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Yuuri Katsuki had never been an à la mode kind of guy. He could care less about what he wears - rolled sleeves behind a Katsuki Flowers apron has always been pretty foolproof - and plus, he never believed he could pull off anything in fashion anyways. Being meticulous with his own everyday work definitely ate up too much time to wonder what the rest of the world obsessed over. Besides, Burberry was just the slightest bit out of his price range.
But if your roommate is Phichit Chulanont, amateur entertainment trendwatcher and haute-couture-expert-in-training, you just have to accept absorbing a healthy dose of pop culture and style. It's probably just the sheer osmosis of living in the same flat as someone like Phichit.
And so when Yuuri wakes up to Phichit's bursting through his bedroom door with insistent stage whispering, he figures it's just another one of those times. Perhaps some celebrity had once again been spotted not under the influence Kim K's Guidelines When Appearing Outdoors ("No, Yuuri, I don't follow it, but don't you think she becomes a pretty solid force of nature whenever anyone defies her rules?"), or there was a new Buzzfeed quiz to decide whether to order pizza or Chinese takeout tonight ("I'm serious, Yuuri, it's like it can read my mind, because I swear this works every single time!").
Apparently not.
"Why, in the name of all 600 million Instagram users on this planet, is Victor Nikiforov casually watching TV in our living room at 7:29 a.m. in the morning?"
Yuuri blinks twice, and rubs the sleep from his eyes, trying to wrap his head around what Phichit was so worked up about. "It's redundant to say 'a.m' and 'in the morning' in the same sentence, you know."
Even without his glasses, he can see the Phichit-shaped blob beside his bed looking even more visibly unamused, if that was possible. "If you're coherent enough to correct my grammar, that means that a) you don't have a hangover, so b) you must remember whatever went on last night, therefore c) you should definitely be able to answer my question," Phichit says, one hand on his hip and the other gesticulating wildly with his phone. "Last I checked, you never sent in that Platinum Weddings application form. Oh and also, you never got engaged."
Yuuri frowns. "Of course we're not engaged yet."
"Exactly. So why is the guest star living legend of upscale wedding shows eating my cornflakes out of the box. And making the conscious choice to not watch Saturday morning cartoons or even-" Phichit stops, the words caught in his mouth for the third time since Yuuri's met him (yes, he's kept track). "Oh," he says, simultaneously deflated and yet way too enthusiastic for a person who has just woken up in a grouchy mood. Yuuri can see the gears turning in his best friend's head. "I totally get it now. Right. Okay. BRB, alright?"
He dashes out of the room before Yuuri can answer. Well, that's fine by him. It is still 7:32, and Yuuri did make the choice to stay up late the night before a 9 o' clock shift, so he's totally entitled to a few more minutes of a long-awaited beauty sleep. He wonders for a second what Phichit is so hyped up about before falling back on his pillow.
Over in the living room, Phichit breaks the running news commentary with a not-so-subtle cough. "I never would have imagined Victor Nikiforov was a cornflakes kind of guy," he says. "Or a pours-the-milk-before-the-cereal kind of guy."
Victor turns around and raises a perfect eyebrow at him, mid-milk-pour, probably his practiced nonchalant 'flustered' expression: what Phichit assumes is about to be an interesting conversation starter. Yet Victor just shrugs, continuing to methodically refill his bowl. After a somewhat awkward minute, Phichit realizes his guest has completely tuned out ABC, the living room intruder, as well as the cereal and is instead intensely concentrating on the crystal vase perched artfully on the coffee table (the changing flowers have been many a subject of Phichit's feed), as if it reminds him of something he can't quite put a finger on.
"A single white tulip," Phichit finds himself explaining, automatically. "It's got quite the backstory, too. I thought it was kind of weird at first, actually, because those tulips are the only flower Yuuri has been bringing home for weeks now, and whatever he chooses to decorate the room with somehow ends up representing his subconscious emotion. I mean, yeah, recently he was also always fawning over someone even though he would never tell me who it was, and all this time I just assumed it was some kind of a hopeless-"
He stops as realization dawns on him, and the meaning clicks.
"One-sided love," he and Victor say at the same time.
The latter has pulled up a Wikipedia 'plant symbolism' page and his resulting heart eyes are adorable.
Phichit takes a photo before the other man can react. (It would make a good reaction emoji, along with his own collection. He's desperately trying to get that shocked face trademarked.) "Don't worry, I'll just send it to Yuuri," he says, but he might as well have set it as his permanent Snapchat story: Victor still seems too lovestruck to properly form a response.
After a few heartbeats (unnecessary silence unnerves him), Phichit adds, "A bouquet of Mallow would probably be nice, you know? Bound with a violet ribbon... before a dinner date, I reckon. Lady and the Tramp accordion music, or maybe polaroid aesthetic-level cute artsy excursion, like Savannah Brown and Bertie Gilbert. My god, I am on the internet too much."
The guest doesn't seem to mind. There's a few more moments before Victor looks back up from his now trusted Wiki bookmark. "Maybe next time," he says, and gives an involuntary shudder. "But like, it would have to be a surprise, and also I don't want to source the competitors?"
Phichit drops a hint that another Katsuki would probably be incredibly useful for this little Mallow-tinted dilemma, and suddenly, the sun has literally erupted in the middle of the apartment, Victor's beaming smile is so bright. He shakes the box of cornflakes and pats the empty sofa space next to him, and ends up doing this strange, wordless, friendly little dance as an invitation. Phichit mentally crosses out his assumption that wedding planners were always suave when coordinating first dances.
"I'd totally take you up on your offer, Victor - wait, can I call you Victor? I'm Phichit! If you didn't know, well now you know, so your life is different now! - but I've been eating cornflakes for a straight week. Want me to make waffles? I'm an excellent chef. I can add whipping cream and strawberries - that's Yuuri's favorite."
As if on cue, everybody's favorite sleeping beauty walks into the lounge, still in PJs but with his hair now decently finger-combed. In a sudden epiphany, Phichit sees just how much flower knowledge he agreed to by cosigning his lease with Yuuri Katsuki. Yeah... it's probably just the sheer osmosis of living in the same flat as him.
In a state of pre-waffle-induced bliss, Phichit foresees an afternoon spent dyeing some white tulips red and purple and maybe a new Saturday-morning tradition. Whatever. He's all for it.