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Summary
“Seb,” Mark says, pressing fingers to his temples in the sense that, if he tries really hard, he might be able to have a good swirl around in his own grey matter. “This is kids' football. They’re five year-olds. Do you know how fucking insane this is?”
Seb looks up once, and only once, from the eight-foot whiteboard now dominating their lounge.
“No?” he says, “why would I? Please pass me the blue markers.”
OR: In which Seb becomes a Soccer Mom (derogatory), and Mark does his best to Cope.
Series
- Part 9 of never to part