliar in some deep part of her still.
“I’m fine,” she muttered weakly.
Neither looked convinced.
Suguru crossed the room immediately, handing Haru carefully toward Satoru before crouching beside the couch.
“You pushed yourself too much yesterday.”
“I walked to the balcony.”
“You carried laundry.”
“There were three towels.”
“You nearly fell asleep standing up afterward.”
Unfortunately true.
Shoko sighed dramatically while Suguru’s warm hands settled gently against her waist, checking instinctively for tension or pain.
The intimacy of it felt strangely domestic now.
Not dramatic.
Not even embarrassing anymore.
Just familiar.
Suguru had learned every subtle sign of her discomfort over the past month. The slight tightening around her eyes when her back hurt. The exhausted slump of her shoulders before fever returned. The tiny involuntary sounds she made while trying to hide pain.
Satoru had learned too.
The omega sat nearby now holding both babies somehow while watching her with visible concern.
“You should rest more today.”
“You both say that constantly.”
“Because you ignore us constantly.”
“Because I’m alive and stubborn.”
Suguru’s expression softened immediately.
“Yes,” he murmured quietly. “You are.”
Something in his voice made Shoko pause.
There it was again.
That lingering fear beneath everything else.
Not overwhelming anymore.
But present.
The labor had terrified them more deeply than either man fully admitted aloud.
There were moments during delivery where Shoko’s heartbeat destabilized dangerously. Moments where cursed energy surges from the twins disrupted medical equipment badly enough that doctors nearly lost control of the room.
Moments where both Suguru and Satoru genuinely thought they might lose her.
Some part of them had not fully recovered from that fear yet.
Shoko reached upward slowly and touched Suguru’s face gently.
The alpha leaned instinctively into the contact immediately.
“I’m still here,” she whispered.
Emotion flickered sharply across his expression.
Before he could answer, Akari suddenly made another tiny cooing sound from Satoru’s arms.
Everyone froze.
The baby blinked sleepily.
Then—
A tiny pulse of blue distorted space briefly around her fist.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Satoru looked horrified.
“…Did our daughter just use Limitless.”
Haru immediately woke up afterward and, seemingly offended by being excluded, released a tiny burst of cursed energy strong enough to make the kitchen lights flicker.
Suguru closed his eyes briefly.
“No.”
“Yes,” Shoko whispered weakly. “Yes, he absolutely did.”
The twins stared at each other from opposite sides of Satoru’s lap.
Then both babies started crying simultaneously.
Satoru looked ready to spiritually leave his body.
Suguru burst into helpless exhausted laughter.
And from the apartment doorway, Yaga’s voice arrived with devastating timing:
“I knew I should’ve retired years ago.”