Chapter 6: August

"Hi, girls! Have you finished school already?"

At Victor's exclamation, his voice echoing across the expanse of the rink, Yuuri paused in his turn and glanced towards him. In a sweeping glide, Victor ceased his own sequence and took himself towards the boards. He all but hung over the wall as he propped his elbows on top and leant towards where Axel, Lutz, and Loop had appeared. The three girls, nothing if not enthusiastic Victor fans in the most demanding manner, were clamouring to speak over one another.

"Victor, you came early today? You should have told us and we would have –"

"- your music, right? Did we just miss your routine? Will you show us –?"

" – said you'd help me with my camel spin if I –"

It was an explosive mixture of excitement, demands, and eager questioning the likes that only children could perform, and Yuuri found himself smiling. The girls had taken to Victor more intensely this year than they had before. Yuuri suspected it had more than a little to do with their heightened interest in figure skating; while it had always been strong, the competitive streak and pursuit of performance hadn't been so much a repertoire of their own skating hobbies last time he'd visited home.

In the past, Victor might not have been as ready to offer a word or a moment of his time in helping them. Or he might have, but he likely wouldn't have been all that much of a benefit. That had changed a little over the years; while Yuuri still firmly believed that Victor was far more suited to competing than coaching others, he'd gotten better. Definitely.

Over his shoulder, Yuuri heard the sharp click of a tongue. "Wasting time… We've hardly done anything today. Would it kill him to focus a little?"

Yuuri glanced towards where Yurio drifted past behind him, lips pursed and frowning towards Victor and the girls bouncing in step as if on springs. His frown deepened slightly as Victor exclaimed overloudly, his words followed moments later the chatter of voices and an outburst of laughter.

Yuuri held his tongue. He didn't wholly agree with Yurio; they had been training for nearly two hours already, with the second half of that time in isolation from the general public, and Victor as much as any of them. Besides that, the girls brought a sense of excitement and joviality to the rink. If anything, Yuuri thought that their animation was a benefit, their enthusiasm providing just a little more supportive motivation.

It was almost like having a cheer squad. An admittedly picky, critical, and highly opinionated cheer squad.

And yet at the same time, Yuuri didn't completely disagree with Yurio, either. Rather, he found a big part of him agreed all too readily, because…

Opens starts in barely a handful of weeks.

Yuuri felt his smile fade at the thought. The opens, and the championship that would follow and build upon the results of the competition, would signal the start of the upcoming season. Yurio would be heading back to Saint Petersburg soon, and Victor likely with him. In all likelihood, Yuuri would accompany with them. He'd loved visiting home, and was firmly embedded in his routine in an effort to train himself, but the facilities and companionship of the skaters back in Russia were beneficial in a different way. Full immersion in his skating: that was what Yuuri knew he needed.

And he did need it. He sorely needed it.

Endless hours of working out. Morning runs that became less and less of such and more of a 'pre-morning' run with autumn encroaching. Hours in Minako's studio, because Yuuri knew it would help him, and as much time spent on the rink as he could manage. Yuuri had even grown to disregard the awkwardness of public's watching eyes when he, Victor, and Yurio arrived before closing. The opportunity for extra time made it worth it.

But even with his commitment – even with the hours he put in, the single-minded determination, the exclusion of distraction for the more immediate, necessary concern – Yuuri knew he wasn't up to scratch. He was flubbing his jumps more often than he had in months, and it was terrifying. He was making foolish mistakes for reasons he couldn't quite discern, and that was terrifying too. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was the typical nervousness pinned to upcoming competitions and the fear that he would fail.

Or maybe it was because of the nagging, unshakeable voice in the back of his mind that seemed to speak every one of his insecurities with a single, recurring statement.

Maybe you really have reached your peak and you're on the downhill slide? It wouldn't be impossible. If anything, it's likely.

That thought was the most terrifying. It was what urged Yuuri to haul himself from bed before the sun had even hinted at rising, despite his worrying keeping him up till long after Victor's soft breaths and muted murmurs signalled his own sleep. It was what had him pushing for that extra stretch, those extra minutes, that final practice, before turning in for the night.

It was what had him checking his measurements at the gym more and more frequently of late, too, just to be sure he wasn't letting himself go without even realising it.

It was what had him substantiating on a coffee for breakfast, another instead of lunch most days when he could avoid eating with his friends, and purging any dinner he picked at. He didn't need anything more than that. He'd grown efficient with his diet, knew how long he had to wait to retreat to the bathroom, how long he could spend within, to avoid curious gazes and a question: "Where did you go for so long?"

Some days, the reassurance that Yuuri was doing something to keep himself in shape, something that could beat the possibility of a binge and went beyond simply exercising, was the only way he could bring himself to sit in the dining room of his parents' onsen. It was the only way he could smile and pretend, and all of it… it all helped when he questioned that he really might be on the route to disaster as that journalist's article had claimed months before.

Glancing towards Yurio, Yuuri momentarily placed Victor and his distraction aside. How Victor could manage to be so excitable, so joyful, so reciprocating of the animation the girls thrummed with, was a mystery to Yuuri, but he let him have it. In some ways, it was reassuring to his entire other affliction of concern for Victor's own supposed retirement. He hadn't said anything pertaining to it for weeks, but Yuuri didn't forget. He couldn't.

"Did you want to go through your middle section again?" he asked of Yurio, gesturing vaguely. "You said you wanted to practice the quicksteps, didn't you?"

In Yuuri's opinion, Yurio couldn't really improve in his sequence all that much. He was a well-rounded skater, had always been well-rounded, and if Victor always claimed that Yuuri still had one up on him in his footwork… well, that was Victor's opinion only.

Yurio drew his attention back towards Yuuri and clicked his tongue once more. "It's an annoying sequence."

"It looks impressive," Yuuri said. "And it's different for you, so –"

"I know, I know, trying to be original and surprising and all that." Yurio scuffed the back of his head with a hand, turning idly in a circle. "I don't think I'll ever understand Victor's fixation with originality."

Yuuri didn't reply. Yurio might not understand why wowing the audience in an entirely unexpected manner was important. He did his own kind of wowing simply from stepping onto the ice, by performing such glorious and seamless jumps, leaps, and turns that he captivated his audience. He was much like Victor in that regard; he'd taken the figure skating world by storm just as Victor had himself years before.

Victor was an incredible skater. Was still an incredible skater, and so was Yurio. Yuuri couldn't help but watch them both with a keep eye, attentive of their performances as much for the beauty as in an attempt to learn from them both. Sometimes it was a little hard to climb onto the ice with them with the knowledge that they outweighed him so heavily in flare and skill.

"That's because you're not seeing yourself," Victor had chided Yuuri when he'd mentioned his discomfort. "What makes you think that you're not impressive too?"

Victor was always ready with flattery, just as he was with suggestions and critique. It made it almost hard to believe it was usually exaggeration.

"You're still holding the world record, idiot," Yurio had grumbled on a number of occasions. "Not for long, of course, but stop worrying. The numbers count."

In some ways, Yurio's words were a little more reassuring – until Yuuri was struck by the reminder that records and winning scores were firmly seated in the past. They held nothing upon the skill of now. And with age and the accompanying restrictions weighing upon him… how long until Yurio made good his committed challenge?

It felt good to offer a word of advice, or a critical eye of his own, when Yuuri watched Yurio fall back into his routine. Victor was right on that count, at least; Yuuri did know how to place his feet. Or at least he did most of the time. Yurio was taking his third turn of the rink, the quickstep of his motions seeming to sing the music of his routine in its melodious absence, when Victor drew alongside him.

For a moment, they watched Yurio in mutual silence. Then, as he twisted out of a turn, checked himself, then spun in a rapid twist in the other direction, Victor hummed his approval. "See? He couldn't manage that quite so well barely a month ago."

Yuuri nodded, even if he only half agreed. Yurio's 'not quite so well' was all but equivalent to everyone else's best. "He slips in his Choctaw turns so fast you can hardly believe it."

A smile touched his lips as Victor glanced towards him. "I think he learnt that from you."

Yuuri blinked, glancing sharply towards Victor. "What?"

"He was watching you for ages last year, you know." Victor's smile unfurled like a flower. "You didn't notice?"

"I… what?"

"Yes, yes, and he asked me to show him because he couldn't bring himself to ask you." Victor shook his head. "Too prideful, sometimes. There's no shame in asking an admired competitor for suggestions."

Yuuri nodded slowly, a little disbelievingly, as he turned his gaze back to Yurio right before Yurio leapt into a jump. Yuuri himself had certainly asked enough people for their help. Why hadn't Yurio just asked him directly? He'd asked for other suggestions before, and a Choctaw was far from being a particularly difficult manoeuvre, depending upon what it led from and into. So why…?

"You're too much of a competitor in his eyes sometimes, I think," Victor said, as though reading his mind.

"That just sounds silly," Yuuri murmured.

"But true."

"Then why did he ask you?"

Victor was silent for so long that Yuuri glanced towards him. His smile had died a little, fading, though not in its sincerity. He cocked his head almost expectantly, and Yuuri felt his stomach seize. "Victor, you're not referring to –"

"Oh, calm down, calm down," Victor overrode him, slinging and arm around Yuuri's neck and tugging him into his side. Yuuri skittered on the ice only briefly. "You're such a worrier sometimes."

Yuuri swallowed the sickening feeling rising in the back of his throat. Almost compulsively, he reached for Victor's waist, hooking his arm around him in return as though to cling to him would erase any possibility of Victor drifting away. Victor told him he wouldn't. He said he'd never leave, that they were stuck with one another, and that the rings Yuuri had bought in Barcelona years before stood as testament to that fact.

But Yuuri couldn't help feeling it at times. It scared him a little, to think of skating without Victor. It was perhaps even more terrifying than the thought of ceasing competing himself.

Please don't leave me, he thought, fingers curling into Victor's shirt as he stared across the ice at Yurio. He barely saw the fluid axel Yurio turned. Victor, on the other hand, seemed to have resumed his bright heartiness.

"The girls are getting very invested in their own skating," he said, and a glance his way found him smiling widely once more. He turned that smiled from Yurio towards Yuuri. "We have groupies!"

Yuuri couldn't help but smile a little in return, even if he didn't really feel it. "You mean you have groupies."

"There's three of them, so technically there could be one for each of us."

"I'm pretty sure it's you they dote on the most."

"Because I give them things?" Victor cocked his head again, his smile growing teasing. "Free performances?"

"Even Yurio gives them that," Yuuri said, gesturing to where Yurio drew out of a layback spin with a flourish. "The girls like you because you give them attention, I think."

"Everyone likes attention."

"In different ways, maybe."

"We'll make first class skaters of them, I promise! Axel's very good with her spins already, and Lutz seems to have a natural gift for anything on one leg. Loop I think is the most well-rounded, or she would be if she was as confident on the ice as she is off it, and I think that…"

Yuuri felt his smile grow sincere as he listened to Victor's animated chatter, the arm around his shoulders squeezing him slightly in his enthusiasm. That he could easily differentiate the three girls and pinpoint each of their skills when they were so often simply grouped as 'the triplets' was likely at least half of the reason for their adoration. The other half…

Victor might be more competent – more glorious – as a competitor, but he'd certainly grown as a coach.

"… think Yuuko-san and Takashi-san would let me steal them to take back to Russia when we leave?" Victor finished. He raised a thoughtful finger to his chin. "It's an idea. If we're only going to be here for a few more weeks, then –"

"Oi," Yurio barked from across the rink where he'd begun to a modified rendition of his short. He paused mid step, feet planted. "Are you two going to talk all day or actually practice?"

He didn't wait for a reply before, with an extension of his arms, he threw himself back into his routine. Victor hummed beneath his breath. "Ah… Yurio can be so prickly sometimes. We've been told, Yuuri."

Yuuri smothered his smile, dropping his head briefly to Victor's shoulder. Just for a moment, he closed his eyes, and in that moment he felt the day's work settle upon him. It might be nice to take a break, but…

"Are you tired?" Victor said, turning his own head towards Yuuri and pressing a kiss onto his brow. "You've seemed tired a lot lately. Did you want to take a break for a while?"

… But Yuuri couldn't do that. He couldn't slow down. He couldn't afford to.

Dropping his arm from Victor's waist, Yuuri shifted away from him slightly. He didn't like it when Victor said things like that, which he did often of late. That Yuuri looked tired, or pale, or that he felt a 'thin'. Yuuri didn't like any of it, because it all felt too much like half-truths and reassurances. He didn't know if Victor had perceived the depth of his nearly debilitating worry for the upcoming championships, but he still didn't like it. Not at all.

Skimming backwards, Yuuri drew away from him with a shake of his head and an attempt to rekindle his smile. "No, I'm fine. Let's practice."

"So much enthusiasm between the two of you," Victor said, planting his hands upon his hips and tipping his head fondly. "Where do you find the energy?"

It was all talk, of course, because until the girls had burst into the rink, voices echoing and demanding attention, Victor had been just as lively. Yuuri shook his head but otherwise ignored the teasing. "You'll watch me, Victor, right? Won't you?"

"Only always," Victor replied, and that was good enough for Yuuri.

He threw himself into his routine, and when he jumped – when he spun and leapt into a split leap the likes he'd been honing in Minako's studios as much as on the ice – he landed it with all he had.

Yuuri's phone rung when they were in the entrance hall of the ice castle.

Taking a step backwards from the front counter, he excused himself from the flurry of conversation passing between Victor, Yuuko, Yurio, and the three girls. It was evening already, but Yuuko's insistence upon finishing homework had Axel, Lutz, and Loop too late to really hang off Victor and demand his attention.

"It's not fair –"

"Never get to –"

"If we'd been allowed earlier –"

"All three of you, pipe down," Yuuko scolded in a manner far sharper than Yuuri had thought her capable of when they were children together. "You're imposing upon their training time enough as it is."

"You're all so noisy," Yurio said, draping himself languidly across the counter. It might have looked casual to anyone else, but Yuuri thought he seemed to be favouring his braced knee just a little. Was it paining him?

"Yurio, you can't scold others for being loud," Victor said overly brightly. "That's called hypocrisy."

"Oi, you –"

"Maybe tomorrow," Victor continued, disregarding Yurio's pouting grumble. "If we have time, maybe we can see what we can do?"

"You should be working on your own routine," Yurio muttered, though it was without any real heat. Victor did train as hard as anyone. He did practice, and regardless of the comments that triggered Yuuri's worry like flint sparking a fire, Victor still grew so engrossed in his skating at times that it was impossible to think he might consider quitting competing. Figure skating was as much Victor's life as it was Yuuri's and Yurio's. To quit would be to destroy who he was.

"You don't have to, Victor," Yuuko said, hands clamped to the top of Axel and Lutz's heads as though to keep them firmly pinned in their seats. "It's very kind of you, but they shouldn't be demanding free coaching."

"Oh, who said anything about it being for free?" Victor said, arching an eyebrow. "I thought you three had promised to be my slaves for the near future as repayment."

The girls' outbursts, whether in objection or agreement, were lost to Yuuri as his phone buzzed in his pocket. Ducking backwards, stuffing a finger into his other ear to muffle the exclamations behind him, Yuuri pressed it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Yuuri?" Minako's voice filtered down the line. "Are you -? What was that?"

'That' was a loud BANG as someone appeared to fall from their chair. A glance towards the counter found only two of the triplets still in view with one of them apparently fallen rather abruptly to the ground. Victor had burst into laughter, was joined by the two remaining girls, while Yurio leant over the counter as if to assess the damage.

"Did you kill yourself?" he asked without an ounce of real concern. Yuuko had a hand over her face, shaking her head.

"Yuuri?" Minako asked.

"Nothing," Yuuri replied, turning away and his attention back to his phone. "I think Lutz just fell off her chair."

"Are you still at the rink, then?"

"We're just leaving," Yuuri said, taking a further step from the counter as someone – likely Lutz – exclaimed in a tone of indignation that was barely decipherable as words. "What's up?"

"Nothing much," Minako replied. "I was just going to ask if you wanted to come around to the bar for dinner tonight. Drag Victor and Yurio as well, if you'd like. Yuuko, Takashi, and the girls too, if they want to."

Yuuri barely heard the suggestion. After the word 'dinner' his mind all but flat-lined. Dinner was… Dinner had become a problem.

Yuuri knew that was a bad thing. On an objective level, he knew it was a problem that 'dinner' equated to 'near panic'. He'd experienced guilt, shame, and discomfort in the past because of food, from the occasional stress-induced binge that didn't do anything but ease the anxiety of the moment before it weighted him further both physically and mentally. But this, now – this was different.

It was as though Yuuri walked a tightrope whenever he stepped into a dining room. The assault of smells that were so rich and flavoursome that it made him feel sick rather than hungry, the steaming array of dishes, the willing offering and the lack of suppression. Yuuri was on a strict diet, knew he had to maintain it, to keep in shape, to hold himself together, and to chew away at any ounce of weight that might hold him down. He needed to lose it. But when that food was spread before him…

That tightrope was loose and wavering as Yuuri balanced between withholding the compulsion that irrationally seemed to take a hold of him and the need to eat enough to avoid drawing the eyes and raising curious eyebrows. His mother's questioning, "Are you not going to have anything more, Yuuri?" and Victor's, "Have you already eaten? I didn't even notice," struck him harder than such careless and all but nonchalant words should have.

It would have been easier to avoid dinner entirely. To avoid the kitchen, the dining room, and any situation where bingeing was a possibility. Yuuri hadn't fallen prey to the urge in weeks, had tightened his grasp upon himself in an iron fist out of necessity, but the need was still there. He would slip into the bathroom out of similar necessity afterwards anyway, but the need was still there. Bringing it all back up again, even if it was almost easy in its familiarity, wasn't preferable to avoiding the situation at all.

When Minako offered, Yuuri felt his gut clench in distressed anticipation. He swallowed thickly, wrestled with good sense, and found himself struggling. Eating wasn't the whole of his problem at the moment, and wasn't the whole of his solution, either. Keeping up his rigid exercise schedule, his hours of practice, and his further hours of discussion with Victor and Yurio about the upcoming competitions were all significant… but eating was the most changeable aspect of it. It was the hardest to maintain with consistency.

"Yuuri?"

Yuuri swallowed again, his throat convulsing and his gag reflex seeming to loosen with the barest flavour of bile. "Sorry?" he asked.

"Are you alright?"

"Un." Yuuri glanced over his shoulder to his friends, to where Yurio was actually smiling slightly at Yuuko's suddenly brightened expression, and where the triplets chattering amongst themselves. Victor seemed to feel his gaze and turned briefly towards him. He flashed Yuuri his own smile, tipped his head questioningly, and Yuuri waved his consideration aside. "Sorry, I just got distracted."

"Distracted…" Minako trailed off. A pause, and then, "So, will you come?"

"To dinner?" Yuuri said as casually as he could manage.

"Yes. If you want to."

"Um…" Yuuri glanced over his shoulder once more, almost desperate. He'd gotten into the habit of eating – or avoiding eating – at his parents' onsen. It was routine: to avoid, to pick as minimally as possible, and to excuse himself at the earliest opportunity. He didn't know how he would manage that sequence at Minako's bar. "I'll have to ask Victor and Yurio. I don't know, but I think they might prefer to head back for the night, so… I mean, it's been a pretty big day and –"

"If you're tired, don't worry about it," Minako said easily. "It was just a suggestion, since I close earlier on Tuesdays. I feel like you haven't been around in a while, is all. It feels strange."

Strange. Weird. They were almost the same thing. Yurio's words, spoken in passing weeks before, immediately leapt to Yuuri's mind, and he almost flinched with a spark of panic. Why it mattered, Yuuri didn't quite know. Why it was so necessary to keep his habits, his routine, and what he did from his friends, Yuuri couldn't say. And yet he did, because he suspected that they wouldn't understand.

Yuuri had to eat less out of necessity. He had to train more, train harder, because he needed to. He had to purge his belly after he ate, because even though he didn't binge all the time and had even managed to endure for a time without incident, he had to compensate for the moments when he did. It was logical.

He simply suspected that people like Victor, like Minako and Yuuko, and maybe even Yurio, might not agree with his understanding.

When Minako said it 'felt strange', warning sirens immediately wailed in Yuuri's head. He was stuttering out a reply almost without thought. "No, no, no, that's alright! You're right, you're… I haven't been to visit you for a while. Thank you for inviting me. I'll ask them."

"You don't have to come if you don't want to, Yuuri," Minako said, a frown in her voice.

"Not at all! I'd love to. I'm sure Victor will be enthusiastic enough to come along, and Yurio might. I'll ask and see you soon?"

Minako was silent for a moment before replying slowing. "Okay. If you're sure."

"Of course." Yuuri smiled and hoped his false joviality was effectively transferred through the phone. "Thanks again."

Victor turned towards him as Yuuri stepped to his side. "What was that?" he asked.

Yuuri slipped his phone into his pocket, clenching his fingers around it in the privacy it afforded. His fingers shook just a little with rising concern that he couldn't quite rationalise but felt nonetheless. "Minako's asked us to dinner at the bar. Did you want to come?"

Victor's small smile widened. "Really? Of course!"

I knew it, Yuuri thought with a mental wince. "You're welcome to come as well, Yurio. You and the girls too, Yuu-chan."

"Are you kidding?" Yuuko said before any of the girls could get a word in. "On a school night?"

"Kaa-san!" Axel, Lutz, and Loop chorused in blatant complaint.

Yuuko ignored them. She spared Yuuri a smile. "Thanks anyway. Maybe on the weekend?"

Which was how Yuuri found himself sitting at a table in Minako's bar alongside Victor, Yurio, and Minako barely an hour later. Sitting – and all but writhing in discomfort.

Yuuri loved Minako's bar. He loved the familiarity just as much as he appreciated the styling, the comfortable clutter and shaded darkness that somehow managed to avoid gloominess. He loved that it was oftentimes filled with noise but loved as much that it could be sedate and homely, hushed to a hum of murmured voices and the music that Minako always cracked on as evening fell.

But not that night. Yuuri hadn't really been to Minako's bar in weeks, and that time away had left its mark. He felt as though his skin was prickling, his fingers itching with the need to scratch it off, and his legs twitched with a similar need to rise to his feet and depart as soon as possible.

And the reason for that was the wealth of dinner spread before him.

Minako's Snack Bar was typically home to Western-influenced take-out, packaged goods, and sandwiches that Minako purchased in bulk more than she had her part-time cook throw together. In the evenings, however, as had only been an addition in recent years, the spread of yoshoku had made itself available. To Yuuri's understanding, Minako even cooked some of the Western-style dishes herself.

Fried food was a problem. For Yuuri, it was a huge problem. It was heavy, rich, and left a lather upon his tongue that wasn't even fully swept clean when the half-digested meal was brought back into his mouth to be expelled down the nearest toilet. That Minako's spread was peppered with kaki fry, the oysters thick in breadcrumb jackets, korokke so fit to bursting with mashed potato that their own jackets were all but peeling loose, and omurice tinged a rich yellow with heaped butter…

Once, Yuuri would have loved it, and a part of him still smelled the steaming aromas with appreciation. The other part, however, the far bigger part, was already almost heaving at the thought of it settling in his stomach.

As Yuuri struggled to clamp down upon his near panic, the revulsion that triggered roiling nausea, conversation swept comfortably around him. Victor and Minako had become surprisingly close over the years, a fact that Yuuri attributed to and Victor readily agreed arose from their companionable drinking habits. Yuuri often accompanied Victor to their evenings out, if only to chaperone rather than drink himself, and when the pair loosened their inhibitions beneath liquor, it was something of an enthusiastic performance that they put on for him.

It hadn't arisen yet, but their companionship was evident over the course of the dinner.

"You're so multi-talented, Minako," Victor said, spearing a bite and waving it between his chopsticks. "Who knew you could cook so well?"

Minako waved the compliment aside with her raised wine glass. "I'm hardly anything on Hiroki-san. There's a reason I come around to visit almost every night, you know."

"Not for our glowing company?" Victor asked, pulling a face that was a mixture between a pout and a smirk.

"Well, there's only so much skating talk that I can handle, so it's questionable."

"Liar," Yurio said through a mouthful of rice. "You're usually leading those conversations."

"Hey, don't speak with your mouth full," Minako chided like an older sister. It was an empty reprimand, Yuuri knew, because Minako rarely cared about such things. The poor table habits of some of her customer had beaten it out of her, she'd claimed admitted to him long ago.

Yurio ignored her, gesturing with his own chopsticks. "You still have a thing for Chris Giacometti. Don't pretend you don't."

"You've got a problem with that?"

Yurio switched his attention towards Yuuri. "I thought you said you'd explained to her that he's practically married already."

Yuuri had been hardly attending to their conversation. The act of clasping his chopsticks as tightly as he maintained his grasp upon his rising panic-tinged nausea was consuming enough of his headspace. Couple that with the assaulting smells that had his stomach churning, the sickening rise in his gorge, and the discomfort of the few bites he'd already taken sitting heavily in his gut, and it was all he could do not to rise from the table and excuse himself into the bathroom already.

The act of churning and displacing the food on his plate around in a semblance of 'eating' was a mild distraction, but it barely helped at all to draw Yuuri from his thoughts.

"Oi, buta," Yurio said, managing to break into his thoughts. "Didn't you?"

Yuuri raised his gaze from his plate, glancing towards Yurio where he studied him with a frown, then to Minako pausing mid drink, and to Victor with his chopsticks at his lips. It was only after a pause that he registered Yurio's words, and he nearly flinched at the nickname that shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. Yurio had called him buta so many times that the meaning of the word barely clung to it anymore, but…

He doesn't know it hurts, Yuuri struggled to remind himself. He's not mean enough to say it if he did know. Even if it is accurate, he wouldn't… I don't think he would…

"What?" Yuuri asked, fingers tightening on his chopsticks in an effort to stop their trembling. They'd been doing that an awful lot lately, and he wasn't quite sure why.

Yurio's frown deepened, and Minako slowly lowered her glass. At Yuuri's side, Victor lowered his own chopsticks with a slight clink. He leant into Yuuri's shoulder with his own, dropping his hand to his wrist. "Are you alright, Yuuri? You look pale."

"He always does at the moment," Yurio said, lips twisting. "Are you sick?"

"Are you sleeping enough?" Minako asked. "Eating enough?"

"Maybe we are pushing it a little," Victor said, slowing in his chewing. "I was considering suggesting a break this weekend."

Yurio frowned. "A break? Well, if we have to, but…"

"It's important, both mentally and physically, to keep yourself healthy," Minako said, nodding. "A break's not a bad idea."

Yuuri's gaze snapped between the three of them as they spoke. With each comment, he felt his heartbeat speed up a notch, his breathing catch, and the quiver in his hands intensify until he couldn't quite suppress it anymore.

Sleep more? He didn't have the time, not when he should be training. Eat more? But that would mean he'd gain weight, and gaining weight was one step closer to 'letting himself go'. Taking a break was impossible. Yuuri didn't have the time.

He barely managed to keep a hold of himself, but his efforts split and snapped when Minako scooped up a dish and held it out to him. Her gaze what flat when she spoke. "Here. Have some tonkatsu. I know it's one of your favourites."

"You should eat more," Yurio said, taking another mouthful of his rice. "People aren't supposed to look like skeletons."

That did it. That was it. The offer of the fried pork, its vaporous aroma assaulting rather than tantalising where Minako proffered it to him across the table. The stares of his friends and Victor's comforting, reassuring, and horribly kind hand dropping onto his arm. Yurio's offhanded words, spoken in such blatant exaggeration that Yuuri almost snapped in distressed frustration. Why did they feel the need to say such things? Was it fun to pretend they didn't see the flaws that Yuuri saw when he looked in the mirror, the pockets of weight that he couldn't seem to shake no matter how little he ate? Why would they say that?

It was all too much, and abruptly, as had been happening more often of late, Yuuri felt the reflux of his dinner rise in his throat. It stung. It burned. It threatened to make a scene –

And he was on his feet in an instant. There was no time to excuse himself. Yuuri didn't even have a chance to lower his chopsticks but simply let them fall to the table in a clatter. Hand slapping over his mouth, he spun, staggered a step, and all but fled towards the bathroom.

He barely made it into one of the narrow stalls before he was heaving. Retching. Not vomiting as his stomach had promised, and in many way, that absence made it worse. Or he wasn't vomiting immediately, anyway. Habit had Yuuri thrusting his fingers down his throat so far he almost choked, but it worked.

The bitter taste of bile. The filthy colour of half-digested meal soaked in bile. The familiar smell, thick and cloying, that Yuuri tried his utmost to vanquish from the bathroom every day, and the equally familiar feeling of cold porcelain as he clutched the toilet bowl with slick fingers.

This, Yuuri was good at. This, he needed, was what helped him and made him feel better. It was as necessary as his training, as his dancing, as his hours on the ice or hours in the gym. Yuuri couldn't have explained just why except that he knew that keeping the weight off, keeping a fast hand upon himself – it was what he couldn't do without.

For a long moment, Yuuri was lost in the throughs of breathlessness and gagging, the half-forced and half-instinctive retching and expulsion that his body seemed to heartily agree he needed to rid himself of the contents of his guts. That sharp, bitter taste, thickened with saliva, lined the inside of his mouth, a testament to the momentary success, and it was somehow comforting.

Yuuri hadn't realised he'd closed his eyes until he pried them open to behold the contained mess he'd made. He hadn't realised he'd dropped to his knees until feeling returned to his legs and the cold hardness of the floor seeped through the fabric of his trousers.

He hadn't noticed he'd been followed, either, until Victor spoke.

"Yuuri, you –" Victor's voice choked off, and again when he reattempted. "Are you -?"

A different kind of horror welled within Yuuri. He'd only just lost himself to induced nausea, but it swept through him once more as he dragged his gaze over his shoulder, hand clamping over his mouth.

Victor knelt behind him, legs splayed as though he'd fallen to his knees. His eyes were wide, flooded with brimming distress, and one hand was outstretched to almost touching Yuuri's shoulder as the other pressed against his own mouth.

Yuuri nearly flinched away from him. He nearly pressed himself into the toilet at his side, because the horror of being seen, of having a witness, of what he did being observed – it was terrifying. Such things shouldn't be seen. Yuuri had to do it, needed to do it, but Victor didn't have to see it.

Neither did Minako, standing just behind Victor with her face a hardened, expressionless mask, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Neither should Yurio, either, standing just in sight alongside the bathroom door with his own face utterly blank. He was pale, though, and though he leant against the wall in a semblance of casualness, it looked almost as though he shrunk into its support.

It was horrible. They shouldn't have seen that.

"You're sick?" Victor finally managed to choke out. "Is that why you haven't been well lately? Not eating or sleeping enough, and… and you…"

"I'm fine, Victor," Yuuri said hoarsely, his voice warbling and muffled through his fingers. His throat ached as it always did in the aftermath of his efforts, but it was nothing alongside the guilt, the shame, of being witnessed. The fingers of his free hand, still grimy and slick, gripped the toilet seat like a lifeline. "It's nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing," Yurio muttered.

"I'm not sick. It was just –" Yuuri paused, mind blank, clutching at straws. "Just something that I ate, maybe, or – or maybe –"

"Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?" Victor asked, his hand finally crossing the last of the distance between them. His fingers trembled as they clasped Yuuri's shoulder. "You really haven't been for a while, have you? I noticed, but I – I didn't want to say because you'd always… you were…"

He'd deflected. Yuuri knew what Victor was trying to say, even if Victor might not quite know himself. Yuuri deflected, because he couldn't explain, didn't want to, and it was easier to provide an excuse. "I'm not hungry," or "I ate on the way over from Minako's studio," would be far better received than the bare truth. That "I can't eat lunch with you, because if I do than it will weigh me down, and I'll gain the weight that I've tried so hard to keep off, and then I'll start going backwards, and it will impact my skating, and…"

And so much. So much of an explanation wouldn't be possible to attempt. It was better to remain silent, to deflect the conversation. Or it would have been, except that Victor, Minako, and Yurio, had just see him. They'd just witnessed what Yuuri was abruptly more ashamed of than he'd even realised.

Now would have been a good time to speak and deflect, so why couldn't he speak?

"This has been going for a while?" Minako asked, though it didn't sound much like a question.

Victor didn't glance her way as he nodded slowly, almost numbly. He seemed almost unable to blink away from Yuuri. "It… yes. It has, hasn't it, Yuuri? You didn't say anything, but this has –"

"And this?" Minako interrupted, nodding towards the toilet at Yuuri's back. "How long, Yuuri?"

Yuuri winced. He knew he was giving himself away, but he couldn't help himself. He cringed further as Victor's gaze darted over his shoulder, widening slightly, and Yurio seemed to shrink further into the wall. "It's nothing," he said, his voice hoarse for a different reason. "I'm f-fine."

"Don't lie to me, Yuuri," Minako said quietly. "I told you, didn't I? I've seen this kind of thing before."

She had told him. Yuuri remembered, weeks ago, when she'd told him. When she'd guessed and Yuuri had deflected out of necessity once more. He bowed his head, his own shoulders hunching. He wasn't sure if it was himself or Victor that was trembling anymore. "It's not…"

"What?" Minako asked.

"It's not all the time," he lied. "I don't – it's not all the time."

Minako sighed. Yurio made a sound in his throat, turning his gaze sharply aside. Victor swallowed audibly, his eyes widening impossibly further. He was lurching across the distance between them a second later, arms locking around Yuuri and squeezing him so tightly he could hardly breathe.

Yuuri's throat clamped painfully. Burning that was different to that in his mouth, to that which raked his oesophagus, stung his eyes. He couldn't cling to Victor in return, not in his shame, not with the filth still clinging to his fingers and his lips, but he wanted to. He wanted to so badly, if only in an effort to voice some kid of apology.

"I'm sorry," was all he could manage. The words were barely audible even to his own ears, muffled as they were in Victor's shoulder as Victor in turn pressed his face into Yuuri's neck.

It was Minako that replied. He voice was heavy, more of a sigh, and she seemed to deflate as Yuuri glanced towards her in a way he'd never seen before. "It's okay. We'll fix this. We'll turn this around and fix this and – and it will be okay."

Minako knew. Yuuri knew she knew, that she understood what he couldn't say. Victor might not, not fully, but he hurt for what Yuuri had done. Yurio might not wholly grasp it either, but he clearly knew something was wrong, and he wasn't as heartless as he liked to pretend he was most of the time.

Or maybe they did know. Maybe they all understand, and that was what made Yurio frown as he did and Victor's breath catch slightly as he squeezed Yuuri even tighter. Something would have to change, was going to change, because Yuuri couldn't hurt them like that. Not if it made them frown and shake like that.

He only wished he knew how. Yuuri didn't want to upset any of them, but there was a reason he did what he did. A need more than a want. Life and its sudden upcoming rearrangement abruptly became a whole lot more complicated.