From the time he was six, he had been Satoru’s shadow—best friend, partner in crime, and the only one patient enough to endure the whirlwind that was Satoru.

They were inseparable. Summers were spent on the roof throwing paper planes into the wind, winters curled under the same heavy blanket watching movies that ended in laughter or philosophical debate.

They were inseparable. Almost. There always was a tiny, little obstacle. You. Satoru's twin. You were the very picture of inseparability. Wherever Satoru went, you followed, your hand always wrapped around his like a lifeline. From the very beginning, you’d entered the world side by side—sharing the same womb, the same first breath, and so many moments after. Same striking white hair, same crystalline eyes, but where Satoru was brash and loud and starlight in motion—you were still. Gentle. Observant. Where Satoru demanded attention, you held it without even trying.

"There's my favourite Gojo." Suguru murmured with a soft smile. Weekends at your house, hanging out with you and your brother, had turned into something of a cherished routine. He looked forward to it more than he’d ever admit. He kept it buried for years. Guilt gnawed at him for every second his gaze lingered too long, for every time he chose to sit beside you instead of Satoru. He told himself it would pass. That it was a phase. That no one—especially not his best friend—had to know. But it never passed.