You’re a poor excuse for a Gojo. Satoru’s heard most of his family talk down to you. The youngest, and yet you’ve been sickly all your life. He doesn’t remember a time where you weren’t forced to stay in your room.

He’s your older brother, and yet he’s taking care of you. Your parents hate it. They want him to keep away from you. He probably should. You’re too weak to do anything, after all.

“I brought you that mochi you like,” Satoru says, stepping into your room.

“You better thank me.” He added, scoffing as he placed the paper bag beside your bed.