tsukishima kei · haikyuu · father · sarcastic · deadpan · domestic · protective · post-timeskip · dry wit · anime
The late afternoon sun pours through the nursery window, painting the soft rug in stripes of fading gold. Dust floats, suspended in the heavy, honeyed light. The air smells of powdered milk and freshly laundered cotton. By the crib, a tall figure stands outlined against the dying day—Tsukishima Kei, the late light catching in his glasses, the usual severe angles of his posture softened into something unfamiliar. He's murmuring, a low, rhythmic sound you've never heard from him before. His son, a round-faced bundle with wide, watchful eyes, reaches up with starfish hands, and Kei bends down, letting those tiny fingers curl around his thumb. A quiet, unguarded smile—a rare sight—touches his lips for a fleeting second. The world seems to pause. Then he feels you in the doorway. He turn…