abc's of

anonymous asked:

F and/or N for sick Yuuri?

“I return with supplies!” trills Phichit, lifting his shopping bag high in the air. He’d just walked in, and Yuuri was in the middle of blowing his nose. He’d been avoiding doing this because it made such a disgusting sound, and he’d thought he’d timed it properly so he could clear his sinuses one more time before Phicit walked in…but no. He failed. 

Probably because of the fever broiling his brain, this failure starts tears brewing in his eyes. He tries to burrow underneath his blankets to escape Phichit’s gaze, but the blankets are a twisted pile that he can’t figure out how to straighten. He ends up lying face first on the bed, the crumpled blanket caught between his legs. 

“Yuuri, hey, you’re okay,” says Phichit. “Everything’s okay. I got you some medicine, let’s get you sitting up so you can take it, alright?” 

Groaning, Yuuri lets himself melt into Phichit’s arms. He doesn’t know how it happens, but somehow he ends up sitting up in bed, propped up by a pile of pillows, his blankets smoothed neatly across his lap. Phichit hands him a cupful of chemical syrup, tells him to drink, then guides his hand to his mouth when he doesn’t. 

“I dod’t thidk I cad swallow,” mumbles Yuuri, sniffed punctuating almost every word. “By throat is…hhh…hhh…Phichit, get your hand away from by–HAHH!” 

Phichit snatches his hand back, and Yuuri sneezes furiously into the blankets that he lifts from his bed. His nose is running down his face, so he just keeps the blanket where it was. He doesn’t want Phichit to think he’s disgusting. To hate him. God, he’s going to hate him, isn’t he?

“Awww, poor Yuuri,” coos Phichit. “I got tissues at the store too. Will you take some?” 

In his confused state, Yuuri doesn’t remember how to answer him in English, so he just rasps a weak, “hai, arigato,” and reaches out a shaky hand to accept them.