Quirks

...

They both have those weird little quirks that make them irresistible to each other.

Like the plasters he always wraps around the ends of his slim fingers after strenuous exercise on that beloved guitar of his (the one he nicknamed Stanley) or his set of beat-down drums or that scratched trumpet she got him for his eighteenth birthday.

And then there's her obsession with rich tea biscuits – thin and pale, just like her. Whenever he's hungry he can just slide a hand into her battered messenger bag and grab a biscuit, leaping deftly from her slapping hands.

When they're apart, she misses the rough brush of his plastered fingers on her hands when they walk. He misses the way she stuffs rich tea biscuit after rich tea biscuit into her mouth, dispelling the misconception that she might be dainty and lady-like because of her long dresses and neat tap shoes.

She's the only person he could ever imagine carrying off the look.

Her hair is thick and black and the fringe falls into her eyes. She has enough curves to make the multicoloured dresses and limited amount of leg appearing from beneath seem enticing.

On her part, she can't escape the fact that his skill in balancing his jeans on the edge of his hips has always interested and distracted her.

She would always stick out a hand and grab his belt, pulling up the trousers to a respectable height.

He would leave them there until she wasn't looking, then swiftly push them back down.

He exasperated her.

She amused him.

They were so in love it was ridiculous.

...

Ben Howard is amazing.

I typed this on my phone a while back after spending a day with a plaster wrapped around a finger and a rich tea biscuit in a hand.