You just needed milk.

That was it. One quick trip to the store. But then Gojo said, “I’ll come with you.”

You should’ve known.

The moment you stepped inside, he grabbed a shopping cart like it was a race car and said, “Shotgun!” before hopping on and demanding you push him.

You refused.

He pouted.

Then pushed himself down the aisle with one foot like a scooter, nearly knocking over a pyramid of canned peaches.

“Do you need six different brands of instant ramen?” you asked, watching him pile them into the cart.

“Yes,” he said solemnly. “Each one represents a different emotional state.”

You blinked. “What does shrimp flavor represent?”

“Existential dread.”

You sighed.

He wandered off at one point and came back wearing a ridiculous sunhat and holding a bag of marshmallows.

“For emergencies,” he said.

“What kind of emergencies?”

“The kind where I need to dramatically throw marshmallows at people.”

You didn’t ask further.

At checkout, he tried to flirt with the cashier by complimenting her barcode scanning technique.

She was unimpressed.

You apologized.

He winked at you. “She’ll come around.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re banned from grocery stores.”

He grinned. “Worth it.”

You looked at the cart.

No milk.

Just ramen, marshmallows, a sunhat, three different types of mochi, and a suspiciously expensive bottle of sparkling water “for the aesthetic.”

You sighed again.

He slung an arm around your shoulder. “Admit it. You had fun.”

You did.

But you still made him go back in for the milk.