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Artwork commission by kwoojii
Huh.” Phichit stared down at his phone, at the handle that just liked his selfie with Yuuri at the bakery they both liked. “Huh.”
v_nikiforov, complete with its verified checkmark, stared back at him.
And not just one. One maybe made sense, if Victor was secretly charitable and wanted to secretly encourage young and upcoming skaters, but this?
A photo of Yuuri and Phichit standing on Belle Isle with Detroit in the background.
v_nikiforov liked this
One of Phichit and Yuuri eating fries labeled “cheat day”.
v_nikiforov liked this
Phichit’s secret photo of Yuuri practicing ballet in front of the mirror (and looking damn fine if Phichit had anything to say about it).
v_nikiforov liked this
Phichit and Yuuri on a tractor in an apple orchard.
Phichit and Yuuri rehearsing in their final costumes.
Phichit and Yuuri in a canoe on the lake…
v_nikiforov liked this.
Curious, very curious.
Because Phichit Chulanont had no fewer than three thousand photos on Instagram, usually of himself, usually of food and skating and going to fun places, all with his flair for photo composition.
He had fewer than two dozen photos that included Yuuri Katsuki.
Without fanfare, without comment, v_nikiforov had liked them all.
Which didn’t make any sense, if his roommate’s recollection of the Grand Prix Final was anything to go by. Because according to Yuuri Katsuki, he humiliated himself in front of the whole world and his family, then somehow got to the banquet, then home without getting to say even a single word to his idol, who—by the way—apparently had not even recognized him as a fellow skater rather than just a fan.
Something was amiss. Very amiss. Because it seemed to indicate that Victor Nikiforov, the living legend, the skater who inspired so many skaters, was personally liking everything that he could find that included one Katsuki Yuuri.
Which took effort.
Yuuri’s social media presence was abysmal. Yes, accounts belonging to Yuuri Katsuki existed, and were in fact owned by Yuuri, but none of them were much more than glorified lurker accounts dusted with mild ‘thank you’s’ to the Japanese Skating Federation or this or that sponsor. The man didn’t even have any photos on those sites!
Phichit was doing the world a favor by taking as many candids as Yuuri would allow, which was far far too few.
Did Yuuri even know how cute he was when he wasn’t trying? His shaggy hair gave him an air of mystery, and when he was not frowning or getting nervous for the camera, the man had lips most people paid talented doctors lots of money to sculpt for them.
True, Yuuri was not exactly Phichit’s type, but there was no denying that he was a snack.
(And the world appreciated Phichit’s service… if the likes and the comments were anything to go by…)
But those random commenters and likers were not Victor Nikiforov.
“Nothing better than a good mystery,” Phichit chuckled, then put his phone back into his pocket; there was a story here, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.
Living with someone for months (in this case, years), meant getting a window into their habits, their idiosyncrasies, their… soul-crushing self doubt, depression, and anxiety, especially after falling apart in front of their idol the first time they made the Grand Prix Finale due to the death of the family dog.
Yeah, Yuuri deserved to be curled up and living in his depression ball at the moment. Phichit completely sympathized. Hell, he was the one who had brought Yuuri lactose meds so that the poor guy could binge on ice cream…
But v_nikiforov was liking everything Yuuri appeared in; the mourning period was officially over.
“Yuuuri!” Phichit didn’t even bother knocking when he opened the door.
The lump underneath the comforters made some kind of inaudible sound; at least this proved that Yuuri was awake. Phichit jerked the comforter off of his roommate, and nudged his way onto the bed.
“I didn’t say you could come in.” The snarl in Yuuri’s voice was a vast improvement from the numb defeat of the past week and a half.
“I’ll make it up to you,” Phichit cooed, taking in the disheveled hair, the sweatpants, and the t-shirt that Yuuri wore. One thing about Yuuri’s being raised in an onsen: even at rock bottom, the man still had impeccable hygiene. Phichit took a breath; it was go time. “So. I’ve been a good friend and roommate and left you alone for an entire ten days. That is a new record for me. But… it’s now time, Yuuri. I need to hear everything that happened at the Grand Prix Final. Not for you, for me.”
“I fell apart. In front of everyone. What more is there to talk about?” The numbness was coming back to Yuuri’s voice. Phichit had to put a stop to that.
“We’ve all been there.” Phichit patted Yuuri’s head. “Remember in Juniors when I messed up a Flying Sit Spin I’d always done perfectly?”
“Victor Nikiforov has never messed up.”
Normally Phichit would have put a stop to this trainwreck, but he couldn’t say no to the perfect segue into the mystery.
“You seriously think Victor Nikiforov never fell on his butt?” Phichit could already see a little light come into Yuuri’s eyes. Nothing like igniting the inner fanboy to get somewhere.
“I have watched over 217 competitions that Victor skated in. The worst he has ever done is put a hand down on a landing, and that was for a quad flip! The first quad flip that anyone had ever landed! That’s not… that’s not the same.” Yuuri had taken the bait.
“I watched his GPF. It was good.” Phichit added a little flourish of blasé disinterest to his words. He needed Yuuri’s fanboy brain to overtake his depression and common sense.
“Good?!” Yuuri squawked. “The Victor Nikiforov was not just good, Phichit. He has four quads, four! And he lands a quad-triple at the end of his program! His artistry is clean and a thing of beauty. You can’t look away. And—and, and you’re saying he’s just… good?!?!”
Mission accomplished.
“Fine, fine. He’s a great skater, but what is he like in real life?” Phichit was probably pushing his luck a little bit by asking, but Yuuri was already on a roll. “You only said that he thought you were a fan, but not much else.”
“There’s nothing else to say. I fell flat on my ass on every jump, got yelled at by Yuri Plisetsky to retire, then Victor thought I was a fan.” Yuuri let out an all-suffering sigh. “I didn’t even stay for the exhibition, and Victor didn’t say a word to me at the banquet.”
Yeah, something was definitely amiss, because ‘Victor didn’t say a word to me’ and ‘v_nikiforov liked this’ couldn’t exist in the same universe.
“Wait.” An echo of something was sparking in Phichit’s mind. “Didn’t you say that… you were so hungover the next day you almost missed your flight?”
“Well, yeah, but I just drank champagne in the corner.” Yuuri flopped back down onto his bed, covering his head with his blanket. “I didn’t even have the guts to go up to him. So I drank a bottle or two and then woke up alone in my hotel room.”
“So you drank in the corner and then woke up in your room?” Phichit could taste it; he was almost there. “But you don’t remember how you got back?”
The audible groan from the pile of blankets was enough of an answer for Phichit to fill in the blanks: no.
There it was.
The missing piece.
The champagne-colored smoking gun.
Proof that something happened at the banquet. Something Yuuri didn’t remember. Something that prompted v_nikiforov to engage in Yuuri Katsuki stalking and photo liking.
“Anyway, it’s not like it matters.” Yuuri’s voice cut through Phichit’s glee. “I graduate in the spring…” Phichit didn’t like where this was going. “And maybe it’s time to—to think more realistically about my future.”
Oh no. No.
Not this.
Not right now, when Phichit was on the cusp of understanding something amazing.
“Yuuri, you had one bad competition, where you binge ate because your dog died.” Phichit sat down on the bed next to his roommate. “That’s a lot for someone to shoulder, and you still laced up your skates and got onto the ice.”
“And then got a score worse than most of my Juniors scores. In front of Victor Nikiforov.” The defeat in Yuuri’s voice was heartbreaking. “I finally got to skate on the same ice as him, and I fell apart. Maybe that’s why he said something about a commemorative photo. To remind me for the rest of my life that I should never have tried to skate with him.”
v_nikiforov liked this
All Phichit had to do was open his phone app and show Yuuri what he was seeing. That whatever this “mistaken for a fan” thing that Yuuri was building up in his head did not jibe with the social media data. Phichit could put an end to the self-loathing and the thoughts of retiring, and bring Yuuri into the mystery of Victor Nikiforov’s social media choices.
Instead, Phichit leaned his head against Yuuri’s and put his arm around him.
“One of the things I love about you is that you never seem to be able to see yourself properly.” Phichit squeezed Yuuri’s shoulder as he spoke. “I’m sure that what happened is not as bad as you think. Plus, didn’t you promise me that we’d compete against each other in the Grand Prix someday? Will you leave your roommate hanging?”
“Well, I haven’t made any decisions yet.” Yuuri’s tone spoke far more eloquently than his words, pushing Phichit away with its chill; Phichit was undeterred.
“Good,” replied Phichit. “I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t get to compete against you!”
“Y—yeah,” Yuuri murmured.
Phichit didn’t like that answer, but it was the best he was going to get at the moment.
“Me, you, and Victor Nikiforov,” Phichit grinned. “Sharing the podium next year. We’ll do it, Yuuri!” Before Yuuri had a chance to give another self-deprecating answer, Phichit tugged him in for a hug. “You can’t retire until we’ve done that, okay?”
“O—okay.”
“You never know, Yuuri; next year could change everything.” Phichit hoped that he succeeded at sounding philosophical rather than that he was hiding something, but Yuuri was still so much inside of his own depression that it was unlikely he would have noticed anyway.
Yuuri is thinking of retiring.
v_nikiforov liked this
The dueling messages hooked into Phichit’s brain as he headed back into his room. There was no way that Yuuri was going to retire if Phichit had anything to do with it, and somewhere in this social media mystery lay the solution.
“So Yuuri doesn’t remember the banquet,” Phichit mused. He pulled up the results of the Grand Prix Final on his computer, focusing on the list of competitors. “Let’s find someone who does.”
This is for the greater good.
Phichit knew this, he did, but that did not make this Facetime call any less unpleasant.
But Phichit would do it, because Yuuri’s future (and Phichit’s curiosity) depended on it.
Phichit gritted his teeth and hit Call.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three…
“Why the fuck are you calling me?”
Ah yes, a wonderful reunion with the Russian Punk.
“Hiiii Yuri,” Phichit tried to sound cheerful, but that was until he realized his old Juniors rival’s hair was disheveled and his eyes looked crusted with sleep. “Oh crap. I forgot about the time difference.”
“You better have a good fucking reason to call me.” Little Yuri Plisetsky’s signature ferocity certainly was not blunted by the surprise wake up call.
“Trust me, I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t have a good reason.” Phichit tried to keep the barb out of his voice; he failed. “Waking you up was just a happy bonus.”
“Well, get a move on. I need to get up and feed the cat.”
Phichit cleared his throat.
“I need to know what happened at the Grand Prix Final.” Little Yuri’s eyes widened a little bit; that was a good start. “Specifically, anything with Yuuri Katsuki…”
The way Little Yuri’s face contorted at the name was all the clue that Phichit needed.
“Why? Did he tell you? It was his fault for not saying his stupid dog died, okay?” Little Yuri squawked. “I was mad. Because people shouldn’t cry after they lose. It’s not like I did anything—”
“Oh right, he said you yelled at him and told him to retire…” Phichit finally connected the dots of Little Yuri’s panic. “Yeah, don’t do that again.”
“Whatever.”
Phichit could swear that Yuri Plisetsky actually looked… sorry. But as much as he wanted to bask in the enjoyment of Little Yuri’s guilt and suffering, there were more important things to do. v_nikiforov liked this things. I don’t remember the banquet because I got drunk things.
“Did anything happen at the banquet?” Phichit inquired. “With Yuuri?”
“What, he didn’t tell you?” Whatever echo of guilt that had inhabited Little Yuri’s face evaporated away, replaced with interest.
“When I left his room, he was talking about ‘rethinking his career and future,’ so no. He didn’t tell me what happened.” For some reason, Phichit thought it better not to mention that Yuuri also did not seem to remember whatever it was that v_nikiforov clearly… liked. “So, since you obviously know what’s going on, why don’t you tell me and I’ll promise not to put your yelling at Yuuri to retire not even a day after his dog died on my Instagram story!”
Phichit would never do that to Yuuri, but from the wide-eyed disgust on Little Yuri’s face, his former rival didn’t actually know that.
“If I show you, do you promise not to tell everyone I said that?” It was strange hearing insecurity in Little Yuri’s voice, as if he was actually ashamed.
“Promise,” Phichit replied. “Now spill the tea, Plisetsky.”
“Is your email still the same?” Little Yuri tapped on his phone’s screen, biting his tongue in concentration.
“It is,” Phichit answered. “Why do you need my email address?”
“You’ll see,” Little Yuri punctuated his reply with one final tap to his screen. “Now go away. I have to get up and feed Potya.”
The call ended abruptly, leaving Phichit without the opportunity for a witty retort; before he could scowl, his email notification pinged with Little Yuri’s message.
Phichit opened the attachment.
“Oh wow.”
Everything suddenly made sense.
“Oh shit.”
This was fine.
Everything was fine.
Phichit was a social butterfly who had bajillions of interactions with people over social media all the time!
Victor Nikiforov was not so different from Phichit; he was a competitive figure skater too, after all.
So why was the Friend Request (which got accepted) and the message request (which was pending) so terrifying?
Because Victor Nikiforov is a living legend, and has inspired you nearly his whole life.
Phichit might not have been a Yuuri Katsuki-level fanboy, but, well, he wasn’t completely immune to Victor Nikiforov’s star power, either.
But Yuuri is thinking of retiring.
And he doesn’t remember the banquet.
Phichit had only witnessed drunk Yuuri Katsuki once, after one of Ciao Ciao’s grueling bootcamp weeks. At some point, Yuuri found sake and Ciao Ciao’s stereo, and decided that singing karaoke to old Italian opera was a genius idea that everyone should join in on.
(Phichit had pictures, but had made a promise on the threat of death and firing not to publish them.)
So finding out that Yuuri instigated a dance-off that included breakdancing, pole dancing, Paso Doble, and ballet after drinking in excess was not entirely surprising.
The pictures of him dancing with Victor though… touching his idol’s face with a tender joie de vivre (and the way Victor was gazing back at him?). Yeah. Phichit would get over his jitters, because there was no doubt something incredible happened that night and it was a tragedy that Yuuri didn’t remember.
v_nikiforov has accepted your message request
It was go time.
phichit+chu Hi Victor! I saw you liking the photos I had of Yuuri Katsuki. I have to talk to you about Yuuri so if you could call me at your earliest convenience that would be great! My number is…
It was far more formal than Phichit would normally send, but he was talking to Victor Nikiforov, so a little bit of restraint could go a long way. Engaging with famous people—idols—took a certain about of sophistication, trying to make sure that they know you are not weird or crazy, giving them the context that they might need to take the next step… opening up the dialogue and letting patience and diplomacy establish the backbone of the relationship to make the other person trust—
Phichit nearly dropped his phone when it started to ring.
“Hello?” It couldn’t be this easy. “This—this is Phichit.”
“Hi, this is Victor.” The voice on the other side of the line was heavy and Russian. “You wanted to talk to me about Yuuri Katsuki?”
Was it serious that easy?
One message and Victor Nikiforov was on the phone with him?
The Victor Nikiforov who could sell a million pairs of sunglasses just by wearing them while coming off a plane?
“Yeah—yeah,” Phichit murmured, then cleared his throat. “You see, Yuuri is my roommate and he is—”
“Oh. Oh.” The voice on the phone interrupted. “I—I didn’t, nothing happened so your boyfriend didn’t do anything, if that is what you are worried about. I—Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even realize.”
Boyfriend?
God, this was already going off the rails.
Phichit needed to pump the brakes.
“I love Yuuri very much,” Phichit said carefully. “But I would never ever date that man. We really are just roommates, Victor. Yuuri is very very single.”
Was Phichit really currently reassuring Victor Nikiforov that his roommate was available?
Yes. Yes he was.
“Th—that’s good to know. Um. I mean, not that I—” Holy crap, Victor was stuttering. About Yuuri. “He doesn’t have much of an online presence.”
That was the understatement of the century.
It was no wonder that Victor trolled Phichit’s feed. It was one of the only places outside official JSF news where Yuuri Katsuki’s face appeared semi-regularly.
“Yuuri doesn’t like to put himself out there,” Phichit explained. “Something about not being interesting enough for people to look up.”
“That is not a good attitude for a professional skater,” Victor replied; he was preaching to the choir. “How does he market himself?”
“He doesn’t,” Phichit shrugged. “Yuuri only sees the worst of himself.”
“Is—is that why… he hasn’t contacted me?” Victor’s voice had turned soft, completely different from the confident swagger he radiated at every press conference Phichit had ever seen him at. “Because he thinks he did something wrong?”
Yuuri doesn’t remember dancing with Victor Nikiforov.
“Have you ever gotten so drunk you don’t remember the next day?” Phichit asked.
“Wait.” Even in his voice Phichit could hear the cogs in Victor’s brain turning. “Are you—did Yuuri… forget?”
“Yuuri is under the impression that the only interaction you two had was you mistaking him for a fan and asking if he wanted a photo with you,” Phichit answered. No use beating around the bush.
“He asked me to—” There was a pause, as if Victor was mulling over whether to say more. “It doesn’t matter. He really doesn’t remember?”
“He thinks you ignored him at the banquet,” Phichit admitted.
“Well, that explains a lot.” The defeat in Victor’s voice, so similar to the defeat in Yuuri’s, grabbed at Phichit’s heart.
“He is thinking of retiring.” Phichit knew he shouldn’t say it. He should keep this secret from Yuuri’s idol. He knew this, but for some reason he couldn’t. Something inside of him told him that Victor might take that news as badly as he did. “I don’t want him to retire, Victor. I know you only saw that one competition when he binge ate and his dog died but he’s such an incredible skater! Like our entire team goes quiet when Yuuri gets in the zone just to watch him. He’s absolutely beautiful and doesn’t even know it. I—I know it’s a lot to ask but… but I don’t want to see him leave the ice like this. Not when—when he’s so convinced of his own defeat and—”
“I believe you,” Victor interrupted. Phichit wondered if he made the right decision to speak, to tell Yuuri’s idol about Yuuri’s defeat, to ask for help. But a small voice in his head told him that yes, this was the right thing to do. “Yuuri… needs to stay on the ice.”
A loud and gruff Russian voice interrupted the conversation, and Phichit could swear he heard the word ‘Yakov’ roll off of Victor’s tongue. Had Victor Nikiforov dropped everything to call Phichit while he was at practice?
“I have to go,” Victor finally said. “But… I have an idea. Yuuri Katsuki will not be retiring if I have anything to say about it.”
When the line went dead, Phichit stared down at his phone.
Had it really been that easy?
Was it over?
How the hell would Victor Nikiforov successfully pull Yuuri out of his depressive stupor?
But Phichit could not forget that photo. The one where Yuuri had dipped Victor. The smiles on both of their faces as they touched and danced. Something beautiful happened at that banquet, and Phichit hoped that it would be enough to keep Yuuri Katsuki on the ice.
“The skating world is in an uproar over Victor Nikiforov’s decision to step away from professional skating and coach Japan’s Yuuri Katsuki! What do you think compelled the Living Legend to make such a choice, here, at the peak of his career?”
“Well Stefan, Victor always did like to surprise—”
The voices of the interview faded into the background. All Phichit could do was smile, because to him, Victor’s decision had not come as a surprise at all.