𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 | 𝐊. 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀

# thirty-nine

#39 | PARTY ENCOUNTERS PT 2

Your eyes meet with the golden-brown ones you've been avoiding thinking about for the past few months, the ones you'd buried yourself in work to distract yourself from. There stood Kenma, looking one minute away from punching Takeda, his sharp gaze cutting through the haze of the party.

Takeda grumbled, "Whatever," before retreating, leaving you shaking in shock and embarrassment. You could feel your pulse in your ears, and your breath hitched. The weight of Kenma's eyes on you only heightened the tension in your chest.

Without thinking, you grabbed a random drink from the table and chugged it, the burn of the alcohol doing little to settle your nerves. Setting the glass down with a shaky hand, you turned on your heel, desperate to leave and escape the crushing weight of everything. But before you could take more than a step, a firm hand grabbed your wrist.

"Kenma, let go," you said quietly, voice trembling with exhaustion and shame. You couldn't deal with this—not now, not after Takeda's words had clawed open old wounds.

"Y/N," he said, his voice calm but firm. You tried to pull your hand free, but his grip remained steady. "Y/N," he repeated, this time with a sharp edge, forcing you to pause.

"What?" you muttered, not looking at him. You couldn't. If you did, you were certain you'd fall apart.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Those three words were your undoing. You turned your head slightly, just enough for him to see the tears threatening to spill over. You cursed yourself for being so emotional, for letting the alcohol and Takeda's cruel words get to you. You wanted to say something, anything, but your voice betrayed you.

Kenma's eyes softened as he took in your expression. "Come with me," he said gently, tugging you toward the door. You didn't resist, too numb to argue.

The cool night air hit you like a wave, the crisp breeze making you shiver. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling more exposed than ever. Kenma noticed and immediately shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders. The familiar scent of him—subtle and comforting—hit you, and it only made the ache in your chest grow.

"Y/N, look at me," he said softly, stepping in front of you. When you didn't, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he gently turned your face toward him. The tears you'd tried so hard to hold back spilled over, and before you knew it, you were crying—really crying—in front of him.

"Kenma," you choked out, your voice breaking. "Why are you being so nice to me after everything I did?"

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. "What are you talking about? You didn't do anything."

"No," you said, shaking your head as fresh tears streamed down your cheeks. "The breakup was my fault. Because of my stupid attitude and me always jumping to conclusions."

"Y/N," he said firmly, his hands moving to your shoulders. "Stop. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But I did," you insisted, your voice rising in desperation. "I don't deserve this—I don't deserve you. I wish I hadn't jumped to conclusions. I'm so sorry, Kenma. I'm so fucking sorry."

Kenma's expression softened, and he stepped closer, his hands sliding down to hold yours. "Hey," he said gently, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. "It's okay. You don't need to apologize."

"But—" you started, but he cut you off.

"No buts," he said firmly. "What happened, happened. It wasn't just on you. Relationships are hard, Y/N. And... maybe we both made mistakes."