𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 | 𝐊. 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀

# thirty

#30 | BESTFRIEND MOMS

Three months into dating Kenma, your mom had made it her personal mission to have a family dinner with all the subtlety of a bullhorn. She insisted that you and Kenma join her and Mrs. Kozume for an evening that promised endless reminiscing and, more likely than not, some embarrassing storytelling.

The idea of going to your mom's house wasn't the issue. But dragging Kenma along? That was a different story.

After all, this was the same woman who was responsible for your blind date with Kenma—a date that kickstarted your entire relationship. If she started taking credit for your happily-ever-after (premature as the term may be), you weren't sure you'd survive.

Reluctantly, you agreed to the dinner.

Your mom had known Kenma since before either of you could form coherent sentences—back when you were both drooling toddlers wreaking havoc. Their inseparable friendship meant that you and Kenma were forced into an awkward camaraderie for years.

Since high school, though, family gatherings became rare as you and Kenma moved away for college. It was a relief, honestly, to stop pretending to tolerate each other's existence. At least back then, neither of you thought you'd ever have to revisit those days.

Oh, how things have changed.

Now, three months into dating, you found it ironic how the boy who once called you a nuisance was now the one you affectionately called your boyfriend.

At Kenma's duplex, impatience buzzed in your chest as you paced by the door. "Kenma! Oh my god, how much longer are you gonna take?"

Predictably, there was no response.

You sighed dramatically and made your way upstairs. His bedroom door was ajar, and you knocked lightly before stepping in.

There he was, sitting on the edge of his bed, a towel draped over his head as he lazily dried his damp hair.

"Are you kidding me?" you said, exasperated. "Ken, I've been looking for you! We're gonna be late. What's taking so long?"

Without looking up, he pulled the towel from his head and let out a small yawn. "I didn't realize you were timing me."

"Didn't you shower earlier?"

"I never said that," he replied flatly, grabbing his phone from the nightstand.

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. "We're supposed to leave in—ugh—just hurry up!"

He finally looked up, his golden eyes locking onto yours with the faintest hint of amusement. "Relax, I'm ready."

You took a second look and realized he was right. Kenma was dressed in a dark gray fitted shirt and black pants, his usual understated style somehow looking infuriatingly good on him. The shirt clung to his shoulders and arms in a way that hinted at the gym sessions Kuroo had been forcing him to attend.

You blinked and shook off the thought. "Ten minutes," you said firmly. "Be downstairs. Or I'm leaving without you."

He smirked faintly. "Sure thing, Mom."

"Shut it, Grandpa," you shot back, spinning on your heel and leaving with a huff.

By the time you arrived at your mom's house, you were twenty minutes late. Kenma, of course, had taken his sweet time "finishing up," much to your annoyance.