Yuuri and Phichit are definitely bad influences on each other, but in very different ways.
Phichit arrives in America with a very definite “my body is a temple” mindset as far as food goes. He’s very serious about being an athlete and one of the ways he dedicates himself is by being very loyal to his diet.
“Okay, but have you ever had a Taco Bell though?” asks his roommate about three days into Phichit’s freshman year. They’ve already had six conversations about Viktor Nikiforov’s ass and Yuuri has cried on his bed, so Phichit knows at this point that they’re going to be Best Friends For Life.
“No, what’s that?” asks Phichit, who’s imagining maybe a bell-shaped bowl full of taco? because he knows what a taco is and he knows what a bell is, but he can’t quite figure out how those things might combine. Also, he’s been in America for 6.9 seconds and has not become acquainted with the sheer willingness of Westerners to put utter garbage in their guts.
(There are no Taco Bells in Thailand. There has never even been a Taco Bell in Thailand. Taco Bell has pulled out of more countries than the British, but none of them was Thailand.)
Twenty minutes later, Phichit is in a dimly-lit parking lot somewhere in Lincoln Park, sitting in the passenger side while Yuuri works his way through four Big Beef Meximelts in complete silence, staring with ennui and a Sadness Too Great To Name through the windshield.
Phichit has a singular soft taco in his lap because when Yuuri asked him what he wanted to order, Phichit raised his eyebrows and said, “It’s Taco bell, right?”
(“Alright, do you want a hard one?”
“WHAT.”
“I’ll take that as a no.”)
“I think my body will completely reject this the moment I try to put it in my mouth,” Phichit tells him, having upwrapped the the taco–not just the paper wrapper, but actually taken the tortilla apart–to reveal something that looks like it may have already been digested. Is that supposed to be lettuce?
“You’d think so,” Yuuri says, crumpling up the wrapper of his third Meximelt.
Phichit never really warms up to Taco Bell, but Yuuri convinces him to eat a White Castle once and the next day Phichit puts on his Holly Golightly sunglasses and a very large scarf and walks into White Castle to order five sliders, affecting an accent so he’s not recognized.
On the other hand, Phichit and Yuuri go grocery shopping and Yuuri is immediately drawn to the prettiest fruit because A: Yuuri secretly has expensive taste and B: the entire country of Japan is collectively obsessed with beautiful fruits to the extent that they’re literally a commodity.
“I’m so tired of bland tomatoes,” Yuuri whimpers, holding a beefsteak heirloom tomato in his palms like a crystal ball, or perhaps a very small puppy. It’s very plush, and almost purple. “I bet this one would taste so good.”
“Then buy it?” mumbles Phichit, palpating avocados.
“It’s three dollars,” Yuuri mumbles. The Look of Profound Sadness is back, and Phichit can’t deal with Yuuri making that face at a tomato of all the things.
“Maybe not,” Phichit mumbles, taking the tomato from Yuuri’s hand and putting it in a bag. He carries it with them to the self-checkout and enters it as a hothouse tomato–which are on sale for 99 cents/lb–weighs it and puts it in the bag.
“Oh, that’s not–”
“I know,” Phichit hisses out of the corner of his mouth. “Be cool.”
“Ahhh,” Yuuri whispers under his breath, and fidgets endlessly until Phichit pays and they make their way out of the store. “Ahhhhh??”
Phichit counts down from three in his head when they get in the car.
“I’M A BEACON OF SIN,” Yuuri shrieks, right on cue.
