Chapter Text
Buzz, buzz, buzz…
Yuuri’s alarm was ringing inexorably from the highest shelf in his bedroom – the only guarantee he wouldn’t unconsciously hit snooze after snooze. He stretched and got up to turn it off and grabbed his glasses in the way. Looking outside to check the weather he realised he had the weirdest dream – he met Victor Nikiforov in the metro and his idol stole of his earphone that was playing Victor’s old song at the moment. Yuuri remembered it so clearly that if it wasn’t for the complete absurdness of the situation he’d swear it really happened. He could recall the surprised look on the singer’s face, that for some reason Yuuri couldn’t connect with any particular interview, and the sudden hit of adrenaline when the train door opened. Gods, his brain was more creative than Yuuri had ever suspected.
He left his room and greeted Phichit, who was in the middle of his forth this week attempt to shakshouka. Judging from the nervous mixing on the pan and smell of something burnt on the stove lid – unsuccessful like all three previous ones. Yuuri’s stomach twitched at the thought of eating the pulp but he didn’t comment. A few minutes later, when he sat by the table clean and dressed to go, Phichit put in front of him a plate of something that was still far away from perfect, but for the first time he managed to keep the yolks whole. Yay Phichit.
After the horrifying breakfast Yuuri felt fully justified when he let Phichit go ahead to open the store while he stood in a line to get a cup of self-indulgence. Phichit was living on soda and energy drinks but Yuuri stuck to tea and coffee, and more often than not he was hanging around with a cup, collecting judging looks. But for Yuuri a cup of coffee in his hand was like a safety blanket. Everything seemed better when he felt the warmth under his fingers and taking a long sip was perfect to avoid unwanted conversations.
Yuuri took his time to decide what to get but the line in front of him still was long, so he took out his phone and slid a hand into pocked. He opened the earphones box and froze. There was only one inside.
“Hey, it’s moving.” Someone said and Yuuri made a step forward, suddenly feeling out of place.
What the fuck? A flashback from his dream run through his head and Yuuri swallowed. In his dream, Victor Nikiforov took his right earphone. The missing one. What the fuck? Was it real than? But no, Victor Nikiforov lived on another continent, damn it.
“What can I get you?” Yuuri heard, clearly said to him. How did he suddenly appear in front of the line?
“Just filter.” He said quickly, forgetting what he actually wanted. “With milk.”
“Sure.”
Yuuri pressed his card to the terminal while still staring at the half-empty box, and collected his drink only after third call.
“What took you so long?” Phichit asked, unpacking a carton of bright guitar picks.
“There was a line.” Yuuri shrugged. For some reason he didn’t feel like telling Phichit about his dream and the missing earphone. It felt weirdly… personal. And would make him look like a maniac, if not anything else.
Phichit shrugged back.
“Ok than. Add those to the counter display.” He pushed the box towards Yuuri. “And when you’re done come to the back, yesterday evening there was a group of girls who tried on half of the store and bought nothing.” Phichit rolled his eyes. “I bet we won’t be done with the clothes till the noon.”
Yuuri nodded and took another sip. As much as he liked being there, folding clothes was a burden.
Rearranging the display took him maybe ten minutes, in which no one came to the store, cause who’d be up this early in weekend anyway, so Yuuri went to help Phichit. There was a pile of dresses and T-shirts on the sofa in front of the changing room and a dozen pairs of boots lied about the floor. No wonder Phichit just left it yesterday.
They were almost done with cleaning when silence sounded in the store and Yuuri grabbed his cup and went to change the vinyl. He was walking through the narrow, dark corridor connecting the two parts of the store, and looking back at Phichit grumbling about fake clients, when a silhouette appeared in front of him.
It was too late to stop so he collided with the other person, the momentum making most of his coffee spill on the other’s shirt, leaving Yuuri’s nearly dry. He started apologising, leading the newcomer to the front of the store, but in respond he heard a stream of Russian curses and denials in Yuuri’s mental health. The other person clearly didn’t realise Yuuri spoke Russian.
And Yuuri was ready to ignore it, apologise and maybe give them something dry to wear, on the house, when the newcomer finally turned to the light and Yuuri saw bright green eyes and furious face, that in addition to the angry Russian clearly belonged to Yuri Plisetsky, new rising star of Russian show business and Victor Nikiforov’s protégé.
If Yuuri had any doubts before, now he was sure – the universe was plotting something, and he’d bet his last earphone that he was a victim of that.