lily!!! thanks a ton for offering to write me a birthday ficlet! i have two prompt options for you to choose from (courtesy of my personal prompt generator wife, robbie): 1. "we met each other on a sunday morning, both doing our walk of shame" au OR [cont.]
[cont.] 2. "i’m obsessed with a food blogger who writes about cheap ways to be gourmet in your 20s and i flirt with them over comments but they never post pictures of their face and ALSO there’s a really cute grocery bagger at the store down the street who teases me and always asks to join me for dinner and i definitely want to say yes" au. all ships fair game (though ofc i'm partial to victuuri, milasara, & phichimetti). thank you lovely!!! appreciate you tons!!!
okay so this is a belated bday ficlet for the super lovely @extranikiforov! (ilu rae im just a butt who has no concept of time) i’m going to uh... hahaha okay this is prompt 1, phichimetti, and tangentially related to the mayo jar fic that @sinkingorswimming wrote for me:
Christophe has heard of him, of course -- no one who likes figure skating and Instagram hasn’t heard of Phichit Chulanont and his excellent little videos of him goofing around on the ice to various strains of pop music. He’s probably personally responsible for at least 85% of the plays on the one video of Phichit dancing to Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” and somehow managing to nail the moves whilst having knife shoes strapped to his feet.
But it’s one thing to know about the legend, and it’s another to meet him in person. And it’s another to run into him sneaking out of his neighbour Viktor’s apartment at six in the morning.
“Seems we had the same idea,” he remarks cheerily, and Phichit nearly jumps a foot in the air at that, dropping his paper bag as he does. Christophe bends to get it, handing it back to him. “Visiting a friend?”
“I suppose,” says Phichit, and then frowns as he looks him up and down. “Wait. I’ve seen you around. You’re Yuuri’s Saturday Night.”
Christophe raises an eyebrow. “Saturday Night? Is that all you know about me?”
Phichit opens his mouth to protest further, but Christophe laughs, shaking his head as he takes out the key to his own apartment and fiddles with the door.
“Want to grab brunch?”
Phichit snorts. “In your apartment?”
“Well, I’m amenable to going to Panin’s, but I do need to put on clothes that aren’t obviously from last night,” replies Christophe, gesturing to the rumpled date-night outfit that Yuuri had half-torn in his eagerness to get them off of him.
Phichit looks him up and down, hums, and nods. “I see your point,” he says. “But Yuuri might be worried if --”
“Nonsense.” Christophe waves an airy hand. “You know he sleeps like the dead when he’s very tired out.”
“No thanks to you.” Phichit snorts again, but then his expression grows a little downcast, a little sheepish. “I’m... I’d be down for eggs and pancakes,” he says, his cheeks flushing a little darker at that. “But do you think I’d need to change, too?”
Christophe looks him up and down as briefly as he can. “Very Holly Golightly of you,” he declares. “I’m sure it’ll be quite the statement.”
Phichit laughs at that. “Right, breakfast at Panin’s in last night’s party dress. I’ll be accepting my Oscar now, thanks.”
Christophe smiles. “I like it,” he says, and vanishes into his apartment.
“So,” Christophe continues, half an hour later in a booth at Panin’s Diner on the corner. The city is starting to wake around them, cars and trucks honking and moving through the streets outside. Phichit stirs some whipped cream into his hot chocolate, and raises an eyebrow.
“So?” he echoes.
“I’m just Yuuri’s Saturday Night to you?” Christophe prompts. Phichit laughs, resting his chin on his hands. His smile is as indolent as the Sunday morning outside, slow and sweet and a little worshipful. Christophe’s never been one for religion, but maybe there’s some hint of God in the way Phichit’s eyes sparkle.
“I mean, I’ve heard other things,” Phichit replies, now idly licking his spoon and setting it back on the saucer. Christophe has barely touched his own coffee, but he’s more than alert to the way Phichit’s tongue dances along the steel edge of the spoon. “All good things, I’m guessing. I’ve always suspected Yuuri was a bit of a freak in the sack, so thanks for confirming that.”
Christophe feels his cheeks heat up, and he slowly slides his face into his hands. “How much did you hear,” he mutters.
Phichit takes on a distinctly breathless tone. “Oh, big boy, don’t stop, right there, mm, yes, like that, harder, yes!” It attracts a couple curious stares from other diner patrons, and Christophe isn’t sure whether to try to shut him up or evaporate on the spot, but either way he looks around and beams widely at the rather bemused server headed their way with breakfast.
“He’s really into the hot chocolate,” he explains, and Phichit bursts into laughter.
“So, big boy, I have to say, congratulations. I think you’re the first Saturday Night who’s ever gotten my poor roommate to think of someone other than Viktor Nikiforov for a couple hours at a time,” he teases. The server sets down their plates then, and almost immediately flees back behind the counter. Christophe can barely bring himself to be embarrassed at that.
He opts instead for smothering his fluffy pancakes -- Panin’s are some of the finest in town -- with maple syrup and whipped cream. “I’ll be accepting my... what’s the equivalent of an Oscar for good sex, then?”
“The... Golden Dildo,” declares Phichit, layering whipped cream between each layer of pancake and grinning from ear to ear. “A really big one, too. Yuuri once complained to me in this very booth that one of his Saturday Nights lied to him about being a grower.”
Christophe nearly spews out the pancake bite he’d just eaten. “What a disappointment that must have been,” he remarks.
Phichit shakes his head. “He was betrayed.”
“Hm. Speaking of betrayal, though -- ” Christophe’s eyes narrow. “Why were you sneaking out of Viktor’s place in a cocktail dress?”
Phichit shrugs. “Why does anyone ever do anything?” he wonders innocently.
Christophe waves an accusatory fork at him. “Does Yuuri know you’re test driving Viktor for him?”
Phichit gapes. “Test driving!” he exclaims, laughing. “That’s one way to put it. I rather prefer the term ‘loosening the mayo jar’, but yours is classier.”
“I can’t believe I’ve finally lived to see the day where five-time world champion figure skater Viktor Nikiforov is referred to as a mayo jar, but here we are.” Christophe shakes his head. “What a strange world we live in.”
“Strange indeed,” agrees Phichit. “Considering that Viktor Nikiforov’s hot neighbour is screwing my poor, sweet, introverted dancer of a roommate.” He waggles his fork back at Christophe. “You’d almost think there was some big cosmic mix-up going on around here.”
Christophe raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m hot,” he states.
“I’ve known you were hot for a while,” replies Phichit. “And I was surprised to see you show up sometimes on Saturday night, but hey. Hidden depths for everyone.”
Christophe wonders if this is the emotional equivalent of a punch to the solar plexus. He leans back in his seat and finally takes a long sip of his coffee. It’s not nearly as bitter as he’d like it to be.
“Let’s make a deal,” Phichit says suddenly, setting down his fork and knife and folding his hands conspiratorially. “You and I know better than anyone that those two idiots we call our roommate and neighbour are... how do I put this lightly?”
“Emotionally constipated but pining after each other?” asks Christophe.
Phichit snaps his finger. “Precisely. And you and I also know we’re both very hot and would like to try this out, too.” He gestures between them.
Christophe nods. “Viktor has... mentioned a couple times that he’s had his eyes set on his partner’s roommate,” he remarks. “He’s also then wondered if that makes him a bad person, but he doesn’t want to cheat, etcetera, etcetera.”
“It’s not cheating if we all agree to swap partners for a night,” Phichit points out, and then his eyes light up with some stroke of divine inspiration. “What are your thoughts, big boy, on a key party?”
Christophe vaguely wonders if Phichit actually knows his name, though he also has to admit, he doesn’t mind being called ‘big boy’ in that tone of voice.
He takes a bite of his pancake. “Tell me more,” he says, and Phichit grins.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Length: 2001 (Complete)
Author: @sinkingorswimming
Rating: Mature
No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont & Katsuki Yuuri, Phichit Chulanont/Victor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont/Christophe Giacometti
Characters: Katsuki Yuuri, Phichit Chulanont, Victor Nikiforov, Christophe Giacometti
Additional Tags: Pre-Canon Divergence, Prior Relationships, Get Together, Poorly Considered Metaphors, Yuuri's slow erosion of his sanity, man i don't even know, pushing the phichimetti serge gainsbourg agenda, spilling tea this cup of china
In Beijing, Phichit and Yuuri learn some things about each other's prior...shall we say...romantic entaglements.
It's unfortunate that Chris and Victor are collateral damage.
d o m m i . i’ve considered a lot of ships in this fandom, there are so many amazing ones. and here you are, popping up with one i’ve never considered, and making me love the idea of it. i love you.
Huh, wasn’t aware of that one. (but feel free to send me fics/art)
I can see it. They’re both pretty much good at heart. Phichit is like this little ball of cinnamon bun goodness. and Victor- well… he can be a bit salty and blunt but we all know deep down he isn’t meaning to be an ass.
Apparently, I had to think about it and ended up writing a soulmate drabble.
Victor had waited for this day for years. His parents had originally sat him down and warned him to not wipe any strange marks off his arm should it ever appear. And then he started training with Yakov who gave an even longer lecture on keeping his skin fully covered in practice to avoid a soulmate writing distracting him.
Apparently, when Micheal, the skater that Victor replaced, had gotten his first writing he had fallen and ended his career. Yakov wasn’t going to take any risks with his skaters.
Victor didn’t mind much. He was almost 8. He was pretty sure he didn’t have a soulmate anyway. Or they were older and decided not to wait. His parents weren’t soulmates- and they loved each other as much as Lilia and Yakov did.
So he’d be fine either way.
Then one day after practice, it happened. Georgi- the boy at the rink who almost shared birthdays with him- shrieked.
“VICTOR IT FINALLY HAPPENED FOR YOU!”
“Hmm, what?”
Georgi held up his arm that had some strange symbols that looked strange to him- the first looked like one of the graphs his mathematics books had on the cover.
“Oh… What’s it mean?”
Georgi ran to his bag and came back with a pen, “Let’s try responding. Most nurses know a few languages.”
Georgi carefully scrawled outАлло!Hello!
Victor watched his arm.
“Relax, we’re not sure when it appeared.”
“I know, but I don’t want to miss anything.”
That day saw Victor running into a few walls before Georgi decided to be his seeing-eye-friend.
A few hours later, a reply finally came.
your soulmate born. Phichit.
Victor hugged Georgi and scribbled back:Happy! I’m Victor.
It would be quite a few years from now but he was willing to wait.
He had a soulmate.
Named Phichit.
Hopefully, Phichit liked puppies.
Once the internet became popular, Victor found out his name meant Conqueror and his soulmate, who was probably a boy, had a name that meant Winner.
Which just proved to him they were definitely meant to be!
Because Conqueror and Winner were basically the same things, right?
When Victor was around thirteen, Phichit seemed to be able to hold a proper conversation. He talked about how much he loved animals and sunshine.
Victor was sure he already loved the boy.
He also discovered he was from Thailand and loved movies.
By the time Victor was eighteen, they had started to email and send photos. He had made sure to get Phichit’s parents permission and followed their rules on propriety. (But Phichit was eleven so it wasn’t like Victor had any plans yet anyway.)
When Skype first came out, he finally got to hear his soulmate’s voice.
That day he learned that Phichit took up skating to make meeting him easier.
Victor cried.
It was a fun conversation after that- mostly about who his coach was, if he had any jumps yet, how he felt about spins…
Phichit fell asleep at the computer and Victor waited until his parents moved him to bed to hang up the call, thanking them for watching over his soulmate.
When Victor won his first gold in Seniors, he found himself with an armful of Phichit. His parents had managed to surprise them both and flown to meet for the first time.
Phichit kissed him on the cheek that day.
Christophe swore he would never let VIctor live down his reaction.
Which was a very obvious blush and a squeak.
They spent the whole weekend cuddling and talking, passing out on the couch in Victor’s room both nights. Luckily, Victor had the big suite so Phichit’s parents could sleep there too. When Victor woke up the second morning he looked down at the younger man- it might have been strange at first and his parents were a little more strict, but waking up holding him was something Victor could really get used to.
