Well, my mental state totally nose dived this week and I wrote another vent fic.
In any case, this isn't tagged with a relationship because 1) Victor is only in the short towards the end, 2) despite the timeline being somewhat ambiguous, I didn't write it taking place after they actually have a relationship, and 3) that's the not the central focus.
I shouldn't be allowed to use the page break line divider thingy
Warnings: Eating Disorders, Bulimia, Anorexia, Anxiety
Sludge.
It tastes like sludge and Yuuri forces himself to swallow it. He keeps the grimace off his lips, wills down his gag reflex, and takes another bite.
It's supposed to taste good, he knows that, he's tasted it before. But, today, it just doesn't.
He makes himself finish though, because Mari will tell their mother if he doesn't eat. It didn't used to be a big deal, he could skip a meal or two or three with his family none the wiser.
Now, if he so much as thinks about not eating, he'll have to deal with sad eyes and disappointed faces.
And he can't handle that
So he makes sure that Mari sees him finish his food.
Mari's busy with customers, Yuuri puts his food in a container and hides it in the back of the fridge with the rest of the leftovers before going to the ice rink with Yuuko and Takeshi. They're waiting for him, all smiles, and soon the three of them are on the ice.
Yuuri doesn't have to think when he's on the ice. He's never happier than when he's in the rink. He doesn't think about his body, doesn't think about how soft it is when compared to the thin figures he sees in competition.
It's no one's fault really, a stray comment sent Yuuri tumbling down the worst possible rabbit hole, and he's been alternating between falling and clawing his way out for years now.
It's Phichit who finds him, shaking and huddled over a toilet in the bathroom.
"Yuuri," he says, obviously distressed, but Yuuri has more pressing matters to attend to. Of the most urgent; the sludge creeping up his throat.
"I'll get Ciao Ciao, hold on." Then, Phichit is running off.
Yuuri heaves, retching as the last of the sludge drips from his lips. He's still shaking, but he manages to flush the toilet.
Phichit and Celestino rush in. Yuuri looks the part of a sick person; his face is flushed, sweat glistens on his forehead, not to mention he was just puking his guts out. Celestino helps him stand and Yuuri finds himself sitting on the edge of the bathtub.
Celestino leaves with a promise of bringing back tea and soup. Phichit helps Yuuri out of his shirt, and gets up to run a washcloth under the sink tap. Yuuri watches through bubble glass, not feeling the cloth drag across his skin.
Phichit looks worried, but Yuuri doesn't feel guilty behind the glass.
His hands are shaking, he's freezing, and Phichit isn't saying anything.
"I know, I shouldn't-"
Phichit has him in a hug before he can say more. The hug is uncomfortably tight, a boa constrictor intent on squeezing the life out of him. But Yuuri knows what Phichit is feeling, they've been friends for quite a while, and Yuuri's always made it a habit to read people.
Pity.
Guilt.
Fear.
Concern.
"Thank you for telling me," Phichit whispers, words barely above a breath.
Yuuri brings his hands up to rest on Phichit's back. He can't really feel his fingers, he's been chilled numb for the past day and a half, but he curls them into Phichit's shirt.
"Please don't tell Celestino."
"Yuuri-"
"Please, I'll get better, I'll try."
And he wants to. He knows that this isn't right. He knows that the thought of eating shouldn't send him into a downward spiral. He knows that it's not normal to have blurred vision and a burning throat half the time.
It's selfish, asking that Phichit not tell their coach. But if Celestino knows, then Yuuri won't be allowed to skate, and being on the ice is the only time he doesn't have to think.
"Promise me," Phichit tightens his hold, his fingers digging in, nails biting through Yuuri's shirt to his skin.
"I'll try."
He binges, after refusing to eat for days.
He binges and he hates himself for it.
He places dead last.
The phone call is just the icing on top of the cake he'd never eat. Tears build up, and he's trying his best to hold them back. He fails, and he's sobbing in the bathroom stall before he can stop himself.
Then the stall door slams open.
It's through a pane of numbing bubble glass that Yuuri takes in the angry words. Most of it, his brain refuses to let him process, but he latches onto a few key words.
The second the Russian punk leaves the bathroom, Yuuri shoves his fingers down his throat. The residual sludge slinks up and Yuuri tears up further behind his glasses.
Yuuri spends ten minutes scrubbing his hands clean, and an extra fifteen rinsing his mouth. He doesn't bother with his red eyes, Celestino won't judge him for that.
He gets a call from Phichit later that night.
"I know it's hard, but have you eaten?" Phichit asks a few minutes into the call.
"Yes," Yuuri rasps. He ate, but Phichit never specified when.
"Yuuri?"
"Yes?"
"Please don't lie to me."
Yuuri holds his breath, the fingers of his free hand curling into a fist. Phichit cares, he won't get mad. He didn't get mad when Yuuri told him about the sludge back when they were in Detroit. He won't get mad now.
"I couldn't keep it down."
Didn't want to keep it down.
"Oh, Yuuri."
"I'm sorry."
"No, no-"
"I'm so sorry, Phichit. I told you I wouldn't and- I'm so sorry."
"Yuuri Katsuki, you don't have to be sorry. I just wish you'd talk about this, if not with me, then with a professional."
"I'm not sick," Yuuri says quickly.
He's been denying it for so long that it's almost become true. He can't be sick. As long as he can still skate, he's fine.
"I didn't say you are. But this is- you could hurt yourself, and I just want to see you happy again."
Yuuri's hand is shaking, cold shivers wracking his bones.
"Yuuri?"
"I know."
They exchange goodbyes and Yuuri lays back.
Phichit wants him to be happy.
He tries eating breakfast the next morning. He throws it up afterwards and hates himself even more.
Victor calls him piggy.
Alarm bells sound, sirens wail, the dam holding back the flood of insecurities shatters.
He's been doing better, regular calls with Phichit have helped somewhat. There's still sludge in his stomach, but he doesn't force it up as often. His body is holding onto the weight, stubbornly refusing to let it go, so Yuuri avoids mirrors. He goes days without eating, then convinces himself that it's okay, before convincing himself that it's not. He calls Phichit at ungodly hours, cries and tells him every other time it happens.
He's been trying, damn it, he's been trying. But now?
He doesn't want to finish his meal, it will taste like sludge, he knows it will.
Mari gives him a look, but as far as she knows, he's been tip top, a-okay, perfecto, fine for the past few years. He has to finish his food, the saccharine crooning tells him he can get rid of the sludge later.
He does.
He's losing weight.
He works out under Victor's eye, and rids his body of sludge in the dead of the night. He's woozy, light headed, but this sensation isn't new.
It reminds him of his teenage years, and of the latter part of his stay in Detroit.
Eventually, his body loses its grip on the weight it's been holding hostage.
Yuuri can look in mirrors again.
He's allowed on the ice, not a spot of sludge in his stomach.
His victory is bittersweet, he's dazed and floating, and he's not sure if it's the fact that he hasn't eaten, or if it's the win. Maybe a combination.
He keeps the weight off, eats less and vomits less, just enough to keep the light headedness at bay.
He sees Phichit again and knows he'll have to lie to someone.
Phichit knows, he knows and Victor doesn't.
Phichit takes one look at him and drags him off. He twists his hands into Yuuri's lapels and bows his head to Yuuri's chest.
"How are you?" he asks softly.
Yuuri is half tempted to tell Phichit everything. But he doesn't. He wraps his arms around his friend and squeezes.
"Better, I feel happy, finally."
Phichit takes that to mean he's keeping down the sludge, Yuuri is happy because there's no sludge corroding his insides.
That's okay though, Phichit is happy because he thinks Yuuri is.
Yes, that's okay.
Victor finds out.
Yuuri has sludge on his lips and on his fingers, his breath heavy with the smell. He stutters, trying to grab at an explanation.
He has food poisoning.
His stomach is upset.
He's sick.
Oh, God, he's sick. He's so sick and Victor knows now.
They're both frozen, eyes locked, neither daring to so much as breathe.
Eventually, Yuuri's brain screams at him to say something .
"Victor, I- I-"
"Let's get you cleaned up."
For all of the worry that Yuuri feels rolling off Victor in waves, the older man moves with ease. He flushes the toilet and takes Yuuri by his clean hand, tugging him gently to his feet and over to the counter. The sound of the faucet starting seems louder than usual, but Yuuri washes his hands, Victor squeeze soap into his palms and waits patiently.
While Yuuri brushes his teeth, he keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the water running from the tap.
His gears turn, spitting out reason after reason as to why Victor hasn't said anything. Hundred of explanations, scenarios of how this will play out.
Victor will feel sorry for him.
Victor will be disgusted.
Victor will hate him.
Victor will tell him that they can talk later.
Victor will tell him that they can talk later, then leave while Yuuri sleeps.
Victor will leave as soon as Yuuri's done brushing his teeth.
So Yuuri keeps brushing his teeth, and ignores Victor's sound of confusion when he adds more toothpaste to the bristles on his brush.
He's about to brush his teeth a third time when Victor takes hold of his arm. His grip is soft, but firm, more of a concernee warning than anything else.
"Yuuri, I'm not going anywhere."
Yuuri nods and rinses his mouth of the remaining minty foam before letting Victor walk him out of the bathroom. They sit on the bed and Victor doesn't hesitate to pull Yuuri into his lap.
"Victor-"
"There's a reason, isn't there?"
A reason?
A passing comment about needing to eat less led to him doing just that. A hospital visit when he was young led to his parents watching his eating habits like hawks. The desperation to lose weight led to forced vomiting. His body's treacherous habit of weight fluctuation drove his anxiety through the roof and his self image into the ground. He's a figure skater, he has to maintain optimal weight, he never wants to see himself-
"Yuuri?"
"I- I don't know."
Victor sighs before pulling Yuuri closer, propping his chin atop Yuuri's head.
"Just talk, Yuuri, it doesn't have to make sense. I won't say anything until you're done."
Victor isn't mad, he won't be mad. Phichit wasn't mad, he was upset, but not mad. Never mad at Yuuri. But Phichit is Phichit and Victor is Victor. Phichit is his friend of some time now. Victor may leave him, that's still a possibility.
Yuuri doesn't want to tell him anything .
"Yuuri?" It's not warning, it's a question.
"Hm?"
"Back in Hasestu, when I- Did I-"
Oh.
"It's been happening before that, long before that," Yuuri says, voice scarcely above a whisper.
Neither of them say anything else.
Yuuri drifts, his mind explaining in detail how everything is going to fall apart. Victor doesn't press him for details, but Yuuri can feel how tense he is, how tightly he's holding on.
Competitions are done for now, so Yuuri can't be banned from the ice for the season, but he can be banned from the ice until the next season. He can be banned from even putting on his skates until he talks about this, whatever this truly is.
He doesn't want to talk about it, not at all.
Not ever.
Not trying to villainize Victor, I feel like I have to clarify that. But for anyone who's never dealt with an eating disorder, a nickname like that kickstarts a downward spiral like you wouldn't believe.
Also, I just don't have a happy ending in me right now, so I apologize.
I just realized that this is the second fic I've written about an eating disorder. I need to get my shit together and sort out my coping, god damn.