“What do you mean, he’s out sick?!”
“I mean he’s out sick! Do you need it in Thai instead of English? I can tell you in Thai—”
“That won’t be necessary, thank you,” Celestino mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why didn’t he call in earlier?”
Phichit snorts. “The poor bastard is drugged up on something or other and tweeting deliriously about his tomato plants. Doubt he can drive.”
“That doesn’t excuse him from calling in ahead of time,” Celestino groans. “Okay. We need someone in that dress and on the runway in two hours… and it was tailored to…” He gives Phichit a slow, thoughtful look, eyeing him up and down.
Phichit takes a wary step back, raising his hands. “Uh oh. I can hear the gears cranking in your head and I dunno if I like that.”
“You and him are about the same size,” Celestino muses, stroking his chin. Then he sits up, nods, and snaps his fingers: “Phichit, report to wardrobe in five. Tell them the situation and get them to let you try on the dress. If it fits, you’re on the runway.”
(Sixty minutes later, he’s in a gorgeous spring-green gown, the collar garnished with extravagant rose clusters and trailing leaves, having the makeup team Ignore Him as he tells them how to do their jobs.)
(Ninety minutes later, he’s backstage, frantically texting Yuuri about his last-minute jitters.)
(And then he’s out on the runway, facing down the bright white lights, and he’s ready to bloom.)
(Paper art by @sugarlipx and fic by @adreamingsongbird!)
Only 4 days until Yuri on Runway begins!
Do you have your outfit picked yet?
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