“I won, we agree on that right?”

The engawa creaks beneath your shared weight as the late summer breeze passes through you and the open doors behind you. Fireflies are already out despite the sun still on the brink of the horizon.

The peaceful moment doesn’t last very long as Toji winces and nudges his shoulder into yours, his hands still stinging from your earlier fight. You hand him the cold rag you were using to nurse your own bruises and he takes it wordlessly.

The fight had been his fault, as it usually was. As your older brother, he took it upon himself to help you prepare for your future, even if Naobito didn’t think his help necessary. The fight had been disguised as petty bickering at first, before he began throwing more and more stinging insults at you until your temper snapped. He had won, his weight, height, and fighting experience overpowering your own inexperience quickly, but you had put up a much better fight than last time.

“You look like Uncle with your face like that,” he snarks, childish glee rushing through him when your face sours. He hands you the bloody rag back, his front of faux indifference shriveling up as he side eyes you to make sure none of the cuts on your hands are too serious.

While his observation is partially out of genuine care, the last thing he needs is anyone finding out you fought again. It’s obvious you can hold your own, but if word got out Toji even thought about laying a pinky finger on you, your father and Uncle would kill him themselves. His jaw ticks at the thought and continues pressing the rag against his bruised knuckles.