I originally wrote this fic for a request, but then I came up with a better fit for the prompt. I still went ahead and posted it though. It's set pre-series, back when Victor had his beautiful long hair. Content warning for vomit. Enjoy!

Eating dinner was a mistake. Victor doesn't know if the food just disagreed with him, or if he ate something bad, or if he's getting sick; he just knows that he's miserable and his stomach has never hurt this bad before.

At first, he'd tried to pass it off as just gas, but now, with his stomach cramping so badly that he's tempted to double over, it's clear that that's not the case. Victor makes a vague excuse to the sponsor he's been trying to impress and decides to head to the bathroom before he pukes all over the expensive carpet.

Of course, he barely makes it five steps before his progress is interrupted. "Victor! Where are you going?" calls a voice from behind him. It's Chris.

Normally, Victor would be ecstatic to see his friend, but right now he just wants to get out of here before his stomach forcibly evacuates its contents. "You don't look so good," Chris notes when he finally catches up.

"I'm fine," Victor mutters, his tone clipped. "Just going to the bathroom." An ominous gurgling from his stomach proves him wrong, and Victor feels himself pale as he claps a hand over his mouth.

"Yeah, let's get you out of here," Chris agrees, catching on to the urgency of the situation.

They don't make it in time. Victor barely makes it out into the hallway before he doubles over, choking as his stomach contents force their way up his throat. At least the sponsors can't see them here.

A couple of bystanders titter, probably assuming that Victor drank too much and couldn't hold his liquor. Chris glares at them and rubs his friend's back, trying to provide some semblance of comfort. He belatedly makes a grab for Victor's long silver locks, trying to keep his hair out of harm's way, but he's pretty sure it's too late for them to have escaped unscathed.

He waits until Victor's gags have subsided to dry heaves before trying to steer him towards the restrooms again, grimacing at the puddle of vomit on the carpet. The custodians aren't going to like that.

Fortunately, they make it to the men's room before Victor throws up again, this time in the sink instead of all over the floor. He spits up a few thin strings of bile and saliva before clutching his head with a groan. "What's wrong?" Chris asks, concerned.

"M'head hurts," Victor slurs, slumping into Chris' side.

Chris winces at the heat radiating off his friend. "Well, you're running a pretty high fever. I think that you're sick."

"Mmm. Probably," Victor admits. There's no way to deny it at this point.

"You should get out of here," Chris suggests, moving Victor over to a bench, which he gratefully collapses onto. His legs are shaking; actually, his whole body is trembling. He has flecks of vomit in his hair, and Chris passes him a wet paper towel to clean it up with.

"Do you want me to get your coach?" He's pretty sure he saw Yakov around here earlier.

"Don't need to get him," Victor insists. He's probably delirious at this point. "I can walk back by myself."

"No, you definitely can't," Chris retorts. He's amazed that Victor is still this stubborn when he's so clearly ill.

The older skater's face is still set in defiance, so Chris sighs heavily and hauls Victor to his feet, slinging one of his arms around his waist. "Fine, then I'll go with you."

Victor sways on his feet before regaining his balance. "Thanks," he says hoarsely.

Chris smiles. "What are friends for?"

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