(This started as a response to this post of @rcmclachlan‘s but immediately took on a life of its own and got so long that I think it would be rude/derailing as a response, so here it is as its own post, sorry about whatever this is.)
I’ve just decided that Yuuri Katsuki is the Hugh Dancy of photoshoots, in that every photographer meets him, goes slightly cross-eyed, panics, and starts throwing questionable props at him and putting him in ridiculous situations.
Yuuri Katsuki as Hugh Dancy drinking a mojito on a ladder in a pool for no reason.
Yuuri Katsuki as Hugh Dancy Not Knowing How Chairs Work
Yuuri Katsuki as Hugh Dancy In Eyeliner And A Collar
Yuuri thinks this is just how photoshoots work, don’t they? It’s how his have always worked, anyway, he sort of assumes his photos always seem so weird because it’s just some flaw in him, that he’s so unattractive photographers have to distract from his terrible face and katsudon body with weird settings and poses and props.
At some point Phichit tries to sit him down for a conversation about how he has to stop doing That Look at his photographers because it incapacitates them and that’s what leads to things like that photoshoot where he’s balancing a pumpkin on his head while a chicken stares at him. And Yuuri is just all; what look, I am trying not to make eye contact at all, it’s the only way I can survive having so many people looking at me, why are there so many makeup people. And Phichit has to explain that it comes off as gazing coyly up through your eyelashes, Yuuri, you were practically batting them at the poor man and Yuuri just wails I COULDN’T SEE HIM, YOU TOOK MY GLASSES AWAY, I WAS SQUINTING.
Phichit just: that poor man, he thinks you’re practically engaged, please wear your contacts and stop accidentally making people fall in love with you, I am running out of space on my wall for photos of you not knowing how different kinds of furniture work.
What I’m saying is that when Yuuri eventually stammers out to Phichit that he’s thinking of having some, you know, *lowered voices*, boudoir photos taken for Viktor’s birthday, Phichit’s response is twofold.
First: get him, Tiger. Second: hire a lesbian who will not give two fucks about your Eros but actually understands photography. It’s the only way they will turn out actually-sexy and not you naked-but-strategically-draped-in-goldfish, standing en pointe in a Home Depot, for some reason, waving a box of crackers.
Phichit assumes his advice was followed when Viktor’s one and only social media post on his birthday is I AM DEAD. I AM DEAD AND MY PERFECT AND PRECIOUS HUSBAND HAS KILLED ME, RIP ME, MY SOUL HAS LEFT MY BODY, I AM ASCENDING TO A HIGHER PLANE NOW.
Then again, who knows. That’s also the sort of thing Viktor posts on any random Tuesday if he caught a glimpse of Yuuri’s ankle during dinner or something.
Phichit sends Yuuri a thumbs-up emoji anyway, because he’s an idiot and needs all the encouragement he can get.