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⠀⠀╲⠀╲⠀☆⠀ ╲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀☆⠀╲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ★
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april 1859
"Doo doo doo... I'm just swingin' round town.." John hummed to himself nervously, hands shoved in pockets to hide his fidgeting as he entered the manor through the back entrance. It was the day when the four boys had gone to the pub and hung out, and John was about to go and inform Cynthia that his friends had arrived so she wouldn't be startled by them or anything. He was absolutely terrified of confronting her after their last interaction, but he knew it had to be done; he had to try and patch things up with her as best as he could. They were about to get married - he had to do his best to have them on good terms when it happens, for them to be at least friends during this time. He didn't want to fight with Cynthia. He loved her; he truly did. Just not in that way anymore. A certain someone came and changed it all. She still loved him the way they used to love each other... John couldn't bring himself to anymore. It was over. But - despite all of this, at least he was marrying a friend, and not someone who he didn't like. That's what mattered to him. Cynthia and Paul.
"Uhm, Cyn? It's me." He had finally made his way upstairs and knocked on one of the guest bedrooms where Cynthia was staying, far away from John's room. His heartbeat raced fast and he tried to control his breathing, anxiety taking its hold again as it attempted to get John out of that situation. There was silence for a bit, John's foot tapping nervously against the thick carpeted floor, painted white wooden door staying firmly closed for several minutes, no sound coming from anywhere in the house except from John. He was, in fact, about to give up, turning to trudge away back downstairs, until there was footsteps and the door creaked open.
There Cyn stood, in a silk white dress and a blanket draped around her, looking tired and despondent, hair knotty but tied up in a loose bun. Her eyes were dull and showed no spark of interest when she spotted John there, instead just stepping aside to let him in, shutting the door gently after him.
"Cyn.." John slowly sat down on the bed, hands fiddling with a loose piece of fluff over and over again. He needed to break it to her. Tell her how he truly was feeling.
"Yes, John. You're here to try and patch things up again, aren't you?" Her voice was quiet and emotionless, sitting in the velvet seat across from the bed, clutching the blanket closer to herself, eyes on the floor.
"Yeah.. look. I know whatever I say won't help anything. There's no going back to what we were anymore." John felt his throat close up, tears threatening to surface, but he kept it away.
"I know. I want to know, though.." The girl trailed off.
"Yeah?" He glanced up to lock eyes with her for the first time since he stepped into the room.
"Why did you come home so late that night? You came home at 1am." She stood up, seemingly regained some of her old confidence, and John could see the anger beginning to build up inside her. His heart sunk, and he sighed, catching his bottom lip between his teeth.
"I-"
"Do you love her?"
"What?" John started at her in disbelief. What was she on about?
"Don't think I'm stupid, John." She chuckled, but there wasn't any humour in it, and tears were building up in the blonde's eyes again. "The fact that you ran away when I said "love me", we haven't had sex in months, you're never around me as much as you used to be, you don't say 'I love you' anymore.." She let out a shaky sigh, and John stood up quickly, moving to try and comfort her, but she pushed him away softly, a sob escaping from her mouth. "Now you're coming back home at ungodly hours of the night, or not even at night at all. I know you're in love with someone else, John. I can see it. Is she pretty? Does she take care of you?"
"I-I- Cyn-" He stuttered, at a loss for words, stepping back and clenching tightly at the ends of his sleeves. He could feel the tears rising again and he struggled to keep quiet, heart aching horribly. He felt so horrible, so guilty, for leaving her like this. I'm such a horrible person. Why couldn't I have just not gone and started liking Paul? Fuck. A tear slipped down from his cheek and he fell backwards onto the bed, leaning forward and pressing his fingers into his eyes with a shaky huff. How do I tell her it's not a girl?
"It's... it's okay, John. Really." Cynthia sobbed and sat down beside him, wrapping her arms tight around her fiancé, her tears wetting his shoulder as she hiccuped, sniffling. "I-I just wish you could've told me sooner.. if-if-if-" She sobbed again. "If she makes you happy, I'm.. I'm okay with it."
"It's not a girl!" John blurted before he could stop himself, eyes growing wide as he pulled himself from Cynthia's embrace, slapping a hand over his mouth. Fuck, I said too much.
"Wh..." Cynthia spoke eventually, her tears immediately stopping as she stared up at her fiancé in shock. "It's... a man?"
".... yeah. I-I-" John stuttered before falling into the chair with a cry, curling in on himself as all his bottled up emotions came out all at once, tears soaking his pant knees as he buried his head in them. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry-"
"John, John.." Cynthia stood up and leaned down in front of him, hands lifting his chin up and wrapping around his cheeks. With a gentle thumb the girl wiped away stray tears with a sad smile. "It's okay. I ... it's okay. You're still my John." She coaxed him to stand up before pulling him into a tight hug, both holding on as tightly as they could, heads burying into each other's shoulders and breathing in their scent for what would probably be the last time.
"I-How are you takin' this so well?" John pulled away to look her in the eye, another tear slipping down his cheek. "I... I'm sorry-"
"John.. it's okay." She gazed at him earnestly. "To be honest, I wasn't surprised when you confessed it was a man.." She glanced to look at the floor. "I always suspected something. The way you acted around that Stuart.. I knew that something was up. Is.. do you love him?" She asked eventually, looking back up at him as she struggled not to burst into tears at just saying that.
"I... It's not him. He's in love with Astrid." John chuckled humorlessly, another tear falling and being wiped away quickly. "His name is Paul."
"Do you guys love each other? I need to know." She pulled away and sat on the bed, silent tears still streaming down her face.
"N.. no. We're not even together yet, actually." The prince sighed. He didn't want to talk about it any longer, as he could see Cynthia growing more and more pained at hearing the words coming from his mouth.
"I.. please leave." Cyn sobbed into her hands.
"Cynthia, I-" He stepped towards her, feeling his heart ache in sadness, throat tightening, but she raised a hand, stilling him from moving any further.
"Don't. Please... just go. I-I need some time. I love you, but I need time to p-process this. I can't look at you right now." She continued to cry heavily, curling up on the bed and brokenly sobbing into her hands.
"I.. I love you too." He spoke eventually. Then turning and slowly walking out of the room, shutting the door after him almost silently, standing there in the hallway in dead silence for a few seconds before collapsing against the wall, a sob bursting from his throat as he buried his head in his knees, masking his cries by biting onto his sleeve. Broken gasps was the only thing being heard in the hallway for several minutes.
Until, there was the creak of a door opening, footsteps coming down the hallway. Peeking out from between his fingers, John spotted Stuart and Astrid, creeping from the spare room down the end of the hall, eyes wide and looking embarrassed as they stared at him. They had obviously heard the entire ordeal, and the thought of that made John's stomach churn, his skin crawling with embarrassment as he shoved his head back between his knees with a shaky breath. There was one pair of footsteps, quiet and tentative, approaching him, and he didn't push away the hand that came to his shoulder, a familiar sigh gracing his ears.
"John..." Stuart's voice was just above a whisper, and it was dripping with sickly sympathy, causing irritation to rise up in his throat like bile. He didn't really need this right now.
"Piss off, Stu, would ya?" The distraught boy muttered, pulling his legs closer to his body protectively.
"Look.. 'm sorry. I know how ye feel about us hearin' about the whole thing, but trust me, we didn't mean to." He continued to speak, a hand reaching under John's chin and lifting his head up, earnest look in his eyes as he gently sat down in front of his ex-lover. His hair was unkempt, clothes lazily thrown back on, cheeks flushed; him and Astrid (she had disappeared back into the room at some point - John didn't really care if she was listening to them) had obviously been doing some things before they were interrupted by Cynthia and John's meltdown, and that caused John to be all the more angry, frustration bubbling in his chest and causing him to grip at the ends of his trousers tightly. "I care about ye, John. I want ta help ye... what's been goin' on?"
John huffed and turned away, refusing to look at the younger boy as he glared at the carpet next to him. "Nothin'. None o' yer business."
"John..." Stu sighed eventually, and he pulled his hand away, looking down into his lap. "I don't expect ye to open up ta me. Yer right.. it is yer business. Just-" He slowly stood up, brushing himself off. "Just know.. 'm here. I know.. we left off on a bad note- but 'm still here fer ye." The younger then began to walk away, disappearing down the hallway and back to the room at the end of the hall. John struggled not to burst into tears, feeling abandoned once again as Stuart walked out on him - he felt as if everything was falling apart as of late. His relationship with Cynthia, disappointing Mimi, the impending doom of his life being over after the marriage and being crowned King, no escape and being forced into a life he didn't wish for, and now Stuart..
Why does everyone leave him? His mother, his father, who had never even met, his uncle, Eppy, Stuart.. who's to say George or Ringo won't leave him either? Or even worse, Paul? The thought of Paul abandoning him was almost too much to bear, and tears slipped further down his cheeks at that. Mimi didn't understand him, she tried, but.. she was a product of her upbringing, something that John didn't want. His rich friends Pete, Dave, those people - were just assholes and he could never actually be friends with them. They were airheads with no personality who thought it was a fun time to be cruel and bully the poor and everyone who wasn't like them in the world.
He stood up and hurried away, down the gigantic stairs and across the front parlour, down the east hallway and to his room. Before he could reach it, though, a curious voice called out from the parlour.
"John? Where have you been, I've been looking for you everywhere-" Mimi made her way over to her nephew.
"Mimi, jus'.." He knew she wanted to discuss some future plans for the manor or something she had mentioned at an awkward dinner a few days ago and he just couldn't deal with it at the moment. "Later." His voice was quiet and hoarse, and he continued down the hallway, to his room at the end and shutting the door loudly.
Mimi didn't pursue him, thank god, and he collapsed onto his bed, burying his head in the pillows and letting out a cry of frustration, hands pulling at his hair.
Paul, I really fucking need you right now...
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Speaking of Paul, that particular boy was continuing to plague John's mind two days later. He was lying sprawled on his bed, wearing nothing but a singlet and trousers, puffing away at a pipe, eyes half-shut, enjoying the sounds of the spring air coming from his half-opened window. He was indulging the thoughts at this point, his mind running wild fantasies of the two falling hopelessly in love with each other and running away to France, living in a small flat all by themselves next to the river Seine, making love every night and just being together. Maybe George and Ringo could tag along with them, but they would have to keep the fucking to a minimum.
It was an impossible feat, though, a one in a million chance that that would actually happen; that wouldn't stop John imagining it though.
The thought of it made a wide smile appear on his face, and he giggled to himself, flipping onto his stomach before burying his head in his pillow with a sigh, cheeks almost hurting from smiling so much. Warmth and butterflies exploded in his stomach every time he thought about Paul; the feeling was so exciting and serotonin-filled, he absolutely loved it. The doe-eyed boy made him feel so happy and excited, as if the prince could do anything he wanted in the entire world and achieve all his hopes and dreams. He had only felt this way once before, but this time it felt so much better because Paul was such an amazing person. He was so funny, interesting, and they actually had so much in common despite being born into entirely different backgrounds. And he was so bloody attractive. Long and dark eyelashes, eyes that changed colour in the light, but usually a shade of green mixed with brown - a small, turned up nose, smooth pale skin, strong arms, long legs, slim waist, (full, round arse), thick, shiny ink black hair, perfectly arched brows; and fucking killer lips. He wanted so badly to get a feel of them against his own, but he was biding his time - waiting for the perfect moment to express his feelings. At this point, he was just desperate to get all of his feelings out. It would be a plus if Paul ended up feeling the same way, but he just wanted so badly to tell him how he felt.
Clink, clink.
There was a clink sound coming from his window that interrupted his daydreaming. Lifting his head, he flipped back over onto his back and sat up, listening curiously for the noise again.
Clink.
"Oi, John!" A distant, but familiar voice called from far off, and he stood up, going to his window and opening it fully, peering out before taking another puff of the pipe. Down on the perfectly cut grass below his window, was a Paul McCartney, poised with a handful of pebbles to throw at John's window, chucking them away as he spotted John peering out.
"Paul?" He called, utterly confused. What was he doing here? It's like his thoughts summoned the younger boy.
"C'mon, let me in!" Paul called back, impatiently gesturing to the back entrance, looking incredibly nervous and awkward. "I don't wanna stand 'ere any longer!"
"Right, right-" John quickly put out the pipe and hurried away, grabbing the nearest shirt before doing it up as he dashed out the room and down the stairs to the back entrance, bursting through and running straight to Paul. "Come on!" He grinned at the younger, feeling an explosion of butterflies again as he grabbed his wrist, both running away before they were spotted and through the servant's entrance again, John flashing a grin and a wink towards the maids that were walking past, all bursting into giggles and whispers at seeing the two run past.
"Where're we goin'?-" Paul questioned as he was being led through a flurry of hallways and stairs until they reached a room at the far east corner on the second floor, John pulling him in with a dramatic flourish. "John!"
"Welcome, to my humble abode." He gestured grandly to a large room which had one wall entirely made of bookshelves, two velvet couches facing each other with a coffee table in between, large windows whose curtains were drawn, a sliver of light escaping through a crack in the middle. John hadn't been much in it lately, but it brought back strong memories from a long time ago.
"That's it! You win, sir captain! I'm defeated!" Seven-year-old George puffed out, pulling off the top hat he stole from his father and dumping it on the floor. "I can chase after you no more."
"Ha! See that? I win! I am the best pirate in all of the land, and you're the worst!" Nine-year-old John made a face at his friend, who wasn't really paying attention to the prince, gazing in wonder and amazement at the room he had only seen twice now.
The only thing that had changed since then in this room was a grand piano had been placed in the corner of the room, next to the windows. "Wow. Is this a sort of lounge area?" Paul asked quietly, gazing around at the room in awe and wonder, the same look George had all those years ago.
"Yeah, I guess. I haven't been in here fer a while, it's sort of unused. But.. it's quiet. No one ever comes in 'ere. It's far off from the rest of th' people who live 'ere." John shrugged somewhat nonchalantly as he wandered about the room, dragging a finger across the dusty books on the looming bookshelves, cheeky grin hidden from Paul's sight.
"Right.. well, I came 'ere ta practice. Fer my audition.." The younger spoke as he awkwardly sat on the edge of one of the couches, looking as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. "I got grounded."
"Wha'? What did little Macca do ta get himself grounded?" John whipped around with a somewhat shocked expression, grin widening as he jumped onto the couch across from the coal-haired boy, wiggling his eyebrows.
"Been stayin' out too late an' stuff.. didn't tell me da' when we went off to th' pub an' didn't come back 'til mornin'. Duh." Paul giggled and rolled his eyes with a small smile directed towards the older. The giggle was literal music to John's ears, and, desperately wanting to hear it again, he laid down at Paul's feet on the carpeted floor, grinning up at him and nudging his leg.
"Naughty boy sneakin' out, eh? Comin' ta see his one true love?" John batted his eyelashes at the younger with a sickly sweet smile, who giggled again and nudged his arm with his foot. Fuck, I could listen to that for hours. John's grin widened at hearing it.
"Of course. Who else?" Paul leaned down with a grin and a wink at John before standing up and making his way to the piano. John practically short-circuited at Paul winking at him and his cheeks flamed red, eyes wide as he laid there in shock. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck shit fuck-
"'ey, ye fuckin' dead down there or wha'? Come'ead, help me practice." Paul called from his spot sitting on the piano seat, watching John quickly get up and awkwardly cough, dusting himself off with red cheeks with an amused smile.
"Yeah, comin'..." John muttered as he slipped onto the seat next to Paul. The chair was almost too small for them to both fit, and they had to sit with their arms and thighs pressed together. The prince's heart beat fast and his cheeks flamed even more, every hair on his body standing up at the electrifying touch between them, as if the friction was causing electricity to spark, like when you're rubbing a balloon on your head and your hair sticks to it and stands up like crazy.
"Righ', well.. w-wha'd'ye wanna start with?" John stuttered slightly, trying not to focus on the feel of Paul pressed against him, instead focussing on playing a few chords, the rich, lovely sound of the piano echoing through the room.
"Uh.. here, lemme show ye wha' I can do so far.." Paul reached up to place his hands on the keys and their fingertips brushed together, causing both to pull away as if they were both electrocuted, secretly side eyeing each other and looking away with flushed cheeks when they made eye contact. Fuck, stop it, Lennon. Play it cool. It's just Paul. Not a big deal. You're the prince of Liverpool, for christ's sake, you should be able to handle anything.
Paul began to play a few of the basic chords, his movements flowing and exact, playing a little bit of a song before stopping, turning to look at John again.
"This is as much as I can do.. well, remember."
"Wow, yer quite a natural already! I can see yer really good, an' ye used ta practice well.." John smiled at the younger warmly, before getting up and going to the bookshelves, rummaging through them before coming across loose sheets of paper, pulling them out with an 'aha!'. He brought them back to the piano and put it on the music stand above the keys. "Now-"
"Uhm, John?" Paul spoke up tentatively.
"Yeah?" The prince turned to look at the younger.
"I can't..read sheet music. Or.. well, words, fer tha' fact. I don' read so good." His voice was small and he looked down at his lap with embarrassment, fiddling with his shirt sleeve nervously. "Sorry-"
"No, no, Macca- it's okay. Really." John put a hand on his shoulder, gazing at him earnestly. His heart sank at hearing that. "D..did ye never go ta school?"
"No." Paul spoke eventually. "Da' homeschooled me an' Mike 'til we were six or so, teachin' us basic things an' how ta talk, but 'e didn't 'ave a proper education either. We've been poor fer lotsa generations.. but then I started working at seven. We couldn't afford school. Neither could Geo." His composure had grown sad as he picked at his nails. " I still like ta read anyway. Even though I can't understand 'alf of it.. I can sometimes discern words because they look like they would sound a certain way an' stuff.. but most of it I can't read at all." He chuckled, but without any real humour in it. "Can't really write either. George can more than me." The doe-eyed boy sighed. "Tha's what happens when ye can't afford an education an' every member of yer family has ta work from a young age to be able ta put food on th' table."
Silence followed for several seconds, John at a loss of words for once at what Paul had said. He couldn't imagine starting work at seven years old.. not ever having an education. Not even knowing how to read properly. The auburn-haired man looked down at his lap. He realised then how truly privileged he was - that half the population couldn't even afford basic education or necessities. It wasn't fair at all. He felt kind of responsible for it all, being the prince of Liverpool- he had so much influence, he could be changing everything at that moment. He was about to be King! He could change so much with it. Make sure future Liverpudlians can get a proper education and everything; the government controlled the majority of those kinds of things, but he still had a bit of power, being of royal descent. It wasn't like the 1700's where the kings and queens still ruled over everyone; it wasn't like that anymore.
"John. I know. It's okay." Paul's soothing voice pulled him from his thoughts, the boy wrapping an arm around the older's shoulders and smiling warmly at him. "I know ye feel responsible. It's not yer fault, okay? It isn't. Ye didn't create this, ye didn't ask fer it. So.. please don't blame yerself. There's only so much ye can do."
"Th....thanks, Paul." John smiled softly back, both locking eyes. " I promise, that I'll help ye. I can help teach ye ta proper read an' write, an' stuff - George too. Ye deserve ta be able to."
"That.. means so much ta me, John. More than ye know."
The hour had gone by extremely fast, John teaching Paul more complicated chords and the beginning of the Can-Can, both joking and laughing all the while. Paul was very talented and a natural, learning everything John was teaching extremely fast, the things he had previously learnt when he used to have a piano coming back to mind. It was insane how fucking perfect Paul was at everything, and John was almost jealous. Eventually, Paul noticed the time and had to go, but not without pulling John into a tight hug before leaving, which sent the prince reeling, lying there on the couch for ten minutes after that, relishing the lingering feeling of Paul hugging him with a lovesick grin on his face, sighing every five seconds. He felt like a bloody bird when he thought of Paul.
Needing desperately to tell this to someone, he got up and hurried out of the room, ignoring weird looks he got from the servants before he burst through the front doors, sprinting all the way to a certain person's house.
Knocking fervently on the door, he tapped his foot impatiently on the porch of the clean, largish house, hands fiddling irritatedly behind his back. After a few moments of waiting, the door was flung open.
"Oh, John. Hello." Mrs. Starkey spotted the boy standing on her front porch and waved him in indifferently, not surprised at the fact that he was there.
"Hello, Mrs. Starkey. Lovely apron." He complimented her stripy apron with a smile. "Is Ringo around?"
"Thanks. And yes, upstairs." She gestured to the stairs and smiled before walking back to the kitchen and out of sight. John quickly hurried up the stairs and burst into Ringo's room, not even caring about what he was doing and immediately beginning talking.
"Wha'- John!" The big-nosed boy jumped in fright as his friend burst into the room and he looked up from lying on his bed, reading his book, in shock.
"Ringo, oh my god!" John threw himself onto the bed, forcing Ringo to pull his legs up to his body as John pretended to faint with a loud sigh. "I need to talk to ye."
"Oh shit, what's 'appened with Paulie now?" Ringo chuckled as he bookmarked his page, chucking the book somewhere and leaning on his stomach, resting his head in his hands with cheeky smile and raise of his eyebrows at the younger. "Tell us the goss."
"Well.." John then told him everything that had transpired just an hour ago, Ringo listening intently to the prince's lovesick rambling. Once he was done, John sighed again, large grin on his face as he stared up at the ceiling. "Yeah, that's what happened. God, I'm really in deep, man.."
"I can bloody see that. Ye sound like yer in love or sum shit." Ringo sat up to pick his pipe off of his bedside table, putting more tobacco in it and striking a match to light it.
"Nah.." John shrugged slightly. "Not yet. I'm goin' crazy, though, man! I need ta tell 'im how I feel!" The boy groaned, burying his head in his hands.
"Bloody do it! Wha' is there ta stop ye? He's not homophobic or anythin', isn't gonna hand ye over to the coppers or sumthin'." Ringo threw up his hands before taking a puff of the pipe, handing it over wordlessly when John held out a hand.
"I know, I know.. but 'm terrified he doesn't like me back."
"Hmm.. yeah, understandable. I mean, Geo kissed me even though 'w didn't know I liked 'im, an' it worked out fine. Sometimes ye gotta take chances, y'know!" Ringo rested his chin in his hands again, gazing at John.
"I know, but... this is different. We're different." John sighed, running a hand through his hair as he passed the pipe back to his friend, still staring at the ceiling. "I dunno if I can do tha'."
"Ah, yeah. I get that." Ringo hummed, taking another slow puff as he thought to himself, smoke billowing from his plump lips and billowing into the air. "Well..."
"Wha'?" John glanced over to his friend, and he could see the expression on his face meant the older had gotten an idea. "What are ye thinkin'?"
"Remember how I said I'd try an' see if I can get Paul ta tell me if he likes ye or not?" Ringo slowly grinned at John.
"Yeah..." The auburn-haired boy's eyebrows raised.
"Well, I could find out fer ya. Go over to his tomorrow an' see if I could squeeze th' information outta him." The boy nonchalantly shrugged, taking another puff of the pipe before passing it back to John.
"Really? Oh my god, yer the best, Rings! Thank ye!" John grinned and slapped Ringo on the back with a chuckle. "Then I can make me move."
"Begin operation: Paul an' John!"
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author's note.
______________
AHH HI im giving updates
really damn fast omfg
hope yall enjoy this one its
pretty long, 5000 words!!
aahhh the time is coming
hehehehehehehe even more
gay hours ((;; we love
yearning john ok hes so cute
and i love him ,,,, anyways
enjoy this chap s 5am and
i should sleep my eyes sting
a lot ow ow goodbyeee💕💓