“Why are you in my apartment?” you ask, glaring at Satoru, who’s sprawled across your couch like he owns the place, a half-empty bag of chips in his hand.

“Because I’m your best friend,” he says matter-of-factly, tossing a chip in his mouth. “And I was bored.”

“You have your own place,” you point out, dropping your bag on the table.

“Yeah, but your snacks are better,” he says with a smirk, holding up the bag.

You sigh, kicking off your shoes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you haven’t kicked me out,” he replies, propping his feet up on your coffee table.

“Yet,” you emphasize, plopping down next to him. “So, what do you want?”

He turns to you, feigning shock. “Can’t a guy just want to hang out with his best friend?”

“Not when that guy is you,” you retort, grabbing a chip from the bag. “You always have some kind of scheme.”

He gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m offended. Wounded, even.”

“Out with it, Satoru,” you say, narrowing your eyes.

“Fine, fine,” he says, sitting up. “There’s this new dessert place downtown. I need someone to go with, and obviously, you’re the only person worthy of my company.”

“You mean you want me to drive,” you say flatly.

He grins. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

You roll your eyes, but deep down, you know you’ll end up going. With Gojo, your plans never stay boring for long.