how far have you been?
The History Boys.
Fiona. Rudge. Tea and rugger.
God, I suck at titles. Lyrics from Pet Shop Boys songs are fun, though. So are pointless drabbles.
Fiona’s never liked rugby.
Still, she wraps herself into a thick jumper, stretched out cuffs hanging loose around her wrists, hands around a thermos of lemon tea, watching from the Twickenham bleachers as he runs across the field. There’s no duplicity in the way he moves - there’s no time - just quick, decisive plays.
He smells of freshly cut grass and sweat instead of cold libraries, and she loves the shy satisfaction in his smile after he’s won a match, rough Northern accent curling his hesitant “All right?” into something far nicer than any line of poetry.
Fiona. Rudge. Tea and rugger.
God, I suck at titles. Lyrics from Pet Shop Boys songs are fun, though. So are pointless drabbles.
Fiona’s never liked rugby.
Still, she wraps herself into a thick jumper, stretched out cuffs hanging loose around her wrists, hands around a thermos of lemon tea, watching from the Twickenham bleachers as he runs across the field. There’s no duplicity in the way he moves - there’s no time - just quick, decisive plays.
He smells of freshly cut grass and sweat instead of cold libraries, and she loves the shy satisfaction in his smile after he’s won a match, rough Northern accent curling his hesitant “All right?” into something far nicer than any line of poetry.