The Less I Know The Better [complete]

39 ;; arguments

When his chest was burning and his breath was shallow and harsh with all the exercise, he finally was able to recognise where he was. He stared at the gravel pathway, the snow-flecked trees absent of leaves that loomed over him, the frostbitten grass and benches that were definitely not appealing during this weather. Strawberry Fields.
A brief flash of a memory appeared in his mind; of him coming across Paul playing guitar at sunset in one of John's favourite spots at that park, playing a beautifully melancholic song that still haunted his thoughts every now and then.

"Yesterday.. All my troubles seemed so far away.." The notes were melancholic and wistful, and something John had never ever heard before. It didn't sound familiar to any song that he'd ever heard. What kind of witchcraft is this? How is this kid so fucking good at making songs?

"Now it looks as though they're here to stay.." Paul continued on, oblivious to who was watching him; "I somethin' something.. Yesterday." His singing faltered to silence and he seemed to transcend into thought, picking up his pen and twirling it in his hand. "What should I put there..?"

John decided he'd better say something or else he'd look like a creep, watching him the entire time and saying nothing.

"I think you should keep the 'something something'. Suits it pretty well." He quipped as he emerged into the open, flicking his cigarette butt to the ground and smothering it with his heel. He stopped a few metres away from Paul, who stiffened in alarm and whipped around, staring at John in shock.

"Wh- John? What the hell?" He blinked before suddenly remembering who he was talking to, gaze darkening with anger as he glared daggers at the other. "Thanks for scarin' the shite out of me, prick."

His stomach churned with regret and guilt. That was back when they still disliked each other; right after John had called him a fag, actually. Before they reconciled and became friends, ending in secret dating. God, he was such an arsehole. Why did he have to lash out and turn into a huge gobsmite when he was afraid?
He knew that, at the end of the day, the reason he'd done that to Paul all those months ago was because he'd been afraid of his feelings for him. Even if he'd had experiences with other guys before, it didn't make it any less scary. Especially when he thought that the raven-haired boy was as straight as they came, though he was proved wrong eventually. And those experiences had been just flings, really, just experimentation.. he had found that he'd wanted to have a proper relationship with Paul, wanted to be with only him, even with the limitations they had to have like any affection in public because of being queer in the 1950's. Tears blurred his vision again, and he slumped against the tree in the very same clearing and slid to the ground.
It had just become a cycle, hadn't it? He thought with a wry, humourless smile. He was afraid of his feelings for Paul again. Afraid of being in love with him. And he'd just lashed out all over again because of it, hurting the very person he loved. It was like their problems were never ending. Half of them were caused by themselves, really. By their own fears and insecurities and their fucking miscommunication! He buried his head between his knees. They were abysmally bad at it.

But he knew that Paul would be better off without him. In the end, it was for the better.. Paul deserved more than an asshole like John fucking Lennon.

A week later, New Years' had been and gone; John had spent it shut up in his room, alone and agonising over his argument with Paul, while Mimi had gone out with friends. January 1959 started off cold and bitter, since it was still winter, and John felt like it was accurate for how things were going for him at the moment. Cold and bitter.
Paul hadn't spoken a word to him since it happened. John hadn't spoken to George either, nor Ringo, though he did spend some time with Stuart at his apartment, and Cynthia at a café. They did pick up on his bad mood, though they thankfully didn't question him on it, so he was able to just pretend nothing was wrong for a few hours before it all came flooding back the moment he was alone again. He wished he could just grow a pair of damn balls and reach out to Paul in order to apologise for what happened, but he was too afraid of Paul's hurt. He knew he hurt him with his stupid brutal words that he was able to toss around so easily, knew it was all his fault, and he couldn't hide from the guilt that weighed him down to his bed like chains. And he knew that if he wanted to properly apologise, he'd have to tell him the truth behind it, and he just wasn't ready for that. He couldn't deal with the rejection, let alone the fact that he hurt Paul with what he said.

One day, around midday, Mimi called to him from downstairs; "John! Your friend is on the phone for you!"
He had frozen in the middle of meticulously cleaning his record collection, the cover scattered on the floor around him from where he sat with his back against the side of his bed. At first, he thought shit, it could be Paul, and his heart raced with fear, but when Mimi called out again, saying "it's Richard!" he almost sighed aloud in relief. He quickly got to his feet and carefully stepped around the records so as to avoid them before hurrying out of his room and down the stairs. When he reached Mimi, he took the phone with a murmur of thanks before pressing it to his ear.

"Hey, Rings." He greeted.

"John!" He could hear the smile in his best friend's voice. "Happy new years, mate."

"Yeah." He nodded, allowing himself to smile just a tad as well. It was really nice to hear his voice again after they hadn't hung out for a while. "Have any resolutions?"

"Nah. Never keep them." Ringo laughed. John joined in for a few seconds, and then they fell silent. John chewed the inside of his cheek nervously, wondering what else to say, but then Ringo spoke first. "Are you okay, John? I heard.. I heard about the row you and Paul had."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Oh. That." He muttered.

"I don't really know what it was about, Paul wouldn't tell me or George, but.." He paused. "Are things okay with you guys? He seemed really upset."

"It's.. I dunno." He trailed off, resting his head against the wall. He didn't know whether or not to tell the truth about what was going on to Ringo. He was his best friend. He knew about him and Paul's relationship, knew everything about him, really. Should he keep this from him?

"John," Ringo began, voice gentle and coaxing. "I can tell there's something more that's bothering you." John pursed his lips, not answering. Ringo continued; "Please tell me what's going on, John. I'm here for you, you're my best mate.. I wanna help you. And Paul's my friend too, now. I don't wanna see him like this." John still didn't reply. "Please just tell me what it is." Ringo pleaded. "I want you guys to sort this out."

He was silent for a few long moments. He had to tell the truth. He needed someone to confide in, to figure out what to do in the future - he needed some comfort. He felt like he was terribly alone in the whole ordeal, and it would lift so much weight off his shoulders if he could tell someone about it. Ringo wouldn't judge him; he knew who he really was, and he was always unfailingly kind even when John was a right bastard to him for no reason.
"Come over, please." He spoke eventually. His voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat quickly to cover it up. "I don't want to tell you over the phone."

"Be there in twenty." Ringo replied, sounding utterly relieved. John hung up. He placed the phone back on the receiver, burying his face in his hands, wondering whether this was a good idea at all. Eventually, he told himself, yes. It was a good idea. Ringo could help him through this; he could give him advice, could actually maybe fix this whole mess. John felt utterly helpless. But he knew Ringo would be there for him, no matter what. It could maybe be okay, in the end.