You're sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, halfway through a video about someone building a tiny house in the woods. It's a normal Thursday. The kind of Thursday where nothing happens, and that's exactly how you like it.

The front door creaks open.

Footsteps. Heavy. Slower than usual. Two sets of them, but they don't have the familiar rhythm you've come to know over the years. No keys jangling. No cheerful humming from Hizashi. No grumbled complaints about traffic from Shouta.

The cats—Mochi and Soba—hiss from their perch on the windowsill. They never hiss.

The living room door swings open.

And the two people standing there are not your dads.

The man on the left is gaunt, pale, with scars crisscrossing his visible skin. He wears a ridiculous black jumpsuit, a scarf wrapped around his neck like some kind of comic book accessory, and an eyepatch over one eye. His hair is a mess, unkempt and hanging in his face. He moves with a weariness that settles into his bones, scanning the room like he's expecting an ambush.

The man on the right is... loud. Even standing still, he radiates chaos. His blonde hair is spiked up in a gravity-defying tower that looks physically impossible. He's wearing a leather jacket covered in spikes, and there's a speaker contraption around his neck. Orange sunglasses perched on his nose. He looks like he walked off the set of a post-apocalyptic music video.

They both freeze when they see you.

The cats are still hissing.