y’all already know what this is. (part 8)
lmao motherfuckin finally. this author is so slow amirite wow who are they
“Addressing any concerns regarding my recent fall and inactivity online: First of all, thank you all for your concern and kind messages. Yes, my ankle is broken. No, the season isn’t over for me. Thankfully, it is only a minor fracture, and I intend to be back on the ice within a few weeks. As for everything else: Yes, I am dealing with some health issues at the moment. I have been mostly bedridden for the past two weeks since my last competition, having been diagnosed with an undifferentiated autoimmune disease. (Not contagious, so don’t worry, fellow competitors <3) I don’t know when I’ll be back to full health, but as aforementioned, it is absolutely my goal to continue with the season as planned. This is a setback for sure, but not the end of my career. (And no, I’m not on drugs, @sportscelebgossip. Yes, I saw that article.)”
“Good caption,” Victor confirmed. Yuuri drew in a deep breath as he hit post and immediately shoved his phone under his pillow. “Good, it’s done,” Victor reassured. “You don’t have to worry about it anymore. Ready for the journal?”
“I just realized the anglicized version of my name rhymes with worry,” Yuuri said, blatantly ignoring the question. “How accurate is that?”
“Yuuri…”
“Yeah. Yuuri. Worry.”
“Stop procrastinating. It’s not going to work.” Yuuri sighed heavily.
“I hate the journal,” he grumped. “Let’s just talk about English words some more. Hurry also rhymes.”
“Then let’s hurry and get this done so you can stop being a child about it. First is temperature. Open up.” Resigned, Yuuri stuck the thermometer in his mouth, giving the journal the Dirty Look to End All Dirty Looks until it beeped.
“38.2,” Victor murmured, writing it down. “And you were over 39 three times today. Just one seizure… about 110 seconds… Okay, how many barfs were there?”
“Three.”
“Okay, that’s better, right? That’s one less than yesterday. Blood?”
“Yes. Not much, though. Just streaks.” Realizing what question was coming next, Yuuri pulled his blanket up over his face stubbornly. Victor sighed.
“Don’t do that. You’re just making the journal take even longer.” There was no answer. “Just a one word answer. How many bowel movements?” After several seconds of silence, the blanket whispered,
“Five and a half.”
“Five and a half? How the hell does that work?”
“Because- never mind. Six. Just put six.”
“Fine. Blood?”
“Yeah.”
“Any coughing fits today?”
“One bad one, one not-so-bad one.”
“Okay. Joint pain throughout the day. One is none, ten is the worst pain ever.”
“Six? But like seven or eight when I move? But then sometimes it’s like five when I have the hot packs,” Yuuri rambled, still under the blanket.
“I’ll just write six and a half, like yesterday. Last one is general, just how you feel. One is take me back to the hospital right now and ten is take me back to the rink right now.”
“That sounds biased.”
“Just answer the question.”
“Fine. Like, four, I guess. Today was pretty okay.”
“Four,” Victor whispered as he wrote. “Okay, we’re done. See how easy that was?”
“No,” Yuuri answered stubbornly. Victor slipped the journal in the drawer of the nightstand (out of sight, out of mind) and hugged the blanket, knowing Yuuri was hiding in there somewhere. Truthfully, Victor hated the journal too, but not for the same reason. Yuuri found it embarrassing to document how awful he felt every night; especially since he was so prone to being incredibly private when it came to illness. He was a master of hiding packs of tissues in his sleeve when he had a cold, or escaping social situations when he needed to cough. With this, though, there was no being private. He had to record every gross thing that happened and relay it to the doctors at the next appointment, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to convince himself that everyone who knew what was going on with his health wasn’t disgusted. Meanwhile, Victor hated the journal for how it put into perspective how bad things were. Even while he was almost always home taking care of him, Yuuri still managed to hide things. In the past couple of days he had gained back enough strength to sometimes hobble around alone on his crutches, which gave him the freedom to keep things secret. He’d started taking frequent showers, playing loud American rock music to drown out the sounds of coughing, retching, or using the washroom. The journal was getting increasingly frustrating as Victor discovered more and more things that had flown over his head throughout the day. It terrified him that Yuuri might start trying to hide seizures as well, which could put him in serious danger.
Tired of cuddling a faceless blanket-lump, Victor burrowed under the thick comforter until his nose was touching Yuuri’s.
“You shouldn’t hide under the blankets. It’s not good for your fever.” It was hard to tell under the dark blanket, but he was pretty sure Yuuri rolled his eyes before scooting away from him. That was a bad plan, though, and he ended up scooting right off the bed, yelping as he hit the floor with a thud. Victor threw the blanket off of himself and scrambled to the floor where Yuuri was in a little heap, his shoulders jumping.
“Shit! Are you okay? Are you crying? Look at me!” he cried frantically, grasping Yuuri’s arm.
“I’m laughing, Vitya,” he answered, sitting up slowly to reveal a sheepish smile. “What happened to your sense of humour?” Victor breathed a sigh of relief before replying,
“I think it got worried for a second there. You didn’t jar your ankle, did you?”
“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. It was funny. Remember that? Funny? Can we please talk about something other than my ankle and my… you know, my everything else?” Victor sighed, forcing himself not to scoop Yuuri up and put him back in bed, instead offering him a hand. With a little help, Yuuri stood on his good foot and climbed into bed, looking at him expectantly.
“Of course. Sorry,” Victor said finally, crawling back into bed beside him. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Literally anything,” Yuuri breathed. “Watching paint dry. Math exams. American politics.”
“Getting married in Japan,” Victor blurted out. Had he really said that out loud? In the back of his mind, he knew it was foolish to be embarrassed about talking about wedding fantasies when you’re already engaged, but still. He felt heat rise to his cheeks and idly wondered if he was more flushed than Yuuri. There was a moment of heavy silence before Yuuri grabbed Victor’s face and kissed him. Hard. Harder than he had since this whole mess had started. Maybe harder than he ever had.
Yuuri wished he could kiss him for longer, but his lungs began to burn after only a few seconds. He didn’t tell Victor that. He didn’t mention how much his body hurt from the simple effort of pulling him in for the kiss in the first place, or how his ankle was actually throbbing from falling off the bed. None of that mattered at the moment, because Victor wanted to get married in Japan. Yuuri had never even considered the possibility of someone wanting to marry him, ever. Maybe as a young child it had crossed his mind- the beautiful idea of a wedding on that lovely cliff near the onsen- in the spring, maybe, when it would be raining cherry blossom petals. At some point in college it had suddenly occurred to him that that dream had died around the time he met Nishigori, but he wasn’t upset about that. He had never missed the fantasy, exactly, but now it was suddenly back in his mind and it was oddly wonderful. Thoughts of kissing under the cherry blossoms, looking out over the Hasetsu cityscape with someone else, walking along the beach holding hands with Victor, his husband, all raced through his head in the space of less than a second. He knew he should say something, but the emotion was so overwhelming he didn’t know what he would do if he allowed himself to snap out of this trance. Finally, the emotions bubbled over, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out a laugh. Victor flushed crimson, looking horribly embarrassed for some reason, and Yuuri couldn’t correct him because he was just too happy, happier than he’d probably thought he could ever be, and all his language abilities flew out of him with a giddy whoosh.
“I’m sorry, that was such a weird thing to say- it was so sudden. I just- you have more family than I do, and- like- I know we technically met in Russia but you didn’t remember that and that night didn’t feel real anyway because it was just a party and parties end. But being in Japan was the first time I didn’t feel so alone and I just thought- I’m sorry, I’m just making this more awkward…” Yuuri prepared his weak lungs and interrupted Victor with another kiss, knowing there was something he could be saying, but deciding that just this once, he’d put his own needs first and let himself indulge in the feeling of being overwhelmingly happy. He pulled away for breath frequently, trying to suppress the urge to cough, and kissed as hard as he could until his burning lungs forced him to stop again. When he finally pulled away, he was exhausted, his body begging him to sleep. He pushed it back for just a moment as he searched for something, anything, to say. Finally, dropping his head tiredly and contentedly onto the pillow, he whispered,
“And then we’ll honeymoon somewhere warm.” With that, he fell asleep in his almost-husband’s arms.
He thought things were getting better.
He really did.
He dreamt of weddings and honeymoons for the first half of the night. It was blissful and calm. He woke up a few times, and found himself warm and still in Victor’s arms, and that was enough to lull him back into a contented sleep.
The sun was almost up when things started going downhill.
The dream was of a honeymoon on a beautiful island somewhere. One second he was holding Victor’s hand, looking out over the serene horizon, and the next, he was cold and alone. Dark clouds began rolling over the dream-beach. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was only dreaming, but that wasn’t enough to stop him being terrified as the sun completely disappeared. What had once been the sound of soft waves on the shore became screams. Horrible, bloodcurdling screams echoed in his head. He called out for Victor- he’d been there a moment ago! Where was he? Without the sun the beach was awfully cold; Yuuri could see huge, grotesque goosebumps forming all over his body, distorting it so it looked like he’d been attacked by bees. The screams got louder and louder. They sounded pained and desperate- like the scream of someone being tortured- and Yuuri began to recognize familiar voices in the chorus. Mari was first, but his parents were there too. Then Phichit. Yurio. Where was Victor? He looked around frantically, but all he could see in the dark was a jagged wooden sign that read, “Why did you ruin our honeymoon?” Powerful nausea swirled in Yuuri’s stomach as he did the last thing he could think of: run. He sprinted full force along the beach, but the further he went the less his legs worked. They felt numb, but they somehow hurt at the same time. His running got slower, sloppier. He ran, crying now, until he stumbled across a mangled body. The person was clearly dead; they were bleeding from… well… everywhere, it seemed, and their limbs appeared to be twisted and broken. Yuuri could see slashes across the person’s throat and abdomen, and his mouth fell open in a silent scream as he recognized blood-soaked silvery blond hair and lifeless blue eyes…
“Yuuri? Yuuri! Wake up, please!” Cool hands touched his arms and face. The beach was gone. Where was he? It was soft. He felt heavy blankets on him, but he was freezing. What was that sound? “Yuuri, you’re hyperventilating. You need to calm down.” Oh. He was making that sound. It sounded like the way an angry monster would breathe. Were monsters real? He couldn’t remember. He felt the cool hands come back for a moment, pressing on his cheeks and forehead. Then they left, and suddenly the world started getting even colder, and Yuuri cried out because he was afraid he might be on that beach again. “No, no, it’s okay. It’s just me. I’m moving the blankets because you’re too hot right now. Can you open your eyes for me?” Oh. It hadn’t occurred to Yuuri that his eyes were closed. Maybe if he opened his eyes it wouldn’t be so dark. With a lot of effort he forced his eyelids up. The dim bedside lamp burned, but then Victor’s blue eyes appeared in front of him, not dead, so he didn’t mind. He decided now might be a good time to sit up, because lying down meant sleeping and sleeping meant Victor would be dead on a beach. He wasn’t sure how long he spent trying to sit up, but his muscles burned and he was incredibly dizzy by the time Victor helped him.
“Need a hug,” Yuuri heard himself whisper, before dissolving into panicked tears. Like magic, Victor’s arms wrapped around him, ever so slightly dulling the edge of the painful cold assaulting his body.
“Okay, okay. Hush, it’s alright. I’m right here,” he heard him whisper. For some reason, that made Yuuri cry harder. At least, something did. Maybe it was the embarrassment. He knew he was embarrassed, although he couldn’t quite remember why. Maybe it was the terror of his nightmare, or his fear of going back to sleep. Maybe it was the blinding, unadulterated pain clenching his body from the inside out. Regardless, Victor’s hands traced up and down his back, along his scalp, and somehow everywhere they could possibly be to comfort him. His face was there too, whispering to him, planting little kisses on his neck and in his hair. It felt like they stayed there forever, but also only for a few seconds before Victor shifted and Yuuri felt something appear under his tongue. A lollipop? Doctors give lollipops when you’re sick, right? Yuuri was pretty sure he was sick. It didn’t taste very good, but he appreciated the gesture anyway. He wouldn’t tell Victor it didn’t taste good. He was just looking up to thank him when the lollipop started screaming at him, and he spat it out, yelping. He heard Victor saying something to the lollipop; he couldn’t tell if it was English or Russian, but he recognized it was swear words. Victor must not have realized the lollipop was angry at first. Understandable.
Then, the warmth disappeared, and through his hazy vision Yuuri could see him floating away, toward the door. Why would he leave him? He couldn’t leave him! Not knowing what else to do, Yuuri felt himself scream, “No!” Victor spun around in shock, rushing back to the bed. His hands appeared in his hair again, which was nice, but not enough to slow the tears that had started anew. Victor was floating above him somewhere, asking what was wrong. He sounded desperate and scared and Yuuri felt a pang of guilt, but immediately couldn’t remember why.
“Don’t leave me,” he sobbed. He heard Victor agree, but he still couldn’t find him, which was frustrating. He wondered whether or not his eyes were open, but he wasn’t sure how to check. Next, he was flying, and for a horrible moment he wondered if he had died- but then, he felt Victor’s breath on his neck and relaxed. There was a blast of cold air, and then a few moments of painful nothingness. Then he was lying on a hard, cool floor and Victor was wiping something off of his face. Then, he was sitting up again, somewhere soft, talking to his mother. When had she gotten here?
Reality slowly began to fade into his consciousness, and he started to understand what was happening. He was propped up against Victor on the couch, facing a computer screen. Kaasan wasn’t in Russia, she was on the computer screen. Skype? Yeah, skype. With a lot of effort he said hello, having no idea if it came out in Japanese or English. He couldn’t find the energy to care. It was always wonderful talking to Kaasan, but Yuuri found it incredibly impossible to keep up. He faded in and out of the land of the awake as Victor and Kaasan chatted, distress palpable in both of their tones.
“40.8???” Victor nodded, gazing guiltily at Hiroko’s worried expression. “He needs to be at the hospital, Vicchan!” He sighed.
“I called his doctor, but she said having him here is just the same as having him there. We already have all the meds I can give him.” Truthfully, Victor had seriously considered taking Yuuri to the hospital anyway, simply for the sake of his own sanity. Even if there wasn’t much they could do, it was tempting to put the responsibility in their hands for a few hours. Of course, he immediately felt guilty for thinking that. He glanced down at Yuuri; it was hard to tell whether or not he was awake. He occasionally murmured things to himself, or maybe he thought he was participating in the conversation. Every time he made a noise Hiroko looked at him intently, like she desperately wanted him to say something coherent. The look in her eyes gave Victor another sharp pang of guilt, and he wondered if she thought Yuuri would be better off in Japan, under her care instead of his.
“He’s going to be alright,” Victor whispered, unsure of who he was trying to convince. Hiroko nodded, shifting to the side as Mari appeared in the frame to say hi. Her shock was obvious when she saw the condition her brother was in. Her English wasn’t quite as good as her mother’s, and nowhere near Yuuri’s, but she addressed Victor when she said,
“He looked better on Instagram today.”
“He was,” Victor answered, speaking slowly to help Mari keep up. “It just started getting bad again early this morning.” Her eyes shifted back to her brother and she said something in Japanese, causing him to stir slightly. He made a tiny noise, opening his eyes again to look at the screen. Seeing him awake, Mari smiled and repeated herself, and Yuuri responded with a sentence that Victor actually knew how to translate.
“Watashi wa, anata o aishiteimasu, Onee-chan.” (I love you, Onee-chan.)
“Watashi mo anata o aishitemasu, Onii-san,” (I love you too, Onii-san.) Mari answered. A tear slipped down her face and she hastily wiped it away before bidding them goodbye and heading back to work. Once she was gone Yuuri dozed off again and Victor filled Hiroko in on the past couple of days since they had last skyped. He was just about to wake Yuuri to say goodbye when he made a little noise in the back of his throat. Hiroko let out a surprised
“Oh!” as his mouth fell open, letting a stream of vomit dribble continuously into his lap. Victor moved calmly, numbly, keeping Yuuri upright until he was done. He wiped Yuuri’s mouth with a tissue and swiftly pulled off his soiled pajama pants, relieved that his boxers had made it unscathed. Yuuri didn’t seem embarrassed about throwing up this time, or even having his boyfriend pull his pants off in front of his mother. His lack of reaction might have been the most concerning part.
“I think I’m going to take him back to bed with some fresh ice packs,” Victor said, cringing as his voice cracked. Hiroko nodded sadly, bidding him goodbye before saying something in Japanese, which Yuuri seemed to at least partially acknowledge. The last thing she said was,
“Keep me updated.” With that, she hung up, leaving Victor to carry a terrifyingly non-protesting Yuuri back to bed.
hngggg the bottom is in weird text and idk why or how to fix it im sorry :(
