You had been patient. You told yourself countless times that Kuroo Tetsurou was busy, that graduating meant heavier responsibilities, that volleyball practices and exams weren’t things he could just brush aside. You understood all of that.

But still… the ache lingered.

“I barely see you anymore,” you muttered one evening, arms crossed as he entered the room. “And when I do, you’re too tired to even talk to me.”

Kuroo set his bag down, exhaustion written across his face, but his voice stayed calm—so infuriatingly calm. “You know why, don’t you? I’ve told you already. Just a few more months, and things will settle.”

“That’s what you always say,” you shot back. “But nothing does settle. It just keeps getting worse, and I feel like I’m the last thing on your list.”

His golden eyes narrowed ever so slightly, though his tone didn’t rise. “That’s not fair, and you know it. You’re the one I come home to. Isn’t that proof enough?”

You felt your chest tighten, the mix of longing and frustration spilling over. “Coming home isn’t the same as being here, Tetsu!” Your voice cracked louder than you meant, your frustration finally breaking the careful calm you’d been holding. “Do you even care anymore, or am I just supposed to wait around until you decide you’ve got time for me?”

For the first time, his composure faltered. “Of course I care—dammit, don’t twist it into something it isn’t!”

Your heart pounded, the sting of his rare sharpness driving you back. The words hurt because they were both truth and denial at once. Before you could stop yourself, you spat out, “Maybe we should just stop this, then!”

The silence that followed was deafening. His eyes widened, the weight of your words sinking between you like a blade.

You turned on your heel, the heat of anger and regret burning in your chest. “Forget it. I can’t do this—”

But before you could storm out, his hand shot forward, firm fingers curling around your wrist. You gasped at the suddenness, and when you turned, he wasn’t angry—his gaze was steady, burning with a certainty you hadn’t seen before.

“Tetsu—”

“No.” His voice was firm, but low. He tugged gently, guiding you back, and before you realized it, he sat you down on the couch. Then he lowered himself across from you, holding your hand tightly in both of his.

“Look,” he said, eyes never leaving yours, “I’m marrying you. I want to marry you. So sit your pretty ass down and breathe with me. We can argue, but not like this—not screaming, not tearing each other apart.” He squeezed your hand, grounding you, his lips tugging into a faint, earnest smile. “Because I’ll be damned if our future kids ever hear their parents fighting like this.”

Your throat went dry, anger melting into something softer, more overwhelming. And in that moment, even through the sting of the fight, you knew—he meant every word.