Chapter Text
The first time they witness his disease, he’s in the middle of his last rehearsal before he boards a plane to go to the Grand Prix Final. Thankfully, the rest of his rinkmates aren’t present, but Yuri’s coaches are, and so are Victor and Yuuri. He lands a quad lutz like the talented professional he is, and then immediately hunches over as flower petals rush out of his lungs to fill his mouth and overflow onto the ice below.
Yuri isn’t sure how long he chokes on them, but when his body settles and he finally catches his breath, it’s Yuuri who’s crouching on the ice beside him, practically holding him up. “Yura, can you hear me?”
Yuri, for once, can think of nothing to say. He covers his mouth, tears pricking at his eyes, but he nods all the same.
“Let’s get you up off the ice, okay? Would you like some water?”
Yuri wants to hate him, wants to kick and scream and hiss like he would have when he was a teenager, but he’s almost twenty-three years old and he’s actually friends with Yuuri now. (Truthfully, even when Yuuri was still skating, he thinks they might’ve been friends.) They spend time together with or without Victor, grocery shopping or replenishing their wardrobes, or indulging in foods that don’t adhere to Yuri’s guideline diet. And he cherishes those days as much as he does the days that Victor spends time with him away from Yuuri (if not more).
He doesn’t say anything, but he nods at the offer and lets Yuuri help him to a bench, accepting the gentle touches to his back, his arms, his forehead.
“Yurio,” Victor hums, handing Yuri his water bottle. “How long have you been sick?”
The very first time he’d coughed up flower petals, Yuri had feigned the flu and locked himself in his apartment for a week. He’d convinced everybody that he didn’t want to be coddled and to let him take care of himself because he didn’t want anybody else to get sick, but in truth, he’d completely lost it. His only-- only --sanity had come in the form of Yuuri and Victor checking on him at least once a day. He hates to admit it, but their calls really had helped, their gentle concern striking something in him that had been left unattended for too long. And as much as he’d wanted to speak to Otabek about the whole thing, to vent and whine and complain, he hadn’t wanted to worry him.
“A few months,” he finally croaks out, after downing half the water and attempting to gather his composure. He hadn’t realized how hard it would be to look them in the eyes after they found out. He’d hoped he would be able to keep his illness a secret until he was finished with the season, but his heart and body apparently have other ideas.
“Do you think you’ll be okay to compete, Yura?”
Yuuri crouches in front of him in an attempt to meet his gaze, and it’s so hard to deny him. Yuri knows he’ll do it eventually, so he doesn’t fight the urge for long, but he almost bursts into tears at the ache he sees there. Why is Yuuri looking at him like that? Surely Yuri’s condition isn’t that awful, yet. Surely Yuuri doesn’t realize how hopeless the outcome actually is?
Yuri’s chest constricts, lungs burning from the roots that are no doubt growing rapidly at this moment despite his episode on the ice moments ago. “I should be okay if I don’t focus too much on my emotions,” he finally explains, dropping his gaze again. “I… I got carried away. If I don’t think about--well, you know--then the disease doesn’t really act up.” He tugs his gaze away from the Japanese man, fighting the urge to dispel the petals crowding his lungs. “The doctor said it’s actually progressing fairly slowly, but I was hoping I’d at least make it through the season before anybody found out.”
Nobody says anything for a moment. Yuuri looks like he’s thinking way too much, and Yuri doesn’t really want to look at Victor for fear of seeing his pity (or something even worse), so he keeps his gaze low and wonders why neither of his actual coaches have said a word about it.
So when Yuuri reaches forward and wraps his hands around one of Yuri’s, and Victor slides an arm around his shoulders, Yuri’s mind goes blank for half a second, and then- more flowers. The first batch, on the ice, was filled with daffodils, so very common for people who share his disease, the floral symbol of unrequited love. This one, however, is less known; Yuri only recognizes it because the first time he choked on the flowers growing in his lungs, he’d spent three days researching flower meanings.
It’s not very often people cough up white ivy.
There aren’t nearly as many as there had been on the ice, and Victor’s arm never leaves his shoulders--Yuuri doesn’t even step back. And somehow, that just makes his heart ache even more.
Because Yuri knows his love is incredibly unlikely to be returned, and their affection and care is like a balm that hurts and heals at the same time, even though they can’t make his illness go away.
“Yura.” Yuuri lifts one of his hands to tuck Yuri’s bangs behind his ear. “You didn’t really have the flu, that week, did you?”
He can only shake his head. If his throat was hurting before, it’s nothing compared to now . He’s afraid to even attempt to speak before he gets some rest.
“Yuratchka.”
Yuri stands, slipping out from under Victor’s arm to face Yakov, immediately at attention. But he finds he feels a little disturbed at the look on the old man’s face; he doesn’t ever remember seeing him look so sad .
“Take the remainder of the day off. You need rest if you’re going to be on that plane tomorrow afternoon.” Yakov turns on his heel, walking toward Lilia and the exit. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
The implication goes right over Yuri’s head--that is, until he turns and the idiot couple he actually considers his friends are gazing at him hopefully.
Wait, am I supposed to spend the night at their house?
After a long moment where the three of them just stare at each other, Yuuri takes the initiative and steps forward. “Yura, we were going to ask before Mr. Feltsman said anything, but would you mind staying with us? I know I’ll feel better if you aren’t by yourself tonight, but if you’d really rather be alone, we understand.”
Yuuri’s consideration for others is just one of the many things Yuri admires about the dark-haired man. But quite frankly, he doesn’t want to be alone. When his precious cat had passed away, not even a year behind his grandfather, Yuri couldn’t find it in himself to replace her. And when he’d turned eighteen, he moved out of Lilia’s house. But with adulthood and freedom came a loneliness that no amount of time on the ice could stave off.
So he nods, and while Victor only hums in assent, Yuuri gives him a small, relieved smile.
-
Yuri regrets his life choices. Victor and Yuuri are kind and attentive; it both fills his heart with guilt and affection in equal parts. They’re so thoughtful that it makes Yuri want to scream.
The three of them stop by his apartment after they leave the rink, and while Yuri packs an overnight bag, Victor collects his luggage for the trip the next day, even though he would’ve been fine with stopping home to get it before heading to the airport.
“Humor us,” Yuuri pleads, perched on the edge of his bed and folding the clothes that Yuri’s been haphazardly tossing at his backpack. It’s all so lovely and domestic that Yuri can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed that his dark-eyed counterpart is folding his underwear. “You’ve been dealing with this on your own for a while now, and we just… Yura, will you let us take care of you for tonight, at least?”
At least.
Yuri sinks onto the mattress beside him, hands tucked between his knees so he doesn’t do something stupid like try to hug him. He probably looks like a hot mess--he hadn’t showered after practice, because the two of them had been concerned and eager to get out of the rink (he doesn’t blame them, he was eager to leave, too), not to mention the fact that while his illness is slow-progressing, it’s still a disease that attacks the body, and Yuri’s been losing weight now that it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to eat after each episode. “I’m just—not used to this kind of attention.”
The other man nods, and Yuri forces himself not to sigh and hug him anyway.
“I’m glad I don’t have to be alone tonight,” he offers instead.
It’s that moment that Victor pokes his head in the doorway, but Yuri kind of wonders if he wasn’t listening before that. “Are my two favorite Yuris ready to go?”
He fights the urge to roll his eyes, used to Victor’s antics, and wonders why it is that Yuuri never complains when Victor says such silly things in front of his husband. Surely Victor should realize that Yuuri’s anxiety would make things like that hard to hear, right?
“Favorite Yuris?” Yuuri asks, and Yuri looks at the floorboards because he’d known it was coming, but he also knows Victor doesn’t mean anything by it. Until Yuuri continues with, “Don’t you mean your favorite people altogether, Vitya?”
Yuri nearly falls off the bed, but-
But Victor’s laughter is light and happy and he thinks if he looks now, Yuuri will be watching his husband with the fondest expression. He steals a glance at the man next to him anyway, feeling a little flushed, only to end up meeting Yuuri’s expressive eyes instead of gazing at his profile.
“Let’s go home,” Victor says, and somehow, Yuri doesn’t feel like an outsider.
-
“I know you’re big on personal space and privacy,” Yuuri begins, and Yuri feels his own heartbeat ratchet up a notch. “But would you mind leaving the bathroom door unlocked?”
He blinks. Enough times that Yuuri’s cheeks turn pink and he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “I want to be able to reach you if you have another episode is all,” he finally explains.
It makes perfect sense, but Yuri still feels off balance and he doesn’t want to think about why . Besides, even if he happens to have another episode (he’s never had three in one day before, so the chances are low), he doubts it’ll be enough to kill him.
“Okay,” he ends up saying anyway. “Do you run out of hot water easily?”
Yuuri smiles at him, shaking his head. “No, you’re welcome to take a bath. Take as long as you want, Yura.”
Yuri’s been in their home enough times to know where everything is, which is a concept he would’ve turned down when he was still stupid enough to think he hated the two of them. He carries his duffel into a bathroom that’s bigger than the bedroom in his apartment and silently closes the door, stripping out of his practice clothes. Weirdly enough, Yuri doesn’t even have the urge to lock it.
As an athlete, he got pretty used to changing in front of others, but as often as he shared a locker room with both Victor and Yuuri, the setting is completely different. Being in a personal bathroom, especially one that isn’t his own, Yuri expected himself to feel self-conscious. It’s a lot more intimate to bathe like this than it is taking to the showers after being at practice for hours.
Underneath all of his bravado, Yuri knows why he doesn’t feel uncomfortable here.
He’s only been soaking in the bubble bath for a few minutes when he hears a knock at the door and grumbles his permission to enter. He pulls his knees against his chest just before the door opens, even though he’s buried beneath enough bubbles to hide most of his body from somebody he doubts is going to look either way.
Victor slips into the bathroom with a mug in his hands. “I thought tea might soothe your throat.”
Secretly, Yuri isn’t surprised that Victor is as thoughtful as he is. Most of the time, Victor’s flippant, flighty personality is just an act, and he’s tamed it quite a bit over the years, but Yuri still appreciates that Victor has all but dropped it completely around him. He hadn’t realized it at first, mostly pinned it all on Yuuri and his influence, but when the two of them started hanging out with him separately as he grew up and stopped acting like a brat, he realized that Victor drops it even when he’s spending alone time with Yuri. The first time he’d actually recognized the effort it must’ve taken for Victor to bother, he’d shown up on their doorstep and made them dinner.
They acted like it was completely normal for Yuri to do that, for Yuri to show up out of the blue, despite never having done it before.
He rarely ever does, and that had been the first time. Usually he’ll text before he shows up, because it would just be awkward to show up if they were in the middle of something a little more on the intimate side. (He’s really glad that’s never happened before, because he thinks he’d be far more embarrassed than either of them.)
“Thank you, Vitya,” he murmurs, reaching up to take it. Victor smiles like Yuri’s just given him the best compliment.
His feelings for Victor have changed so much over the years, but a part of him wonders if Victor realizes that. When he was younger, Victor was just somebody he wanted to surpass, a genius in his own right that Yuri thought he had to beat. (And he had beaten Victor on the ice once or twice, and it was glorious.) But he’s come to realize that he likes being one of Victor’s friends. His feelings for the man will probably always be platonic, but they’re there nonetheless. It’s part of what makes his disease so hard to bear.
“Would you like me to wash your hair?”
Yuri nearly chokes on his tea. What? He wonders how stupid he must look, staring at Victor the way he is. “You… want to wash my hair?” he asks dubiously, cradling his mug between his hands.
Victor’s answering smile is teasing, but he nods. “If that is something you aren’t opposed to, Yura.”
Yuri finds himself nodding before he’s consciously made a decision, and Victor’s smile grows.
“Drink your tea and I’ll come back in a few minutes, okay? Or whenever you’re ready.”
Twenty minutes later, Yuri’s leaning his head back while Victor massages sweet-smelling shampoo into his hair, though Yuri has no idea what the scent actually is, and it feels heavenly . He catches himself humming every once in a while, but he can’t bring himself to stop, not when Victor pays particular attention to the places that make Yuri groan.
“You really are like a cat, aren’t you, Yura?” the elder Russian whispers in their native tongue, and Yuri doesn’t burden himself with a reply.
He can’t bring himself to admit it out loud, but Yuri thinks he could get used to this. Unfortunately, he’s probably only getting the royalty treatment because of his disease, but he hadn’t really expected anything at all. If Victor wants to spoil Yuri a little bit, you won’t hear him complaining. Existing with these two in his personal space is less painful than one would think, but-
Perhaps he only feels that way because it’s not Yuuri with his hands buried in Yuri’s hair.
That would be infinitely harder to stomach right now.
Still, he’d better enjoy this while it lasts.
Victor’s voice is low and soft when he speaks, like he’s afraid to break Yuri out of his good mood. “I enjoy this, but I can’t keep my hair long anymore and Yuuri refuses to grow his out. Do you think you’d let me do it again sometime, Yura?”
Yuri practically purrs, but his mind latches onto a facet of Yuuri that he hadn’t previously known. “Why does he refuse to grow his hair out?”
Victor’s gentle laughter fills his ears and his hands fall away before he begins the rinse. “He claims his hair is too unruly when it gets any longer than he keeps it now.”
“Actually, I could see that. It’s fitting.” The minutes pass while Victor finishes his hair, and Yuri sighs when he stands to leave. “Thank you.” He opens eyes to look up at the other man, offering a rare smile. “If you were serious, I wouldn’t mind doing this again.”
He lets his eyes slip closed again after Victor nods, so it’s quite a surprise when he feels Victor’s lips press against his forehead. “Thank you, Yura.”
-
Yuri doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he also doesn’t ever remember waking up quite so warm . It’s not a bad warmth, just a comfortable one. He sighs, curling further into the covers and wondering if he can’t slip back into his slumber for just a little bit longer.
That is, until he feels the gentle fingers combing through his hair, and realizes he’s not curled around a pillow, but a person .
“Yura? Do you want breakfast before we get ready to go?”
Where are we going?
Oh.
The previous day’s events come rushing back to him and Yuri suppresses a groan, mindlessly curling into Yuuri a little more. “Do I have to go?”
Yuri feels more than hears him laughing. “Yura, I think Mr. Feltsman will kill us if we don’t get you to Europe for the GPF. Besides, you’ll only be disappointed if you miss it, and that’s the last thing we want.”
None of this explains why I’m in Yuuri and Victor’s bed, though.
He sighs again, pushing himself up while rubbing his eyes. “Did I fall asleep on the couch?”
Yuuri hums. “We hope you don’t mind--I was worried. I didn’t want to leave you by yourself, and Victor said we couldn’t all sleep on the couch. I guess his decision to buy a king was more of a blessing than I thought, since we can all three fit on it.” Yuri blinks at him while the older male fidgets, and he’s hit with the urge to hug him. This time, though, he’s not completely awake yet, and he doesn’t fight it. Yuuri’s arms slide around his shoulders like it’s second nature, like he doesn’t even have to think about it. Like hugging Yuri is no big deal.
“Yura…, do you think… Are you going to keep it a secret until it kills you?”
It’s whispered against the shell of his ear, making him shiver. Yuri knows, he knows that they care, that they don’t want to lose him. And yes, Yuri could confess. But if his feelings aren’t returned, then he’ll be sent to have the surgery, and he really can’t afford to take time off for the recovery period. Not only that, but what will they think of him? What if he ruins everything they’ve already built?
“I don’t know.” He stays in Yuuri’s arms until the bedroom door cracks open and Victor pokes his head in.
“Breakfast is ready!” His expression lights up when he sees them. “Good morning my loves!”
Yuri chokes on a laugh. Leave it to Victor to break the tension that had built up between them in the quiet. Yuuri huffs a laugh against the side of Yuri’s head, absently sliding his hand across Yuri’s back. He’s such a tactile person when he feels comfortable enough, and while Yuri’s pleased that he’s comfortable with Yuri in his arms, it hurts. It hurts in such a good way that he has to shove himself away, pristine white petals forcing themselves out of his lungs. His mind doesn’t race like he’s used to--instead, he finds himself wondering whether or not he’s going to ruin Victor and Yuuri’s duvet, or if the flowers are as dry as they feel. He thinks he can feel Yuuri’s arm around his waist, holding him up, and hopes that he’s not getting any blood or saliva on him in the process.
The episode doesn’t last very long, his throat isn’t as sore as it had been after his episode at practice. “I’m sorry.”
Gentle hands cup his jaw, making him focus on the face in front of him. “Are you alright, Yura?”
I don’t deserve this.