yes this is a kink thing

Inducing a red and stubborn and VERY snotty nose that is sick and tired of being sick and tired 🙈

He isn't looking for anything tonight. 

Or at least, nothing other than a seat at this bar, solitude, and whiskey. No work. No overtime. Friday night, done right.

Nanami loosens his tie an inch more, runs a hand through his hair. Everything is amber, warm, and yet lively, with busy streets outside shifting past the windows. A hotel resides directly above, adding extra foot traffic of guests coming and going. There's a general air of noise, glasses clinking, people chattering, but it's all mellow on his ears. 

He touches a glass of honey liquid to his lips, taking a slow sip. It's warm in his mouth, and then warmer in his throat, burning pleasantly just below his chest. 

That hits the spot.

Nanami closes his eyes. Not-so-distant memories of exorcised curses turn fuzzier yet. Often grotesque at their most tame appearances, the responsibilities of a Jujutsu Sorcerer required repeated confrontation with curses– and they're often the stuff of nightmares. He had become acclimated to it enough that most days, Nanami didn't think twice about it. But some days, like today, the imagery haunted him.

Nothing a good drink can't fix, though. 

As he opens his eyes, there's a heaviness that clings to his eyelids. This should be his last glass, he thinks, his bed turning steadily more enticing than any other vice to indulge.

Suddenly, there's movement in the corner of his eye. The two women seated to his left pass money to the inner edge of the countertop. They stand, still idly chatting and giggling over the latest gossip of their evening together. Only two empty wine glasses remain on the granite countertop, and Nanami takes advantage of the open space to lean back and stretch.

That's when he notices another thing left behind. A man, seated two spots down, previously blocked from Nanami’s view. 

Nanami’s brow raises, just slightly. Everything around him drowns for a few seconds as his attention sinks itself onto the man’s face. Only one feature of it, in fact. 

What a nose…

It's big. Really big, and extraordinarily aquiline– anyone is sure to notice it at first glance, but Nanami especially. He only vaguely notes his dark hair, sunken eyes, monochrome clothing. Nothing could fully tear him away from the masterpiece sticking out from his face.

Nanami adjusts his grip on his nearly empty glass. Perhaps this won't be his last drink after all. 

For a night where he wasn't looking for anything, it seems something found him after all.

He's careful in how long he risks his eyes on him, at it. Head tilted forward, his eyes dart hungrily to the side and linger. Nanami let his mind wander, weighing on all the things he'd like to do with it. Or what he'd like to simply observe of it, like how it looked, how it sounded when he– 

Suddenly, there's movement. The man scrunches his nose, that nose. It's not a subtle motion, lip curling up in a snarl to match the contortion of his flesh. Again, it twitches, affirming to Nanami that he didn't just imagine it in a hopeful haze.

Something remains unresolved in the man's expression. One hand fidgets on the countertop, also uncertain. Nanami holds his breath without meaning to. Was he…about to…?

“hH–!” His wrist tucks under his nose, eyes fluttering. His posture turns rigid, and that wrist becomes an elbow in the nick of time. Nanami’s own breath catches when he suddenly ducks down, shoulders jolting into a sneeze. “hheH-RHHMPFf–!” One. His chest heaves, then, “hehH-MPFFSChh-ih–!” Two. 

A knot settles under Nanami’s stomach. Like a scratched record, he runs through the sound, the visual, over and over. What detail he's able to recall of his expression before he tucked it away is erotically ticklish, needy. 

Change of plans- this drink is absolutely not going to be his last.

As if on cue, the bartender sidles up to where he's seated. 

“Can I get you another?” she asks, smiling. 

“Please.”

“Suntory, neat, right?”

Nanami dips his head again. She takes his empty glasses and pulls a fresh one. 

Like an arrow shot straight to a target, his eyes instantly lock back onto his target. And– oh, shit.

He's looking right at him. Eyelids low, pupils like black coal within a sea of white, burning right through him.

He saw him staring. Shit, he saw him. He’d been caught eating him up with his gaze like a fucking pervert. Nanami mentally kicks himself, the heat of swallowed whiskey crawling back up his throat. What the hell was he thinking?

Nervously, Nanami sets his eyes down to the bartop. Only for the other man to speak. 

“Sorry. Couldn't help but notice you order the same as me.”

He holds up his glass before tilting it to his mouth. Nanami blinks. The liquid in his glass is of the same honey orange. 

Same drink. They’ re having the same drink. That’s all. 

Nanami only nods at first, struggling to catch up under his relief that he hadn't been pinned as a creep. Which he certainly wasn't, in most any circumstance. Except tonight.

“Same brand and all. Suntory,” he adds.

Yet again with impeccable timing, the bartender sets a freshly poured glass in front of Nanami. “Thanks,” he says quickly, pulling the glass closer.

“You here alone?” 

Nanami meets the man’s gaze again. “Pardon?” He shakes his head, his brain finally collecting itself enough to understand spoken language again. “Sorry, I- yes.” What does he mean by that…?

“Ah. That makes two of us, too,” he says. He raises and tilts his glass just slightly, in a toast of sorts.

Nanami dips his head a little lower. “What's the occasion, then?”

The man sips his drink, the tip of his nose twitching against the rim of the glass. Nanami wonders if he'll get to see him do that again. He hopes so.

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Well, if getting off work early for once is worth celebrating…” He grimaces in a way Nanami would recognize anywhere. It's the face of a man for which getting out early- or getting out, in general- is always worth celebrating.

He knows a thing or two about that. Nanami has seen that face in the mirror far too many times, some of them recently.

“I'll say,” Nanami finally responds. “I'm here on similar terms.”

The dark haired man raises his brow. He turns his body to fully face him. In one breath, Nanami mourns the disappearance of his well endowed side profile, only to infer more about him. A history of stress wore on his features, work related, if he had to take a guess by now. His eyes were naturally hooded, further exaggerating any touch of exhaustion he carried. He had something of a “resting bitch face,” as Gojo would (rudely) call it. 

Nanami knows about that from looking in mirrors too.

“What do you do?”

Naturally, he would ask him that. Nanami pauses for longer than he liked. Answering that question with honesty isn't exactly something he should do. Something about his piercing gaze makes him want to be honest though…

But, no. Telling a stranger you're a Jujutsu Sorcerer without good reason isn't part of the deal. 

“I'm a salaryman. At a finance firm.” Not completely untrue, at least. He'd done it for enough years prior. 

“Ah.”

“Keeping rich people richer. The most important job in the world, right?” Nanami says, sarcastic.

The man huffs a laugh. “So I've heard.”

“Really competent boss, too,” Nanami adds. “And co-workers that could never give you a headache.” Okay, that part was aimed at his present day job. Now he looks equal parts amused and sympathetic to his plight, and Nanami cracks a smile as he sips his whiskey. “What about you, though?”

“Not much better.” He sips his drink too. Then, his answer: “I'm a defense attorney.”

Whoa. Nanami nods. “Long hours?”

“That would be an understatement. One hundred hours weekly is the norm, sometimes.”

Nanami all but physically recoils. He remembers late nights at the old office, some of which he decided sleeping there was a better option than even bothering to go home. A towel over his face to sleep, dark circles under his eyes the following morning.

100 hours, though…

“Wow.”

“It's worth it. Sometimes.” He pauses, as if deciding whether that much is true. “I'm kind of known for taking on dihhficult- clients- ihh–!”

Nanami opens his mouth to speak, but his words catch. The man’s expression flinches, and he knuckles at his nose. He's staring off distantly at nothing, and the tension doesn't leave his face. Nanami feels a fresh flicker of heat graze his insides. 

It jolts inside him when he twists to shove his face into his sleeve, towards him rather than away. “ihH’DZZCHih–! EH’SHeuhh–!” His shoulders tense, tremble, tremble harder, and then relax. He sniffles, eyelashes wet as he blinks his eyes open again. “Exguse mbe.”

Nanami tries again- and fails- not to stare as he squishes his nose into a napkin. A napkin that looked too small to be effective. Christ. 

“Bless,” is all he musters to say, seconds later than he should. 

The man nods, not seeming too shy about the increasingly repetitive occurrence. “Sorry, what was I saying again?”

Beats me, Nanami thinks. 

“Oh…! Honestly, the trial today ended favorably. But this...” He gestures at his face, at his nose. “This made it extremely annoying.”

Nanami swallows. Oh… oh, God. A lawyer, an extremely competent one at that, apparently, upholding his professionalism and stature while struggling with… a cold? Allergies? Both at once?

Nanami shifts his legs. That's a fantasy he'll have to entertain later.

The silence begins to stretch, and Nanami finds himself fidgeting again. “I sympathize,” he blurts out, finally. Something awful stirs in his chest. Did he just confidently announce his allergies to a stranger?

Bold was his nature tonight, apparently.

“Oh? Does the air bother you at this time of year too?”

So it is allergies. Noted. Heavily noted.

“Year-round, honestly. Spring is the worst.” Nanami stifles a grimace. What the fuck kind of conversation did he just walk himself into? Or better question: why the hell was this guy entertaining it?

Then again, things such as this were mere small talk for normal people. Nanami isn't normal.

“Summer for me, if you couldn't tell.” He looks a tad sheepish, nostrils flaring in a sniffle again as if to prove his point. “Sounds as though we have plenty in common… What's your name, anyways?”

“…Nanami.” He never gives that name out on the first meeting. Kento would be most proper, after all. The chance of hearing something so intimate spoken in his voice is too much to pass up, though.

“Nanami,” he echoes. Oh, he was right. It's like honey, dripping past his ears.

”And you?”

“Higuruma.” He holds out a hand, which Nanami meets with his own. Higuruma’s palm is pleasantly warm against his, and he hesitates to let go. 

Meanwhile, there's a gentle smile shining in his eyes, that is until Higuruma’s expression flinches. His hand twitches in Nanami’s grip before he jerks it away. “Ehhxcuse me—!”

Nanami remains fixed on him, processing the movement in slow motion. Another napkin, too small, haphazardly grabbed and barely catching the sneeze. “hehhH’DT—huh!” Or the first sneeze, rather, as his expression only tightened, nostrils hiking a little higher. “heH’DTSHh—! ehH’ZSCHhihh—!” Higuruma shakes his head, blinking tears from his eyes before rolling them, annoyed. “Oh, God, hh- hhH–!”

Two more sneezes tear out of him. The napkin is soaked, containing nothing at all. Nanami has no idea whether he manages to say a blessing, or how many times. His lips moved, but nothing other than the sound of his sneezes reached his brain. 

The napkin a lost cause, Higuruma’s hands steeple over his nose in an attempt to contain himself. He leans back a little further in his chair, head tilting back with a louder, shakier gasp. “heHH’DZZSCHiehh—!”  It's followed by a louder sneeze to match, chased by a note of finality that signals the end of the show. At least Nanami hopes so, because if he's subjected to much more of this, he'd be excusing himself to the restroom– but not to go to the bathroom. 

“God, I’mb so sorry…” Higuruma whines, slumping forward. The already saturated napkin returns, rubbing into his nose with the same uselessness as before. “They just sndeak up ond mbe sometimes.”

“D-don't sweat it,” Nanami assures, although his voice cracks in a way that's anything but reassuring. With little more than the essence of a conscious thought, he retrieves a clean handkerchief from his pocket. Nanami holds a hand out, averting his eyes. “Here. Those napkins suck.”

“Are you… sure?” 

“It can be washed. Don't worry about it.” Nanami sucks a breath in. It's just a handkerchief, which happens to have his initials embroidered in the corner. Nothing weird about this. Absolutely nothing. 

That's before he hears him, emptying his sinuses noisily, productively, into a cloth so familiar to him.

Nevermind, Nanami thinks. Higuruma should just burn it after this.

This remained his sentiment as the night went on, frequent sneezes dampened into the handkerchief as they talked, and drank, and talked, and talked. Nanami had shifted seats to be closer to him at some point, a slight flush gathered at the high point of his cheekbones. Whiskey-fueled blessings fall from his lips effortlessly whenever Higuruma interrupts himself to sneeze, having lost his nerves by this point.

A warm, boundless energy lingers in the air between them that Nanami becomes steadily more aware of. Chemistry, maybe, but what kind? Were they just two men seeking like-minded company? Someone to commiserate with about the shitty parts of his job?

But Higurum leaned in when he laughed. And a hand gradually drifted closer until it was touching Nanami’s thigh. It couldn't be the alcohol making him slip, as Higuruma had slowed significantly in that regard, and he doesn't read to Nanami as a lightweight.

Nanami feels his chest tighten with anticipation of… something. Something more than the anticipation already present for every pre-sneeze gasp.

He just… really hopes tonight won't be the last night he sees this man. 

Another glass of whiskey down, which he mentally declares his last, Nanami casually seeks the greater part of the bar for a restroom. He nearly finds it, except-

Wait. Was that…?

There's a man across the bar with dark hair, extremely long and layered, partially tied up in a bun. 

Suguru Geto. Nanami would know that face anywhere. 

He looks his way for a second too long. Geto catches his eyes when he turns, and his expression lights up from afar. 

Nanami gets tense in his seat. Shit. Shit. 

“What's the matter?” Higuruma notices the sudden demeanor change. Very little gets past him, it seems.

Nanami sets his jaw. Geto isn't the problem. Rather, the person with him-

“Nanamin!”

And there it is. A hand enthusiastically pats his shoulder. Nanami forces a neutral expression as he turns in that direction, certain that Higuruma is reading every inch of him on the way.

Brilliant blue gleams from behind the dark lenses perched on Gojo’s nose. A bottle clearly labeled “NA” is in one hand, and he's dressed in street clothes, not much unlike Geto. “Fancy seeing you here, Nanamin.” 

The teasing lilt in his voice grates on him. “How many times do I have to remind you not to call me that…?” he says, mostly under his breath. 

Gojo drops into the seat closest to him, and he leans an elbow onto the bar, tilting his head. “C’mon, you let Yuji do it all the time,” he whines.

Nanami shakes his head. “What're you doing out, anyways?”

“Had the night off, for once. Suguru wanted to go out.” He nods over his shoulder, and Geto raises a hand to wave. “You were on a mission earlier, weren't you? How did it– oh–”

Nanami shoots him a glare harsh enough to stab him, subtly sliding a finger across his neck in a cutting motion. Not the right place and time. 

Gojo’s about to ask what the deal is before he sees Higuruma- or rather, hears him next to Nanami.

“heH-eh’SCHHihh–!”

Nanami’s fingers twitch. Gojo eyes the handkerchief tented between Higuruma’s hands, colored a print he might assume was a coincidental match to Nanami’s. The embroidered initials, however…

His heart skips a beat when Gojo squints at him. It's only a second, but a second long enough to let him know he's being read like a magazine spread open onto a cold, hard table. 

Gojo knows more about him than is good for Nanami, or anyone really. 

“Someone you know?”

Nanami opens his mouth, only for Higuruma to introduce himself, “Sorry. Higuruma.”

“Gojo. Co-worker,” he says, nodding towards Nanami. 

Nanami dares to finally turn and exchange a glance with Higuruma. He looks… mildly amused. Not put off, thank God.

Gojo prattles on, “Nanami, I didn't know you went out with anyone other than Shoko or Suguru. When did this happen? Don't tell me you're on a date?” His eyebrows raise. He's talking more than loud enough for Higuruma to hear.

Crack. It's the sound of his relief snapping in two. 

Nanami could've died right then and there. Is it a date? He's still not sure of that yet, but any possibility assumes Gojo isn't about to completely ruin it for him. “Gojo–! Gojo, can you– just–” He bites his tongue before he says something unpleasant. Getting snappy isn't going to help the situation any further. 

Flustered, he turns to Higuruma. “Um– sorry, could you just excuse us for a moment?”

And again, his eyes are warm, forgiving. “Go on.”

“Yeah, pop over! Suguru wants to say hi, I'm sure,” Gojo pipes up as Nanami stands, finally. 

His demeanor does cool, just slightly, at Geto’s presence. Gojo instantly pegs him with more questions though. “Seriously, what's going on?  Are you on a date?”

Nanami’s eye twitches. “Maybe. As long as he doesn't find out I already lied to him about my career.”

Gojo holds up his hands defensively. “Hey, I seriously didn't realize. My bad.” Then, leaning in closer, “What is the deal though? He's not a sorcerer, clearly. Where'd you meet this guy?”

“We just– I met him here, tonight.” A sound breaks out just a touch higher than the greater ambience of the bar, a sound that could only be another sneeze. Gojo’s eyes look past Nanami’s shoulder, and he smirks. 

“Well, he really seems like your type, Nanami.”

Nanami almost frowns at him, but he can't help but follow his gaze to Higuruma, who had buried that beautiful nose of his into his handkerchief again. Yes, his handkerchief.

His ears go hot. “Some thoughts should remain inside thoughts, Gojo,” he finally says, pinching between his eyes.

Gojo laughs. “Yeah, yeah, all right. Look, we’ll leave you to your little date, okay?”

“I'll make sure he's kept in check, Kento.” While Geto wore a look of amusement, there's a sincerity that came across his words, and Nanami’s shoulders loosen. 

“You better come hang with us later! Assuming you don't leave with this guy,” Gojo smirks. 

“Shut it.”

Nanami manages to break away from his colleagues then, heaving out a heavy, nervous sigh. He does finally retreat to the restroom as originally intended. 

At the sink, he stares into the mirror, and the mirror stares back. Over and over, he runs through the motions of how to ask this man for his number. Or something like that. Any kind of phrasing to indicate he was interested, but not desperate… even if he was a little desperate, truthfully.

He was giving off signs he was interested too, right? Right. Maybe. 

Nanami sighs again as he fidgets with his hair. Ugh. This nervousness. He loathes it, and yet it's a feeling he hasn't faced in far too long. His heart rate quickens.

The worst he can say is no, that he isn't interested. It’s fine. He can take that.

Nanami pushed the bathroom open with steeled nerves. They don't last, though. 

It tears itself apart bit by bit the longer Nanami looks across the room, further and further troubled as he realizes… he doesn't see him. Finally, he sees it, the chair he was definitely sitting in before, and… 

Not there. No Higuruma in sight. 

Nanami’s heart sinks. And then it burns, with an urge to ring Gojo's neck because he desperately needs to blame this on someone other than himself. 

Deflated, Nanami settles back onto his chair. He briefly entertains if maybe he was also in the restroom, but it had been empty when he walked out. No, he'd really left. The bartender catches his eye, and Nanami can't hide the mixture of confusion and disappointment clouding his gaze. 

She smiles at him though, as though she's been waiting for him. “Ah, there you are! The gentleman next to you asked me to pass this along.”

Nanami raises his brow. His heart soars back up into his chest where it belongs as he recognizes a number scrawled neatly into a napkin. Swallowing thickly, he brings the napkin up closer, reading what the rest of it said:

Nanami–

I'm so sorry. Something came up. 

And then, underneath his number:

Can we do this again? 

P.S. - Thanks for the handkerchief. I'll give it back next time. 

Nanami nearly swoons, fighting the urge to bring the paper and tuck it gently to his chest. Relief washed over him in an embarrassingly strong wave. 

He looks back to the table where Gojo and Geto are seated.

Okay, Gojo. You're safe this time, Nanami thinks. 

2 days of being between 2 biohazards, of course, it was no surprise when Choso woke up with a sore throat and a stuffy nose, or well, runny and stuffy according to the liquid-sounding sniffles that could barely keep the mess from running down to his lips.

He shudders and curls up under the covers he shared with his boyfriends, who were already stirring awake. “Morning,” Satoru’s morning voice purrs in Choso’s ear as his arm slithers around his waist. There’s rustling on the other side of Choso, and Suguru sits up, pushing back his hair before stretching.

“Finally, can breathe through my nose.” He sighs, and Gojo nods with a slight cough. Choso, however, doesn’t come out from underneath the blankets. Gojo notices this and pulls Choso to him.

“I know you’re awake, Cho.” A whine escapes from Choso as he pulls to Gojo’s chest. As soon as any part of his body is exposed to the air, he shivers hard. His head feels dizzy, and he can’t help but lean his head into Gojo’s frame and curl up. Gojo’s eyes soften, and he wraps his arms around the older one. He could feel the heat seeping from Choso’s skin against his.

“Oh? Did our lil blood bunny get our cold~?” He teased, and the only reply he got was another series of sniffling. Suguru picked up on this and crawled over to them. A sympathetic smile painted his face, which quickly turned mischievous.

“Aw, poor thing, guess we’re gonna have to take care of our lil bunny.” Choso hears that hint of flirtiness in Geto’s voice and knows he’s done for. A set of hands ruffles Choso’s hair, a few strands flop down over his face, and he can feel them tickling the tip of his nose. That tickle gets stronger when he sniffles in his fruitless attempt, making his hair flutter oh so teasingly against the tip of his nose. His nose scrunches up and wriggles around, but that tickle runs through him fast. He doesn’t have the time to turn or pull away; instead.

“HEH! HhNGgsshhuhw!” A wet, messy sneeze is splattered against Gojo’s chest. When Choso’s eyes open, he sees the catastrophe he’s made. Varying cords and trails of snot connect to a large dark patch of Gojo’s shirt from his nose; some of the mess was still dripping down his face slowly. Choso’s face quickly turns bright red, and he tries blindly searching for the tissue box.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t bmead to do that.” He apologizes, and a laugh rumbles from Gojo’s chest as he coos at him. He brought a hand to wrap the mess around his fingers and wipe the rest that hung from Choso’s nose onto his palm.

“Goodness, didn’t know you had that much in you, baby.” He turns his hand to show Choso all of that he had gathered, which only embarrassed the cursed being more.

“I dod’t like beig gross, ya know.” Choso huffs. This time, Suguru joins in, cupping Choso’s face as he postures up on his knees.

“Oh, but I don’t think you can help it, especially that cute lil nose of yours~” His voice is smooth and low, the way his fingers gently press against Choso’s cheeks and tilt his face makes it hard for him to hold eye contact.

“Your poor nose is so full of that awful cold, Satoru and I had, and you’re doing such a good job keeping it for us. I think it's only fair we help you with it.” A gentle kiss is pressed to the tip of Choso’s nose, and it takes the affection as an invitation. Another tickle sparks, making his lips part in a desperate gasp. His eyes go half lidded as his nose twitches and nostrils flare.

“Hiiih Heeehh!! Hey! Heehh.” When Choso tries to bring up his hands to try and catch the disaster he knows is coming, Gojo holds them down gingerly.

“Just let it out, its alright, Cho.” Choso’s build-ups are quick and hiccupy, eyes watering already. He lurches forward as the fit takes over.

“IhHt-!hhdsSCHHHhh!! IhHt-!hhdsSCHHHhh!! Huh! Hud’tt’shhhh!” The last one was much wetter than the first two, which were messier. Suguru cups his hand under Choso’s nose, drawing the nail of his thumb against one of his nostrils. Choso gasps sharply as the sensation of nostril flaring widely as if trying to get away from the other’s touch. Suguru’s sweet voice was tempting Choso’s nose into submission. “That’s it, baby, let it all out. I know it tickles so much, doesn’t it?” Choso couldn’t even answer besides a half-attempted warning that got interrupted.

“I-i’mb godda godda ssdeehhHt-!hhdsSCHHHhh!! HhNGgsshhuhw! HhNGgsshhuhw!” Warm snot pours from both nostrils into Geto’s hand. He pinches at the thinning strings and pulls his hand away.

“Bless you! My my my, you really caught the worst of it, huh?” Geto comments, the rims of Choso’s nose are already turning a pinkish red. He was pulled into a kiss first by Geto, then by Gojo. The soft feeling of their lips on his own was heavenly, even if the thoughts in the back of his mind were saying, ‘I don’t want them to get sick again.’ he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. Only when his body demanded air did he lean away.

He was still in Gojo’s arms when the white-haired man mentioned taking cold medicine. Choso grumbled, and his face twisted with disgust.

“That stuff tastes awful.” “Hm, would you take it if I made it less awful?” Gojo asked. Choso raised a brow at this question. Gojo gestures for him to scoot off his lap for a second while he reaches for the liquid medicine on the nightstand. Choso watches him uncap and take a mouthful of it, but he doesn’t swallow it.

“What are you-” But he doesn’t get to finish his question, with Gojo pressing him into a deep kiss. With the sudden surprise, Choso’s mouth opens, and Gojo pushes the mouthful of medicine into his. Even at the awful taste of chemical cherry liquid, he lets it fill his mouth till he has to pull back and swallow it. He panted between swallows, his nose still dripped. He tried to wipe it up himself, but his nose had started to become touch-sensitive around the edges of his nostrils. He hissed at the sting but shuddered as the tickle came back with not enough time for a warning. He could only bring up his hands and lurched into them with a fit.

“HhNGgsshhuhw! Heh! HhNGgsshhuhw! IhHt-!hhdsSCHHHhh!! Heeh! IhHt-!hhdsSCHHHhh!! Ugh,” He pulled his hands away with a congested sigh. Satoru immediately started to laugh, which confused Choso.

“What is it?” “Oh, you really are precious lil disaster when you’re sick, dripping down your face, must’ve felt better huh~?” Choso looked down to see strings of mess slowly but surely dripping down to his hands. He bit back a shriek and tried to clean himself up with his hands while muttering ‘gross gross gross gross gross,’ But as soon as he rubbed the back of his hand against his nostrils again, he triggered another snz, this one much more urgent and messy.

"HhNNnGggsshhuuuhw!"

He splattered mess across his hand and off the sides; it definitely sounded rough, too, with how it scraped up the sides of his throat. Ghetto came over with the cuff of his sleeve to clean him up. Gingerly dabbing at the reddened, tender skin of Choso’s nose.