The Less I Know The Better [complete]

21 ;; secrets

"Agh, can you get off me legs, John? Mine are fallin' asleep." Ringo complained, trying in vain to shove him off of them. But, of course John was a little shit, so he continued to put them back there, and the only thing that stopped him was Ringo tickling his socked feet, making him retract with a yelp of laughter. He gave up, letting his head fall back on the grass below, gazing up at the ceiling of thick tree branches that stretched and forked above him.

"I'm bored!" John declared, sitting up again and resting his head on his hand.

"And?" George queried. "Your point is?"

"My point is, we should go do somethin'. Ya know, like nick records, go to the pub or the chippy.."

"Why don't we go to the beach?" Ringo suggested with an excited grin.

"It's 17 degrees Celsius right now, Rings. Do you fancy getting hypothermia?" John rolled his eyes, falling onto his back again.

"Well if yer so worried about the cold, what are we doin' outside?" He shot back.

"Well, let's go inside, then!"

"I don't got any money for things like chips-"

"What you guys bickerin' about now?" The three of them almost jumped out of their skin at the new voice, wide gazes snapping in the direction of it like they'd been caught robbing a bank. When they were met with the sight of Paul, changed from his school clothes and looking amused with a cigarette hanging from his lips, they relaxed (except for John, who sat there staring at him with tense muscles).
"Hah, did I really scare all of ya?" He burst into laughter, leaning on his knees for a moment before moving closer, settling in the grass in front of them. "I didn't think it would work!"

"Didn't hear ya coming!" John protested feebly, though was unable to suppress the joyful grin on his face.

"What, yer deaf as well as blind?" Paul snickered, laughing harder when John kicked his shin in response, taking a puff of his cig.

"How'd you find us?" George asked curiously.

"Well, I was lookin' for you fellas anyways, and I thought it wouldn't hurt to check Strawberry Fields, 'cause John is often here." He shrugged.

"Well, we were about ta leave and go somewhere else. You wanna come?" Ringo got to his feet, brushing himself off before helping George up (John didn't miss the way the two grinned shyly at each other, their hands entwined for longer than necessary before they let go).

"Sure."

The rest of the group then got to their feet, John taking his guitar back from George and slinging it over his back as they began to make their way out of there. He lingered at the back of the group, though, feeling a sudden nervousness. He wanted to speak with Paul, alone. He had to confront him about the way he was acting, about what had been going on - he couldn't go on with this stupid charade any longer.
Thankfully, Paul was only a bit behind him, seemingly slowing down himself as he put out his cigarette.

"Paul?" He began, gripping his guitar strap tightly before forcing himself to shove his hands in his pockets to appear more casual.

"Yeah?" The boy turned around to look at him; there was that anxious look in his eyes again. His fingers toyed with the end of his sleeve over and over again, but he didn't just make some excuse to get out of there even though George and Ringo had gone ahead out of earshot. "'s up?"

"Um.." he began, suddenly unsure of what to say. How should I go about it? Just ask him what's going on, or?.. Licking his lips, he crossed his arms over his chest. "what's up with you? You.. you've been actin' really strange since that night. And don't say you haven't, I can see it." He took in a shuddering breath, trying to force himself to calm down and ask a more vulnerable question. "Is it because of.. of what I was sayin'? 'Cause I was all soft and.. vulnerable and that shite?"