The Less I Know The Better [complete]

17 ;; rebellion

"Hello, Mrs. Smith. How do you do?" Paul lingered for a moment, putting on his best 'charming voice' and smiling politely at his aunt. John groaned inwardly, wondering why he would even try to get into Mimi's good books when it was next to impossible.

"I'm alright, thank you." Her expression didn't change in the slightest, and he wondered if she had even moved her lips when she spoke.

"We'll be goin' now." John cut in with an exaggerated smile and wave, clutching Paul's wrist and tugging him - more firmly, this time - up the stairs to his room.

"Ow! Let go." Paul pouted, wriggling his hand from the other's grip.

"It's funny to see you become a polite little boy when you talk to me aunt." John chuckled as he burst into his bedroom, the younger trailing after him.

"Shut it." Paul spun around on his feet, gazing around him at the room with a hint of wonder; John watched him with amusement as he began to take off his shoes and tie, dumping them by his bedroom door. "Huh. Haven't been here since the party."

"Ugh, don't remind me. That party was a bloody disaster." He rolled his eyes as he made his way past him to collapse on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling with a content sigh.

"It feels like it was months ago, now." The droopy-eyed boy began to take off his guitar case strapped to him, shoes as well, sitting gently on the bed beside him as he did so. John couldn't help but watch the muscles in his back flex as he stripped off his blazer and scarf, prominent shoulder blades casting shadows across the fabric of his jumper, but quickly redirected his gaze to the ceiling again when Paul turned to look at him.

"So much has changed since then." John shrugged idly. "I guess that's why."

"Yeah.. it has." Paul continued to stare at him for a few seconds before looking back at John's messy desk. "I never thought I'd.. y'know, be here again. Sober and willingly."

"Ah." John pressed his tongue into the side of his cheek, chuckling a little. "I didn't think you'd ever ask me if you could crash here."

"I know it's mad." The younger sighed. "Just that.. George had stuff to do for some family member's birthday or somethin', and I didn't really have anywhere else to go."

"'s alright, mate. We're.. we're mates, right?" He slowly sat up, gazing at Paul earnestly. "We can be friends? After everythin'?"

He didn't get a reply for a few seconds. With each passing moment, John grew more and more anxious - were they not really friends? Did Paul really not want to hang out with him in spite of their previous relationship? He wouldn't blame him if that was the truth, of course.. but it still hurt.

"Yeah." Paul turned to him with the tiniest of smiles, something unreadable flashing within those round eyes that haunted John's thoughts. "Sure."

John bit his lip to hide his joyful beam that threatened to overtake his face. He quickly got to his feet, hiding his face away from the other as he scanned the room for his guitar - eventually he found it in the corner of the room and picked it up, turning around and holding it in Paul's view with a wiggle of his brows.

"Guitar time?"

Paul practically lit up, causing John to do so as well.
"Alright, now we're talkin'!"

With that, John hopped eagerly onto the bed beside Paul, the mattress bouncing slightly beneath them while the other settled his own guitar in his lap, beginning to fiddle with the strings to make sure they were in tune. It felt normal for them to do this.. like it was routine. He had no other friends that he could sit and just play guitar with; Ringo wasn't such a guitar person, more percussion, and his old friends weren't really musical like he was. They liked music, yes, but not like John did. He breathed music. Lived it. And it seemed Paul shared the same love for it as he did.