𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 | 𝐊. 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀

# twenty-six

#26 | #OFFICIAL?!

The room was comfortably quiet, the sound of a random show on TV filling the background. You and Kenma sat shoulder to shoulder on his couch, the soft glow from the screen casting flickering shadows on his face. The aroma of fried chicken filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of his cologne. The space between you was minimal, almost nonexistent, yet the air was thick with unspoken thoughts.

You picked at your food distractedly, your mind still caught in a loop of today's events. The stream had been chaotic, exhausting, and entirely too intimate for comfort with all the teasing. You weren't sure if it was your imagination, but Kenma seemed to be enjoying the rumors way too much. His smirk from earlier replayed in your mind, and every time it did, your face burned hotter.

Kenma noticed. Of course, he did. His sharp golden eyes were always watching.

"Are you malfunctioning over there?" he asked, raising a brow as his gaze flickered between your face and the uneaten piece of chicken in your hand. His tone was casual, but there was a trace of amusement there. "You've been staring at that drumstick like it holds the secrets of the universe."

Startled out of your thoughts, you blinked rapidly, feeling your cheeks heat up. "I'm just...thinking," you muttered, shoving a bite into your mouth so you wouldn't have to elaborate.

He leaned back, resting his arm lazily on the back of the couch, dangerously close to your shoulder. "Thinking about what?" His tone was light, but his smirk was sharp. "The dating rumors? Or were you replaying that moment when I—"

"Nope!" you interrupted, your voice too high-pitched. You turned to him fully, your hand gripping the edge of the couch as you blurted, "Kenma, what are we doing? Like... us. What is this?"

Kenma's teasing expression faltered for a split second, replaced by something softer, almost unreadable. He tilted his head, his gaze steady as he studied your flustered state. "What do you think it is?" he asked, his voice lower now, quieter.

You bit your lip, frustrated. He always did this—turning your questions into riddles. "Don't make me guess," you said, barely above a whisper.

Kenma shifted, sitting up straighter, his casual demeanor slipping away. He looked at you directly, no smirk, no teasing. "I like you," he said, the words blunt and to the point. There was no hesitation, no wavering in his tone. "I've liked you for a while. That's what this is."

The room seemed to freeze. You stared at him, the air knocked out of your lungs. He... liked you? You searched his face for signs that he was joking, but all you found was sincerity. Raw, vulnerable sincerity that made your chest tighten.

Kenma exhaled, running a hand through his hair, his usual confidence slipping. "Shit," he muttered, mostly to himself. "I'm not good at this kind of thing. Look, I want to see where this goes. You and me. No more hiding behind stupid streams or pretending it's nothing. Can we... just try?"

The silence stretched as you processed his words. Kenma, the same guy who could barely express emotion beyond irritation or indifference, was laying his cards on the table. It was a lot. Too much, almost. But as you looked at him—at the way his sharp features softened just for you—you couldn't help the small, nervous smile that crept onto your lips.

"You're terrible at this," you teased lightly, your voice shaky. "But I guess I can work with that."

Before he could reply, you leaned forward, capturing his lips in a bold kiss that surprised even you. It wasn't perfect—your noses bumped awkwardly, and you almost dropped your chicken—but it was real. His lips were soft, warm, and hesitant at first, but when he kissed you back, it was with a quiet intensity that made your head spin.