Work Text:
It was the kiss seen around the world. Well, the skating world, at least.
Watching the aftermath of Yuuri's free skate backstage with his coach, Celestino, Phichit could only watch in complete and utter shock as Viktor – the Viktor Nikiforov – sprinted over to the gate nearest to the Kiss and Cry and proceeded to kiss Yuuri full on the lips, the two of them embracing as they fell onto the ice.
He should have been happy for his best friend.
It wasn't as if he was unaware of Yuuri's celebrity crush on Viktor. He would be blind as a bat not to. He had seen all the posters on their dorm room walls in Detroit, had joined Yuuri in watching every skate and every interview featuring Viktor that was available online. Yuuri had even named his beloved late dog Victor, a miniature version of the human Viktor's own adorable poodle, Makkachin.
But that was all it was ever supposed to be: a celebrity crush.
Viktor Nikiforov was, without a doubt, the greatest figure skater of all time. Until his recent decision to take a break from competing, he had won every competition he had entered for the past five years, and even before then, he had never been off the podium in either his junior or senior careers. He had broken new technical heights by landing the very first quadruple flip – still his signature jump – and had been self-choreographing his own skating programs for years, every single one of them an iconic masterpiece.
Phichit and Yuuri still fought over which one was his best. Yuuri's choice tended to change every season, insisting that Viktor had outdone himself once again with each debut of a new program. His current favorite was, of course, "Stammi Vicino", which he had skated brilliantly himself in that viral video that had convinced Viktor to chase Yuuri back home to Hasetsu and offer to be his coach. On the other hand, while Phichit appreciated the beauty and intricacy of his competitive skates, he preferred Viktor's more wild and entertaining exhibitions, his favorite being to Right Said Fred's brilliant ode to the superficiality of the fashion world, "I'm Too Sexy", which featured Viktor stripping off his shirt in the middle of the ice to the raucous cheers of the audience and showing off his six-pack abs and toned muscles.
Just thinking of that program was enough to make his cheeks go flush. Phichit had spent many a night after Yuuri had gone to bed hiding underneath his blankets, earbuds plugged in as he repeatedly watched the best version of the program – the one Viktor had performed at the 2013 Europeans – on YouTube, his hand somehow always finding its way underneath the waistband of his boxers.
Phichit had felt guilty about it the first couple of times, knowing how much Yuuri idolized Viktor, but again, it was only supposed to be a celebrity crush. They weren't the only people in the world attracted to Viktor; Phichit would bet good money that many, many others had gotten off to that very same program. Viktor was too sexy, and everybody with working eyes knew it, even Yuuri, who seemed otherwise completely uninterested in sex. It wasn't as if Yuuri had some sort of exclusive claim on him…
...until now.
Phichit continued to stand in a daze, staring blankly at the TV screen as a smiling Yuuri and Viktor made their way to the Kiss and Cry for Yuuri's scores, holding hands – the cameraperson made certain to zoom in on their interlocking fingers – and looking to all the world as a young couple in love. Were they a couple? He liked to think he was important enough to Yuuri that his best friend would have informed him that he had finally snagged a boyfriend, but Yuuri hadn't even shared with him that he was training Viktor's signature quad flip, much less that he was dating the Viktor Nikiforov.
He didn't know what to think, how to feel. The idea of either one of them ever becoming Viktor's boyfriend had always seemed such an impossible dream, like something straight out of a star-studded movie. As much as Phichit adored The King and The Skater, things like that simply did not happen in real life. Viktor had been completely out of their league, a god among men who was supposed to be far out of reach to mere mortals such as Yuuri and himself, yet somehow that god had chosen Yuuri as his lover?
He wanted to be happy for Yuuri, truly he did. After the combined disaster of last season's Grand Prix Final and All-Japan, which resulted in the early end of his season, Phichit had been thrilled to see Yuuri back on the ice. Though Yuuri had made some mistakes in his free, including the fall on that surprise quad flip at the very end of the program, he had been absolutely amazing in the short, the best Phichit had ever seen him skate in competition. In fact, after seeing his On Love: Eros performance, Phichit remembered wondering off-hand where Yuuri had learned how to be so, well, erotic on the ice, but spotting Viktor's hand on Yuuri's thigh, Yuuri's cheeks flushed by more than just the exertion of skating a four-and-a-half minute free program, Phichit's heart plunged to the pit of his stomach, overcome by an emotion he had only experienced a handful of times before in his life.
Jealousy. Ugly, despicable jealousy.
"Phichit, Phichit!" Someone's arm wrapped around his shoulders, lightly shaking him from his stupor. "You did it, my boy! You did it!"
Phichit blinked a couple of times, then turned his attention to his coach. "Did what?" he asked.
Celestino's eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. "You just won your first gold medal on the Grand Prix."
"I...did?"
He'd been so distracted by the kiss, Phichit had nearly forgotten about the scores. Sure enough, when he looked back at the monitor and saw the final standings, his name was unexpectedly at the top of the list, right above Yuuri's and Christophe Giacometti's in the silver and bronze positions, respectively.
"Phichit!"
Phichit turned around at the sound of Yuuri's voice. He and Viktor had made their way backstage, Yuuri running straight over to Phichit and throwing his arms around him. As Yuuri wasn't the type to usually hug people, it caught Phichit completely off-guard.
"Congratulations on winning the gold!" Yuuri said without even a hint of bitterness on his part, his smile warm and sincere.
Phichit's eyes watered, never more ashamed in his life. Yuuri had always been such a good friend to him, yet instead of being proud of his successful comeback and supportive of his new relationship, he had let himself be possessed by the Green-Eyed Monster. "I'm sorry," he said in a shaky voice, burying his face in Yuuri's Team Japan warm-up jacket to hide the tears running down his cheeks. "I'm so, so sorry, Yuuri…"
"What?" Yuuri pulled back. "Phichit, why are you crying? Why are you apologizing? Because you beat me?" He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out the handkerchief he almost always had on hand, giving it to Phichit. "I have no one but myself to blame for that. I made too many mistakes in my free," he said as Phichit used the handkerchief to blot away his tears, careful not to ruin his make-up too much. They still had the medal ceremony and press conference to get through, after all. "I probably should have stuck to my planned combination instead of switching last minute to a quad flip I never even tried before, but…"
"Wait, what?" Sniffling, Phichit glanced up, unable to hide his shock. "Are you telling me you just suddenly made the decision to attempt a freaking quad flip for the first time at the end of a competitive free skate?"
"Uh...yeah, kinda?" Yuuri rubbed the back of his neck. "Pretty stupid, huh? I'm not sure what I was thinking… Honestly, I might have been a little delirious from a lack of sleep."
Yuuri had looked rather exhausted during the six-minute warm-up period before their flight, now that he thought back on it, but still… Phichit burst out laughing, his arms wrapping around his midsection as he keeled over.
"Phichit?"
Maybe he was a little delirious himself, swinging from one extreme to the next, crying one moment then falling into a fit of uncontrollable laughter the next. Phichit grabbed onto Yuuri's shoulder and tried his best to pull himself together, using the handkerchief he still held to wipe away the now-mirthful tears that leaked from his eyes.
"Phichit, are you okay?" Yuuri asked. The two of them had become the center of attention, almost everybody backstage staring at them – including Viktor and Chris, who were a few meters away, holding their own private conversation. "Do you need to see a medic or something?"
"Sorry, I'll take him –" Celestino started to say, reaching for Phichit's elbow, but Phichit brushed him off.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," he insisted, and he was. He really was. "I'm just so happy," Phichit said once he had caught his breath again. "I won my very first international gold medal!"
Yuuri, though still looking a bit baffled by his erratic behavior, smiled. "Yeah, you did!"
"And you're dating the Viktor Nikiforov!"
"Yeah, um, I think maybe I am," Yuuri said somewhat incredulously, glancing back over his shoulder at Viktor. The two of them shared a private smile, Phichit only feeling a slight pang of jealousy that he was quick to push back down as he moved to give Yuuri another hug.
"Congratulations on winning the silver," he said, holding Yuuri tight. "I hope we both make the Final." Even with his gold, his spot wasn't yet guaranteed thanks to his fourth place finish at Skate America, but depending on how the second half of the series went, he had a fairly decent shot at being one of the six finalists, which was honestly kind of mind-blowing for a boy from Bangkok.
"Me, too, Phichit. Me, too."
When they finally pulled apart, Phichit marched straight over to Viktor and Chris, one last thing he needed to do before he could finally put his crush to rest, once and for all. "Viktor!"
"Ah, Phichit, congrats on your gold," Viktor said. "I didn't get the chance to watch your free, but Chris here was just telling me –"
"You better treat Yuuri right," Phichit declared, Yuuri tugging at his arm and making incoherent noises. "If you're just doing this for fun, if you're just using him like he's another one of your groupies –"
"Groupies?" Viktor cocked his head to the side, a single finger pressed against his cheek. "Do I really have groupies?"
"Tons," Chris drawled, slinging an arm over Viktor's shoulder. "You never noticed? They call themselves the Vik-Chicks, even the guys."
"Huh. Fascinating! Yuuri, are you a Vik-Chick?"
Yuuri's face burned bright red, and even Phichit felt his cheeks warm, regretting that he had brought up the subject at all. But the fact that Viktor was seemingly unaware of his own unofficial fan club was probably proof enough that he wasn't the type to fool around with his fans, putting Phichit's mind at ease. Yuuri didn't have much experience when it came to love, so the last thing he wanted was for Viktor to cast Yuuri aside once he got what he wanted and break his heart.
"Well, anyway, Yuuri's an amazing guy, so…"
"Don't worry, Phichit," Viktor said, his handsome face softening. "I'm well aware of how amazing Yuuri is. Believe me, I have no intention of ever hurting him."
"Good." Phichit breathed a sigh of relief, then brought his phone out of his jacket. "Selfie?"
"Of course," Viktor graciously agreed, pulling Yuuri to his free side as Phichit moved to stand in front of him and Chris.
Since Chris was the tallest of the group, he offered to be in charge of taking the picture, lifting up the phone and moving it around until he found the perfect angle. On the count of three, the four of them smiled, Phichit throwing up a peace sign as Chris snapped the photo.
If anybody noticed that his smile didn't quite reach his eyes, at least none of his 75,000 Instagram followers mentioned it.