Jingle bells (and the happiest of Christmas to you dear!)
happy vikmas to you too! 💕
Chris comes by soon after that to pick them up from the airport. “Phichit’s flight is also supposed to get in at this time, so we’ll just wait a little for him,” he says, but no sooner have the words left his mouth does Yuuri hear a familiar shout. Moments later he’s almost bowled over by his best friend’s warmest bear hug, and a barrage of excitable squealing:
“Yuuri! It feels like forever since the last GPF! I’m so sorry I couldn’t go to Japan Nationals because of finals! How are you doing? How’s Viktor? How’s everything?”
Yuuri laughs. “Phichit, take a breath,” he rebukes gently.
“Breathing is for the weak,” declares Phichit, squeezing him almost impossibly tighter before letting go and grabbing him by the shoulders, sizing him up and down with the scrutiny of a mother hen. “Believe it or not, I’m still dosed up on five cups of coffee. I literally ran from Baker’s office to the airport -- thank god for extensions, but also fuck my past self for procrastinating until the 22nd.”
Yuuri snorts. “We’ve all been there,” he says, patting his friend. Phichit groans, but then perks up at the sight of Christophe standing there, one hand hefting Viktor’s Louis Vuitton duffel bag. The Swiss skater waves, and Phichit quickly peels himself away from Yuuri to latch onto Chris, exclaiming something about all the things in Geneva that he wants to see before they head out to the Giacometti family chalet in the Alps.
Viktor chuckles from next to Yuuri. “You know, Masumi recently was transferred back to Japan for something.”
“Chris’s partner. Well, now ex, I guess,” says Viktor. “Chris knew because of me that long-distance doesn’t really work for him. So...”
“Oh.” Yuuri feels his ears heating up. “I don’t really keep track of that stuff,” he admits.
Viktor taps his lips with one finger, his expression morphing into what Yuuri recognises as Viktor Nikiforov’s Nefarious Plotting Face no. 48. “How single is Phichit?” he asks, and Yuuri gapes at him.
“You can’t possibly be thinking what I think you’re thinking,” he hisses.
Viktor only winks in reply.
send me ‘jingle bells’ for a ficlet