The morning after the funeral, the air in the duplex felt different. It was lighter, stripped of the frantic energy that had defined the last few days. The opera music was off. The frying pans were silent.
They sat around the coffee table in the living room. Cam had brewed a pot of Earl Grey—actual tea leaves, steeped for exactly four minutes .
Aman held his cup with both hands, staring into the dark liquid. He was wearing jeans and a grey hoodie .
"I want to sell the house," Aman said, breaking the silence.
Mitchell lowered his cup, blinking. "The... your parents' house?"
"Yes," Aman said. "It's paid off. The market in that neighborhood is stable. If we list it now, we can sell it and move the capital into the trust."
"But, Aman," Mitchell said, his face twisting into a sympathetic frown. "That's your family home. It's... where you grew up. Don't you want to keep it? For the memories?"
Aman shook his head. "It's four bedrooms, three baths, and two thousand square feet of empty space. It's full of ghosts, Mitch. Maintaining it is hassle, it on the other side of town. It ties me to a past that's gone."
He looked up, his eyes clear. "I can't move forward if I'm anchored to that driveway."
Mitchell sighed, exchanging a look with Cam. It was hard to argue with the kid's logic, even if it broke their hearts a little.
"Okay," Mitchell said. "If you're sure. My brother-in-law, Phil... he's a realtor. I can ask him to look into it for you."
"That would be great," Aman said. "Thank you."
Cam leaned forward, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, moving on —school! Monday is looming, mister. Are you ready to dive back ?"
Aman took a sip of tea. "Yeah. I just need to get through these last few weeks of Freshman year, take the finals, and be done with it."
Mitchell and Cam froze.
"I'm sorry," Mitchell said, tilting his head. "Did you say Freshman year?"
"Yeah," Aman said, confused. "Grade nine."
"But..." Cam frowned. "Mrs. Gable said you were a Sophomore. We've been mentally preparing for a Sophomore!"
Aman blinked.
"Oh," Aman corrected himself quickly. "Sorry. I meant I'm finishing Freshman year credits. I'll be a Sophomore this upcoming fall. Rising Sophomore."
"Ah," Mitchell nodded. "Okay. That makes sense. That puts you in the same grade as my niece, Alex."
"She's intense," Cam warned, whispering. "She reads for fun."
Aman smiled weakly.
The laughter died down, and the silence returned. But this time, it wasn't comfortable. It was heavy. Aman put his tea cup down on the saucer with a soft clink.
He looked down at his hands. For the first time since the tears at the crematorium, he looked genuinely nervous.
"There's... one more thing," Aman said. His voice was quiet.
Mitchell and Cam leaned in, sensing the shift. "What is it?" Mitchell asked.
Aman took a breath. "I know the government is looking for my relatives, they wont find anyone. I know Mrs. Gable is making calls to India and nobody is there. And I know... I know you guys were looking for a baby. "
Cam started to protest, "Aman, we—"
"Please," Aman interrupted, holding up a hand. "Let me finish."
He looked up, meeting their eyes.
"If you are only considering fostering... if I am just a placeholder until your baby comes or until a random uncle is found... I need to know. If that's the case, I'd rather move to a group home now."
Mitchell looked like he'd been slapped. "Aman, why would you—"
"Because I'm starting to like you," Aman said, his voice cracking just a fraction. "And if I stay, I'm going to get attached. I'm already getting attached. And I can't... I can't handle another heartbreak right now. I can't be a temp, Mitch. I can't be a guest who's just waiting to be asked to leave."
Mitchell and Cam opened their mouths, ready to reassure him, ready to promise him .
"Don't answer right now," Aman said sharply, standing up. "Please. Before you give an answer, I want you guys to think about it. Take a day or two. I'm a teenager, not a baby. It'll be complicated. I don't want to pressure you into something you aren't ready for just because you feel bad for me."
He looked at them one last time—small, hopeful, and terrified.
"I'm sorry for offloading this on you," he whispered.
Aman turned and walked quickly toward the hallway, disappearing into his room before they could stop him.
Mitchell and Cam are sitting side-by-side on the beige sofa , looking at camera. They look emotionally exhausted. Cam is clutching a throw pillow.
CAM (Shaking his head, eyes wide) "That boy... he is beautiful. I couldn't believe it. We were thinking the exact same thing."
MITCH (Visibly emotional, rubbing his forehead) "I am speechless. I prepared a whole speech about foster care regulations and temporary placement protocols... and he just... he just wants a dad."
CAM (Tearing up) He wants two dads, Mitchell!
MITCH "I know, Cam. I know."
Back in the living room, the silence was deafening.
Mitchell and Cam sat motionless on the chairs. The tea was getting cold.
They looked at the empty space where Aman had just stood. They were trying to reconcile the two versions of the boy they had met.
And then there was the boy who had just walked away—the kid who was so terrified of being abandoned that he was willing to leave preemptively just to save himself the pain.
It wasn't a hard decision. It wasn't a decision at all. But the weight of it—the realization that they weren't just "helping out" anymore, but becoming parents to a grieving, brilliant, terrified young man—settled over them.
Mitchell looked at Cam. Cam looked at Mitchell. They didn't say a word. They didn't have to.
===
There was a knock on door.
Before Aman could even say "come in," the door swung open. Mitchell and Cam stood there, side-by-side, blocking the hallway light like a two-man barricade.
Aman sat on the edge of the bed, his hands tightening on the mattress. He braced himself for the "we need time" speech.
"We don't need a day," Mitchell said. He walked right into the room, stepping over a stray sneaker. "We don't even need a minute."
Aman blinked. "Mitch, you really should—"
"No," Cam interrupted, stepping in beside Mitchell. His eyes were red, but he was smiling—a big, wobbling smile. "We aren't looking for a baby anymore, Aman. We were looking for a child. For a son."
Mitchell nodded, his voice steady and certain. "We found you. Or... you fell into our laps. The universe, God, the Los Angeles foster system—whatever you want to call it—it worked."
Aman felt the air leave his lungs. The tension that had been holding his spine straight for three days suddenly snapped. He slumped slightly, the "adult" mask slipping to reveal pure, unadulterated relief.
"You're sure?" Aman asked quietly. "I'm not a baby. I talk back. "
"We'll manage," Mitchell smiled. "We're lawyers and clowns, Aman. We can handle opinions."
"And!" Cam threw his hands up. "This calls for a celebration! I have a confetti cannon in the garage that I bought for the Oscars party we never hosted. I can go get it right now—"
"Cam, no," Aman said quickly, holding up a hand. "Please. No confetti."
"But it's a 'Welcome Home' moment!"
"Let's save the cannon after the paperwork," Aman suggested, managing a small smile. "When the adoption papers are signed. Then you can explode whatever you want."
Cam narrowed his eyes, considering. "Fine. Deferred celebration. But I am making a celebratory frittata."
===
Aman is sitting on the chair, legs crossed, looking smug. He raises an eyebrow and points a finger directly at the camera lens.
AMAN "Now that... is what you call acting."
(He leans back, looking satisfied)
AMAN "I nailed it. Maybe I should go into Hollywood in this life. I clearly have the range."
===
By Sunday morning, things are in a vibrating, high-frequency anxiety that seemed to hum from the very walls of the duplex.
Aman sat on the sofa, calmly reading a few notes on his phone. In front of him, Mitchell and Cam were pacing in competing circles, looking less like parents and more like generals preparing a rookie soldier for a suicide mission behind enemy lines.
"Okay," Mitchell said, checking his watch for the third time in a minute. "We leave in twenty minutes. Today is my father's birthday. Everyone will be there."
"The whole clan," Cam added, his voice dropping an octave ominously. "It's a lot of personality in one zip code. The air pressure actually changes when we're all in the same room."
Mitchell stopped dead in front of Aman, hands on his hips. "Aman, listen to me. We need to prep you. My family is... well, they're loud. And opinionated. And the concept of 'boundaries' is something they regard as a suggestion, not a rule."
"I can handle loud," Aman said, taking a sip of his coffee. *I enjoyed eleven seasons of loud,* he thought, suppressing a smirk.
"You say that now," Mitchell warned, his eyes widening. "You haven't met them. Okay, **Jay**. My father. He's... old school. Grumpy. Do *not* mention his age. He's turning sixty-five for just fifty ."
"And the dog," Cam interjected, waving a finger. "Stella. A French bulldog. He loves her more than his children."
Mitchell sighed. "Hey but I think it's true. If the house was burning down, he'd save Stella and maybe a bottle of scotch before he looked for me."
"If you want to get on his good side," Cam advised, "compliment the dog. Tell him she has 'soulful eyes.' But do not touch her unless invited. She's the queen of the castle."
Aman nodded, mentally checking a box. "Got it. Jay is sensitive about age, loves the dog more than his son. Check."
Mitchell glared at him. "Let's move on. **Claire**. My sister." A small vein began to throb in Mitchell's forehead. "She's... intense. She a cynical and judgmental. It's her love language. She'll scan you for weakness like a TSA agent."
"She *will* try to fix your collar," Cam whispered, leaning in as if sharing a state secret. "Or your hair. Or your life choices. Let her. It calms her down."
"Just nod and smile," Mitchell agreed. "If you try to organize anything in her presence, she will view it as an act of aggression."
"Next up, the cousins," Cam said. "**Haley**. The oldest. She's... well, she's Haley. If she looks bored while talking to you, you're doing fine."
"If she checks her phone while you're telling a tragic backstory," Mitchell added, "that means she likes you. If she rolls her eyes, that's practically a hug."
"And finally," Cam said, his voice dropping to a terrified hush. "**Alex**."
Mitchell actually shuddered. "Do *not* engage in a battle of wits with Alex. She takes no prisoners. She's the smartest person in the room, and she needs everyone to know it. If she corrects your grammar, you will just say 'thank you' and back away slowly."
"And Luke?" Aman asked.
"Oh, Luke's great," Mitchell waved a hand dismissively. "Sweet kid. Just... make sure he doesn't have any sharp objects. And don't believe anything he says about magic or explosives."
"Okay," Aman stood up, setting his mug down. "Jay: grumpy. Claire: bossy. Haley: bored. Alex: scary. Luke: liable to explode. I think we are forgetting someone."
cam " Nope we got everyone."
Mitchell looked at Cam, genuine panic in his eyes. "He's too calm. He has no idea what's coming."
"He's brave, Mitchell," Cam sniffed, wiping an imaginary tear. "Like a gladiator entering the Colosseum."
==
**EXT. JAY PRITCHETT'S HOUSE - DAY**
The SUV pulled up the winding driveway of the iconic modern house. It was exactly as Aman remembered it from the screen—the stark white stucco, the warm wood accents, the perfectly manicured lawn that screamed "closet industry money."
But the TV show couldn't capture the sheer volume of the place. It felt massive, looming over them.
Mitchell parked the car. He gripped the steering wheel for a second, his knuckles white, taking a deep breath to center himself.
"Okay," Mitchell exhaled. "Remember the briefing. Don't let them smell fear."
"And stick together," Cam added, flipping the visor down to check his teeth. "We go in as a phalanx. United front."
Aman opened the door and stepped out onto the warm pavement. He adjusted his shirt. He felt a strange flutter in his stomach. It wasn't fear, exactly. It was the surreal, electric buzz of stepping through the screen and into a world he had only ever observed from a distance.
They walked up the path to the massive wooden front door.
Mitchell reached out and rang the doorbell.
*Ding-dong.*
Aman stood straight, shoulders back.
====
for getting our first power stone bonus