Uncharacteristically Victor

Uncharacteristically Victor

Yooooo I haven’t written YOI in so long, and I haven’t written sick!victor before, so forgive me if this is terrible lol

Victor prides himself on his appearance. He always, always makes sure that he’s put together. His appearance is the one thing he has control over, unlike every other aspect of his life.

Yuuri knows this. So, when a very bleary-eyed Victor shows up to their coffee date late, looking…disheveled…Yuuri is worried.

Disheveled is an understatement, actually. Between his clothes, hair that’s sticking up in every direction, and his glasses (which he hates), he looks uncharacteristically Victor.  

He looks as if he’s been dragged through hell and back.  

“Vitya?”

Victor pours himself into the chair across from Yuuri and shoots him a weak smile, “I’m sorry I’m late, I overslept.”

Yuuri frowns, he sounds stuffy.  “Are you alright?”

The dark bags under his eyes are a stark contrast to his pallor - he’s downright exhausted, Yuuri can tell.  He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks and all Yuuri wants to do is wrap him up in a blanket and tell him to go to sleep.

Victor rubs at his left eye with the heel of his hand and yawns.  

“Do you want me to go get you something?”

Victor nods, “tea?”

“Tea? You never want tea.”

“Well I do now,” he snaps.

“Um…okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Victor groans, rubbing his temples, “my throat hurts.”

“It does? Do you think you’re getting sick? You’re really pale…and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you look so…”

“Incredibly handsome?” Victor asks, wriggling his eyebrows.

“I was going to say disheveled.”

“Oh.”

“Do you think you’re getting sick?”

Victor nods and rubs his throat gingerly, “I think I’m dying, Yuuri.”

“Is it just a sore throat?” 

Yuuri suspects it’s not.

Victor shot him a flat look, “I’m dying, didn’t you hear me? My head hurts, too.”

“I think I have some Advil-”

“Yuuri!” He cries suddenly, which launches him into a coughing fit. He smothers it against his fist.

“Yeah?”

“This is it, this is the end.  You should probably start writing my eulogy because I expect you to speak at my funeral.”

Yuuri cracks a smile. “I’m going to get you the tea now.”

“Yuuuuri,” he whines, “why aren’t you more worried about my inevitable demise?”

“The tea will help you feel better.”

“Fine,” Victor huffs. He slouches down in his seat and crosses his arms.

“I’m surprised you’re wearing your glasses.  I thought you hated them.”

“Loathe.  I loathe them, and what are you talking about? I’m not wearing my glasses.”

Yuuri blinks. “…yeah…yeah you are.”

“I’m…what?” Victor screeches, a horrified expression crossing his face.  “I’m wearing my glasses?!”

Yuuri squints, “you didn’t know?”

Victor shakes his head, and then groans when it makes his head swim. He ducks his head, hoping that it’ll help the sudden lightheadedness.

“I didn’t really look in the mirror this morning…do I look bad?” He asks in a small voice, staring up at Yuuri through his bangs.

“No! You look cute.”

“Cute, huh? I don’t want to be cute, Yuuri. Makka’s cute, I wahh…hhh…Hh’itssch! Hh’igxcht-Igxcht! *snff* I wandt to be sexy.” He rasps.

“You are…you’re very…um…s-sexy,” Yuuri flushes, “I’ll be right back.”

Five minutes later, Yuuri places the cup of tea in front of his fiancé. Victor removes the lid and puts his face over it, hoping that the steam will help the congestion. All it does is fog up his glasses, and Victor makes a sort of pitiful whining noise.

“I thought this was supposed to help. I'mb just blind ndow.”

Yuuri blinks. Is he serious? “You do know that you have to actually drink the tea for it to work, right?”

Victor, who’s already flushed, flushes even more. “Oh.”

“Are you alright?”

“Just tired,” he mumbles, taking a sip of the tea. He closes his eyes and sighs as the hot liquid soothes the rawness in his throat. He sniffles, “are you ready…hhh…Hh’itssch! *Snff* Ih’chssht! Hh’igxcht-Igxcht! *snffff*”

“Bless you.”

Victor sniffles, “thanks…are you ready to go practice? *Snff*”

“You’re sick, though.”

“Yuuri, I’ve skated through plenty of illnesses before. Besides, I’m coaching you, I’m not even skating.”

“Are you sure?”

Victor chirps something about needing to impart all of his wisdom on Yuuri before he kicks the bucket, and Yuuri can’t help but wonder how he managed to end up with such a dramatic human being.

*

“Again,” Victor rasps weakly, shivering as he watches Yuuri skate.

Yuuri’s getting worried now. Victor’s no longer whining about how he was feeling. Instead, he’s gone almost completely silent aside from all the sniffling and coughing fits he’s muffling into the thick scarf around his neck.

Yuuri had offered to swing by their house before practice so Victor could put his contacts in, but Victor declined.

His eyes are watering from all of the yawning, coughing and sneezing, and Victor knows putting in contacts is a lost cause.

Victor shoves his hands in his pockets, the rink seems colder today, and just looking at Yuuri practicing in a t-shirt is making him shiver. How can he stand it?

He knows it’s probably because of the fever that spiked on their ride to the rink. The bone-deep chills and the muscle aches are making sure he knows he has one.

A wall of heat suddenly hits him, and he’s panting as he strips all of his layers and dumps them on the floor.

“Victor?” Yuuri frowns, skating over to where Victor’s standing.

Victor sways on his feet, and then he’s muttering “s’too hot,” over and over again.

“Victor,” Yuuri repeats, getting off the ice. He puts a hand on Victor’s forehead, and then slides it down to cup his cheek. Victor is burning beneath his touch, and Yuuri guides him to a bench.

Then he’s shivering again. He trembles beneath Yuuri’s hands, and Yuuri goes back to grab his jackets and scarf.

“We’re going home, Vitya.”

Victor shakes his head after a few moments, sniffles miserably, and looks at Yuuri with fever bright eyes.

He goes into a coughing fit, and hunches over as the force nearly knocks him off the bench. Yuuri catches him and positions him so that Victor’s burning forehead is pressed to his shoulder.

Yuuri drapes the jackets over Victor’s shoulders and rubs his back soothingly.

“Let me just get my skates off, and we’ll go.”

“I'mb sorry,” Victor whimpers, choking on a sob.

“For what?”

“I dond’t kndow why you’re with mbe…imb just screwindg thindgs up.”

Victor, who’s always so confident is suddenly crumbling before Yuuri, and Yuuri is at a slight loss. Yuuri works quickly to get his skates off, because Victor is still sobbing next to him, and he wants to get him home as soon as humanly possible.

Yuuri shoves his skates in his bag, hoists it over his shoulder and then pulls Victor to his feet.

The sobbing dies down once they’re in the car. Victor is slumped against the window in exhaustion, and Yuuri is trying to focus on driving, but he can’t when Victor’s like this.

“Vitya? Can you talk to me? What’s going on?”

This is uncharacteristically Victor.

Victor shivers. He pulls his knees to his chest, wraps his arms around them and presses his cheek to the top of his knees.

*

Victor is lying in bed with a fever that’s reading 102.5.

Yuuri’s not exactly sure what to do - Victor doesn’t usually get sick, and when he does, it’s really only a mild head cold. This is uncharted territory for him - for both of them.

Yuuri puts a damp washcloth over Victor’s forehead.  Victor’s eyes snap to Yuuri’s face, and for the first time since Yuuri has known him, he looks vulnerable.  His eyes are flitting around the room, he’s looking everywhere but at Yuuri.  

“Victor? What do you need?”

“I dond’t wandt you to get sick,” Victor says weakly.

“You know I don’t care about that,” Yuuri says softly, “what do you need?”

He sniffles, eyelids sliding shut, “can you just lie down with me? Please?”

Yuuri climbs into bed next to Victor, who immediately curls up next to him.  Victor puts his head on Yuuri’s chest, wraps an arm around his middle, and immediately feels himself drifting to sleep.

Yuuri pulls the blanket over them, presses a kiss to the top of his head,

“Goodnight, Vitya.  I love you.”