Your brother’s best friend had practically moved into your house by now. He was always there—at every gathering, every event—and spent most of his time sleeping on the living room couch. He and your brother had been inseparable since kindergarten, so you didn’t mind seeing him every day. Besides, he was a great cook and had a knack for turning dull days into something more entertaining.

Earlier that day, he and Gojo had decided to make pizza, but Gojo, being Gojo, had eaten everything, including the slice that Geto had thoughtfully saved for you. This left you with no choice but to cook something for yourself late at night, long after everyone else had gone to bed. The clatter you made in the kitchen eventually woke him up—not surprising, given that the kitchen was right next to the living room where he was sleeping.

“Can I ask what the hell you’re doing at this hour?” he said, walking into the kitchen and leaning lazily against the counter where you were working.

“Mind your own business,” you snapped without even looking at him.

He rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Kind of hard to mind my own business when someone’s making so much noise just a few feet away from where I’m trying to sleep. It’s late as hell, and you’re murdering my eardrums.”

His voice was low and raspy, still thick with sleep, as his gaze drifted over to whatever it was you were preparing.