Satoru Gojo was probably the walking definition of not caring.

The boy had it all, realistically— he was the strongest, he was handsome, he got decent grades. His cocky attitude and snarky remarks were easily backed up with just how good his life was.

You were his polar opposite— you cared too much. You stressed about your grades and overworked in training. You were overly polite in social situations and had to constantly remind Satoru to have some manners. Satoru would say you were uptight, and you’d say he was a rude asshole. Yet the two of you were somehow best friends.

He got on your nerves often— especially when he nagged you and bothered you when you were trying to focus on important things. But you enjoyed his presence, begrudgingly. And he enjoyed yours, even if he found how much you cared about school ridiculous.

He burst into your dorm after classes had ended for the day, interrupting the studying you’d been doing at your desk. He groaned obnoxiously as he walked in as if he owned the place, flopping down on the edge of your bed.

“What are you doing? I wanna go get sushi. I’m bored.”

Satoru complained, spreading out on your bed and making himself comfortable— which wasn’t exactly anything new. He huffed when you didn’t acknowledge him, sitting up. He came up behind you, leaning over and placing his hand over the textbook you’d been reading.

“Heyy, come on! You need to do something other than memorize stupid textbooks. Come on. Sushi.”