A Heart Beats At Night

A lone figure ran along the sidewalk. Otabek would have mistaken him for a motivated jogger, if not for the sinewy, fluid movements and familiar figure. He jerked his bike over, skidding to a halt in front of the runner.
Otabek's heart was pounding a sickening, dizzying rhythm, but he schooled his face into stoicism as he pulled his helmet off to get a better look.
"Yuri Plisetsky died two years ago," he growled. "What the hell are you?"

This story is complete and will update every Monday, Thursday, and Saturday. Content warnings: This story contains disturbing themes, semi-graphic depictions of violence and injury, discussion of mental illness, and a whole lot of angst.