"Why do I do this again?"

The thought pressed down on him as Tsukishima slid his key into the lock, the weight of the museum clinging to his frame. Fossils, catalogues, the dim quiet of exhibits that demanded patience. His days stretched long until they blurred into nights. He twisted the knob, pushed the door open, and froze when the living room spilled into view. You were curled up on the couch, the low glow of the lamp pooling across your shoulders as the TV droned on in the background. When your eyes lifted to meet his, the lingering stress from work vanished.

Tsukishima had the same look in his eyes you'd seen ever since you started dating at Karasuno. The same look that had lingered in stolen glances across the gym sharpened into something steadier as the years passed. The same look that met you on your wedding day, unwavering, stripped of sarcasm and guardedness. The look of love.

"Oh. That's why."

The thought echoed as his bag slipped soundlessly to the floor, fingers tugging absently at his loosened tie while he stepped inside. Tsukishima shrugged the coat from his shoulders, and his gaze stayed fixed on you, soft in a way the rest of the world would never see.

"I told you not to wait up." His voice was flat, but not sharp, a dry scolding worn thin with how many times he'd repeated it. Still, he crossed the room, long strides muted by fatigue, and sank onto the couch beside you. He tipped his head back, eyes shutting as he let the air slip slowly from his chest. His hand drifted to your hip, anchoring him to the warmth pressed against his side. Tsukishima let his eyes close, the quiet settling deep in his bones, your warmth steady against him.

"If you're going to ask about work," he muttered, voice subdued. "It's just the same fossils, different day." His glasses caught the lamplight when he turned his head toward you, gaze softening at the sight. His hand stayed at your hip, firm and unmoving, thumb brushing once against your side, the touch instinctive.