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It didn’t happen often. Years apart, even, so Victor considered himself very lucky. But, very rarely, he would be laid low with a migraine. It had begun when he was a teenager, after falling twice in a week on his head (rare for him, even then) and gaining a mild concussion. He had headaches after that with all the right symptoms (light and noise sensitivity, nausea, throbbing pain behind his eyes and tension all the way down his neck) for him to be diagnosed with migraines. They were debilitating enough that Yakov was seriously worried about his career.
But, he won gold at Juniors with no headaches, and the reoccurring pain cleared up. And now, halfway into his twenties, he could honestly say that this didn’t happen often.
That didn’t make it any better that it was happening now.
The door to the small storage room eased open, causing Victor to flinch in anticipation of the light, along with the far too loud brush of the door along the floor. He swore he could feel the vibrations of Yakov’s shoes as he stepped closer.
“Vitya, it’s nearly time.” Yakov’s voice was barely a breath. He knew how this went, but usually it happened in the off season, or training days that could be skipped. There were so few competition days, comparatively. How could this happen, on the day of his Free Skate in the World Championships?
Victor was currently already in his costume, and huddled in his jacket, lying on the cold tile floor of a dark storage room, with a not fresh enough ice pack on his forehead. He’d taken the max of painkillers, but he knew from unpleasant experience that this must just run it’s course. Light hurt. Noise hurt. Moving around made his stomach roll, and in a few minutes, he’d have to go out and skate a routine in front of a screaming crowd.
He groaned, a light sound that still pierced his head. “It can’t be yet...”
Victor had felt this coming, and had done everything he could think of to stave it off. He could have skated earlier that day, with only the lingering pressure behind his eyes, but the event was in the evening and he knew from experience it would only get worse as the day progressed. He’d napped in the dark, but it worsened when he ate his light dinner, and by the time the event previous to the Men’s Skate was starting, Victor knew that he’d be skating fully under the influence of a migraine, unless he wanted to drop out. And there was no chance of that.
“You have time to warm up your muscles,” Yakov said, uncharacteristically gentle. He knew how hard this would be. He knew how much Victor had fought this happening.
“I’ll throw up,” Victor admitted. Even the thought of moving was making his stomach roll.
“Better now than on the ice,” his long-suffering coach sighed. “C’mon, up you get.”
Victor accepted the help, feeling shaky and weak. His head throbbed fiercely, and he paused involuntarily, a whimper escaping his lips. Yakov’s hands on his shoulders were warm and firm.
“Alright?”
Victor breathed out.
“Alright. Let’s go.”