It’s cold in St Petersburg and Yuuri’s flirt game is still pretty rusty even a year later
I once saw a girl in the campus pool after dark. She was wrapped in a thick, dark, speckled towel. Her hair was wet and wild about a face with green eyes and freckles dotting her cheeks. She sang, low and slow; a crooning rendition of an Irish lullaby. When she turned and smiled her teeth were many wicked, white canines. Then she slid the towel like the hood of a fur coat over her wild curls and dipped beneath the water. I don't think she came up. I don't think she ever came up.