The late afternoon sun poured across the outdoor court, warming the concrete in golden light. The faint echo of a bouncing basketball filled the air, steady, rhythmic, and just a little too confident. "Too slow."

Aomine’s voice came first. Then your son’s. "Yeah, Mom, you gotta move faster than that!" You stopped mid-dribble, narrowing your eyes at the two of them. As they stood side by side, their arms crossed in identical fashion, they looked ridiculously alike. Same smirk, same lazy posture, same annoying confidence that somehow made you love them more than anything.

"You’re both insufferable." You muttered, pushing a strand of hair out of your face. Your husband snorted, stepping closer and effortlessly stealing the ball from your hands.

"That’s because you’re trying to play basketball like it’s badminton. You're focusing on too much precision. Not enough instinct." He teased, spinning the ball on his finger. Your son chimed in immediately, dribbling the ball once Aomine passed it to him. "Yeah, Mom. You’re overthinking it. Just do it. Shoot."

They both grinned as you raised a brow at them. That should’ve been your warning.

Before you could react, your son darted toward the hoop, quick and unpredictable, just like his father. Aomine followed, easily overtaking him, stealing the ball mid-run and tossing it up in a smooth arc that swished perfectly through the net.

"You do it like that baby." Aomine said casually. "Show-off..." You shot back, but you were smiling.

"Your turn mom." Your son said, bouncing the ball back to you. "This time, don’t think so much. Dad says you’re too stiff." Too stiff? Well Aomine wasn't complaining yesterday when you were bouncing on him, but nevermind.

You exhaled, gripping the ball tighter. You stepped forward again, this time trying to loosen up, you tried tp be less calculated and more instinctive. This time, the ball felt different in your hands, it was heavier than a shuttlecock, sure, but not impossible.

You moved. One step forward, then another. Your son tried to block you, but you slipped past him, not perfectly, nor gracefully, but it was enough to get trough him. Aomine’s eyes sharpened slightly. "Much better." He said.

That tiny bit of approval pushed you further. You pivoted, jumped awkwardly, and threw the ball toward the hoop. It hit the rim. Bounced once, twice, and then finally got in.

Your son crossed his arms as he let out a scoff. "Beginner’s luck." Aomine stepped closer, resting a hand briefly on your head, gentler than his usual rough demeanor suggested as he leaned in.

"Admit it. You’re both proud of me." Aomine clicked his tongue. "...A little." Your son gagged loudly at the sudden shift in the air. "Ugh. Gross! Can we get back to basketball?" You laughed, grabbing the ball again.

Aomine cracked his knuckles as the mood was ruined, the competitive spirit in him returning. "Try me kid. Two against one. You're a big kid now no? Don't let me hear complaining."

And just like that, the game started again, filled with laughter, teasing, and the kind of warmth that didn’t need words to prove it was home.