The Blue Danube [OLD]

- 𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔶 𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔢. ﾐ

"If yer willin' ta listen to me ramble on fer the next six months, then that would be nice." He smiled even wider (if that was possible), thinking about all the things he could say about Paul. He had so many things to say. He wanted Cynthia to meet him, actually. See how amazing of a person he is. How talented, funny, pretty, kind, caring, loving, handsome, intelligent - pretty much every positive word ever - Paul really was. He didn't know if his boyfriend would take to her all that well though; he was quite upset when he learned of Cynthia, after all.

"That would be lovely."

The evening progressed on, seemingly, as slow as it could possibly go. It was some sort of gathering-slash-dinner-party with some 'important' people at someone's gigantic estate, which was all tall, cream coloured walls and high ceilings. John totally forgot the man's name (and didn't really care either) but he had bought a bunch of expensive art items like paintings and pottery and furniture, putting them on display for others to buy and Mimi was forcing the couple to pick out some things to have at their wedding as well. The boy was so tired of the same goddamn parties every time, the same people whose faces are all so similar that they just blend into each other like faceless, shapeless, colourless creatures. No personality, no opinions! Nothing. Just the shell of a human that could be so much more, but they're dumb enough to follow whatever rules some old straight white men decided was how the world should run centuries ago. It was so exhausting, draining of all energy and leaving John wanting to just run away and never come back. And the thought of that being his life for the next 70 years or so made him want to run away even more.

"So! Ms. Powell, Prince Lennon! When is the wedding?"

"Oh, in January next year." Cynthia thankfully answered for him. John couldn't count how many goddamn times people asked him that question, and it pissed him off each time. It just continued to remind him of what was to come.

They were now eating their supper, sitting on another gigantically long dining table, 15 or so other people spread out along it next to him and his fiance, making somewhat interesting conversation and picking away at the food. It was some type of baked goose with oregano, potatoes and vegetables; John liked it very much, but it seemed that it wasn't up to the standards of the rest of the group.

It made him clench his jaw in indignation when he saw the looks of disgust and almost offence on their faces, as if it was offensive for them to be fed something that wasn't the most expensive, outrageous, whatever food they were into. He made a point to thank the waiters and waitresses that stood in the corners of the room, ready to follow any person's command the moment they ask - even if they stared at him in a shocked, almost scared expression (they probably had never been thanked before in their life). He would thank the chef for the food, too, but there wasn't a way for him to find out who it was.

He was about to turn to Cynthia to say something, but he fell silent when he saw her in conversation with a young woman next to her. Something about the art. Sighing, he turned away and sipped at his wine, tempted to rest a head in his hand but stopping himself cause he knew that would look 'ungentlemanly'.
Instead, he just continued to eat his meal, Paul clawing his way back into his mind like always. He wondered what his boyfriend was doing at that moment. Maybe having his own dinner with his father and brother, laughing and having a good time. Maybe working out on the farm? Lying in bed, reading something? Was he thinking about John like he was thinking of Paul? Maybe he was sneaking out to see George and Ringo? Probably not; George and Ringo do terrifying things at night.

Being in London was nice, but he still missed Liverpool a lot. Specifically his friends and Paul. The docks, the pubs; it was so much more homely. And also his actual home. He was the prince of his city, sure - but he still loved to blend into it, be a regular working-class citizen, if only for a little while. He treasured the times where he wasn't recognised, where he could be truly himself for a bit. And the times where he could be with his friends, which would be harder and harder to do unnoticed as time went on. His life was going to be much more public when he was married and crowned king.