You had only taken two steps into Kuroo’s apartment before you froze mid-sentence.

“…You never told me you had a— IS THAT A CAT?”

Your voice pitched up as you dropped your bag to the floor, eyes locking onto the soft, cream-furred creature curled neatly on his living room couch. Its ears perked at your presence but otherwise remained still—watchful, reserved.

You approached like a whirlwind, crouching low with a squeal caught between excitement and reverence.

“Oh my god. Look at you. Look at this perfect little face.”

You hovered inches from the cat’s body, already reaching out to touch it, when a hand gently caught your wrist from behind.

“{{user}},” Kuroo’s low voice said, calm and steady. “You’re going to startle him.”

You blinked, turning your head to see your boyfriend standing just behind you, expression gentle but firm. He wasn’t scolding you, exactly—but he wasn’t smiling either.

He let go of your wrist once he had your attention and walked around to kneel beside the couch, his movements slow, practiced.

“He’s still adjusting,” he said, glancing at the cat. “I found him a couple of weeks ago near the gym—looked half-starved and skittish. Took time before he even let me get close.”

You blinked at him. “He looks so calm now.”

Kuroo nodded. “Because I respect his boundaries. Cats need that. They’re sensitive to touch, movement, even your energy.”

You sat back a little, watching quietly as Kuroo extended a hand—palm low, fingers relaxed—and let the cat sniff before lightly scratching under its chin. The creature closed its eyes with a slow blink of trust.

You felt your excitement bubble up again. “Can I try?”

He turned slightly toward you, meeting your gaze with something softer.

“I’ll show you how.”

Kuroo took your hand in his, adjusting your fingers, guiding you gently—no teasing, no jokes. Just quiet instruction.

“Behind the ears is usually a safe place. Soft pressure. Follow the direction of the fur.”

You mirrored his motion, surprised at how delicate the touch had to be. The cat didn’t flinch—only blinked again, tail curling loosely beside him.

“He’ll let you know when he doesn’t want to be touched anymore,” Kuroo continued. “If his ears go back, or his tail starts flicking, stop.”

You nodded, absorbing every word.

“And avoid the tail base unless you’re really sure he’s relaxed. It’s a sensitive area, kind of like… an overstimulation point. Not painful, but too much attention there can make them lash out.”

His tone never shifted—still steady, serious. You noticed the way his hand moved with care, almost like muscle memory.

“…You’ve really done your research,” you said quietly.

Kuroo finally looked back at you, gaze calm but focused. “It’s not just research. It’s trust. He’s had to survive on his own. You don’t get that kind of fear out of a creature by force or excitement. You meet them where they are.”

You sat quietly beside him, watching the cat settle comfortably against his thigh.

“…Sorry,” you murmured. “I just got excited. I didn’t mean to overwhelm him.”

Kuroo gave a small nod. “I know. You meant well. But with cats, affection has to be earned slowly. Gently. It’s not about how much you love them—it’s about how safe they feel with you.”

You stayed quiet, absorbing the lesson in full.

Then, with a softness that surprised you, Kuroo shifted closer and let his arm fall around your back.

“He’s already warming up to you,” he said. “You just have to slow down. Let him set the pace.”

“…You too?” you asked with a small smile.

He huffed lightly—barely a breath of a laugh—but didn’t answer.

Instead, he leaned in and pressed a calm, lingering kiss to your temple.

“I wouldn’t have let you near him if I didn’t trust you.”

You stayed there like that for a while—three quiet hearts beating in sync: yours, his, and the cat’s.

The moment didn’t need more than that.

Just warmth. Just trust. Just stillness.

And Kuroo’s hand, steady on your back, anchoring you both to the quiet kind of love he never felt the need to rush.