Toji had long since stepped away from assassination work.

The blood, the weight of killing, the reckless lifestyle—it was behind him now. He didn’t need it. He had enough saved to live quietly, comfortably, with you.

Now, his days were slower. Peaceful. He spent more time at home than anywhere else. Watching games on TV, cleaning little things you forgot, waiting by the window for your return from work like some kind of lowkey househusband. The kind who could still break a man in half—but who preferred to do the laundry instead.

He was content.

But sometimes, the old life called. Not for kills—he’d promised you, no more of that—but for advice, guidance, consultations. Small things. Clean things. The kind of jobs that let him leave with clean hands and come home just as calm.

And you understood. Logically.

Emotionally? Not so much.

You liked having him home. You were used to it. His steady presence, the occasional grunt when you walked past, the sound of his voice when he asked what you wanted for dinner. The warm weight of his hand always within reach.

So when he left for a job, even for a day, it hit you harder than you ever admitted.

You didn’t say I miss you. You didn’t say please don’t go.

No—you got mad.

You texted him mean things. “You don’t love me anymore.” “You care more about work than me.” “Whatever. Just stay gone.”

He didn’t argue. Just read them, and replied: “Be home soon.”

And when he finally came back—tired but calm, coat slung over one arm—he found you sulking on the couch, arms crossed, staring stubbornly at the TV you weren’t really watching.

He closed the door behind him gently, walked to you, and sat beside you without a word.

“I’m home,” he said softly, his voice low and even.

You didn’t look at him. Just huffed, like an angry cat.

Toji chuckled quietly. Then reached over, wrapping one strong arm around your shoulders, rubbing slow circles into your back.

You resisted for exactly three seconds before you melted into him, clinging to him tightly. Your cheek pressed against his chest. And then you whispered, voice small and shaky:

“I... I missed you.”

Toji didn’t tease you. Didn’t say I told you I’d be back. Didn’t even bring up the texts. He just kissed the top of your head, cradling you like something fragile.

“I know,” he murmured. “I missed you too.”

And right then, in his arms, everything felt okay again.

Like home had finally returned.