About The Chest:

"you never drink tea" for the sickfic prompts? :D

Takes place sometime after ep 12 in Russia

1200~ words

～～～

From across the rink, Yuuri scrutinizes the item held in Victor’s hands. The logo of Victor’s favourite cafe is displayed on the front of it, the familiar design revealing it is one of the special filtered tea mugs Victor loves to gush about. While the sight of him clutching a travel mug at morning practice is not an unusual one, seeing it now has Yuuri slowing to a stop on the ice as he gets a better look at his coach.

It’s not that Victor doesn’t like tea. It’s far from an odd occurrence for Victor to bring a thermos with him to stay energized through practice and warm against the chill of the cold winter weather.

Only now there is no chill, as it’s the middle of spring.

“Tired already, Yuuri?” Victor calls, his wide smile conveying the quip about Yuuri’s stamina that he doesn’t voice.

Yuuri narrows his eyes at Victor, paying his comment no mind. “You never drink tea,” he says accusingly.

For a moment, Victor looks like he’s taken off guardーalmost as if he were caught in the actーbut he quickly composes himself. “I do sometimes,” Victor replies simply, taking a sip rather nonchalantly.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “When it’s freezing outsideーwhich it’s not right now. Or when you need the caffeine, or when your throat is really bothering you because you’re sick.”

That causes Victor to flinch, and Yuuri knows he’s right.

“It’s nothing,” Victor dismisses with a wave of his hand and a smile practiced to perfection. “I’m just a bit tired. I didn’t sleep too well last night is all.”

Yuuri is well aware of the fact. Victor had been doing nothing but tossing and turning. Yuuri is surprised to hear he got any kind of rest at all.

It’s obvious to Yuuri that Victor is sick. Or at the very least coming down with something. While it’s likely not obvious to anyone else, the signs are all there. It’s not even just the mug of tea, it’s the fact that Victor tried to hide it from Yuuri. He had prepared it and packed it in secrecy, much like he had hid his illness the first time he had been sick in their relationship. Yuuri would have thought that by now that Victor wouldn’t try to do these things on his own.

Yuuri is tempted to advise they cut their practice short, that they go home and Victor rests, but he knows the idea will be shot down the moment he suggests it. Plus, as much as Yuuri hates to admit it, Victor’s condition isn’t bad enough to warrant sentencing him to bedrest. At least not yet.

So instead he settles for letting Victor have his way for a while, and pretends he doesn’t notice when Victor turns away to cough into the crook of his elbow.

Yuuri runs through his routine again and again, until the movements become more natural than breathing. Victor gives his compliments and critiques, each one sounding more tired and strained than the last. Yuuri still doesn’t voice his concern, knowing even now it will fall on deaf ears.

He loses himself in his skating, until the ice feels like it’s moving beneath his feet, as if it were the one dancing for him, rather than the other way around. The sharp slice of his blades echoes in his ears, the crisp and cool rink air fills his lungs with each heavy breath. He pushes himself harder, thoroughly enjoying every minute of it, until thoughts about Victor’s steadily deteriorating condition are all but forgotten.

He comes to a finish in the centre of the ice, breathing hard, feeling confident about a performance well done. He had landed every single jump, even the quad flip, though the landing was a bit shaky which he doubts Victor will let slide. His spins were tight, his step sequence was remarkable as always. Though Victor insists there is always room for improvement, and Yuuri is ready to hear where he should start.

But surprisingly there is no such input from Victor. Only silence. Puzzled, Yuuri turns and looks for his coach and finds him plucking a number of tissues from the plush poodle and blowing his nose into them.

A pang of annoyance surges through Yuuri. Victor just missed a near-perfect run through of his routine. (Even perfect run throughs are near-perfect to Victor.) But then, as Victor emerges from behind the cover of the kleenex, Yuuri feels all of his annoyance melt away into pity.

Even from a distance, Victor’s nose is noticeably red. His eyes (which have yet to notice Yuuri staring) lack the usual sparkle, and there are dark smudges underneath them. Victor sniffles, stuffing the used tissue into the pocket of his jacket, then wraps it more tightly around himself as he visibly shivers. His overall form broadcasts his exhaustion, the tired sigh he releases further proving that point.

“Victor?” Yuuri calls, causing Victor to snap his head up.

His cheeks are flushed, which could easily be from embarrassment at the realization he had missed Yuuri’s routine. Though judging by everything else Yuuri has witnessed, he’s willing to bet Victor is running a fever.

Victor’s posture changes in an instant. He straightens up and takes his hands out of his pockets, forcing a smile that Yuuri sees right through.

“Ah, sorry Yuuri. I got a bit distracted for a minute there,” Victor says with a lighthearted laugh, as if that will distract Yuuri from how hoarse his voice sounds. “I’m sure your routine was lovely! Though I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing you do it again. I’m confident you have the stamina.”

Yuuri has had enough. He makes his way over to the boards where Victor is. “Maybe I do, but you don’t.”

Victor blinks, still acting innocent. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re obviously sick,” Yuuri points out.

“It's… just a little cold,” Victor relinquishes, his voice quiet and sheepish. “I can still coach you. I’m fine,” Victor insists, or at least he tries to; his breath catches and he sharply turns away to sneeze before he can finish his sentence.

As Victor groans and reaches for a tissue to blow his nose yet again, Yuuri picks up the mug of tea and hands it to him. Victor accepts without a word, takes a sip, then heaves a sigh as he sets the drink down.

Yuuri takes Victor’s hand in his and runs his finger over where the ring is. It’s covered by his glove, and that is another dead giveaway to Yuuri that Victor is well and truly sick: he never passes up an opportunity to flash their engagement rings. He must really be chilled.

“Come on. Let’s get you home,” Yuuri says.

He expects Victor to argue, to insist he’s okay to keep coaching, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary. But Victor must either be feeling that bad, or perhaps he can’t find it in himself to resist Yuuri’s sweet charms, because he just smiles, adoration written all over his features, and lets Yuuri lead him by the hand to the benches.

～～～

Prompts can be found here!

Let her dance

As my first post on this hellsite...

I invite you to think about cold symptoms that wake the sickie up. 

Congestion so bad that the effort to breathe jerks them out of a sound sleep, making them shift positions with a quiet, thick sniffle that lets almost no air in and does nothing for the stuffiness.

Wet coughs that crackle in their chests and leave them gasping and fumbling for the water glass they left there for just such an occasion, spluttering a bit because they can’t stop coughing long enough to actually take a proper sip.

Sneezing. Maybe that’s not what woke them up, but now that they’re awake, they can’t stop. Slow building fits that make their breath shiver, and they agonize over every moment that the next sneeze doesn’t come. When it finally stops, they’re more exhausted than they were before, and can barely summon the energy to swipe the cuff of their sleep shirt against their nose before rolling over to try and sleep before this all happens again.

Fevers that turn their dreams sour and make them shake with chills, or feel so hot that their immediate thought is to fling all the sweat-dampened covers off. And maybe crawl out of those disgusting pyjamas that were fresh from the wash when they put them on three hours ago. Their head spins, and the world swims in and out of focus when they peer blearily around to make sure that the lurking danger from their nightmare isn’t actually hiding in the corner of their room.

Think about those cold symptoms that you just can’t sleep through.

14,04,2022

friends

Uma Baleia Rosa

😍

Cute bee

When someone really feverish/congested just does that really warming smile but their eyes are half lidded and they look so damn tired with bags under their eyes, and their breathing is dirty rattly and wheezy out their mouth but the SMILE IS JUST

“Reblog this post... Or suffer my curse...”

Febuwhump, Day 1 - Touch Starved

This is late, and turned out to be mostly a bunch of idiots fighting with each other. Oh well, it's still done. Doesn't matter if it's good or not - it's out. Unbeta'd, might post on AO3 later if it's worth cleaning up.

Snakemouth Den was dark, dank, and absolutely full of mushrooms.

Kabbu could have come up with a better description for it, really, but considering the amount of mythology surrounding it, the number of adventurers rumored to have died in its depths, the treasure rumored to lie within, and the century-and-a-half of people who had vanished into it never to return, he likely could have come up for a better description for it a week ago, when he was still taken in by the splendor of its myth and the many stories about it.

A lot of mythologized places lost their glamor, once you’d been wandering through them for a week and seen nothing but mushrooms and crystals. It certainly didn’t help that most of the cave was too clogged with spores to smell a foot in front of you. The place’s gory reputation certainly didn’t help – he’d been smelling hemolymph on and off for at least the past few hours, and he didn’t want to know if it was multiple corpses or if one of the undead ants that had attacked them earlier had followed them.

At least he had company.

Vi was quite the fierce fighter, doing away with foes far faster than Kabbu could on his own, and finding Leif was a stroke of good fortune all on its own. The moth had a sharp sense of direction, which was a boon and a half when every tunnel in the place looked the same, and had likely saved them from running in circles more than once. With his aid clearing their path-

“Vi.”

Kabbu’s train of thought abruptly derailed as the moth’s voice cut through the silence. He slowed, seeing Vi do the same out of the corner of his eye, her wings flicking open with an annoyed buzz.

“What?” Vi asked. “D’you need something?

“You’re injured.”

That made Kabbu stop in his tracks. Injured? When had-

“Your thorax. Under your secondary claws.”

“I- no, I’m not! I’m fine! I’m not- I didn’t get hit with shit!“ Vi hissed. She fluffed her fur up, glancing to Kabbu for rapport- but now that he was looking for it, the hemolymph plastering her fur to her body was unmistakable.

“You’re not very convincing when you smell like a crime scene.”

Now that he got a closer look at her… yes, she did kind of smell like a crime scene. He wouldn’t phrase it like that himself, admittedly, but it explained where the hemolymph smell was coming from. Kabbu wracked his brain, thinking of when she could have picked up an injury without her noticing. It couldn’t be the spider, or the fall, or the-

“Those… reanimated ants. They must have-“

“Those fuckers didn’t do shit to me! I’m fine!” Vi swung her weapon for emphasis- only to aggravate the wound, making her bite back a sharp hiss.

“Vi-“ Kabbu tried to say, but she just snarled at him.

“Shut it. I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding all over the ground,” Leif pointed out. Vi growled at him.

“Team, stop fighting,” Kabbu tried to intervene, stepping between them. “We just need to bandage it, and she’ll be-“

“You don’t need to bandage it,” Vi interrupted. “I’m fine.”

“If that gash was half an inch longer, you’d be spilling guts out your sides,” Leif said.

“I’m not spilling guts out my sides now, am I?”

That… was not a particularly compelling point.

“If something gets in a lucky shot, you will be,” Kabbu said. “Just- let me take a look at it, and-“

“And what?! Do you think I’m just gonna lie down and let treat me like one injury’ll take me out of the running just because we’re teammates? I’ve only known you for a week, and-“

“Vi, I-“

"That's enough of that." Leif deftly weaved around him and plucked Vi off of the ground, and she went stiff, freezing like a weevil that had only just realized they'd wandered into the path of a northern moth. Kabbu poised himself to intervene – even he knew she disliked touch, after a week with her – but Leif just tucked her stunned body into his ruff, securing her into place under his wings with a secondary limb like she was a plush toy, and kept walking.

Kabbu just stood there, feeling as stunned as Vi looked, as Leif simply wandered off into the cave.

Finally, his brain kicked back into gear and he burst forward. “Leif, you can’t just-“

He was cut off by a purr. A very loud purr, the sort he’d only really seen from extremely contented bugs, and yet-

Kabbu looked into Leif’s arms, only to see Vi… melted into them. It was as though she’d lost any pretense of shape, simply dissolving into Leif’s claws like a slug or a snail. It was…

Leif shrugged. “If she won’t take care normally, then we’ll have to resort to manhandling. Usually bugs don’t take to it that well, admittedly.”

“Shut it,” Vi grumbled. Her voice was hard to hear through the purrs still swelling in her throat, rattling through her tiny frame like she was in the middle of the world’s smallest earthquake. She fluffed herself up, which only really served to make her look more ridiculous – Leif’s fur was far thicker than hers, and the fur on her side was still plastered to her shell with hemolymph.

“We’re just saying, most bugs don’t react like they’re being cuddled by a swarmmate when you give them a tiny bit of handling, especially not while they’re-“

“I said shut it, okay? How I’m doing is none of your business, and-“

“It might not be our business, but it is your teammate’s business, unless you were planning on never telling your teammates about anything.”

“My business is mine, and you’re not even part of the team-“

“And you were planning to bleed to death in a cave over asking your teammate to slow down so you can bandage your wounds.”

Vi’s mouth shut with a click, and she looked away from him. Leif tilted his head at her, waiting for a response.

A long moment passed.

Finally, Leif huffed, handing her over to Kabbu. “Fine, be that way, then.”

Kabbu silently plucked her out of Leif’s arms, feeling her melt into his carapace without another word. Her fur was surprisingly soft, even with the blood trickling down his claws as she shifted her weight. She didn’t say anything as he reached for their bag, pulling their medical kit out of the bottom.

He patched the wound in silence, Vi seemingly trying her best to ignore him as he tied the sturdy leaves over her shell. It was… gory, rough-edged and ragged, and every poke seemed to make it drip blood again. He had no clue how she’d managed to hide it for so long, let alone walk with it. She leaned into his touches, half the time, pressing the rough edges of the wound right into his claws and making her chitin grind against itself in a way that made him wince.

He had hardly taken three round of it before he broke.

"Vi, can you stop-"

"Stop doing what?"

"Stop leaning into my claws. It-"

"I'm not doing anything, okay? Just- keep going, and maybe you'll be done soon."

He gave an affirmative hum, and got back at it.

She kept leaning into his hands. He didn't know if she was even conscious of doing it- she'd lean, then pull back, on and on in a cycle as if she only just realized she was doing it after the fact.

He was just finishing the knot when she finally spoke, sounding like she was dragging the words out of her throat with a prybar.

“…Sorry,” she grumbled. “Just- I’ve had worse, okay? It’s not worth making a fuss over.”

“You’re soaking your fur with hemolymph,” Leif pointed out. “You weigh- what? Four ounces? You don’t have enough blood to spare for injuries like that.”

“I have plenty of blood, and I’ve had a lot worse, and you don’t have to go into this trouble over- over this.”

Leif looked like he was about to say something, but Kabbu darted in before he could escalate it further. “I know we don’t have to, but- we’re partners, Vi. We’re supposed to take care of each other. Don’t you…”

Kabbu trailed off, tying off her bandages. Vi turned her head away from him. “I can handle it. I don’t need you fussing over me every time I get a scratch in the field.”

Her side was a lot more than “a scratch”, but Kabbu kept that thought to himself. He brushed a claw over her back, testing the strength of the bindings, and Vi shivered. Kabbu stopped, holding still.

“Vi, are you-“

“Shut up, it’s fine, I’m- look, it’s embarrassing, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore, and-“

“Didn’t get held enough as a grub, did you?” Leif asked. Vi’s hackles rose, and Kabbu quickly pushed her down just in time to keep her from jumping at him.

“Shut up! You’re a moth, you don’t know shit about things-“

“We’ll take it that’s a yes, then.”

Vi growled under her breath, fluffing her fur. She was about to say something else, but Kabbu pressed her into the ground before she had the chance. “Now isn’t the time for a fight! Venus, you two, at least try to get along! We have a mission, remember?“

Leif stood still for a long moment, fur fluffed, hackles raised, and for a moment Kabbu thought he might have to mediate between them, or tear them apart from an attempt at a duel. Thankfully, Leif’s shoulders relaxed, tension bleeding from his form. “…fine,” Leif muttered. “We’ll try to get along for now. Don’t expect us to drop it, though.”

“Fuck you,” Vi hissed weakly from under Kabbu’s claws. Leif didn’t respond to her, simply wandering back to the other side of the cavern.

She had gone mostly limp, thankfully, all the fight drained out of her. Kabbu carefully released his claw, checking her bandages to make sure he hadn’t worsened her injuries.

He… needed to redo the bindings.

She seemed fine, thankfully. No worse than she was when he bandaged her, at least, though that was a low bar. He gave her a quick pet on the back after carefully plastering the bandages back into place, and she arched into it, grumbling.

Thank Venus that hadn’t escalated any further.

“I think we should make camp for tonight and have some rest before going deeper, all right, team?” Kabbu raised his voice so Leif could hear it, and saw the moth raise his head from the opposite end of the campsite.

“Sounds fine to us. We… could use some rest, before anything else happens.”

Vi grumbled, but didn’t protest. Kabbu went about the motions of preparing a campsite – scooping out nests for everyone, setting out the bedrolls, packing up the medical supplies for later. Vi settled down to watch, after a while, uncharacteristically silent.

Making camp was meditative, almost. The same set of steps nearly every time, it was easy to get lost in it until it was ready to sleep in. Leif settled down quickly enough, Vi staying balled-up into a lump of resentful bee, and Kabbu could almost forget the argument if he just… laid down and tried to sleep.

Hopefully, tomorrow would be less… stressful.

It had scarcely been fifteen minutes before Kabbu felt something tapping on his shell.

Kabbu pulled himself out of the space between sleep and wakefulness, head still full of fog. He looked up at the source of the tapping to see Vi, fur fluffed and hackles raised like she was about to face down a horrid beast.

Vi took a deep breath, and Kabbu’s half-asleep brain could hardly keep up with her before she spoke.

“…look, I’m sorry about- that, but I’m not weak, okay?”

Kabbu was sure his startled look must have shown on his face, because Vi plowed forward. “I mean it, I’m not- I don’t need help, I’m fine on my own, I don’t need a team to prop me up, because I-“

“No one is saying that you’re weak, Vi. Are you sure you’re-“

“I’m fine, and you don’t have to worry about me, and- look, you don’t have to treat me like a cripple, okay? I’ve worked with worse, and I don’t need your pity, because it’ll heal over anyways-“

“I’m not trying to treat you like an- an invalid, Vi! You’re injured, I thought-“

“I can handle it! I don’t need you to- to kiss it better, or whatever. I’m fine!”

Leif stirred in his nest, and Vi quieted down abruptly, shrinking in on herself. She abruptly looked much, much smaller than she had before.

“…Sorry.”

She didn’t meet his eyes, staring off to the side. “I’m- look, it’s just… frustrating. Okay? I don’t…”

Vi trailed off, shuffling her paws. Kabbu shifted to the side of his nest, easing his elytra open just enough to shield it.

“…It’s okay, Vi. I believe you.”

She grimaced, avoiding his gaze. Kabbu shuffled a bit further to the side, eying the bandages over her side. She looked…

“…do you want to sleep with me tonight?”

Vi startled back into motion, fur fluffing up as far as it would go. “What?-“ she started. before wincing as her voice echoed off the walls. She shook herself out, whisper-shouting at him. “Why would I want to-“

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, you just- you look like you need it.”

Vi looked like she was trying to decide if she wanted to be insulted or simply surprised at the offer.

“I understand if you don’t want to, I-“ Kabbu hastily added, but she cut him off.

“It’s fine, I just- if you want to, I guess.”

“If you don’t-“

“Just move over before I change my mind.”

Kabbu shifted to the side, opening his elytra to allow her passage. She nestled into his side, curling close enough that he swore he could feel her shape imprinted into his underbelly, worming her way into the space between his belly and the nest.

…there was more space for her than just there, but Kabbu felt like bringing it up would be- poor.

Slowly, he resettled on top of her, feeling her shift under him. She was startlingly warm, especially compared to Leif, a miniature heat pack against his shell. It was a welcomed addition against the cold of Snakemouth Den, and he found himself quickly drifting off to sleep.

Yes, tomorrow would be better.

phantom limb