hurt/comfort, mid argument kiss with Kuroo Tetsuro
Kuroo doesn’t raise his voice.
That’s how you know he’s really mad.
His words come clipped, precise, like he’s setting each one down carefully so they won’t shatter between you. He’s pacing your living room, long strides, hands raking through his hair in a way that pulls it messier than usual.
“I’m saying I told you,” he snaps, stopping short and turning on you. “I told you this week was bad. I told you I’d be busy.”
“And I’m saying you didn’t have to shut me out,” you shoot back. Your arms are crossed, more to keep yourself steady than defensive. “You disappear, Tetsuro. No texts, no calls, what am I supposed to think?”
His jaw tightens. You can almost see the frustration coil in his shoulders.
“I’m not shutting you out,” he says, irritation slipping through despite himself. “I’m working. You know how this job is.”
“That doesn’t mean I stop existing.”
For a second, the room goes quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant city noise outside. Kuroo exhales sharply, like he’s biting back something harsher.
“You’re twisting this,” he mutters. “Why do you always do that when I’m already stressed?”
That’s when you see it, not anger, not really. Exhaustion. Pressure. The weight he never admits is there.
He turns away again, hands on his hips, and you move before your brain catches up.
You cross the space between you in three steps.
“Kuroo,” you say, softer now.
He starts to respond, probably something sarcastic or defensive or both, but you reach up, fingers curling lightly into the collar of his shirt, and kiss him.
It’s not dramatic. Not desperate.
Just a steady, grounding press of your lips to his.
For half a heartbeat, his body stays rigid, like he’s still braced for impact. Then his shoulders drop. A quiet sound leaves him, more breath than noise, and his hand comes up automatically, settling at your waist like muscle memory taking over.
When you pull back, his forehead rests against yours.
“That’s unfair,” he murmurs.
You huff out a small, humorless laugh. “You were being annoying.”
“Yeah,” he admits, eyes closing briefly. “I know.”
The tension doesn’t vanish, but it softens, like a knot loosening just enough to breathe. He opens his eyes and looks at you properly now, irritation replaced with something warmer and far more vulnerable.
“I’m not good at asking for help,” he says quietly. “Or admitting when I’m overwhelmed.”
“I’m not asking for perfection,” you reply. “I’m asking to be let in.”
His thumb rubs a small, absent circle at your side.
“I can do better,” he says after a moment. “I want to.”
You nod, leaning into him. “So do I.”
Kuroo presses a brief kiss to your temple, then another to your hair, grounding himself as much as you.
“Next time,” he says, a hint of his usual dry humor creeping back in, “maybe kiss me after I finish being a jerk.”
You smile despite yourself.
He snorts softly, pulling you closer anyway.
sorry this one is a little short, i’m back at uni now so don’t have as much time to write.
