CAMPINGFIC. IS. COMPLETE.
HOLY SHIT, GUYS, IT’S FINALLY OVER. SIX MONTHS. SIX CHAPTERS. 25K.
Yuri feels like a wasp’s nest—if anyone were to brush up against him right now, poison barbs would boil out of him. So he needs to be alone and he needs to keep moving. It’s the only way to soothe the buzzing energy, and the increasingly wet, gray days are inconvenient.
He runs anyway, lacing up leather sneakers against the damp and zipping himself into a windbreaker, but there’s nothing he can do for the rain soaking his hair and blurring his vision. In the rain, it doesn’t matter if he cries; the water masks it. Yakov scolds him: he’s running too much, he’s wearing himself out, his practices are suffering. Yuri nods and nods and says he’ll take it easier.
He doesn’t take it easier. His legs ache every day. “I want to add another quad to my free,” he tells Yakov.
[In which everything that can possibly go wrong, does.]