It certainly wasn't uncommon. Ballet, figure skating. It was frowned upon by outsiders but it held a sense of morbid community for Yuri. It wasn't until another skater introduced him to having his fingers in the back of his throat that he'd really started to feel like something ethereal. Not because of the vomit, that was the less glamorous side of things.

But the weightlessness was an addiction.

Refusing meals was familiarity and running his fingers over the pockets in his collarbones became a self-soothing habit.

It became a competition in its own right, he and that other skater. Who got away with eating the smallest about, who could throw up the most, who weighed the least.

Lilia was catching on, perhaps. Her disapproval was clear as glass. She knows how to look after her body to get the most out of it for a long time. Yuri's competitive career likely wouldn't last beyond thirty years of age, so he'd do everything in his power to claw his way to the top.

(And really, wasn't that all that matters?)

He'd push his body to the very limits and it made him stronger.

(He'd push his body to the very limits and he's getting weaker)

He's at the Rostelecom Cup. Yūri and Victor are giving Yūri's after performance interview and Yuri can see the disgustingly smitten displays of affection. It makes him ache for his grandfather. Where was he?

Then they see him, waving and cheering with no thought for the people standing by them.

"Good luck!" They cheered and Yuri just sneers and stomps out onto the ice.

Oh, Yuri thinks as he lays on the ice, head still clouded and thick.

In retrospect, he probably shouldn't have been surprised he fainted mid-routine. In practice, he can usually make it to the end before he starts getting tunnel vision. Maybe it was the audience.

(He's used to audiences)

(Maybe it's because he hasn't eaten for a week and a half)

Yūri's by his side in a heartbeat, still wearing his skates. Victor's a little slower, skidding a bit once he reaches the sick boy.

(He's not sick)

Usually, an audience would expect a skater to get back up after a fall. It wasn't unusual. Ungraceful, but not unusual. He didn't know how long he laid still for, blacking out for only a few seconds. Maybe thirty? A minute? He wasn't sure.

Either way, skaters don't usually stay down unless they're injured or they've given up.

(Yuri Plisetsky would die before he gave up)

(Everyone knows that)

(So he must be injured right?)

(He's not sick he's not sick he's not sick)

Yūri's asking questions about how he feels.

"Are you hurt? Sick? What have you eaten today?"

"Nothing," Yuri wheezes, as though it was an insult that Yūri would even ask.

Maybe this wasn't going to be his winning season.