For the prompt "how's your [wound]?" from a lovely list of starters that I saw on my dash but forgot to like/reblog apparently
I've been binging too much rpdr and this was the first thing my mind went to sry not sry
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Victor stirs from his doze on Yuuri's shoulder, into which he promptly muffles a weak noise of pain.
He had drifted off to whatever movie Yuuri put on for them, hoping the rest would help his headache, but it only seems to have gotten worse. Between coughing fits that leave him breathless and the constant cycle of chills and overheating, this illness is really getting on his nerves.
But, he supposes it's not all bad.
A strong arm is wrapped around his back, holding him close. The warmth of Yuuri's body next to his does wonders to fend off the chill of his fever. He smiles when soft lips press against the top of his head. "Hey," Yuuri whispers, a consideration Victor's pounding head is grateful for. "Feeling any better?"
Victor answers with another noise of pain. His eyes remain closed, though his head aches too much to allow him to fall back asleep. His chest is heavy with congestion, and he feels a bit dizzy despite hardly moving, but having Yuuri here like this is enough to make the pain bearable, at least slightly.
When Yuuri's hand cards though Victor's hair, he sighs out in content and snuggles further into Yuuri's body, absorbing all of the warmth that he can. Above him, Yuuri makes a noise that sounds adoring and fond. The hand in his hair continues its magic for a few more moments, then gently trails down the side of his face until it's cupping a flushed cheek.
"Your fever seems to be rising…" Yuuri murmurs, thumb stroking his cheek. Victor hums, half in response and half in bliss. Yuuri's touch is heavenly, and Victor instinctively leans into it. He allows his eyes to flutter open. The glow from the screen hurts his eyes, even with the brightness on the lowest setting, but Yuuri's gaze is soft and Victor finds it all too easy to melt into it.
Yuuri's expression softens with sympathy when he sees Victor wince against the bright lights. "How's your head?" he asks.
The question is innocent, but under the influence of fever and pain and spoiled with affection, Victor's lips quirk upwards in a playful smile. "Well, you haven't complained so far, so I'd say pretty good."
By the look on Yuuri's face, it's obvious he doesn't get it. His face is blank, like a freshly resurfaced ice rink. He blinks. Blinks again.
Victor can only laugh. Though he quickly comes to regret that decision as laughing leads to coughing and coughing makes his chest hurt and makes his head hurt even more.
"What's so funny?" Yuuri asks, somewhere between amused and concerned, rubbing Victor's back as he struggles to catch his breath.
Once the fit is over, he sags limply against Yuuri. "You didn't get the joke…" Victor pouts.
"Oh, I did. It just... took a second is all."
Victor rubs at his temples with a shaky hand and a grimace. All joking aside, his head feels like it's about to explode, cracked open like a watermelon hit with a baseball bat.
"You're such a dork. I love you," Yuuri says, sweetly kissing Victor's forehead.
"Love you too," Victor says back, managing a smile though the pain.
"Now then," Yuuri says, slipping away from Victors embrace and getting up, "Tylenol?"
It’s phichit’s first few months living in america. He and yuuri aren’t that close yet, and Phichit sometimes feels weird going to him since yuuri’s so much older- he doesn’t want to look/feel like a baby. He wonders if yuuri thinks it’s weird having a roommate who’s still finishing his last year of online high school. Then winter comes, and it’s freezing, and Phichit wakes up horribly sick in the middle of the night. He makes a mess on the floor of his dorm room; some of it is on him. Some is on his bed. He wants his mom. He wants /someone/. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he ends up getting up and wobbling over to yuuri’s room; he knows he’ll still be awake- the man never sleeps, it seems. Phichit doesn’t say anything at first, just waits for yuuri to notice him. He does, looking up from his computer in question. In a quiet, wobbly voice Phichit admits,
“I threw up...”
Yuuri doesn’t normally like being touched, but he immediately gets up and gives Phichit a hug. He wipes the mess off of phichits hands, and tucks him into his own bed before shuffling off to phichit’s room to deal with the mess. He hasn’t said a word this whole time- he’s a younger sibling, after all, he isn’t used to this. He’s not sure what to say.
When Phichit wakes next, it’s morning. He’s in his own bed again. The sheets have been changed and the room smells fresh, like lemony cleaning chemicals. Yuuri is sitting on the foot of his bed, leaning against the wall, fast asleep. Later that day, when phichit’s fever has broken and yuuri has returned from his classes, he tries to thank him. Yuuri waves him off.
“It’s no problem, you’re my friend!”
Phichit isn’t sure what to say, but his chest floods with warmth at hearing yuuri use the word “friend.” The guy’s so quiet, Phichit honestly hadn’t been sure.
They don’t speak of it again until over a year later. By that point, the two are best friends, practically joined at the hip.
Phichit sits on the edge of yuuri’s bed, taking his temperature and helping him swallow two extra strength Tylenol. He knows yuuri feels awful, but yuuri has yet to complain- he’s been trying all day not to let Phichit hear him coughing and vomiting.
“You can go to bed, Phich. I’m okay.”
Yuuri looks guilty, and he’s not making eye contact. Phichit laughs, taking his roommate’s hand.
Prompt: how about yuuri breaking a bone or something at practice, and victor not being there (out of the country for reasons). But yurio is. Victor has to trust yurio to help yuuri. And i do not mean for yuuri/yurio to be a thing lol. Just family feels, i guess. :)
let’s just ignore the fact that Yuri has a coach who should be there at the rink
1600~ words
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The ice crunches beneath Yuri’s skates as he cleanly lands a jump, promptly followed by another. The wind flows in his hair as he glides, and he can’t help his satisfied grin.
Victor is gone, out of town for the next couple of days for some sponsor-related thing. Yuri can’t remember the exact details, but it doesn’t involve him anyways, so why should he care? All he cares about is that he can finally get in some actual practice time. Most days, it’s impossible to focus with the endless flirting Victor and Yuuri get up to. Yuri is unspeakably relieved he won’t have to witness that, and he’s also pleased that Yuuri can have some time to focus on his own skating and up his skills too. Yuri wants him at his best when they compete. It wouldn't feel right winning, otherwise.
Now, without Victor around, there are no distractions. Or at least, that would be the case, if Yuri wasn’t so abruptly pulled from his thoughts by a sharp yelp that belongs to Yuuri. The dull thud of a body meeting the ice reaches Yuri’s ears (not for the first time today), and it's with a sense is superiority that he casts a glance over in that direction.
Yuuri lays on the ice, his back to the younger skater. After a long moment spent audibly breathing hard through gritted teeth, Yuuri manages to use an arm to push himself up so he’s sitting on his knees. The position he’s in makes it obvious that he hasn’t sprained his ankle or something stupid like that, which is a relief, since Yuri wouldn't want the hassle of having to carry him to the benches.
Slowly, (perhaps a bit too slowly, Yuri dares to think) Yuuri makes it to his feet, with the help of a hand on the ice to steady himself. Then, with a long and shaky exhale, he starts to skate again.
Yuri slows down his own skating, watching curiously as Yuuri struggles through what should be easy elements. His lips are pinched in a thin line, his eyebrows are drawn together. His step sequence is a far cry from its usual polished perfection. Yuri would make a snide comment about it, but the words die on his tongue as Yuuri makes for the boards where his water bottle is.
Yuuri has stamina that could outdo Yuri’s three times over, as much as he hates to admit it. To see him take a break is enough cause for concern, especially given the fall Yuri just witnessed. Even more alarming is the way his head is ducked down, his face twisted in an evident grimace.
“Katsudon?”
Yuuri either didn't hear him or is pretending like he didn't. He's too busy reaching for his water bottle, clenching it in a white-knuckled grip as he brings it to his lips and takes a drink. He sets the bottle down with a little more force than necessary. Then, after some carefully controlled breathsーand not a single word or glance to Yuriーhe pushes off from the rink wall and returns to the ice as if nothing happened.
Bullshit, nothing happened.
“Hey,” Yuri calls after him. He gets no response and scowls. As if he is going to let himself be brushed off by some dime-a-dozen skater who thinks he's all that because he won a silver medal at the Final. Did he forget who took gold?
Yuri pursues him, irritation increasing when Yuuri still seems set on refusing to acknowledge him. “Katsudon,” he calls again, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Stop ignoring me, dammit!” He reaches for Yuuri's shoulder to turn him around. “What the hell is wrong with you today? You'reー”
Yuri doesn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't Yuuri protectively cradling his arm to his body with tears in his eyes, breathing in a way that can only mean he’s desperately trying not to cry, go into a panic attack, be sick, or perhaps all three.
Yuri replays the earlier tumble in his mind. While Yuuri's legs may have been fine, he was definitely favouring one arm while pushing himself up off the ice. He must have injured his wrist breaking his fall.
“You're hurt,” Yuri pieces together.
“I'm fine,” Yuuri says, much too quickly. Obviously defensive and even more obviously a lie.
“Yeah, and I'm the queen of England. Come on, let me see it.”
He reaches for the injured hand, and Yuuri instantly recoils, holding his arm more protectively to his chest. “Don't touch it!”
“I'm not going to touch it, I just need to see,” Yuri snaps. “And if it's fine like you so claim it is, then there shouldn’t even be a problem in me touching it.”
After a tense moment, Yuuri reluctantly extends his arm out. “Sorry,” he mutters, eyes downcast. His teeth dig into his lower lip in a way that Yuri can tell means he’s trying hard not to make any noise of pain. “It hurts.”
“Should I callー”
“No!” Yuuri snaps his head up. “No, don’t call Victor. I’m fine.”
“Fine?” Yuri echoes back in disbelief. He gestures to the collection of bruises colouring the unnaturally swollen joint. “You call that fine?!”
“It’s… probably just a sprain.” Yuuri sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than Yuri.
Yuri has seen his fair share of sprains. Hell, he’s received a couple on various parts of his own body. This… this looks like it might be a little worse than that. How could Yuuri even skate in this condition? Sure, you don’t necessarily need hands to skate, but his wrist must be causing him excruciating pain, especially if it is broken. Yuri would almost be impressed at Yuuri’s ability to push past the pain, if he didn’t already think him an idiot for risking further injury.
Yuri rolls his eyes. “C’mon.” He grabs Yuuri by his uninjured arm and starts pulling him towards the benches. “You’re in no condition to skate, and don’t give me any more of that ‘I’m fine’ bullshit,” he adds when Yuuri opens his mouth to argue. “Victor will kill me if he finds out you hurt yourself because I let you do something stupid.”
When they get off the ice, Yuuri sinks down onto the bench, not saying a word. Yuri stands in front of him, arms folded across his chest. His phone is a lead weight in his pocket; he’s still debating calling Victor, an idea he contemplates further when Yuri notices the exaggerated rise and fall of Yuuri’s shoulders with each heaving breath. He's coming up on a panic attack, and feeling out of his depth, Yuri's own panic swells. Victor is usually the one who deals with this kind of stuff, not him!
Not knowing what else to do, he places a hand on Yuuri's shoulder. “It’ll be alright. Just… breathe and stuff. Okay?”
Miraculously, that seems to be enough. Yuuri manages a nod and closes his eyes, taking slow measured breaths until he regains control. “Thanks…”
“Don’t mention it,” Yuri says, meaning it.
Yuuri keeps his eyes down and busies himself with trying to untie his skates. His progress is slow, and he doesn’t get very far. His uninjured hand is visibly shaking as he fumbles with the laces, and whenever he tries to use the other it draws a hiss of pain.
Yuri huffs. “I got it. Move,” he says before kneeling in front of the bench.
Yuuri lets out a long breath and cradles his hand to his chest again. “It really hurts.” His voice is hardly a whisper, and though he’s no longer about to go into a panic attack, it’s clear he’s not doing well.
Yuri sets Yuuri’s skates on the bench and rises to his feet. “It looks bad,” he says, grimacing when he catches sight of the injury again. He doesn’t try and asses it, not after how Yuuri reacted before, and instead reaches into his pocket to pull out his cell phone. “I’m calling Victor.”
“Wait!”
Yuri pauses, the phone halfway to his ear, and raises an eyebrow at Yuuri.
“You know you can’t hide this from him. He’s going to find out eventually.”
“I know, I just… I don’t want him to worry,” Yuuri frets. “I’ll call him later. Once we know everything’s okay.”
Yuri slips the phone back in his pocket. “Whatever.” He's not about to let himself get roped into their domestic disputes. “Then on that note, I’m dragging your ass to the emergency room.”
He’s prepared for Yuuri to argue, to start on another plethora of I’m fine’s. Instead, Yuuri gives him a look of almost smug amusement. “I didn’t know you cared so much.”
“You wish. I just don’t want Victor freaking out at me because you were an idiot.” It’s much easier to act inconvenienced than to admit that he actually cares.
“Whatever you say,” Yuuri says, still far too pleased with himself for Yuri’s liking.
Yuri turns his head to the side with a tch before standing up. “You may have fucked up your wrist pretty bad, but your legs are fine, so get up and let’s go already.”
He doesn’t wait to see if Yuuri is following him before he heads in the direction of the change rooms, hoping the light flush on his cheeks will go unnoticed.
Would you do the nightmare prompt for Victor? I think that one would be so cute!!!
“I know you’re scared of getting nightmares, but you won’t get better unless you get some sleep.”
Sickfic sentence starters found here!
～～～
When Yuuri returns to the bedroom carrying a bowl of cold water in hand, he can’t help but give an exasperated sigh at the sight that greets him. On the bed, Victor is sitting propped up against a pile of pillows, rather than lying down like he was when Yuuri had left. His eyes are at half-mast, and keep drooping shut then snapping open again at the last second as he forces himself to remain awake. He’s so out of it that he doesn’t even notice Yuuri has entered the room until he says his name in a somewhat admonishing tone.
While Victor’s reluctance to get some sleep is frustrating, one look at himーwith his unkempt hair, heavy bags under his eyes, and a dark flush painted across his cheeksーleaves Yuuri feeling nothing but worried, and incredibly sympathetic towards his poor sick fiance.
Yuuri places the bowl of water on the nightstand and takes a seat on the bed. “You look tired.”
Victor slowly shakes his head. “‘m not tired…” he mumbles, and the words might have held the possibility to be convincing if he hadn't immediately followed them with a yawn.
“You are,” Yuuri argues, though not with malice. “I know you're scared of getting nightmares, but you won't get better unless you get some sleep."
Victor casts his gaze down at his lap and says nothing. The clear distress in his tired and feverish eyes drives a stake through Yuuri’s heart, much like when Yuuri had first woken up to Victor throwing himself into his arms after witnessing a nightmare. Try as Yuuri might, he was unable to coax Victor into sharing what he had seen that distressed him so. The only words he uttered to Yuuri (or perhaps just to himself) were, “just a dream” over and over again, as he shook his head as if to dispel the images from his mind. Yuuri could do nothing but hold him close, rubbing wide circles on Victor’s back as he cried until tears soaked into his shirt. Any attempt at sleeping after that resulted in a similar scenario, until Victor decided to forgo sleep altogether.
While Victor jolting awake terrified and clinging to Yuuri is far from ideal, it’s been hours of this self-inflicted insomnia and Victor looks just as miserable as before, if not worse. It’s time he got some proper rest. “You don't need to be afraid, Victor,” Yuuri soothes him, taking his hand and kissing the golden band on his finger. “I’m right here. It will be okay, I promise.” When Victor still doesn’t acknowledge Yuuri’s words, he attempts to ease Victor so he’s laying down once more. He acquiesces far too easily, which is a relief as much as it is a cause for concern.
Once Victor is comfortable, Yuuri grabs the cloth from the bowl on the nightstand and wrings out the excess water. It’s nice and cold, which should feel good on Victor’s heated skin, Yuuri thinks as he gently brushes Victor’s bangs out of the way.
He drapes the compress on Victor’s forehead, causing him to flinch, and Yuuri quietly shushes him as he continues to stroke his hair. “Relax.“ Yuuri takes one of Victor’s too-warm hands and holds in his own, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “Close your eyes,” he says softly, and after a second, Victor does. “I’ll be right here,” Yuuri repeats. “Try and sleep for me, okay?”
Victor manages a tired nod, and Yuuri gives his hand a light squeeze. It’s a testament to just how exhausted Victor must have been that his breathing evens out in less than a minute. And here Yuuri was contemplating singing him a lullaby. Smiling fondly, he tucks the idea away in case he needs it later. Still holding Victor’s hand, Yuuri finds comfort in the steady rise and fall of his love’s chest and the serenity written on his face as he finally gets the rest he needs.
From across the rink, Yuuri scrutinizes the item held in Victor’s hands. The logo of Victor’s favourite cafe is displayed on the front of it, the familiar design revealing it is one of the special filtered tea mugs Victor loves to gush about. While the sight of him clutching a travel mug at morning practice is not an unusual one, seeing it now has Yuuri slowing to a stop on the ice as he gets a better look at his coach.
It's not that Victor doesn't like tea. It's far from an odd occurrence for Victor to bring a thermos with him to stay energized through practice and warm against the chill of the cold winter weather.
Only now there is no chill, as it's the middle of spring.
“Tired already, Yuuri?” Victor calls, his wide smile conveying the quip about Yuuri’s stamina that he doesn't voice.
Yuuri narrows his eyes at Victor, paying his comment no mind. “You never drink tea,” he says accusingly.
For a moment, Victor looks like he's taken off guardーalmost as if he were caught in the actーbut he quickly composes himself. “I do sometimes,” Victor replies simply, taking a sip rather nonchalantly.
“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “When it's freezing outsideーwhich it's not right now. Or when you need the caffeine, or when your throat is really bothering you because you're sick.”
That causes Victor to flinch, and Yuuri knows he's right.
“It's nothing,” Victor dismisses with a wave of his hand and a smile practiced to perfection. “I'm just a bit tired. I didn't sleep too well last night is all.”
Yuuri is well aware of the fact. Victor had been doing nothing but tossing and turning. Yuuri is surprised to hear he got any kind of rest at all.
It's obvious to Yuuri that Victor is sick. Or at the very least coming down with something. While it's likely not obvious to anyone else, the signs are all there. It's not even just the mug of tea, it’s the fact that Victor tried to hide it from Yuuri. He had prepared it and packed it in secrecy, much like he had hid his illness the first time he had been sick in their relationship. Yuuri would have thought that by now that Victor wouldn't try to do these things on his own.
Yuuri is tempted to advise they cut their practice short, that they go home and Victor rests, but he knows the idea will be shot down the moment he suggests it. Plus, as much as Yuuri hates to admit it, Victor’s condition isn't bad enough to warrant sentencing him to bedrest. At least not yet.
So instead he settles for letting Victor have his way for a while, and pretends he doesn't notice when Victor turns away to cough into the crook of his elbow.
Yuuri runs through his routine again and again, until the movements become more natural than breathing. Victor gives his compliments and critiques, each one sounding more tired and strained than the last. Yuuri still doesn't voice his concern, knowing even now it will fall on deaf ears.
He loses himself in his skating, until the ice feels like it's moving beneath his feet, as if it were the one dancing for him, rather than the other way around. The sharp slice of his blades echoes in his ears, the crisp and cool rink air fills his lungs with each heavy breath. He pushes himself harder, thoroughly enjoying every minute of it, until thoughts about Victor’s steadily deteriorating condition are all but forgotten.
He comes to a finish in the centre of the ice, breathing hard, feeling confident about a performance well done. He had landed every single jump, even the quad flip, though the landing was a bit shaky which he doubts Victor will let slide. His spins were tight, his step sequence was remarkable as always. Though Victor insists there is always room for improvement, and Yuuri is ready to hear where he should start.
But surprisingly there is no such input from Victor. Only silence. Puzzled, Yuuri turns and looks for his coach and finds him plucking a number of tissues from the plush poodle and blowing his nose into them.
A pang of annoyance surges through Yuuri. Victor just missed a near-perfect run through of his routine. (Even perfect run throughs are near-perfect to Victor.) But then, as Victor emerges from behind the cover of the kleenex, Yuuri feels all of his annoyance melt away into pity.
Even from a distance, Victor’s nose is noticeably red. His eyes (which have yet to notice Yuuri staring) lack the usual sparkle, and there are dark smudges underneath them. Victor sniffles, stuffing the used tissue into the pocket of his jacket, then wraps it more tightly around himself as he visibly shivers. His overall form broadcasts his exhaustion, the tired sigh he releases further proving that point.
“Victor?” Yuuri calls, causing Victor to snap his head up.
His cheeks are flushed, which could easily be from embarrassment at the realization he had missed Yuuri’s routine. Though judging by everything else Yuuri has witnessed, he's willing to bet Victor is running a fever.
Victor’s posture changes in an instant. He straightens up and takes his hands out of his pockets, forcing a smile that Yuuri sees right through.
“Ah, sorry Yuuri. I got a bit distracted for a minute there,” Victor says with a lighthearted laugh, as if that will distract Yuuri from how hoarse his voice sounds. “I'm sure your routine was lovely! Though I wouldn't be opposed to seeing you do it again. I'm confident you have the stamina.”
Yuuri has had enough. He makes his way over to the boards where Victor is. “Maybe I do, but you don't.”
Victor blinks, still acting innocent. “I don't know what you mean.”
“You're obviously sick,” Yuuri points out.
“It's… just a little cold,” Victor relinquishes, his voice quiet and sheepish. “I can still coach you. I'm fine,” Victor insists, or at least he tries to; his breath catches and he sharply turns away to sneeze before he can finish his sentence.
As Victor groans and reaches for a tissue to blow his nose yet again, Yuuri picks up the mug of tea and hands it to him. Victor accepts without a word, takes a sip, then heaves a sigh as he sets the drink down.
Yuuri takes Victor’s hand in his and runs his finger over where the ring is. It's covered by his glove, and that is another dead giveaway to Yuuri that Victor is well and truly sick: he never passes up an opportunity to flash their engagement rings. He must really be chilled.
“Come on. Let's get you home,” Yuuri says.
He expects Victor to argue, to insist he's okay to keep coaching, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary. But Victor must either be feeling that bad, or perhaps he can't find it in himself to resist Yuuri’s sweet charms, because he just smiles, adoration written all over his features, and lets Yuuri lead him by the hand to the benches.
I haven’t figured out how to submit a post to the official page cause i’m an idiot, but here’s my fic for day one of sick days!
Summary: Yuuri, Victor, Phichit, Chris, Yuri and Otabek are stuck in an elevator together and Yuuri is hella sick. (2600 words)
WARNINGS: Vomit, poop, accidents, mild anxiety, crying, fever/delirium, confined spaces, hospital/ambulance mention. Really, this fic is fucking disgusting. Also there are a couple of lines in French, and my French is probably very rusty. Proceed with caution.
Years later, in an interview, Yuuri and Victor would be asked, “What’s the grossest thing that’s ever happened to you?” Yuuri would blush to his toes, laugh bashfully, and Victor would take his hand as the two did their best to recount a somewhat television friendly version of the story. It was just a memory, maybe a little funny in hindsight, and absolutely embarrassing. Currently, however, it was not years later. It was nearly 10pm, and Yuuri was stuck in an elevator with the Stomachache to End All Stomachaches.
They were in Quebec City in the dead of winter- some of the biggest names in figure skating had showed up for this invitational competition. It was a grand two day event, not a part of the grand prix series but still as competitive as ever, all in the name of fun, skating, and good sportsmanship. After free skates were done Victor and Yuuri had gone for a walk around the city, and shared a poutine for lunch before being invited by Chris to a Quebecois sugar shack for dinner. It had been loud and crowded, the cozy restaurant absolutely packed with hungry athletes. Yuuri was absolutely determined to be normal tonight; yes, he had been around people all freaking day, and yes, he was stressed, exhausted, and fighting to ignore a headache. But damn it, he was going to be normal, and he used up all the energy he could muster to socialize, and tuned out J.J’s boring rant about how awful American beer is compared to Canadian beer, how he’d drink a whole litre of the stuff if he didn’t have to drive home tonight, and joined everyone else in indulging in servings of tourtiere, pancakes, and Canadian maple bacon. He suffered in the cold with everyone else learning to roll sticks of snow taffy, and left for the hotel feeling uncomfortably full, but also pretty proud of himself for participating in all this social activity. With some of the younger skaters having left early to go to bed and J.J heading home with Isabella, Yuuri, Victor, Chris, Phichit, Yuri, and Otabek arrived back at the hotel together to spend some time relaxing in one of their rooms.
All of the skaters for this particular competition were housed on the ninth floor. Huddling into the elevator, Yuuri found himself burying his face in Victor’s scarf, dreading spending any time in someone else’s room, or worse, having other people in their room. His stomach hurt. His head hurt. His fingers and toes were tingling, and he felt cold sweat building and dripping under his jacket. In the cab home he’d assumed it was just anxiety- it had been a big day, after all- but now he felt sick and weak, and was feeling symptoms of his anxiety entirely separate from all of that. The lift started moving and Victor was stroking his back, always in tune with how Yuuri was feeling, but somebody else in the elevator knew him at least as well, and wasn’t interested in subtlety the way that Victor was. That somebody poked Yuuri on the butt with a selfie stick to get his attention.
“You don’t have to keep hanging out with everybody if you don’t feel up to it,” Phichit reminded him, poking his butt again when he hesitated to respond. Yuuri managed a half-smile and hip checked the device away from him, biting his lip when the movement sent a ripple of discomfort through his stomach. Phichit’s slightly-louder-than-intended voice had summoned all eyes on him, and Yuuri was working his jaw around an excuse about being tired when the elevator came to a creaking halt, stuck between the seventh and eighth floors. Everyone startled, and Otabek was the first to get his shit together and press the call button. Yuuri gulped, feeling his heart (and stomach) drop straight to his ass. There was a pause, and then a crackling voice sounded through an overhead speaker.
Bonsoir, Hôtel de Jardin Royale. All eyes rested on Chris, and noting he was already absorbed in tweeting about the stuck elevator, Victor rolled his eyes and spoke up.
“Allo, nous avons six personnes dans l’ascenseur, et il ne bouge pas. Aussi, nous sommes internationel. Parlez vous Anglais?” There was another brief pause, followed by:
Un moment, s’il vous plait. There was a clunk as the employee put them on hold, and Chris glanced up from his phone.
“His accent was fucking disgusting,” he commented, before busying himself again in Twitter.
“Your face is fucking disgusting,” Victor replied. Yuuri whimpered in discomfort and Victor brought a gentle hand up to his hair, gently petting him and scratching his scalp.
“What did you say?” Yuuri asked quietly.
“I just told him the elevator stopped and we’re all stuck in here. I think he’s getting someone who speaks English for us.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re claustrophobic,” Yurio snapped. He leveled Yuuri with an accusatory, if a little concerned, look.
“I’m fine, I just-
Hello, this is the hotel manager. Are you all alright up there?
“Hi,” Phichit chirped brightly. “We’re stuck.”
Yes, the engineers are already on their way.
“How quickly can you get us out?” Yuuri asked, and everyone raised their eyebrows. After all, this was basically a phone call, something Yuuri usually Did Not do.
It depends. The engineers will evaluate the problem and whether it’s safe to pull you all out before they get to work. If there is a medical emergency, and it is safe to do so, we can call the fire department to get you down.
“Are you okay?” Victor whispered, meeting Yuuri’s eyes.
“I have to go to the bathroom!” Yuuri wailed. He immediately clapped a hand over his mouth, realizing what he’d just blurted out. “I mean- I…” Yurio was howling with laughter, but everyone else at least looked sympathetic.
“So that’s what’s wrong with you,” Chris chuckled. Yuuri could swear he heard the manager holding back a snicker as well, but maybe it was just his imagination. He hoped.
Unfortunately that doesn’t count as a medical emergency- I couldn’t legally call 911 because you need the washroom. However we’ll do our best to get you out of there as quickly as possible.
Yuuri turned and buried his face in Victor’s scarf again. The pain in his stomach was quickly turning into nausea, and he was feeling weaker and shakier by the second. He zoned out as the manager gave them a generic hang in there and hung up the phone for the time being, only tuning back into reality when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.
PHICHIIIT<3- Are you really okay?-
Yuuri glanced up, giving a short nod when Phichit met his eyes. Unsurprisingly, he didn’t look convinced. There was silence for a moment, but Yuri was in the elevator too, so of course it didn’t last.
“So, you need to piss, Katsudon?”
Time was crawling. Yuuri had long since sat on the floor, too exhausted to stand, and Victor sat beside him, helping him out of his coat when he noticed how sweaty he was. Before long everyone else followed suit and made themselves comfortable. At this point Yuuri was swallowing convulsively, and they still had no idea how long their imprisonment would last. Weirdly enough, it was Otabek who finally spoke up.
“Victor, I think Yuuri is going to throw up.” Yuuri felt the weight of everyone’s eyes landing on him, but he just couldn’t muster the I’m fine this time. He was too tired. His stomach hurt too much. He heard Victor sigh, felt him rub his shoulder. He didn’t sound surprised.
“Does anyone have a bag or something?” Victor asked. His voice was low, worried. It was Yuuri’s fault.
“Here, use this.” Yuuri slit his eyes open and watched Phichit pull a couple of maple leaf and fleur de lis keychains and some maple candies out of a shopping bag and pass it to Victor. Victor took Yuuri’s hands, moved them so they held the handles of the bag.
“Just if you need it, okay?” Being given something to puke in instantly made him ten times more nauseous, but Yuuri bit his lip, desperate to suppress it. There was no way he would throw up in front of five other people. No wa-
Fuck.
No.
Yuuri was gagging uncontrollably, desperately swallowing back wave after wave of sick. Victor’s hands were on his back, in his hair, on his hands, making sure the bag was open. His voice was in his ear whispering “just let it out, it’s okay, you’re okay.” He pressed his hand against his mouth and Yuri’s voice floated into his consciousness.
“If he pukes I swear to god.” A wet burp escaped and tasted sickeningly like maple syrup, and that was the last straw. Vomit splashed forcefully into the shopping bag. Yuuri coughed and heaved, and he genuinely didn’t know if the tears pouring down his cheeks were from the strain or the humiliation. Maybe both. He tried taking a deep breath, but it turned into a retch halfway. His entire abdomen clenched against his will, and as he heaved again, hot lava loudly and painfully exited him, straight into his pants and onto the floor. By the time he caught a break everyone was silent, staring in horror. Half delirious, Yuuri wondered if it was obvious he’d just shit his pants. Then there was a crackle above him, and the speaker buzzed to life again.
The engineers are here, and they’re working on fixing the problem. Unfortunately you are stuck between floors, so it looks like they’ll have to repair the elevator to get you back down here. How’s everybody doing up there?
“One of us is really sick,” Phichit answered frantically. “Are you sure you can’t get us out to help him?”
Unfortunately it isn’t safe to try and pull you out, but if you need it I can call an ambulance and have it waiting for him when we get you down.
“He doesn’t need an ambulance, he needs a bed,” Victor sighed. He was running his hand through Yuuri’s hair. It was so cool. So nice. He almost felt like he could fall asleep…
RING RING!
Everyone jumped, and Yuuri snapped awake as Phichit rushed to silence his ringing phone.
“Oh, it’s Ciao Ciao,” he mumbled, sheepishly raising it to his ear. “Hey.”
“Hi, Ciao Ciao!” Yuuri sang. He felt drunk. The unrelenting pain and fever was intoxicating, and somehow, covered in sweat and shit, holding a bag of puke, Yuuri was suddenly feeling surprisingly social. Phichit glanced at him, making no effort to hide the concern in his eyes. Not that Yuuri minded; even high on a boiling brain, he was pretty well aware of what he looked like right now.
“Do you want me to put him on speaker, Yuu?” Yuuri grinned dopily, and Phichit pressed the speaker button, letting the hand holding his phone fall to his lap.
“Where are you two?” came Celestino’s voice, and Phichit rubbed at his eyebrow.
“We’re in a stuck elevator. In the hotel. Say hi, everyone.” Four voices chimed in with a hello, followed by a loud belch out of Yuuri, and a responding gag from Yurio.
“Text me next time, you’re always on your phone after all. Is Yuuri drunk?”
“No, he’s sick, and we’ve been stuck in here for almost an hour,” Phichit sighed.
“I’m not sick,” Yuuri defended, having no idea why he suddenly felt inclined to lie about this. “I just have to go to the bathroom.”
“You already went to the bathroom,” Yurio spat. Yuuri threw him a halfhearted dirty look, but it felt a bit ridiculous given the disgusting mess he was sitting in. Looking up, though, he realized everyone in the elevator looked pale and uncomfortable. Otabek was hiding his nose and mouth in his scarf. Chris had his knees brought up to his face so only his eyes were visible. Yuri was blatantly holding his nose, and Phichit was grimacing as he talked to Ciao Ciao in a low voice. Even Victor was breathing shallowly, coughing to himself as he cuddled Yuuri, hugging the source of the nasty smell like a trooper. Guilt flooded Yuuri’s being all at once, and he was crying before he had a chance to realize how upset he was. Time was racing and crawling at the same time. He could hear Victor talking in his ear, Phichit talking to Ciao Ciao, Yuri saying something to Chris and Otabek in his biting voice, but it all morphed into overwhelming white noise. He could hear his stomach grumbling inside of him- something was still definitely leaking out of the back end of him, and he felt his hands tremble at the thought that he might throw up again. He cried and cried, desperately wanting to stop but unable to even remember what it was like to not be crying. He cried so hard he threw up, and it caught him off guard- only about half the puke actually made it into the bag, the rest coating his hands and lap. Then Victor was wiping his hands with tissues from someone’s bag, but it didn’t even matter because Yuuri felt so utterly disgusting. He was sticky and wet and smelly and after all of this nonsense his stomach was STILL hurting. It wasn’t fair.
By the time the elevator groaned to life the cramping had become too much to handle, and Yuuri had felt everyone’s glares as a second wave of mush filled his pants. He was so dehydrated he ran out of tears, but his hiccupped sobs wouldn’t stop, as hard as he tried to hold them back. Everyone else cheered when the elevator started moving. Yuuri just gagged miserably.
Everyone stumbled desperately out onto the first floor, gasping for fresh air. Yurio ran and puked in the fancy trash can in the lobby. Otabek actually stepped outside for a few minutes. Victor carried Yuuri out, and Phichit carried the sacrificed shopping bag at an arm’s length, depositing it in the garbage once Yuri was out of the way. The engineers were now holding their breath as they continued to work on the faulty elevator. Obviously the cleaning staff would have to be called down as well. The manager was apologizing profusely, offering them all coupons they didn’t want.
“So,” Victor spoke up, “Can I get him up to our room in the other elevator, or is that one going to break down on us too?”
“The other elevator is working just fine. Although given the state of this one, I’d have to request that you do your best not to… make a mess in the working one.
“I won’t,” Yuuri groaned, probably surprising the manager. He looked like he was asleep in Victor’s arms. “I just want to go to sleep.” He felt Victor kiss his head and start off toward the working elevator.
“I’ll come with you,” came Phichit’s voice. Victor startled.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. He’s really not well, and… well, we’ve lived together before. I know it’s hard taking care of him, ‘cause he gets so sick. I can run a bath and buy some ginger ale from the vending machine while you wipe him off.” Yuuri listened and felt affection for his friend well up in his chest. People were so good to him.
“And we’ll take the stairs,” Chris announced cheerfully, prompting quick agreement from Yuri and Otabek. The six split up and Yuuri settled in Victor’s arms, exhausted and ready to be clean and in bed.
Viktor--"Can I ask you to do something for me?" :)
“Yuuri,” Victor calls, or more accurately whines from where he lays on the bed, trembling beneath a blanket. Part of him wants to cringe at sounding so needy, but the other part of him argues that he’s sick and feels like actual death, so wanting his fiance to comfort him is far from a crime.
Yuuri is at Victor's side in an instant, crouching down in front of the bed, and Victor feels relief wash over him as Yuuri's warm brown eyes meet his. “What is it?” Yuuri asks. His fingers absentmindedly run though Victor’s hair, and he shivers, knowing all the while that the action has little to do with his fever.
“Can I ask you to do something for me?”
“Anything,” Yuuri says without hesitation, and Victor feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips at the thought; he doesn't doubt for a moment that Yuuri honestly would do any and everything for him.
“Can you get me some more tissues?” he requests with a sniffle. The box Yuuri had placed on the bedside table only a couple of hours ago is already half empty, Victor’s nose red and rubbed raw from using it so frequently. “The ones with the lotion?”
“Of course,” Yuuri says with a smile. “I'll be right back.”
Yuuri stands up and makes to exit the bedroom, and Victor mourns the loss of contact immediately. He instead focuses on the beauty of Yuuri's retreating form, wondering even now how he ever managed to ensnare such a wonderfully attractive man for himself.
Many sniffles later, Yuuri returns with a new box of tissuesーthe softer kind, as was promised. The box is freshly opened and ready to use, and Victor gratefully accepts when it's handed to him.
“Thank you, Yuuri,” Victor says after blowing his nose. It still hurts, but noticeably less so than the tissues he was using before.
“It's not a problem,” Yuuri replies sweetly. He takes the used tissue from Victor and tosses it in the trash, without even being asked. “Anything else you need?”
Victor pauses to think. “Maybe some more water? It's not cold anymore and my throat is so sore,” Victor moans. Even just talking like this is enough to make it worse.
“I can do that,” Yuuri says. “And I can make you some tea as well?”
Victor smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. “I would love that.”
Yuuri places a very gentle kiss on the tip of Victor’s nose, causing his already-warm cheeks to heat up from the affection. “Two minutes,” Yuuri promises, before he's gone again.
He returns as quickly as he said he would, with a glass of cold water in one hand and a steaming mug of tea in the other. Both do wonders for Victor’s sore throat.
“Can I get you anything else?” Yuuri asks. “A cold washcloth? Cough drops? I could put on a movie if you want. Or maybe not, if your head is still hurting.” Victor winces, his head throbbing at the mere thought of flashing lights assaulting his already aching eyes. Upon seeing Victor’s discomfort, Yuuri instead offers, “Tylenol?”
Victor nods. “Please.”
As Yuuri retrieves the pills, Victor can't help but recall Yuuri's earlier words. When Victor had asked Yuuri if he could do something for him, his response had been “anything.” Given his actions now, it's evident that he was not lying. And seeing how willing and eager he is to provide comfort, Victor can't help but want to test just how far he can take this.
“Fluff my pillows?” Victor asks once he has taken his medicine, and Yuuri does.
“Fix the blanket please? I'm so cold…” Yuuri adjusts the blanket already covering Victor’s shivering body, then grabs yet another one from the hall closet and tucks him in tight.
“Any other requests?” Yuuri inquires after further darkening the curtains like Victor had asked. He doesn't sound annoyed. In fact, far from it. He shows absolutely no qualms about catering to each and every one of Victor’s whims. It’s incredibly sweet, but Victor still wants to see where Yuuri will draw the line.
“Can I have a kiss?” he asks. Yuuri will surely say no, unless he wants to get sick and feel as miserable as Victor does now. (Well, miserable save for a loving fiance doting on him.) Perhaps Yuuri will indulge him with a kiss on the forehead to check his temperature, or maybe a quick peck on the cheek. But there's no way Yuuri will actually kiss him for real.
How quick Victor is to forget that Yuuri has always managed to surprise him.
Yuuri leans in and presses his lips to Victor’s before the man has any opportunity to protest.
“There,” Yuuri says, smiling as he pulls back. “How’s that?” His cheeks are a similar shade to Victor’s, though from embarrassment rather than the cold that Victor now knows with certainty Yuuri is going to catch from him.
“You're going to get sick!”
Yuuri seems completely unfazed by this. “Did that make you feel better?” he asks.
“Well, yes, butー”
“Then it will be more than worth it.”
Victor can't find any further reason to argue, so he doesn't. Defeated, he can only slump back against the pillows Yuuri so kindly fluffed for him, and relish in the knowledge that he well and truly has the best fiance in the whole world. That's just a fact.
“I have one last request,” Victor says.
“Yes?” Yuuri prompts, just as eager and willing as the previous times.
“Stay by my side?”
He doesn't even finish his sentence before Yuuri is crawling under the covers with Victor and securing him in an embrace.
