A/N: Hey there! I don't really have much to say, besides that I'm happy to be getting back into creative writing on my own again! ALSO, I promise that the following chapters will be far longer than this little prologue; I just wanted to get the real hooker put down on paper (screen?) while my typing fingers were hot!

*Important!* This story contains mentions of illness, specifically 'Multiple Sclerosis.' I want to state that I am, in no way, an expert on this disease. I have, however, been doing (and will be doing) my own research on MS. With that being said, feel free to let me know if you think I'm portraying anything improperly in the story ahead!

"Isn't it bad luck for you to see the groom before the wedding?"

Yuuri wore a smile on his face as he straightened Viktor's tie. He shook his head, which caused a strand of poorly-gelled hair to slip into his face. Viktor, in turn, reached up to coax the flyaway to the side, scooping it behind Yuuri's ear. Yuuri's smile widened and Viktor reveled in how much he adored that smile.

Yuuri was smaller than him and more timid than him about most things. Or, he had been. But that was before Viktor had gotten his hands on him. In more ways than one.

"Shush. As if I care about that. I don't believe in those superstitions," Yuuri countered. He'd finished preening over his fiance's tie and pulled back to sit upright in his chair. Viktor found himself lost in that beautiful image: of Yuuri, his Yuuri, all dressed up just for him.

Yuuri wore a suit. A full one. We're talking the whole 18th-century sort of thing. It was something they had both agreed upon. They both wore a different color, for the sake of tradition: Yuuri had opted to wear the white suit, but Viktor had suggested that white wouldn't accurately portray his 'Eros.'

The Grand Prix final had been an entire season ago, and Viktor was still hooked on that concept. Yuuri didn't mind, though. It made the excitable Russian happy, whereas these days had been rough for him. Terribly so. And Yuuri wasn't about to ruin that. Not on their wedding day, of all days.

So, he wore black. And Viktor was dazzling as ever in his matching attire of white.

"Ah, flirting with fate, are we? You always did like to change things up in your routines at the last minute," Viktor was saying. And Yuuri shook his head to snap himself out of his daydreaming.

He was beginning to worry now. Viktor had been down recently and these past few months had been less-than-perfect. Especially after his condition had taken a turn for the worse. Everything had to be perfect. Just for this day. Please.

"Yuuri?"

Viktor sounded worried. Yuuri forced his vision into focus. Oops. Had he forgotten to respond?

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm fine."

Viktor didn't seem convinced. He rolled forward, leaving his knees nestled between the lower bits of Yuuri's thighs. The wheelchair was bulky, but for all of the fancy galas that the Japanese skater had been to after his gold-metal victory, he still hadn't taken to sitting properly. Viktor was, in this moment, indebted to Yuuri's poor posture as he wedged the wheelchair in between.

His voice was level, now. Firm. And suddenly he wasn't Yuuri's fiance any more, but his coach. Brown eyes had trouble meeting ice blue, but they were captivated and stuck there once they'd made contact. This was Viktor's superpower. There was no doubt about how he had been able to capture the hearts of so many back when he was competitive.

"I am, too. Don't forget that I'm not fragile, either. Do me the favor of treating me like a normal human being today. Not a doll. … Promise?"

Yuuri swallowed. Hard.

"Yeah..." he murmured.

Viktor narrowed his eyes.

Yuuri tried again, making sure to sound more enthusiastic this time. "Yeah, I promise."

A/N: Hope you enjoyed it! I'm hoping to continue this fic on for several chapters, so lemme know what'cha think if ya want; all comments are appreciated! Hope to see ya next time!