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As far as roommates go, Phichit Chulanont is a gift.
(In preparation for his move to Detroit, Yuuri had dedicated an entire night to anxiously scouring the internet’s collection of dormitory horror stories. It was harmless research, he’d reasoned, clicking a link to an article on roommate conflict resolution. Five hours later found Yuuri nose-deep in a reddit thread about roommates regularly stealing used underwear in one tab and googling airfare ticket return policies in another.
Needless to say, he’d been expecting… well, not Phichit.
Phichit, who’s relatively neat — though not to the point of obsession, which is good, because Yuuri’s been known to leave a post-practice sock or two lying around after an especially long day. Phichit, who’s always considerate of Yuuri’s privacy and space. Phichit, who’ll very kindly not comment on how frequently Yuuri re-watches Victor Nikiforov’s old skating routines, so long as Yuuri doesn’t complain about their mandated, bi-monthly The King and the Skater movie nights.
And, of course, the fact that their shared early morning rink time makes their sleep schedules nearly identical didn’t hurt.)
So, yes, roommate-wise, Yuuri is incredibly blessed and thankful and wouldn’t dare taking any of it for granted, except — it’s just —
“Phichit,” Yuuri groans from where he’s sprawled out across his bed, lazily flicking through Snapchat stories. His glasses are slightly askew, face warm against his pillow. It makes his phone screen kind of blurry, but he’s barely looking at the videos anyway, more focused on his roommate.
Across the room, Phichit sits, cell phone raised, fingers forming a V-shape. He’s unmistakably in selfie-mode. Yuuri rolls his eyes as the camera shutters for the twenty-second time.
“Phichit,” he tries again, watching his roommate swipe through his photo roll and sigh. He brings the phone up again. “Phichit.”
“One more,” Phichit pleads, blinking over his shoulder with big doe-eyes. “The lighting is so — ”
“Fine,” Yuuri says, sort of helplessly, and resumes his mindless task. He’s given up on Snapchat by the time Phichit snaps an acceptable photo — he knows, obviously, because Phichit has this wonderfully endearing habit of narrating the selfie-taking process, including, but not limited to: filter analysis, caption composition, emoji/hashtag selection — and moves onto Instagram. Yuuri absentmindedly likes a photo of Guang Hong with a mouthful of dumplings captioned #cheatday, one of Axel, Lutz, and Loop attempting their first jumps. That one makes Yuuri laugh under his breath. It doesn’t take a competitive skater to tell those landings aren’t going to be pretty.
He scrolls down farther, Leo, Minako, Mari, and almost misses it. Yuuri’s thumb stills.
“Phichit,” he says, surprisingly calm given current circumstances. “How long has that photo been up?”
Phichit blinks up at him, brow furrowed. “Uh, ten, twenty minutes, maybe. Why?”
Yuuri looks away from his friend, back down at said photo. It’s of Phichit, looking unfairly photogenic as usual. The background, however.
“Oh,” he hears Phichit breathe. “Oh, Yuuri, I’m — ”
The background features one rumpled Yuuri Katsuki and his vast assortment of Victor Nikiforov posters.
There’s a chance it’s not too late, that no one’s noticed, he thinks, even as he sees one hundred and fifty-four likes and counting. A quick peek at the comment section only confirms his fears.
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+guanghongji+ cute! (*^o^)/
iceicebaby422 why are you so perfect
shallweskate actual goals
blinkifuwantm3 um guys??? his roommate?? the wall…
gayzonice omg
triplealexx am i crazy or is that @v -nikiforov
toe-pick!94 apparently YOU’RE not the crazy one
PARarthezzz wow @v -nikiforov
makkachinislove someone likes them some @v -nikiforov can’t say i blame him but damnnn
Yuuri shoves his face into his pillow, cheeks burning.
“Oh no,” he says. It’s muffled, sounding more like a whine than anything else. “Oh no.”
His fairly proficient grasp of the English language falters as he sits there in stunned silence, even Japanese seeming to fail him, because they tagged him. They tagged Victor Nikiforov. His lifelong idol will see this disaster and block Yuuri for being a creep, and Yuuri will never be able to skate competitively against the four-time GPF gold medalist, too busy waiting for the ice to swallow him whole instead. Assuming Victor didn’t go ahead and break out the restraining orders, that is.
“You can just delete it, right?” Yuuri says after a moment, mostly to himself at this point, as Phichit’s decided to remain unhelpfully quiet. “Victor’s a popular guy. He gets mentions all the time. He probably hasn’t even — ”
“Um.”
Yuuri peers at Phichit between fingers. “Um?”
Phichit smiles sheepishly, rubs the back of his neck. “Victor just followed me.”
Yuuri stares. “Victor just…”
“But I can still delete it,” Phichit adds, off Yuuri’s expression.
“No!” Yuuri jumps to his feet. “No, no, you can’t. That’s too obvious!”
Phichit gives him a look. “Yuuri, you passed the point of subtlety ten posters ago.”
“I know,” Yuuri says, wincing. God, does he know. It was worse back home. Every time his mother passed by his room, he’d see her sneaking a peak, lips twisted in a knowing smile. Or Mari, who accidentally caught a glance one time and laughed so hard she walked into a wall.
Yuuri would happily show all of Hasetsu his room if it meant avoiding this.
“It’ll look worse if you delete it,” he tells Phichit finally, though the very idea of what he’s proposing makes unease settle in his stomach, heavy like lead. “Like I’m embarrassed.”
“You are embarrassed.”
“Yeah, but they don’t know that!”
Phichit grimaces. The logic’s faulty. Everything about this situation is, but Phichit isn’t jumping at the chance to offer up a better solution. He obediently sets the phone in his lap. “I guess…”
Shoulders slumping in a peculiar mixture of relief and defeat, Yuuri falls back onto his bed and glares pointedly at the poster closest to his head. Victor Nikiforov, handsome as ever, smirks back at him. It’s the most recent one, from a season ago, meaning chalking the whole thing up to childhood adoration is a no-go.
“Yuuri,” Phichit says. There’s something in his voice that makes Yuuri turn on his side to face his friend, frown softening out into something less severe. “I’m so sorry.”
Yuuri only has to half-force his smile. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not.” Phichit punctuates the statement with a head shake. “I’m a horrible friend. The worst friend. I’ll never use Instagram again, I promise. Starting today, I’m a changed man. I’m — ”
He stops then, gapes at his screen. Probably choked up.
“Apology accepted,” Yuuri says with a small laugh. “No need for anything that drastic, okay?”
“Sure.” Phichit nods, almost distracted. He brings the phone closer, studying it so intently he goes cross-eyed.
Yuuri frowns. “Phichit?”
Phichit reluctantly drags his eyes away, back to Yuuri. “Yes?” He starts. “Oh yeah, no. Thanks. I’m, uh, sorry. I’ll be more careful next time and all.” He looks back down at his phone and bites his lip, like he’s restraining a smile, which is… weird. “Uh, speaking of which, you should probably see — ”
“Nope,” Yuuri says before he can finish. “I think I’ll just stay off Instagram for the rest of my life, thanks.” Maybe change his name. Move to Mexico.
Phichit kind of just stares. “Yuuri, I really think you should — ”
But Yuuri waves him off, shoves his face back into his pillow. “Goodnight.”
“It’s two in the afternoon.”
* * *
Yuuri doesn’t stay off Instagram, and Phichit isn’t more careful. Of this, Yuuri is one hundred percent certain, because if he were, there wouldn’t currently be a photo of Yuuri dancing the tango with a broom handle in the background of yet another Phichit Selfie plaguing his feed.
“Phichit.”
Or the one the next week, that’s background captures him messing around in their rink, mid-extension, or more accurately, his ass mid-extension.
“Phichit.”
Or the next. Of him sleeping. With a stuffed poodle clutched tightly to his chest.
“It’s like you’re doing it on purpose!” Yuuri says. He lets the screen shutter before he gets a chance to look at the comments. It’s bad enough without people’s judgement.
Phichit raises his hands and waves them frantically. “I’m not, I swear. I don’t know how I keep missing this stuff.”
Yuuri doesn’t either. No one else seems to miss it, that’s for sure.
“I’m so sorry, Yuuri.” Phichit averts his gaze back to his phone at Yuuri’s silence. He looks like a kicked puppy. “I could delete my account?”
“No,” Yuuri sighs, not sure how Phichit managed to turn this around and make him feel bad. “Don’t do that. I’m not… Honestly, I’m kind of immune to it by now.”
Phichit perks at that. “Next time for sure, Yuuri. I’ll be more — ” He pauses, lips twisting, just barely in the corners, but it’s enough to make Yuuri’s eyes narrow. Phichit’s are, once again, glued to his phone screen. It’s been this way for a while now, Yuuri realizes. All this week, the week before. Really, ever since…
“Phichit?”
The Thai skater’s face shutters, betraying nothing.
“What is it?” Yuuri asks, curious. He cranes his neck, tries to see over Phichit’s shoulder.
“Nothing,” Phichit says and promptly chunks his phone across the room.
They watch it hit their mini fridge with a dull thud.
Yuuri turns to his friend, eyebrows at his hairline, but Phichit just smiles back, picture of innocence.
* * *
When it comes to Phichit, nothing is never nothing.
phichit+chu
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phichit+chu: to whom it may concern, my lovely roommate, @katsu-yuuri #whatababe
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For once, Yuuri isn’t in the background of Phichit’s photo. He is the photo.
It’s a candid — as if there’s any chance in hell he’d pose for this — of Yuuri digging through one of his drawers. He’s looking for a clean shirt.
Presumably because he’s not wearing one. Or pants.
Freshly-showered, Yuuri stands at the dresser, wet hair slicked back and a navy blue towel tucked around his waist. The photo’s mostly the line of his back, the width of his shoulders, the dip of his hips, but his profile’s clearly visible. His cheeks are a pleasant pink from the shower, brown eyes clear without the reflection of his glasses.
Even Yuuri, cringing with embarrassment, can admire the figure portrayed. Phichit’s got a knack for photography. Definitely more than his casual selfies have let on.
Yuuri looks up at his suspiciously quiet roommate. “Should I even ask?”
Phichit looks up too. Waggles his eyebrows. He says, “Something tells me you won’t have to,” just as Yuuri’s phone pings with a notification.
Confused, Yuuri glances down —
v-nikiforov: hello, yuuri! it’s victor! :)
— and nearly drops his phone.
Over the sound of his internal screaming, he hears Phichit laugh, the shutter of a camera. But Yuuri is wide-eyed and breathless. Can’t bring himself to care.
As far as roommates go, Phichit Chulanont is a gift.
* * *
v-nikiforov: aww, I’m flattered. does he want them signed?
v-nikiforov: looks like he could use a better dance partner ;) does he skate?
v-nikiforov: wow!! guess that answers my last question <3 have i heard of him before? what is his name? insta?
v-nikiforov: and he likes poodles too?! (or twitter? I have twitter)
v-nikiforov: ?
v-nikiforov: ?????
v-nikiforov: :(
yuri-plisetsky: GOD TELL HIM ALREADY HE IS UNBEARABLE ENOUGH AS IS
v-nikiforov: <3 <3 <3