Yuuri Katsuki should have been a lawyer.

Air battered his starved lungs with every hurried stride down the crowded sidewalk. The cardboard mug of overpriced black coffee sloshed in his trembling hands as he raced faster down the street. Onlookers flashed the man in teal scrubs a puzzled look. His raven hair waved in a frazzled mishmash with every step. Warm blood coursed through his cold limbs. His heart pounded the inside of his chest with the rhythm of stomping feet over cracked concrete.

His breath pillowed out into tufts of grey mist. His long strides propelled him past zooming cars sliding over concrete.

He should have been a lawyer because waking up at six in the morning and working to death at a hospital every day for the rest of his life was not in his agenda. He was supposed to go to law school and be the world's greatest lawyer. He slogged through all of the standardized tests and agonized over midnight english lessons. His parents shelled out thousands of dollars and pitched in for a beat up lemon to drive around the cold city. Yuuri went as far as to ransack all of the secondhand clothing stores for decent but not too expensive business suits.

And what did he do? Grew a conscious and decided he wanted to help people.

Nearing the rustic double doors, Yuuri barreled his way through the opening. When he entered the room, he crossed into the emergency center waiting room. He stopped in his tracks, scanning the quiet area.

This emergency room had become home for Yuuri during his residency. Blank walls with shining tile flooring stretched out over the expansive room. Plastic chairs lined the waiting area like statues of soldiers protecting the homeland. The shabby reception desk in front of the small signs pointed people into different directions. The place was quiet for once; the small wall clock nailed above a glass vase of roses ticked while an empty gurney remained motionless by a broom closet.

"Hey, Yuuri!" A dark-skinned man sitting in a leather seat behind the desk said.

Yuuri huffed as he neared the receptionist desk. "Hey, Phichit," he said.

Yuuri leaned over the gray desk and tried to capture his breath. Phichit, Yuuri's best friend since coming to Detroit, tilted his head as his cheerful smile devolved from the sight of this man's wheezing.

"Doctor Nikiforov made you get coffee again?"

Yuuri nodded. "He's working me to the bone, Phichit."

Phichit shrugged. "Oh well. What can you do?"

Yuuri sighed. "Thanks for the advice. I gotta get to the daily briefing."

Heading down the hallway, Yuuri slumped his shoulders. The past rotation for him had been torture. Being in his second year of residency, he thought he had survived the hell that was his first year. His study sessions and lectures in his second year were easier despite him still having issues with speaking up. Yuuri had a decent knowledge of most medical terms and techniques. He had even managed to lose a few pounds around his waist from his lack of sleep during his sixty-plus hour work weeks. He could not say he was the most talented or smartest upcoming doctor, but he was determined to make it through his new rotation at Henry Ford Hospital in Detroit, Michigan.

This hospital, however. This hospital was going to be the death of him.

Squinting his eyes from the harsh glare of the fluorescent lighting above him, Yuuri turned the corner towards a door, the only indigo door on the first floor. Before going inside, Yuuri flattened the cowlicks in his dark hair. He scrubbed his eyes of any debris, and he straightened out the creases in his black dress pants. He always made sure that he looked perfect for the Doctor.

Opening the door, sleek dress shoes sat on top of mahogany wood.

The Russian man behind the desk smiled at the sight of his student, his hands crossed behind his head. His neat hair almost as white as the snowbanks on the sidewalks, the lean man sat on his leather chair with a relaxed expression. The rest of his office was quite tidy. A small eucalyptus plant grew in a white ceramic resting on a filing cabinet. It was a small office, but the pictures of the Russian man dotted the pale mustard walls. Above his head, a large mirror hung directly opposite the front door. Yuuri spied his reflection as the resting man opened his bright blue eyes.

"Yuuri."

Yuuri could not help the small leap in his heartbeat when he heard the sultry snarl from the Doctor.

"Hello Doctor Nikiforov," Yuuri stammered. He stepped forward like a robber sneaking into a museum.

He shook his head in mock disappointment. "Just Victor, Yuuri. Victor."

Victor Nikiforov had been clouding Yuuri's head since he joined the psychiatric rotation at the hospital. Whn people complained about how lucky Yuuri was to land a rotation with the famed Doctor Nikiforov, he had no idea what to expect from the head of psychiatry. However, From the moment he met the Doctor, Yuuri could not help but freeze up at the sight of the man. Victor was undoubtedly attractive, and he knew all of the medical students at the hospital were just begging to jump him the first chance they got. That was not what attracted him. It was Victor's gentleness to Yuuri that made him pause.

Victor had put Yuuri through the ringer. Every second of their time together was filled with medicating or checking on patients. Filling out papers down to checking people's temperature absconded the precious time together from them. Yuuri hardly got time for a rest, let alone a full hour of lunch.

However, the way Victor instructed him on different techniques or ways to handle patients made him weak in the knees. Yuuri was focusing on general surgery, so psychiatry was tougher for him. Victor was complete perfection in Yuuri's eyes. He was one of the best doctors in the country, and he treated every person he spoke to like they were the most important people in the world.

Now, the rules of irony dictate that some strange love affair would occur between them. Yuuri purposefully kept his distance from Victor to stop that. He noticed more and more touches between them in the past few days, and Yuuri grew more and more nervous around the doctor.

"You have my coffee?"

Yuuri gasped and thrusted the cup at him. "From Haruka's down the street. Just like you asked."

Victor giggled. "Mister Nanase is good with his beverages."

He reached out and grabbed the cup. However, he paused his grasp on the knuckles of Yuuri's frigid fingers. The touch felt like an electric shock on a doorknob to Yuuri. He stiffened up as Victor slowly trailed his thumb down Yuuri's long fingers. His caress was soft, almost non-existent like a feather painting a mural.

There he goes again, Yuuri thought as his stomach churned like the eye wall of a hurricane. Messing with me as usual.

Just as soon as the touch began, it ended all too soon. Victor snagged the cup, a light smile on his face. "Good job, Yuuri. Ready to make our rounds?"

Their eyes met, Victor's almost predatory like a tiger about to devour a doe.

Yuuri gulped.

"We have a new patient today," Victor said. "Just came in from the emergency room yesterday."

Yuuri shook his head, eradicating the strange stirrings in his chest. "Oh, right. The patients."

Victor giggled. "He's an interesting man. Teenager from Russia. Apparently, he is a big ice skater. You know about ice skating?"

"Skated when I was younger. Nothing professional, though."

Victor stood up, beckoning Yuuri to follow him. "Big ice skater. Attempted suicide two days ago. Very hostile to the hospital staff. That reminds me of this one patient a few years ago. It was a Thursday..."

The Japanese man's emotions were confused by the attractive doctor in front of him as he dolled on about his past patients. He seemed nearly flirtatious with him the past week. Did it mean anything? Was he imagining things? Of course. Why would this renowned practitioner want any romantic attraction to a medical student? But then why did Victor's eyes appear to linger on him longer than usual? Why the strange, distractive touched when they walked down the hallway? Why did he text him asking to go out to the bar last Friday?

Yuuri sighed again as he and Victor left the office. Some things were left better unasked. Whatever these feelings were, they would fade away like the new snowfall blanketing the city outside.

The first wave of pain that woke Yuri Plisetsky rocked his stomach.

The slim, blonde hair man writhed with a quick twitch of his wiry arms. Entrapped in tight fitted sheets like a caterpillar in a cocoon, the sunlight peeking through the window blinds created color spots in his vision. Opening seafoam eyes, a pain seared through his abdomen like a thin knife teasing his skin with spiked metal.

He examined the hospital room with confusion and disdain. His eyes narrowed with every piece of drab furniture or dressing he saw in the room. It was a typical small box with a bright window to his left showcasing the outside world. A television hung in the top corner opposite the bed. A small sliding white door led the way to a closet. Next to the harsh cot he laid on, Yuri look peered at the electric alarm clock resting on the nightstand. A vase of dying carnations wilted behind the clock.

Yuri grunted. He slid himself over the stone mattress into an upright position. His arms curled in his lap, he rubbed his middle to assuage the numbing pain.

What did he remember? His name. Where he was from. Nothing else.

Did I fall down, Yuri thought. Did I have an accident on the ice?

His stomach rumbled again.

Yuri seethed through his teeth as he shifted his weight on the cot.

I remember now. I remember why.

The door opened.

"H-hello there."

Yuri shifted his glare towards the two doctors entering his room. One was a shy, blushing black haired man with a slight puff to his cheeks. His pants appeared a size to smal, and his slouch made him a non threatening figure. The other was a jocular man with silver hair and a thin smile. He charged into the room like a stripper sauntering into a jazz club.

Both of them stopped next to his bed. The shorter one cleared his throat and tapped the clipboard in his hands.

"Are you Yuri Plisetsky?"

The other Doctor shook his head. "Speak softer."

"Softer?"

"Tone matters here."

"Sorry. May I ask if your name is Yuri Plisetsky?"

"Why am I here?" He said.

Yuuri paused. The boy's voice resounded in the small room with the confidence of an opera singer. If he was sick or injured, his heavy voice did not hint at such an issue.

"Oh. Well...you are in my care because I am in residency and-."

"Wrong," Victor honked. Yuuri nearly leapt out of his skin as Victor shook his head. "Now you ask him about his drug history."

Yuuri guffawed. "But we haven't even established his name."

"First you ask name. Then, drug history. That's procedure," Victor said with a small grin.

"Okay," Yuuri said with hesitance. He looked down at the small, wiry boy wrapped in the bed covers.

Dark circles ran under his eyes like a raccoon. His porcelain skin matched the white blinds shielding the sunlight outside. The patient clothing draped over him was a human too large for the young man as he coughed into his arm. The thin cloth seemed to eat his small frame. His blonde hair, flat and lifeless, framed his gaunt face. Overall, the young man looked like he had been under a nasty cold for a few months and never saw the sun again.

Yuuri cleared his throat, a bead of sweat glistening on his black brow. "Have you been on any psychotropic drugs recently?"

"Why am I here?" Yuri asked again.

Yuuri swallowed before he tapped his glasses up his nose with a soft finger. "You're in my care because we are going to help you get better," Yuuri said in a rushed tone. "The higher ups transferred you from the emergency room so we can comprehensively study your behavior and actions. Me and Doctor Nikiforov here are going to treat you."

"That's not what I meant. Why am I still here?" Yuri asked again, his voice elevating in volume.

"In the hospital?" Victor stepped in. "You just got here."

"No, you moron," Yuri said in an annoyed voice.

"Why you're in my care?" Yuuri asked again. "It's because we a-."

"Why am I still here? Alive? On this Earth?"

Victor and Yuuri turned to each other. Yuuri's black eyes widened when processing the words. His hands shook his clipboard with light tremors shifting the papers on the wood. He swallowed, trying to extinguish the nerve-inducing drought in his parched throat. Even Victor, with years of experience, tugged at his shirt collar in discomfort while the younger man glared at them from his bed post. His smile evaporated like the melting snow on the sidewalk outside.

Victor looked back at Yuri and took a step forward. He debated as to whether he should initiate contact, a move Yuuri noticed with a small flinch of his left hand. Victor instead brushed back a strand of gray hair from his ocean eyes and kneeled down beside the bed.

"Mister Plisetsky, my good sir. I can call you Yuri, right?"

"No."

Victor sighed before flashing a cheeky grin. "We'll work on that. Do you know why you are here right now?"

Yuri rolled his eyes. "I didn't enter into a coma. I know why."

"You made a lot of people worried."

Yuri scoffed. "Now they worry about me."

Victor nodded, the sorrowful bite of his words not escaping his detection. "You've been transferred to this ward for seven days. Normally, we would have you in an observation room, but since you are so close to the nurse's station and you appear in stable condition, we will keep you in this room. I know you are tired, so all we require from you for now is that you stay in this bed and tell us when you need to use the restroom."

A lightning bolt flashed through Yuri's mind. He shot up in the bed, his face seemed to be just a shade paler. Yuuri leaned a step back as the blonde man grabbed one of the bars on bed side near Victor.

"But what about my coach? Who found me? Who brought me here? I have a big fucking skate soon, and I need to get out of he-."

"You'll leave when the week is up," Victor said. "What happens afterwards is up to the courts. Per our recommendations, of course."

Victor stood up, straightening out the wrinkles in his corduroy jacket. "So that means be nice to everybody, and we will give a good review. Doctor Katsuki here will be you're sitter for the time being."

Yuri narrowed his eyes. "This idiot is watching over me?"

Victor nodded. He grabbed Yuuri by the shoulder, making the Japanese man squeak at the surprise touch. He tugged at him, making Yuuri follow him out of the room. "We do have a lot of paperwork to go through first, so we shall return."

Yuuri flashed one last look behind his shoulder. The young, frustrated man in the hospital bed appeared as angry as he was tired. Yuuri made a note to ask about his entire background as soon as he could.

Just as Victor reached for the golden doorknob, he turned around to face Yuri. "By the way, are you from Russia?"

Yuri crossed his arms and peered at Victor. "You?"

Victor smiled. "Yup. Born and raised."

Yuri grunted. "Idi nakhuy sam."

Victor chuckled. Just as Yuuri looked towards him in confusion, Victor twisted the doorknob and flung open the door. A metallic squeak covered Yuuri's squeals when they exited onto the hallway. His head flicked forward as the door slammed shut behind them.

In the hallway, nurses paraded past them underneath the flourescent lights blaring in the ceiling. Victor hummed to himself as he walked away. Yuuri, breathing in relief, hopped over towards Victor's side. He swatted away a bed of sweat on his brow and flattened the cowlicks in his hair; the pale indigo walls sliding past them with every step.

"He was kind of rude."

Victor shrugged. "You get all kinds in this place."

Yuuri looked over at Victor. "Did he say something to you before we left? In Russian?"

Victor laughed. "Nothing I can say in a hospital."

Hello everybody. Welcome to the story.

For those who read my previous story, Detroit and The Good Life With You, welcome back. This is going to be a short, fun, and hopefully insightful story about depression and suicide and love and whatever. Don't worry, there will be plenty of laughs along the way as we go through the hospital.

This story won't be nearly as long as my previous story. I may not update it as much either. I will update based off interest in the story. If no one is reading, I will probably pull the plug as just a fun little plot bunny idea. Otherwise, we sill see Yurio's week in the hospital.

Please review! It is the most important thing you can do. You're input means the world to me, and I hope I am decent enough to achieve it.

Thank you. See you soon!