[ The words fuck yes go through his head, but Yancy presses his lips together and counts all the way to two-fifty, keeping steady pace all the way to the very end even if his arms feel like they're ready to turn into jell-o.
when he finishes, he stands up, whole body shaking from the effort of being upright; a stitch in his side making him wince just a little. ] Two hundred and fifty, sir.
[ Keep it together, Becket. You are not allowed to throw up.
no subject
when he finishes, he stands up, whole body shaking from the effort of being upright; a stitch in his side making him wince just a little. ] Two hundred and fifty, sir.
[ Keep it together, Becket. You are not allowed to throw up.
That would be embarrassing. ]