John was running, chasing after this figure that was calling his name. The figure kept calling his name over and over again, and as they ran through the deserted hallways of the school, he noticed the hallways were filling up with tattered, worn out notebooks, flooding from the lockers and out the classroom doors, making him have to leap and jump over them just to avoid tripping over them. He felt like there were people staring at him from behind, but when he looked, there was no one; the voice was getting louder now, more clearer, but he couldn't identify why it sounded familiar. The figure was getting further and further away, and he tripped on one of the notebooks, crashing to the floor.
Suddenly, the figure was above him, but he couldn't make out their face from where he was on the floor.
The figure spoke,
"Get up, John!" It was quiet at first. "Get up! For goodnesses' sake-" They grew louder as everything began to fade away, and suddenly he was floating in a inky void, the figure still hovering above him.
"John!"
"I'mnotebookswha-" He flew awake, clutching onto the sheets for a moment as he stared at his surroundings. He was at home, in his bed, and blurry Elvis and Brigitte stared at him from their positions on the wall at the foot of his resting place. Suddenly, as the last wisps of the dream slipped from his mind, exhaustion came rushing back and he fell back into bed, groaning at the pounding in his head. It must've only been an hour since he finally fell asleep!
"Let's not wait for the grass to grow!" There was a quiet, but firm knock and he recognised Mimi's voice from behind the bedroom door, before there were steadfast footsteps disappearing down the stairs.
"Shit.." He grumbled to himself, feeling his eyes slip closed again. John laid there, trying to come to his surroundings, but he felt the ever-so-tempting walls of sleep closing in on him, dragging him into its depths while he struggled to keep to the surface.
It took him so long to sleep last night. The last time he checked the clock on his desk, it was around 5:17am and then he was out from there. He barely got a wink of sleep.
And it was all because of one certain person. Paul.
The boy had invaded his thoughts like a nosy little kid, always persisting as he stewed over the events of what had happened a few hours before.
Their interaction was equally baffling and aggravating, and especially overwhelming. The boy seemed such a complex character, so stubborn and closed-off from seemingly everything - except George, the only example John could think of when it came to what Paul cut himself off from. And music, too. It frustrated him to no end. He lay awake, lamenting over what had happened and trying to come up with ways to get through to Paul. To break through the rough, carefully-built walls that surrounded the enchanting doe-eyed boy. He could see it. The boy was hiding something from others, or at least hiding away from something. He saw it in Paul, and he wanted to find a way to get through to him. But he couldn't exactly help getting a little annoyed with him when the boy was a total twit!
He shut his eyes tightly, angry that he was letting him take over his thoughts again. Instead, he just tried to focus on the warm confines of sleep. It wouldn't hurt to have 5 more minutes, right?
-
"Oi! Fuckin' bellend.. John! Get up!" A voice called in his ear, hands shaking his shoulders vigorously.
"Wh- gah!" John's eyes peeled open as he scooted back, being bluntly ripped from his slumber for the second time that morning. Who the fuck is it now? Fumbling for his glasses on the table next to him, he slid them on to see Ringo standing above him, fully dressed for school.
"Ringo? What the hell you doin' 'ere?" Speaking made pain shoot down his raw, dry throat, and he swallowed uncomfortably, reaching to rub at the skin as he stared up at his friend. He hadn't dreamed the second time round, though - thank christ.
"Yer fuckin' late again! I had to climb through your window. I was waitin' forever, so I came to see what was goin' on." Exasperation was rolling off the boy in waves, and his arms were crossed tightly over his chest. "Now hurry up and let's go."
"Usually ye just go on without me?" John blinked in confusion, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed before standing up. He let out a fatigue-laced yawn as he stretched his cramped limbs.
"I know, but I wanted to talk about yesterday!" If John had turned around while he was finding the missing pieces of his uniform from last night, he would have seen Ringo's azure eyes shining in a half-suppressed excitement.
"Oh, if ya mean I couldn't come to the chippy-" John started, thinking it was the reason why Ringo was so jumpy - but he was wrong, of course.
"No, no!" Ringo shook his head, rolling his eyes before sitting on John's desk, striking up a cigarette. "I hung out with George."
"Really?" John raised an eyebrow while he buttoned up his shirt, pulling on his tie (he always left it done up, and only loosened and tightened it to fit it around his head. He never bothered to learn how to do a tie) afterwards. "Sounds like yer really becomin' best buddies." He couldn't stop the taint of bitterness in his words, feeling a little jealous that George and Ringo seemed to get on so well when him and Paul were the total opposite.
"I wouldn't say that." Ringo sounded embarrassed, almost - and John whipped around in shock, halting his movements of pulling on a sock. Now he was much more interested. What exactly was the nature of their relationship?
"What would you say then?" He turned back to getting dressed to ensure they wouldn't be any later to school then they already were.
"I'd say we're like, just on the verge of becomin' friends. We only really hung out to work on our song, but in the end we didn't get much work done." The older shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "We talked fer a while, about all sorts of things. When we talked about somethin' he was particularly interested in, he actually became a total chatterbox!" Ringo giggled. Actually giggled.
"Woah, woah, woah-" John held up a hand. "yer weirdin' me out a bit, Ringo," he looked him in the eye, letting himself smirk. "yer soundin' a bit like a dizzy bird with a crush."
"Wh-I-" Ringo spluttered, totally off guard - his cheeks went a beet red, and John couldn't help but grin gleefully. He had obviously hit a weak spot. "no way! John, yer seein' this in a very different light to what it actually is." He glared at the boy, crossing his arms, though there wasn't any real anger in his eyes. "'m just surprised we're becomin' friends, that's all. I'm glad for it. There's nothin' wrong with that."He took a puff of his cig.
"Never said there was." John shrugged as he pocketed his house keys, throwing his guitar case over his back and collecting the books he brought home. "C'mon, we can talk as we walk." (that rhymed! John thought.)
Descending the stairs, they exited through the front door since Mimi had already left for work a while ago; so they were in the clear to leave that way and go off to school undetected. Setting off down the street, John shoved a hand in his pocket to take out his cigs, Ringo lighting it with his lighter. He breathed in the smoke gratefully.
"George seems a fab guy, is all." His friend sighed. "Not who we thought he was."
John thought for a moment. "Has he said anythin' about Paul?" He wished he hadn't said anything as soon as the words came out of his mouth, and he turned to look at the passing houses, taking a drag of his cigarette so he wouldn't have to see Ringo's expression.
"No, not really. We don't talk about things like that." Ringo's brows furrowed, but John didn't see. "Why do ya wanna know?" The younger could feel his eyes burning into the side of his head.
"W-what? Nothing." John looked down at the ground, suddenly flustered. Shit, Ringo would see right through him, of course. "Doesn't matter." Why did he have to go around asking stupid things like that? You hate Paul, remember!
Thankfully, the other boy didn't push it any further. They just picked up their pace to make it to school on time.
Eventually they came upon the looming walls of the academy, jumping the closed fence and hurrying off to their shared English class; when they made it, the kids looked up as they burst through the door and the teacher fell silent, glaring at them for interrupting his lesson.
"Hi, sorry we're late-" John spoke breathlessly, scanning for a spot where they could sit.
"That's the second time in three days, Lennon, Starr - according to the other teachers." Mr Phelps stared down at them with his hands on his bony hips. "Detention for both of you after school. Now sit."
Both of them gaped.
"Sit." He commanded again.
They complied, but muttered mutinous profanities the entire time. It seemed there were only two spots left in the row second to last, and guess who? George was on the end that was up against the wall.
"Thanks for makin' me late and landin' us detention, John." Ringo sighed, taking the seat next to George. He didn't seem to notice the younger at first, though.
"You're the one who came and woke me up!" John protested, dumping his books on the desk a bit too forcefully, causing people to glance in their direction briefly. John just made a face at them and they turned away, some giggling at his usual Lennon Antics.
"Yeah, well-" Ringo fell silent, and John turned to see him looking at George. "oh! Hey, Geo."
He has a nickname now? John thought with a resentful glare. Why don't they just get married already?
"Aye, Ringo." George's lips curled up in a smile, and he rested his bony elbows on the desk, turning his body to face Ringo. John could tell Ringo's eyes would be shining, even though his friend was turned away from him. George didn't greet John, though - either from the fact he seemed so caught up with Ringo that he didn't notice him there, or that he was pointedly ignoring him, John didn't know.
"Wanna hang out at recess? I bought this new Little Richard record, I wanna show you!" Ringo's voice was laced with delight at the prospect of owning a new record - and John froze.
He bought a new record, and didn't even bother to tell John?! His heart sank horrifyingly, but the envy and outrage surging in his stomach was stronger; it seemed as soon as Brows came into their life, Ringo got all caught up in him and already was telling him stuff before John.
It was always something that scared him. He always knew Ringo would eventually find a friend better than John - someone who was kinder, who was more sympathetic, more talented, funnier, much cooler than he could ever be. Maybe that was happening now. And Ringo would forget all about him and he would be left behind.
I don't want it to happen yet! He begged. I still need Ringo with me. There was another voice, the snivelling one; well, have you ever considered the fact that he doesn't need you anymore?
He shut his eyes tightly, the grip on his pencil so tight his knuckles went white, trying as hard as he could to shut the voice out. He didn't want it to get to him.
"John? Are you alright?" Ringo's gentle voice cut through it, and there was a warm hand on his shoulder, concerned eyes trained on him.
"Huh?" He turned to him, almost bewildered as he came back to reality. He felt like he had just disappeared to an entirely different universe.
"I said, are you okay? I can see somethin's troublin' you." As always, Ringo could see right through him, no matter what he did.
"Oh.." He trailed off, at a loss of what to say. Maybe.. Ringo still was his friend. He didn't need to get in a twist over the fact that he was making friends with George. He probably just forgot to mention the record thing. "'m fine. Don't worry about me, son." He pulled the older's head into a headlock, ruffling his quiffed hair with his usual mischievous grin, trying to forget the whole ordeal.
"Gerroff!" Ringo struggled to get out of John's iron-strong hold, but John held still, snickering to himself.
"Not until you admit I'm more handsome than ya."
"Never!" Ringo gasped mockingly, jabbing him in the side and causing John to let go, letting out a yelp.
"I'll get ya for this, Starkey!-" He held up his hands in fists, the two glaring playfully as they got ready to fight.
"Boys! Stop fighting, or you'll get lunch detention too." The teacher shut them both up with a stern look.
"He started it!" They both pointed at each other, eyes wide. It caused the other kids to giggle, even stony George cracking a smile.
The teacher only rolled their eyes, calling a "behave," behind his shoulder before turning back to the chalkboard.
-
Recess came around, and John was grabbing a tray from the stack next to the display of food in the cafeteria, picking off some sort of ancient sauce that had embedded itself into the plastic with a grimace.
Ringo had already gotten them a table with both Pete's and Stuart, so John was just going to get a drink and a sandwich before joining them. The cafeteria was teeming with students, pretty much every table being occupied, some even sitting in circles on the floor, against the wall. They were lucky they got a table. But it wasn't like any of the other kids would deny the John Lennon Gang a table if they asked, anyway.
As he reached the drink section, he noticed a familiar dark head of hair standing there, looking at the selection with his arched brows ever so slightly furrowed.
Shit! John froze, anxiety rising in his chest for a moment, suddenly nervous as his cheeks flushed. He felt as if Paul knew he stayed up all night thinking about him somehow, even thought that wasn't true at all. He sucked in a breath.
Stop being a fucking idiot and just go get a drink. It's not that hard. He chanted those words to himself as he walked up. He chose not to look at Paul at all so he wouldn't have to see his expression or get caught up in his leafy, ever-changing eyes - what? He shook himself. Shut up, John.
Staring at the drinks, he spotted what exactly he was looking for; the last chocolate milk! He put down his tray on the bench. He would get it before anyone else would, then he would be on his merry way and he wouldn't have to keep noticing the fact that Paul's arm was only inches from his. So, he reached out a hand to grab it;
But suddenly, Paul was reaching for it too. Neither noticed until their fingertips brushed, almost grabbing onto each other's hands instead of the milk. Paul pulled away as if he had been burnt, and John felt every hair on his arm stand on his end as he jumped away. Oh god. John's cheeks flamed, heart racing as they locked eyes. He felt terribly flustered, and he could feel the electricity that was bouncing off their bodies between them.
Paul was staring at him in utter shock, his own cheeks deep pink as well, eyes wide as dinner plates and plump lips parted. Something else was embedded behind his eyes, too, but he quickly grew guarded, gaze ducking to the floor with embarrassment biting his lip.
Quickly, John grabbed the milk while Paul was distracted, triumph coursing through him as Paul looked up, expression contorting in indignation when he saw John had the milk.
"Sorry, princess, finders' keepers." He lifted the drink in front of him, as if mocking him with his prize, making a pouty face as Paul glared mutinously at him.
"Whatever," Paul muttered, before promptly grabbing an orange juice and stomping off. "prick." The last word was uttered so quietly that John almost didn't hear, and he didn't think he was supposed to in the first place.
It still made him scoff and irritatedly clench his teeth, but he said nothing. Instead, he took his tray and milk and moved to the sandwich section, picking out a ham and cheese. He payed then walked off to find the table Ringo and his friends had saved.
"Oi, John! Why the long face?" Stuart called when he came over, scooting over so he could sit; John did so, replying to Stuart's question with a grunt. "Bird troubles?"
"Paul troubles, more like." Ringo snickered, and John kicked his shin from under the table with a warning glare. "Ow!" His friend laughed harder, clutching his shin with a playful glare shot his way.
"The hell is he on about? Paul troubles?" Pete Shotton asked from Stuart's other side, gazing at John with interest in his gaze, munching on a soggy chip.
"Y'know, the new kid." Ringo crossed his arms on the table, tilting his head.
(warning: slur)
John's eyes travelled across the room, scanning hungrily for the boy in questions; he eventually spotted him walking out of the cafeteria, meeting up with George before the two disappeared around the corner.
"Ah! Heard ye have him as a partner, Lenny!" Pete Best spoke up with a laugh, nudging John with his foot, pulling him from his reverie. "Sucks that yer stuck with the faggy." They all snickered - except for Ringo and John, who just faked a smile, John's expression troubled.
"I've heard they lure in victims and fuck 'em behind the footy field seats!" Blonde Pete guffawed, the others snickering at his joke as well, but still nothing from John or Ringo. The former noticed Ringo's eyes blaze with fury.
There was an unexplainable rage in John's veins at those hurtful jokes, and he shoved Pete a little harsher than he intended to, rolling his eyes.
"Oi, come off it now, wouldja?"
"Ah, John. Yer always the hero of the bunch." Stuart laughed. John noticed he wasn't finding the jokes either Pete were making as funny as John expected him to.
"What? Don't tell me ye've become friends with the twats, have ya?" Blonde Pete shoved John back, taking an obnoxious bite of his sandwich.
"No!" John protested with a scoff. "As if." He still felt sadness tug at him at those words, though. "Just stop bein' a prick."
"Alright, your highness." Brown-haired Pete held up his hands, and they laughed before Stuart changed the subject.
-
"Welcome back, class!" Mr. Martin called out to settle the rowdy students who were joking and throwing things across the room. After a few seconds, they eventually fell silent, and John rested his head in his hand from his spot next to Ringo.
"I hope you're all getting on with your partners. This class, I just want you all to work on the song; you're allowed to go and work outside or in the hallway, if it's better for you. Just be back inside 5 minutes before class ends." He waved them off, turning to do work at his desk as they all started up again, moving to go to their partners.
So, John stood up, saying a goodbye to Ringo before he made his way to Paul. He felt awkward after the whole ordeal with Stuart and both Pete's, but he tried to leave it behind as he shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Let's get on with it then, eh?" John spoke up, catching Paul's attention who was buried in a book. The boy looked up in mild surprise, before he slipped a bookmark into the page he was at and shut it.
Gaze darting to the cover, he read the letters "Alice in Wonderland". His heart leapt and his eyes widened with shock. His favourite book ever! And Paul was reading it! Why did that make him feel really happy?
"Alice in Wonderland. That's me favourite." He commented, trying to come off as nonchalant as possible, watching Paul get to his feet and gather his stuff, his guitar case bumping against his back.
"Really? It's a great book." Paul agreed. John noticed that Paul seemed a lot less hostile than he usually was, but his countenance was still very much guarded and distant as he looked back at the book. "Also-" He paused, looking up. "Let's go somewhere quieter, aye? It'll work better if it's just the two of us."
John almost froze for a moment, a jolt in his veins at those words. For fucks sake, John! Stop reading a different meaning into words. It was nothing. He shook himself, coughing awkwardly and nodding.
"Uh- yeah, sure."
Paul seemed to have noticed his stumbling, and only raised an eyebrow, saying nothing on it.
With that, the two left the classroom, John sending a stupid face and a wink in Ringo's direction, who snickered and gave him the finger before they left. Walking through the deserted hallways, the older couldn't seem to calm himself, feeling nervousness and anxiety clinging to him like a bad smell, tapping against his thigh as he followed Paul to the back doors. Play it cool, Lennon! Its not a big deal.
As they exited through the back doors, John stared out at the oval, and the football field further off, the stands on either side. Paul was making his way across the oval seemingly towards the football field, and John followed behind. The joke was coming out before he could stop it.
"Gonna take me behind the footy stands, then?"
"Fuck off, knobhead." Paul growled, sending him a furious dagger-filled glare before turning away, continuing their trek across the grass.
"Sorry." John muttered, feeling bad that he made that joke.
The grass below his feet were slippery with morning dew, and a cool breeze ruffled John's hair; staring up at the sky, it was a blanket of white, with occasional smears of grey that screamed rain. He could even smell it a bit in the damp air.
"Let's work next to the stands. It'll shield from the wind." Paul spoke up again as they reached the football field, which had significantly greener and lusher grass.
"Okay," they reached the stands and John plonked on the ground, taking off his guitar case around his back and crossing his legs, opening up the case to pull out his precious item. Paul followed suit, opening up his notebook to the page where they had been working on the song. They only had a few lines of lyric and a base for a chorus, and a chord progression written down. A lot more work had to be done.
John put on his glasses.
I want to hold your hand lyrics
____________________
Lennon - McCartney
Oh yeah I'll - tell you somethin'
I think you'll know about X // - understand
When I tell that somethin' (?)
I want to hold your hand x 3
?? - Say to me
You'll let me be your man
Something John noticed was 'Lennon - McCartney', and he stared in surprise. That wasn't there when Paul was over last night. Did he add that in?? For some reason, a surge of happiness ran through his stomach, a flutter of butterflies accompanying it. Why did that send his heart racing?
"Let's get to work!" Paul clapped his hands together, running a hand through his hair and biting the end of his pen; John couldn't help but find it unbelievably cute. Fuck, stop it John! You sound like a bloody schoolgirl with a crush.
So they worked. John mainly worked on the lyrics part, Paul coming up with melodies and chords to go along with it. A silence fell over them, but it wasn't necessarily awkward or tense - they both were just intent in their work, forgetting their animosity momentarily so they could work on some music. It seemed to unite them, both looking past their differences to bond over their shared love of music. It was truly invigorating.
After about an hour, John noticed that they were going to have to come in soon due to it being the end of the lesson - and looking up at the sky, he saw the clouds had darkened, and he knew rain was about to come down on them.
"Right- let's play through it together, just once." Paul suggested, putting down his pen and adjusting his guitar in his lap, locking eyes with John.
He gulped; he didn't know whether he could keep up with Paul. What if he fucked up in front of him?
"Alright." He agreed, against every instinct inside him screaming not to. He looked down at the chords on the paper, adjusting his fingers accordingly and waiting patiently for Paul to count them in.
"1, 2 3-" He did as expected, and they flew into song.
"Oh yeah, I'll tell you somethin'," Their voices began in unison, mingling together in the autumn air and rising above them, sounding like the perfect melody. John revelled in the way their voices mixed together, seemingly perfect for each other, perfectly complimenting and suiting. It almost sent him off course at how good they sounded together.
"I think you'll understand," Paul's eyes locked with his, his gaze intense and never blinking as they played. Both made a few mistakes as they went, but it was expected, as the song still wasn't finished yet.
"When I say that somethin'-"
"I wanna hold your hand," Paul's voice rose to a high octave while John kept his low, and they both actually giggled to themselves, terribly pleased at how the song actually seemed decent and their voices complimented each other so well. Joy soared in John's chest, and he could see Paul's eyes glow with happiness himself.
"I wanna hold your ha-and! I wanna hold your hand," John lifted his head and sung in a silly voice, making a stupid face that caused Paul to smile a little - he had smiled! John could kiss him. I mean, what?
"Oh please, say to me," They pushed on.
"You'll let me be your m-" Suddenly, they fell short - rain had began to fall down, and the notebook's dry pages were riddled with raindrops.
"Fuck!" John cursed out loud, and they hastily gathered their things in the steadily rapid rain spilling down from the heavens, trying to shield their stuff from its drops.
"Quickly, uh-"
Paul shot away towards the underside of the football stands to dry area, and John followed suit; but he slipped on the grass as he got under the stands and he crashed right into Paul.
He let out an 'oof!' as the breath was knocked out of him, but strong hands grabbed onto him and prevented him from falling any further. His breath hitched and they froze in position, Paul's arms around his back and John's resting on the formers shoulders. Slowly, the older lifted his head, pushing up his glasses that had slipped to the end of his nose; their eyes met, and suddenly they couldn't look away.
Seeing Paul so close up and in good definition was daunting. His shiny, ebony locks were flattened and seemingly even darker with water, and drops of it rolled down his forehead and a slender nose. It clung to dark eyelashes, and his mossy green eyes stared up at him, shocked and unguarded. John noticed a drop of water hanging on the tip of his upturned nose that eventually dropped onto his upper lip, guiding his gaze down to his dark, plump lips. They were parted, revealing a glint of white teeth, and they shone with water.
God, he wanted to kiss him. He wanted to wipe that insanely hot expression of innocent surprise and connect their lips. Run his hand through those thick locks. It was so fucking tempting.
Their hot breaths mixed in the air, tension crackling like lighting between them, their chests pressed up against each other. Paul's hands burnt prints against his back, and he swore he would melt right then and there. Their faces were inches away, their gazes level since they were the same height; Paul was taller by a millimetre, so John had to look up, but only just.
But suddenly, the trance was broken when Paul blinked, scrambling away from John and out into the rain above them, his stance becoming guarded and embarrassed as his walls began to build up around him, closing him off as quickly as they had come down.
"Sorry, I uh-" The boy licked his lips. "gotta go. To somethin'. Uhm-" His hands fidgeted. "yeah. But- wait!" He started, holding up a hand as if to stop John from leaving. The older hadn't even moved from his position, still absolutely dumbfounded. "Let's meet at the gates after school. We can keep working on it." There was a pause. "The song, I mean."
"I have detention." John stared foolishly.
"I can wait." Paul stared back.
There was silence.
Eventually, Paul stopped waiting for a response and he began to walk away, apparently not even noticing the rain anymore as he went. Seeing him go snapped John out of his stupor, and he dashed out into the rain, calling out.
"Paul!"
The boy froze in his position, but didn't turn to look.
"Why are you actin' like this?" John's voice was hoarse.
"Like what?" Paul turned around, his entire countenance suddenly hostile. "What the hell am I doin' now?"
"Why are you bein' so difficult? We-" John fell short. "we could be friends! Why does it have ta be this way?"
Paul stared in an enraged silence, and John knew he said absolutely the wrong thing.
"Fuckin' forget it, then." He whipped around and made a dash for the school.
"N-No-" John stuttered, searching for the right words to apologise. "Wait!" His voice rose to a desperate yell, and he sprinted after him.
Paul didn't slow down. He sped across the grass and shoved the back doors open, disappearing inside.
John cried his name in desperation to get him to stop, but to no avail; when he reached the back doors and entered the hallway, there was no one.
Paul was gone.
And John knew he was back at square one.