It was the summer of nineteen ninety-five, June tenth, to be exact. And nineteen year old Phillip Schofield was preparing for his first day as an intern. Where was he working?
With the English prime minister, of course! The greatest PM Britain had ever seen, Boris. He was adored by all, and cherished by millions, including Phil.
"Phillip, dear p, you're going to be late!" Phillip's mother called (bellowed) from downstairs, as Phil was staring into the mirror, fixing his tie.
His shoulders sagged, his smirk dropped and he sighed.
"Coming, mum," he muttered, intentionally too low for her to hear.
NOTES:
Yes, his name really is spelled with two l's. I Googled it. And everyone, everybody knows Google is never wrong.
CZYTASZ
Prime Minister's Don't Cry
FanfictionAn intern, a prime minister.. A coffee cup. (I'll write a better one/description soon)
