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Nanami is very asleep when something loud and inharmonious blares into his ear. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to ignore it, but it’s of no use.
He lamely reaches around, knocking what he thinks are his glasses off his nightstand, before he finds his phone. It’s definitely the culprit, judging by how it’s buzzing in his hand, and the increase in volume when he brings it to his ear, inadvertently yanking the charger out of the wall.
He blinks at it, and is surprised to find it’s not Gojo calling him at some insane hour, but from the name that pops up, he’s not convinced it won’t still be for some immeasurably stupid reason.
“Hello?” He answers hoarsely.
“Nanamiiii…” Ino’s voice cuts through the pounding dubstep in the background. “Wh’sup?”
“You called me,” he says.
“Uhhh… r’ght, so I– Oops…” Something crashes into the microphone and a few people start yelling distantly.
Nanami pulls his phone away from his face as he sits up, switching to speaker so as to not risk his tympanic membrane when glass loudly breaks and Ino mumbles curses he usually tries to suppress in front of his seniors.
“S’rry…”
“Where are you?” He asks, checking the time. It’s just before midnight.
“M’at a– M’not suppos’ tell you…” Ino realizes. “I… M’nna b’in trouble if… yeaahh…”
“No,” Nanami says flatly. “You’re intoxicated. Where are you?”
“You… Why’d I– So–” He hiccups. “M’really… drunk, or… wh’tever…”
“I know,” he tells him, tossing off the covers and hauling himself out of bed.
“A party…” Ino confesses. “An’ I thin’... I think… M’like… I don’ know… S’kinda sketch ‘n herer righ’ now…”
“Where are you?” Nanami repeats. He glances at his closet, considering changing into real clothes, but that would be too much effort, so he just picks up the socks he was wearing earlier today instead.
“I jus’ toldyou–” He complains, before someone interrupts and diverts his attention. “I– No–”
“... one more…odka…” He hears them say through the music and Ino’s heavy breathing.
“Mkay…”
“Give me an address.” Nanami sighs as he audibly drinks something he definitely doesn’t need more of tonight.
“Huh?” Ino gasps. Cheers and giggles crescendo nearby.
“Share your location with me,” he commands, clearly enunciating each syllable as he ties his shoelaces, allowing himself to wear tennis shoes even though he’s not going to the gym. He might as well commit, if the rest of him is leaving the house like this.
“But–”
“Share your location with me,” he says again.
“Hhow? Or m’not… Oh…” His voice grows quiet as he must pull his phone away to tap at the screen, sending Nanami a few random characters as a text message before a blue dot on a map pops up.
“I did’it, r’ght?” He rasps, though a rustle and thud against hardwood a moment later indicates it would be pointless to respond.
Nanami hangs up. He pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales slowly, then straightens up and grabs his keys.
He’s no stranger to alcohol. He had a glass or two of whiskey earlier tonight, which means driving isn’t ideal, but it should be fine. He’s developed enough of a habit that it takes a lot more than that to impair his cognitive function.
However, no matter how much he has to put up with, he is still not acclimated to idiots.
The place isn’t too far away, at least. Though it doesn’t give him much time to brace himself before he’s illegally parked in front of some frat house, youthful screaming and pop song remixes assaulting his ears.
He almost gets back in the car and goes home, but now he’s responsible if his apprentice succumbs to his own idiocy, so he’ll have to endure.
It’s busy enough that no one seems to notice or mind as he pushes his way in through the crowd, only to be met with strobe lights and color-changing LEDs, which are putting him on the fast track for a migraine.
He scans the room as best he can, eyes landing on the amateur bartender, who he’d guess is the least likely person to be entirely sloshed.
Some girl stumbles into him, pawing at his shoulder and asking who he is, or where he’s from, maybe where he goes to school; something like that. He can’t hear her over everything else, and he’s not interested.
“Excuse me,” he barks at the kid behind the counter.
“Hold on.” He looks up from the shot of straight Fireball he’s pouring. “Woah, I’ve never seen you before, you’re–”
“I don’t care,” he interrupts. “I’m looking for a–”
“Hey!” Pseudo-bartender shouts as a bottle of Tequila disappears and some delinquents skitter off, giggling.
Nanami happens to recognize one of those delinquents as they meld back into the flock, a familiar beanie peaking out, then vanishing as he drops to the floor.
“Sorry, what’d you want?” The kid turns back to him.
“Nevermind.” Nanami shoves his way through what some would consider dancing, but it’s more like annoyingly waving your arms and shifting around to get in the way.
“Move,” he says sternly, shouldering through a gap in the small circle that’s formed around the target moron, who’s flat on his ass, drinking straight from the bottle.
“Nanami?” Ino slurs as he crouches in front of him, pulling the liquor from his weak grasp. “I d’dn’ know y’were c’ming…”
“You called me,” he reminds him. He pours the rest of the Tequila onto the floor, ignoring the angry jeers and boos from everyone watching.
“We’re leaving,” he says.
“Huh?” He gasps. “M’havin’ fun…”
“You’re drunk.” Nanami hooks his arm around his shoulder, taking on most of his weight as he pulls him to his feet. “I’m taking you home.”
“I don’ wanna…” He whines, going intentionally limp like a pouting child. Nanami has to readjust his grip to keep him from slipping off, or dragging him down with him.
“You’re very drunk,” Nanami echoes. It’s taken all of five minutes to spot three exchanges of pills and four lines of coke. They're surrounded by enough smoke that he’s sure his risk of lung cancer has doubled; not to mention, it’s not from cigarettes.
“Nanamiii…” Ino groans as he hauls him towards the door. “Hav’some fuuun… S’okay… M’fine…”
“We’re going home,” he says. “Stop making this difficult.”
“M’sorry…” He drops his temple against Nanami’s upper arm. “M’lucky y’re here…”
“Yes,” he mutters. “You are.”
“You’re leaving?” Someone shrieks, clearly just as inebriated. “Don’ go…”
“Takumaaa…” Another wails. “Noo…”
“M’popular…” He grins sloppily at Nanami, who can’t bring himself to be amused when the smell of ethanol and body odor is starting to burn his nostrils.
“We’re leaving.”
“Nanami…” He rasps as they get outside, which is, thankfully, far less populated and overly warm. “Nana… mi…”
“That is my name.” He considers carrying him the rest of the way, but that raises the risk of dropping him when he inevitably flails, since he can’t control his limbs in this state.
“M’so… so– s’rry…” Ino reaches up, loosely wrapping his free arm around his neck and pulling into something akin to a hug.
“You need to walk to the car,” Nanami tells him. “We’re standing in front of the door. We’re in the way.”
“M’tired…” His knees buckle suddenly, and Nanami only has a moment to catch him under the arms before he hits the fraying wood floor of the porch. He quickly drags him down the front steps, gathering the sense that it would be better to get on solid ground sooner rather than later.
“Nanami–” Ino chokes out.
“What?”
“I don’... I… Nanami…” He whimpers, somehow making himself heavier and heavier, sinking in his grasp.
“Use your words,” Nanami instructs stiffly.
“M’nna… I… I don’feel…” He gulps. “I f-feel… not good…”
“Come on.” He resignedly guides him over to some bushes, pulling his mask-turned-hat off and tucking it under his arm as he holds him up with one hand across the chest, as the other sweeps his overgrown hair out of his face.
Ino clutches his middle and swallows convulsively, letting out a thin, weak mewl, which is doing no favors for how desperately he seems to want to be viewed as mature by those around him.
“Stop fighting it,” Nanami intones. “You’ll be fine.”
He does precisely the opposite, of course, clapping both hands over his mouth, so he has to let go of his hair and tug his wrists away to keep him from redirecting the incoming onslaught into a spray. He retches a moment later, vomit splattering over the leaves and getting in his, now accessible, hair.
“Nanami–” Ino pleads, before heaving again. The smell of mixed drinks and stomach acid is strong.
“I can’t do anything about it,” he says, wishing he could look away, but he’s confident that would be a mistake. “This is your own fault.”
“M’sorry…” He coughs, tucking his chin, which is a mistake. The next wave is high in force and volume, violent enough to spurt out his nose too. It only makes it to the pavement in front of the plants this time, spilling onto his and Nanami’s shoes.
Ino pitches forward, trying to fall, but Nanami keeps him in place, redoubling his grip with both hands.
“M’okay…” He suddenly gasps as he comes up for air, panting. “I feel b’ttr now…”
“Are you sure?” Nanami asks dryly.
Ino doesn’t answer, just throws up again into his hands, which he’s decided to cup under his chin for some reason. It overflows his fingers and soaks into his sleeves and shirt.
Nanami inhales sharply, vague humiliation and second hand embarrassment passing through him.
“We’re going now,” he decides once Ino’s gone thirty seconds without gagging.
“But–”
“Come on.” Nanami holds him in front of him by the armpits, forcing him to stumble down the path until they get to the car. The last drunk person he had to deal with was significantly lighter, and while he’s more than strong enough to support Ino’s weight, it makes it difficult to keep him from tripping over every irregular cobblestone.
“Don’t touch anything– Look at me,” he says as Ino slumps into the passenger seat with a faraway expression. “Your hands are dirty. Don’t touch anything. Do you understand?”
“Yessir…” He nods slowly, then looks down at his palms, which he immediately wipes on his pants.
“Don’t–” Nanami lets out a heavy exhale. “Nevermind. I will charge you if you get anything on my seats.”
“Your clothes,” Ino exclaims as the interior light flicks on when he gets behind the wheel.
“What about them?” Nanami leans over and clips his seatbelt for him.
“So… c’sual…” He remarks, giggling and dropping his face against Nanami’s bicep, as he reaches for the glove compartment.
“I was asleep when you called,” he replies, grabbing a plastic grocery bag. “Hold that.”
“Why…” Ino weakly takes it.
“‘Why?’” Nanami glances at him, turning his keys in the ignition and turning off his hazards. “I’m not pulling over for you.”
“No–” He swallows. “Why d’you… h’vemmm…”
“Stay awake,” Nanami demands.
“I am…” He grumbles. “M’sorry…”
“I’ve learned from Ieiri,” he explains. “She consistently overdoes it.”
“Hm…” Ino sniffs.
“Hold it under your face–” Nanami specifies a moment too late. Half of the next wave makes it over the lip of the bag, but the rest ends up down his front.
“M’sorry–” He prattles, suddenly hyperventilating.
“Focus on not doing it again,” Nanami mutters, pressing his brakes a little harder than he should in front of a stop sign. He adjusts Ino’s hands before he keeps driving.
“Nanami…” He whines.
“Calm down,” he says. “You’re fine.”
“I th-threw up…” He blubbers, like a child, and Nanami suddenly has more sympathy for Gojo when he insisted he couldn’t be at that very important meeting because one of the Fushiguro kids had the flu. Although, he’s Gojo…
“I know,” Nanami tells him, hitting his turn signal. “I saw.”
“My st’mch hur’s…” He mumbles, before vomiting again.
“I’m sure it does,” he sighs. “We’re almost there.”
“Thsisn’t… my street…”
“We’re going to my apartment,” Nanami says.
“Hhuh?” Ino’s countenance is a lot more confused than it should be.
“It’s closer,” he explains. “And unless I’m mistaken, you’re nineteen, correct?”
“Yeah?” He blinks.
“I don’t think your mother’s going to be happy with you if I drop you off in this state.”
“Oh… Oh– M’nna be in so m’ch trouble…” He groans. “Paren’s d’nt like me m’ch an’way…”
“That’s not something you want to start divulging right now.” Nanami pulls into his parking spot, which is, thankfully, not far from his front door, and as annoying as his upstairs neighbors are, he’s never been more glad he has a ground-level unit.
He opts to carry him inside, giving up on cleanliness. He grimaces as bile and spirituous matter spreads from Ino’s clothing to his own.
“M’sorry…” he whispers into his shoulder, as Nanami opens the door one handed.
“You can apologize in the morning,” he says, kicking it shut behind him. He maneuvers out of his sneakers, which he will be disposing of tomorrow.
He puts him down in the bathroom, taking the bag he’s still holding and throwing it away as he redirects him over the toilet.
“M’okay…” Ino waves him off, yet he drops his chin on the seat anyway. “I feel… better…”
“That’s great timing,” Nanami murmurs, wetting a washcloth at the sink.
“Look at me,” he instructs as he crouches beside Ino, who deliriously complies. He wipes his face and wets the sticky strands of his hair, then he picks up his hands, cleaning those as well.
There’s a soft gasp, and Nanami looks up, expecting to have to manhandle him over the bowl, but instead he’s met with scrunched up eyes and flushed cheeks, which glisten as tears run down.
He doesn’t know what to say, so he lets go and takes a step back, but that just makes Ino cry harder. He curls in on himself, swaying as he puts all his weight on one arm and covers his face with the other.
Nanami watches awkwardly. He’s uncomfortably reminded of when Utahime decided his shoulder was fit for crying on, and he heard a lot more personal information than he ever wanted to, while he waited for someone other than Gojo to save him.
Gojo might actually be helpful right now though. As flippant as he is, he is a lot better suited to emotionally supporting teenagers than Nanami, especially when empathizing with their stupidity.
“M’sorry–” Ino says suddenly, throwing himself at Nanami faster than he can do anything about it. He wraps around him, wailing into his shoulder.
“Why are you crying?” Is all Nanami can come up with to ask.
“I d-don’t know…” He coughs. “M’just… r’lly drunk…”
“I know.” Nanami unsurely pats him on the back.
“This’s so… emb’rssing…” He realizes.
“I’m sure it is.”
“Th-thank you…” He prattles. “You’re a r’lly… nice guy…”
“That’s enough.” Nanami carefully untangles himself from his grasp and stands, pulling Ino over to the toilet, where he closes the lid and sets him down on top of it.
“Stay,” he instructs, then pulls the trashcan over, for safety. “If you feel sick, please use that.”
“I pr’mise…” Ino sniffles and vaguely salutes him, then flops against the side of the counter next to him.
Nanami chooses to consider that good enough, before he leaves for the kitchen, returning a minute later with a plastic water bottle. It’s by happenstance that he has one in the fridge, but filling a glass at the tap is sure to result in him cleaning up that same glass, shattered.
“Finish this.” He cracks the top on the bottle, keeping his hand over Ino’s as he brings it to his lips.
“M’not thirsty…” He complains.
“Your hangover will be much worse if you’re dehydrated.” Nanami urges him to take another sip. “Drink.”
“But–”
“Drink.”
He would be more frustrated, if he weren’t used to Gojo, who, on several occasions, knowingly took several shots, only to become a massive problem for everyone else. He’s never said thank you after getting carried out of an izakaya unconscious, and he’s a lot heavier than Ino.
“Nanami…” He whispers once halfway done with the water, looking up at him with sad puppy eyes. “M’tired…”
“Okay,” he acquiesces, setting the bottle on the counter. “Wait here.”
“M’sorry,” Ino shouts after him as he exits into the bedroom, pulling towels from the rack as he does.
Nanami picks up his glasses from the floor and puts them back on the nightstand, before remaking his bed. He drapes towels over the sheets and his singular pillow, then exchanges his comforter for a thinner backup blanket in his closet, which he cares less about destroying.
“Come on.” Nanami hooks his arm around his shoulders and pulls Ino to his feet, picking up the bin with his other hand.
“You kick’n me out?” He asks blearily, tripping over nothing as Nanami supports him through the doorway.
“No,” he replies. “You will stay here until you are sober. I’ll take you home tomorrow.”
“Mkay…” His eyelids flutter just in time for Nanami to deposit him on the edge of the mattress.
“Not yet,” Nanami scolds. “You’re covered in vomit.”
“I am?” Ino looks bewildered, like he wasn’t the one it came out of.
“Yes, and it’s not going to be pleasant to wake up in, so you’re going to change,” Nanami informs him.
“I don’… have m’re clothes…” He mumbles, looking at his feet, which Nanami realizes still have shoes on them.
“You can borrow some of mine,” he says, kneeling to undo his laces.
“Hm…” Ino flops onto his side, burying his face in the shag fibers.
Nanami retrieves an old t-shirt and pajama bottoms that would’ve ended up donated anyway.
“Sit up,” he commands.
“Mmph…”
“Don’t be difficult,” Nanami chides. “You can rest soon.”
“M’sorry, m’gonna… five m’re minutes…” He blabbers.
“Get up.” Nanami’s dark circles are not in the mood.
“M’dizzy–”
“I told you to get up,” he repeats, pulling Ino upright, then forward as he takes on a nauseous hue. He nudges the trashcan toward him, but thankfully, he just breathes over it heavily.
Nanami gently works off his sweater. It would be better to wipe him down so the skin that was beneath it won’t be irritated later, but he’s struggling to keep his eyes open, so time is limited.
“Arms up,” he says softly. Ino dutifully, yet clumsily follows directions, almost hitting Nanami in the face, before he can pull the t-shirt onto him.
“Can you take your own pants off?” He asks.
“Mhm…” Ino starts before Nanami can even turn around.
“Change into these.” He blindly places the fresh pair down behind him.
“Nanami…” Ino whimpers after a moment.
“What?”
“I c-can’t… st’nd up…” His voice cracks, and Nanami knows he’s crying again before he faces him, which is just… fantastic.
He’s managed to discard his jeans and get the PJs around his knees, but can’t go farther than that, apparently, so Nanami swallows his pride.
“Here.” He hooks his arms beneath Takuma’s, letting him lean on him as he pulls him off the bed. “Can you do it now?”
“Mhmm…” He hums, tugging the waistband up to where it should go.
“How do you feel?” Nanami asks as he puts him back down.
“Drunk…” He sniffles.
“Obviously.”
“Hmph…” He adds, falling onto his side again.
Nanami lifts his legs onto the bed for him, then situates him in such a way that he’s less likely to choke if he’s sick again. He pulls the blanket up to his shoulders.
“Y’re… r’lly good a’this…” Ino hugs the pillow. “Th’nks…”
“I’m used to it,” Nanami tells him. “I’m not turning off the lamp, so don’t ask.”
“What’s th’t mean…?” Ino rasps.
“I’ll be right back.” He leaves, then returns as promised, with a chair from his kitchen table, which he places a few feet from his apprentice’s bedside.
“Huh?” Ino barely manages to lift his head, brows knitting together in confusion.
“I’m going to stay here,” Nanami declares, crossing his arms as he sits down.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t trust you to tell me how much you drank tonight,” he explains. “Therefore, I have to make sure you don’t have alcohol poisoning. And I’m concerned about you aspirating, regardless.”
“M’fine…” Ino argues hoarsely. “An’ m’not gonna lie t’you…”
“I meant that I doubt you were counting or measuring, and if you were, you’re bound to have forgotten by now,” he clarifies.
“S’rry…”
“Go to sleep,” Nanami says.
“C’n I have a shot s’ I won’t rem’mber this later…” He requests.
“No. Go to sleep.”