Ace of Hearts - Haikyuu || Short Stories || One Shots || Creative Rambles

This Might Not be Good || Kuroo Tetsurou

They'd had fights before. Lord, had they had fights before.

But they had always been the exciting kind. The kind where their combative words had been hollow and the crescendo of their bickerings only led to heated kisses and maybe a few pictures crashing from the walls — not from fist fights but fits of passion.

This time was different. Kuroo Tetsuro felt it the moment those biting words left his mouth and he watched the affection in his girlfriend's eyes flicker from 20 percent to zero. It was like watching the last remaining sands pass the center of an hourglass and, in one of those time-stopping revelations that only come at the worst of times, he wondered when it had even gotten to 20 percent and when he had ever decided that was enough. Maybe they had just reached their limit.

His thoughts cost him the opportunity to watch her silhouette cross the threshold of their shared home and the door slammed before his eyes had a chance to refocus. She was gone faster than he could run to the window, throw it open and attempt to stop her departure with honeyed words.

And he was left there, sinking to the floor with his back to the wall, pulling at the ends of his hair as he tried to figure out which cosmic deity he had angered to bring his life to this exact moment of complete and utter shit.

It was right around the third hour of sitting on the floor that his legs started to go numb and he realized that Emica was not coming back anytime soon. With a grunt, he heaved himself from the faux wood floor and attempted to walk toward his phone that was still teetering on the edge of the granite bar top after it had been slapped out of his hand in the earlier scuffle.

There were no notifications. No texts telling him what an ass he had been. No missed calls with dozens of voicemails carrying her crying voice saying they would work it out and that she'd be home soon. There weren't even any signs of her disgruntled, guard dog-like friends threatening rains of hellfire and fury at his most recent fuck up.

It was all oddly silent — and not even the kind of eerie silence that comes before the type of blow ups that tear apart everything you hold dear. No, this was silence of finality.

Kuroo uttered a lowly string of curses as he drug his right hand through his hair. Slowly, he began to pace back and forth across the space between the kitchen and living room, phone in hand, with his eyes glued to the floor in some form of frantic concentration.

He didn't want this to be the end — or at least he didn't think he wanted it to be the end. But if he didn't want it to be the end, then why had he told Emica that he didn't give a fuck who she'd run away to as long as it meant she'd stop getting on his fucking case about the goddamn girl in his goddamn thesis class.

It's funny the type of lies that fly out of your mouth when you feel like you're being attacked — when you've had the same fight about the same stupid (and yet incredibly important) things and you just want it all to stop. You just want to be the victor, instead of wanting to tackle the problem together. When you've just reached your limit.

It's also funny how, with the door slammed and his phone silent, their shared apartment — the one that had always seemed so small — suddenly felt too big and too quiet.

If she wasn't coming back, would it always feel this way? Too big and too quiet.

Emica hadn't taken moving in together lightly. It had only taken Kuroo two dates to know he wanted her with him always, and it had taken an accumulation of all his self control not to ask her to move in until they'd been dating (at least) a solid three months. She made him wait nearly a year.

"This isn't some spur of the moment decision, RooRoo," she had scolded him when he basically begged her for the fifth time in as many weeks. "I don't even know if I like you that much."