All he wanted to do was sleep. The past four days had been hell, starting with the splitting headache he'd woken up with and the connecting flight cancellation due to terrible weather plagued across Canada. Being from Russia, Yurio was used to the snow, but being snowed in at an airport for a day and a half before Viktor gave up, declaring he was just going to drive the 8 hours to Toronto, hadn't really been the highlight of his competition. Not to mention Viktor wasn't the best driver. When they finally reached Toronto, a day later than expected, Yurio had gone against Viktor's wishes and forced himself to the rink to make-up for lost time. It wasn't until Yuuri had forcibly hauled him from the ice that Yurio finally decided it was time to rest. But even with his full 6 hours, all he really wanted to do, was sleep… And, if he was being completely honest with himself, he really didn't feel that great either.
He started feeling off once they touched down in Canada, but with the competition, there was no way he was going to mention that to Yuuri or Viktor. He didn't want to do or say anything that would prevent him from skating. Besides he'd already downed about 4 aspirin before they left for the rink this morning; he was just hoping it would freaking kick in. Yurio bit his bottom lip and folded his arms over the railing, watching JJ skate. His stomach turned violently and he bit back a groan, closing his eyes briefly to block out the light. He was next to skate, and with Viktor and Yuuri standing basically on top of him, there was no way in hell he would be able to relieve the nausea, or choke down some more Tylenol, without them knowing. He clinched his fists, breathing slowly, and waited for his stomach to calm down. He heard cheering and the announcer saying something about how magnificent JJ's performance was. Pathetic.
He felt someone nudge him gently and opened his eyes slowly, turning to face Yuuri. The Japanese skater was watching him closely, worry and concern already etched onto his face. Freaking great. Yurio turned back to face the ice, waiting for JJ to step out of the rink. He looked up in the stands scanning the sea of faces, hoping, that by some miracle, he'd see his grandfather sitting in the crowd. He won't be here stupid. He'll never be. Because you fucked up. Yurio grit his teeth, shook off Katsudon's hand, and pushed away from the railing, making his way towards the ice. He felt the world sway for a second as his head protested at the sudden movement, and slammed into Viktor's chest awkwardly. "Easy Yurio," Viktor laughed gently, grabbing the teenager's arm and standing him upright. He glanced down at Yurio, his face clouding with concern before glimpsing quickly at Yuuri who stood a few feet away. Yuuri shrugged his shoulders and crossed his arms, coming closer to where the two skaters stood. He looked over at Yurio once more, taking in the kid's pale face, tinted cheeks and sluggish movements. Yuuri bit his lip, hoping the kid would admit to being sick, or at least, stop trying to hide it. It had taken him and Viktor a while to figure it out, but it wasn't until Viktor had to rip the sheets away from the teenager this morning, that they began to piece things together. Yurio was normally an early riser, (Yuuri and Viktor have gone into their kitchen several times early in the morning, finding the teenager eating a bowl of cereal, or texting on his phone on the couch), and the fact that he protested the idea of leaving his bed this morning, was worrying in its self. Yurio tried pushing away, smacking Viktor in the chest as JJ's score was called again over the arena.
"Yurochka, you feel okay?" Viktor asked gently, reaching down to touch teenager's forehead. Yurio smacked Viktor's hand away and pushed away from Viktor harshly, only to fall against Yuuri. "Don't touch me old man," Yurio spat bitterly, glaring at Viktor. He was shaking by now, and he wiped his running nose with his sleeve. Why was it so damn hot in here? Hurt flashed over Viktor's face for a second before he shook his head, a soft smile returning to his face. Why are you always smiling? It's creepy, Yurio thought, taking his skate guards off, his hand pressed against Yuuri's shoulder to steady himself. He turned and handed them to Yuuri, noticing for the umpteenth time that the Japanese skater was still studying him intently. "Stop fucking looking at me, you pig!" Yurio yelled, crossing his arms. He had enough on his mind, enough to worry about, and having Katsudon and the Geezer watching him like a hawk, was not helping. He cleared his throat, stifling the cough trying to escape his lips, and sniffed softly, hoping he could hold off any sneezing until after the program. Yuuri gave him a gentle smile, "Yura, you sure you-" Yuuri started, reaching for the teen's arm once more. Yurio's name was called over the loud speaker and he winced slightly. God his head hurt.
"Ah! Fuck off Katsudon!" Yurio yelled, pushing Yuuri away from him harshly. He didn't need this right now. He needed to get to the ice, it was his turn. The faster he got his performance over with, the faster he could go back to the hotel and sleep. And he really wanted to sleep. His head was killing him and his stomach was making him regret the protein bar he had forced himself to eat so Viktor would stop asking him questions. He stifled a cough and skated toward the center of the ice. He shivered slightly. He really didn't need this right now.
He was sick and tired of Viktor and that piglet trying to treat him like a baby. He wasn't a baby, he was almost an adult; he was 16, almost 17; he was the Russian Punk for crying out loud! And the Russian Punk didn't show weakness. Sure he felt like shit but there was no way in hell he was going to admit that to those two. He shuddered at the thought of them being all lovey-dovey with each other. It wasn't their job to take care of him. It was his Grandpa's, and he had left him. NO! Don't think about that right now! What is wrong with you! Concentrate! Yuri! Concentrate. He let out a loud sigh and closed his eyes waiting for the music to start. He could hear Viktor yelling encouraging words from the sidelines and felt his stomach flip. Viktor and Yuuri were making him sick, with all their p.d.a. and their lovey-dovey bullshit. He would rather have his Grandpa here than those two. But he wasn't going to come, he would never come… not anymore. Yurio inhaled sharply, feeling tears well in his eyes and bit the inside of his lip. He wasn't going to cry. The Russian Punk didn't cry… ever. He slowed his breathing and coughed again, calming himself down. You must have a fever dumbass, that's why you're shaking, that's why you keep thinking about Grandpa! He let out another sigh, and cleared his throat. He could feel sweat beginning to coat his body and shivered again despite the heat running off him. His headache was beginning to spread down his neck and he wondered if this was a good idea. He pushed this thought aside and opened his eyes. Then the music started.
…
Fuck. This was the first thought that crossed Yurio's mind as he finished his performance. Sweat was dripping down his face now, and despite his performance, he was still cold. He sneezed loudly, wiping his nose with the back of his hand and took a gentle bow. His stomach twisted again and he swallowed thickly, feeling his body growing numb. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He needed to get off the ice, he needed get his skates off, and he needed to get away from the overly affectionate lovebirds, before he puked. He coughed, instantly regretting this decision as bile rose in his throat. He swallowed again and felt his stomach churn angrily. He needed to get to a bathroom. Now.
He clenched his fists, feeling his hands shaking and his face heating up. He skated to the edge of the ice quickly and roughly pushed past Viktor's passionately emotional praises and Yuuri's concerned looks. "Hey Yurio!" Yuuri call after him but the teenager didn't bother turning around. Yuuri wasn't his concern right now. They probably thought he was being a dick to them anyway… like always. But he didn't care. He felt his body shaking and pushed past the journalists, fans, and paparazzi trying to bombard him with questions. He didn't bother responding, he was too scared to anyway. He stifled another cough as his stomach lurched. Fuck. He wasn't going to last much longer.
It wasn't until his feet touched the tiled floor in the hallway, and he crashed to the ground, that he realized his fatal mistake. He forgot to take his skates off, or, at least, forgot to put his skate guards on. He tried his best to catch himself against the wall but his head reeled and his feet scraped across the foreign ground. He groaned, putting his hand to his mouth hoping he would have a chance. His stomach lurched again and the acidic taste of vomit filled his mouth. He felt the warm liquid coat his hands even before he hit the ground. He crashed to his hands and knees in a chaotic mess as his stomach continued to lurch and Yurio found himself puking up another round of acidic bile. He felt a gentle hand on the back of his neck, and turned slightly to see Yuuri squatting next to him. "Oh Yura," Yuuri said softly, running his hands over the boy's back, hoping to provide a small amount of comfort.
Tears streamed down Yurio's face as he continued to retch. He sniffed loudly, hoping it was less obvious to the people surrounding him that the Russian Punk was crying. He wished he could wipe them away but his hands were too busy holding up his trembling body. He wished he could stop the tears from flowing down his face, he wished he could stop his stomach from rebelling against him, and he wished his headache would lighten up, but his whole body seemed to be fighting against him today. He wished his Grandpa was here. Yurio coughed again as another bout of vomit forced its way up his throat. He closed his eyes, concentrating on Yuuri's hand on his back and the comforting words he was whispering to him. He hated this. He hated how bad he felt. He hated being sick. He hated how much he yearned for Yuuri's comfort. He hated how much he wanted Yuuri to make it better.
"Shh, it's okay, it's okay honey. Just get it up. It's okay. You're okay. We're okay," Yuuri said softly, tucking a loose strand of Yurio's hair behind his ear. He smiled slightly, thankful the teenager's hair was still slightly tied up from his performance. Yuuri shifted closer again; he was doing his best to shield the puking teenager from the ongoing paparazzi a few feet away. Yurio pitched forward once more, expelling more stomach acid onto the ugly tiled floor. "Shh, Yurio, you're okay. It's okay baby, just relax. It's alright. Just breathe." Yuuri whispered again. He could feel the heat rolling off the younger skater, causing his worry to spike higher. The kid definitely had a fever, that much Yuuri could tell.
He'd never seen Yurio so sick. I mean yeah, he'd seen the boy throw up before, but he'd never seen him like this. He could hear Viktor talking loudly behind him, trying his best to distract the paparazzi towards him instead of Yurio, but Yuuri could still see the flashing of camera's bouncing off the wall in front of him. Yurio groaned loudly, clenching his eyes shut, and Yuuri shrugged his jacket off gently and wrapped it around the teenager's shaking frame. He pulled the kid to his feet, wrapping his arm around his waist as Yurio began to collapse into him. He pulled Yurio as close to him as he could, letting him rest his head against his shoulder, hoping it would shield him more from the vicious crowd.
Yuuri tried his best to go slow but he just wanted Yurio to be out of the paparazzi's grasp. He felt the kid stumble, and tightened his grip. "Katsu- Y-Yuuri," Yurio choked out softly. He gulped quickly as his body pitched forward again, spewing vomit down Yuuri's shirt. Yuuri inhaled sharply and stopped, clutching Yurio's waist and shoulder's tightly, hoping to keep the kid upright. "It's okay. It's okay. I'm not mad. It's okay." he said gently. Yurio dropped his head against Yuuri's shoulder again, groaning. His body felt like it was moving slowly, but his head was spinning. He just wanted to lie down.
Yuuri could feel the warm liquid soaking into his shirt and shuddered. He had been sick several thousand times before, so getting puked on wasn't a big deal to him, but it wasn't a pleasant feeling. He could still hear Viktor talking to the crazed horde behind him and turned around to see his shadow outlined behind the door. Yuuri turned back around and scanned the open corridor for the nearest bathroom. After what seemed like an eternity, he found the locker room at the very end of the hall.
He helped Yurio sit down on one of the benches and knelt down to undo the boy's skates. Yurio smacked his head against Yuuri's shoulder, and groaned loudly, crossing his arms over his stomach. He really wanted to sleep. "I didn't know someone so small could puke so much," Yuuri joked as he continued to unknot the teenager's skates. Yurio groaned again and Yuuri bit his bottom lip, anxiety and worry plastered to his face. If Yurio wasn't willing to force a sarcastic comeback or yell at him, then this was bad.
Yuuri slid Yurio's skates off and reached up to stop his glasses from falling off his nose. He put his hand on the teenager's shivering back, "Yurio, hey, how do you feel now?" he asked quietly. Yurio swallowed and mumbled something incoherent into Yuuri's shoulder. Yuuri ran his hand over the boy's shoulder blades, and stood up gently. Yurio kept his head down. He didn't want to look Yuuri in the eyes. He couldn't look Yuuri in the eyes. He wanted his Grandpa. His stomach clenched, and his mouth began to fill with saliva and watery stomach acid. He crossed his arms tighter around his stomach.
Yuuri ran his hand through the teenager's sweaty hair, the two braids no longer present in his blonde locks, "let's get you cleaned up some huh? Then we'll get you back to the hotel." He said gently. Yurio shook his head letting out a wet cough, "Y-Yuuri-" he panted. His breathing hitched and he leaned forward, clenching his mouth shut. Yuuri quickly grabbed the kid's arm forcing him to his feet, leading him towards a bathroom stall.
Once inside Yurio dropped to his knees, hard. He hung his head over the small bowl and began choking up whatever was trying to tear his body apart. His body lurched violently and vomit spewed past his dried lips, rubbing harshly against his already raw throat. His stomach lurched again and again until he was sure he was going to start throwing up organs. Yuuri sat next to him, trying to offer comfort to the sick kid by rubbing small circles in his back and whispering comforting words. Yurio's back was slick with sweat; his face was the color of the white tile beneath him, and his body shivered harshly. He whimpered loudly, sucking in a ragged breath, trying his best to will his stomach to stop. He felt tears pricking at his eyes again and he closed them, hoping to stop them from leaving. He really wanted his Grandpa.
Yuuri heard the locker room door open and turned to see Viktor leaning against the stall door, a sympathetic look masking his face. Yurio coughed again, sucking in air harshly as another thin stream of vomit escaped his mouth. He moaned again, swallowing loudly, and tried his best to slow his breathing. Yuuri turned back towards the boy, running his hand over the kid's sweaty back once more. Viktor removed his gloves, sticking them in his pocket and grabbed some paper towels from the canister on the wall. He walked back over to the heaving boy and slid down gently next to Yuuri.
Yurio heard the toilet flush as he leaned back against the wall, shakily. He was so tired. So fucking tired. His throat hurt like hell, and his stomach, thankfully no longer nauseous, burned. He sneezed loudly and groaned as someone pressed their hand to his forehead. He opened his eyes to a spinning room, and blinked a few times trying to clear his vision. The harsh lights burned his eyes. He really really wanted to sleep.
Viktor was now kneeling in front of the teenager, his hand pressed against his burning forehead, his other touching Yuuri's. A frown was plastered to his face and he pressed his lips together firmly. He dropped his hand from Yuuri's forehead and turned to give him a worried expression. Yuuri asked him something in Japanese, and Viktor nodded. He gently moved his hand from Yurio's forehead to his cheek, "You have a fever Yura," He whispered sadly.
Yurio shrugged, feeling his throat tighten and tears swelling in his eyes. For the millionth time tonight, he wanted his Grandpa. He didn't want to be crammed into a tiny bathroom in a foreign place, in a foreign country, with these two. He didn't want Yuuri and Viktor to be the ones who had to take care of him. It wasn't their job. He didn't want this to be happening. He didn't want to be here. Don't be weak. Don't be weak. The Russian Punk isn't weak. Don't cry. Grandpa would tell you not to cry. He swallowed harshly and wiped his nose again as Yuuri handed him some crumpled paper towels. He wiped his chin harshly and threw the paper in the trash next to the toilet. He slammed back against the wall behind him as tears began to slide down his face. He tried to say something sarcastic but all that came out was a half-choked sob. He clenched his teeth as Viktor looked down at him again, confusion etching across his face, "Why the tears Yurio?"
Yurio shook his head slowly before bursting into tears, "I'm-I'm sorry." He wiped roughly the tears that streamed down his cheeks. You made them worry, you stupid kid. Now Katusdon won't sleep, and Viktor will call you a softy because you're weak. Yakov would be disappointed with you. You're supposed to be strong like a soldier. It's not their job to look after you. You should be able to look after yourself. You should've been able to look after Grandpa! If he was here, he'd know what to do to make you feel better. He should be here…. Not these two!
Panic painted Yuuri's face as he continued to wipe off the boy's costume, he shifted slightly giving Viktor an alarmed look. Yurio never cries, ever. He turned back to face the boy, "Shh, Yurio, it's okay. It's going to be alright." Yurio gulped loudly letting out another rough cough and Viktor winced slightly because his cough sounded bad. Viktor ran a hand through Yurio's sweaty hair and took some of the paper towels from Yuuri, who was desperately trying to calm the sobbing teenager. "Why are you sorry koneko?" He asked softly, wiping Yurio's hands with one of the towels. Yuuri got up carefully, walking over to the sink and grabbed a few more towels before running them under the water.
Yurio wiped again at the tears that fell from his eyes, wincing as his head throbbed under the florescent lights. He felt something wet touch his forehead and flinched, realizing Yuuri was crouched next to him now, his hand pressing a wet paper towel to his overheated forehead. He ran his thumb across Yurio's cheek, wiping some of the tears that streamed down his pale face. "Why are you sorry?" He asked gently. Yurio let out another sniff, trying to calm down, "I'm sorry I ruined your shirt, and threw up… I'm sorry I'm making you worry more and that you have to look after me. And I'm sorry you have to see me like this," He coughed again as Yuuri motioned for Viktor to hold the towel against the teenager's forehead, "And- and I'm sorry I embarrassed you, and that I'm all nasty and sweaty, and that I'm crying… I just- I don't want to look weak because you're aren't weak and I'm not a baby. And I really, I don't feel well, and I want my Grandpa…"
Yurio trailed off, his English cutting into Russian. Yuuri's heart broke at the last statement, and he stopped himself from pulling the boy into a hug. He looked over at Viktor, who looked downright alarmed as he tried his best soothe the teenager by talking to him in Russian. Yuuri ran his hand through the Yurio's hair once more and got up gently, walking over to his bag laying across the locker room bench. He started rummaging through it, hoping to find a water bottle, and looked up as the locker room door swung open, and Christophe stepped through.
Christophe stood there, staring at Yuuri for a brief second before turning his attention towards the two Russians sitting on the floor in the stall. A smirk crossed his face slowly as he turned back towards Yuuri, "What, the poor tike tired already?"
"Get out," Yuuri growled, hearing Viktor still talking to Yurio behind him. Christophe looked taken back for a second before he nodded, "Fine, I was just coming in here to change anyway." Yuuri adjusted his glasses and pushed the bag aside as Christophe turned to leave.
"Wait," he cleared his throat, "do you have any water?"
Christophe eyed him again before walking over to a locker and pulling out a bottle of water, handing it to Yuuri. "Here," he said softly. Yuuri thanked him and turned around before he felt someone touch his arm.
"Yuuri, I was joking earlier. I didn't mean any harm." Christophe whispered.
Yuuri nodded, "I know."
Yuuri crouched once more besides Yurio, handing the teenager the bottle of water and letting him take a few sips before screwing the cap back on. Yurio was quiet now except for the soft sniffing and silent tears that fell from his eyes softly. Viktor sighed as Yuuri leaned back against the opposite wall from Yurio, his hand brushing against Yuuri's.
Yurio swallowed, leaning his head against the wall, wishing he could fall asleep. His headache, which had started behind his eyes had now moved, embedding itself into his jaw bone, painting across his cheeks. Yuuri leaned forward slightly, "I'm really sorry you don't feel well Yura," he said softly, taking the water from the teenager, "and believe me, if there was something I could do to take it away, or switch places with you, then I would in a heartbeat." He looked at Viktor, smiling slightly, before turning back to face Yurio, "but you don't need to apologize."
Yurio coughed again, wiping his nose on Yuuri's jacket, and looking at Viktor. Viktor laughed gently, "Honestly Yurio, I can't tell you how many times I've embarrassed myself in front of the paparazzi."
Yuuri brushed some hair from the kid's face gently, "And I can't tell you how many times I've puked in front of them."
Viktor shook his head, his silver hair covering his face momentarily, "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, it happens. You should never have to apologize for being sick. We're not mad… I am sorry though, I don't think I got to all of the cameras in time, so I do apologize if you show up in some tabloid," He paused, pulling Yuuri's jacket further on Yurio's shoulder as the teenager shivered, "But Yurio, Yuuri and I, we're not mad or embarrassed."
Yuuri laughed softly, "I'm not mad about my shirt either Yura. It's a shirt, and if I'm being completely honest, I don't even like it-"
Viktor scoffed dramatically, throwing his short hair behind his shoulder and putting his hand to his mouth, "I gave you that shirt as a birthday gift!" Yurio blinked a few times, looking over at Yuuri, who sat there looking completely mortified. Yuuri gulped loudly, "I-I- Vitya-"
Viktor burst out laughing, "I'm only joking love, I have no idea where you bought that awful shirt."
Yuuri shook his head as Yurio snorted before breaking out in a coughing fit. He felt a hand on his shoulder and leaned his head back against the wall and wiping his nose with some of the paper towels Yuuri handed to him. The locker room was quite for a few minutes. Outside the crowd was yelling something, and the announcer's voice boomed through the arena.
"Yurochka listen," Viktor began, putting his hand under the teenager's chin gently, forcing him to look at him, "There is nothing more on this earth that I wish for more than to be able to bring your Grandfather back. I'm so sorry I can't. I truly am," Viktor sighed softly, wiping some tears that still fell from Yurio's eyes with his thumb, "…But after he- When Yuuri and I agreed to let you stay with us, for as long as you wanted to, we agreed knowing full well what we were getting into. Trust us koneko, we agreed to take care of you, to be there for the good and the bad of Yuri Plisetsky, whether that be wins, birthdays, breaks, or illnesses, because we care about you. You're our family now and we love you all the same Yura, no matter what. Nothing you do, or say could possibly change that..." Viktor was quiet for a second, "…But don't you ever think that we view you as weak, because you, Yuri Plisetsky, are anything but. You are so much stronger than any of these other skaters out here, and a few tears aren't going to take that away from you."
"And honestly Yurio, you're worth more to us than some ugly shirt that Viktor gave to me on Valentine's Day," Yuuri said softly, shaking the water in front of the groggy teenager willing him to take a drink.
"It was your birthday, love."
Yuuri rolled his eyes as Yurio took a slow sip, "Yura, I'm not embarrassed by you being so sick, or puking in front of people, or on me, for that matter; and I'm always worried. That's just who I am. I lay awake at night worrying about the amount of orange juice we have in the fridge. You can't change that, trust me, Viktor has tried."
Viktor nodded gently, wiping the remaining tears from Yurio's cheeks with the edge of his jacket. Yurio sneezed again and cleared his throat. He closed his eyes, setting the water down on the floor next to him, crossing his arms over his stomach. He was still freezing but he could feel sweat dripping down his face.
Yuuri sighed before laughing softly, "And I know you didn't tell us because you wanted to skate, but Viktor and I, we would have figured something out. We're not as bad as you might think. I am truly sorry you feel so lousy, and we want to make you feel better. We want to help, but you have to let us Yurio. You have to tell us if you feel this bad."
Viktor nodded again, and Yurio heard him sigh softly, "but if it's any consolation, you were amazing out there today."
Yuuri laughed again, running his fingers through Yurio's hair, "You did an incredible job, especially being this sick."
Yurio opened his eyes slightly as Viktor stood up, pulling Yuuri to his feet gently.
"Now, how about I go grab our stuff from the arena, and Yuuri helps you to the car? Hmmm? Then we can go back to the hotel, and we can all get some much needed rest? Does that sound okay?" Yurio nodded softly pressing his palms to his eyes, trying to wipe away the remaining moisture. His arms felt heavy and he found moving them to be a difficult task in its own. He shivered again, letting out a small cough. He felt someone slip something warm over him and looked down to see Viktor's jacket around his shoulders. He pushed his arms through slowly, and pulled it close, thankful for the extra warmth. He blinked a couple times trying to clear his vision, and felt Yuuri pulling him to his feet. His vision faded for a second as his knees buckled and his stomach clenched. He groaned softly as Yuuri put his arm around his shoulder, leading him towards the door and out into the wintery hell. Yurio shivered again as snow brushed against his face and he leaned heavily against the Japanese skater.
"You're doing great kid," Yuuri said gently, pulling Yurio closer, shivering slightly as the cold air touched his skin.
The walk to the car was painful to say the least. The snow was beginning to come down harder than it had this morning, and Yuuri was thankful the hotel was only an hour away. He sighed softly, feeling the teenager shiver again despite the heat that soaked through his clothes. He bit his lip as the question of stopping at a drug store crossed his mind. They hadn't really brought any medication with them except some Aspirin, and a few Ibuprofen, and they definitely didn't have anything for fevers. He turned to look over his shoulder to see Viktor a few feet behind him, talking with someone who looked like a reporter. Yuuri rolled his eyes and walked over to the car. He helped Yurio into the back seat before climbing in gently.
He felt squished in the tiny backseat but he figured it would be better to be back here incase Yurio puked again, especially since this was a rental. He reached over, putting the keys in the ignition and starting the car before leaning back against the seat. Yurio scooted closer to him, mumbling something in Russian that Yuuri didn't catch, before laying his head in the older skater's lap. He drew his knees against his chest and pulled Viktor's coat closer to him. Yuuri smiled softly, "Get some rest Yurio, we'll be there soon." He ran his fingers gently through the blonde's hair, humming softly, and waited for Viktor to walk to the car.