By the end of the week, John's sickness had cleared up pretty much completely. Even though he'd thoroughly enjoyed his time at home and was certainly not feeling enthusiastic about going back to school, he still managed to haul himself from the beguiling jungle of his bedsheets and dress in his uncomfortable school clothing - tie loose and top button undone, as always, along with his shirt untucked (he had to exercise his rebellion in some way or another!) - before basically inhaling his jam toast and leaving Menlove Avenue in a chaotic sweep of anxiety and exhaustion. Mimi had sensed his buzzing nerves and had tried to press him about it, but he didn't give in, and eventually she let him be. He couldn't ever tell her the real reason he was agitated; she'd never really understand, for one, and for another obvious reason, it concerned Paul and their relationship. He despised talking about all that kind of stuff, anyway. Feelings and shit? Who needs 'em?
Even though it seems I can't ever escape them, John thought with a bitter furrow of his eyebrows. Aside from all that, he had one clear goal in his mind: confront Stuart about Kevin and try to get the truth from him no matter what. He hated the way that it had scared Paul away from him and the new tenseness of their relationship. He just wanted what they had back, fuck everyone else (especially Kevin). Life was determined to make it hell for John, but damn it he was even more determined to overcome it. He'd had Paul once - he wasn't gonna let him slip away under any circumstances.
He saw that only Ringo was waiting at their usual spot this time, smoking and looking a little agitated as he glanced this way and that; he couldn't ignore the twinge of disappointment at seeing only one of his friends present. Was his shitty, jittery mood scaring them away? Did they not want to hang out with him anymore?
When his older friend spotted him, a relieved sigh mingled with smoke escaped from his lips and he hurried over to greet him - John was about to query him about the absence of George and Paul, but Ringo seemingly understood what he was going to ask and spoke before he could open his mouth.
"Sorry, they didn't want to wait 'cause school's about to start. Paul was adamant about not being late. We figured you weren't comin' to school, but I stayed to wait just for a few more minutes." The words flew out hastily as they picked up their pace along the footpath, the auburn-haired boy having to jog to keep up with Ringo's quick footsteps.
"'S fine. I have somethin' to do, anyroad." John took to a halfhearted run - he had to catch up with Stu before he would go to class. He didn't give a toss about being on time, but he was impatient and wanted to speak to him before recess, and he wasn't about to try and pluck him from his lesson.
"Are you gonna talk to Paul?" Ringo puffed as they hurried through the streets, nearing their destination in time to hear the bell ringing, indicating that class was beginning. They made their way through the gates, John watching the last stragglers of kids that dragged themselves to class, most flicking cigarette butts away or pulling themselves out of some secret makeout session behind the bushes. They were ascending the steps to the front doors when they burst open and he slammed into someone, and he would've been knocked to the ground had he not gripped onto the railing to steady his fall. He blinked for a moment before recognising who it was - quickly dodging out of the way with a muttered 'sorry' was Stuart.
"Ah, perfect timing." A veil of geniality masked the slow-simmering indignation just below the surface as he gripped Stuart's wrist firmly and began to tug the feebly protesting boy down the steps. "See you at recess, Rings. I need to have a chat with Stu here." He called back to his friend - who was watching them with apprehensive bewilderment, but only waved and turned to disappear into the building.
"John, what-" Stuart tried weakly to tug his wrist out of the other's grip, but failed and decided to just go along with it, staring at John with a slightly annoyed grimace. "This better be good if you're draggin' me away from class."
John said nothing in return. Eventually he reached a concealed spot along the side of the brick building and finally let go of Stuart, spinning around on his heel and facing him with crossed arms and a piercing stare. There was a couple sitting by one of the trees, whispering and giggling, but after John fixed them with a scowl, they both quickly vacated the scene.
"Okay," he turned to Stuart again. "Tell me the truth."
"What do you mean?" The older boy rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, about.. that."
"Did you seriously rat us out?" He clenched his jaw, feeling frustration bubble within him like a noxious soup. "I'm serious. Were you jealous or somethin'? Wanted to get back at me for ditchin' the others?"
"No, I didn't! I swear to god, John." Stuart groaned, digging the tips of his fingers into his temples and massaging them with a pained look on his face.
John sighed. He couldn't suppress the pang of sympathy at seeing how exasperated Stuart looked, but he was still unsure. It had been a while since him and Stuart had been truly close, and he had the nagging feeling that Paul was right about everything. But was he?
"How'd they know, then?"
"Told you, he talked out of his arse. I didn't even know you guys were.. together, until you confessed." Stuart gazed at him earnestly. "Kevin was still bitter about the fight, and he's always despised that Paul and the other kid you hang out with - the scrawny one - so he decided to spread some rumours to pick on you guys." His eyes fell to the scrubbly grass below, still damp from the icy rain of the night before. "What do I have to do to prove it to you?"
John paused. I mean, how was he really gonna prove it? There was only his word to go off of. He just let his hands fall limply to his sides before shaking his head. He didn't know why Stu even hung out with those blokes. He guessed he didn't have anyone else at the moment.
"Mate.. just-" he trailed off. Stuart really had no reason to lie. It would compromise him as well, and he felt he knew the other boy better than that. He had a good heart; he knew it couldn't have been true. Maybe someone else saw and ratted them out, maybe Kevin really did talk out of his arse. All John thought was that Stu was innocent. He had to be. If he wasn't, well.. who the hell knew what would happen? "Okay. I guess I have nothin' else to do except take yer word for it."
Stuart's face broke out in an expression of utter relief and delight. John had a bit of a strange feeling that something was wrong.
"You believe me?"
"I guess I do." John shrugged before beginning to walk past him to go back around the school and go inside; Stuart trotted along happily beside him.
"Thank god. I was terrified you really were gonna believe I did it."
"Yeah, yeah." He pushed through the front doors. He didn't feel like attending class in any way whatsoever, but he didn't really have a choice. He wanted to hang out with George, Paul and Ringo anyway. Maybe they could ditch at lunch and go to the chippy, one of their favourite pastimes. "If I'm wrong in trustin' ya, I'll personally tear yer guts out." He smacked the older boy on the back, causing him to stumble a little, albeit he began chuckling.
"Still the same old John." He grinned at him.
He was about to reply when movement in front of them caught his eye - he swallowed thickly when he spotted who it was, the hand that had been lingering on Stuart's back yanked away as if he'd stuck it in a box of spiders. Paul had seemingly been in the middle of leaving his lesson - must be science, John figured, which they shared together - and was on the way to the loo, but he'd frozen in the middle of the hallway, eyes trained on the two of them. He was too far away and John too blind to read his expression, but he already could figure out what it was by the stiffness of his muscles and the way he quickly swung around to continue his journey to the bathroom without one look back. His heart twisted painfully in the cage of his chest, as if shrivelling in on itself due to the rejection of its love; he stared uselessly after his retreating figure, even when he'd disappeared out of sight - nothing seemed to hurt more than Paul's absence. It was as if he'd carved a Paul-shaped hole in his core and settled himself into it, John fooled into believing he'd stay there forever only to tear himself away, leaving a yawning, empty gap that couldn't seem to heal itself. It would be a while until he could get over it. He wished, wished with every fucking cell in his body that he hadn't let himself get so attached so quickly.
"What's up with him?" Stu nudged John gently, eyeing him with an encouraging look. John rubbed the back of his neck, quickly fixing his gaze somewhere ahead.
"Um.. nothin'." He answered evasively. "We're just- takin' a break." He definitely didn't want to tell Stuart the details of his private life, even if they seemingly had made up.
"I'm sorry about that." His voice was sympathetic, but still sounded awkward. "I'll, uh.. see you later, yeah?" He patted his shoulder before moving away, going to his class. John went to his locker to gather his things needed for his lesson, not looking back. He had no idea whether he'd made a stupid mistake believing Stuart or a good decision. He just had to wait and see what the next few weeks would bring.
Rain swarmed the gutters in thick throngs, burying itself in every strand of hair on John's head and thread of his coat. Threads of water leapt into the air in some kind of dance as his feet thundered against the wet concrete; he glanced behind him to check and see if his friends were following, feeling relief to see that all three were jogging along behind him in order to get out of the rain. After school, they had met up in the hallway and decided to go to the chippy together, using the rain as an excuse since the shop was pretty much around the corner - he was surprised to see Paul agree to it as well, since he expected that he would've made up some excuse not to join them, but he felt his heart leap with foolish hope once he said he would come. He just hoped Paul wasn't going to hold a grudge over the fact that him and Stuart had made up.
They reached the chip shop in record time, quickly huddling under its sloping roof outside the door that shielded from the rain to catch their breaths. John shook out his head like a wet dog, showering George - who was next to him, shaking out his blazer to try and dry it off - in drops.
"Hey! Prick.." The younger boy protested, though was unable to hide his smile; in retaliation, he kicked at the nearest puddle, sending a wave of icy water to soak John's ankles and socks. He let out a yelp of complaint and gazed down at his wet shoes with a grimace.
"Great! Now the insides of my shoes are wet too." He sighed.
"You better not get sick again, John." Ringo chuckled, cupping his hands around the weak flame of his lighter to shield it from the incessant torrent of rain and wind that hurtled around them, cigarette clenched between his lips.
"Yeah, yeah." John rolled his eyes. His gaze flitted to Paul, who had his face pressed up near the glass window to see inside, eyes squinted against the wind, breath fogging up the glass - which caused him to wipe it away with his coat sleeve every few seconds to clear it so he could see. His long lashes that curled around his eyes were even darker from the raindrops that clung to the edges, clashing against his pallid skin. John's breath caught haphazardly in his throat when the younger boy turned to look at him, green-hazel gaze intense; but it didn't last long, since he turned to look at the others as well, keeping his expression carefully neutral. He couldn't ignore the twinge of disappointment, conveying itself in the form of a sigh, breath visible in the apathetic November air.
"Loads of kids in there. But there's still space. Don't think there's any tables left, though." Paul announced, gesturing to the shop.
"Let's go in already. 'm tired of standin' out 'ere in nature's piss." George drawled in his strange accent - John always found it so fascinating to listen to.
Following George's orders, the four boys shimmied their way inside the chippy, instantly blasted with the vehement smell of grease and diabetes-inducing oil, along with a pleasant warmth that they revelled in as they escaped from the cold outside. He was glad that Mimi had allowed him a few pounds from her purse. Paul seemed to be right about the tables - every single one was filled with people escaping from the storm outside and using it as an excuse to gorge themselves on oily chips and fish. Mainly kids and students like themselves, chittering loudly like a pack of starlings, occasionally bursting into garish laughter; the only thing that could overthrow the background noise of incessant sizzling of things frying and the thrum of rain and wind against the roof.
They gathered in a tight clump at the back of the line that snaked to the counter where people were ordering, in order not to lose each other in the sea of people converging around them like a fast-flowing river. John's mind wandered as his friends discussed what to get, or whether they should even wait that long since it seemed they would be there for a while. His myopic hazel eyes attached to Paul, something they were familiar with doing. A habit that was hard to break. The sable-haired boy was examining the menu plastered up on the wall above them, only seemingly half-listening to George who was begging to shout for him.
"Please? I'll pay you back. I just want a milkshake!"
"Mm." He mumbled, biting absentmindedly at his nails and not paying attention to him at all.
"Come on! Help a friend out." He rested his chin on his shoulder with a beseeching grin. Paul's lips twitched up in a smile for a split second, but he otherwise remained indifferent. "I'll let you copy all me homework for a week!"
The older boy snorted, finally letting his smile show. "You usually copy my homework."
"Yeah, so you can copy mine now."
"Jesus, fine!" He threw up his hands, spinning around only to flick George on the nose. "You owe me a bloody grand at this point."
"Me, too." Ringo chuckled.
"I can't get a break!" George groaned dramatically, pretending to faint for a moment before reaching up to lean a forearm on John's shoulder. "At least John is nice and I don't owe him anythin'. Right, John?" He grinned sheepishly at him.
John burst into laughter.
"Sure, mate."
He opted to tousle his quiffed hair like he always did. The younger boy shoved his hands away with a whine, trying in vain to fix it up. Paul watched them, eyes sparkling with amusement, but when John's own met them, he quickly looked away and turned his back as if he was suddenly interested in something else.
They waited as the line slowly shrunk, the four of them inching closer and closer to the counter; John was in the midst of a debate between George and Ringo about the best musicians of that year, when someone appeared in his line of vision that caused the words to die on his tongue. Stuart, looking windswept as if he'd just come inside from the storm, chattering to a few other guys who he recognised as a part of Kevin's posse, but he hadn't ever really spoken to them before. He wished he'd never turned to look, though, since Stuart's eyes met his and he fashioned a grin before weaving his way through the crowd to him. John cringed inwardly, knowing exactly what Paul's reaction was going to be. He just hoped Stu would just say hi then be on his merry way. He glanced at his friends - they hadn't noticed yet.
"Aye, John! Fancy seein' you here. Packed to the teeth, isn't it?" He greeted merrily, but faltered when he noticed who, exactly, John was waiting with - and he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, gaze darting between him and Paul.
Speaking of Paul, the boy stood near Ringo with his arms crossed, glaring at Stu with barely suppressed fury and disgust. Oh Jesus, this isn't gonna go well, John thought with an internal wince. Paul said nothing for a few seconds, both him and Stuart staring at each other before the former mumbled something about needing a smoke and save him his spot before melting into the mob and disappearing out of sight.
John clenched his teeth, wishing that Stuart hadn't bloody come near him in the first place.
"Piss off, would ya, Stu?" He hissed, shoving him with clenched fists in a sudden flare of resentment. The older boy stumbled a little and stared at him in surprise. "'Caused enough trouble here already." He could feel George and Ringo's eyes boring into his back, but all he did was let go of Stuart and step back, turning away and shoving his hands in his pockets. After a few seconds, George and Ringo surrounded him and began to pepper him with questions. Stu must've walked away.
"The hell happened, John??" George blurted, staring at him incredulously.
"Look.." John sighed, brows knotting in frustration. "Stu and I had a talk."
"Did you find out whether he really ratted on you guys or not?" Ringo muttered under his breath, the three of them automatically skimming their gazes around to check if anyone was listening, but they were safe, anyway; people were too caught up in their own conversations to notice.
"I don't think he did. He's really adamant he didn't, and.." he paused, a foreboding feeling that had been smouldering in his stomach churning again. "I'd like to think I know 'im well enough that he wouldn't do anythin' like that. Especially 'cause-" he was about to spill the beans on him and Stuart having a.. history, so to speak, but decided against it at the last second. Ringo already knew, but he didn't really want George knowing, since it could cause even more trouble.
"What are you gonna do?" Ringo gazed at him with a worried chewing of his bottom lip.
"I dunno. I'll go talk to Paul." He shrugged their questions off and bid them goodbye, propelling his way through the crowd to squeeze out of the front door. He shivered as the pleasant warmth and smell of salt was replaced with glacial winds and the ever constant downpour of rain that still hadn't ceased; he was glad that the sloping roof top that stretched out a few metres across the ground provided a bit of shelter, though. Instantly he spotted Paul, leaning against the window on his side and indeed smoking like he said he was going out to do - his expression was troubled but irate, muttering curses to himself and furiously dragging on his cigarette. He was trying to look casual in the way he draped himself boredly against the window, but John could tell from how tense he was and the way his free hand fiddled with his coat sleeve over and over that he was definitely not feeling casual.
He lingered by the door, suddenly unsure. How would Paul react to John trying to talk to him? He let his gaze wander to the people who were sheltering a few metres away from them both, two young girls sporting school uniforms - but they seemed too engrossed in their own conversation to notice either of the boys.
"I know you're there, John." Paul suddenly spoke without turning around, letting blue-grey smoke escape from his lips which dissolved quickly in the bitter air. John jumped slightly, feeling his cheeks redden despite the cold. "Just get on with it instead of standin' there like a tosser."
John smiled fondly. He'd never changed.
He ambled his way over to stand beside him.
"Got a smoke?"
"Yeah." Paul handed him a cigarette, and John used his own lighter to light it up. He relished the familiar burn down his throat, calming his humming nerves that threatened to overwhelm him. The younger boy positioned himself so his back was pressed against the glass, though kept his gaze firmly fixed on the street laid out in front of them - people dashed by this way and that, wielding umbrellas and briefcases and purses like they were their last lifeline, trying to get where they needed to go and be affected by the rain as little as possible.
"So's you best buddies with Stu again now?" Paul suddenly spoke out of nowhere, startling John ever so slightly, who'd gotten used to the silence that had fallen between them. His voice was a mask of tranquillity, but he could tell that just underneath he was seething.
"No." John scoffed. He swallowed thickly. "I just.. had a talk with him this mornin'."
"You believe what he says, then?" Paul finally turned to look at him, almost closing the gap between them as he stepped closer but not entirely; he stared at him with such intensity, that the urge to step back nearly took control of John's legs. "Well?"
"I-.. I dunno." He shrugged, glancing around to check that no one was looking at them. Paul seemed suddenly not aware of anyone else, which was uncharacteristic of him - when he was with John in public, he often would be looking around all the time, worried that someone would catch them doing something affectionate that would give them away. "I'd like to believe it."
Paul sighed, stepping back, his inhibitions winning him over as he quickly checked on the schoolgirls near them - they'd disappeared into the shop. "Y'know.. I would, too. But- how else would they know?" His voice dropped to an anxious whisper. "How could he have guessed our relationship?"
"Maybe someone else dobbed us and Kevin put it on Stu." He objected. "Otherwise, why.. why would he do that, anyway? He seemed genuinely surprised. And I hope that I know him well enough to know when he's feigning shock or not."
"Why would he do it?" Paul echoed, rubbing his temples in exasperation. "You can't be stupid enough not to see it."
"What do you mean?" John's voice rose in volume, temper flaring indignantly, but the look Paul gave him instantly quelled it.
"You guys had a history, yeah?"
"Well, um... yes. Why?" His stomach lurched uncomfortably. He hated bringing that up, especially around Paul.
"Don't you see it? Stuart might've seen us, felt proper jealous. Enough to decide to tell Kevin or somethin' and rat us out. To get back at you for ditchin' him and gettin' with someone else." The younger boy gripped both of his shoulders, grave eyes staring at him vehemently. John blinked, unease settling in his chest like dust. Could he have really done that?
"I'm serious, John. Please consider it."
"I.. I guess. But he was the one to break it off, anyway- I had more feelings for him than he did me." He knew his reasonings were getting feebler and feebler.
Paul let go of him, gaze flitting to the ground before he glared at him furiously. John felt his heart plunge to his stomach in dismay.
"Fine, if you'd rather believe him over me, you can just go right back to him. I'm sure it's what he wants." He twisted around and charged away without one look back.
"Paul! Come on-" John exclaimed, watching his retreating figure; but eventually gave up, slumping and dragging a hand down his forehead. Why couldn't things just get easier?
He squeezed his way back into the chip shop, finding George and Ringo were only 2 other people away from reaching the counter. They immediately sought him out and grabbed his arm to pull him into the queue.
"What happened?" George questioned immediately.
"Where's Paul?" Ringo craned his neck to look over the waves of people to try and spot him.
"He went home." John shrugged, gazing at the tiled floor below dolefully. "He felt sick, is all."
"Oh. Did he catch what you had?" George furrowed his brows in worry. Though he could tell by the glint in their eyes that they knew it was more than that.
"Nah, just in the stomach. You'll see him tomorrow Friday, probably."
"John.." Ringo started, planting a gentle hand to his shoulder, but the auburn-haired boy cut him off.
"'S fine, Rings. Let's just get somethin' to eat, yeah?" He lifted his head to fix his gaze on them, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "I'll pay for yer milkshake now, if you want, Geo."
"Oh, yes please!" George brightened with a lopsided grin. Though now, the mood had dampened considerably between them all after what had transpired.
John just hoped this wouldn't last long.