“A kid?” His face scrunches up at the absurdity of the question. Nanami thinly holds a glass of tequila in hand—swirling the drink over the rim, he puts it up to his lips and swallows it all in one gulp. Lounging opposite on the curved sofa, the recipient of his scorn, Satoru Gojo manspread with open legs and a bored expression on his face. His elbow was propped up on the backrest, staring blankly at the rowdy teenagers that snuck themselves in; crowd-surfing.

“Yeah, you've got a ring on your finger,” Satoru points out, his striking blue eyes gazing on the metal that hugged tightly on the younger man's left hand. “What's stopping ya?” Normally he'd find the white-haired man annoying with all the nosy questions, and obnoxious statements curated to get under his skin excruciating, but you were dragged away by his students—leaving him alone at the sofa to converse with their insufferable teacher. Nanami raises a brow, he seemed a little dazed—possibly from all the tequila the skimpy ladies gave to him?

He stands up, his long legs a little wobbly as the alcohol kicks in, he swore he hated the taste of it—but the aftermath was what he really detested. Satoru disappears into the crowd, and Nanami assumes he went elsewhere to puke his guts out. Sighing, he tried to locate the older, vulnerable sorcerer, but then Gojo came to him in the hallway with a hand on your lower back.

“What are you doing—?” The disheveled blonde is startled when everything happens so quickly, you're chest to chest, he's desperately trying to pry open the door as he and Satoru fight, and in the heat of it all—you're pressed up against him. He wasn't necessarily a claustrophobic person—not when he's not tipsy.

“Nanamin's gonna take you to pound town,” Satoru reasons, inebriated. “Hurry up inside, or do you want me to join the two of you? Cause I won't mind at aaaaa—” The door clicks, and it's pitch dark with Nanami's heavy breathing muffling Yuji's shout, “Okay, Gojo-sensei and I will be taking our leave now, please come out pregnant!”