Work Text:
“Are you sure Celestino said to put this up?” Yuuri asks. It's very precious of him to think Phichit might be up to something. By now he should know Phichit is absolutely up to something whenever he tells Yuuri what to do. “It doesn't look very professional.”
It, the paper in Yuuri’s hands, was the best Phichit could do with short notice and thirty seconds in a supply closet with the junior manager of the copy shop. If he’d had the entire minute he would have been able to get a full on billboard for free.
“I don't know what to tell you,” Phichit shrugs. “Other than to start wearing clothes that fit you.”
“What?”
“But it'll have to do for now. Go on, we've got a sale and people have to know about it!”
He pushes Yuuri over towards the front of the store with both hands and winks at the couple just passing the entrance. The shorter girl starts to step back, but then Phichit shoots her Welcoming Smile #73 and her trajectory changes towards him instead of away. Another sale saved by heroic retail employee Phichit Chulanont! How J.Crew managed to stay in business without him he doesn't know.
Buffing his nails against the edge of his sweater he steps closer to where Yuuri is fighting with the front signboard. He declines to tell him he’s forgotten the tape dispenser. Instead, Phichit peeks out through the corner of his eye at the Swatch booth down the way, just across from the Nordstrom. Word on the food court this morning is watch stand heartthrob Viktor Nikiforov has been blatantly staring in the direction of J.Crew instead of doing his job for the last two weeks. Word being the gossip of one of the other watch stand regulars, who gives Phichit a little wave and a wink before turning back to help a customer. Phichit doesn't know Chris particularly well, but he knows Yuuri, which means this is a lead he absolutely has to verify.
If Chris’s word is wrong it's no big thing. If Viktor has been staring at Phichit this whole time, well, Phichit is flattered, but nothing is ever going to happen there. Yuuri means more to Phichit than any heartthrob ever could. But if Viktor has been staring at Yuuri, then.
Then Phichit has a wedding to plan and a shovel to buy so he can make his best man speech be maximally authentic and also maximally terrifying.
He can't see Viktor at the booth right now, but he saw him there half an hour earlier. Per Chris’s inside information Viktor’s shift is only a third of the way through. Phichit’s plan should be safe.
“Forget something?” he asks Yuuri, waggling the tape dispenser next to his head.
“Right,” Yuuri responds. His ears go red and he darts a quick look at the watch stand. Phichit dedicates a moment of silence to his poor, delicate son. If Viktor breaks his precious glass heart Phichit will break Viktor’s face. “Wait, ah, should I tape it and you hold it up? Since I'm taller.”
“Excellent thinking!” Phichit chirps.
Yuuri peels off a few strips of tape and sticks them to the fingers of his left hand. Phichit straightens the sign as best he can and then plops his hand in the middle of it to hold it in place. Rising up on the very tips of his toes, Yuuri begins to apply the tape to the corners of the sign one by one. They really are a good team. Plus, when Yuuri stretches his hands over his head his shirt rides up and his khakis slip down down down to rest low on his hips. It's better than Phichit could have planned.
Once the sign is up they stand back and look at all of their hard work. It reads
BUY A BOTTOM
GET A TOP
in plain black text on a plain white background.
Phichit looks back to the watch stand. This time Viktor Nikiforov is there, leaning towards them with his forearms resting on the glass countertop. This is it. This is Phichit’s time.
“Hey,” he says to Yuuri. “I think the top left corner could use a little more tape.”
“Are you sure? We used half the roll alre-”
“Here.” Phichit tears off another piece and points at the sign they've fixed just below and to the left of the enormous J.Crew logo. “Do it.”
Yuuri gets going because he is a gentle, trusting soul. He very obviously needs someone who is neither of those things in his life because otherwise the rest of the world will trample all over him. Someone like Phichit. And Phichit is thrilled to be that person for Yuuri. And if he expresses that feeling by making sure Yuuri puts on the best show possible for the watch stand, well, then he’s only doing his job looking out for Yuuri’s best interests. “A little more to the left,” he advises helpfully. “Higher, higher, it needs more tape further up.”
This time around Phichit turns his entire body towards the Swatch booth in a way that's unmistakable. He makes direct eye contact with Viktor. He points back at Yuuri, who's up on his tiptoes again trying to adjust the sign Celestino absolutely does not know about and did not approve. Phichit stares down his best friend’s crush, points at his best friend's excellent ass, and winks. And nods.
Viktor Nikiforov’s eyes widen.
‘Get a top,’ Phichit mouths. He waggles his eyebrows for good measure.
Viktor Nikiforov’s eyes flick away from Phichit’s. They come to rest on Yuuri and stay there. The bridge of Viktor’s nose begins to redden. Yeah, Phichit knew it! There's no way Viktor was looking at anyone but Yuuri for the last two weeks. The look he’s giving Yuuri right now does not lie.
From behind Viktor, Chris shoots Phichit double finger guns.
There, Phichit thinks as he turns away for the last time and shepherds Yuuri back into the store. Let's see what Viktor Nikiforov does with that.
When Celestino sees the sign an hour later his face goes purple and he very sweetly and very politely tells them to take it down immediately. It's done all Phichit really needed it to do, but he shows the sales numbers to Celestino anyway. They've made a lot of money off of Phichit’s quick thinking and top notch wingman skills. Since the additional customers lured in by the promotion bought enough to cover the cost of the tops they've given away, their store has come out financially ahead. All thanks to Phichit.
Celestino tells them they can keep the sign up for the rest of the day.
He should just make Phichit the junior manager and be done with it, really.
They keep the sign up, Phichit folds about a thousand overpriced shirts, and makes a few sales. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to see. It’s nearing lunch when he happens to look over at the menswear section and sees a Situation developing.
“I’m afraid we don’t offer same-day monogramming services at this location,” Yuuri is saying to some douchebag in a Lacoste shirt. He’s got a pair of Ray-Bans perched on the top of his head like he might need them at a moment’s notice inside the store. He’s holding a paper Starbucks cup in one hand. He looks like a textbook Customer From Hell. Yuuri is good at customer service – to a point. His personality doesn’t lend much to it, but he’s had a lifetime of practice, Phichit knows. He also knows when Yuuri’s about done and the look on Yuuri’s placid face right now is nearing meltdown.
Moving quickly, Phichit walks over and taps Yuuri on the shoulder, says, “You’re needed in the stockroom,” which is their code phrase for ‘go take your break, I’ve got this, please don’t punch this stranger in the nuts you’ll get fired, we need to make rent, think of my poor hamsters evicted in the snow’. Then he turns Generic Customer Service Smile #4 on the douchebag.
“I can answer any question you might have about monogramming, sir,” he beams.
The beaming throws the guy off. It always does. “I— right. I want this monogrammed.” He holds up a light green sweater with his coffee-free hand. Phichit almost feels bad enough to tell him it’s not his color. Almost. It might not suit him, but it’s a light green $200 sweater, and Phichit will split credit for the sale with Yuuri if the customer buys it. It’s a light green $210 sweater if the guy really does get it monogrammed. Does anyone who’s not a douchebag buy custom monogrammed sweaters?
“It suits you,” Phichit nods. He doesn't mean it in a nice way. The customer doesn’t notice. “If you’ll just follow me this way I can get you set up at the register.”
“But,” the customer starts helplessly. He’s wearing boat shoes. Phichit should feel bad about this, but he doesn’t. “…I want it done today?”
Phichit keys himself in to one of the empty registers and hits the customer with the full force of Generic Customer Service Smile #1. The original. “I’ll place the order for you immediately!”
The douchebag leaves with nothing but the receipt for two $210 custom monogrammed sweaters. Phichit gives himself an actual pat on the back for a job well done. Then he remembers he sent an emotionally unstable Yuuri on break by himself. He checks the back room first, doesn’t see him. Does a quick walk through the store.
Eventually he gets Leo to cover for him – both of them – takes off his nametag, and heads towards the one other place Yuuri could be: the food court. He wanders through the crowded tables and sure enough, sitting there underneath one of the fake potted palm trees is Yuuri. He’s nursing a smoothie and there’s only half a Cinnabon sitting in the little blue box in front of him.
Shit.
“Everything okay?” Phichit asks, coming around the back of the table to take a seat across from Yuuri. Normally when he’s frustrated with customers Yuuri goes for a pretzel. He only goes straight for the Cinnabon when everything is at its worst. What could that douchebag have possibly said to Yuuri before Phichit got there?
Yuuri shoves a plastic forkful of calories into his mouth. He chews as slowly as possible because he is an extremely difficult child. Phichit loves him like any good father would, but still. It’s trying on his saintly patience.
“Yeah,” Yuuri says.
Phichit stares at him. He stares at him when he takes another bite. He stares at him when he takes a long pull from his smoothie straw. He stares at him until he breaks. “…no.”
“Tell me everything, my son,” Phichit says.
Everything turns out to have nothing to do with the douchebag. Everything is Viktor Nikiforov. Viktor Nikiforov is everything. Phichit doesn’t understand how his best friend can be so smart and so stupid at the exact same time.
“What if he never notices me?” Yuuri despondently asks the bottom of his empty Cinnabon box.
“Oh he’s definitely noticed you,” Phichit says.
“What if he notices me but doesn’t like what he notices because he’s him and I’m me and I’m a mess and he’s him and I keep eating these and I’m going to die alone surrounded by poodles who are the only ones who love me.” Yuuri takes another sip of the dregs of his smoothie. The sound evokes the wailing of widows and the gnashing of teeth.
“I’m pretty sure he’s into it,” Phichit says. Pauses. Doesn’t know which thing to tackle first. “The only way you’re dying alone is if I’m already dead,” he says, “and if I’m already dead you had better be taking care of my hamsters. So you’d be surrounded by poodles and hamsters who all love you as much as everybody else, because everybody with sense loves you.”
“But he’s—”
Phichit goes in for the kill. “I saw him staring at your ass, earlier.”
“—what?”
The look on Yuuri’s face is somewhere between ‘I’m going to drown myself in churros’ and ‘I might not need to drown myself in churros’.
It is at that moment that someone pulls out the chair next to Yuuri, and asks, “is anyone sitting here?”
“Nope,” Phichit says.
Someone lowers himself gracefully onto the plastic-coated metal chair, props his elbow on the table, props his chin on his hand, and blatantly stares at Yuuri. “Hello,” Viktor Nikiforov says. “I’m Viktor.”
“He’s Yuuri,” Phichit offers.
‘I’m dying and there aren’t even any poodles,’ Yuuri’s face says. Yuuri’s mouth remains closed, but a light squeak slips past it anyway.
“Charmed,” Viktor says. He scoots his chair a little closer to Yuuri’s.
It’s painful, but Phichit can’t stop watching this. He wishes he could film it for posterity, but knows if he gets his phone out Yuuri might just snap. Viktor doesn’t seem like he’d care, but Yuuri definitely would tip past his embarrassment threshold.
“I need to. I’m,” Yuuri starts, and every syllable is a hard won battle. Viktor appears to delight in every one of them. Is it a sadistic thing? If it’s a sadistic thing it’s not going to work, and Phichit should just end it here. “Store. I should be getting back bye.”
Phichit steps on Yuuri’s feet when he tries to stand. Yuuri squeaks again, louder this time. Viktor quirks an eyebrow, but Phichit gives him Sunny Smile #7. “Silly Yuuri! Don’t you remember you came over to take your break? Are you on break, Viktor?” Viktor smiles, shrugs, and Phichit has the strong impression that he is not, and that working hours do not often impact his decisions, “Do you mind keeping my friend company?”
“Not at all!” Viktor scoots his chair even closer to Yuuri’s. One more scoot and he’ll be in Yuuri’s lap.
“Great!” Phichit crows.
He and Yuuri share a furious wordless conversation in the moment he collects Yuuri’s trash and stands.
‘I just went on break and my time is up this is your break what are you doing?’ Yuuri’s eyebrows demand.
‘Don’t ruin this for yourself trust me I got you if he tries anything you don’t like I’ll end him behind the Red Robin dumpsters in the parking lot,’ Phichit’s eyebrows respond.
“I,” Yuuri says, “Yeah. I’m on break.”
Phichit leaves them to it. He’s so proud of Yuuri, so happy for him. As he walks away he hears Viktor ask if he can just buy the top and he knows he’s done all he needed to do. He takes a quick selfie with Viktor and Yuuri in the background – new love! xoxoxo hurt him and you die!! – but waits to post it until later, when Yuuri confirms whether or not there’s going to be a second date. Then he meanders towards the Sears. He’s going to need to buy a shovel.