#joking dont put me in discourse PLE AS E

[snzydarling]

and ofc gotta throw some of your middle aged lovelies at you how about f/ukuzawa with a stuck snz~ how would he handle that? where is it happening? guess that's up to you 👀

ok once again thank u so much for all of these asks im gnawing at my enclosure... i had to start with my middle aged guy because hes just my guy..... i tried to keep very little fuku/fuku in this so that way its palatable to litr anybody besides me but i dont think i did a good job ok thank u for the ask again........ i hope u enjoy (^-^)

“Ah, Yuki, you okay?” 

This isn't exactly unusual. Allergies hit Fukuzawa like clockwork in February, leaving him disheveled and sensitive. Genichirou's borne witness to almost 30 years' worth of hayfever seasons - but even he's a little surprised when he barges into the office. 

Yukichi looks hazy - sort of like he is when drunk, but he'd never drink at work. His eyes are unfocused and watery, and his shoulders are trembling. For a heart-dropping second, Genichirou thinks he's crying. 

But after a beat, he sighs. Starts scrubbing at his face with a fury, and bleary, redrimmed eyes meet his clear ones. He looks grumpy - actually grumpy, not just the infamous resting-angry face look he carries. The crease in his brow gives him away. 

“Genichirou.” He acknowledges, finally, voice husky and breathy in a weird way. He blinks a few times, probably to clear itchy-looking tears away, and one hand moves back to his already abused nose. Genichirou can't help but whistle. 

“Did you take your meds? You look pretty awful.” Fukuzawa huffs at him. Genichirou considers himself pretty lucky he didn't get a pen thrown at him. Better not test it. 

He plops down onto the couch. It's late enough that Yukichi’s got the lights on, dull enough to not aggravate a sinus headache. They're pretty useless, given that his laptop is closed. He's just staring at the wall, scrubbing and scrubbing at his nose with his face scrunched. It's Genichirou's turn to throw something his way. 

A spare paperclip from the stand next to him. It platters to the floor, batted away, but Fukuzawa doesn't even acknowledge it beyond that. He just keeps fussing at his face. Maybe he didn't take anything, even though Genichirou knows he keeps an extra stash of meds hidden away everywhere. He mentioned needing a Benydral once, and Yuki pulled a blister pack from his sleeve in the dead of winter

“Yuki, what's your problem?” he asks,  eyes searching for another paperclip, or maybe something heavier so he'll have to at least look at it. Yuki snuffles, then sighs, then stands up, shaking his head a few times like an old, burly dog. His ears are red. They peek out from his hair like cherries. 

“I can't,” He trails off, gesturing kind of vaguely at his face. Fukuchi prods, in the literal sense, jumping from his seat to bump their shoulders together and poke at the tensed muscles on his back. “Keep goin’.” 

Fukuzawa shuffles his way to the couches. “I can't sneeze.” He admits after way too long. Thank god, because all the awkward suspense was making Genichirou feel weird. They told each other everything - some unsaid thing that made Yukichi look like he was crying and his ears burning would've eaten him alive. He tries hard not to laugh for a second, sputtering out half giggles, but the offended look Yuki gives him from under his bangs, half mad and half embarrassed, sends him over the edge. 

He's fully expecting the kick to the leg, but it still hurts like hell.  He'll tell anybody - Yukichi's stronger than he looks, and he's got years of bruises to prove it. Those wooden sandals are damn pointy, too. 

When he finally settles down enough to sit back down, Fukuzawa's too busy to keep abusing him. He's got that bleary look again. Fukuchi wouldn't know anything about trying to sneeze. It doesn't take him any effort at all. But he does know a lot about Fukuzawa's allergies, and how he turns every sneeze into a little implosion, and how sometimes that turns into this. And Fukuchi knows all about which buttons to press, too - what to mention to rile him up enough to spar, and the one spot on his face that's sensitive. 

His entire face is twitching when Genichirou leans in close. He's waiting in desperate anticipation for something to send him over the edge, chest stuttering with uneven, desperate breaths, eyes weighed down by heavy and irritated tears. Call Fukuchi a savior. He nudges Fukuzawa’s hand away from where it's resting under his nose and presses his ring finger right where soft cartilage meets bone, just above the tip of his nose. 

There isn't very much gratitude at first. In fact, his hand is shoved away. But Yukichi takes in a ragged breath of air and is thrown forward so fast that his face disappears in a blur of motion. 

“ ‘rRSZCHH -  eH'RSCHh!” He appears for a moment, hands lingering in the air, before he crumbles back down. 

“iA'ESZHHUh-! hH’rRSZHHh-oo! ehH'RZSHHi-!” They're so big that Fukuchi has to grab his shoulder to keep him on the couch. He shudders into each sneeze, probably tearing his throat. They're nothing like what Fukuchi's used to hearing. 

“ eI'SZCHHi-iew-! ‘rSZHHhiew-!” Fukuchi fumbles for tissues once he sounds like he's cleared out enough to breathe. “God, Yuki. Bless you.” He pressed tissues into his hand because if the way he's sniffling now is anything to go by, his face is a mess. 

When he lifts his face back a few moments later, nothing besides the angry red splotches gives anything away on his face. Looking down, however, his lap is splattered with spots of mess. Yuki sniffles again, then again, and a third time, then throws a half-hearted hand up and finally blows his nose. 

It takes a few throat-clearings for his voice to be anything audible after that. Yukichi slumped against the couch after blowing his nose, like sneezing like that tired him out. 

“Thank you.” Now his voice is thick with dredged-up congestion, and even Fukuzawa seems to acknowledge that he just can't win. Genichirou'd make him some tea, but he isn't any good at it. He just gives a sympathetic thump on the shoulder instead. “You feelin’ better now?” 

Fukuzawa nods. Genichirou pats his shoulder a few more times, just for good measure. “You owe me a drink now, Yuki!” 

Yukichi must be alright now, because that kick to the shins was in record time. Genichirou probably won't ever recover from all this abuse. There's something about deceiving looks and lifetime friends.