He had known it was coming hours ago, when the subtitles on his game started to blur in the middle of the sentence and he had to squint to read his text messages. He'd brushed it off as fatigue, hoped he was wrong, but he'd known. So, he'd turned off the console, finished his bottle of water and stole a handful of the chocolate Katsudon thought he didn't know about. When pain seeped into his cheekbones, a sign that it was coming soon, he went to his room and laid down. He scrolled through Tumblr for a while, liked a few cat videos to watch another time, and texted both Katsudon and Viktor so they didn't come home being loud as fuck.
Now, three hours later, Yuri Plisetsky is dying.
At least, it feels that way.
His head is throbbing alongside his pulse, sending shards of pain to scrape across his forehead, catch behind his ears and drag down to settle in the back of his head. His jaw aches deep into the bone, his body is sore, and the light spilling through his thin curtains is suddenly blinding. He presses the heels of his hands against his temples, fingers tangling in his hair. His window faces out the front of the house and even with it closed he can hear the neighbor's children hollering in their front yard across the street. Yuri curls tighter against the sound, against the too bright lights, against thrumming of pain in his skull.
And then he's up, and the room spins and it hurts in a new way, like hands gripping his head on either side and pulling in opposite directions. He stumbles across the room, hand pressed over his mouth because any second now he's going to puke and he'd rather it not be all over his floor.
He wrenches open his door, sends a silent thanks to Viktor and Katsudon for turning all the lights off, and practically falls into the bathroom between the spare rooms at the other end of the hall.
He pukes, and it's disgusting and it burns and it hurts and if Yuri had somehow managed not to cry so far he certainly is now.
Then there are hands combing his hair back from his face and rubbing across his shoulder blades and Yuri hates this, hates that he needs comforting like a child, hates that he's grateful.
When he's finally finished, he can't do much more than slump against the body behind him. They're murmuring, a mix of comforting words that spill out in at least two different languages. It is Viktor? Is it Katsudon? He doesn't know. He doesn't care. He hurts.
It's not until their pressing a toothbrush into his hand that he realizes how gross his mouth tastes. He brushes his teeth, but it's slow going and he spits in the toilet because he can't bring himself to get up. He tosses the toothbrush in the bin by the toilet. They have tons of extras, all three of them have lost at least one on one of their trips, whether it be to a skating competition or back to Japan or Russia to visit.
There are arms under his knees and around his back and he should protest that he can walk, but he doesn't have the energy to speak, let alone anything else. He thinks this must be Viktor; Katsudon may have been able to carry him at 15, but he's 18 now, all long legs and sharp angles. They pass by a mirror and he's wrong. It's Yuuri who's taking care of him and he expects it to feel strange, but it doesn't. He pushes it away to think about later.
There are two bottles of water and six pills on his night stand. The pills are split into groups of two, spread far enough apart that he can tell they're separate doses. There's a post-it note stuck to one of the bottles, words scrawled in Viktor's looping handwriting.
Feel better soon Yura.
He knows that this is Viktor's way of taking care of him and this does feel strange because he and Viktor have always been antagonistic to each other at best. But then Yuri really thinks about it, and it doesn't feel quite so foreign, because Yuri is living in Viktor's house in the States, Viktor's pretty much paying for his college courses, and Viktor has always made sure Yuri has what he needs.
There's a running joke in the skating community that Katsudon and Victor are his parents, but it's more like they're brothers. Yuri thinks that this revelation is nice, because he's never had siblings, never had anyone but his parents and his grandfather to care for him this way.
Then he thinks that this migraine must be making him fucking delusional, because he doesn't even like Katsudon or Viktor on a good day, let alone enough to call them his family.
But the thought sticks with him even after Katsudon has laid him back down.
"Come on, Makka," Katsudon whispers. Yuri hadn't noticed the dog on his bed until he hopped up and left, though he doesn't think he would have minded if Makka stayed.
Katsudon closes Yuri's bedroom door with a soft click and Yuri takes the medicine Viktor left. His neighbors must have gone inside because there's no more screaming outside his window. It's darker, too and Yuri thinks the sun must be setting, but when he looks he sees a thick blanket over his window instead. It's Viktor's, the one he keeps tossed over the back of the couch to curl into when they watch TV. He's not sure how it's being held up, but it's blocking the light and that's all Yuri cares about.
Yuri's cat jumps on the end of his bed, butting his head against Yuri's shins. Yuri scratches under his chin, and the cat curls up near Yuri's chest. Yuri isn't sure where Oliver is, the orange tabby is still a kitten and has a habit of hiding all over the house.
Yuri works himself into a more comfortable position facing away from the window and pulls his purple blanket up and over his shoulders. It's soft and thick, and was given to him by Katsudon's sister for his birthday. It quickly became his favorite, and he's almost fought Viktor for stealing it on three separate occasions.
Yuri adjusts his pillow, closes his eyes, and tries his best to sleep.
Yuri wakes up tired and sore. His head still hurts, but it's a barely there ache and Yuri could cry with relief. He knocks his pillows around to find his phone. It's after seven. He's not sure what time he fell asleep.
He digs through his dresser and pulls out a pair of sweatpants he's pretty sure are Phichit's. He shrugs and wears them anyways. Clothes always end up at their house, either forgotten after a week-long visit or shared during competitions and never given back. They get claimed eventually, only for new ones to take their place.
The upstairs is quiet, but Yuri can hear the soft hum of the TV downstairs. He walks down the hall and leans over the lofted railing over the living room. Sure enough, Viktor and Katsudon are leaning against opposite arms of the couch, legs tangled together in the middle. Yuri can see Makka outside through the large windows, sniffing along the fence.
Viktor turns at the sound of Yuri's feet on the stairs, heart shaped smile already in place. "Yura!"
Katsudon startles at his shout, but quickly recovers. "Feeling better?"
"Hn," Yuri responds, trekking past them and into the kitchen. He's starving. He throws a Hot Pocket into the microwave and pours himself a glass of juice.
He takes both into the living room and dumps himself into a chair. They're watching Harry Potter, he notices, and perks up. He likes the series. He started reading the books after they moved to America. More often than not, Katsudon had come down in the middle of the night to get something to drink only to scold Yuri for still being awake. Katsudon always made him promise to go to bed after he finished the chapter he was on, so he got some sleep before he had to get back up for morning practices.
Oliver crawls out from under the couch and darts straight for Yuri's food. Yuri scowls and holds his Hot Pocket out of the kitten's reach. "Not for you, you beggar." His voice is scratchy, catching in his throat after sleeping for so long. He shoves the last of his food it in his mouth, and Olive mewls in protest. "Pathetic," Yuri grumbles around the mouthful. He pets Oliver anyways, and when Oliver rolls over in his lap, Yuri scratches his stomach.
He finishes his juice and puts his feet on the coffee table, until Katsudon kicks them off with a tsk.
His phone vibrates against his leg, and Yuri thumbs his unlock pattern to see the notification.
V-Nikiforov mentioned you in a post: Yurio's feeling better! #kitties #Yurio #Yuuri…
Yuri shoots Viktor a dirty look.
It's a photo. Yuri looks fucking stupid. He's still kind of pale and is hair is a mess, pieces hanging this way and that after escaping the quick bun he'd thrown it in before he slept. He's glaring at the cat while trying to defend his Hot Pocket and Katsudon is watching in amusement, chin propped in his hand with his elbow resting on the arm of the couch.
Viktor is grinning at him. Yuri ignores him and scrolls through the comments.
phichit+chu: Glad you're feeling better Yuri!
anananana: ooooohhh shit look at my boy !
iloveviktor: im the cat
christophe-gc: loving that sweater Yuuri K.
Yuri snorts because he's pretty sure the sweater is Christophe's and that Christophe knows it, too. Viktor is still waiting for him to blow up, so Yuri just…doesn't.
Viktor lasts all of two minutes. "Yuuurraaa, how did you like the photo?"
"Hn."
"I think the lighting made you look a bit pasty, unfortunately," Viktor prods.
Yuri grits his teeth and ignores him, but Viktor is nothing if not persistent and after three minutes of Viktor staring Yuri can't take it anymore.
"Stop fucking looking at me, asshole!"
Viktor and Katsudon visibly relax. Katsudon even lets out a sigh and they share a look.
"The fuck was that?"
"What?"
"You know what, fucker!"
Katsudon laughs, "Well, it's just that if you can yell like that we know that you're really okay now."
Viktor nods. "Yuuri was really worried about you. He said, 'Viiiityaaa what do we do?' and I think he even cried a bit!"
Katsudon waves his hands in protest. "That was you! Freaking out like 'Yuuuurriii, he's so quiet. Why is he so quiet? Is he dying? Oh, god let me look it up.'"
Katsudon's impression is spot on and Yuri can't fucking help it. He throws his head back against the chair and he laughs and laughs and it feels good. Then Katsudon is laughing too and Viktor is spluttering excuses and Yuri can't breathe. His stomach aches, but it's nice.
Viktor settles back against the couch and pouts and it's funnier this way somehow, because Yuri can tell that it's fake, can see the twinging of Viktor's lips as he fights away his own laughter.
Family.
The word pops into his mind of its own volition, and Yuri falters, trying to get a hold of himself.
Katsudon does another impression as he lets Makka in, and Viktor opens his arms wide, begging the dog to love him.
Makka walks right passed him and noses at Yuri's legs.
Viktor cries out, affronted, and Katsudon collapses on the couch in a fit.
And suddenly, here with Katsudon pressing his hands against his stomach, laughing so hard there are tears rolling down his face, and Viktor whining in protest, the family thing makes sense.
And Yuri, for all that he pretends otherwise, is glad that Viktor went to Japan when he did, because this knots a feeling in his chest and it's thick and noticeable, but it's warm.
He doesn't want to let it go.
Not that Yuri would ever fucking say it out loud.