Archive of Our Own ^beta

The door slammed. Hard.

“That’s it,” came an aggravated voice from the doorway. The thump and clunk of things being dropped—a bag and a laptop—followed. “I can’t do this anymore!” Kuroo exclaimed as he appeared through the entryway and yanked the red and black striped tie from his neck. He stopped for a moment and laughed, but the sound was stressful and lacked mirth. “They literally think I just sit around twiddling my thumbs all day!” He flung the tie across the living room, his whole body shifting into motion again. An angry sound, somewhere between a groan and a growl, drew out into the air between them. Kuroo ran his fingers through his perpetually messy hair, pulling so hard that it made Daichi wince and subconsciously reach up as if to stop him. “Daichi, I’m doing 7 different jobs right now, and none of them are my actual job!” His hands fell from his hair to his face, pulling at the skin as they slid down.

Daichi was at a loss for words. It wasn’t that he hadn’t known about the ongoing turmoil at Kuroo’s place of work, but this was the first time he’d seen Kuroo lose his cool to this extent. It was a new side of Kuroo that he wasn’t used to seeing. Before Daichi could even reply, Kuroo continued:

“Do you know how many spreadsheets I have to accurately maintain? I have spreadsheets about spreadsheets. Spreadsheets are coming out my ass, there are so many of them. And half of them say the same damn thing as the one before it!” His hands went to unbutton the starched white shirt that was suffocating him. “No, no.” He calmed moderately. “I can deal with spreadsheets. You know what’s worse? The hypocrisy and the micromanagement.” His thoughts were clearly jumbled, and if Daichi hadn’t heard some of these complaints before, he wasn’t sure he would understand what he was saying at all.

“Let me tell you a little thing about a boss who changes their mind every other day.” Kuroo pulled at the white fabric that was tucked into his pants, freeing the bottom of his shirt to undo the last button. He moved to his cuffs next. “And all my boss does is point out my flaws! Never mind that I’m ahead of schedule for the deliverables, never mind that I’m pulling everyone’s weight for them, never mind that this company was saved from the shitter because of MY hard work… I messed up that one detail, so I am a terrible worker, right?”

Daichi just had to let him vent. It was clear that the poor soul needed it. He honestly felt so useless watching him, like he should be able to offer something to help ease his mind. He wasn’t sure where the end of this conversation would even lead. Had he quit on the spot? Was this just something he’d be able to vent and get over? He had no idea.

Kuroo shrugged his work shirt off, sighing in relief as the cumbersome thing was tossed onto the coat rack. He fanned himself briefly, then pulled at the fabric of his cotton tank top to circulate more air up to his bare skin. “It doesn’t end there,” he said. He was disappearing into their room now, presumably changing out of his nicely pressed pants into something more casual. Daichi didn’t know whether to follow or wait. He took pride in knowing how to handle a wide spectrum of stressful situations and emotional states, but this was a territory he was unfamiliar with. “Do you know how old our Legacy Systems are?” He yelled from the bedroom. “Over ten years! Ten years, Daichi! If our clients knew that we, an IT company, are using the oldest, most outdated technology known to man, we’d HAVE no more clients. How can an IT company use Enterprise Systems that date back to the cavemen?” He emerged from the door in a pair of red jersey shorts and made his way to the kitchen. He pulled a glass from the cabinet. “Because of these inept legacy systems—and I mean ‘legacy’ like a legacy best forgotten—I have to create insanely detailed reports by hand.” He filled the glass with cool water from the filter on their refrigerator door. “Each report takes anywhere from one hour to an entire day depending on the level of detail in the report. This isn’t the age of typewriters, Daichi, this is click-of-a-button, instant gratification, dawn of 5G modern day.”

He stopped only to drink some water. He must have been parched because the poor thing drank heavily, as if he’d just been wandering a barren desert. He could tell, however, that the man wasn’t done.

“And another thing,” Kuroo said, turning with long, purposeful strides towards the couch, where he then sat and thunked his glass down on the coffee table. “If they think I don’t do anything, they should just talk to the consultants I’m in contact with on a daily basis. They’ll back me up. I talk to them at least once a week and pester them for their contributions; it’s not my lack of discipline that is holding this company back.” Daichi cautiously sat beside him, turned slightly to keep his attention on the other man. “The paperwork is delayed because they won’t fill it out! It takes, what, three to five minutes to document what you did that day? Give me a freakin’ break.”

Kuroo groaned again, digging his palms into his eye sockets as if he could expel the stress by force. Daichi could feel the exhaustion exuding from the poor man, but he could also tell he was running out of steam.

As if on cue, Kuroo slowly sagged against Daichi’s shoulder and went quiet. They sat in silence for a while, Daichi reaching up to stroke his fingers in the deep ebony locks resting against him. After a drawn-out stillness, Daichi peeked down to peer at his companion’s face.

“You done?” He asked, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the situation.

“Yeeeeeees,” Kuroo groaned like a petulant child. He laughed and pulled him into a proper embrace and Kuroo clung to him like he was a lifeline. They sunk slowly, together, to lay down to get a bit more comfortable.

“I’m sorry you’re going through this, Tetsu…” He didn’t really know what to say, but he was well aware that this kind of stress happened all the time in work places. It wasn’t surprising that it was occurring, but surprising that it had finally made Kuroo crack. He’d always viewed his husband as an incredibly strong individual, hiding behind humor and always having some jab that would make anyone laugh, no matter how down they were. Honestly, it was kind of nice to see a new side of him. He felt a little bad thinking so, considering the man was a bit tortured at the moment, but he never tired of learning new things about the one who’d stolen his heart.

Daichi hid his smile in puffy black hair, both of them fully relaxing into the couch. Kuroo was half on top of Daichi—sagging, really, like a sack of potatoes—with Daichi supporting most of his weight. It was comfortable, the closeness. It was little moments like this that he treasured; vulnerability, proximity, and trust. It was real and raw, and healing occurred together.

“You’re heavy…” Daichi teased.

“You did this to yourself,” came the muffled reply from his chest. There was no intention of moving on Kuroo’s end, and Daichi certainly didn’t want him to move, either. He couldn’t help the chuckle that shook his body and, as if infectious, Kuroo chuckled back, finally looking up with narrowed eyes.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re just so… cute when you’re pouting,” he replied.

“Cute?” He wrinkled his nose.

“Cute.”

“You sure know how to make a man feel confident…” Kuroo mumbled sarcastically.

“Well, if you’re upset about it, maybe you shouldn’t be so cute.”

“Daichiiiiii,” he whined, drooping against him, but laughing yet again. “I hate you.”

“I love you, too.”

Kuroo hugged him tightly. “Gross.” Though rare, this childish side of Kuroo was more endearing rather than annoying.

“And who was the pining romantic who said ‘I love you’ first?”

“….Me.”

“You.”

“You’re so mean. I’m a damsel in distress and you’re supposed to be my white knight in shining armor. Instead I get…. Shrek in a swamp.”

Daichi couldn’t hold it in this time. He laughed, loud, the whole vibration rocking his shoulders and rumbling through his chest. This elicited a smirk from his companion who pushed himself up and looked down at his husband’s face.

“I love your laugh,” he purred.

Daichi choked on it a little, his face heating up, but the grin didn’t leave. Kuroo dipped down and their lips met, soft and unhurried. It had been years, but his stomach still fluttered with butterflies. He allowed himself to reach up and slide his arms around his lover’s strong back, pulling down a bit to deepen the kiss.

When they parted, their half-lidded eyes met.

“Thanks for letting me vent…”

“Do you mind me asking what you’re going to do? I don’t want to heat you back up, but I’d like you to be a little… less stressed.”

Kuroo sat up and pulled Daichi with him, propping his feet up on the coffee table and leaning into his husband’s shoulder. “To be honest, I don’t really know. I like what I do, and I love my coworkers, but things are just out of hand there. I guess I’ll look for another job. What else can I do?”

Daichi hummed and rested his cheek against the top of Kuroo’s head.

“You don’t have to make a decision now,” he thought aloud, feeling a little guilty for stirring up the negative emotions again. “Everything will be alright.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s time, though. Sometimes you just have to walk away.” He entwined their fingers. His body language was far more relaxed than what it had been earlier. This was more the Kuroo he knew: strong and carefree, determined yet flexible.

“I guess I’ll just be a housewife for a while.”

Daichi pulled away, recoiling instinctually at the statement and gave him a hard glare.

“Kidding! Relax.” He laughed. “I’m a terrible cook, it would never work.”

Daichi rolled his eyes, giving him a shake of his head.

“Hmm… I’ve never had a sugar daddy before.”

Daichi sent him a side-long look, not amused. “I hear the corner by the grocery store is quite profitable.”

Kuroo gasped dramatically, feigning offense. “Daichi…" There was a pause, horror on his face. "Are you... my pimp?”

He lost it again. “Stop, already.” His abs were beginning to hurt. “Look, dinner’s not going to cook itself. One of us has to be a productive member of society.”

“Fine, fine.” He straightened up to let Daichi shed him off like a snake’s second skin, and watched him retreat into the kitchen. He couldn’t help his eyes following the sway of his hips, body leaning with his direction to get a longer look at his backside.

God, he was lucky.

“Stop staring. You’re helping.”

Kuroo sprung up at the invitation, slinking into the kitchen to press up against his back and hook his arms around Daichi’s waist, then kissed the back of his neck. “Yes, sir.”

-o-o-o-o-o-

The End.