Yuuri's nose hurt. His head hurt. His throat hurt. His legs felt like they weighed a ton each, dragging his feet along the apartment floor to the kitchen when all he wanted was to just fall into bed-

He froze in his tracks.

Victor didn't notice him at first - he just kept stirring the soup pot on the stove with slow, careful strokes, smiling down at the warming food with a sparkle in his eye.

That wasn't what had Yuuri floored though, mouth falling open in surprise and eyes welling with tears because it was just exactly what he needed to make his flu-filled, snivelly day instantly better.

The kitchen was clean.

As in, spotlessly clean; the surfaces gleamed and shone in the lights, dishes washed and drying on the rack, island clear of its usual clutter, and the trash taken out … there was even a candle burning in the dead centre of the table, as far away from any of the edges as it could get so it was firmly out of Makkachin's reach. It was perfect. It was the sort of thing Yuuri had started having dreams about after he and Victor got married.

It wasn't like the kitchen was never clean. It was. It always was - but cleaning it was one of Yuuri's jobs. Victor cooked, Yuuri washed. That was the deal. They never had time to sort things out in the mornings - always running late to the rink or studio for one reason or another - Yuuri running on auto-cleaning-pilot by the time he got home in the evening, numbly doing the dishes, clearing up mugs and plates from breakfast while he waited for Victor to come home and start dinner. Most days, he didn't mind. He just got on with it.

Some days though, he just couldn't. He just couldn't be bothered to wash, or sweep, or tidy in any shape or form after a long day, wishing that they could pretend that they just didn't have a kitchen anymore so he could ignore the mess.

Today was one of those days.

Only Victor had beaten him to the chase, turning his dreams to reality without Yuuri even having to ask…

"Ah, Yuuri!" Victor finally noticed, smiling over his shoulder from the stove. "You're home."

Yuuri just stared.

"Me?" he gasped, still sweeping his eyes over the immaculate kitchen that he'd been dreading cleaning all the way home. His heart swelled with happiness that he didn't have to do it, eyes watering with gratitude. He couldn't help it. He was just so glad. His voice wavered, brimming with adoration for his husband. "You… you did..."

Yuuri was going to cry. He could feel it stinging behind his eyes. He was going to cry over a clean kitchen because his husband was perfect, and amazing, and he loved him more than anything in the entire world-

Victor just shrugged, shifting the pot off the heat. "I came home early."

"Oh, Victor…"

Yuuri pressed a hand to his sternum, as if he could press his emotion right back into his chest instead of crying over a clean kitchen . It didn't work so well.

It just went to show how unwell he still was, Yuuri thought. Either his temperature was still making him a little bit mad, or maybe it was the flu bogging up his ears and clogging his brain, or maybe he was just so tired from not sleeping at night, always his or Victor's coughs and sniffles waking them both up at ungodly hours of the night…

But none of that mattered when his husband was serving up bowls of piping hot chicken soup - if the carton on the side was anything to go by since Yuuri's nose was blocked to within an inch of his life - flashing him an exhausted grin.

"They practically kicked me out of the rink once I told them I'd given you my flu too," he said. "Couldn't get me out of there fast enough."

Yuuri couldn't say he blamed them.

Victor was still paler than usual, eyes red rimmed from crying through the nights in his misery, cheeks rosy from his constant temperature that spiked up and down between luke-warm to the burn of lava depending on whether he remembered to take his flu medication or not. His hair was unkept and messy, skin around his nostrils red and cracked from going through four boxes of tissues in as many hours the day before.

Despite that, he had still done all Yuuri's side of the housework for his sick husband, though he was clearly in not much of a better state himself.

Yuuri's fingertips clung to the edge of the kitchen table, feeling himself sway ever so slightly on his feet. He eyed up the soup, stomach growling loudly. He was starving. His shredded sore throat hadn't let him be able to swallow anything but yoghurt and jelly over the course of the day, longing for something hot and filling at last. Soup was perfect.

And it was right there.

He crawled up onto a stool and wrapped his hands around the hot bowl, sighing happily at the warmth. "I can't believe you did all this…"

Victor just grinned over his own soup.

"I did live alone for nearly ten years before I married you, you know," he winked - ruined slightly with when he heaved over coughing up a lung instead. "I do - ugh - know how to clean a kitchen."

"I know, but… you never do it."

"Because you get annoyed when I do your chores for you."

"Yeah, I know, but…"

Yuuri didn't have the words. They choked up in his throat, water welling in his eyes, and heart pressing tight against his ribs like it was reaching out for Victor right through his chest.

The chair legs scrapped loudly against the floor as Yuuri suddenly stood up and scurried around the table, sniffling, and crying, and being generally gross - but Victor didn't care one whit as he lifted his arm for Yuuri to slot himself against his side, chuckling as he pulled his husband in close.

Gentle fingers weaved through Yuuri's hair, brushing his bangs back from his forehead. Victor pressed a kiss there - no doubt subtly testing his temperature at the same time, Yuuri thought.

He didn't care, winding his arms around Victor's waist and holding him tight.

"I love you," he mumbled into Victor's cotton pyjama shirt - the pyjamas he only wore when he was sick. "I love you so, so much."

Victor smiled, tilting Yuuri's chin up to him."I love you t- achoo!"

A/N

( Yuuri still loves him even when his husband sneezes in his face )... we've all been there ...