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Michikatsu looks over to Douma, a wide smile on his face as he stumbles around, unapologetically drunk.
“I'm taking you back to the apartment,” the man sighs, letting the silver-haired man lean on his shoulder. “You know you shouldn’t drink that much.”
“But we’re celebrating!” Douma mumbles into Michikatsu’s shoulder. “Not drinking during a celebration is terrible practice!”
“Getting drunk during celebration is terrible practice,” Michikatsu starts to walk, putting an arm around Douma’s waist. “You can’t even walk straight, please be aware of your intake next time.”
Douma groans, resting his head on the others shoulder.
“You're right, I’m sorry,” he says, fluttering his white eyelashes.
Douma’s hand grazes the one that’s on his hip, fingers touching the ring on his fourth finger. His smile grows even more.
“I’m glad the ring fits,” Douma giggles, rainbow eyes looking at Michikatsu. “I was really guessing on your measurements.”
“I’m not surprised,” Michikatsu says, feeling a light blush on his face. “You have a sharp eye.”
“Of course I do,” Douma hums. He takes Michikatsu’s hand, holding it tightly. “I’m marrying you, after all.”
Michikatsu feels a smile form on his mouth. A chuckle escaping his throat, and they continue to walk.