Everyone got their wings when they were around twelve. It came with voice cracks or periods or all those things that people didn't like to go through, but it came .

Yuuri was eleven years old when he first wished he could have wings. His eyes had been glued to the screen, plushie clutched in his arms as he watched the Grand Prix finals. He had leaned forward when Viktor showed up on screen, his hair in a ponytail and his eyes as sombre as they always were.

His wings were silver, and when he danced with the ice, they took on a blue-ish hue that reminded Yuuri of the skies. It was like watching an angel dance, his movements seamless as he twirled on the frozen rink, eyes to the sky and his wings curved in a way that made his take-offs really look like he was flying.

Viktor's wings were special, even among ice skaters. His feathers were never ruffled, and their colours never faded. He glowed in the moonlight and when he skated, the world held its breath.

Yuuri, on the other hand, was eleven years old, and wingless. He waited and waited and waited, and his wings didn't come. His voice cracked, and he felt miserable all the time, but his wings were late.

And when they came, they came in black, dull and boring and small .

"It's happening more and more these days," his doctor explained kindly, "Evolution, you see. People don't use their wings anymore, so they are getting smaller."

But Yuuri didn't care about evolution. He just wanted wings . He wanted large, beautiful wings like Viktor, so that he could fly on ice and take the world by storm.

But his wings were dull and black and small and Yuuri knew, even at that age, that he would never be a good enough skater.

He skated anyway.

Minako, with her pink wings and ballet school, took a chance on him. And then Celestino, with his midnight blue feathers.

Even Phichit looked at him like he was worth something. Phichit, with yellow wings that shone gold in the right light, looked at boring, black-winged Yuuri and gushed.

Yuuri started to believe it too, then. That he was worth something. That he could skate and be better than what he was.

That he could evolve into something more.

But doubt creeped in, and even the audience had prettier wings than his. Bigger wings, with more interesting colours. Feathers that looked like they were made of silk and shapes that were meant for the world to see -

When Yuuri crashed into ice, his wings didn't stop his fall. They were too weak and useless to.

His first meeting with Yurii was a disaster.

Young Yurii has a few choice words for him, but Yuuri is too distracted by his wings.

They are pure white, not a single shade off. It had been kept clean, untainted by the world of dirt and dust.

It was then, Yuuri realised, that the universe had given him the perfect rival - white to his black - and that he, crying in front of a bathroom stall and wallowing in his own misery, was already losing.

When he got to Japan, his parents were there to greet him with their sweet brown wings, and Yuuri tried not to be jealous of that colour too. Brown can look good, he had come to realise. There were a thousand shades of brown, and he had yet to meet two people with the same shade. Even his parents and sister had a range - his mother was closer to honey, his sister reminded him of almonds and his father was pine, strong and supportive.

It was only Yuuri that had such awfully coloured wings.

That day, he went to the rink, because he needed to exercise if his useless wings and equally useless extra-weight wanted to keep up with the big-leagues.

Yuuko greeted him with her gorgeous copper wings, her triplets too young to have grown their own wings yet.

When asked, Yuuri was met with a chorus of -

"I want purple!"

"I want blue."

"Pink."

And though he himself had had many ideas of what colours he would get (all of them wrong), he found himself smiling.

The universe had chosen Yuuri because he was an easy target. But these kids had fight in them - if they wanted pretty, solid colours for their wings, Yuuri was almost certain they would get it.

He wouldn't even be mad, later, when they uploaded his video on the internet.

Yuuri put on his skates and slid onto the ice. A shiver ran down his spine, straight to his wings, which opened on reflex. He flexed them a little, trying to get warmed up before he started.

He had memorised this program by heart - as in, literally carved it into his heart . It was what a good fan would do.

His start was good, but he made mistakes along the way. The fact that this wasn't for anyone but himself is what calmed him down. He could pretend, for a moment, that he was Viktor. That his silver wings had taken the figure skating world by storm, and that he was the peak of what ice skaters of this generation could do.

He skated with his heart, disregarding anyone who might be watching. He skated as Viktor would, even if his wings were barely worth a second glance.

He skated, and he was glad he did, because skating was what he loved and one day, it would lead him to the man he loved as well.

Viktor came to Japan.

No, wait, Viktor came here , to Hasetsu , looking for him .

Yuuri was going to die.

He was literally going to die .

He peeked around the corner, only to hear his mother tell Viktor about Vicchan.

He felt his face flush and his heart to strange palpitations and his wings twitch because he was freaking dying .

Because Viktor was here . In Japan . For him .

Yeah.

Yuuri was dying. This is what death felt like. Oh lord -

"Ah, Yuuri, hello," Viktor greeted.

Yuuri squeaked and locked himself in his room and died.

After calming down ever so slightly - enough to get three sentences out in Viktor's proximity - Yuuri finally managed to ask, "Um, what brought you here?"

Viktor gave him a curious look, as though Yuuri was missing something, and said, "Your video. It was very good."

Yuuri thought that there might be more to it, but didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Not that Viktor was a horse, just a gift and -

Oh no, his brain was short-circuiting again.

"And your wings," Viktor said suddenly, which stopped Yuuri short.

Yuuri frowned, having thought that his idol wouldn't have a mean bone in his body. But everyone was human.

"That's not very funny," Yuuri chided lightly.

Viktor's gaze was intense as he said, "But it is not a joke."

"My wings are boring, and small."

"They are black," Viktor said earnestly, "I have never seen black before."

Black wings weren't rare. Actually, brown and black were the most popular colours among the average populace. Sometimes, people got cream or midnight blue or a variation of red or yellow. But black was average. Black was boring.

Ice skaters have colourful wings. They have silver and gold and red and blue and white and pink. Some have purple that resemble black in the right light, or black that resembles blue.

No one in the ice skating world has ever made it very far with black or brown wings.

Especially not black ones. At least brown can have variations.

Yuuri stared in the mirror and sighed.

Certainly, no one had made it far in the ice skating world with such petite wings, barely reaching his wrists, and falling limply at his sides.

When Viktor said, "I've never seen black before," Yuuri's first answer was, "But everyone has black."

Viktor gave him a puzzled look and said, "Not like this."

Yuuri frowned and tried to see what Viktor had seen, sitting outside his parent's shop under the stars. Viktor's own wings had been glowing, and Yuuri had tried his absolute best to not just reach out and pet it. But Viktor had been looking at Yuuri's wings that night as if there was something there.

"Not like this," Viktor said again, as if it explained everything.

The boy with white wings arrived only a day later, a little ball of anger that made Yuuri surprised that his wings weren't flaming red.

"No, white makes perfect sense," Yuuko told him, preening her copper feathers that night, clearly in mothering-mode, "He's adorable."

Yuuri glanced around furtively, making sure that the kid wasn't going to jump out of the bushes and bite their heads off for calling him adorable .

Which he absolutely was, but Yuuri wasn't taking that chance.

"I guess he looked bigger when I was feeling much smaller," Yuuri admitted quietly, "And then I realised he was just a kid."

But that didn't stop the fact that Yurio's wings are pure, gorgeous white, ready to take him to great heights.

One day, he was going to be top of the skating world, a perfect successor to Viktor. Yuuri wondered if by then, the world would have forgotten him.

" Eros ," Yuuri murmured to himself, trying to visualise the word, "How am I supposed to be Eros?"

"How am I supposed to be Agape?" Yurio screamed.

Yuuri swallowed a smile, because he valued his life, thank you very much. As if sensing his amusement, Yurio scrowled furiously at him.

"I can hear you thinking Katusdon, shut the hell up!"

That drew an unintentional laugh from Yuuri, which ended up earning him a fist to the back. Still, he found himself strangely endeared to the white tiger-kitten.

Yuuri saw the young boy's white wings fluttering behind him, ethereally white, and thought he would have no problems with Agape.

Eros, on the other hand.

He tried looking it up, getting some ideas on how to embody what Viktor was in him. But his small wings fluttered uselessly at his side, and his world continued to be very non-Eros.

It was infinitely annoying that Yuuri kept getting distracted by Viktor freaking Nikoforov, and his silver wings and thin hands so gentle on his lips and -

Yuuri slapped his cheeks to refocus.

He found his love in katsudon.

Later, he found out that Yurio thought of his grandfather for unconditional love, which is far more mature and meaningful than katsudon.

Katsudon won though, so. Perhaps Yuuri did something right, for once.

And really, it's not just katsudon. He made friends with a fifteen year old kid, whose temper is short but his heart was in the right place.

And he found Viktor. Or, well, Viktor found him, and stayed , so that was also something.

("Something?" Viktor said when Yuuri mentioned it, looking slightly disappointed, "I don't think that was just something , Yuuri."

Yuuri didn't know how to reply, so he made a stammering joke about katsudon, which made Viktor grin broadly - an expression that was so rare that Yuuri had only realised it now. Viktor smiles a lot, but he rarely grinned, and almost never laughed.

Yuuri was filled with the inexplicable desire to be one of the few who could make Viktor Nikiforov laugh.)

Minami had black wings too.

They're larger than Yuuri's, even at this age, and it had red highlights. Most people don't dye their wings but when your wings is black, Yuuri supposed it was necessary. He himself had thought of dying his wings (silver, of course), but Celestino had advised against it. His feathers were too fragile and easily damaged, unlike others.

"Dye your wings?" Viktor asked, scandalised, when he brought it up, "Whatever for? Don't be ridiculous."

Yuuri clamped his mouth shut, because people like Viktor would never understand what people like Yuuri have to go through.

There are people in his mind, from childhood, from competitions, from fans and reporters and more, all of them who smiled and looked so pitying when they saw his wings. All of those who asked, "How can you get far in figure skating with wings like this?" already more hopeless than Yuuri himself.

Viktor bumped his shoulder lightly into Yuuri, "As Yuuri's coach, I must ask you to stop thinking poorly of Yuuri."

Yuuri gave him a smile, trying his hardest to follow his coach's advice, but Viktor could tell it wasn't real. They were sitting alone now, the rink empty at this hour. Part of Viktor's novel teaching methods was getting Yuuri up well before the crack of dawn. Yuuri had already run through his program twice, and was currently cooling down, hyper-aware that he was only two feet away from his idol.

One would think Yuuri got over that by now. One would be wrong.

"Your wings are beautiful, Yuuri," Viktor said suddenly.

Yuuri smiled, "Thank you."

Viktor shook his head and slowly reached out, his long, delicate fingers running through black feathers. Yuuri tensed at the feeling, shivers traveling through his body as Viktor almost reverently smoothed down Yuuri's wings.

"Your wings are beautiful," Viktor repeated.

And for one, breathless moment, Yuuri believed him.

Yuuri was way too tired on the day of the Cup of China and Viktor's terrible coaching almost broke him.

But -

But. Yuuri's free program was flawless. Even he, with his dull black wings too small to carry his body weight, seemed to fly across the ice, the light and the chill drawing the audience in and dancing just away from their reach. He drew them in and kept him there, like Viktor had done for him when he had been eleven.

And then -

And then. Viktor kissed him.

"This was the only thing I could think of to surprise you more than you've surprised me."

See, humans have always looked up. They have wings to help them soar, to touch the stars and reach for the sun. But Yuuri's wings couldn't help him fly, so when he looked up to see Viktor staring at him, he found himself falling instead.

"My wings aren't black!" Minami said, delighted, "They're yellow, same as my hair. I just dyed it black cause - "

Yuuri was already walking away.

Any semblance of confidence Yuuri had built up over his time with Viktor crumbled far too quickly, which honestly proved the point that Viktor was better off not being Yuuri's coach.

And then Makkachin got sick and Yuuri made sure to force Viktor to go back home, because Viktor needed to be there, in case -

Yuuri didn't let himself think that.

The performance was hard. Doing it without Viktor watching him was harder.

But he managed to do it, and made sure to give everyone a hug because Viktor wasn't there to give him one.

When he looked at himself that night, chubby belly and pitiful wings, he remembered Viktor's kiss on his lips, his arms around him and he said, "You're beautiful."

Minami texted him to say, You didn't let me finish!

My wings aren't black, but I dyed them

Because I'm your number one fan!

And what followed was a series of heart emojis that were borderline inappropriate, but Minami was kind of a friend now, and also kind of crazy like everyone else in this figure skating world, so it was okay.

Yuuri texted Phichit immediately after, then Yurio, then Mari, then Yuuko, then Takeshi. They all texted back, Yurio with a long string of curses.

Yuuri wondered what they saw in him and thought, perhaps, he might not be so bad.

When they reunited and Yuuri asked Viktor to be his coach for, well, forever, Viktor said it sounded like a marriage proposal.

It wasn't meant to be, but if it was, well. Nothing to do about it, he supposed.

He found some rings, and they are not engagement rings, like Phichit said. Just good luck charms. But it felt a lot like engagement anyway.

Slipping that ring on Viktor felt like coming home, and thanking him was like wedding vows. So.

That was something.

(Years upon years down the line, when the ice world is behind them and they bask in each other's warmth, Yuuri would recount the tale.

" Something ?" Viktor would laugh, a common sound now, "I don't think that was just something , Yuuri.")

"I thought that hearing about my … embarrassment at the banquet would make me feel … more insecure, I suppose," Yuuri said.

In their hotel room, they had pushed their beds together. Viktor clung to him for warmth, but they had never gone further than that. At this point, Yuuri felt no need to.

Viktor's wings were haphazardly thrown over Yuuri's body, engulfing him in silver. Yuuri had given up on blankets a while ago.

"You have come very far," Viktor said sleepily, "Your growth is remarkable."

Yuuri blushed and turned to him, looking him in the eyes, "Viktor … will you be my boyfriend."

And Viktor laughed . A sweet, high sound that sent tingles from Yuuri's belly down to the tips of his feathers. It warmed him up, straight to his soul, and Yuuri basked in knowing that maybe, for a little while longer, he could hear that sound.

"I think we're the first couple to get engaged before dating."

Yuuri blushed and mumbled, "It wasn't an engagement."

Viktor smothered his laughter in Yuuri's shoulder and somewhere between his breathless huffs, he said "Yes."

They didn't really sleep that night. Eventually, they both ended up under the stars.

Viktor was glowing, as he always was, his shoulder pressed against Yuuri. Even now, he couldn't help but feel flustered at the fact that Viktor was here . He didn't think he'd ever stop feeling flustered.

Viktor was smiling contently up at the sky, his silver wings stretched wide, flexing on reflex. Yuuri watched, fascinated, as his feathers caught the dim lights around them and sent it reflecting.

"Um … Viktor … may I?"

Viktor sent him a smile that Yuuri took as consent. Slowly, he reached out, letting his fingers brush silver feathers.

In Yuuri's wildest imaginations, Yuuri would not have known how callous they were. How damaged.

"Do you hate it?" Viktor asked, his voice light but his eyes on guard.

"I could never hate anything about you," which was the honest truth.

Viktor relaxed. Had he been rejected before, when he showed himself as anything less than perfect? Had anyone touched his wings and had drawn away from it's damage?

Yuuri had once thought, rather callously, that someone like Viktor wouldn't understand. Now, he felt ashamed.

Ashamed of his younger self, too, for thinking that Viktor's wings were flawless. That he had not suffered anything at all, just because his wings were gorgeous silver.

And they were gorgeous. As Yuuri ran his hands through them, feeling Viktor shiver slightly, he couldn't help but feel awed. He paused at the feathers that were splitting at the ends, trying to soothe them down. He gently caressed at spots where feathers had come off entirely. They weren't flawless. They were perfect.

"As Viktor's boyfriend," Yuuri said softly, blushing at his own words, "I must ask you not to hurt Viktor like this again."

Viktor beamed, "And I must ask you, as Yuuri's coach, to not be so hard on Yuuri."

Yuuri smiled and nodded slightly, turning his attention back to Viktor's wings. Viktor, in turn, was watching him.

"I've always loved your wings, you know," he said softly, "Growing up, I would watch them on TV. I used to think they were perfect," Viktor tensed, and Yuuri soothed him lightly, "I still think so."

"Then I must say, I have always been jealous of your wings."

Yuuri frowned up at him, knowing he wasn't a liar, but still not understanding. "Black wings aren't special."

"Your wings aren't black," Viktor leaned forward, their foreheads touching, "They are endless."

Yuuri stammered out words, trying to say something in reply. Viktor grinned, wrapping his arms around Yuuri and giving his stomach a poke.

"I think every bit of you is beautiful, Yuuri Katsuki."

"You're really cheesy," Yuuri managed to get out through his tears.

"And you," Viktor said, kissing away his tears, "Continue to amaze me, with how much you grow. With how much you evolve, every single day."

In the finale, when Yurio fell to his knees, white wings splayed around him, he looked like an angel.

Yuuri felt like a proud big brother, watching him. Looking at Viktor, he knew the other man felt the same.

Because Yurio didn't look like an angel in prayer, head bowed and waiting. No, he looked like an angel ready to take flight, to soar to heights unimaginable. And while Yuuri would perhaps never get to those same heights, he was willing to follow, breathless, if only to see how far the boy would go.

After all, the heavens are limitless, and Yurio will only ever get better.

When Yuuri slid onto the ice, it felt like coming alive. He had always loved skating and now, he focused on naming more things he loved. His parents. His sister. His teachers. His friends. Viktor.

Maybe even himself.

He let the chill take root in his bones, let the music and his body move as one, let the skate play out as a part of him, rather than a program. He skated with his heart, only caring that Viktor and the people he loved were watching.

He wondered, then, what Viktor had seen that day, on the video. Wondered what the world was seeing now. But he discarded those thoughts, because all that mattered was that Yuuri was on ice, and that his skating was evolving as the music did, as he did.

(And if he were to let himself ponder on that wondering for a bit longer, he would know -

That angels weren't the only ones who skated on ice. Sometimes, there were mortals too, with unimaginable odds and barely any strength to lift themselves up. But they did anyway, because that's what humans do, no matter what the universe said.

He would know that the world held its breath when the human, Yuuri Katsuki, danced - because his wings were small and ordinary, but when he moved on the ice, when the blue danced with him and the white lights shone, his black wings were endless, and as they stretched and twirled, the colours they reflected continued to evolve.

He would know that this was not just something . He was more. )

"I won silver," Yuuri said, grinning, "Like your wings."

Viktor giggled slightly, which brought a flush to Yuuri's face. He hugged Yuuri close, burying his head in Yuuri's neck.

He whispered, "I much prefer gold."

Yuuri huffed a sigh, "You're insatiable."

"Says the man who found love in katsudon."

They stay on the floor for a while, laughing and bantering, their wings intertwined with each other. Course, damaged silver met beautiful, endless black in a rough mishmash of feathers, and the world kept moving forwards.