Chapter Text
Yuuri can’t remember the first time he heard it. That little nagging in the back of his head, that whisper. That voice, tugging at his eardrums, constantly.
Maybe it was when Takeshi made fun of his weight when they first met, when he was five.
Maybe it was when he was ten—no, no, thirteen. When he was thirteen and a girl had asked him out on a dare.
Or maybe it was when he was fifteen and Yuuko told him that Takeshi had asked her out.
There are so many “first times,” it seems.
Maybe there was no “first time.” Maybe it’s just always been. Maybe that voice has always been a constant companion. God knows he can’t remember a time before it was in his head.
And most days, it’s okay, really. Most days he can brush it off. He can even voice those thoughts aloud in the form of a joke—those days are good. He likes those days. Days like…like I have a headache someone please hit me with a car so I don’t have to go to practice like this. Days when he can’t stop eating and eating and—wow, sweatpants are the only things that you can fit into, huh chubs? Haha…
Yeah. Those days are manageable—normal, even.
And then Detroit happened. And god it’s cold here. It’s cold and I don’t know anybody and my pronunciation is horrible and everybody here is going to hate me I know it and I want my family. I want my family I just want to see my family. Why can’t I be back home? Why can’t I be back with them? It’s too cold here.
Yeah, well. You made the choice to come here. And you’re already working your family into the ground so that they can pay for it. So you better not fuck this up. You’re over twenty years old and you still want to run back to mommy.
I know.
I know…
And then Phichit comes.
And that voice quiets down.
For a bit.
“Yuuri,” Phichit glances up over his bowl of ramen—or rather, what Phichit thinks is ramen, “you know, Emily—you’ve met her a few times at practice, remember?”
Yuuri keeps his eyes down, scrolling through unimportant news articles on his phone, “Mhm, why?”
“Well…I heard from a friend of hers—a very close friend—that she might be interested in you.”
Ha! The key word there is “might.” Why in the hell would she want something like you? Does—
“—she need glasses?”
Phichit just stares for a moment and blinks, clearly trying to comprehend what Yuuri said, “Huh?”
Well, obviously she wouldn’t want someone that looks like you. So it’s clear that she has problems with her vision. I mean,
“Look at me,” Yuuri chuckles, and it’s that airy, quiet chuckle that Phichit despises.
“I am. And? Yuuri. We’ve gone over this. You’re amazing! And need I remind you that Emily is not the first person to ask about you.”
“Yeah, well, their eyesight needed some work, too.”
Phichit groans, and Yuuri laughs at his dramatic sigh, “You do this every time.”
Hey, you’re just—
“—being honest with myself. It’s not rude, it’s true.”
“It’s not true, Yuuri.”
“Mhm.”
And when Yuuri looks back down at his phone, Phichit knows this conversation is over. Again.
~
Let it be known that Katsuki Yuuri is a terrible sleeper. He either sleeps too much or not at all—and never, never, at a normal time. And last night was no exception.
Was it four hours…no, no five—wait no, two and a…three…fuck it. Four hours. Four hours of sleep. That’s what it was. He has a headache. Again. And his entire body aches, horribly. It hurts to walk.
You’re fine. There are people in this world that can’t walk at all. There are people who feel far worse than you. Stop complaining.
Right. You’re right.
He heads into the kitchen, walking as upright as he can, even though his legs and hips are practically begging him not to.
“You look…not good.” Phichit is staring at him from the kitchen table, phone in hand already.
Yuuri snorts, “Thanks.”
“No, I mean it. Did you even sleep?”
“Yup.”
“Yuuri.”
“I did!”
Phichit squints his eyes, and Yuuri puts his hands up in surrender and laughs.
“Okay, mom, I got four hours.”
“Jesus, Yuuri…”
“Hey, it’s not the worse I’ve done, be proud of me!”
“I know you’ve done worse. That’s the thing. And no, I’m not going to be proud because you got half the amount of sleep you should be getting. You look terrible.”
Hahah, how is that different from any other day?
Shut up, not now.
“I’m fine, Phichit, really. I just need some food.”
“Yuuri, you know, maybe you need a rest day. I can call Celestino for you and tell him that you’re too sick and need the day off—“
“No!” Yuuri flinches when he sees how Phichit’s eyes widen at his outburst, “I—I can’t.”
You can’t just skip practice. That’s lazy. That’s useless. Do you want to be useless? Well, you already are. This will make you even more so. You’ll be even more useless than you already are. A waste of space. You don’t need a day off—everyone else will be working hard while you sit in bed for nothing, useless, useless, useless—
“I can go to practice. I swear. I just need to wake up, get some food, I’ll be fine.” He puts on his best smile and Phichit sighs.
“Okay, but the second I see you dozing off, I’m sending you back to bed.”
Yuuri smiles, and this time, it’s real, “That’s fair.”
~
He doesn’t know how he makes it through practice. Honestly, he doesn’t remember most of it. Everything is a blur. He’s dizzy. And god when will this damn headache go away? His legs feel like lead. He just wants to curl up and sleep for maybe a year. Is that allowed? Yeah. He’ll do that.
He just needs sleep.
But to sleep, one needs to do something to deserve it. What have you done today?
I practiced.
Did you? Really?
….
He doesn’t sleep much that night.
~
“Yuuri,” Phichit calls from the couch, “you’re home late.”
Yuuri lets his bag fall to the floor, and nods his head. “Mm. I had a few papers to work on.”
“There’s food on the stove.”
God, no. No. His stomach—his very being, recoils when he hears the word. His stomach has been aching for days. Too much. Too much. It won’t stay down. I can’t—I can’t.
He puts on his best smile, tired as it may appear, “I picked up some food at the cafeteria, thanks.”
Yuuri swears that he sees Phichit’s face fall a bit when he hears those words, but neither of them say anything. “What did you eat?”
Does it matter?
“Pizza, cup of noodles, the usual.”
His best friend chuckles before lying back down on the couch with his phone hovering above his face, “And you criticize my diet.”
Yuuri laughs a bit before saying goodnight and heading to his room.
He lies down on the bed, exhaling when the familiar sound of bedsprings hits his ears.
Half of a peanut butter sandwich...a piece of whole-grain bread…that’s 71 calories…with a tablespoon of peanut butter…another 97 calories…together…together it’s 168 calories. Okay…okay…
Two chocolate granola bars…140 calories each…god. 280. Fuck.
So 448.
Spaghetti with sauce…a cup…ah…what…about 300 calories, maybe?
748.
Then…another 705 calories for the burrito bowl you just had to scarf down last-minute. Son of a bitch.
But I didn’t have the whole—
You had enough.
1,453.
One thousand, four hundred and fifty-three.
Control yourself tomorrow.
Okay.
~
The next day, he has four cups of tea and two cups of drunken noodles with chicken.
507…
Plus bread and butter…about 210…
717…
~
God, he’s tired.
It’s a bad day, simple as that. The moment Yuuri opens his eyes, he just knows. Knows that that voice will be a little closer, a little louder today. Knows that he’ll be exhausted just by walking through the halls.
You forgot your medication this morning, dumbass.
Oh. Right.
And doesn’t that just make everything better?
Class doesn’t start until noon and he doesn’t want to get out of bed. It’s not hard. Just.
Swing your legs over the edge of the bed, sit up, stand. Walk. Step by step. You can do it, you can do it you can do it you can’t do it you can’t do it you can’t…do it…don’t do it. Just don’t.
He glances at his nightstand at the bottle of sleep aids that he uses when nights are really bad.
You could, you know.
Yeah, I know.
~
He doesn’t.
He trudges into the tiny kitchen where Phichit has left some scrambled eggs in a pan for him on the stove.
He appreciates it. He really, truly does. He couldn’t ask for a better roommate. A better best friend.
He can’t touch the eggs.
~
He makes it through another day. Another day of: Walk. Sit. Take notes. Repeat. Go home. (Try to) Sleep. Don’t sleep. Repeat.
He’s so tired.
~
There’s a shift in the apartment. In Phichit. And Yuuri knows he should worry. Knows he should ask about it. But he really just doesn’t have the energy right now,
I’m sorry, Phichit. I’ll ask. I promise. I want you to be okay.
And then Phichit does what he always does best with Yuuri—he throws a curveball at him.
He brings a bowl of (attempted) katsudon over to him and sets it in his lap before sitting beside him with his own bowl and wow this bowl is big. It’s big. It’s far too big. There’s no way—there’s no way.
But Phichit just sits and smiles, waiting for Yuuri to dig in. And when he hesitates to do so—
“Not hungry again?”
“Ah, yeah. I mean no. I’m just tired,” Yuuri chuckles. He’s trying. He’s really trying.
“You haven’t been hungry in a while.” And Yuuri wants to protest when Phichit continues, “Food just stays in the fridge. And I know you say you eat out but you can’t do that, not all the time. Not with your meal plan, Yuuri. I know you.” Phichit looks downwards, at Yuuri’s stomach, and yes, Phichit, I know. I know it’s not ideal. I know. I’m trying.
“You’ve been losing weight, too.”
Yuuri smiles a bit, “Yeah? I’ve been trying to work on it—“
“I didn’t mean it like that, Yuuri,” and Phichit just looks so sad, “I mean. You’re not…Yuuri, you’re not eating. At least…not the way you should—not the way you need to be. Yuuri, if you keep going like that, you’re going to hurt yourself.”
Would that be so bad?
Please, shut up. For now, please.
Yuuri feels pressure behind his eyes, but no, no he can’t cry. Not now.
It’s not your place to cry. This is what you wanted, right?
“Phichit, it’s okay, really. I’ve just been overwhelmed with balancing work and practice, and I’ve been anxious. I’m okay. I just don’t have much of an appetite. I promise I’ve been eating.”
And that’s true, he thinks. I have been eating.
Phichit sighs, “Yuuri, would you please do me a favor?”
“Anything.” ‘Anything’ is a loaded word, Yuuri. Watch what you say.
“Would you make an appointment with a doctor? Just for a check-up? Maybe talk to someone?”
Yuuri looks down at the bowl in front of him, at a loss for words.
You said ‘anything,’ and I warned you, didn’t I?
Yeah.
“Yuuri, please, I’m asking as your friend. I just—you don’t need to do anything drastic—I’ll even go with you! And I won’t push. I just…maybe you could talk to someone and figure something out to help with the anxiety. That way you can sleep and eat again. Right?”
Yuuri nods, but really he just feels sick. He hates this. He hates this he hates this he hates this. He’s not sick. He’s not sick, he doesn’t need a doctor.
But Phichit just looks so sad. And he did say he would do anything.
So he goes. And Phichit too.
~
“Based on your physical, you’ve lost about nine pounds, Yuuri.”
Yuuri turns his head towards the chart held in front of him and raises his brows. He knows he lost nine pounds, of course. But there’s no harm in feigning ignorance.
Yes there is.
Be quiet.
“Were you purposefully trying to lose weight?”
“No.” Yes.
“Yuuri, this physical is from three months ago, that’s a very short amount of time.”
Instantly, he feels defensive. It isn’t that short.
“You were at…138 pounds, then. You’re just barely at 129 now. With your height, Yuuri, I’m concerned that you’ll become underweight at the rate you’re going. Now, I’ll ask again. Are you trying to lose weight?”
Yuuri shakes his head again, and presses his lips together in a tight smile.
“Have you been changing any eating habits?”
“No, not really.” And Yuuri knows that with that modifier, he’s slipped.
“So you’ve noticed a slight change?”
“I mean…I’m a student and I train almost every day for a few hours.”
“Train? You’re an athlete, correct?”
Yuuri nods. “So…I miss a meal every now and then. But doesn’t everyone? Especially at universities.”
The doctor nods again. And Yuuri knows that the doctor knows he’s just bullshitting him. And Yuuri would be lying if he said some part of him doesn’t enjoy that.
The doctor is honest with him, doesn’t talk down to him. He digs. Yuuri respects that.
But he also isn’t going to give himself away.
“Yuuri, when you’re ordering food or making something at home, do you ever deliberate over what to make—choose something purposefully because it has fewer calories?” Yes, “Or get something because the portions are smaller?” Yes.
He shakes his head, “No, I don’t—at least, I can’t remember a time when I…consciously made a decision like that.”
The doctor nods, clearly not buying it. But he doesn’t push. Yuuri is thankful.
“The reason I’m asking is because, while I don’t think you have an eating disorder, I’m worried because eating disorders always begin with disordered thinking.”
Eating—what? No, no. That’s not right.
His stomach flips. Goosebumps run up his arms. All of that sounded so wrong. So wrong so wrong. No, no.
I’m conscious of what I eat and how I eat. I’m not…disordered. Stop. Stop it. Stop talking.
“I think, for the time being, it would be a good idea for you to come in for weigh-ins every two months. Just to be sure that you don’t lose any more weight. Does that sound good to you?”
He wants to sleep. He wants to sleep. God, he wants to sleep.
He nods his head, and walks to the door.
Phichit grabs them Chick-fil-A on the ride home.
~
Yuuri finishes every last bite.
~
He’s still tired. Shouldn’t that go away? Isn’t that how things usually work?
He’s either tired but not enough to sleep, or so wired from anxiety that he can’t sleep.
Did he mention that sleep isn’t a thing? Because it’s not.
Either way, screw me, I guess.
He wants. He wants. He wants so many things.
He wants to sleep. He wants to feel rested, to feel awake. He wants to care about something again. He wants so badly to just. Care. Please. He wants to feel something.
It’s not always like this, of course. He still has Phichit, somehow. And he loves Phichit, he’s sure of it. They still have their movie nights, where they laugh (or cry) depending on the movie—who is Yuuri kidding. There’s only one movie Phichit is ever in the mood for.
And he loves it.
And he has skating. He loves skating. He loves it he loves it he loves it so dearly. It’s so precious, so clean, so raw. It’s brutal and honest and loving and calming and rough and smooth all at once and he loves it.
And he has Viktor, who pushes him to do better, be better, without even knowing. He has Viktor to look up to. His constant motivation, his drive.
Someday…
If you make it that long.
I will make it.
It doesn’t feel like it.
It’s just a bad day.
It’s a bad month.
…That too.
Maybe bad is our new normal.
~
It’s Monday. It’s Monday morning. He has two papers to start—one due in four hours. Oh, and a quiz due by tomorrow at noon,
But you don’t have time between class and practice to get it done by noon tomorrow so you need to do it after you finish your paper.
I haven’t even started my paper…
And whose fault is that?
It’s a Monday and he does not want to get out of bed. He doesn’t want to be awake. He doesn’t want to he doesn’t want to he can’t he just can’t do it. The thought of walking to class is more than exhausting, it’s impossible.
When Phichit knocks on his door to get him up, he tells him he’s sick.
Maybe that isn’t a complete lie.
He makes it to one class, out of guilt. But he skips his last two and works on his papers. Endlessly, endlessly. He’s sure none of it is even coherent, but
It’s better than nothing, Yuuri. You can’t do nothing. You’re not allowed to. I won’t let you.
I could.
I won’t let you sleep, if you do. You won’t eat.
How is that any different than usual?
Because you’ll be worth even less than you are now if you do nothing. You’ll be even more of a waste.
He types. And types. And types.
He thinks about eating.
Thinks about it, and nothing more.
~
Phichit eventually finds him at one in the morning passed out at his desk, laptop still on and word document open. He gently pries Yuuri’s glasses from his face and drapes a blanket over his shoulders before shutting the laptop and shutting the bedroom door.
He worries.
~
He has his first weigh-in, and the doctor seems happy.
“You’ve gained two pounds, Yuuri. That’s good.”
It doesn’t feel good. It doesn’t—it doesn’t. It’s not good. Two pounds in two months. A pound per month? No. No no no that can’t happen. No. He thought he was doing better, he thought—no, he was sure that he had lost a pound or two, or at least stayed at the same weight. How could he have gained two pounds?
He puts on a smile anyway.
“Yuuri, there was one more thing I wanted to go over with you.”
Yuuri folds his hands together in his lap, holding as still as possible, keeping that smile on his face.
“How’s your mood?”
“Hm? Fine, normal.”
“So nothing at all. You’re fine, you’re eating and sleeping regularly, totally happy-go-lucky Yuuri.”
Yuuri opens his mouth a few times to answer, but something in the back of his mind tells him that he can’t just smile and nod his way out of this—not with him, anyway.
“I…I’m tired.”
“Tired like you need to sleep or tired like you don’t want to get out of bed, you don’t want to do anything, everything’s boring and gray…”
“Both?”
The doctor smiles, but it’s a sad smile, like the one his mother gave him as he was leaving home for the first time.
“Yuuri, you’ve felt this way for a while. Am I right?”
He nods.
“I think therapy would be good for you. Preferably a psychiatrist and psychologist. What do you think of that?” Yuuri just stares.
You are always saying that you want to d—
But that doesn’t mean I need therapy.
Remember when you tried before,
And how did that turn out?
“Meet with the psychiatrist first, maybe we can get you on some medicine to get you started. Yuuri,” the doctor smiles again, but it’s more reassuring than before, “the meds aren’t to make you feel like you’re wrong, or like you’re malfunctioning. The meds are to give you that kick so that you can feel more comfortable opening up and talking. I don’t want you to feel this way.”
You hardly know me.
“And I know that other people don’t want you to feel this way either.”
They’re fine. This doesn’t involve them.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
The doctor steps out for a few minutes before returning with a few sheets of paper, and hands them to Yuuri.
“The first packet is a list of psychologists in the area—the other is a list of psychiatrists. Some may be out of your range, in terms of distance, I know. Some accept insurance, many do not, I won’t lie to you. But this will at least give you some options so you don’t go in blind. Yuuri, will you promise me that you’ll meet with one of them?”
Yuuri looks up from the packet of papers and smiles again, “I’ll try.”
Liar.
~
He goes home and picks a random name from the list of psychiatrists. Someone nearby. From her voicemail, he assumes she’ll be a nice person. He hopes.
His first appointment is in two weeks.
Just keep your shit together for two weeks. You can do this.
~
He can’t do this he can’t do this.
Today had gone so well. It was going so well everything was going so well and he knew he knew he knew there was going to be another drop he knew it he knew it and he was still unprepared.
Damn him.
I’m not okay I’m not okay I’m not okay.
But why are you not okay?
I’m not.
Why?
I’m not! I’m not. I’m not okay I’m just not okay please please be quiet I want you to be quiet so badly. I want to run away I just want to run away and break my phone and leave and be alone and just run somewhere anywhere please just please stop stop stop.
But you won’t.
No, I won’t. Not today.
Not ever.
…
~
Two weeks pass. Slowly, slowly slowly.
But they do pass.
And Yuuri is just so thankful to Phichit.
He doesn’t take no for an answer when Yuuri tries to tell him that he doesn’t need to come along. And he pretends not to wince when Yuuri is crushing his hand on their way to his first appointment.
Has Yuuri mentioned that he has the best best friend in the world? Because he does.
They walk up to a window where a secretary sits behind a glass panel, looking at the monitor on her desk. Yuuri clears his throat.
She hardly glances at him and all of his courage immediately goes out the door.
I can’t do this I can’t do this I can’t do this.
“Can I help you?” Her voice isn’t exactly comforting, but Yuuri supposes that if he were sitting behind a desk for up to eight hours a day, he wouldn’t be the most enthusiastic person either.
“I-I have an appointment.”
“Okay, with whom?” She pulls out a binder, and glances down at what Yuuri guesses is a list of names.
“Uh—I…uhm…” Oh god. Run. Run leave. Run. You don’t know these answers. Too much too much too muchtoomuchtoomuch—
He looks over at Phichit in a silent plea for help, which the younger boy immediately understands.
“His name is Katsuki, Katsuki Yuuri? He has an appointment at 5:00.”
“Do you know who he’s meeting with?”
They’re speaking as though Yuuri isn’t in the same room, which both comforts and bothers Yuuri.
If you had spoken for yourself, you wouldn’t be in this situation.
I know.
“Uh…” Phichit glances over at Yuuri, who at this point has made his folded hands his main focal point. “I’m not sure. Was he assigned someone?”
“Hm. Well it doesn’t say. But there are a few openings at the moment—what exactly is this appointment for?”
“It’s his first time. It’s just an evaluation.”
God, how can Phichit sound so smooth? So calm and collected? How does he know what to say?
“Ah, okay. Then I can fit him in with…Dr. Schiller, his current appointment should be over within a few minutes.”
Phichit looks over at Yuuri for approval, and Yuuri nods in response.
A man? No, no no I—I spoke with a woman on the phone. She sounded—she seemed fine. What’s wrong? Why is it changing?
“Come on, Yuuri, let’s grab a seat while we wait.
Yuuri’s tongue is glued to the top of his mouth, and so he nods in response and begs for his throat to not close. Begs for those tears to stay put.
“Yuuri, it’s going to be—“
“I’m fine.”
I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. Maybe. I hope.
There’s a click, and a creak as a door opens slowly and a man steps out, giving them a gentle smile.
“Yuuri?”
He nods, still distrustful of his voice.
“Come on back.”