Chapter Text
“So I was thinking you could go for the whole French boy thing. Your name is Pierre Jean-Jacques–” Pierre doesn’t recall ever telling Yuki his middle name. “–and whisper sweet French nothings in their ear or something. It will be great way to woo her.” Yuki hops up onto the sink, leaning back into the glass of the mirror, watching and waiting for Pierre to respond. Yuki’s shorts ride up as he swings his legs back and forth, ankles thudding into the cabinet below him. Pierre tries not to stare.
“I took Spanish in high school.” It comes out more like “mme muh murh phu” so Pierre spits out his toothpaste into the sink and tries again. “I took Spanish in high school.”
“Yeah, because if you took French, that would be like me taking Japanese for my mandatory language req.”
“You are taking Japanese for your learning requirement.”
Yuki waves a hand. “Je t'ai entendu parler français avec ta mère au téléphone.”
Pierre’s jaw drops. A little dribble of toothpaste makes its way down his chin, and Yuki tuts, reaching out to wipe it away. “Since when do you speak French ?”
“Since I watched Ratatouille . But that’s not important. The date, Pierre! The date. I was thinking, Le Cavalier would be perfect for…”
Pierre just nods, barely listening to Yuki as he plans out the date course. He’s to busy racking his brain to recall if he’s shared anything particularly embarrassing in his conversations with his mother over the past few months. Maybe some details about the rash on his lower backside ( not his butt!).
“So, six? After your electrical systems class?”
“What?” Pierre’s not sure how Yuki knows his schedule, too, but then again if he considers the pattern of all these things he’s finding out that Yuki has found out about him… this is maybe the least surprising of them all.
Yuki sighs, the puff of air blowing his bangs off his forehead. “Have you been listening at all?”
“No, yeah. Totally,” Pierre answers sheepishly. “6 PM. I’ll see you… where?”
Yuki rolls his eyes. “We can meet back here and split an Uber there. We’re going to have to go over your… outfit options, too.”
Pierre feels judged by the way Yuki says “outfit” but before he has a chance to complain, Yuki is hopping off the sink and squeezing past Pierre.
Strange. He smells like vanilla. Suddenly, Pierre is craving crepes.
–
“–Gasly. Mr. Gasly.”
Pierre jolts, snapping his eyes to the front of the classroom when he feels Charles’ elbow in his ribs. “Uh, yes?”
“I asked you a question,” Toto Wolff says. His face is pinched, and Pierre can’t help but feel like a child who’s terribly disappointed his father.
Charles leans over and whispers in his ear, “ The delta .”
“Um, the delta?” Pierre says, and Charles audibly smacks his head into the table in front of him.
“Yes, Mr. Gasly. That is what I asked you for. What is the delta?”
Up in the front row, Lewis, the TA sent down to earth by God himself is shifting in his seat, holding up four fingers behind his back.
“Four…” Pierre says slowly, squinting. Lewis shakes his hand, closing the fist and then pulling up another four fingers. “... ty four.”
Toto just sighs, shaking his head. “Please try to pay attention.”
“Of course,” Pierre answers. He even picks up his pencil, and goes to write down the equations on the blackboard. And then he pauses, pulling a face at what’s making up the notes he’s been taking for the past hour.
Yuki speaks french
Yuki smells like vanilla
Yuki knows how to make croissants the actual good flaky kind
Yuki speaks french????
His accent is actually decent
If i hugged yuki (in a super platonic, not gay way) his head would probably tuck right under my chin
Why are yuki’s legs so hairless??? And white???
I wonder what they would taste like…
Not in a weird way
I once heard daniel’s friend saying he’d eat yuki
Actually, that’s still weird
Also??? Yuki speaks french???
“Oh, I didn’t know Yuki knew how to speak French?”
Pierre flinches, hard enough that his knee bangs the chair in front of him.
“Mr. Gasly, if you are going to continue distracting the class, I ask that you please remove yourself from the classroom.”
“No, sir. Sorry,” Pierre says, leveling a glare at Charles, who is snickering behind his hand.
“You, too, Mr. Leclerc.”
Charles face turns bright red and he sinks back in his seat.
“Who’s laughing now?” Pierre mutters, flipping open a new page of his notebook.
–
Pierre sits on his bed, watching as Yuki digs his way through Pierre’s closet. “That looks fine to me,” Pierre says, picking up one of the football jerseys Yuki has flung behind him.
“No, absolutely not. The restaurant probably would not even let you in,” Yuki says, resurfacing finally with a button down shirt in one hand and a pair of wide legged corduroy pants in the other that Pierre definitely does not remember ever owning. “Here, wear these.”
Pierre takes them, pausing when Yuki just continues to stand there. “I know my body is sculpted, but a little privacy please?” Yuki’s cheeks redden, and Pierre laughs as he watches Yuki turn around to face the door. Pierre quickly changes, pulling at the sleeves and collar which feel a little too tight. “All done.”
“Let me see,” Yuki says, and he freezes as he turns around, eyes roaming up and down Pierre’s body.
“Well?” Pierre asks, spreading his arms out wide. “Hello? Earth to Yuki?”
“Right,” Yuki says, shaking his head. “Um, you look good, let me just,” and he reaches forward, unbuttoning the top couple of buttons and helping Pierre roll up the sleeves.
“That’s better,” Pierre says, letting out a breath. Yuki is standing so close that his bangs flutter slightly.
“Well, shall we?” Yuki says, gesturing a hand out towards the door.
Laughing, Pierre jokingly offers Yuki his arm, which Yuki takes. Also as a joke. Obviously.
–
The restaurant that Yuki has picked is… nice. Like, really nice. Like, Pierre isn’t sure if he can afford to come here one, much less twice in as many weeks. Yuki seems to notice Pierre’s discomfort, and whispers, “Don’t worry, I am friends with the chef here and can get a very good discount. I help him source foreign ingredients, sometimes.”
Pierre nods, following behind Yuki as they are led to a secluded table. The lighting is dim, with only a candle in front of them and the sun setting outside the window behind. All in all, Yuki was right. This is a very romantic place for a date.
“Your first course for the evening, sirs,” the waiter says, sneaking up behind Pierre and he has to stifle a yelp. Yuki’s eyes glimmer in the candlelight, and Pierre sticks his tongue out at him.
As soon as the first waiter leaves, another waiter (“He is a sommelier , Pierre, not a waiter. You, a Frenchman, should know this!” “I drink bagged twelve dollar wine and do keg stands, Yuki.”) appears with a bottle in hand. While Pierre stares, confused, when the waiter only pours a tiny bit into his glass, Yuki takes a small sip, swirling the wine in his mouth before giving a nod of approval.
“This will be quite a good pairing for the course selection tonight,” Yuki says. “You should try some.”
Pierre shakes himself out of his stupor. It must be the dim lighting straining his eyes or something. Usually, Yuki is just that small, sometimes annoying, sometimes adorable roommate of his. Tonight… Pierre tries to ignore that weird feeling in his gut that he gets as he watches Yuki explain how to properly taste test a wine and go through each item on the menu. His hands are moving all over the place as he demonstrates how one would properly sautee vegetables and Pierre finds himself laughing and nodding along.
When they’re finishing up dessert, Pierre leans back, stomach fuller and happier than he’s been in a long while. He’s surprised to look up and see it’s already dark outside, and the restaurant is beginning to close as they make their way outside.
“You know what, Yuki? This was not so bad. ‘Hanging out.’”
“You see?” Yuki answers, huge grin on his face. “Now you will be perfect for your date with Angelina.”
And that has Pierre pausing, as he remembers what all of this was meant for. “Right. My date.”
–
It feels like maybe both the longest and shortest week of his life. As the day approaches, Pierre feels a ball of anxiety in his gut that he’s never really had before when it comes to women. He tells himself it’s nerves and excitement to see Angelina again as he buttons up his shirt the same way that Yuki had done for him. Yuki isn’t around at the moment to help him, and Pierre looks in the mirror, constantly readjusting his sleeves as he can’t get them to fall quite the way they had the week prior. Before he knows it, it’s time to walk over to Angelina’s place to pick her up and he sighs, giving up and just letting them hang loose around his wrists.
In front of Angelina’s door, he rings the bell and bounces on his feet as he waits, trying to let out some of his nervous energy. The door swings open and Pierre offers her a smile and a small bouquet of flowers (ones that, once again, Yuki had helped him pick out).
“Wow,” Pierre says, shaking his head. “You look stunning.” He isn’t typically one to care much about clothes, preferring them off more than anything else, but even to his eyes he can tell Angelina’s taken care to dress up, wearing a beautiful blue dress that emphasizes her figure.
“Thank you,” she says, giving a little curtsy with a laugh. “Do you like the dress? Your roommate told me your favorite color was blue.”
Pierre blinks. “He did?” He doesn’t remember ever mentioning that to Yuki.
Angelina nods, and when Pierre doesn’t say anything more, she motions her hand and says, “Shall we?” It’s eerily reminiscent of his practice date with Yuki, and Pierre just nods, offering her his arm for them to go.
They arrive at the restaurant, and everything truly is just as he “practiced” it with Yuki. Angelina oohs and ahhs at the decor, the food tastes amazing. The conversation is… fine. It isn’t awkward, at least, which is what Pierre had been most worried about. Pierre asks her about her classes, her interests, her hobbies. Pierre tries not to seem bored, and they end up returning to talking about Formula One for the most part.
By the end of the date, Pierre feels… mostly just tired.
“Should we head back to my place?” Angelina asks as they step out of the restaurant.
“Um, why don’t I call you an Uber back home?” Pierre asks. He wants to smack himself when he notices the way that Angelina’s smile drops.
“You know what,” Angelina says, shaking her head, “it’s fine. Thanks for dinner, but I don’t think this is going to work out.”
“I’m sorry,” Pierre says. And he really is. He’s not usually one to turn down an offer from a girl, but… “It’s not you, it’s–”
“I know,” Angelina says, laughing. “It’s Yuki, isn’t it?”
Pierre blinks, slackjawed. “What? You like Yuki?”
Angelina just laughs harder at that, doubling over. “Pierre. Go home. I’ll see you around campus.” And with that, she’s gone.