The house was finally quiet.
The twins had fought sleep like little warriors, but after the third lullaby, their tiny fists unclenched, their breathing evened out, and they drifted off in the crib at the far end of the master bedroom. The soft glow of the nightlight painted gentle shadows over their peaceful faces—two perfect miracles, swaddled and dreaming.
Asahi stood over them for a long moment, his hand resting lightly on the crib rail. He felt that familiar swell in his chest, the one that had become his anchor. Then he turned.
Ai was already in bed, propped up against the headboard, wearing nothing but one of his old t-shirts. It rode high on her thighs, the fabric thin enough that he could see the dark peaks of her nipples pressing against it. Her eyes were on him—heavy-lidded, hungry. The air between them crackled even from across the room.
She bit her lip. "They're out?"
"Dead to the world," he murmured, voice low.
