The bedroom was quiet. The kind of quiet that was louder than any argument could've been.
Satoshi stood by the dresser, pulling open drawers in jerky, distracted movements. Every so often he'd glance over like he wanted to say something but couldn't quite find the handle on the words.
EMIYA sat on the edge of the bed, already pulling off his overshirt.
He watched for another moment. Then sighed.
"You can sleep in shorts," he said flatly.
Satoshi paused. "…Boxers?"
"Don't push your luck."
A beat.
"…But okay."
Satoshi beamed. "Yay!"
EMIYA turned sharply toward the closet before that stupid little smile could do anything to him. He grabbed the first thing that felt comfortable—loose, dark pajama pants and a plain black shirt—and changed quickly. When he turned around, Satoshi had already finished stripping down to a pair of soft, navy boxers and was now pretending to inspect the window to avoid looking directly at him.
It was…
A lot of thigh and too much naked back. And torso. And entirely not something Emiya should be noticing.
He cleared his throat and got into bed.
Satoshi did the same, sliding in under the covers and staying rigidly to one side.
The silence returned.
Thick.
Uneasy.
"So," Satoshi muttered, voice soft in the dark. "About that restaurant."
EMIYA let out a breath. "What about it?"
"I was thinking… not just ramen or sushi. Something more fusion-focused. Japanese base, but with international twists. Thai spices. Korean pickles. French plating."
"Pretentious food."
"Elevated comfort," Satoshi corrected. "Plus a chalkboard menu and a casual vibe. Make it approachable. Let people feel welcome."
EMIYA hummed faintly. "Name?"
Satoshi was quiet for a second. "I'm not sure... Homefire, maybe?"
EMIYA turned his head slightly toward him. "You've been thinking about this a while, but don't have a name ready yet?"
"Just a little," Satoshi admitted. "But after today… I kind of need it to happen now, so I need a good name."
There was another pause when he didn't receive an answer, so he changed topics. "You still good with being security?"
"I'd do the knives anyway," EMIYA said dryly.
"Just not the cooking ones."
"They're sharp. I respect them."
Satoshi snorted and for the first time since dinner, they laughed. Not lo and not long, but real.
.
He woke to warmth, which was strange, because warmth meant comfort, and comfort meant he'd relaxed, and relaxing meant letting his guard down—and that wasn't something EMIYA did.
But here he was, eyes slowly blinking open in the predawn dim, muscles heavy with sleep, and—
His arm was around Satoshi.
They were tangled together, sheets twisted between their legs, his chest pressed against the man's back, his breath brushing the curve of his neck.
And he didn't feel the immediate urge to bolt. Instead, what pulled him from sleep fully was something else. A presence, small and hesitant. He didn't turn toward it, but he could feel it—near the doorway. He barely had time to tense before the soft knock came.
Three tiny taps.
Then a whisper: "…I had a nightmare."
He heard Satoshi stir in his arms. A soft groan. A sluggish breath in. Then tension. A sudden shift in posture as realization hit.
EMIYA could feel the exact moment the man realized they were spooning.
"Can I sleep with you?" Riley's voice, quiet, uncertain. "Just for a little?"
All tension in Satoshi melted like candlewax.
"Yeah, sweetheart," he mumbled, voice thick and rough with sleep. "C'mere."
He shifted slightly—only slightly, because the bed was massive—but just enough to open a gap, which of course meant he moved further back into EMIYA.
It wasn't deliberate, but it was very much a thing that happened. And EMIYA didn't move. Didn't breathe for a second, not even when Riley padded in with Ralts nestled in her arms. She crawled up onto the bed like it was a sacred island, and immediately curled into Satoshi's chest.
Satoshi wrapped an arm around her automatically, half-asleep and murmuring something that sounded like "no pickles in the soup," before slipping under again.
Ralts sighed. Peaceful.
And EMIYA, next the three of them, was caught in a wall of warmth and breath and sleep and safety as he stared at the ceiling and told himself:
This is fine.
.
Morning came slowly. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting soft lines across the foot of the bed. Ralts was curled against the pillow, breathing slowly. Riley was tucked into Satoshi's chest, snoring just a little.
And EMIYA… was still very much trapped in the same position as hours ago, pressed against Satoshi's back with one arm lazily draped around his waist. It should've been awkward. Unbearable. Instead, it was just warm.
Satoshi shifted slightly, murmuring something unintelligible as he blinked blearily at the soft light peeking through the window. Then he looked over his shoulder, eyes catching EMIYA's half-lidded ones.
"…Sleep well?" he whispered.
EMIYA raised an eyebrow. "You tell me."
Satoshi smirked, quiet and smug. "You're very clingy in your sleep."
"You were the one who rolled into me."
"Probably looking for body heat. You're like a furnace."
There was a beat of silence.
Satoshi added with mock-thoughtfulness, "It seems you're only manly on the outside. Inside, though? A marshmallow."
EMIYA hummed, hand tightening slightly around the smooth line of Satoshi's waist. "You're the one who called me manly."
"In looks only," Satoshi snorted. "Apparently."
EMIYA's fingers pressed in a little more, tracing the hint of a hipbone. "Maybe you're the one who needs a bit more manliness."
Satoshi stiffened. Emiya saw the tips of his ears flush.
"I'm a chef," he hissed.
"That's not an excuse." EMIYA smirked faintly, voice dipping. "You're so small."
"I'm 1.80m! You're just a freakishly tall sword goblin!"
"You sound defensive."
"I am!"
EMIYA leaned in slightly—just enough to breathe against the back of Satoshi's neck. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Maybe, before searching for a 'feminine-looking companion,' you should take a good look in the mirror."
Satoshi went rigid. "What does that—"
He turned sharply, indignant—and nearly headbutted EMIYA. However, he froze because their faces were now very close.
EMIYA didn't move as they blinked at each other.
"…Are you guys fighting?" came a muffled, groggy voice from behind them.
Both men flinched.
Riley peeked up between them with sleepy eyes and wild hair, blinking in slow confusion.
"No," they both answered—at the same time, way too fast.
Riley yawned. "Okay."
Then she flopped down again, dragging Ralts over like a plush shield.
Satoshi buried his face in the pillow.
Emiya stared at the ceiling again.
This is fine, he repeated himself.
.
.
Breakfast had been quiet.
Well—quiet in volume. Not in content.
Riley had insisted on making her own toast. Ralts had stolen a tomato. Emiya had grumbled about someone "ruining the knife edge" and Satoshi, half-asleep with a mug of green tea, had declared himself emotionally unfit to referee condiment arguments before 9 a.m.
It was… normal. In the best kind of way.
Then his phone rang: Dragon.
He answered with a quiet "Hello?" as he rinsed the last dish.
"Good morning, Satoshi. I wanted to inform you the PRT has officially sent out an invitation for Emiya Shirou to participate in a preliminary power evaluation."
Satoshi blinked, hand still in the soapy water. "Power testing? Already?"
"He stood out. A lot of observers saw him during the Crimson encounter and the fight against Gray-Boy. He's flagged for priority evaluation, and I'd advise he attend."
He felt Emiya's eyes on him from the kitchen.
Satoshi glanced over. "Can I go with him?"
"You, Riley, and Ralts are all permitted to come. There's a recommended psychological evaluation for the three of you, too."
That made him tense. "Psych evals?"
"Nothing aggressive. But it will improve your adoption prospects. Showing a protective figure like Emiya is officially sanctioned—or at least trusted—by the Protectorate could greatly reduce resistance."
Satoshi frowned. "So it's… politics."
"It's leverage," Dragon replied. "Especially if Jack Slash retaliates. If Emiya is seen as Protectorate-aligned, Riley will be far safer under his watch."
Satoshi exhaled.
"A car will arrive just after lunch for psych evaluations," Dragon added. "He has until then to make his decision."
"Understood."
He ended the call and turned to see both Emiya and Riley watching him—Emiya with his usual unreadable calm, Riley mid-bite with her spoon halfway to her mouth.
"…What's wrong?" she asked.
Satoshi smiled softly. "Nothing bad. But can you take Ralts outside for a bit? Just ten minutes. I need to talk with... my partner."
She tilted her head, then nodded. "Okay."
Once she was out the back door, Satoshi exhaled and turned toward Emiya, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. "They want to test you."
Emiya didn't flinch. "I expected that."
"Power analysis. And psych evals for all three of us. After lunch. A car's coming."
Emiya raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound thrilled."
"I'm not against it. But I know what this is—it's a PR thing. If you're seen as a stable, strong, registered ally, associated with me... it looks good for custody. It also means they'll expect things from you. Favor requests. Presence. Association."
Emiya's voice was quiet. "And the pros?"
"You look like a bodyguard with government ties instead of a stray vigilante with a sword collection."
"…Fair."
Satoshi sighed and looked at him. "So? What do you think?
Emiya didn't think much. "I'll do it."
"Okay," Satoshi said after a moment, relaxing, "we need to talk power testing and how much to show."
Emiya raised an eyebrow. "You want to choreograph it?"
"I want to control the narrative. If you look too dangerous, they'll want a leash. If you look too essential, we lose the right to walk away. But if we play it right—strong but not irreplaceable—we get all the protection and none of the shackles."
Emiya considered this. "So what stays?"
"Your physicals," Satoshi said, glancing at the mental list he'd made after Dragon's call. "Keep your strength, endurance, and agility as they are. It'll land you in mid to upper Brute-tier. Pair that with your reaction speed and combat style, and you'll probably be read as a hybrid Brute/Striker or Thinker."
"And my swords?"
"Kanshou and Bakuya—fine. You already showed those off."
"No tracing new weapons?"
"No reality marble. No broken phantasms. Just the base pair and maybe a few neutral-looking projections. Something like..."
"Gáe Bolg?"
Satoshi glanced over. "You're not exploding hearts on camera."
"I can say I turn my swords into arrows."
"Perfect. That makes it a projectile technique, not a cursed spear with reverse causality."
Emiya smirked slightly. "Words matter."
Satoshi grinned. "Welcome to bureaucracy."
They continued in silence for a few seconds before Emiya added, "Do I use reinforcement?"
"You'll need to. But don't call it that. Let them figure it out from the numbers—they'll just call it a muscle-enhancing buff."
"No mention of magecraft?"
"None. That opens a can of worms we don't have a license for."
Emiya nodded slowly. "So… a durable swordsman with exceptional reaction time, magic-looking twin blades, and weaponized archery."
"And a 'quirky style' that can mimic and reshape weapons," Satoshi added with a grin. "They'll eat it up. You'll sound just weird enough to be classified without being flagged."
Another dish clinked into the drying rack.
"I'm impressed," Emiya said after a moment.
Satoshi blinked. "Yeah?"
"You're a very effective liar."
Satoshi laughed softly. "I prefer the term narrative sculptor."
Emiya glanced at him sidelong, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"…Still lying."
Satoshi hummed. "So, what are we putting on the forms?"
Emiya looked up from drying his hands. "Forms?"
"For the power registry," Satoshi clarified. "They'll want a cape name. You can't exactly put 'Emiya Shirou' on your ID badge."
A pause. Then:
"…Archer?" he offered, though it was more habit than suggestion.
Satoshi raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound sold."
Emiya looked away. "Too much history."
"Fair," Satoshi said, then started pacing slowly. "What about something that reflects your powers? Blade-related. Something sleek. Tactical. Like… Vanta, or Ghoststeel, or—wait, no, that one sounds like an MMO username."
"I'm not naming myself after a sword."
"You are the sword," Satoshi muttered, half-joking, then stopped. "Wait… Arsenal?"
Emiya turned to him, one brow raised.
Satoshi shrugged, casual. "You conjure weapons. You're a walking vault of blades. But it sounds official. Professional. Not too edgy. 'Arsenal' fits."
Emiya considered it for a moment, then gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "I like it."
Satoshi grinned. "Then it's settled. Meet Brockton Bay's new favorite security consultant: Arsenal."
"…You're going to put that on a name tag, aren't you?"
"Oh, 100%."
Emiya sighed, but he didn't disagree.