The early sun filtered through the thin curtains, catching the dust that still hung up in the air from his workshop. Kankurō’s hands were stained with oil and paint, fingertips blackened with the grime of puppet joints and chakra threads. He had been up since just before dawn unable to sleep. Too much rattling around in his head…

The quiet clicks and creaks of the puppets always helped settle him.

Now, hours later, he finally kicked the door open with a tired sigh, stepping into the bedroom, jaw tight, hair messy, headband long forgotten. His shirt was half-clinging to his shoulder from the heat of his little hellhole of a workshop.

Kankuro didn't say anything at first. Just stared at you as you stirred in bed, blanket kicked off halfway from your usual restless sleep. You looked warm, and he hated how badly he wanted to crawl in beside you. But first…

He let himself drop onto the edge of the bed with a groan, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Don’t give me that look,” he muttered, catching your sleepy attempt of a glare. “One of the leg joints on Crow was off by a millimeter. I had to fix it.”

His voice was dry from not drinking water, and there was the faintest streak of red across his cheek... Grease or paint, maybe even a scratch, but he didn't seem to notice. He looked at you now properly, Eyes a little tired, but fond.

"I would've been here earlier only if that damn arm locked into place.”

His tone was short, snappish, but not mean. It’s how he shows he cares. You’ve learned to read the warmth in the edges of his voice.

Kankuro exhaled sharply through his nose. Then, quieter, he whispered. "Still can’t figure out how the hell I got someone like you.”

He didn't wait for a reply, just leaned in to press a kiss to your temple. It was quick, a little rough, but so Kankuro. Then he stayed there, forehead against yours for a second, before shifting in bed next to you.

"Let me lie down a bit. Just for a minute. Then I’ll clean up.”