They were laying side-by-side, palms facing up, hair splayed back against the grass and blossoms of white tangled in their curls. Two innocent teenagers trying to evade the boredom of the afternoon. They did this, of course, like every other pair of normal teenagers would -

discussing the current political situation of the Middle East, highlighting the finer points of the Harry/Hermione ship, and briefly discussing the latest season of Doctor Who, and whether or not the newest regeneration would finally be ginger.

Okay, so maybe it should have been clarified that they were nerd teenagers.

“Don’t get me wrong,” the girl said airily, waving a hand as if to decapitate any unlucky flies, “Matt Smith is great. But having a ginger Doctor would really spice things up. And probably increase the female viewer count by at least a few thousand.”

The boy’s eyebrows furrowed. “So having Rupert Grint’s ginger glory is going to rocket the show’s popularity a million fold? Are girls really that obsessed with hair colorization?"

The girl narrowed her eyes seriously. "One. No hating on Rupert Grint for his goregous locks. And two, not all girls. But if faced with the choice of, say, Rupert Grint, like you said, and Matt Smith, you know which one'd be flocked to."

The boy paused, as if suddenly concious of his dark brown locks. "Even you?"

"Oh, please. I'm not that shallow." A pause. "Okay, Rupert Grint."

A few minutes later, they were launched in a deep discussion about why most females were inclined to nail polish and designer bags instead of space-traveling Time Lords, the latter clearly being superior, with the boy subconsciously rubbing his hair - as if, upon begin disheveled, his brunette locks would turn into a shade of red.