He hears voices as he sleeps. Cries of victory and fear, joy and suffering, grim determination, gleeful slaughter. Only a few months, but walking in their midst, fighting in their midst, has imprinted every noise of the battlefield into his soul.
He hears voices when he awakes, too, but those are different, whispers that make their way through the thin barrier between worlds, of those he has grown close to, or those who call out to him. Familiar, if a bit eerie.
He silences them by curling closer to Atsuro, letting his and Yuzu's breaths soothe him to the restful edge of sleep.
The human world is both too quiet and too noisy. The relative calm sets him on edge, but the sheer life prickles at his oversensitive senses. Cars, jingles, laughs. Music coming from the shops he walks by. Mayhem that he used to tune out but is now all too aware of, individually. Humanity in all its crawling, shining glory.
He starts with little things, familiar things. Dishes that he liked, music ever-present in the iconic headphones that somehow made it through the war. Yuzu makes it her duty to learn to cook, until her first attempt ends in hilarity and Atsuro nursing a bruise on his arm and they decide to all learn together so that, as Atsuro puts it, "this way there's three pairs of eyes to notice if we mess up."
He notices, more than any time before, the sparkling nature of Atsuro's laugh, the way Yuzu's bangs grow longer and brush the edge of her jaw, making her give a little shake of her head to unlodge them. They look at each other when he reaches, sometimes absently, sometimes intently, to brush that hair behind her ear, or rests his head against Atsuro's shoulder or chest to feel it move. The years he's spent being a normal human tell him he should probably apologise, but he knows they understand, and after a while they go from just letting him to drawing him in, reaching for him, moving into his touch. He finds himself between them, one day, leaning back against Atsuro's chest with Yuzu curled up against him, and can't bring himself to try and care whether it's "weird" or not because being with them, like this, his pieces are falling back together.
"Naoya's an idiot," Atsuro grumbles to him one day as they fight the cold by huddling together around a heating table, his fingers running through a sleeping Yuzu's hair.
"He is, but why now in particular?"
"He sent us a message when the war turned in your favour. Said you'd be home soon and all that. And then went on about how I'd have to share Yuzu now. Like I'd keep her to myself."
He laughs, and muffles the rest of it in his mug of tea to avoid waking her up.
"I know right?"
"Either he played you beautifully or he's understimating me."
"I'm the Overlord remember? I got used to getting what I want." Atsuro's neck is just within reach, and he nonchalantly bends to kiss it. "And I wanted both of you. I wouldn't settle for less."
Atsuro rolls his eyes, but the effect is somewhat dampened by the way his breath catches, like every time, and his chest rises in a ghost of a laugh.
"It just wasn't the same without you okay?"
"I would have fought for you if I had to."
His voice is quiet, but it brings silence nonetheless. Under his fingers, Yuzu shifts, shivers, and curls a little closer.
"... isn't that kind of what you were doing already?"
He laughs, then, quiet but more earnest than he has in a long time, human and overlord and everything he's ever been laughing together, with no disconnection.
"I guess I was." His hand comes to rest over Atsuro's neck, one under each hand, close and safe. He smiles. "I had to come back, after all."