( 004 )
[ Oh, it had been a pretty amazing day.
Ollie isn't sure when he last woke up with such a buzz in his bones and a light, overwhelming confidence. He's never thought that these sorts of feelings were a good sign on the morning of a grand slam final, but as usual, he never voices them aloud either. You don't want to bounce around before the Wimbledon final, shouting your head off about how confident you feel and how well you think you're going to do. Or hope you're going to do, at least. But it's always quite reassuring when everything seems to just keep going in your direction.
There's no point in hiding it - of course he felt a certain sense of confidence. You don't get to world number two in the rankings without having a bit of talent on your hands, and if you've already beaten the number one seed, well... then you're a hot favourite. And all through the morning, until the match, Ollie felt it in his entire body, in the tips of his fingers and in every joint. It gave him momentum, and it carried him through. It helped him win the match in straight sets, too, but that's obviously unrelated and irrelevant.
Winning Wimbledon for the second time, a second year in a row, is just as amazing as it was the first time. No force on earth could have stopped Ollie from practically vaulting the net to grab his opponent (a downtrodden looking number four seed) into a manly, absurd hug, shaking his hand and blubbering all manner of well dones and congratulations and good shows on the poor man before clambering through the screaming crowds and people, all throwing praise upon their British champion. Throwing himself into the spectators had never been tasted so sweet. He didn't care if it embarrassed Jen, the way he kissed her on the cheek and spun her around in the small space provided, he didn't care if Barney was mortified by the way that Ollie threw himself at him, planting the firmest and most arden kiss on his lips. There was too much elation to care, and not a drop of shame in his body.
Photographs, interviews, a quick press conference or two, and then the world became his oyster. Of course they went out to celebrate, and of course Ollie demanded they go somewhere with bright lights and loud music, where he could jump around like an idiot and no one would care.
Which is why, as he struggles with the keycard to his and Barney's room, he can barely feel his knees. A pretty random body part to lose all feeling in. ]
I can't feel my bloody knees.
Ollie isn't sure when he last woke up with such a buzz in his bones and a light, overwhelming confidence. He's never thought that these sorts of feelings were a good sign on the morning of a grand slam final, but as usual, he never voices them aloud either. You don't want to bounce around before the Wimbledon final, shouting your head off about how confident you feel and how well you think you're going to do. Or hope you're going to do, at least. But it's always quite reassuring when everything seems to just keep going in your direction.
There's no point in hiding it - of course he felt a certain sense of confidence. You don't get to world number two in the rankings without having a bit of talent on your hands, and if you've already beaten the number one seed, well... then you're a hot favourite. And all through the morning, until the match, Ollie felt it in his entire body, in the tips of his fingers and in every joint. It gave him momentum, and it carried him through. It helped him win the match in straight sets, too, but that's obviously unrelated and irrelevant.
Winning Wimbledon for the second time, a second year in a row, is just as amazing as it was the first time. No force on earth could have stopped Ollie from practically vaulting the net to grab his opponent (a downtrodden looking number four seed) into a manly, absurd hug, shaking his hand and blubbering all manner of well dones and congratulations and good shows on the poor man before clambering through the screaming crowds and people, all throwing praise upon their British champion. Throwing himself into the spectators had never been tasted so sweet. He didn't care if it embarrassed Jen, the way he kissed her on the cheek and spun her around in the small space provided, he didn't care if Barney was mortified by the way that Ollie threw himself at him, planting the firmest and most arden kiss on his lips. There was too much elation to care, and not a drop of shame in his body.
Photographs, interviews, a quick press conference or two, and then the world became his oyster. Of course they went out to celebrate, and of course Ollie demanded they go somewhere with bright lights and loud music, where he could jump around like an idiot and no one would care.
Which is why, as he struggles with the keycard to his and Barney's room, he can barely feel his knees. A pretty random body part to lose all feeling in. ]
I can't feel my bloody knees.