A/N: So I decided to try my hand at the hanahaki thing. Apologies for the long chapter, but there are only going to be three parts and this seemed like the best way to split them. Enjoy!

Many waters cannot quench love,
Neither can the floods drown it. Love is strong as death.
Greater love hath no man than this,
That a man lay down his life for his friends.

- John Ireland, 'Greater Love'

As soon as Phichit arrives at the rink, his eye is drawn by the boy in blue. Phichit is early, and the senior skaters are still practising – or at least they are supposed to be. Most of them have already begun to slack off; a few have given up entirely and are leaning against the barrier, laughing at something on one of their phones. But not the boy in blue, who is working on a step sequence out in the middle of the ice. Although the coach is watching him with a smile, the boy doesn't once look to him for encouragement, nor does he pay any attention to the other skaters. And yet there's nothing arrogant about the way he carries himself. He's not showing off, or ignoring the others; so, absorbed is he in his step sequence that it's as if nothing exists for him, in that moment, but himself and the ice.

Then and there, Phichit makes it his mission to emulate the boy in blue.

Perhaps that's why, when the coach calls an end to the session and the older skaters leave the ice, Phichit finds himself unable to speak to the boy as he slips past. Next time, he promises, annoyed at his own sudden timidity.

As it happens, it's the other boy who speaks to him first.

Phichit is early to practice again, arriving in time to see him land a beautiful triple axel. It looks beautiful to Phichit, at any rate; but the boy, unsatisfied, repeats it five more times before his coach calls him over.

It makes Phichit's muscles ache just to watch him, and he wonders whether he might have set the bar too high.

While he's talking to the boy in the blue tracksuit, the coach catches Phichit's eye, and the boy turns to look in his direction. When the session ends, he skates over to where Phichit is standing.

The boy's face is still set in the mask of total focus that has become familiar to Phichit, but now it is tinged with a kind of grim determination. Phichit can't work out why until he sees the boy's hands clenched at his sides, the muscles of his shoulders tense beneath the fabric of his tracksuit.

He's nervous? About speaking to me?

Phichit smiles, trying to put both of them at ease; there is a strange, fluttering anxiety in his stomach all of a sudden. He is about to introduce himself when the other boy, not quite meeting his gaze, blurts out, "How are you?"

The English words are smudged together, and it takes a second for Phichit to unpick his meaning, but once he has untangled the threads his grin widens. "Peachy!" Of all the expressions he's learnt so far, that's his favourite, and he's pleased to have had a chance to use it so soon.

But to his dismay, the older boy's brow furrows in confusion. "Your name … is Peachy?" he asks, handling the sentence with care, like something will break if he gets it wrong.

And then it clicks. Between the other boy's nervous mispronunciation, the accidental bluntness of the words, and his own unfamiliarity with English, the actual meaning of that first question was lost. Not 'how'. Who.

"Sorry, I misunderstood." His grin turns sheepish, and he wills the other boy not to think him too much of an idiot. "My name's Phichit. What's yours?"

Mortified, the boy stammers something in what Phichit thinks is Japanese, then shakes his head and corrects himself in English. "I'm very sorry. My English is bad," he says, staring down at the ice as if willing his skates to bore through it and take him away from this conversation.

"Not at all," Phichit smiles, hoping the boy – who still won't look at him – can hear the brightness in his voice. "What's your name?"

"Katsuki Yuuri です. I mean, um, Katsuki Yuuri. It's… it's Katsuki Yuuri," the boy mumbles, ears flushing red. He grips the top of the board fit to tear it out of the floor.

"Nice to meet you!"

Katsuki Yuuri inclines his head, murmuring a reply too quiet for Phichit to hear, and hurries past him towards the lockers.

Well, that could've gone better. He'll have to make it up to him at the next session, somehow.

When he takes his place on the ice, he can't get the mortified face of the boy in blue out of his head; he's so distracted he botches jumps he's been able to land since he was eight. How on earth is he ever going to get Katsuki Yuuri to be his friend after that less-than-stellar first impression – not to mention the fact that Phichit is still a junior, miles behind him in skill?

Somehow, he finds himself turning up to practice earlier and earlier. He pretends it's so he can learn from the older skaters; while that's not untrue, there's one skater in particular whom he watches intently, waiting for a chance to strike up a conversation.

At first, embarrassed by their awkward first encounter, Katsuki Yuuri tries to avoid him; he'll nod in greeting when Phichit waves to him, and he'll reply if asked a question, but he makes no move to continue their conversations, and he still won't look Phichit in the eye. Ordinarily, Phichit would be hurt by the rejection of his attempts at friendship, but it's obvious the other skater's intention is not to snub him; he's simply shy.

But after a few weeks, to Phichit's joy, that shyness begins to melt away. Katsuki Yuuri starts to wave when Phichit arrives at practice, and although he still doesn't initiate conversation, he stops to chat during the session changeover instead of rushing off to put his skates away.

One day, when he comes over to join Phichit at the side of the rink, he says, "By the way, you can call me Yuuri."

He smiles for the first time since they've met, and the change in him is so profound that a jolt goes through Phichit's chest. There's a sudden lightness to his expression; it's like watching a tangled kite come free and soar on a breeze he hadn't even realised was there. Yuuri's eyes are the warm brown of the soil after rain, and looking into them properly for the first time, Phichit feels as if he's being let in on some important secret.

Now it's Phichit's turn to be embarrassed. He's been addressing Yuuri by his full name for weeks, unsure what level of formality Japanese custom deems appropriate for two not quite friends. Googling Yuuri's name didn't help, although – after several evenings spent trawling the Golden Skate forums – he now knows more about Yuuri's skating record than he should let on if he doesn't want to sound like a stalker.

He's been making an idiot of himself this whole time. He opens his mouth – to laugh it off, to apologise, to say something else, he's not sure. But he finds himself unusually tongue-tied. Before he can say anything, one of the girls calls out to Yuuri, who turns to go.

Phichit feels a stab of something hot and fierce in his chest, barely assuaged by Yuuri's cheerful, 'See you tomorrow, Phichit!' It isn't anger – why should he be angry with a girl he hardly knows? Besides, anger has never felt like this before; the bitter taste in his mouth, the burning sensation in his stomach, corrosive, acidic. This girl hasn't done anything to hurt him, and yet, as the rink empties for the junior session and Yuuri and the girl are still standing on the other side of the ice, deep in conversation, he feels another vicious stab of this emotion he can't pin down.

Can't pin it down, that is, until he sees Yuuri laugh at something the girl has just said and clenches his fists without meaning to. Why does she get to be the one to make him laugh? Why can't I make him laugh like that?

That's when he realises what it is. He's jealous.

He doesn't understand why – not today, nor at the next practice, when Yuuri is so busy talking to the girl during the break (the two of them standing so close together that they're almost touching) that Phichit doesn't even get a look-in. Phichit has friends amongst the skaters in his own group; why shouldn't the same be true of Yuuri? Why can't he just be happy that someone as shy as Yuuri has made other friends besides him?

Glancing over at Yuuri now, he can still see that shyness in the way he rubs the back of his neck as he talks, the way his eyes keep darting away from the girl.

The girl, meanwhile, is looking at Yuuri with a kind of tenderness on her face that causes Phichit's heart to thud in his chest. Oh. I get it. Whoever this girl is, either she and Yuuri are more than friends, or they're headed that way.

He still doesn't know why that would make him jealous, why there's a tug in his chest every time the girl's hand brushes against Yuuri's arm, every time Yuuri returns her smile.

The following day, he is surprised but happy when Yuuri makes a beeline straight for him as soon as Coach Celestino calls an end to the session. "Hey, Phichit. Sorry we didn't get to talk yesterday. How are you doing?"

Such a simple question, but Phichit is walking on air. He can't believe how quickly he's gone from admiring Yuuri from afar to being treated as his equal. "Peachy," he grins.

Yuuri looks confused for a second, and Phichit is afraid he's put his foot in it again until Yuuri smiles. His English, like Phichit's, has improved a lot since their first meeting. I bet he's learning from her – and not just English, he thinks with a savageness that startles him.

Perhaps this strange, unreasonable jealousy will disappear once he figures out exactly what this girl means to Yuuri. "So," he says, trying to be casual, "you've been spending a lot of time with a certain someone." His eyes darting from Yuuri to the person in question and back again, he forces a conspiratorial smirk, even as the sourness in his stomach begins to burn.

Taken aback by the sudden change of topic, Yuuri glances at Phichit for a moment before his gaze shifts to where the girl is standing, chatting to some of her other rinkmates for once.

Uh-oh. He knew who I meant without asking.

Yuuri smiles, and it's a little guarded, a little apprehensive, but it's enough for Phichit's stomach to plummet through the bottom of his skates. "Oh, you mean Helga? Yeah, I guess – I guess I have."

He's not sure whether it's worse or better to have a name to attach to the jealousy intent on boring a permanent hole in his chest; when he's lying awake for the tenth night running, it won't make much difference whether the spear twisting through his ribs belongs to 'Helga' or just 'that girl Yuuri likes'.

He swallows. All right. Million-dollar question. "Are you guys together?"

Confusion etches a tiny dent between Yuuri's eyebrows.

"Dating," Phichit clarifies. "Are you two dating?"

"What?" Yuuri blinks. "No! No, we're not."

Not the answer Phichit was expecting, and hope flickers in his chest before he crushes the flame into nothingness. Yuuri is protecting his privacy, that's all. Phichit knows he shouldn't press him, knows he should leave it – for his own sake as well as Yuuri's – but he can't help plunging on. "She likes you, though."

"You think so?"

Was that hope he heard, or just surprise? Or is Yuuri still pretending? Ignoring the jealousy burning in the pit of his stomach, he fakes a laugh. "You need to get yourself some better glasses, Yuuri. She's not subtle."

Yuuri blushes, and Phichit finds himself fascinated with the way Yuuri's cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, flush pink against the golden undertones of his skin. He wonders whether Yuuri's skin is as soft as it looks. How it would feel to brush his fingers over that skin, hot to the touch. How it would feel –

"Phichit?"

He starts at the sound of Yuuri's voice. "Do you like her?" he bursts out, trying to clear his head. What the hell was that?

"Helga?"

Yuuri is looking at him strangely, and Phichit scrabbles for a way to deflect Yuuri's attention until his thoughts have settled. "No, Yuuri, the Queen of England." He grins, hoping that it looks natural. "Of course I'm talking about Helga."

"I mean, I suppose I like her –"

Another twist of the spear, and Phichit can feel his grin slipping, although he still doesn't understand why.

"– but not like that! She's my friend, that's all." There's nothing evasive in Yuuri's expression, just embarrassed honesty, and Phichit knows Yuuri is telling the truth.

He has no explanation for the relief that washes through him, a welcome salve to the burning pain of jealousy.

…

That explanation comes to him some weeks later, during morning practice. Although Phichit hasn't yet taken his senior test, he's progressing a lot faster than the other juniors, and Celestino is allowing him to join in with senior practices for a trial period.

"I know it's unusual. But it'll be good for you to see what you'll be up against once you make your senior debut. Besides, you're always here so early, it seems a shame to waste good ice time. And," he continues, with a fond glance at Yuuri, who is over at the boards stretching, "Yuuri's been a lot more relaxed with you around. I think this will help you both."

This particular morning, Yuuri has not arrived by the time the session starts, and Phichit finds himself out of sorts, unable to concentrate on the steps he's supposed to be practising. He can't put his finger on what's wrong; everything feels off, stale, dull as the ice at the end of a session. He can't muster any enthusiasm for practice, and it shows. Celestino even asks if everything is okay, fretting that Phichit is struggling to keep up, but Phichit knows that's not it. "You're not coming down with something, are you?" But that's not it either. Phichit's never known an illness that can drain the colour out of everything around him like this.

Then the door at the back of the rink clatters open, and a voice calls out, "Sorry I'm late!" It's Yuuri, his cheeks flushed from running, his hair dishevelled as if he's only just rolled out of bed.

It's like the rink has been in darkness this whole time, and Yuuri's arrival has thrown the lights on. The uneasiness that's been plaguing Phichit disappears, replaced by a giddy lightness that only intensifies as Yuuri pulls on his skates and joins the rest of the group on the ice.

As Yuuri skates over, Phichit realises why he's been so eager to spend time with him. Why he can't take his eyes off Yuuri when he's skating, or even just standing there like he is now, a sheepish grin on his face as he half-yawns, half-whispers to Phichit, "Guess who overslept again."

The world falls apart and comes back together, irrevocably altered, in the space of that moment. He's shocked that no-one else seems to have noticed this seismic shift. Celestino greets Yuuri with a wry, "Good evening," and when Yuuri looks back at him in sleepy confusion, Phichit has to ignore his racing heart and his racing thoughts for long enough to lean over and whisper, "It's a joke, Yuuri. Because you're late." He finds himself relieved when Yuuri, after flashing him a quick, radiant smile of thanks, looks away. Relieved, and at the same time torn, because he's pretty sure he could look into Yuuri's eyes forever.

When he left Bangkok for Detroit – it feels like a lifetime ago now, although it's only been a matter of months – he knew things wouldn't be easy. Knew there would be obstacles in his path, hurdles, distractions.

He didn't imagine that any of those distractions would be as wonderful as Katsuki Yuuri.

…

Before long, Celestino suggests the two of them room together. Phichit's homestay is coming to an end, and Yuuri is currently living by himself in a flat meant for two people, his intended roommate having dropped out before the start of the year. "He's never going to bring it up himself, but he's lonely," Celestino confides. "What do you think?"

The plan fills Phichit half with excitement, half with dread. It is difficult enough hiding his feelings for the few hours a day they spend together on the ice; difficult enough to tear his eyes away from Yuuri long enough to focus on his own skating, difficult enough to stop himself from crashing into the boards while he looks over his shoulder to watch Yuuri pull off a jump Phichit can still only dream of landing. How will he keep Yuuri from noticing if they're actually living together?

Hiding things from Yuuri, it turns out, isn't difficult. To Phichit, his feelings for Yuuri are vast, unwieldy things, wedging themselves into every gap between the two of them and casting a shadow over every conversation; to Yuuri, apparently, they are invisible. Yuuri remains thankfully, laughingly, frustratingly oblivious, in thrall to a distraction of his own. Their third roommate, Victor Nikiforov.

Of course, the former junior world champion isn't actually living in their student flat in Detroit, but he might as well be; his cold, handsome face stares down at Phichit from every wall. There's even a poster of him in the bathroom, secured to the damp wall with copious amounts of masking tape.

"Do you mind?" Yuuri asks, the first time Phichit walks in and realises the room is essentially wallpapered with Victor's face. "I can take them – some of them – down if you want."

That delicious defiant note in Yuuri's voice does funny things to Phichit's brain. His stomach. His legs. This side of Yuuri is different from the one he already knows, the shy, serious warmth of the boy in blue. He glows at the thought of how much he has yet to learn about Yuuri.

"Oh no, it's fine," he says, trying not to let on that his insides are turning to honey. How could he object to something that brings Yuuri happiness? It's not as if he needs the space, anyway – he can't exactly go around putting up posters of his own favourite skater. (He makes a mental note to check whether Yuuri is famous enough to have posters made of him yet. Not that he's obsessed enough to buy one.)

But as the days go on, he finds he does mind, more than he wants to. Just when he's no longer fighting the unjustified urge to glare at Helga every time she so much as speaks to Yuuri, he finds himself faced with a new source of jealousy, a new enemy that, this time, he can never hope to beat. He could swear Victor's picture-perfect smile grows a little more smug every time he glances at any of the posters. It makes him want to rip them off the wall, every last one of them, because he knows that next to Russia's sweetheart Victor Nikiforov he is nothing, nothing but a stupid boy with a stupid crush.

He doesn't touch the posters, of course. They mean too much to Yuuri.

…

When he asks whether Yuuri has a crush on Victor, Yuuri hotly denies it.

"No! I respect him as a competitor –"

"– but I bet you also respect how good his ass looks in that costume," Phichit says, grinning wickedly as he inclines his head at one of the posters.

There's a flash of understanding in Yuuri's eyes, a moment of oh, so you like guys too, and his face becomes a little brighter, a little less guarded. Phichit almost says something, almost lets himself wonder whether he might have a chance after all. But he sees the look in Yuuri's eyes as his gaze flickers to the poster in question.

"That was definitely a yes, c'mon."

Victor does look very good in that particular photo, in a hard, sculpted way that does nothing for Phichit. He can see why Yuuri finds him attractive, but privately he thinks that Victor, for all his icy beauty, has nothing on the softness and warmth of Yuuri himself.

When Yuuri still won't admit it, he sighs. "Yuuri," he teases gently, "you have his face plastered across every inch of the walls. You imitate his routines in practice, even though we haven't learnt half of the jumps he can land. Your dog's named after him. You talk about him all the time –"

"I do not!"

"Oh?" Smirking, Phichit pulls out his phone. "According to my 'times that Yuuri has mentioned Victor Nikiforov' chart – which could do with a snappier name, I know – you've said his name seventeen times today already."

Yuuri grabs the phone, his eyebrows shooting up when he sees the screen. "You have graphs of this? I didn't know you were so obsessed with me, Phichit. I'm flattered."

Yuuri's words, far too close to the truth, send a chill through Phichit's stomach. Not wanting Yuuri to notice anything amiss, Phichit sticks his tongue out and snatches his phone back.

"For your information, I'm failing Stats and it's a good way of practising graphs, you egomaniac." The last word he would choose to describe Yuuri. "It's you who's obsessed, that or in love, admit it. No-one has this many posters of someone they respect as a competitor."

"I don't think you can be in love with someone you've never met."

"You might as well have met him, I mean, you've watched all his interviews. Including the ones in Russian. And you don't even speak Russian," Phichit grins. "Wait, or do you?"

But Yuuri isn't smiling. There's an unexpected gravity to his voice as he says, ignoring Phichit's comment, "Love isn't a word you should use lightly."

Where is this coming from all of a sudden? He's afraid he's hit a nerve, touched on something painful in Yuuri's past, and he isn't sure whether to apologise or stay silent.

Then Yuuri smiles sheepishly, his seriousness gone like a cloud lifting. "I suppose I do…like him more than it's normal to like one of your rivals, though."

It's only a confirmation of what Phichit already knew, but it still hurts to hear Yuuri say it out loud. You win, Victor, he thinks bitterly.

…

It's not only Victor that makes living with Yuuri as difficult as it is delightful. His own brain conspires against him, turning the days into an exhausting dance around his true feelings and the nights into either a sleepless wasteland or a dangerous release. There are dreams that make him cringe to remember them in the light of day, mornings when he wakes up with Yuuri's name on his lips and a stickiness on his sheets and has to run to the laundry room before Yuuri wakes up. It's a good thing Yuuri is a heavy sleeper, and never wakes up to ask why Phichit is doing laundry at 4AM.

…

"I feel like I could fight a shark." Phichit bounces slightly on the balls of his feet, his body still fizzing with energy from morning practice. "Or eat one. I'm ravishing."

Already stretched out on the couch, Yuuri raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, so maybe that's an exaggeration. Half a shark, then. A baby shark. Wait, no, that's horrible –"

"I'm not questioning your appetite," Yuuri laughs. "I've seen you demolish the Tipsy Tower burger challenge and still order dessert. But I think you meant 'ravenous'."

Phichit opens his dictionary app with a frown, and his face grows hot; Yuuri is, as usual, right. He brushes off the embarrassment with a mock-indignant, "What, you don't think I'm 'unusually attractive, pleasing, or striking'?"

"You're certainly the most attractive roommate I've ever had."

For one delicious moment, Phichit's heart soars. But it comes crashing down when he sees the mischief in Yuuri's grin. "The only roommate you've ever had, more like." It's meant to sound light-hearted, but he can't keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Yuuri's grin disappears. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean… I didn't realise you were worried about how you look," he says, stricken. "You've always seemed so confident, I thought – I didn't want to hurt your feelings – I was only… I shouldn't have joked about it. I'm sorry."

"Nonono, it's fine!" Squashing down the disappointment inside him, he offers Yuuri a quick smile. "If you think I'm insecure about my appearance, you clearly haven't seen my Instagram."

"That might be because I don't actually have Instagram," Yuuri admits, relaxing slightly.

"What? But how do you interact with your fans?"

"I don't have fans," Yuuri says, bemused.

Phichit studies him for a second, and realises Yuuri isn't being modest – he really has no idea. Oh my God. What planet is this boy living on? He reaches over the back of the sofa. "Gimme your phone, Yuuri."

"Why?"

"One: so we can get you on Instagram. Two: so I can show you that you do, in fact, have fans. A lot of them."

He makes a grab for Yuuri's phone, but Yuuri slips it out of his pocket and holds it out of reach. "Not until you tell me what's wrong."

"What do you mean?" Phichit feigns innocence, caught between pleasure that Yuuri has noticed something amiss and terror that, under Yuuri's caring gaze, he might spill the secret that will wreck everything.

"Something's bothering you."

He ignores the twinge in his chest, the urge to be honest, and reaches for a plausible excuse. "Oh, I get kinda moody when I'm hungry, that's all." More of a half-truth than an outright lie, but the deception still causes guilt to prick at him.

Yuuri grins, and it's such a welcome sight that Phichit finds himself grinning back in spite of himself as Yuuri says, "In that case, Instagram can wait. We need to find you something to eat before you get yourself banned from the aquarium."

…

"Phichit?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you have a fake ID?"

Crap. He's been looking for that for days in the mess of midterm prep covering his side of the room; it's not as if he could have asked Yuuri to help him search. Hey, Yuuri, you haven't seen my fake ID, have you?

But now Yuuri has found it anyway, and he's holding it up, squinting at the photo of Phichit's brother.

From his bed, Phichit makes a grab for it, and misses wildly. "Gimme that. It's totally legit."

Yuuri looks at him with one eyebrow elegantly arched in a way that is utterly ruinous to Phichit's composure. "Right. Because your name is Somchai Chulanont and you're…" Checking the date on the card, he frowns. "Twenty? What good is a fake ID that only claims you're twenty?"

"I wasn't planning on using it to get drunk. Unlike some people," Phichit grins.

Yuuri flushes a violent red, and while he's distracted, Phichit jumps to his feet and snatches the ID card.

That wasn't exactly fair. He's probably embarrassed about the whole drink-dancing thing.

But Yuuri doesn't seem particularly upset. Recovering, he turns to Phichit with a sly grin. "I do not get drunk. You're just jealous because I'm a better dancer than you."

"Oh please, Katsuki, I could wipe the floor with you any day of the week. Drunk or sober."

"Is that a challenge?"

"You bet it is."

Yuuri's grin spreads, catlike, across his face as he grabs the well-used copy of DDR off the games shelf and kicks away the clutter in front of the PlayStation.

"You're on."

…

Hours later, sweaty and exhausted and out of breath, they collapse next to each other on the sofa. "Guess… we'll have to… call that… a draw," Yuuri pants.

"You tripped me! I win… by default, you cheater."

"…was an accident," Yuuri protests, grinning.

Phichit isn't sure about that – he's beginning to recognise Yuuri's fierce competitive streak. But all he can manage to say is, "Whatever."

They fall into a companionable silence broken only by the sound of their ragged breathing. In the stillness, Phichit is suddenly hyper-aware of the weight of Yuuri's head on his shoulder, the scent of Yuuri's skin. This is the closest they've ever been; Yuuri isn't good with closeness, and he often flinches away from a well-meant touch, an unsolicited hug. But there's no tension in Yuuri's body now.

It's Phichit who is tense. His breathing is too loud, his pulse so strong he's sure Yuuri can feel it. That he knows. He catches poster-Victor's eye from across the room and is suddenly ashamed of the state of his hair, the sweat soaking through his clothes, the way he is in every way less than Yuuri's flawless, unchanging idol – and more importantly, less than Yuuri. Gangly still where Yuuri is already lean and muscular, clumsy while Yuuri is graceful, baby-faced and childish in the shadow of Yuuri's maturity.

Under Victor's mocking gaze, Phichit's dizzy joy at Yuuri's proximity, his trust, turns sour. Yuuri is the kindest, sweetest person Phichit has ever met, but how could he do anything but laugh at the idea of someone like Phichit, just a kid compared to Yuuri, daring to have feelings for him?

For the first time since leaving Bangkok, Phichit is homesick. He wants to hear his mother's laughter, to help his father out in the florist's, to play football and argue with Somchai and not have to deal with this mess of feelings any more.

"Phichit? You okay?"

Warmth floods through him at the concern in Yuuri's voice. "Just thinking about home."

Yuuri squeezes his shoulder gently, and Phichit's stomach does a backflip. "Missing your family?"

He realises it's okay to admit that yes, he does miss them. The friends he's left behind. The heat and bustle and familiarity of Bangkok. He nods. "A bit, yeah. No. A lot, actually." Although, in truth, the sharpness of that sudden pang of homesickness is already fading a little. Bangkok might be far away, but close at hand he has Yuuri, Yuuri who cares about him enough to pull him into a hug and say, "I miss mine, too."

It's the first time Yuuri has hugged him, and he hadn't realised that something so simple and honest as Yuuri's touch could make his body sing like this. Perhaps waiting out this crush, painful as it might sometimes be, isn't going to be as bad as he thought.

It occurs to him that he knows next to nothing about Yuuri's family, apart from Vicchan and the fact that his parents run an onsen. Yuuri has been quite happy to let Phichit chatter on about his home life, but he's been remarkably tight-lipped about his own.

"Do you have brothers and sisters?" Phichit asks, and then laughs. "Wow. I sound like something out of an English textbook."

"Yes. I have one older sister. Her name is Mari. She has short blonde hair and she is very cool," Yuuri deadpans, and then pulls out his phone with a smile. "Wait, let me show you."

Phichit pretends not to notice that Yuuri's background is yet another photo of Victor Nikiforov.

Yuuri scrolls through his photos until he finds the one he's looking for and holds the phone out so Phichit can see. "That's her on the right."

There are three people in the photo, standing in front of the onsen guesthouse. Mari – who does indeed have short blonde hair, dyed and spiky and held back from her face with a navy headband – has one arm around a plump, smiling woman with glasses, and her other hand is resting on the head of a large poodle.

"Hey, Vicchan." This is the first photo he's seen of Yuuri's family, and approximately the hundred and twelfth of his dog. "Still can't believe you named him after Victor. How're you gonna explain that when you finally meet him?"

Yuuri flushes, and, instead of answering, turns his attention to the ID card sitting on the table. "Is this your brother?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"He looks a lot like you. Except… angrier."

Phichit laughs. It's a stolen passport photo of Somchai, who was in a foul mood on the day of the picture. "Yeah, he's kind of – how d'you say it? Oh yeah, camera-shy."

"Nothing like you, then."

"Nah, we're not much alike." He holds up his phone. "Speaking of being camera-shy… Pepsi!" And he snaps the picture before Yuuri can protest.

Yuuri frowns, but not at having his picture taken. "What did you just say?"

"Pepsi? As in, what you say to get someone to smile for a photo?" He laughs at Yuuri's confused expression. "Guess that's a Thai thing, huh. Anyway, we still have to get you on Instagram, Yuuri."

"But why? I don't take that many photos."

"So you can follow me, obviously. And see all the photos I'm posting of you."

Yuuri looks horrified. "What?"

"Relax, Yuuri, I'm kidding. Although…" He checks the photo he's just taken, and nods approvingly. "That one's going on Instagram, definitely. You look good. And not just because of my excellent camera skills."

He freezes, afraid he's gone too far, but Yuuri's blushing, and there's the hint of a smile as he sighs theatrically, "I suppose I can't really stop you."

So Yuuri likes to be complimented. He stores that knowledge away for future use.

"Why do you take so many photos, anyway?"

He scrambles for something less melodramatic than I want to capture every moment I spend with you, Yuuri. "I wanna remember everything."

Yuuri smiles fondly as he toys with the ID card. "Anyway, Phichit, what is it you need a fake ID for?"

Phichit sighs. Yuuri's tenacity is admirable, but occasionally inconvenient. He'd rather not lie. "PetSmart doesn't let you buy animals until you're 18."

"You know we're not legally allowed to keep pets in this flat, right?"

"You're not legally allowed to drink yet, either, but that didn't stop you doing shots and outdancing everyone at the Hallowe'en party."

"How do you…" Yuuri's eyes widen in realisation, and he groans. "Ketty told you, didn't she." He puts his face in his hands. "I'm going to kill that woman," he says, muffled. "Why did I have to become friends with the two biggest gossip machines in Detroit?"

"Actually, K had nothing to do with it this time." Ketty – Yuuri's friend from the local conservatoire – would be delighted by Yuuri's exploits, but he hasn't shared them with her. He doubts Yuuri would appreciate it if he did.

"Then how…" His eyes narrow. "Don't tell me you were there?"

"Great thing about a full-body skeleton costume is no-one knows who's inside it. Everyone sort of assumes someone else invited you."

"That was you?" Yuuri's lips curve up in a sly grin. "I knew they were too short, even for a freshman."

"Hey!" Phichit pokes Yuuri in the stomach. "You're not even that much taller than me. And you're definitely too short for Victor. I mean, he'd have to lean down to kiss you every time, and that's probably really really bad for your back. You'd be the end of his career."

"Back on the subject of your ID," Yuuri says, cheeks an interesting shade of pink, "this is never going to work."

"Why?"

Yuuri gestures at Somchai's glowering face. "This obviously isn't you. You're far too happy."

Radiant with Yuuri's affection, he grins, "I could look angry if I needed to."

"What are you going to do, march in and yell, 'Your hamsters or your life'?"

"I was thinking of gerbils, actually. Or a chinchilla." Butnow that Yuuri's suggested hamsters, they sound like a much better idea. He doesn't know why he's never noticed it before, but hamsters – with their round fat cheeks and stumpy tails and beady eyes – are far cuter than gerbils.

"You know," Yuuri says slowly, "if we were careful, no-one would notice. If it was hamsters and not a cat or something."

"But without an ID…"

"You only need an ID if you're under eighteen. And only one of us is under eighteen."

"Yuuri, are you saying that –"

"I'm saying that I know what you're like, and I know you're going to try it anyway, and I don't want you getting banned from PetSmart for illicit underage hamster-buying. I'm supposed to be looking out for you, after all."

He throws his arms around Yuuri. "Oh my God, Yuuri, you're the best." Then he stops, and draws back, his eyes narrowing. "What are you planning? There's some stupid condition to this, isn't there, like, I dunno, I have to call it Victor or something…"

Yuuri laughs. "I'm not quite obsessed enough to start naming other people's pets after him. Nope, no conditions."

Phichit flings his arms around Yuuri's neck again with an undignified but irrepressible squeal of happiness. And as Yuuri, laughing, puts his arms around Phichit too, Phichit wonders – not for the first time – how he got so lucky.

…

The day he and Yuuri and Ketty go to buy a hamster, Phichit can barely contain his excitement; he's practically hopping with it as they wander up and down the aisles, selecting everything a hamster will need. Yuuri has to talk him out of buying the most expensive cage, which would take up half their floorspace and seems to contain some sort of hamster theme park. "Remember, we have to be able to get everything into the flat without drawing any attention to ourselves. I'm not even sure that would fit in Ketty's car."

Pouting, Phichit settles on one of the smaller, cheaper cages.

When it comes to choosing a hamster, he doesn't hesitate. Three does from the same litter are curled up together in one corner of the enclosure – one with orange markings, one with grey, and one brown. "I'm taking all of them," he declares. "I'm not splitting up a family."

Yuuri opens his mouth to protest, and Ketty laughs. "Face it, you're not gonna talk him out of this one."

Yuuri sighs, and heads off to find a shop assistant.

As Phichit crouches down by the enclosure, cooing over the three sleeping hamsters, Ketty asks, "How'd you convince Yuuri to go along with this mad scheme, anyway?"

"He was the one who offered to take me to buy a hamster in the first place."

"Wow," Ketty chuckles. "You guys must be pretty close, if he's going out on a limb for you like this."

Pretty close. There's a twinge of pain in Phichit's chest at the words. He and Yuuri could barely be closer; by now, he is more attuned to Yuuri's needs and wants than he is to his own. He has seen Yuuri at his lowest, undone by terror, and knows how to keep his head above water until the storm passes. And he has seen Yuuri at his magnificent, radiant best. He knows how to bring out that radiance, how to soothe the tension in his body with a well-placed touch that stops just shy of the invisible line between platonic and romantic. But that is where the closeness stops, and he knows there will never be anything else, that it would be unfair even to ask that of Yuuri.

"He's my best friend." He tries to keep his voice bright, buoyant, but he can't help thinking of Helga. She's my friend, that's all.

Ketty casts a sidelong glance at him. "Hey, what's up?"

He shakes his head, forcing a smile, but it's too late.

"P, there's obviously something the matter. What's going on?" She puts a hand on his arm, gently pulls him to his feet. "Did you guys…" She pauses. "No, there's no way you two've fallen out, or he wouldn't be here buying you hamsters."

Phichit glances at Yuuri's retreating form just as Yuuri turns to speak to a nearby staff member. His profile is framed for a second against the glass door of the shop, and Phichit's knees go weak at the sight of him, the ink and brush outline of his hair against his collar, the soft curve of his face, his dancer's bearing. The pang of longing that wells in his chest is almost too much for him to hold, and, arms crossed, he hugs his elbows to him like it's the only way to keep his heart from spilling out.

Ketty is still watching him carefully, and when Yuuri disappears into another aisle and he turns back, reluctantly, to face her, she asks him seriously, "Do you have feelings for him?"

Heart in his mouth, he fixes her with his fiercest glare. "If you dare tell him –"

She smiles, and he realises too late that was the opposite of a denial.

"You can count on me," she says, punching him lightly on the shoulder.

He's going to have to do better at hiding his feelings for Yuuri, or it'll be all over campus.

"You really lucked out, living with him and everything," Ketty continues. "You know Helga, that ridiculously gorgeous blonde girl he's rinkmates with? I see her around sometimes – she's friends with someone in my composition class, I've been trying to get them or Yuuri to introduce me for ages – but I haven't even spoken to her yet. Whereas you get to spend all your time with him…" She sighs.

"I wouldn't get your hopes up," Phichit says, with a commiserating look. "She's pretty into Yuuri."

"Oh, fuck," Ketty huffs. "But Yuuri's not interested in her, right? So you've got a chance."

He sighs. "Yeah, a snowball's chance in hell."

"He likes someone else?" Ketty asks, shooting him a sympathetic glance.

"He has Victor Nikiforov on the brain, or hadn't you noticed?"

Ketty smothers her laugh when she sees his glum expression. "I wasn't really counting that. Don't tell me you've never had a celebrity crush?"

"Not until now," he mumbles.

"But Yuuri's not quite on the same level as Victor, is he –"

"Yes he is!"

A dark-haired woman leading a small child by the hand turns to glare at him, and he realises he's said it much more loudly than he intended.

"He'll beat Victor one day. And I'm gonna be there too," he continues, quietly but firmly. "Yuuri's amazing. You know that, you've seen him skate."

Ketty smiles indulgently, and he's afraid she's just humouring him, that she doesn't really believe it. "You've got it bad, huh?"

Phichit sighs. "I swear, K, that boy is going to be the death of me."

She laughs and ruffles his hair like she's forty years older than him instead of four. "Ah, young love…"

"It's not love," he protests. "It's just a crush." It's not 'just' anything; it's his every breath, his every waking moment and more than a few of his dreaming ones. And crushes are supposed to fade with time, but he can't imagine this ever fading, not when every time Yuuri so much as smiles it's like fireworks in his chest. But the thought of it being anything more than a crush is too overwhelming.

"Whatever you say, Phichit."

He's saved from having to reply by the reappearance of Yuuri, shop assistant in tow, and the pang in his chest is swamped by excitement as the young woman transfers the hamsters to a carry case and rings up their purchases.

When everything else is loaded into Ketty's car, Yuuri hands the case to Phichit with a grin. "I believe these belong to you."

…

"What are you going to call them?" Yuuri asks later, looking up from his essay.

Phichit pauses. The grey hamster is nestled in his hair; the orange and the brown are running happily up and down his arm. Carefully, so as not to dislodge them, he shrugs. "They deserve the right names, and I haven't found them yet."

Yuuri laughs the soft laugh that turns Phichit's insides to mush. "That's a very… Phichit thing for you to say."

"Who else am I supposed to sound like?" He catches poster-Victor's eye, and for the first time he doesn't feel a stab of jealousy. He's not Victor and he never will be, and maybe that's okay.

Yuuri laughs again, that magic sound, and he wishes he could stay in this moment forever, with the pain of longing outweighed by the warmth of Yuuri's smile. But Yuuri looks away again, as he always does, and the longing takes him in its claws and drags him down towards despair.

It's just a crush, he thinks crossly. Anyone would think you were dying. But the claws won't listen to reason, and it's only very slowly, as he methodically strokes the soft fur of the grey hamster, that the ache in his chest begins to abate.

…

The better Yuuri's season goes – and this one has been going exceptionally well – the more nervous Yuuri becomes, despite Phichit's best efforts to distract him. Even when he's not on the ice, Phichit can see him running through his routine in his head, his body moving with a rhythm that is imperceptible to anyone else but that Phichit recognises instantly. He carries himself as if he's balancing on blades, as if he doesn't quite trust the world not to slip from under him. Yuuri has always been graceful, but now there is a concentrated beauty to his movements; everything is a dance, precise and perfect. Phichit is just as mesmerised watching him walk across campus or the floor of their flat as he is watching him skate.

He finds himself spending more time watching Yuuri than talking to him as the Four Continents – at which Yuuri has a good chance of a medal – grows closer. In those rare moments when he's not practising, Yuuri tends to put in his headphones and close himself off to the rest of the world, Phichit included.

He'd love to know what it is Yuuri is listening to; every scrap of information about Yuuri's life, everything that gives him a fuller picture of who Yuuri is, is a treasure to Phichit, and somehow – even after they've lived together for this long – the subject of their music tastes has never really come up. Or rather, the question of Yuuri's tastes hasn't. Unlike Phichit, Yuuri isn't given to bursting into song around the flat. Yuuri doesn't seem to mind it, but, at the same time, Phichit doubts that Yuuri is listening to the soundtrack from The Lion King 2 to keep himself focused.

So when he gets back from class one evening to find Yuuri already hunkered down over his laptop, headphones in, hard at work on one essay or another, he decides to find out.

Moving round to where Yuuri can see him – having learnt the hard way that Yuuri does not react well to being spooked – he taps him on the arm.

Slipping off his headphones, Yuuri looks up with a distracted smile. "Oh, hey. Didn't hear you come in. How was class?"

"The usual," he grins back. Now isn't the best time to launch into a detailed account of the day; Yuuri is drumming absentmindedly on the keyboard, and his eyes keep wandering back to the screen. "By the way, you don't have to have headphones on if you wanna listen to music."

"You sure? I don't want to disturb you…"

"Nah, it's fine, be my guest."

"Well, okay, then." Still looking unsure, Yuuri fiddles with the volume and unplugs his headphones.

The music is so quiet Phichit can barely hear it. He laughs. "Seriously, Yuuri, it won't bother me. You can have it louder than that."

Yuuri turns the sound up slightly, but it's still almost inaudible. Phichit leans over – trying not to get distracted by the scent of Yuuri's hair, the warmth of Yuuri's breath on his cheek – and drags the volume bar as far as it will go.

They both wince as the beat comes thundering out of the speakers, and Phichit hurriedly adjusts the volume so they are no longer being deafened by what sounds suspiciously like rap.

Whatever Phichit was expecting, it wasn't this.

The lyrics are too fast for him to follow, but as his ears become attuned to the rhythms, he begins to pick up bits and pieces. The first time he hears the name George Washington, he assumes he must have misheard. Then, one track later, there's an unmistakeable reference to Thomas Jefferson.

He taps Yuuri on the shoulder. "Last time I checked, you were a Lit major. Didn't know you were so interested in American politics, Yuuri."

"Oh, I can turn it off if you don't like it." The cursor's already hovering over the volume bar, but Yuuri's voice is tinged with disappointment.

"No, I wanna hear it, it's just not what I was expecting!"

Yuuri's expression clears. "Let me start it from the beginning. It won't make much sense otherwise."

"Is it a concept album or something?"

"A musical, actually." Yuuri laughs as Phichit perks up. "I thought that might pique your interest."

"A rap musical."

"Yep."

"About the Founding Fathers."

"Yep."

"This I have to hear."

Clicking on the first track, Yuuri returns to his essay.

And for the next two and a half hours, Phichit lies on his bed and listens. It's nothing like any musical he's heard before – and he's heard most of them. Although it's too fast for him to catch most of the lyrics on the first listen, the music alone makes him feel like he can do anything. But he needs to know the full story, and so, after Yuuri has gone to bed, Phichit looks it up – Googling 'Founding Fathers rap musical' because Yuuri forgot to tell him anything so useful as the title – and listens to it through a second time, this time with the lyrics.

He doesn't make it to the end of the first act before he breaks down.

He shakes Yuuri awake at 3AM, tears streaming down his face, and Yuuri looks at him in alarm. "Phichit? What's wrong?"

"I figured out what I'm going to call the hamsters, Yuuri!"

"That's what you woke me up for? Why are you crying?" He squints at Phichit's phone, bright in the darkness of the room. "Hamilton, huh? Figures." He yawns. "What are you going to call them, then? This had better be worth it, Chulanont."

Phichit grins. "Angelica, Eliza, and Peggy. The Schuyler hamsters."

Yuuri throws a pillow at him.

…

Winter turns to spring and spring to summer, and they swap their cosy library sessions for long afternoons stretched out on the grass, basking in the warmth and light that has been a long time coming. There is Yuuri's presence to bask in, too; the best days are the ones when Yuuri lies down with his head resting on Phichit's stomach and reads to him from that week's text, the gentle murmur of his voice sparking through Phichit's body. Although Phichit is the musical theatre major, it turns out Katsuki Yuuri is quite the actor when he wants to be. Phichit lets him know this at every opportunity, and watches the blush of pleasure spread over Yuuri's face, feels the answering pang in his own stomach.

One day, instead of pulling out his Literary Criticism textbook or a Dickens novel, Yuuri flops down at Phichit's side and says, "I've been meaning to ask you for ages, but I was wondering… Would you mind teaching me some basic Thai?"

Phichit nearly bursts with happiness.

By this point, both of them are almost fluent in English, and besides, Phichit is increasingly finding he can understand Yuuri without words. (The language of Katsuki Yuuri – his expressions and the subtle movements of his body and the things he leaves unsaid – is a fascinating one, full of nuance and unexpected meanings, and he hopes to make a lifetime study of it.) Yuuri isn't asking out of necessity; he is asking because he wants to share in more of Phichit's life, and that knowledge makes him want to float up into the sky with joy.

He feels a flicker of triumph – he knows Yuuri has yet to learn any Russian – but snuffs it out before it can grow into something uglier. He doesn't want to mar this barely-hoped-for moment with petty point-scoring.

Tempted as he is to begin by teaching Yuuri how to swear in Thai, he decides instead to start with the fundamentals – hello, goodbye, thank you, the usual beginner phrases. It takes Yuuri a long time to wrap his tongue around the unfamiliar sounds, and he keeps stumbling, pitching the tones shakily, like someone picking up an instrument for the first time. But hearing the colours of Yuuri's voice shift as he repeats the words makes his heart clench with something stronger than adoration, something more deeply rooted than a crush. Something that might take much, much longer to die away, if it does at all.

"How am I doing?" Yuuri asks, hesitant, hopeful.

"Amazingly. Fantastically. The best." The same pride that fills his voice lights up Yuuri's dark eyes, and a smile carves a bright swathe across Yuuri's lovely face.

"Rak teu," he adds. He's not ready to say it in English yet, not even sure if it's as true as it needs to be, but he has to say it out loud.

"What does that mean?"

"I'll tell you next lesson," he promises, hoping Yuuri will forget to ask.

…

Yuuri is his best friend, but he is still the boy in blue, and Phichit knows he will never catch up to him if he doesn't push himself beyond what everyone thinks him capable of. He doesn't for a second regret the years he spent finding his footing before his family moved close enough to the Imperial World rink for him to start skating seriously. He tries not to resent those who dismiss him, tries to see it instead as an opportunity to prove how wrong they are, to show off what the boy from Thailand can do.

That's why, at the end of the next session, he decides to attempt the triple axel Yuuri has just started landing successfully. Rationally, he knows it's dangerous, especially when his muscles are already shaking with fatigue, but the thought of pulling it off, of surprising Yuuri – impressing him, even – is too alluring to ignore. Imagine the look on his face when you land it.

Celestino is already calling for them to start their cooldown, so he has to be quick. He moves away from the other skaters into an empty patch where he can build up enough speed to take off, and then launches into the jump. Look at me, Yuuri. He is flying, elated –

He hears someone yell his name, and the voice is sharp with panic. On his final rotation he realises too late that he is far too close to the edge of the ice – but there is nothing he can do. His momentum carries him forward and he smashes into the boards full-force, and everything goes dark.

…

When he opens his eyes, the first thing he registers is the pain threatening to split his head in two.

The second is Yuuri.

"Oh thank God, Phichit, you're awake, how are you feeling?" he babbles, throwing his arms around Phichit.

The pain comes in beats, and he waits for a pause between two of them before he replies. "Uh… not peachy."

"I'm not surprised," Yuuri says, looking up from burying his face in Phichit's shirt. "You gave yourself a concussion, you idiot."

That would explain why his skull is trying to tear itself open. Breathing carefully, nauseous with pain, he glances past Yuuri into the corridor and sees Celestino – and, next to him, Helga.

"What's Helga doing here?" It comes out blunter than intended, but between the pain and the rolling sickness in his stomach, he doesn't have space to care.

Yuuri looks away. "Moral support. I didn't really want her to come – I was so worried about you, and I didn't, I couldn't deal with her being around, I didn't want her to see me this upset…" He trails off helplessly.

Phichit wonders exactly what happened between them. He knows how private Yuuri can be with his emotions, how fiercely he guards them – even from him, sometimes.

Before he can work out what to say, Celestino strides into the room, grim-faced with anger.

Phichit shrinks back against the pillows and interlaces his fingers with Yuuri's, bracing himself.

"How could you be so stupid, Phichit? Attempting a jump you haven't been properly trained to do… Have you any idea how dangerous that was? How badly you could have injured yourself? Do you want to throw away your whole career because of one stupid mistake?"

He shakes his head, unable to meet Celestino's furious gaze, and grips Yuuri's fingers tighter. Tears of shame well up in his eyes, but he can't let them fall. He has no problem crying in front of Yuuri, but if he gives in to tears now, it will only convince Celestino – who's already treating him like some stupid child – that he really is too young, too naïve to be taken seriously as a skater. He waits until the danger of tears has passed, and then mumbles, "I'm really sorry. I won't do it again."

"No, you won't," Celestino says shortly.

Phichit risks glancing up at him, fearing another outburst, but to his surprise the anger on Celestino's face is already softening into thoughtfulness.

"Not without supervision, anyway, and of course not until you've fully recovered. If there are any complications, you might have to sit the next season out. But you know," he says with a slight smile that has a hint of pride behind it, "it wasn't bad, for a first attempt. I think you might be ready to add it to your repertoire soon."

Phichit looks at him, stunned. "Really?"

"You've come on amazingly well these past few months, so yes, I think you're ready." His smile disappears. "But pull another stunt like that and you'll find yourself without a rink to practice on, is that understood?"

Phichit nods quickly.

"I'm not saying that to be cruel. But I can't have you putting yourself in danger. I know you want to push yourself – I understand that you want to be the best you can be, and I'm very proud of your progress – but your safety must always, always come first. You must always come first." He moves forward and puts a hand on Phichit's shoulder. "Look, I know you probably don't want to listen to an old fart like me, but spare a thought for Yuuri. He's been worried sick about you." He smiles at the two of them. "Okay, lecture over. I'll hand over to you, Yuuri." With a wave of his hand, he slips out into the corridor.

Disappointment thuds through Phichit as Yuuri drops his hand. He sighs. "Guess you're gonna yell at me, too."

Yuuri frowns. "Why would I do that?"

"I messed up."

"I mean, it was pretty dangerous, but the jump itself… You nearly had it, you know. Although you're not supposed to headbutt the boards as you land," he grins. "Where did you learn the triple axel, anyway?"

"From watching you, of course."

That frown again. Phichit wishes he could reach out and smooth the little dent in Yuuri's skin.

"Why on Earth would you want to learn from me? I'm a terrible example –"

"Yuuri, you're the best skater at the rink. Not to sound creepy, but I've been watching you since my first session. You've no idea how much I admired you – still admire you."

"You admired me? Why?"

Phichit's chest tightens as he remembers that first day, back before he knew what Yuuri would mean to him. "You seemed so focused. Like you couldn't see anything outside your own step sequence."

Yuuri bursts out laughing.

"Hey, what's so funny?" Phichit pouts, a little put out.

Yuuri takes off his glasses. "Put these on."

"Why?"

"Just do it, go on."

Phichit slips the thick-framed glasses onto his face. Nausea surges through him as the world suddenly blurs. He rips them off and hands them back to Yuuri, who pushes them over the bridge of his nose and sighs when they slip down. "Okay, your eyesight is atrocious, so?"

"I can't wear these when I'm skating, right? And I'd forgotten my contacts that day. So –" Laughter overtakes him. "You were right," he finally manages. "I literally couldn't see anything else."

Phichit laughs, too. "All this time, I've been admiring your focus when I should've been admiring your lack of it –"

"That's not how short-sightedness works –"

"Shh, it was a good pun."

"Please, Phichit, your puns are terrible."

Phichit folds his arms. "You injure me, Yuuri."

"You seem to do a fine job of injuring yourself." Yuuri bites his lip, his grin fading. "Look after yourself. Please. I couldn't bear it if you got hurt again – especially because of me –"

"You think this is your fault?"

Yuuri stares at him likes it's obvious. "You were copying me."

Phichit's stomach twists with guilt at the tortured look on Yuuri's face. "That doesn't matter. I could've been copying Helga, or – Victor, or anyone –"

"But you weren't!"

"I'm the one who made a stupid decision, Yuuri. Don't beat yourself up over it." He tries to smile, but Yuuri's unhappiness is tearing him up inside, and he can only manage a weak grin.

"Promise me you'll be careful?"

"I mean, I don't intend to be back in hospital any time soon. Have you any idea how hard it is to take a good selfie in a hospital gown –"

"Phichit. Just promise me. Please."

I'd promise you anything. I'd promise you the world, if it were mine to give. This is easy. "Of course, Yuuri."

…

Phichit stumbles as Yuuri slides him out of the piggyback and onto the carpet, gently disentangling Phichit's arms from around his neck. This is an unwelcome development, but he forgets his dissatisfaction when Yuuri grasps his arm to steady him. He wants to thank Yuuri, but he can't remember how. What he can remember is the name of the gorgeous human whose fingers are cool against his flushed skin. "Yuuuuuri," he says, singsong, savouring the feel of it on his tongue. The name sounds so good that he says it again, and again, and again, until the syllables melt into one another. "You have the best name, Yuuri, did you know that?"

"I believe you might have said that already, yes. About – oh, fifteen times." But he's not cross, he's smiling, and that smile is the most radiant thing Phichit has ever seen. He wants to bottle it like a firefly so he never has to be without its light. Without Yuuri's light.

He's never wanted to kiss Yuuri more than he does now. He reaches out, spins Yuuri back towards him before he suddenly stops. No. He might not like it. But it's an effort not to lean in two more inches; his hand trembles with the weight of it, his whole body taught with the effort of holding that want inside him.

"What's wrong?" Yuuri looks at him in puzzlement, and Phichit can't fathom why until he realises his hand is still on Yuuri's jaw.

"You're very beautiful, Yuuri."

"And you're very drunk, Phichit," Yuuri returns, blushing fiercely. "Oh my God, I can't believe I let this happen. C'mon, let's get you to bed."

Phichit giggles. What's that line from the last musical he made Yuuri watch? Bed, bed… Suddenly it comes back to him. "Bed, bed, I couldn't go to bed, my head's too light to try to set it dooooown," he trills in his best Eliza Doolittle voice.

Yuuri winces.

Ooh, my bad. Indoor voice. He cups Yuuri's face with his other hand and continues in a whisper, "Sleep, sleep, Icouldn'tsleeptonight –"

Yuuri cuts him off. "Too bad. You're going to bed anyway."

Then Phichit is stumbling backwards, and Yuuri is half-herding, half-carrying him towards the sofa, the touch of his arm on Phichit's back almost enough to topple him like a house of cards.

"And no more alcohol for you. Ever," Yuuri says sternly, but he's smiling in spite of himself.

And still blushing. He's made Yuuri blush. He can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but it's a thing, he's affected Yuuri, maybe not the way Yuuri affects him, but still, it's something, perhaps, or maybe it's nothing –

"Being drunk doesn't seem to affect your voice, though," Yuuri grins, interrupting his mazy thoughts.

"'M not drunk," he mumbles. "Or tired. Don't need to… go to bed yet." Don't… wanna leave you. Laying his cheek against the softness of the sofa, he lets out a huge yawn.

Yuuri chuckles.

The sound breaks something inside Phichit, like a torrent destroying the carefully constructed dam keeping his feelings safely below the surface. "Yuuri," he says urgently. "Yuuri. Yuuri."

"What is it?"

Now he's gone and worried him. He doesn't want that; he just needs him to know, right now, or he'll split open with the pressure of it.

"You." That's all he needs to say, surely. Yuuri is everything. There is nothing else.

"I what?" Yuuri asks, a touch impatiently. He grabs a water bottle from his bag and hands it to Phichit. "Here. You need to sober up."

Yuuri's priorities are so skewed Phichit starts to laugh, but what emerges is a sob. Why can't Yuuri see he's the only thing that matters?

He tries to take a sip of water – it's clearly important to Yuuri – but he chokes and ends up sloshing water down his shirt front instead.

"Okay. Okay. It's all right, Phichit, give me that." Yuuri grabs the water bottle and sets it down on the table, out of harm's way. He rubs Phichit's back. "Shh, it's okay, it's okay."

But it's not okay, because Yuuri doesn't understand - doesn't understand that he's the most important thing to happen in Phichit's life, the most important person in the world, the best human being who has ever existed or ever will –

"You're the best," he mumbles, through tears, and Yuuri gives him a startled half-smile.

"Thanks? But it's my fault you ended up getting drunk, I shouldn't have let that happen –"

"You don't understand –" He's getting agitated again, and Yuuri has his hand on Phichit's arm, trying to calm him. "You don't understand," he whispers again. "You're the best. The, the…" He searches for the words, but none of the languages he knows will give him a way to express what Yuuri means to him.

The temptation to kiss him is still powerful, but he settles for wrapping his arms around Yuuri and burying his face in Yuuri's chest. "I love you," he says into the front of Yuuri's jacket.

Yuuri laughs, the same soft laugh Phichit usually adores, but it's all wrong. "I love you too," Yuuri says, stroking his hair.

But Yuuri doesn't mean the same thing Phichit does, and Phichit is too tired and muddled to bridge that gap. In the morning. I'll tell him properly in the morning.

Somehow, though, he can't quite bring himself to broach the subject in the light of day. To risk stepping out onto thin ice only to find it can't hold his weight, and he's destroyed the easy affection of their friendship for nothing. So he stays silent, and tries to ignore the way his chest tightens whenever he looks at Yuuri.

…

He's never seen Yuuri in such a state. Compared to the major competitions in which Yuuri has appeared (and triumphed), tomorrow's event – Skate Detroit – is nothing for a multiple medallist to be nervous about. But Phichit knows Yuuri well enough to understand that's not how it works. Sometimes Yuuri's world tips out from under him, and all Phichit can do is stay with him until it rights itself again.

The first time Yuuri had a panic attack in front of him, Phichit had no idea what to do. He knows better now, but it doesn't feel like enough.

It breaks Phichit's heart to see Yuuri so miserable. He's a total wreck, huddled over the toilet bowl sobbing and shivering. Phichit can only hold Yuuri's hair back from his face, stroke his back, murmur that it's gonna be okay, it's gonna be okay, I'm here, I've got you.

Yuuri retches one last time and sinks back against Phichit's shoulder, exhausted.

"Here." Phichit hands him a damp cloth, and Yuuri makes a small noise of gratitude as he takes it and wipes his mouth.

"God, I'm so sorry –"

"Nope. Shh. No apologies," he says, helping Yuuri up.

As Yuuri changes for bed, Phichit makes him a cup of Ya-hom with the powder from his parents' last care package. He makes one for himself, too; he doesn't feel sick, but there's a curious weight in his chest that won't go away. Probably just a cold. Leaving his own mug on the counter, he fills a water bottle for Yuuri as well, and takes that through with Yuuri's cup.

Yuuri is already in bed, but he sits up when Phichit emerges from the kitchenette. "You're a star," he says, grinning weakly, as he takes the mug from Phichit. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Phichit doesn't say anything back. He can't. Yuuri's fingers have barely brushed his, but he feels so winded by the contact that he might as well have been struck. C'mon, get a grip. He mentally shakes himself and puts the water bottle down next to Yuuri's bed.

Yuuri finishes the Ya-hom and turns to him with a smile. "Fun dee na, Phichit."

"Oyasumi," he all but whispers back. He must be coming down with a cold after all; that's the only reason for his voice to sound so strange, for his breath to stick in his throat like this. It's just a coincidence that the weight in his chest intensifies as Yuuri rolls over and pulls the blanket over his head.

There's a tickle at the back of his throat, too, scratchy and persistent. He tries to swallow it back, but his throat won't clear. He hurries through to the bathroom so he won't disturb Yuuri.

He coughs, and when he brings his hand away from his mouth, there is a red rose petal crushed against his palm.

Even as cold terror seizes him, he casts about desperately for an explanation. There must have been rose petals in – something. Soap, a bath bomb, anything that will explain this away. He throws open the doors of the bathroom cabinet and rifles through packages and bottles, his hands trembling. Fuck. Fuck. What do I do what do I do what do I do – In his haste, he knocks a container of Yuuri's Paxil off the shelf with a clatter.

"Phichit? You 'kay in there?" Yuuri's sleepy voice calls.

Through the blank horror, he croaks out, "Peachy." Rising above the wave of fear is the knowledge that, whatever happens, Yuuri mustn't know. "Dropped my toothbrush, that's all. Sorry to wake you."

"'S okay. Night, Phichit. Love you."

A wild laugh bubbles up in his throat and he bites his tongue to keep it from spilling out. Shaking, he slides down the wall and hunches over on the floor, fist jammed against his mouth to keep Yuuri from hearing his sobs.

What the hell do I do now? There's no doubt this is hanahaki; everyone knows what that means. Petals first, clogging up his lungs and suffocating him day by day. And if he survives that, the cruel sharpness of branches taking over his body like a second skeleton until there is nothing of him left at all.

In one moment, his almost limitless options for the future have all been snatched away, save for two stark choices that aren't choices at all. He can undergo the operation that will rid him of the flowers – and with it the ability to love – or he can leave them to grow, and let Yuuri, sweet, kind, resilient Yuuri, be the death of him.

As if to drive home the point, another cough builds in his throat. He tries to suppress it, his stomach turning at the thought of more petals, but he has to cough before he runs out of air.

He catches the petals in shaking hands without looking at them, knowing he will throw up if he does. Eyes squeezed tight shut, he takes deep, shuddering breaths, trying to calm the rolling of his stomach. But nothing can stop his mind from racing.

What will be the first to go? His lungs, filled with thorns instead of air? His heart, strangled by vines until it gives up beating? Or will he simply wither away, crumble into dust little by little as the sickness destroys him from the inside out?

Trying to claw his way back from the oblivion of fear, he silently repeats to himself it's a dream, it's just a dream. But he can't make himself believe it, not unless he can prove this is a nightmare, that he's going to wake up to find that everything is fine.

He opens his eyes, braces himself, and unclenches his fist.

Rose petals are smeared against his skin like bloodstains.

All thoughts of not waking Yuuri are forgotten as his stomach lurches and he retches violently, repeatedly, not stopping until nothing is left.

It feels like another lifetime ago that Yuuri was doing the same. Unlike Yuuri, Phichit has no-one to stroke his hair back from his sweat-dampened face and tell him it will be okay.

No sound from the other side of the door. Yuuri is asleep, unaware of the quake that has torn the ground from under Phichit's feet.

For Yuuri's sake, it has to stay that way. He can't bear the thought of Yuuri blaming himself; if Phichit lets it, this disease will tear Yuuri apart with guilt, and he can't allow that to happen. Once he steps through that door, everything must carry on as normal. I've managed to hide how I feel about him until now. How hard can it be to hide a few flowers?

But it's a long time before he is able to pick himself up off the floor, and even then he hesitates for several moments with his fingers on the door handle, summoning the courage to go back through into the other room.

When he eventually does, he doesn't look over at Yuuri's sleeping figure. There are too many emotions tangled together in his chest to risk letting any of them break free; nothing for it but to wait until the storm subsides. He goes to the kitchenette and tips out his cold, useless cup of Ya-hom, his fingers shaking so badly he almost drops the mug. Then he sinks into bed like a stone dropping into a well, and lies there in the dark, hoping for sleep he knows won't come.

…

The next day, Yuuri is too consumed by nerves to notice the dark circles under Phichit's eyes, the way he picks at his breakfast instead of wolfing it down, the number of times he excuses himself from public practice before petals can force their way out of his throat and stain the ice red. Worse than the pain in his chest is the pain of realising Yuuri doesn't see anything wrong. But it's also exactly what Phichit tells himself he wants, even when he struggles valiantly through to hold on to fifth place and all Yuuri has to say, gold medal gleaming around his own neck, is 'Better luck next time.'

As the days turn into weeks and Yuuri still hasn't noticed, he keeps telling himself that.

…

"Bury me. Now," Yuuri groans. "I don't want to think about it for another second."

"Hey, it's all right, everyone gets sick." Phichit reaches out a hand, but Yuuri shrinks away, curling into a tight ball at his end of the sofa.

"Not everyone throws up on the ice at Skate America."

"Remind me who came in third, even with food poisoning?"

"Judges probably felt sorry for me," Yuuri mumbles into the cushions.

"You know that's a lie, mister," Phichit says sternly, poking him in the shoulder. "You always get underscored. You saw how furious Ciao Ciao was – you should have got silver, at least. No, you should have won." You were easily the best. Even though you were ill, you didn't let it stop you. You were amazing.

Yuuri lifts his head a fraction. "Don't be ridiculous. I was miles behind Bin and Chris."

"Like I said, underscored."

"I'd rather be underground," Yuuri grumbles, burying his head in the cushions again.

"Difficult to pet hamsters when you're dead," Phichit says, ignoring the heaviness in his lungs.

Yuuri doesn't respond.

"Or rap all of Hamilton." Still no reply. "Or tell your best friend how gorgeous he is and how lucky you are to live with such a stylish, sexy –"

A cushion hits him square in the face, almost knocking him off the sofa. Regaining his balance, Phichit picks it up with a wicked grin. "Underground, you said? I think I can arrange that."

…

Looking up as Yuuri steps into the room, he is struck for the thousandth time by what a miracle Yuuri is. Yuuri looks as wretched as an actor in a disaster film, his face pale and drawn, his hair plastered to his skin with sweat, but the sight of him still makes Phichit's blood sing. There's nothing he wants more than to take Yuuri in his arms, to brush his hair back from his forehead and kiss him. Instead he smiles and says, "Long practice, huh?"

"I guess. What time is it –"

"SHOWTIME!" Phichit yells.

Yuuri sighs in mock-exasperation. "I knew it was a mistake introducing you to Hamilton." But he's already looking a little brighter.

"Anyway, you know what time it is. It's past nine on a Thursday night and you've just come back looking absolutely dead on your feet…" But still unfairly stunning, he adds to himself. "It's pamper Yuuri time, of course! Come on, take off your shoes."

"You don't have to do this, Phichit. You must be tired too." But he's already kicking off his trainers.

"I'm not the one who's been at practice for the past three hours," he shoots back, even though what he wants to say is, I could never be tired when I'm with you. "And anyway, I enjoy it." I enjoy making you happy.

As Yuuri flops down on the sofa, Phichit fills a washing-up bowl with warm water. "There you go." He places it down in front of Yuuri, who gratefully sinks his feet into the water, and then he heads through to the bathroom and pulls a paper Lush bag out of the wall cabinet. "Whoops, almost forgot this," he says, unwrapping the foot soak bar and tossing it into the water.

"Wait, I thought you were saving that for after Four Continents?" Yuuri looks genuinely horrified.

"You need it now. Besides, with all the prize money, I'll be able to buy, like, a million of them."

"We'll see about that," Yuuri grins.

Phichit clutches his chest. "You doubt me? Yuuri, I'm offended. You know what, maybe you don't deserve this after all. Maybe I should have made this hamster pampering night instead." Arms folded, he puts on his best model pout and steps away from Yuuri.

"Okay, okay, you'll definitely get the gold, all right? Now come back here." Yuuri reaches out and takes hold of Phichit's arm.

Yuuri's touch sends a rush of sweetness through him. "Ooh, demanding Yuuri. I like it."

Yuuri rolls his eyes, but doesn't let go. "I will splash you."

"I'm shivering in my shoes," Phichit teases. Yuuri's 'threatening' face is about as threatening as Vicchan's.

Yuuri kicks his foot out and sends up a wave of water.

Letting out a shriek, Phichit launches himself at Yuuri. "You're dead, Katsuki," he growls as he grabs Yuuri and starts tickling him.

Now Yuuri is the one shrieking. He thrashes around, trying to escape, but Phichit has him pinned against the sofa cushions. "Phichit, please, I'm sorry I splashed you, just please stoooop tickling me –" His voice shoots up an octave as Phichit's fingers unerringly find that particularly ticklish spot above his left hip.

"Who's going to win Four Continents?" Phichit grins, merry, merciless.

Yuuri squirms, giggling in spite of himself. "You are, okay, I surrender."

He doesn't want to let Yuuri off this lightly. Doesn't want to lose this closeness, Yuuri's body flush against his. But desire is stirring in his belly, and if it stirs any more, Yuuri will notice.

Yuuri looks surprised, but relieved, when Phichit gets to his feet. "Giving up that easily?" he grins.

Phichit moves as if to tackle him again, but instead straightens up and grins ruefully, "The water will be getting cold." He surveys the lavender-scented wet patch on the carpet. "What's left of it, anyway."

"Sorry."

"Nah, don't worry about it. One sec, I'm gonna go change." He grabs the first pair of dry trousers that comes to hand and ducks into the bathroom.

Yuuri shrugs off his jacket as Phichit re-emerges, and it's like he's shrugging off all his worry and fatigue with it as they settle into their usual routine – Yuuri dangling his feet in the water, Phichit standing behind him and massaging his shoulders. The air is full of the scent of Yuuri, and Phichit breathes it in as deeply as he dares, grateful that it overpowers the sickly-sweet aroma of flowers that never leaves him.

He hums absent-mindedly as he works out the knots in Yuuri's shoulders. This closeness is precious; Yuuri barely tolerated hugs when they first met, but now the tension in his body melts away under Phichit's touch. Making Yuuri happy, even in this small way, is worth the ache in his chest, the constant scratching in his throat.

Yuuri starts to laugh, his shoulders shaking beneath Phichit's fingers. "Um, Phichit?"

"Yeah?"

"This would be a lot less ominous if you weren't singing 'Poor Unfortunate Souls' under your breath."

Oops. "Oh, you'd rather I serenaded you at full volume, then? 'Cause I can do that –"

Yuuri sticks out his tongue.

"Cramp my style if you must," Phichit sighs theatrically. He goes back to massaging Yuuri's shoulders, kneading in time to the tune of 'Kiss the Girl'.

After a while, Yuuri shifts and says, "Thanks, that feels so much better. You must be some kind of wizard, honestly."

"And don't you forget it. Now, which hamster do you want today?"

"I think it's Peggy's turn. I haven't held her in a while."

"Okay then." He turns to go, but Yuuri stops him.

"Um… Any particular reason why you're wearing my trousers?"

Phichit looks down and realises that, sure enough, the jeans he hastily pulled on are Yuuri's. His stomach dips, not unpleasantly. "They make my butt look good," he grins, striking a pose, and Yuuri rolls his eyes.

For a second, his eyes flicker reflexively to Phichit's body and there's a stab of hope in Phichit's chest. Then Yuuri looks away.

Despair flashes through him, an old wound reopening every time Yuuri makes it clear he doesn't think of Phichit like that. The tightness in his chest is unbearable. With more brightness than he feels, Phichit says, "One hamster coming right up."

Slinging a clean towel from the cupboard over his shoulder, he goes to the hamster cage on their shared desk, where the brown and white hamster is running on her wheel. "Hey, Peg," he says softly, reaching in. She scrambles away from him. It takes him longer than usual to catch her, but finally he corners her and scoops her up, cupping her little warm body against his chest.

When he goes back through into the living room, Yuuri has already dozed off. Cheek resting against the sofa cushion, hair falling over his face, arms hugged across his body, he's so small and soft that it makes Phichit's heart hurt just looking at him.

He could kiss him, desperately wants to, even takes a step towards him before he stops himself. Yuuri would never know, says a quiet, dangerous voice at the back of his mind. But that's the point. It wouldn't be right.

Instead, he reaches into his pocket for his phone, and snaps a picture. Perfect. It's uploaded in the space of a breath. He hesitates for just a second before adding the tag #sleepingbeauty.

It seems a shame to wake Yuuri now, but he doesn't want him to get cold. "Hey, sleepyhead." He shakes Yuuri gently by the shoulder. "You want this hamster or not?"

Yuuri blinks awake, his groggy fumbling for consciousness so painfully adorable that Phichit almost takes another picture as Yuuri slowly comes back to himself. "Oops, sorry." Yuuri holds out his hands. "Come here, Peg."

Phichit plops the hamster down in Yuuri's outstretched hands, and she scampers up his arm and onto his shoulder. Yuuri picks her up, laughing, and lets her run up his arm again, and again.

Phichit sits in front of Yuuri and begins to dry his feet. He's used to the bruising, the callouses, the redness, but it is a constant reminder of how much Yuuri puts into this sport they both love, and how much it takes out of him.

He wonders whether it takes more out of Yuuri than either of them realises, whether he leaves a something of himself behind every time he leaves the rink. Does what happens off the ice feel completely real to Yuuri, or is there a part of him that only comes alive when he steps out onto that unforgiving surface and takes flight – just like Phichit's world brightens whenever Yuuri steps through the door, and dims when he leaves? For Phichit, the ice is a platform, a stage, but for Yuuri, he knows, it is home.

When Yuuri's feet are dry, he lifts Yuuri's left foot onto his lap and begins to circle his thumbs against Yuuri's sole until he feels the tension start to dissipate. He places Yuuri's left foot down, and moves onto the right.

He must have done this two dozen times, but it could never bore him. He loves the cosy, innocent intimacy of the ritual. He pauses, feeling the heft of Yuuri's foot in his hand, the places where his skin is rough and callused. Beauty, but hard-won; that's Yuuri all over. I would follow these feet to the ends of the earth. He looks up at Yuuri, who smiles back at him, soft and glowing and happy. There is a heartbeat in which he almost brings his lips to Yuuri's foot; the possibility thrums in the air between them, resonating like the last chord of an imperfect cadence, pleading for resolution. When it fades, it leaves an ache in Phichit's chest, the taste of blood at the back of his throat.

He swallows, smiles. "How are you feeling?" he asks, as he has a thousand times before.

"Just peachy," Yuuri grins back. Their old routine. Comforting, familiar, and – for now – enough.

…

"You did what?" Yuuri stares, aghast, at Ketty.

"Oh, c'mon, it'll be fun." Her grin is wider than the Cheshire Cat's. "Right, Phichit?"

Phichit, overcome by laughter, can't reply. He's always thought himself the master of pranks, but next to this, the old hair dye in the shampoo bottle trick looks decidedly tame. Worth it to see Ciao Ciao's face when Yuuri came in with green hair for an entire week, though. Even if it did cost him a small fortune to replace the expensive shampoo Yuuri has such a penchant for.

When he's recovered enough breath, he flashes Ketty his brightest grin. "Joke's on you, K, I've always wanted to try pole."

"Planning your backup career as a stripper in case the whole skating thing doesn't work out?"

He grabs the side of the bookcase like it's a pole and strikes a wobbly pose. "You know it."

Yuuri, face buried in his hands, mumbles something indistinct.

"What was that?"

Yuuri lifts his head a fraction, his face bright red. "'S nothing inherently sexual about pole aerobics. It's, um, pretty athletic."

"Hey, sounds like someone's been doing their research!" says Ketty, looking impressed. She sighs in mock disappointment. "Don't tell me I went to the trouble of signing you up for something you were just gonna join anyway."

Phichit can't imagine Yuuri voluntarily signing up for pole-dancing classes, at least not sober. But when the first class of the semester comes around and Yuuri goes along uncomplainingly, he has to ask why.

"Celestino keeps saying I need to improve my core strength, so I've been looking into the options," Yuuri admits. "Which does not mean I'm not still furious with K for signing me up, I'm only doing this because it's good exercise, seriously Phichit stop smirking –"

"Okay, okay, I believe you." Perhaps Yuuri really is telling the truth. Not going along would feel like backing down from a challenge, and Yuuri would hate that.

Phichit knows better than to press him. But whatever his reasons, when it comes to the class itself, Yuuri is a revelation. While Phichit struggles with even the most basic moves, Yuuri takes to it like he's been doing this his whole life. Yuuri is right that there is more of the athletic than the erotic to it; sitting in a sweaty heap on the floor nursing his bruised pride and thighs after another failed attempt at a scissor sit, Phichit has never felt less sexy in his life. But there's an undeniable sensuality to Yuuri's movements that Phichit has never seen before. Yuuri is a jewel being held up to the light anew, revealing facets he never even imagined.

Just when I think I've got you figured out, Yuuri, you go and make me fall even deeper in love with you. It would take lifetimes to fully unravel the mystery that is Katsuki Yuuri.

As he watches Yuuri dance and feels the buds of longing burst against his ribs, he wonders exactly how long a lifetime will turn out to be.

…

When Yuuri isn't around, Phichit finds himself restive, fidgety, unable to concentrate on anything but the thought of him. He thinks himself into tighter and tighter spirals until he can't breathe for petals and has to throw up. Nothing distracts him; as hard as he tries to focus on something, anything else, his mind always, always circles back to Yuuri. That wouldn't have been such a problem before the petals; he was quite content, then, to daydream about Yuuri and ignore everything else. But now even the most innocuous daydreams are too painful.

One afternoon when Yuuri is in class, Phichit is alone in the flat, counting the hours until evening practice and trying to ignore the sour tang of petals in his throat as he watches Eliza running on her wheel. Although the heating is on full blast and he's wearing one of Yuuri's hoodies over his own, his hands curled up inside the too-long sleeves, he can't stop his teeth chattering. How anyone survives the chill of the Detroit winter is beyond him; he wishes for a moment that he was back home in Bangkok. But Bangkok is eight and a half thousand miles away, and Yuuri is right here.

He sighs. "What am I going to do, Eliza?"

The only reply is the rhythmic squeaking of the wheel as the grey hamster carries on running. She's barely stopped since he got back from class.

As he hauls himself off the sofa – if he's going to mope, he might as well hold a hamster or two while he does – he shivers violently. Eliza stops for a moment, startled, and then sets off running again, as if her life depends on it. "Are you cold, little one?"

He has an idea.

Three hours and one trip to Hobby Lobby later, he has Eliza decked out in a hamster-sized hoodie, and is halfway through Angelica's when Yuuri walks in.

With a jolt, he realises he hasn't thought about Yuuri all this time.

"Hey, Phichit –" Yuuri stops, noticing Eliza's new accessory. "Wait, they make hoodies for hamsters now?"

"They don't, but I do," he says proudly, holding up the one he's working on.

Yuuri looks impressed. "I didn't know you could sew."

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Yuuri," Phichit says in his best sultry tones, unable to resist flirting although it will cost him. Right on cue, the flowers begin to stir in his chest.

Yuuri laughs, flooding the air with warmth and sweetness, and he can breathe again.

"Seriously, when did you learn?"

"I must've been about eight – I kept splitting my trousers falling over at the rink, and I got through so many pairs Mâe made me patch them up. I found I kinda enjoyed it. Turns out I'm quite good with my hands."

Yuuri raises an eyebrow.

"Mind out of the gutter, Katsuki," he splutters, cheeks growing hot. That one was unintentional.

Yuuri smirks. "I'm learning a lot about you today."

Yuuri has no idea what the simple quirk of his lips is doing to Phichit's entire being, and it's a relief when he says, "Come on, we'd better get ready for practice. Don't want to be skating punishment laps again."

I'd skate any number of laps if it meant staying by your side, Yuuri. But he puts down Angelica's half-finished hoodie and pulls on his trainers all the same.

…

All the birthday presents he gives that year are hand-sewn. He makes them for his family, for Celestino, for his rinkmates, even for the Gay-Straight Alliance on campus to sell, but he never makes anything for Yuuri.

…

Yuuri picks Peggy's tiny yellow hoodie up off the desk and turns it over in his hands, wonderingly. "You know, Phichit, these really are amazing."

"I do my best," he says, smiling against the longing inside him.

Yuuri's eyes sparkle in that devastating way they always do when he has something on his mind. "I wonder," he starts, and then looks over at Phichit. "Do you think you could make one slightly bigger? Say… poodle size? It's Vicchan's birthday soon, and since I won't be home for it…"

And the bottom drops out of his stomach. He can't deny Yuuri this – wouldn't dream of denying Yuuri anything that makes him happy, whatever the cost – but if he agrees to make a coat for Vicchan, that will be the last time he can use the comforting rhythm of needle and thread to keep his mind free of Yuuri, his lungs free of petals. Afterwards, this – like everything else – will be inextricably bound to Yuuri.

He smiles, hoping Yuuri can't tell how forced it is. "What colour?"

…

Ketty grins at him over her iced mocha, a notebook open in front of her. "Tell me everything you know about Yuuri."

Raising an eyebrow, Phichit sits back in his chair. "Are you asking for blackmail information? Because I have plenty, but I'm not gonna spill all his secrets just for – what, exactly?" Why Ketty would want to blackmail Yuuri, he has no idea.

She laughs. "P, you're so protective of him, it's adorable. Relax."

He feels his face heat up, and realises his fists are clenched, his shoulders tense, as if anticipating genuine danger.

"You know how he wants me to write a piece for his free skate this season?"

Phichit nods. It's Yuuri's first time choosing his own music instead of letting Celestino make the selection, and Yuuri is horribly nervous about it.

"It's supposed to be a reflection of his career so far. And I know some of that stuff already – when he made his senior debut, what medals he's won, all of that. But I can't write a piece based on scores and records and things. I need real things to work from." She grins conspiratorially. "That's where you come in."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"Look, I've spent enough time around Yuuri to have got to know him fairly well. But not well enough for something this important, not well enough to tell the world what he's like. There's only one person who can do that."

"Me," Phichit says. His throat is dry, his heart so full that it feels ready to burst through the too-thin barrier of bones and skin. Tell me everything you know about Yuuri. Ketty might as well have said tell me everything you know about the universe. "Where do you want me to start?"

She hears the slight tremor in his voice, sees the way he looks at her like she's asking the impossible, and puts her hand on top of his with an apologetic smile. "Good question. Hmm… What's the first thing you think of, when you think of Yuuri?"

"Autumn." Before he met Yuuri, summer was his favourite season, but now he spends the long hot days impatient for the turning of the leaves, the bite of the morning air, that tell him autumn has come, and brought his favourite version of Yuuri with it. The Yuuri who snuggles against him in the library, finally comfortable in his jeans and coat and cosy, well-worn sweater, no longer fretting over the way his body looks in summer's unforgiving glare. Yuuri reminds him of the skeleton leaves they find on the lawn outside the flat; fragile, but resilient, too, and all the more beautiful for it.

He can't say those things to Ketty. They'll shatter if he says them aloud, or perhaps he will, he isn't sure. But she is still waiting for an explanation. "The start of the season," he mumbles. "His birthday. The incident at the Hallowe'en party."

"Oh my God, that was priceless. Remember the way he slut-dropped on the hockey captain?"

"How could I forget? I don't think Yuuri remembers, though. He was veeeery drunk."

"Pity." Her eyes light up suddenly. "Do you think you could convince him to add it to his choreography?"

"I think Yuuri would dissolve in shame if I tried," he snorts. "He's not Christophe."

"Who's he?" She screws up her face, trying to remember. "Oh, wait, the French dude with the nice butt?"

"Swiss, and his butt isn't half as nice as Yuuri's, but yeah."

She chuckles, her face softening as she glances down at her notebook and scribbles something in looping Georgian. Perhaps she thinks him a lovestruck fool, but he doesn't care; he would gladly make an idiot of himself for Yuuri's sake. "Autumn. What else?"

It's a dance, a delicate balance between holding too much back and laying everything bare, and Phichit – for all his protestations to the contrary – has never been as good a dancer as Yuuri. He tells Ketty the things that will make her laugh, the things that can stand to be told. But there are so many things he does not, cannot tell her, or they will be ruined, like something delicate exposed to the harshness of the sun. Things for which words are too blunt. Things for which there are no words at all, not in Thai or English or in any language but that which exists between him and Yuuri.

Ketty swigs the last of her coffee. "I can't wait to get started on the piece. Thanks, P, this was a great help."

Phichit hopes she is right, but privately he wonders whether he has been too selfish, too greedy in hoarding his knowledge of Yuuri. There is so much he has not told her. The picture he has painted is unremarkable, indistinct, like an image seen from far away; the one he sees is so sharp it cuts him. But he doesn't have the courage to share that one.

…

P, please, tell him I'm not angry

already did, he wont listen

Tell him again

im doin my best, K, but u no how stubborn he is

im sorry

He sighs, and puts down his phone. He hates lying to Ketty. He's not doing his best; he hasn't even mentioned it to Yuuri since the first time, after Yuuri came back from seeing Celestino, still clutching the unmarked CD with Ketty's piece on it. Yuuri is convinced that he's ruined his friendship with Ketty by not using her composition, and once Yuuri is convinced of something, not even Phichit can talk him out of it.

…

When Yuuri finally lands the spot in the Grand Prix Final that he's been reaching for all these years, Phichit begs Celestino to let him fly with them to Russia. "It's not like I'd be missing much practice time. And Yuuri needs me for moral support." He grins with an artificial brightness at Yuuri, whose lips barely twitch in response before he goes back to staring at the floor. Anyone could see what a strain Yuuri has been under this season, even more so now with the pressure of his first final on him.

"Nonsense! You can't afford to slack off if you want to make next year's final. Besides, you've got Nationals coming up, and then Worlds –" Glancing at Yuuri, who looks ready to throw up, Celestino falls silent.

"Ciao Ciao, please –"

"I told you not to call me that! And no –"

"I'll pay for the ticket myself, I'll do twice the practice for the rest of the season, I'll –"

"You'll stay here and stop arguing before you get punishment laps for the next week!" Celestino snaps, and then sighs. "What's got into you, Phichit? This isn't like you."

It's Yuuri's first Grand Prix Final, and I'd sell my soul to be there to watch. More than that, Yuuri's anxiety has been getting the better of him in the run-up to the final, and Phichit is scared it will overwhelm him completely. I'm the only one who can help him when he thinks the world is ending. Hell, I'm the only one he lets near him when things are bad. And things are worse than they've ever been – for Phichit as much as for Yuuri.

"I just wanted to see Yuuri skate," he says, hating how petulant he sounds. "I wanted to be there –"

"You'll be competing against each other at Worlds – your season isn't over yet. I know you're disappointed not to have made it –"

"That's not –"

"– but you won't make it next year, either, if you keep up this attitude. You can come with us as far as the airport, but you'd better be on your best behaviour while we're away."

"Yes, Ci- Coach," he mumbles. "Thank you." Ciao Ciao has it all wrong; he's treating Phichit like a bad loser, a kid who can't handle not getting his own way. If things were normal, it would be okay that he didn't make this year's GPF. If things were normal, he'd know he had plenty of other chances to see Yuuri skate, and to skate against him. To fulfil that dream of competing against Yuuri on the international stage. But with things as they are, who can say how many more chances he'll have?

And so he is forced to let Yuuri go at the airport with a brief hug Yuuri barely returns, his wide grin met with a tight-lipped smile that soon vanishes. He watches Yuuri slope off after Ciao Ciao, shoulders hunched and head bowed, until they both disappear through the security gates.

The short programme briefly allays his fears; Yuuri's performance begins shakily, but as it goes on there are glimpses of the skater that Yuuri can be when everything goes right. It's enough to put him in fourth. Good. This is good. He can medal from here, but he doesn't have the pressure of being in the top spot already. He can do this.

When the reporter interviewing Yuuri after the short programme makes a passing comment about Yuuri's weight, Phichit has to stop himself from punching the screen.

He texts Yuuri, partly to congratulate him and partly to check how he's doing. When he doesn't hear back, he tries to call, but Yuuri's phone is busy.

His family, probably. Phichit tries to concentrate on the assignment in front of him – he's already had one extension – but his mind is too full of Yuuri. When Yuuri finally calls back, his heart leaps and he picks up on the first ring.

"Hey –"

He hears the raggedness of Yuuri's breathing and cuts himself off, stomach sinking. "What's up?"

Yuuri can barely get the words out. "It's Vicchan, Phichit, he's –" A shuddering breath that seems to rip through Phichit's chest too. "He got – he got run over."

"Oh my God."

"I didn't even get to s-say goodbye –" The next few words are drowned out by sobbing, the sound of Yuuri's grief like a knife between Phichit's ribs.

"Yuuri, you poor thing, I'm so, so sorry." He can feel the petals rising in his throat, but he forces them back down. He can't come apart now.

"D-don't be, I d-don't deserve it. I'm such a shitty owner – I haven't s-seen him in years –"

"That's not your fault, Yuuri! Please, listen to me, you were wonderful to him."

"Why did this have to happen?" Yuuri chokes out.

That's a question Phichit can't answer. What can he do, except listen to Yuuri sobbing and wish he was with him, instead of stuck on the wrong side of the world making useless noises of comfort down the phone?

Eventually, Yuuri draws a breath and says, "Thanks, I'd – I'd probably better go. Celestino – he'll be worried –"

"Call me if you wanna talk, okay?"

"Okay."

But Yuuri doesn't want to talk the next day, or the day after, when he fails to land any of the jumps in his free skate cleanly and ends up in sixth place. He doesn't respond to any of Phichit's messages, let alone his calls.

Neither does he want to talk when he and Ciao Ciao return from Russia. For the first time in almost five years, he flinches when Phichit hugs him.

"Oh. Sorry," he says dully, catching the hurt that flashes across Phichit's face before he can suppress it.

"It's okay," Phichit lies, and lets him be.

…

After Sochi, nothing he can say or do is enough. He can feel Yuuri slipping away from him and he can't stop it. The night Yuuri leaves, blood stains the lotus petals for the first time, and he wonders, mind dull with pain, if this is it.

That night doesn't kill him, but it is a cruel reminder of how little time is left.

Without Yuuri, Detroit feels wrong, empty. Yuuri has been by his side since before Phichit's senior debut; what is he supposed to do without him? For the rest of the season he is numb, his mind a blank. He barely registers Worlds, meaningless without Yuuri there. Even his bronze from the Four Continents feels somehow hollow, as if it was won under false pretences. And all the while, the flowers grow more vicious, the attacks more frequent.

He needs to go back to Bangkok, needs to be with his family again, but he doesn't know how to explain that to Celestino without telling him the truth. So he's grateful when, at the end of the season, Celestino himself broaches the topic of Phichit's future.

Celestino is more than receptive to the idea of Phichit's moving back to Thailand to train. "I think a change might be good, at this point in your career." Yuuri's absence looms in the silence between them, and Celestino hurries on. "Besides," he says with an awkward smile, "I've always wanted to see Thailand."

What's the point? pipes up a nasty little voice. All this talk about your 'career' when you might not even live out the next season. You're just wasting everyone's time.

Guilt pricks at him like thorns, and he desperately smothers it before it can smother him. If he can surpass everyone's expectations in the brief time he has left, Celestino's efforts will be worthwhile. At least, that's what he tells himself.

And so, as soon as graduation is over, Phichit finds himself in a taxi to Detroit Metropolitan Airport. He doesn't know how he's going to face his family, let alone the upcoming season, with the flowers weighing heavily on his chest. All he knows is he has to try.

Thai expressions:

Rak teu - I love you

Fun dee na - Sweet dreams

Flower meanings:

Red rose - I love you

Lotus - far from the one he loves

Thanks for reading! Getting back into this writing thing after far too long out of the game, so feedback is always appreciated (and please let me know if I'm making mistakes in the Thai or in other areas)!