Germophobia (M, Yuri on Ice)

[groundcontrol]

Woohoo another Yuri on Ice fic! This one is inspired by my own experiences with germophobia, which had a field day when three (3) of the five people I was living with on vacation were sick/became sick. Much like Yuuri, I also have anxiety, so it makes sense that he might have germophobia too. I’ve done my best to be respectful and accurate.

(AKA, I just had a very minor surgery, but I’m pretty sure the doctor prescribed some fluff to recover) Enjoy!

 

The first thing Yuuri did when he got home was to check the kitchen and the living room over, to see whether anything felt out of place, anything to suggest that Victor had touched anything. He found no such evidence, but drew a fresh disinfecting wipe from one of the packs he’d just purchased as a matter of course and wiped down every available surface anyway. He could never be too cautious.

    Makkachin skittered over to him, nails clickity-clacking on the hardwood floor, and though she whimpered and wagged her tail for attention, Yuuri did not touch her. Though it didn’t look like Victor had been out of his room, there was no telling whether he had let Makkachin in, and there was no telling just what germs could lurk on an oft-kissed head or an oft-scratched ear.

    “Hi, girl,” Yuuri cooed, sidestepping her attempts to jump up at his thighs. “S-stay down, girl, alright?”

    Makkachin barked reproachfully at the lack of head-pats, and went instead to scratch at the door to the guest room, where Victor was staying. Yuuri’s heart constricted when he heard low, wet coughs and a groan in response to the dog’s plea for entrance

    “Yuuri?” Victor called, or so much as he could with as little voice as he had left. He sounded exponentially worse than when Yuuri had left that morning to go shopping, all raspy and congested, and the fact made Yuuri’s palms sweat.

    “Yes, Vitya,” Yuuri answered, trying his hardest to keep his breaths even and steady. “I got everything you asked for. Just one moment.”

    “A-as long as you dneed—heh’kshhoo! Snf! Heh’TSCHHOO!”

    “Bless you,” Yuuri gritted out through clenched teeth. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t help it, not when Victor was sniffly and sick and a walking germ factory. Yuuri shook his head as he pulled a box of tissues and a pack of lozenges from the grocery bag; he couldn’t let himself think like that. He had to keep reminding himself that it wasn’t Victor’s fault he got sick, and that the man had been nothing but accommodating, going to sleep in the guest room when Yuuri started to squirm, and locking himself in when Yuuri couldn’t take the endless rounds of sterilizing the apartment anymore. But still, the knowledge that Victor was spraying the air full of virus, intentionally or not, did not bode well for Yuuri’s germaphobia.

    Yuuri went to the guest room and set the tissue box and lozenge pack on the floor beside the door. He took care to take a few very large steps back, until he had backed himself back into the kitchen and into the island there, before saying, “There is the tissues and cough drops.”

    There was a brief delay, filled with the sounds of rustling blankets and shuffling footsteps, before the door cracked open, revealing a red-nosed Victor bundled in a hooded sweatshirt. “Wonderful,” he said in a grateful, if congested, voice, as he bent to retrieve the supplies Yuuri had left. He tucked the lozenges under his arm and grabbed a tissue from the box before scooping it up in his other hand. “I’ve been s—eh—sdeezing all d—heh—day! Hih’TSCHH!”

Victor brought the tissue to his twitching red nose like a magnet, perfectly catching the sneeze, but even that was too much for Yuuri, who swallowed back a choked little noise. Victor must have heard, for he glanced up at him through bleary eyes and looked chastised.

“Oh,” he said softly, and pulled the door shut, muffling his next words. “I’m sorry, Yuuri.”

Yuuri shook his head, the familiar sting of guilt in his chest. Why couldn’t he be normal?  “No, no, it’s fine, Victor. I—“ He heaved a sigh and abandoned his train of thought; there wasn’t much he could explain about his feelings anyhow. “How are you feeling?”

Victor sighed, the sound catching at the end in a brief cough, and Yuuri could tell he was vacillating between telling the truth and lying for Yuuri’s benefit. Yuuri wanted so badly to hug him, to rub his shoulder, pepper him with kisses. Even so, his stomach flipped at the thought; why couldn’t he be normal?

“It’s okay, Vitya. You can be honest.”

Another sigh, more carefully controlled this time. “Not so good, Yuuri. I’m sorry. I think I’m just going to go sleep some more.”

Yuuri swallowed loudly. “I bought some ingredients for tea and soup. Do you want to eat that before you go to sleep?”

“That sounds perfect, my love. You take such good care of me.”

Only I don’t, Yuuri thought, guilt gnawing at the pit of his stomach. What kind of person couldn’t even care for their boyfriend when they were sick, who let their own stupid, selfish fears get in the way of giving comfort? And Victor wasn’t making the situation any easier; if he were whiny and childish and demanding, Yuuri would have less qualms in leaving him shut up in a room alone all day, but he wasn’t. He was meek and considerate and gracious, thanking Yuuri for doing the bare minimum as if it were some grand achievement, and only vocalizing his suffering when Yuuri pressed him for it. And then apologizing, as if Yuuri were the one achy and fever-riddled.

    Yuuri continued his litany of anxious self-hatred as he dug out the soup ingredients and set a pot to boil. Victor, as always, had been patient and reassuring when Yuuri confessed this other outlet of his anxiety to him the first time Victor had caught the sniffles. Even now, miserable as he was with this illness, Victor was sure to remind Yuuri that none of this was his fault, that he didn’t need to do anything he wasn’t comfortable with, that Victor himself was used to being alone when sick (that only intensified Yuuri’s guilt, but he didn’t say so since it wasn’t meant to).

But despite all of Victors earnest and honest reassurances playing back in his head, Yuuri couldn't shake his anxiety. Not just at the fact that Victor was congested and sneezy and coughing everywhere, but also at the fact that he, Yuuri, was being a complete and total selfish ass about it. Rationally, he knew that Victor wouldn’t leave him over his germophobia, but he also knew that, rationally, he shouldn’t be this afraid in the first place!

When the soup and tea were finished, Yuuri knocked on Victor’s door to give it to him. Briefly he thought he might do something small like stroke Victor’s hair a bit when he came to the door, but when Victor emerged, it was in the throes of itchy, pink, pre-sneeze limbo, and so all Yuuri could do was bite his lip to hold back a squeal.

“Heh’TSSCHoo! Snf!” He caught the sneeze quickly in a crumpled tissue before hurrying to take the bowl and mug from Yuuri, another outburst clearly iminent. “Ah, s-sorry, Yuuri, th-thah-thank you!” Hands full, Victor directed his sneeze over his shoulder, as far away from Yuuri as he could manage. “Hih’EKSHH! Hih’ISSHH!” A thin strand of mucus dripped from Victor’s nose; he tried to sniffle it back, but to no avail.

The squeal slipped out anyhow, and Yuuri all but slammed the door in Victor’s face, breathing heavy. From behind the door, Victor coughed wetly, and Yuuri heard him shuffle back to bed.

    “I’m sorry, my love,” Victor rasped softly, coughing again.

    “It’s alright,” Yuuri said, not trusting himself to say much more. “Just, just get some sleep, alright?”

    “Mmm.”

    Yuuri watched his hands three times, until they were red and a bit cracked. The blood rushing in his ears had retreated a little, so he went to the couch and flicked on the television to calm himself further. His favorite crime drama was on a marathon, and slowly Yuuri let himself be immersed in it and forget the world around him.

    Yuuri was on his fifth crime show episode when he felt a vibration beneath his thigh. He dug out his phone, which had slipped beneath the bedsheets, and was surprised when the caller ID showed “Vitya” with copious hearts. Yuuri answered it at once.

    “Victor? Is something wrong? Do you—“

    “No, Yuuri,” Victor cut him off with a sad sounding croak before descending into a fit of horrendous coughing. The sound was muffled slightly, and Yuuri could tell Victor was holding the phone away as he crumpled into and covered his mouth with his blankets. “I just… Snf! SNF! Heh’KSCHHuhhh! Heh’KMPFF! Guhh…” Victor half-groaned, half-whimpered, and the sound made Yuuri’s heart clench.

    “I know this is a lot for you to handle,” Victor continued, clearing his throat painfully. “B-but could you just talk to me? Until I fall asleep? I really don’t feel good and hearing you… it always helps me sleep.”

    Victor sounded so tired and so hesitant in his request that, damn clenching, Yuuri’s heart broke in two. Here he was, so selfish that his boyfriend was scared to ask him to talk over the phone! His stomach felt sick with how pathetic he was, but even so, a wave of determination flooded over him. This had to stop.

    “O-of course, Vitya,” Yuuri stammered, trying to keep his heart from jumping into his throat. “Just one moment, alright?”

    Victor sighed, relieved. “Thank you, Yuuri.”

    Yuuri set the phone down and steeled himself for what was to come. Before he left the safety of his bedroom, he would need a concrete plan, because if he hesitated anywhere, he knew he would turn back. Facemask, hand sanitizer, disinfectant spray, and wipes.

    Yuuri chanted the supplies like a prayer, first mentally and then softly but firmly under his breath, to drown out the intrusive thoughts that clanged around in his head. “Facemask, hand sanitizer, disinfectant spray, wipes,” he said once more, cataloguing the items he now held in his hands. He approached the guest room door, taking one last breath of pure, germ-free air. “You can do this, Yuuri.”

    The door swung open.

    “Yuuri!” Victor sat bolt upright, his eyes wide, his hair bedrumpled, his nose red. “Wh-what are you doing? You’ll—“

    “I know what I’m doing, Vitya,” Yuuri said, sitting on the mattress beside him, trying to ignore his heart beating a million miles a minute. Victor shifted, scooting away from him. “If hearing my voice will help you sleep, I can only imagine what a backrub would do, huh?”

    Victor rubbed his eye with a knuckle and sniffled. “Yuuri?” His voice crackled, etched with confusion, and broke on the word.

     “Shh, lie down,” Yuuri said, swallowing, and reaching out a hand to guide Victor back to the bed. He was doing it. He was sweaty and a bit shaky but he was doing it. His rapid heartbeat was gradually getting easier to ignore. “Close your eyes.”

       Victor lay down, but merely stared at Yuuri tiredly. “Y-you shouldn't…”  He broke off, coughing so tightly stifled into the blankets that Yuuri’s chest ached in sympathy. “...don't have to be here,” he continued, raw-voiced. “‘m sick.”

      “I’m not staying long. I-I can’t,” Yuuri said, his voice hitching a bit. He took another deep, steadying breath. “But I can stay with you until you fall asleep. How many times have you done this with me?” His fingers found the nape of Victor’s neck and kneaded the fevered skin gently.

    “B-but, Yuuri,” Victor protested, but his eyes were already closing at Yuuri’s touch.

    “Shhh, just sleep, Vitya. Does this feel good?”

    “Mmhmm.”

    “Then I’ll do it. For you.”

    “I love you so much, Yuuri,” Victor murmured, craning his neck a bit to look at Yuuri one last time. The soft smile on his face, the look in his eyes (fever bright though they were), made it all worth it. The anxiety was there, but Yuuri swallowed it. He would take a long, white-hot shower later, but for now...

    This is right, Yuuri thought. This is love.

[Reader]

This is sooooooooooo perfect!!! And I would love more! So much more! 

[Voodoo huntress]

I actually really enjoyed this and already read it 3 times, oops

[Alabaster]

 I love this-- it's so the opposite of how I would be with a partner who was sick, but it's so well written, I could sympathize and imagine it so well.