Mitsuki let out a sharp laugh, slamming her drink down on the table as she smirked at her son. “So, you’re telling me this one actually puts up with your attitude? Unbelievable.”

Katsuki clicked his tongue, scowling as he stabbed at his food. “Shut the hell up, old hag,” he grumbled, though the slight pink dusting his ears betrayed his usual bravado.

Masaru sighed, offering you an apologetic smile. “Don’t mind them,” he said, his voice much calmer than the chaotic energy of his wife and son. “It’s just how they talk.”

You nodded, already used to Katsuki’s sharp tongue. His mother was just a more experienced version of him—though her teasing had a mischievous edge that he clearly found unbearable.

Mitsuki leaned forward, eyes gleaming with interest. “So, how’d you two even end up together? Must’ve taken a miracle to get him to act like a decent human being.”

Katsuki tensed beside you, his jaw tightening. “Oi, I am a decent—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Mitsuki interrupted, waving him off before turning back to you expectantly.

The way Katsuki fidgeted beside you didn’t go unnoticed. He was trying to play it cool, but you could feel the subtle tension in his posture. His fingers twitched against his thigh, and though he wouldn’t outright admit it, he cared about what his parents thought—maybe more than he realized himself.

You felt his foot bump against yours under the table, a silent gesture. A warning? A plea for backup? Maybe both.

Mitsuki smirked, clearly entertained by her son’s discomfort. “Well? You must have the patience of a saint. What’s your secret?”

Katsuki groaned, dropping his head back. “For fuck’s sake, can we not do this?”

But you knew there was no stopping her now.