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It’s been 37 hours since Yuuri’s gotten any sleep.
Before the second round started, he’d been running on pure adrenaline - the thought of the day’s activities had kept him alert. But now, his body has finally caught up with his mind, and keeping his eyes open is a challenge on its own.
He’s exhausted.
Getting second place is a relief. But it’s not sufficient, of course, to just finish the competition. After that is the awards ceremony, and then a bunch of reporters pester him about what he plans to do next. To make things worse, when he finally manages to escape the rink, he realizes that, due to the vast number of people who showed up to the event, the streets are so backed up with traffic that simply driving back to the hotel will take hours.
That means he and Viktor have to walk. For forty minutes. All the way back to the hotel.
That, admittedly, isn’t much different from what they do in Japan every day: Viktor rides his bike and Yuuri jogs after him from Yuuri’s house to the local ice rink and back. But the air in China is absolutely frigid - Yuuri’s almost certain his insides are turning to ice as they walk - and the fact that he’s barely able to stay awake while they navigate the city isn’t helping.
Viktor’s hand is warm in his own, but Yuuri’s still shivering, even after Viktor lends him the coat and scarf he’s wearing. By the time they reach the hotel, Yuuri can already feel a telltale headache forming in his skull.
He hopes it doesn’t mean what he thinks it means. He doesn’t have time to be sick right now, not with their trip to Russia coming up so soon.
When they get to the hotel room, Viktor orders food to celebrate, and Yuuri throws himself onto the couch and dozes off while he waits for it to arrive. It feels like only a few seconds have passed when he feels a gentle tap on the shoulder, accompanied by a smooth, familiar voice: “The food’s here.”
As it turns out, Viktor has ordered dishes from practically every restaurant in the area. Normally, Yuuri would be digging in immediately - food makes up about thirty percent of his priorities in life, after all - but for some reason, he isn’t at all hungry, despite not having eaten lunch.
Maybe there is something wrong with him.
He fills up a paper plate with food and takes a few bites, but when he swallows, he feels his stomach churn in revolt. He sniffles, sets down his chopsticks, and turns aside to cough harshly into the crook of his arm.
“You did amazing today, Yuuri,” Viktor says. His voice is simple and sincere - normally, a compliment like this would be enough to make Yuuri blush. This time, though, all he can do is muster a weak nod.
“I’d like to give you all the time off you wanted,” Viktor begins, “but with the match in Russia coming up…”
“We don’t have any time to lose,” Yuuri finishes curtly, eyes downcast. “I know.”
“Actually, we do have a week left here in China, so we’ll get a chance to do some sightseeing. Most of your time will be allotted to practice, though.”
He nods again. His head is throbbing, and the overhead lights are suddenly too bright - blinding, even. He feels a wave of disorientation crash over him as he rests his burning forehead onto the palm of his hand.
“Do you not like the food?” Viktor asks, sounding worried. “I can order something from a Japanese restaurant if you want.”
“That’s not it.” His voice comes out harsher than he intends it to. He sniffles, grabs a napkin, and blows his nose into it.
Silence settles between them for a moment. “Then, about today...”
Whether ‘today’ refers to the quadruple flip or to the kiss, Yuuri doesn’t know. But he’s well aware that, given his rapidly worsening headache, he’ll probably end up uttering something humiliating if he continues this conversation.
So, instead, he clears his throat and says, “Can we not talk about it right now?”
Viktor sounds surprised, but he regains his composure quickly. “Sure.”
“I’m tired. I think I’m going to sleep early,” Yuuri mutters. It takes far too much effort for him to stand up, and despite the fact that the hotel bedroom is only a few meters away, it’s really a miracle that he’s actually able to make it there without falling over.
He practically collapses onto the hotel bed - the freshly made sheets are almost unrealistically comfortable, and as he sinks into the soft mattress, it feels as if he’s actually floating. But then, through his hazy train of thought, he realizes that sleeping on the bed probably isn’t the best idea. If his predictions are accurate and he really is coming down with something, the last thing he wants is to infect Viktor, too. They’re both busy, and he doesn’t want Viktor to feel as miserable as he does now.
So, even though he’s exhausted and cold, he drags himself to the couch and lays down there instead. There are no blankets on the couch, and the surface of it is jagged and rough to the touch, but he assures himself that this is for the best.
A sneeze escapes his shivering frame, and he curls in on himself, wishing to have someone else’s warmth beside him. He feels utterly awful right now; he doesn’t understand how the illness caught up with him so quickly.
Anyways, this isn’t something that a simple night’s sleep can’t fix, right? Exhausted, he allows his eyes to fall closed and falls fully asleep for the first time in hours.
***
Yuuri has been acting strange the whole afternoon.
He’s barely touched his food at all, which is a clear indication that something is wrong. Viktor wonders if he’s just not accustomed to Chinese food, but it turns out that that’s not the case, either.
His behavior is even more concerning than his apparent lack of appetite - his responses to Viktor’s questions have all been lukewarm and brief, and it seems like nothing Viktor says is able to elicit a proper reaction.
What could be wrong, though? What could Yuuri possibly be unhappy about besides -- besides the kiss?
At first, Viktor had ruled out the possibility. Yuuri hadn’t reacted unpleasantly when it happened - he’d seemed happy about it then. But what if -- what if he’d only pretended to like it for the camera? To appease the media? What if Viktor really has gone too far?
It seems unlikely. But when Yuuri refuses to talk about the day’s events and leaves the dinner table early, it only seems to prove Viktor’s theory.
So he is angry, after all...
***
When Viktor finally musters the courage to enter the bedroom, he finds Yuuri is sprawled over the couch instead of the hotel bed in the middle of the room. That’s peculiar for two reasons - they’ve slept together for every other night on this trip, and the couch is much smaller and much less comfortable than the bed is.
Upon closer inspection, Viktor finds that Yuuri’s face is flushed, his eyebrows creased with stress. “Yuuri,” Viktor calls softly, but the boy doesn’t wake up.
He frowns. It’s clear that Yuuri’s distancing himself from him on purpose.
Sighing, Viktor wanders over to the bed and pulls the covers over himself. It’s strange to sleep without his arms around Yuuri’s smaller body, but maybe that’s just because he’s been taking too much for granted.
Perhaps Yakov was right, he thinks. Perhaps he is unsuited for this job.
***
When Yuuri wakes up, he’s shivering, and he feels at least ten times worse than he had last night. His head is throbbing in time with his heartbeat, his throat hurts, and he’s so congested that he can’t breathe through his nose.
He stands up, but the room spins and he’s forced to grab onto the wall to regain his balance. He makes his way slowly over to the closet and fishes out the thickest coat he can find, then pulls it over his already too-warm body.
“You’re up,” Viktor says, pouring steaming hot tea into a cup. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“I… n-nothing,” Yuuri manages to croak out, then cringes at the sound of his voice. He clears his throat, but the action doesn’t help much. “I’m not hungry.”
“No need to be so selfless,” his coach replies, turning around to face him fully. “I can get you whatever you want to eat.”
“Tea, then,” he says, then coughs a few times into his hand. “Just tea.” To say he isn’t hungry at the moment would be an understatement.
Viktor hands him a cup of steaming green tea, and he takes it gratefully, relishing at the long-awaited warmth that seeps into his fingertips. He takes a sip, and the warm liquid slides comfortably down his throat, alleviating some of the pain that lingers there.
“Thanks,” he says weakly, and Viktor smiles.
“Let’s head off. Hopefully the traffic has died down by now.” Viktor throws the words over his shoulder as he grabs his things and pulls open the door. Yuuri sets down his empty cup on the table, braces himself for another day of practice, and follows him.
***
“You over rotated.”
“Don’t bend your left knee as much.”
“The turn should be at a sharper angle. Go back and do it again.”
“You missed the sound cue. You’re not in sync with the music.”
Practice, as it turns out, is more frustrating than usual: the jumps he’s doing are difficult even on good days, but perfecting them with a monster headache is next to impossible. Not to mention, his body feels unusually heavy and unwieldy, and it’s as if his movements are always lagging behind.
“Let’s practice the quadruple flip,” Viktor says half an hour into their session. “The landing should be all we have to work on. You did well on it yesterday.”
Yuuri nods - he doesn’t think he can manage it in his state, but he’s not in the mood to complain. He skates forward, braces his body for the impact, and jumps.
The world blurs around him, colors flying, and he’s almost certain he gets four rotations in. The jump, however, makes him dizzier than usual, and the world is suddenly tilted in a way it shouldn’t be. As he lands, his legs give way ungracefully beneath him and send him toppling to the ground.
The ice is suddenly resting on his burning hot cheek, but it feels nice, so he lets his eyes drift closed.
He can barely hear Viktor scream his name.
***
It all happens before his eyes. One moment Yuuri is leaping up to attempt the jump, then he spins flawlessly in the air, and then his weight shifts too far forward with the landing and he loses his balance.
He falls.
And Viktor’s eyes widen, and he screams, “YUURI!” But it’s not quite loud enough, and Yuuri doesn’t even think to break his fall, and his body hits the ice with a resounding smack.
The next thing Viktor knows, his legs are moving on their own and he’s sprinting across the ice. He crouches down beside his student’s body, slings one arm underneath Yuuri’s knees and props the other arm up behind his head.
Yuuri isn’t that heavy, considering that he hasn’t eaten in awhile, but he still weighs a substantial amount. Even so, Viktor doesn’t stop walking until he reaches the car in the parking lot. He lays Yuuri down in the backseat and, frowning, presses the back of one hand to Yuuri’s forehead.
It’s burning up. How hadn’t he noticed earlier?
The younger man stirs, one brown eye cracking open, and says, “Viktor?”
“Yeah,” Viktor says, feeling a part of himself deflate with relief. “How are you faring? Should I take you to a hospital?”
“H-Hospital?” Yuuri blinks slowly, then shakes his head. “No, no hospitals. I’m fine.” His sentence would have been more convictive had he not broken into a coughing fit immediately afterwards.
“Yeah. You’re totally fine,” Viktor restates flatly, raising an eyebrow.
Yuuri looks away. “It’s just a cold.”
Viktor says nothing; simply squeezes his hand lightly, closes the door to the backseat, then slides into the driver’s seat. “I’ll take you back to the hotel, then.”
“But practice–”
“Yuuri, you passed out.”
Luckily, Yuuri doesn’t protest further, which means he must be feeling pretty bad. Viktor maneuvers the small car out of the parking lot and starts off onto the highway.
They spend the rest of the drive in silence.
***
When Yuuri wakes up next, he’s in their hotel bed. On the bedstand is a box of tissues shaped like Makkachin and a cup of tea that’s still steaming hot.
“Ah, Yuuri,” Viktor says, “how are you feeling?” He leans in so their foreheads are touching, then pulls back quickly. “Your fever seems to have gone down.”
Yuuri feels his face growing warm - he still isn’t completely used to this type of proximity. “B-Better,” he stammers. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Just a few hours,” Viktor answers casually, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. The mattress dips a little with his weight. “That tea’s for you, by the way.”
They sit for awhile in silence while Yuuri finishes the cup of tea. “Um,” he begins, then stops himself. Should he ask about their practice schedule? About Yurio’s strengths and weaknesses as an opponent? About - he’s postponed this discussion for long enough - yesterday?
“I’m sorry,” Viktor says, interrupting his train of thought.
Yuuri stares at him, wide-eyed and unblinking. “What?”
“I didn’t notice you were sick.”
“Oh,” Yuuri says, then laughs. “No, that was my fault. I should have said something.”
“Still… there were so many signs that I should’ve just known.” The words come spilling out; Yuuri realizes, slightly amused, that Viktor must have thought them tons of times already. “I was just so... focused. On everything else. And I–”
“Viktor.”
“I don’t know how to take care of other people, okay?” He says, and he’s so flustered for once it’s almost endearing, except the sentence is so quiet - so painfully simple, like a confession he’s been holding in for years - that Yuuri just can’t bring himself to laugh at it.
“Viktor,” he says, more forcefully this time, “you seem to be taking care of me just fine.”
“Yeah, well.” A wavering breath. “For future purposes, please do give me a heads up before you pass out.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Yuuri has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Okay.”
“And–”
“There’s an ‘and?’”
“Shut up. I was going to say I’m sorry about kissing you. In public. I should’ve asked… or something.”
“What? No, that was nice,” Yuuri says, “When did I say I minded?”
“You… don’t mind?”
“No.” Now he’s blushing, great. “I d-don’t–”
He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, though, because suddenly Viktor’s leaning in, and the distance between them is abridged again and sweet, soft lips are fitting into his own.
“V-Viktor!” He yells, pulling away, flustered. “Don’t do that now, you’ll get sick!”
The mischievous smirk is back on Viktor’s face, and the look in his eyes suggests that that won’t be the last kiss for tonight. “No, that was nice,” Viktor says, and Yuuri realizes that his words sound a bit too familiar. Viktor leans in closer, his breath warm breath skirting Yuuri’s cheek, and despite himself, Yuuri feels himself begin to melt into his touch. “When did I say I minded?”