Welcome to 2025 edition of the Yuri!!! on Ice Secret Santa gift exchange here on Tumblr! This page was created in 2017 to organise a little something extra to celebrate the YOI fandom, and our mutual love for this amazing anime. SIGN UPS ARE CLOSED! This Gift Exchange is organised and runned by HotaruYuki from BorntoMakeHistory-Victuuri
thank you for arranging the secret santa even every year, it is always so systematic and orderly. Really appreciate it, and love how the fandom comes together because of it. <3
Thank you, it's because of all of you who are participating in the event, and especially those who do it year after year, that makes it worth it <3
And yes it is so lovely to see the fandom come together every year ^_^
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
To @victuurirose
From @daykeeping
Hi VictuuriRose! I saw that you liked fluff, and I went a bit crazy with that. Please enjoy a fluffy piece on Yuuri moving to Saint Petersburg with Victor after canon. From me to you, happy holidays and hope you have a wonderful new year!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
To @icantthinkofagoodusername7
From @corneliofuck
Refashioned in Blue
Summary:
Phichit knows that something is up when Yuuri doesn't contact him for an entire month. Yuuri was supposed to make his costumes for the coming season, and instead all he gets are unanswered texts and radio silence.
AU in which Phichit suffers the worst performance of his career at last year's Grand Prix Final. As he struggles to put the humiliating defeat behind him, something is brewing between his costume-maker roommate and his greatest rival.
Author Notes:
Sooooo what started as a oneshot turned into a multi-chapter affair. This is only the first part of the story, and I have every intention of continuing it after Secret Santa 2025 is over.
icantthinkofagoodusername7, this one's all for you! <3
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March
Phichit flicks mindlessly past another post. Exhaustion sinks into his every bone, right down to the swipe of his thumb across the screen.
He's sprawled across his small sofa in his small apartment, his skating bag unceremoniously dropped at the door. Today's practice had been a difficult slog.
It's early spring in Detroit. Frost still clings to trees and his breath is still visible in the early morning. It's very early in the skating season, and he misses the relative ease of later season training, when major details have been ironed out and he can focus on polishing his programs instead of creating them . The early season is always scratchy and messy, full of half-baked concepts and riddled with errors. Forging a new program from scratch means trying things that may not work, and going back to the drawing board time and time again. The toil of creation leaves him exhausted.
This is how Phichit finds himself scrolling mindlessly through his socials. It's a sorely needed break from practice, a reprieve for his aching muscles and overstretched mind.
He's currently uncertain about his programs. The new free skate concept isn't bad, per se. But it's not a gold medal-winning program. And he needs a gold medal-winning program, especially after last season's Grand Prix Final.
He tabs over to the notes app, where he keeps a list of potential program ideas. Mulling over its contents, he muses that its not yet too late to switch to something different.
Phichit signs heavily, tucking his phone in his pocket and closing his eyes. At least he doesn't have classes to worry about anymore. His December graduation had been a sweet relief. His degree had arrived by mail, and currently sits atop a pile of miscellaneous papers on his threadbare student desk. He really ought to frame it, or something. His mother would love to have it. He imagines it: her son's degree from a prestigious university abroad, hanging on the wall of their family home in Thailand.
With formal education officially behind him, Phichit can now devote all his effort and energy to skating.
His phone vibrates angrily, jolting him from his thoughts. A sudden flood of notifications sends his phone into a spasm. The device alights in his hand, still buzzing.
He prods clumsily at the screen, notifications still flooding in as he tries to unlock the device.
He scrambles momentarily through a social media frenzy, and he eventually lands on the source of the buzz:
It's Yuuri. Yuuri, who had accompanied him to the disastrous Grand Prix Final four months ago. Yuuri, who had consoled him after he had… well, he didn't like to dwell on it much. Yuuri, with whom he had graduated and, until recently, shared this very apartment. Yuuri, from whom he hadn't heard a peep since he'd moved back to Japan.
'Amateur skater replicates Viktor Nikiforov's gold medal-winning free program!' the video's title screams.
Comments pour in as the video boots up on Phichit's phone. Its already been shared widely— despite having been live for less than a full day, its already racked up views in the five figures. That's not nothing, for the insular skating community.
What surprises Phichit isn't that Yuuri is in the video, but that Yuuri is skating. Not only that, but he's wearing what appears to be a proper figure skater's costume, done in blue. Phichit blinks at the screen as the familiar figure of this roommate stands still, at center ice. A moment's silence, and familiar music chords strike up through his phone speakers. Oh, it isn't…
The video is amateurishly shot, a phone peeking shakily over the boards, but its unmistakable. Phichit cannot believe his eyes as Yuuri skates Stammi Vicino. His roommate isn't qualifying for any Grand Prix events, but it hardly matters. He beautifully executes the iconic choreography. He can't quite replicate Viktor Nikiforov's astonishing technical skill (indeed, who can?) and instead performs simple but well-executed single jumps.
Phichit squints, his eyes drawn to the costume Yuuri wears. It's hard to tell, from low-resolution cell phone footage, but he's certain it's not just any old costume. It's not a hand-me-down, nor a cheaply made afterthought: he's looking at one of Yuuri's creations. It's a near-perfect replica of Viktor Nikiforov's Stammi Vicino costume, refashioned in blue.
No doubt, that's Viktor Nikiforov's Stammi Vicino: the music, the choreography, the lovingly recreated costume— in a deep blue, and tailored to suit Yuuri's frame, but unmistakably the same.
Delight explodes in Phichit's stomach. He's sitting bolt upright, grinning uncontrollably at his phone screen. For as long as he'd known him, Yuuri had always been hesitant to let Phichit see him skate. Embarrassed, he thinks, afraid of judgment. As if Phichit would ever do such a thing.
Yuuri may not be a skater on Phichit's level, but he's no novice either, having grown up in a rink. Their meeting as university students had been flawless kismet.
Where the bulk of Phichit's free time had been spent pounding out jumps and spins in a rink, Yuuri's had been spent toiling away in the university's theatre department, hunched over a sewing machine in the costume shop.
His penchant for costume design was perfect, really: during the theatre department's hiatus, he'd honed his skills by designing and creating skating costumes. It had started as a favor to Phichit, but as news of his friend's talents had spread, so had demand for his sequined creations among skaters.
Yuuri's background in skating had been an enormous advantage: he created costumes with skating in mind. His creations are very lightweight, perfect for skaters executing jumps. He made men's trousers designed to fit over skating boots, and women's skirts designed to flash a bold streak of color mid-jump.
Yuuri had even mastered the delicate process of dyeing illusion mesh. Last season, he'd created a costume with a mesh that perfectly matched Phichit's skin tone, a shade darker than what many designers were willing to make.
Phichit feels a rush of affection for Yuuri as he lands Stammi Vicino's final jump: in this version, a scratchily-landed single lutz.
He could damn well cheer as the Yuuri in the video strikes the final pose, as the music concludes in a climactic flourish. Giddy, Phichit shares the video to his public account, accompanied by a string of heart-eyed emojis that he hopes conveys his affection.
He adds a quick caption: if you're a skater who needs a costume made for next season, hit up my boi @y_katsudon. he's brilliant!!😍😍😍😍
Phichit hesitates, thumb hovering over 'post'. Yuuri isn't all that active online, and Phichit isn't sure he would appreciate him sharing the video. On the other hand, he muses, the video has already gone viral, so… what's the harm, really? The shout-out could bring Yuuri more business.
He hits 'post'. Isn't he always telling Yuuri that he should use his socials to his own advantage? It's to his own detriment, really, he's not more active online. Why his roommate is content to exist in the periphery of his own life, Phichit doesn't know.
Phichit can't make much sense of Yuuri's reluctance to allow him to see his skating. He's not a professional, sure, but nobody expects him to be. His single jumps are simple, but well-executed. He's got nice spins, too. They may not be groundbreaking, but they're definitely nice to look at.
He feels just a twinge of guilt, that his friend exists in the skating world tangentially, as Phichit's friend who makes costumes for him sometimes. But who else could appreciate what a big deal it was that Phichit had qualified for last year's Grand Prix Final? And who else could appreciate just how badly he'd performed in the free skate? If anything, Phichit ought to be embarrassed, not Yuuri.
Phichit screws up his face at the memory. It wasn't bad enough that he'd had the worst performance of his life, but he'd done it in front of Viktor Nikiforov, too. Nikiforov, whom he and Yuuri had fawned over together for four years, an entire Olympic cycle. They'd watched him win the previous Olympics while holed up and huddled together in their cold Detroit dorm room. Fading posters of Nikiforov's face still adorned the walls— Phichit had neglected to take them down when he'd graduated. He supposed it a little childish, to still have them up. But they're a marker of the time he and Yuuri had spent together, and of their shared adoration of the man.
It's tragic, really. He'd been granted one chance to skate upon the same ice as his idol, and he'd squandered it. He couldn't even bring himself to say 'hello' to Nikiforov at the banquet.
Yuuri, on the other hand…
Maybe it's because Yuuri isn't a skater, that he could interact more easily with someone like Viktor Nikiforov. Yuuri's skills make him a skater's collaborator, not competitor.
Phichit glances at the video's views again: it’s accumulated several thousand more than it had just a half hour ago.
On the off chance that he's awake, Phichit facetimes Yuuri. Hopefully he's not feeling too anxious about his newfound virality.
He spends a few anticipatory moments gazing at his own face in the app, before it closes with no response. No problem, he decides. It's late in Japan right now, anyway.
A sudden thought occurs to Phichit— he sits bolt upright. Why hadn't he thought of it sooner? He tabs over to Viktor Nikiforov's public social accounts, hoping for a response to the video.
He refreshes the page, bouncing his knees with giddy anticipation.
He frowns. Nikiforov's page remains exactly the same, no updates since yesterday.
Surely someone like Nikiforov was used to receiving tributes from fawning fans, he muses.
Well, no matter, he decides. Yuuri's video is already closing in on several thousand views. If nobody knew who his quiet, costume-making roommate was before, they certainly did now.
April
Phichit develops a new habit: a daily checking of Viktor Nikiforov's social media accounts. Today he finds… nothing, again.
This strikes Phichit as odd, given that Viktor Nikiforov is fairly active online. He's the sort of celebrity who deliberately posts updates of ordinary activities: walking his poodle in a park, sipping a coffee, reading a book. See, I'm just like you. These posts are interspersed with glossy shots from sponsors, and the occasional clip from a practice session. It's an odd contrast, but no number of coffee shop candids can mask the fact that Viktor Nikiforov is a celebrity and world-class athlete.
Phichit refreshes the page impatiently, yielding no updates. It's apparent: Viktor Nikiforov hasn't made a single post in over a week. He huffs, tossing his phone aside. It's not unusual, he supposes, to take breaks from socials. Especially now, during the spring, when all skaters are busy planning and practicing new programs for the season.
It feels odd, and just a little uncomfortable, to stalk Viktor Nikiforov's social media. He didn’t always feel this way, when Viktor Nikiforov was an abstraction: an unreachable, semi-deified celebrity. Now that Phichit has actually met the man, has shared the same competitive ice as him, Nikiforov feels uncomfortably close to a real person. Perhaps not a colleague, exactly, but a figure who looms in the periphery of his life.
Phichit scrolls delicately through the page, tapping very lightly, as if doing so might alert its owner to his presence. He's very careful not to 'like' anything on the page. He refreshes it again, and the account remains frustratingly the same. He feels a twinge of guilt for keeping such close tabs on Viktor Nikiforov, for refreshing his page this obsessively.
But doesn't everyone?
As he keeps his daily tabs on Viktor Nikiforov, Phichit adopts another habit: a nightly attempt at contacting Yuuri. He's run the time conversion in his head, and he knows that evening in Detroit means late morning in Japan, so he times his calls accordingly.
After a week of fruitless attempts, Yuuri finally, finally responds. He refuses Facetime for some reason, which raises Phichit's eyebrow. In their university days, it had been their typical communication channel, even across summer visits to their home countries. He decides to shrug it aside, and delights at a sound he's been sorely missing: Yuuri's voice warbling through the phone.
"Hey, Peach."
"I've been trying to reach you for a week!" Phichit exclaims, no preamble.
Yuuri laughs scratchily through the speaker. "You and everyone else."
"How are you?"
On the other end, Yuuri is silent.
"I mean… I dunno," he says after a long moment. "Mortified, really. I still haven't looked at it. Bet you have, though, haven't you?"
Phichit nods, then remembers that Yuuri can't see him. "Sure have," he says. "And I don't know why you're mortified."
"I didn't even post it, did you know that?" Yuuri says. "Yuuko's triplets did. I didn't even know they were recording."
Phichit picks up an odd shuffling sound from Yuuri's side of the conversation, along with somebody's muffled voice, one Phichit can't readily identify. He switches the phone to his other ear.
"You seriously haven't looked at it?"
"No… I can't. It's too… embarrassing," Yuuri laughs uncomfortably, a sound that morphs into an agonized groan. "With my stupid single jumps."
"Yuuriii!!!" Phichit exclaims, drawing out the last syllable. "Shut UP."
"I really did my best with the choreo, and it's been a long while since I skated, y'know, so I'm pretty rusty—"
"Yeah, that's the most I've ever actually seen you skate, y'know?"
"Well, I mean— compared to you— compared to Viktor—"
"Nobody cares, I promise you," Phichit cuts him off. "Nobody expects you to skate like a professional athlete when you're not."
"I guess."
Phichit smirks. "I mean, you didn't just recreate the program, though…"
"What?"
"That costume!"
Yuuri groans again. "Oh, right. That…"
"In blue!"
"I know, I know, its—"
"Amazing," Phichit interrupts before he can finish that thought. "Like, really gorgeous. You know you're, like, a very talented costume maker, don't you? And I don't have to tell you that, right?"
Yuuri falls silent.
"Right, Yuuri?"
"Thanks. Really, thank you. I just feel… exposed. It wasn't meant to be public."
Again, Phichit picks up a shuffling sound from Yuuri's end.
"Nobody was supposed to see it," Yuuri continues quietly. "It was supposed to be just for me."
Phichit hums sympathetically.
"I feel you, there. But still, it was a beautiful tribute."
That shuffling sound, again. And then the sound of a door closing, Phichit is sure.
Yuuri continues quietly. "I just… look, I know you don't like to talk about it, forgive me. But…after the Grand Prix Final… after watching… y'know. Him skate…"
"Who?" Phichit interrupts. "Viktor?"
"Yeah, him. I just… I felt… inspired. Like, I wanted to create again. His program gave me that, made me feel like… I don't know, like… He made something so honest, so creative, and I could do my own version of that, if I wanted to. Not as a skater, of course. In my own way."
Yuuri pauses momentarily, and Phichit listens.
Yuuri continues: "And when I got home, I decided to try to create my own version of his Stammi Vicino costume, since that's what I do." He laughs sheepishly. "And it wasn't easy, y'know. I watched the footage over and over, and I kind of had to just… make an educated guess with some of the materials, but… I think I pulled it off."
"You really did," Phichit says.
"And of course it's not perfect, but y'know, I made it for me. I don't really make anything for myself very often. And magenta doesn't really suit me, so. Blue, instead. And it's in my size, since I tailored it to fit me, of course. So I took a few artistic liberties. But other than that, I think its a pretty decent recreation." Yuuri finishes breathlessly.
"Has anybody contacted you about commissioning a costume for the new season?" Phichit asks, thinking of his own post in which he'd tagged Yuuri's video.
On the other end of the line, Yuuri is dead silent.
"As a matter of fact… yeah," He says slowly, trailing off. "I… have gotten some commission requests."
Phichit grins. "Sooooo…" He starts, a smile evident in his voice. "Not to add to your workload, but—"
"Are you about to commission me too?"
"I mean… could you?" Phichit asks. "Make costumes for me this season?"
Yuuri stammers. "I, um—"
"It would really mean a lot to me." Phichit cuts him off. "To have you make them. And I'll pay you, of course, whatever your rate is, just name it." Whatever figure Yuuri's got in mind, Phichit is positive he's low-balling himself, and he has every intention of tipping his friend generously.
More importantly, he's determined to put the events of last season behind him, and this feels like a perfect place to start anew.
"I— I actually don't know," Yuuri says.
Phichit blinks.
"I'm not sure, Peach— I—" Yuuri breathes heavily into the phone speaker. "I've already got a lot on my…"
Phichit is silent, taken aback, when he catches another muffled voice on the other line. Yuuri responds in a mix of Japanese and English, saying something that Phichit doesn't quite catch.
"Peach, I'm so sorry. Now's a bad time," Yuuri says quickly. "Can I call you later? I'm so sorry. I'll call back. I'm sorry."
Before Phichit can think of a response, the line goes dead. Phichit is left silent, open-mouthed, response dead in his throat.
