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⠀⠀╲⠀╲⠀☆⠀ ╲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀☆⠀╲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ★
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(i dont know what theyre doing in this pic but i support them)
january 1859
It was a mid-temperature day. Not too hot, nor too cold. It was perfect weather to work, for Paul at least. You weren't so hot that you couldn't even hold onto the axe properly and you felt like you were literally in a waterfall of sweat, like you would sweat so much you'd end up melting into a pile of just... grimy sweat. But you weren't so cold either that you couldn't feel your face or hands, with only a flimsy, tattered coat to protect you from the snow and harsh winds. The doe-eyed boy felt pain shoot up his back once again as he swung the axe onto the piece of wood, sweat running down his bare arms as he worked in just a tank top and overalls, but it wasn't as bad as it was during the summer. The clouds were a stark white and blanketed the entire sky, but there was no rain or wind. The family were working, once again, and Paul was about to take a break, as Jane had called from the house that she had some bread and butter, and fresh lemonade she made to give.
"Comin', Jane!" Paul called, wiping the sweat from his brow and letting out a loud sigh, the axe cluttering to the ground beside him as it slipped from his clammy palms. He then walked over to check on Mike and his dad. "Ye two alrigh'?" He asked concernedly.
"Yeah, 'm fine. Will join ye in a mo', jus' finishin' the las' few bits." Mike smiled, the fifteen-year-old gesturing to the house. "Go on. Save some fer me, though!"
"I'll try." Paul grinned warmly at his younger brother and roughly ruffled his hair, who protested and jumped away.
"'ll clobber ye! Stay back, foul beast!" He held up the axe with a grin, pretending to loom over him, though he was much shorter. Paul started to back away with his hands held up in surrender, face contorted into mock fear, not bothering to suppress his grin though.
"Please, sire, don't hurt me! I am but an innocent damsel!" He pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, pretending to faint, fanning himself with the other. They both burst into laughter, leaning against each other as Paul wiped a tear from his eye before the doe-eyed boy called his goodbyes and turned to go back inside, but slowed when he felt eyes burning into his side, the gaze was weirdly intense and caused him to rub at his arm, glancing off to the side of the house.
There were a cluster of large trees and bushes that snaked and climbed over the broken fence, covering the right side of the house. It was an area of forest that was going to be cut down to make way for more cheaply built houses, since there wasn't enough to house the poor. It was one of his favourite places from his childhood, he still went there to this day. He remembered countless days where, whenever he was upset, angry, or just needed to be by himself, he would run into the forest and to his secret place, where there was a dip in the earth and soft, lush grass created a bed-like area. Wildflowers were littered all around it, and there was a perfect gap in the trees so he could gaze up at the stars on a clear night. He still went there from time to time, he never told anyone about it, though. He wanted it to just be his place and his alone. Maybe other people knew about it, but he doubted it. It would be a sad day when they cut it all down.
"Hey! Psst, Paulie! Hellooooo??" There was a harsh whisper coming from the bushes, interrupting Paul's monologue. How long had he stood there, staring into the forest, looking like an idiot? He felt his cheeks flush and he glanced towards the bushes. A, sadly, familiar face popped out from it, shit-eating grin plastered on his face, a few stray leaves and twigs stuck in his auburn, wavy mop of hair.
"The f- John?" Paul stared at him with wide eyes, as if he was a deer caught in headlights. "The fuck ye doin'?" He whisper-yelled, running towards him and leaping over the fence in one jump and grabbing the boy, pulling him away from the house and a bit further into the forest, enough to be concealed but not enough to be close to his hangout spot. "Wha'. The. Hell. Lennon!" Paul hissed. "Go away. Yer not 'spose' ta be 'round these parts. An' don' call me Paulie." He glared with as much fury as he could muster (which wasn't much, as he looked like a disgruntled puppy) at the prince.
"Well, jus' wanted ta pop in an' say hi. Why, do ye not like me?" The prince pulled a sad face, sticking out his bottom lip and doing puppy eyes, which, unfortunately, was extremely cute to Paul. What? No, nah. I didn't think that. He shook his head. Just because his mum's dead doesn't mean I have ta like him.
"No, I don'. In the middle of workin', fuck off, will ye?" He rolled his eyes, before turning to walk off. Of course, John didn't give up so easily, and he jumped into Paul's field of vision, stopping the boy from walking any further by standing in front of him, that fucking annoying ass grin still present on his face, one eyebrow raised as he went to lean against a tree casually, slipping something out of his pocket and tossing it up and catching it nonchalantly.
"Not even gonna invite me inside fer a cup o' tea?" He made the sad face again.
"No. Would ye jus' leave?" Paul groaned and crossed his arms, trying to get past, but his path being blocked again. God, he won't fuckin' give up, will he? Irritation bubbled in his throat, ready to spill out, but his heart beat incredibly fast when John's arm accidentally brushed his own.
"Alrigh', alrigh', ye win. But..." John held up his hands in surrender, before he held out the little thing he was tossing back and forth, which turned out to be a little round-shaped object, wrapped in white paper with a gold string, tied in a bow. The fuck? Paul raised an eyebrow at it. "Got a present fer ya."
"Wha'? Th' fuck is it?" He snatched it off the boy, giving him one last glare before turning off to the side, nimble, but slightly shaky fingers untying the knot and opening the paper. It was a.... little lemon tart? Perfectly made and neat. The smell wafted up to his nose, mouth instantly watering. They never got food like this.. it was a dessert treat. He almost didn't know what dessert was. "A fuckin' tart? What ye try'na do, bribe me?" He glared at the boy, who had his hands shoved in his pockets, lopsided smirk playing on his lips.
"No, no. Jus'... a peace offerin'. Truce?" He held out a hand to shake. "I know ye hate me because 'm th' prince o' Liverpool an' I could 'ave anythin' I could ever want an' ye guys can't even afford proper meals, but..." His face turned serious, and Paul could see the cogs working in his head as the boy retreated his hand, reaching to rub at the back of his neck, John realising what he had just said. He could see the instant regret on the prince's face, and he almost felt bad for him. But what John just said proved his point, and he felt anger travel through his chest again, face turning cold, permanent glare stuck on it. "Well, nevermind wha' I jus' said, but yeah."
Paul huffed and tied up the tart and tossed it to the ground, before his hands tightened to fists and he pushed past the older boy. "Bye." He felt his heart sink slightly as he heard nothing from John, who hadn't bothered to follow him. Why was I such a tosser? Yer such an arse, Paul. His mum died not three months ago, fer christ's sake! Paul quickly ducked behind a thick-bodied tree and peeked out from the side, watching the prince.
"Well, I tried..." John muttered after a few moments of silence, shoving his hands in his pockets and kicking the nearest rock, before he started to walk off into the distance and out of sight, whistling a tune all the while. Once Paul was completely sure he was gone, the raven-haired boy ducked out from his hiding spot and nicked the tart from where he had tossed it to the ground before slipping it into his pocket. No one had to know. Besides, the tart looked bloody good. 'm not gonna pass up an opportunity fer good food.
He then leapt back over the fence gracefully, strolling along as he made his way to the house. But, he was stopped once again as someone ran up to him, calling his name.
"Paul! Oi, Paul!" It was George, of course. The younger boy had a knowing grin, eyebrows raised as he came up to him.
Letting out a long sigh, he turned to his best friend. "Hi, Georgie. Whatcha' doin' 'ere?"
"I saw 'im. Leavin' yer place." George nudged his friend before grabbing onto his arm, dragging him away from the house and back down the street, but the opposite way which John went, down further into the poorer areas, towards the market. Paul completely forgot about him going to meet Jane as he rolled his eyes, refusing to look at the lanky boy. Who had, quite frankly, shot up quite a bit in the last few months, almost as tall as Paul. By the time he was eighteen, he would probably be taller than all of them, Paul could feel it.
"Who? Dunno wha' yer talkin' about." Paul slipped the tart from his pocket, reopening it and using it as an excuse to not look at his friend, knowing what his expression is.
"Fuckin' John, duh! Saw 'im walkin' home. Come'ead, spill th' beans! Wha' happened?"
"Nuffin'." Paul shrugged as he took a bite of the tart, acting as nonchalant as possible. Woah, it's really fuckin' good. Glad I picked it up.
"Wait, where'd ya get that? Is tha' from John?" George's dark eyes lit up, lopsided grin painted on his face as he reached to snatch it off his older friend.
"Oi! Gerroff!" He pulled it away from George's clutches with a glare, turning his attention back to the little treat. "Maybe. Doesn't know I took it, though. I threw it to th' ground an' fucked off, bu' I came back fer it."
George let out a laugh, throwing his head back before nudging his friend again. They finally reached the market, the area around them bustling with people, and they had to clutch onto each other to stay together. "Knew ye'd keep it. So, ye warmin' up to 'im?"
"Quite frankly, no." Paul flashed a stern look at George, warning him to 'stop talking about it right now before I shove the remains of this tart up yer arse.'
"Giz' us a taste o' that tart?" George begged, trying to reach for the tart once again, and the droopy-eyed boy sighed before breaking off the tiniest crumb he possibly could, and holding it out in front of George. He struggled to suppress his laughter as he saw his friend's face fall with disappointment. "C'mon, don't be mingy!" He whined, making grabby hands towards it again. And Paul, being the oh-so-kind-and-generous friend he was, rolled his eyes before breaking the last bit he had in half and slapping it into his annoying friend's hand, smushing it a little by doing so. But did George care? Nope. He slurped the entire thing up in one bite.
"Mmmm.. my god, it's fuckin'- so good." The boy moaned loudly as he savoured the taste, causing Paul to grimace and shove the boy, as people had glanced over at the two boys in confusion and slight disgust.
"Shu' up, ye grotty bastard."
"Wha'? Jus' expressing my delight with this tart." George wiggled his bushy eyebrows with a smirk (or should I say, eyebrow.)
"Wha'ever, ye naff."
"Prat."
"Wanker."
"I'll throttle ya!"
"Ye wouldn't!" George gasped in mock offence.
"I bloody well would." Paul giggled, clenching his fists together and making a grunt noise, lifting his arms and showing off his 'muscles', pressing a smooch to both (non existent, due to the fact he was as skinny as a twig) biceps.
"Wha'ever. Let's jus' go get those candies tha' guy sells at th' end."
"Yer payin'."
"Fine."
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author's note.
___________________
hi guys im so sorry for the longass
wait, not really been in the best
state of mind lately due to me not
being able to be on my
anti-depressants atm (wont go
too into it) so its been hkfkjkjd
hard to write. hope u guys enjoy
this chapter ! it took me legit
forever . okey see u guys later !
hopefully the next chap will b out
soon :')