Kis-My-Ft2, Allergy Medicine and Other Hallucinogens

Title: Allergy Medicine and Other Hallucinogens
Rating/Warnings: PG
Summary: Fujigaya hates spring.
AN: Written for Shiritori.

Allergy Medicine and Other Hallucinogens

The air felt like spring, birds chirping, breezes blowing. Trees blooming.

Fujigaya hates every bit of it.

His head is pounding and he can’t breathe, and as he lies on the dressing room couch and uses all his energy just to try and do that, everything seems irritating. Nikaido and Senga whooping like idiots over some manga, Miyata trying to coax Tamamori into letting him spend the night, even Yokoo puttering around and trying to nag them into cleaning up.

Yokoo is perhaps the most irritating, since he has the same allergies Fujigaya does, but just powers through it instead of hanging out and being miserable with Fujigaya.

“God, can’t you all just shut up?” Fujigaya snaps. Nobody listens, and he misses the days when he could make his stupid kouhai cry.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, partner.”

Fujigaya turns his head without picking it up off the back of the couch to glare at Kitayama. He looks like Fujigaya feels, or if possible worse, eyes puffy and nose red, and the fact that they’re already in their matchy-matchy photoshoot getups just makes the whole thing more ridiculous. He grins at Fujigaya goofily and that’s irritating too, since it means that Kitayama is doped up on the really good shit from deep in Yokoo’s bag.

“Dammit, why doesn’t he ever give me the good shit,” Fujigaya whines.

“Cause one look at you and everybody will know you’re stoned for the whole shoot,” Kitayama says. “And Johnny-san put you on scandal hiatus.”

“Fuck you, Rudolph,” Fujigaya growls with as much heat as he can muster.

“Aw, so mean.” Kitayama pats his lap. “Come on, lie down.”

“Not in this lifetime, pal.”

“It’ll make you feel better~,” Kitayama coaxes, then adds more seriously, “Come on, Taisuke, don’t make our whole shoot look like shit cause that’s what you feel like.”

He side-eyes the rest of the group to make sure nobody is paying attention, and then gives into the temptation. “I swear to god, if you make one joke about getting me vertical…”

“Shhh, just sleep already,” Kitayama cuts him off.

His lap is really comfortable (’cause he’s fat, Fujigaya insults half-heartedly), and it is a relief to close his eyes and block out the light. As he’s drifting off, he feels fingers brush through his hair, light enough that he’s not entirely sure that he isn’t imagining it.

He hopes he’s imagining it. Because if Duet comes in here and this whole scenario makes it into the off-shots, he’s going to just kill himself.

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