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It started when Yuri skated over to the sidelines during practice, late one evening in October. They were still perfecting his free skate, as the Cup of China was coming up next month, and he wasn’t sure about a couple of transitions. Still, Yuri figured Victor would call to wrap it up pretty soon, as it was dark outside. It was just starting to get a bit of a snap in the air, and Yuri was anticipating a soak in the hot springs when they got back.
Victor had been off the ice mostly today, watching with sharp eyes from the sidelines. It used to bother Yuri, make him anxious or unsure, but since the qualifying rounds, he hadn’t minded feeling Victor’s gaze on him so much. But just now, as Yuri skated towards where Victor had been standing, he didn’t see him for a moment, before he stood up from the low bench and waved him over.
“Ah, good job, Yuri. Let’s call it a day, shall we?” Victor said, his voice bright. Yuri frowned, and squinted at little, because usually Victor had no end of minute criticisms and tips for his skating at the end of practice.
“Okay,” Yuri said, reaching for a tissue from the Makkachin tissue holder. Only for his fingers to close around nothing. “Huh?” He looked down, and sure enough it was empty.
Victor laughed. “Oh, sorry, Yuri! I must have forgotten to replace it. Here, take one of mine.”
Victor held out a little half empty pocket tissue package. It was then that Yuri noticed that Victor’s usually rosy nose was actually quite red, and chapped. He squinted again to make sure.
“Victor, are you getting a cold?”
Victor started, and looked at him innocently. “Of course not, I’m--” and he sneezed, roughly twisting away to avoid spraying on him, like God had perfect comedic timing. He looked so startled, with his hands over his nose and mouth, that Yuri couldn’t help but laugh. He handed Victor back the tissues, understanding why they were mostly gone.
“I think you need these more than I do,” he said, and Victor pouted, and sniffled.
“Okay, I might be getting a tiny cold. But I’m Russian! Colds don’t bother us!” Victor said grandly, and then coughed into his hand.
Yuri chuckled, and stepped off the ice, heading towards the locker rooms. “I thought that was just cold as in the temperature. Anyone can get a cold.”
Victor sighed, and it was noisier than usual. Yuri realized he could hear his breathing, definitely congested sounding - had he been hiding this all day?
“I don’t want to get you sick, Yuri! You must keep your distance tonight. I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morning,” Victor said, as they headed to the back room, so Yuri could grab his bag and finally put on his glasses. As he did, he saw that Victor truly did look fine. Just a little red in the nose, and tired in the eyes.
“We have masks at home,” Yuri said, and Victor pulled on his coat, shivering into the heavy material.
“Perfect!” he said.
~*~
The sight of Victor in a facemask was actually quite adorable, especially because he found it itchy and annoying and kept tugging at it. Still, for Yuri’s sake, he kept it on. Yuri had skipped the onsen in favor of just a quick shower, and after he found Victor huddled in the main room with his parents, bundled in a sweater and scarf, and holding his hands around a cup of tea. They were awkwardly conversing, as Victor knew only a little Japanese, and his parents knew enough English to receive English speaking visitors to the hot springs, but little else. It sounded like they were talking about Victor’s cold and Yuri felt relieved that someone would make sure that Victor rested, aside from him. His mother was the champion of caretakers of the ill.
“No, no, I’m fine. Really,” Victor said in stilted Japanese, waving his hands, and his mom only shook her head. Not because she didn’t understand, because he was sure she thought he was lying. He smiled a little, and sat down at the low table near to Victor. He smiled at him in greeting, and took a long sip of his tea.
“Thanks, Mom. I think he really is fine,” he said in Japanese to her. Hiroko sighed, and tapped her chin.
“You’re sure?”
His father Toshiya, who’d been reading the paper and pretty much ignoring the rest of them chuckled.
“Dear, don’t you think we’d hear about it non-stop if that boy wasn’t well?” he said, and his mother hummed.
“Vicchan does have a touch of the dramatic.”
“Mom,” Yuri chided, feeling bad to be talking about Victor when he was sitting right there, and could surely pick out his name.
“Oh, sorry Yuri.” She stood, and picked up hers and his father’s tea cups and stacked them on a tray. “Keep an eye on him,” she said to Yuri, and then switched to English. “Get well soon, Vicchan!”
“Thank you!” Victor said, smiling under the mask.
She shooed his father out of the room, and paused a moment to brush her hand over Victor’s head, checking for fever and smoothing his bangs in the way that Yuri remembered her doing to him so many times. Then she took the tray, and left both of them alone. It was late, and Yuri was feeling the long day of practice. He was sure that Victor was just as tired, if not more, if he was fighting something.
He turned to suggest that they both go to their rooms, when he noticed that Victor looked… well, like he was trying not to cry.
“Victor?” he asked, alarmed, and Victor sniffed.
“Oh, I’m fine,” he said, and his voice was rough, but not wobbly. He rubbed at his nose through the mask. “Just tired…”
“Me too,” Yuri said, slumping back on his hands, and deciding not to bring up that moment. He’d never asked what Victor’s childhood had been like, back in Russia. Because of being a fan, he knew random factoids like the fact that his parents were still alive, and he had no siblings, but since meeting him, Yuri had never asked Victor what his and his parents’ relationships were like, or if he kept up with them. Victor certainly never mentioned his mother or father. It made Yuri wonder if Victor had ever had someone check how he was feeling with a simple touch…
Feeling sad and tired, Yuri yawned, and stood up. Victor looked tired too, kind of slumped against the edge of the table, and blinking heavily.
“You should go to bed,” he said, before he realized what he was saying. He blushed a little, as Victor lifted a brow at him.
“Telling me what to do, now? Where’s my coach authority?” he fake mourned, and Yuri smiled, wanting to roll his eyes.
“You’re obviously feeling fine.”
“So cruel, Yuri,” Victor pouted, and Yuri chuckled and lowered a hand to help Victor to his feet. Victor took it, and his hand was warm, but not feverish (of course his mom would have said something, but Yuri had kind of wanted to make sure). He pulled himself up, and then looked in horror at their clasped hands.
“Germs! Yuri, go wash your hands this instant!” he snapped, and he waved his arms at him like he was a stray cat, until Yuri did as he was told.
*~*
In the morning, Yuri got up for his typical run, bringing Makkachin along with him. Victor only joined him on these about half the time, but he was happy to have the poodle along with him. It reminded Yuri of little Vicchan hurrying along after him, though Makkachin’s lope could keep up with his jogging much easier than his own dog.
His routine after that depended on the rink schedule (he and Victor had their time there worked out with Yuko and Takashi, fitting around their kids classes and public skate times) so sometimes he’d go to the studio, sometimes he and Victor would work out in the park (though it was getting colder now, so they’d have to figure out something else to do), and other times they’d sit and go over technical things in the routine, looking for things they could tighten.
And other times they had the morning free for skating practice, and Victor didn’t show up. It had happened before - Victor wasn’t that great of an early riser, and he had a habit of going out to the bar in town and coming home late. But this time, when Victor didn’t show, Yuri took out his phone to see if there were any texts. He’d left early, but Yuri was now wondering if he should have checked in on Victor. What if his cold had worsened?
Sure enough, there was a text, and Yuri had to stare at it for a moment before it made much sense.
“Pratiz cxl. Tkae care of Makakvhin. я умираю.”
If the horrible failure of autocorrect (and was that cyrillic?) could be deciphered, Yuri figured that Victor was not feeling better.
He headed home.
Once he jogged through the entrance of the building, he saw his mother walking by with a tray. Hiroko looked faintly worried, and of course she could be serving another guest (they’d had a steady stream since Yuri had returned, and they’d done the Onsen on Ice show) Yuri had the feeling that Victor was the person concerning her.
“Mom,” he said, jogging in with a huff. “I got a text from Victor, is he alright?”
Hiroko turned to him, and smiled. “Oh, he’s got a little fever. I’m just taking him some more tea, but if you want to-”
Yuri took the tray. “I’ll take it.”
His mother looked far too amused at Yuri’s blush…
For Victor’s peace of mind, Yuri put on a mask himself before he entered the room, knocking on the door frame gently. He saw a mound of blankets on the bed stir slightly, and then Makkachin popped up, wagging her tail when she saw him. The other lump groaned loudly.
“Victor?” Yuri asked, and the top of the blankets flew back, and a very mussed and bleary Victor blinked at him. He was wearing a loose tee shirt, and had bags under red eyes, and an open mouth to breath through a stuffy nose.
“Yuri, you’ll-” he paused to cough burying his face into his blankets. “You’re going to get sick!” he finished with a croak.
Yuri couldn’t help but smile at Victor’s concern, and at the way his hair was sticking up. He looked adorably miserable.
“I’ve got a mask, and I promise I’ll wash my hands after I leave. I heard you’re not feeling well.”
Victor groaned, and flopped backwards. His voice was gravelly, and had a thicker Russian accent than usual. “Your mother says I have a fever, and won’t let me up.”
“She gave me more tea for you.”
Victor sighed, and reached out for the cup. Yuri noticed that his hand was trembling at the same time that Victor did, and he dropped his hand with a sigh, before his eyes dropped to half mast. It seemed even that small conversation exhausted him.
Yuri set the tea cup on the side table, under one of his many lamps, and reached out to feel Victor’s forehead without thinking. It was warmer than it should have been, and dry. Victor let out a little noise at his touch, and Yuri realized what he was doing, and blushed. He was about to pull back, when Victor grabbed his wrist.
“Your hands are so cold…” he said, and Yuri was sure that the coolness felt good on Victor’ s overheated skin. Still, he flushed as Victor held him there for a long moment, before he let him go. Victor sniffled, and coughed into the bed covers again, rolling to the side, and pulling his blankets up to his chin.
“You should drink your tea,” Yuri said.
“Yeah…” Victor breathed, looking like he was falling asleep. Yuri couldn’t help but smile again, resisting the urge to brush his bangs back.
“Your tea will get cold, Victor. If you fall asleep.” *
Victor closed his eyes tighter, and then moaned and pushed himself up, hanging his head and supporting himself on his hands. He was swaying back and forth.
“Are you dizzy?” Yuri asked, concern eclipsing the fond amusement, and Victor rubbed his head.
“A little... I’m fine… tea?” he asked, and Yuri looked at the table. Victor followed his gaze, and then brightened.
“Ah, thank you, Yuri,” he said, reaching out. Yuri wondered if he should help him, or hold it, but Victor did manage to get it steady and bring it to his mouth to sip. He winced around the swallow, and Yuri wondered if he had a sore throat. Then he wondered what foods he might like, that wouldn’t hurt his throat. He’d often had rice porridge, and hot miso soup when he was ill as a child, but in America his roommate (not Phitchit, who ordered the spiciest of curry take out whenever he was ill) had brought him cough drops, and chicken noodle soup. Was it different in Russia? What had people brought Victor when he was sick as a child?
While he was musing, Victor drank a few more sips, and then set the cup down, before turning to look at him with the most focused look he’d given him since he arrived.
“Yuri, you’re spacing out. You’re not getting ill too-?” he ended the sentence with a cough, dragging his blankets up to cover his mouth. Yuri shook himself, and shook his head.
“No, I feel fine. I was just wondering if I could get you anything? If there was anything you wanted from when you were… well, that would make you feel better?” Yuri said, blushing with embarrassment halfway through the question. Victor squinted at him, like Yuri so often did in the rink.
“Like from my childhood?” Victor question, looking tiredly delighted. “You want to know about my youth?”
Yuri, still blushing, shrugged. “Well, you know all about mine…”
Victor coughed, and then smiled. “Well, I think I’ll save the long story for later, but… when I was very young, my mother would make schi.”
“Shee?” Yuri stumbled over the unfamiliar word. Victor chuckled.
“It’s a Russian soup, made with beef and cabbage.”
“I’ll look up the recipe!” Yuri declared, pulling out his phone, and Victor shook his head, laying back down fully.
“No, no, Yuri, don’t trouble yourself. Take the day off from training… go do something fun, please.”
Yuri looked at Victor, who was drooping even more now, trying to think what he’d possibly do that wasn’t training, or dancing or working out. Even more, something he’d do by himself.
“I guess. Are you sure I can’t get you something? Have you eaten?”
“Mhm,” Victor nodded. “Your mother has been taking very good care of me.”
Yuri smiled. “She’s good at that.” He stepped back, since Victor seemed like he was about to fall asleep anyway. “Feel better, Victor.”
“Thank you, Yuri. And wash your hands!” Victor said, with his last remaining energy, before he closed his eyes. Yuri smiled again, under the mask, and left - letting Makkachin follow behind him, before he slid Victor's door shut. She was probably antsy at being cooped up, as much as she loved to cuddle, so he let her outside, before he went again to the wash room and scrubbed his hands.
~*~
Yuri spent the afternoon at a loss of what to do. He bopped around on the internet, took Makkachin for a walk, messaged Phichit, and then coaxed Mari into a videogame - at which he soundly beat her. He still had the skills.
After that, it was nearly dinner time, and Yuri was beginning to be worried. Victor had emerged a few times throughout the day, each time looking worse and worse, to go to the bathroom, or once shower. It didn’t seem to help, and he was dazed and overly warm when he got out. Yuri’s mother checked on him a few times, bringing more tea and water, and Yuri caught her concerned face in the hallway. Apparently, the fever was going up.
Yuri volunteered to bring a bowl of porridge and soup for Victor for dinner, and suited up with the mask and gloves this time, just so Victor wouldn’t fuss. Again, he knocked on the frame, and then slid open the door.
“Victor?” he called softly. “I brought dinner.”
Like earlier today, Makkachin was bundled on the bed with Victor, but this time she looked up at Yuri and whined. The sound increased Yuri’s worry. Victor had shed his shirt, and was laying spread eagled in the middle of the bed, flushed and breathing quickly, with his blankets tossed in every direction. It looked like it was the overheated phase of his fever. He didn’t wake so much as stir, and his eyelids fluttered as Yuri came over.
“Yu-” he broke into coughing, rolling away from Yuri, and curling around his surely aching middle. Yuri had heard the coughs all day. They sounded horrible, dry and aching. Victor’s fit wasn’t ending, so Yuri set down the food in a hurry, and put a hand on Victor’s back. Through the plastic glove, he could feel that he was far too hot.
“Oh, Victor,” he said, as Victor’s coughing ripped through him. Finally, he choked, and then got control of his breathing, panting even more now. Yuri grabbed the glass of water, lukewarm now, and brought it over, letting Victor sip it. He let Yuri give him the water, before he struggled upright, flopping forward over his knees, and just breathing.
“You shouldn’t ...come in here…” he said after a moment. “Germs.”
Yuri waved a gloved hand. “I’ll be fine. You’re looking horrible though. How do you feel?”
Victor flopped one hand, and uttered a Russian word Yuri didn’t know. It sounded like it conveyed what he felt like.
“You need more pillows, you shouldn’t be flat if you’re coughing. And do you think you’re up to eating anything?”
As Yuri spoke, he stuffed some of Victor pillows up against the headboard, and helped him lean back so he was reclined. Then he tucked the blankets back up around him, because Victor was starting to shake again - the chill of the fever returning.
Victor shook his head miserably, pulling the blankets up. He looked like a child, and Yuri’s heart squeezed tightly watching him. Since he’d gotten sick, he’d been so complacent, not demanding anything or causing any trouble. He hadn’t complained at all. Yuri couldn’t help but wonder again about his childhood - not how people took care of him when he was ill, but if they did.
The thought made Yuri sad, but also determined. He was here now, and Victor was here at the onsen, as a guest, coach and friend. He’d be taken care of here, the Katsuki family would ensure that!
Yuri looked at the bedside table, past the almost empty tissue box, and found the thermometer that his mother had surely been using all day. He stuck it in Victor’s mouth with thinking about it, making him jump a little, and then Yuri stood.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, rushing out the door. Victor’s surprised and ill gaze followed him. He returned a few moments later, with a bowl of water, and a cloth from the kitchen. He’d also gotten a few tablets of fever reducer, since his mother said Victor was due soon, and set that on the side of the table as well. Yuri hadn’t been much prone to fevers, but he’d seen on TV that mopping someone’s brow could make them feel better. He squeezed out the cool rag, and then laid it across Victor’s forehead, just as the thermometer beeped. Victor shuddered, and mumbled around the device.
“”S cold, Yuri,” he said, accusing, but Yuri ignored him, pulling out the thermometer to see the reading.
“39 degrees,” he said to himself, before looking at Victor again. “We’re gonna get your fever down, okay Victor?”
“Hmmph,” was Victor’s response. Yuri helped him take the pills, and then lay back down. Victor shuddered as Yuri re-wet the rag, and mopped it over his forehead and cheeks. Yuri gentled his touch, and brought the cloth down Victor’s neck, where it finally seemed to help him. He sighed, and his closed eyes fluttered open. To Yuri’s horror, they were glossy with tears.
“Yuri,” he said, his voice broken with sickness, and a thick accent. “I feel awful…”
Yuri’s heart cracked, and he dropped the rag, and peeled off the glove, to run his own hand down Victor’s face. Yuri cradled his cheek, and hummed, trying to give whatever comfort he could.
“I’m sorry, Victor,” he whispered, and Victor sniffed, closing his eyes again. His eyelashes were wet. “You’ll feel better soon, I promise.”
Victor’s face was hot, and his body trembling, so Yuri did the best he could to make him comfortable. The rag quickly grew warm each time he dipped it in water, and Victor moaned and coughed, and tossed the blankets off and on, making Makkachin whine, and hide under Yuri’s chair. He wasn’t quite here anymore, and he mumbled in Russian, fighting Yuri on the rag, or accepting it meekly in turns. And Victor coughed and coughed, till tears ran down his face, and he choked on air.
After a hour of this, and Victor’s fever was only down a tiny bit, Yuri rushed to the door, and shout-whispered for his mother.
“Mom!” he called, and she appeared from the direction of the main room, looking worried.
“Yuri, have you been in there all this time? How’s Vicchan?” she asked, and Yuri wanted to sob exhaustedly on her shoulder. Instead, he shook his head.
“He’s hardly any better, Mom. The fever won’t go down, and he’s so miserable. I don’t know what to do!”
Hiroko’s hands came down on his shoulder, firm and solid, breaking into his panic spiral.
“Sweetheart, he’s a grown man, not a infant. He won’t die from a fever. How high did you say it was?”
Yuri breathed for a moment. “38.8.”
Hiroko hummed. “So it has gone down a bit. What’s he drunk?”
“I got him to drink most of the tea, and some water. He’s been coughing so much.”
“Alright, alright.” She patted his shoulders, calming his rising panic. “I think it’s time I took over. Why don’t you go take a shower, and then lay down. You know he’ll be so upset if you come down with this too.”
Yuri took a breath, and then nodded. “Okay.”
His mother brought his forehead down to her lips, and planted a kiss there, before turning him around and shooing him off, before she knocked lightly, and entered Victor’s room.
Yuri made it partway down the hall, and then leaned back against the wall, putting his hand on his chest. He felt like he’d just run a marathon - he was so tired.
“You okay, little bro?” Mari’s voice broke in, a cigarette hanging from her mouth. She leaned against the wall across from him, arms folded. Yuri let out a sigh, and sank to the floor, where he was joined a moment later. Mari sat next to him, but was quiet, as she often was, letting Yuri gather his thoughts.
“I… I’ve never seen him like this,” Yuri whispered. “He’s usually so strong, so … full of life! That I never thought about it.”
“‘Bout what?” Mari asked, looking sideways at him.
“What his home life was like. If anyone ever took care of him. In there… he’s acting like I shouldn’t even be there, like he should just wallow on his own until he dies or gets better.”
Mari nudged his shoulder. “Well, you are his student, with a competition coming up in less than a month. He probably just wants you to be in top shape for that.”
Yuri shook his head. “It’s more than that… argh, I don’t know.” Yuri buried his nose into his knees for a moment, before standing up and offering a hand down to his sister.
“Thanks Mari. I’m going to go shower.”
She stood with his tug, and then ruffled his hair. “I’ll go make you some tea, for when you get out. The ginger kind, so you don’t get sick.”
Yuri felt himself smile for the first time in hours.
*~*
Hiroko tried to insist that she be the one to stay through the night with Victor, but Yuri knew that she had customers and duties with the rest of the guests that she’d been neglecting all day for Victor’s and Yuri’s sake. He dragged a chair in, and settled down to watch, as Victor breathed and coughed and tossed and turned. He was sleeping, finally, after being in a half awake daze for a few hours, or so reported Yuri’s mother. His fever was still high, though not quite as much as it had been, so Yuri kept the rag cool, and covered with a blanket.
At around midnight, his fever broke, finally. Victor pulled in a breath, and sweat broke out on his brow, glittering the the dim like of the one lamp Yuri had kept on. Yuri wiped his brow once more, gladly feeling the noticeably cooler skin, before he sighed, and leaned back on the chair.
Victor didn’t wake, and even his coughing seemed lessened. Yuri felt limp with relief.
The next thing he knew, Yuri was trying to understand why his neck ached so badly, and why there was a thin, sharp, thing poking into his cheek over and over again.
“Yuriiii…” came a rough, yet playful voice, and he was poked again. Yuri stirred, and realized that he’d fallen asleep with his head pillowed on his arms, leaning on the edge of Victor’s bed, and that Victor himself was laying on his side, smiling at him tiredly and a little ruefully. Yuri sat up straight, groaning as the blood rushed down his limbs, before he blinked.
“Victor! You’re better!”
Victor nodded, coughing a little still into his elbow. But he was upright, and alert, and even the cough sounded more productive, rather than helpless and dry.
“I told you to not get my germs, Yuri,” he said, pulling at the useless mask that was hanging around Yuri’s neck. The long day and night was telling in his emotional stamina, but Yuri had had enough. Yuri snapped upright, frowning.
“I wasn’t going to just let you suffer all by yourself!” he said, emphatically. Victor started, and looked at him surprise. Yuri wasn’t done. “Maybe you’ve had to take care of yourself all these years, but you don’t have to anymore. I don’t care if I get sick, Victor…” Yuri finished against a suddenly tight throat. Victor stared at him, blinking a bit too quickly.
“Yuri…” he said, and then he cleared his throat. “I don’t remember much of last night, but obviously I owe you a thank you.”
“And my mother as well,” Yuri said, unable to help himself, as he knew he couldn’t have done it without his mom’s sure help. Victor smiled, fond and wide.
“And your mother as well. Thank you both. I am feeling much better.”
Yuri nodded, smiling back. “I’m glad.”
He should get up, and offer Victor soup or tea or something, but there was something else that was bothering him.
“Victor, will… you tell me about your childhood? I want to know.”
Victor furrowed his brows at him, before he seemed to remember their conversation yesterday.
“Ah right. Well, it’s nothing tragic, Yuri. I’m not sure if you’ve gotten the wrong idea. But I will say that my parents were nowhere near as obvious about their care as your’s. And I had a lot of pressure from my coaches at a young age. It may have ingrained some habits.”
Victor’s voice was open like Yuri had never heard. He reached out, couldn’t help himself really, and touched his fingers to Victor’s wrist.
“Still, will you please tell me?”
Victor smiled then, and grasped Yuri’s fingers quickly.
“Sure!” he said, and Yuri couldn’t help but smile back.
Victor was back on his feet soon enough, and coughing for a week longer, but his sickness didn’t jump to Yuri much to both their surprise. Guess Mari’s ginger tea helped.
Yuri and Victor continued to work hard to perform at the Cup of China. But something had changed between them, slightly. Yuri knew that his idol wasn’t perfect, was human and had his moments of weakness. He could still be laid low with a cold. And Yuri caught Victor watching him sometimes, with a confused look on his face, like Yuri was something he hadn’t expected. Yuri didn’t know what it meant, but as the Cup of China approached, he found he wanted to draw that gaze more and more.