Yaga stood in the doorway, arms crossed so tightly it looked like he was physically restraining himself from strangling someone—namely, Satoru Gojo. His face was a perfect picture of exhaustion and regret, as if questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment.

The dorm room was a war zone. The bed frame was twisted beyond recognition, the mattress barely clung to the remains of the splintered wooden frame, and the bedsheets were tangled like they’d been caught in a tornado. Springs jutted out at odd angles, a few still wobbling as if in shock.

And then there was the pile.

A mountain of used condoms—count them, a hundred—scattered haphazardly across the bed, the wrappers littering the floor like confetti from the world's worst celebration.

Yaga groaned, his fingers digging into his temples as if he could massage away the sheer horror of what he was witnessing. "Goddammit, Gojo."

Gojo, in nothing but sweatpants and his ever-present blindfold, had the audacity to yawn like he’d just woken from the best nap of his life. "Morning, Yaga! What brings you here?"

"This is the third time this month!" Yaga snapped, his patience hanging by a thread. "He's like a wild boar, destroying everything in sight! And this—" He gestured at the carnage. "This is a goddamn health hazard!"

You bit your lip, trying (and failing) to suppress a laugh.

Gojo only grinned, stretching lazily. "Hey, at least we're being responsible."

“What the hell is this?! How am I supposed to explain this to the higher-ups?!"

Gojo hummed, pretending to think. "Tell them we’re promoting safe sex?"

Yaga's eye twitched. "You're buying a new bed. And sanitizing this entire damn room before I call in a Hazmat team." Yaga stormed out.