Chaotic Butterfly, Flavor of the Month

Title: Flavor of the Month
Summary: Everywhere Fujishima turns, it’s pineapples lately.
AN: Written for Shiritori. Due to Kira leaving me with “pineapple” as my ending word, you get some Chaotic Butterfly-verse centered around Tsunami, Mitsumi, and…well, pineapples.

Flavor of the Month

“Pineapple! See?” The staff member held up the little stuffed pineapple, waving it enticingly. Fujishima eyed him. “Aw, come on, it’s cute. Actually, there’s a lot of…um, pineapples…”

“This is your fault,” Fujishima informed Mitsumi while the rest of the band took a look at their own mail, which was much more normal. Well, Miura seemed to have a test kiwi, but that could have been a coincidence. “You think this is hilarious!”

“Uh-huh.” Mitsumi barely looked up from the email he was typing on his phone. “As you can see, I’m rolling on the floor with laughter.”

“I’m serious!” Fujishima shook the little stuffed pineapple at Mitsumi, much more threateningly than the staff member. “It’s ridiculous! I know you’re doing this somehow! You and Ben and Takayama are definitely instigating this!”

“I can’t imagine how you think that Ben could be doing anything to your fangirls,” Mitsumi commented, “given that he’s across an entire ocean. But then again, it’s not like the smartest girls end up as your fans.”

Fujishima put his free hand on his hip. “Give me one other plausible explanation for this.” Fujishima held up the pineapple plush.

Mitsumi looked from the pineapple to Fujishima critically, taking several seconds to compare.

“You have the same hair,” was his final pronouncement. Fujishima made an inarticulate noise of frustration and reached up to yank the ponytail holder off the top of his head.

“This isn’t funny,” Fujishima said two days later, dressed in a T-shirt with a rhinestone pineapple on the front.

“This isn’t funny!” he snapped the week after that when he was served a pineapple parfait during the food segment of the variety show he was guesting on.

“This really isn’t funny!!” he said the weekend after that, when he was filming a segment at an amusement park and being hugged tightly by the pineapple mascot. “It’s actually quite creepy!!”

“Okay, that last one I booked on purpose,” Mitsumi admitted when they were back in the van. Fujishima just gave him an icy look because he wasn’t speaking to Mitsumi. “Cheer up, they gave you a free smoothie and everything.”

“I am going to have nightmares about that thing,” Fujishima hissed, breaking his vow of silence. “You know that guy grabbed my ass?”

“Good work for him, since you barely have anything to get a grip on back there.”


“Not at work,” Mitsumi reminded crisply. “And ease up a little. I know you’re kind of a moron, but it’s marketing, so get over it.”

Fujishima raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Pineapples are sweet, and cute in a weird spiky way. Tsunami is neither sweet nor cute, which is probably why your group image kind of sucks, plus or minus the fact that both your frontmen are mean drunks. So I think the fact that your fangirls have so quickly adopted something as ridiculous as pineapples only serves to highlight how desperate they are for you to have some lovable quality to go with your sexy glances and smoky vocals.”

Fujishima opened his mouth, then closed it without saying anything, frowning.

“Oh, don’t sulk about it, you’ll give yourself lines,” Mitsumi told him. “Besides, you even like pineapples. Shut up and smile and maybe we’ll get a trip to Hawaii out of it.”

“Yellow isn’t even my member color,” Fujishima grumbled as a last token protest.

“Yeah, about that,” Mitsumi said, making Fujishima whine. “Miura apparently needs your green to be a kiwi anyhow.”

“Why do I have to be a kiwi?” Miura demanded from the backseat. “Can’t I be a melon? Melons are way better!”

“Melons aren’t a tropical fruit, idiot,” Ohno informed him. “I get to be an orange, right? Because I’m orange?”

“Why does he get to keep his color?!” Fujishima demanded, pointing an accusing finger towards the backseat. “And he gets a totally normal fruit, this isn’t fair at all!”

“His color is orange, of course he has to be an orange!” Mitsumi snapped, apparently at the end of his patience with this entire argument. “What’s he supposed to be, a bell pepper?”

“Nectarine,” Kurosawa commented from the front.

“Tangelo!” Miura called helpfully.

“Kabocha?” asked Akasaka. “Also, my name already means red so I’m a strawberry.”

“STOP HELPING,” Mitsumi ordered, causing a brief silence in the van. “Also, can we talk about how none of you have any idea what kinds of fruit might plausibly be considered tropical? I mean, how much hairspray are you using? For fuck’s sake.”

“One time Jin-chan asked on national television what kind of bird yakitori was made out of,” Kurosawa reported. “Ow! Quit hitting me!”

“No bruises above the collar,” Mitsumi reminded on autopilot, already back on his phone.

Somehow Fujishima wasn’t surprised it all when it turned out that Tsunami was going to have a big summer tie in for some kind of gum-mint thing, all in tropical fruit flavors. The name of them alone made Fujishima groan.

“Tsunamints?” he asked Mitsumi. “Really?” Mitsumi didn’t bother responding, busy handing out scripts for the commercial. He just dropped one of the sample packages into Fujishima’s hand and told him to do something useful with his mouth, for once. They were the pineapple version, of course, and even though the background minty-ness was a bit odd, Fujishima had to admit they weren’t terrible. “These aren’t half bad actually.”

From behind him, he heard Akasaka holler, “Dibs on line seven!”

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