╲⠀╲⠀╲ ╲
⠀⠀╲⠀╲⠀☆⠀ ╲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀☆⠀╲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ★
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀★
october 1859
"Seventy... seventy-five.... Jesus."
Fatigued hands shuffled through identical slips of paper, jaded eyes squinting at them as he continued his menial task; there was a large amount of letters stacked upon his desk that he he had not gone through yet, though he was unperturbed by the amount. Thunder coiled across the landscape outside like water chuckling across a riverbed, the constant drilling hum of rain swarming into every nook and cranny - soaking every blade of grass and every leaf in sight. It was a soothing noise to John, the distant thunderstorm and monochrome crackle of his fireplace roaring on the other side of the room sounding like gentle music in the distance, almost tiring him out even more than his task was. It was times like this he wished he had a cat or something to sit on his lap and keep him company while he worked; though Cynthia's presence on the sofa across from the fireplace was welcome.
"I think we invited one-hundred and fifty, right?"
He lifted his head to look at her; she was wearing a pale yellow silk dress that pooled at her feet, white stockings and a fuzzy blanket had been wrapped around her frame to protect from the cold. Her sallow locks draped her shoulders and she had a half-drunken cup of tea settled in her delicate hands; her figure was washed in a muted orange from the flames hungrily consuming the logs across from her, illuminating her hazel irises that stared back at him with an equal tiredness, long lashes framing them beautifully. She is delightful, he thought with a soft smile. I can see why Jane adores her. And why I did, once.
"Yeah, think so. It's only three months away now, can you believe that?" He shook his head in a moment of disbelief. The wedding is way closer than I thought, oh my god. He thought with a hard swallow. I can't sit through it. We.. Paul and I have to leave before that. After the wedding there'll be the proper crowning and responsibility fully passed to me and I'll be king, Cynthia queen. I can't do that. I won't.
"I know you're stressed about it, I'm sorry." Her eyes rounded with sympathy, and she took another sip of her tea before placing it on the small coffee table in front of her. "It's hard for me too. That.. we have to get 'married' and pretend to be smitten and everything. And being the Queen of Liverpool.." she chuckled to herself. "it's bizarre to think about."
"I'm sorry, too." John sighed, a twinge of guilt settling in his stomach like someone planted a seed of remorse within him. "You should've been able to be with someone better."
"Oh, shut it, John." She sighed as she rolled her head over to look at him, smiling at the other with a knowing look . "If it was anyone else I had to marry to protect my proper relationship, I'd go nutty."
"Me too." John chuckled, blinking fondly at his lap as he thought of Paul. He wondered how the boy was faring in this weather; they probably had to shepherd all the sheep and various farm animals into stables. Was the McCartney family all huddled around a fireplace to obtain warmth, maybe a blanket or two draped around themselves? Would him and Mike be making idle chatter? Maybe Jim would be brewing a pot of tea or something, possibly making small talk with Jane's father or any of the Asher family who lived upstairs. John's birthday was soon - he was looking forward to spending it with him, George and Ringo.
"Are you ready for the celebration for your birthday tomorrow?"
He pulled himself out of his thoughts like taking a breath of air when you surface from water, blinking at her with a dubious purse of his lips. Oh yeah, that. He thought with an inward groan.
"Not really looking forward to another stupid ballroom dance and dinner, if I'm honest."
"I understand." Cynthia sighed softly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she finished the last of her tea. "Let's just be done with it and then you can do what you really want to do."
"Good idea." He agreed, turning back to his desk and gazing down at it blankly. He thought back to the last time he had a ball for his birthday - the year before, a masquerade.
The day he met Paul. He'd been so enraptured by him; his slender figure, languid eyes that held so many secrets and colours. He hadn't even seen his face, nor knew who he even was at first. He remembered George had mentioned his friend Paul was going to attend, and it wasn't until he had spotted George chatting to Paul every now and then that he's known. He no longer cared what anyone else thought and just went purely with his instincts; he'd asked him to dance and flirted and did all he could to woo him. It had been a terribly stupid risk on his part, but.. it all worked out in the end, of course.
"I think not."
"Huh. Alright, two can play at that..." The boy trailed off. "Favourite food?"
"None of yer business." Paul smirked ever so smugly, deciding to play a little at this boy's game.
"Well mine's yorkshire puddin'."
"Why don't ye tell me your name?"
"That's against the rules, isn't it?"
"Touche, touche. Uhm- how'd ye get invited to this place?"
"A friend." The boy shrugged nonchalantly. "You?"
He looked back on the memory with a fondness. He had pretended to not be the whole reason the ball had been thrown in the first place, just wanting for a moment to be a normal person; as if he had been simply invited through a mutual friend or family members, not the prince of Liverpool. He'd been doing that his entire life - trying to act as a commonplace person. Pick up on Scouse accents and phrases from George, roam the streets in disguises, visit regular pubs and the docks and imagine that he was only a regular working-class citizen of Liverpool. Like everyone else. It was all he ever wanted.
He often contemplated what could've become of him if he'd stayed with his mother. If she had taken him away and refused to step aside when Mimi tried to hide him from her. He would've resided in the townhouse she lived in with her husband, and his step-father, technically. He wondered if his actual father was still out there; the last he'd heard of him was when he abandoned them all, seen at the docks before he was on his merry way, never to return. Maybe I should try and track him down when Paul and I leave. Would he even want to see me...? I'm doubtful he would be all that thrilled, if he wasn't willing to stick around in the first place.
Shaking those woeful thoughts from his mind, he gathered up the letters in hand and opened one of the drawers beneath his desk, sliding them in and shutting it softly after himself. The room was still, broken only by the crackle and occasional sudden snap of the fire - as if someone was treading on dried leaves - and the constant of rain and distant thunder. There was a comfortable silence that rested between John and Cynthia, both too wrapped up in their troubles and anxieties about their future to really make any conversation; though being in each others' presence was a comfort in itself for them. Silently telling each other that it'll be okay, and that they were there for each other whenever it was needed and wanted - no words needed. Despite all the adversities of their relationship, they would remain friends for a long time. Until John would vanish from her life like a candlelight after the wax was thawed through to the bottom, its flame snuffed out.
✧✧✧✧✧
John had almost forgotten how much he disliked these events. Though they were beautiful, with striking violin quartets and people twirling back and forth - the women dressed like blooming pallid flowers while the men were often in darker clothes, made to look tall and domineering as if they were a blackened stem - along with high-calibre foods fit for kings (literally, in this case- one could say). The ballroom was lit beautifully like always, family portraits displayed along the walls, servants, waiters and waitresses weaving about between the guests with drinks and filling requests. He could certainly enjoy the aesthetic appeal and the wonderful music and food supplied just for them; but alas, it always felt fake. Everyone who attended these types of things usually had a façade of kindness. Some of them didn't even have one in the first place. A common product of having more money that one knew what to do with.
The ball was well underway now, and he'd been mainly ambling along through the room and chatting idly with guests, once dancing with Cynthia before he returned to wandering about by himself. He'd even managed to sneak a few conversations with George as they both attended to their duties, laughing at how vain everyone was before they had to continue to pretend that they weren't friends. He'd begun to feel a little sick at all the bright lights, smells, loud sounds - they were too intrusive on his senses, and he wished he could just collapse in bed. He'd been having trouble sleeping stressing about his future, all his worries weighing down on him more and more with each passing day.
"You alright, Mr. Lennon? You seem a bit faint."
He turned to the concerned voice that sounded near him, pushing up his glasses and squinting; John noticed it was a waiter. He was carrying a tray of tall champagne glasses, one gloved hand resting on his shoulder as he stared at him in slight apprehension.
"Oh-" He started, holding his hands behind his back and fiddling with his cufflinks, feeling his stomach churn dangerously as if he was going to throw up. "I'm alright, just need to lie down for a moment by myself. I'll be back in five minutes or so." He turned to begin to make his way out of the room, all the noise and visual stimuli infringing on him, making him clench his teeth and almost hold a hand to his eyes to shield from the light; the waiter trailed after him, still looking worried.
"I can help escort you to your room?"
"No, no. You stay here. I can get to my room just fine." He waved him off in exasperation, speeding off to avoid any more awkward conversations with anyone. He slipped out of the ballroom uninterrupted - thank god - and hurried up the stairs and down the hallways to his room. He burst in there, taking in large breaths as he sunk onto the bed in a sitting position. He loosened his bowtie and tailcoat in relief before running a hand over the blankets of his made-up bed. The maids had probably come in and cleaned it up during the ball.
He wasn't alone for very long, of course; there was a knock on the door and a familiar voice sounded from the other side: "John, it's Geo! Can I come in or are ya jerkin' it or somethin'?"
He burst into tired laughter. "Jesus, George. Come in."
The younger flung the door open, slamming it after him and hopping onto the bed next to him, smiling up at him devilishly.
"Finally got away, didja? This is bloody borin' without Paul and Ringo here."
"I know." John sighed to himself. This situation was familiar - the the time he had escaped a certain boring event and George had snuck away as well, the two chatting to each other for a while before they had to return to responsibilities. He longed for Paul and Ringo's company, as well; at least he'd have some sane people to accompany him, even if they weren't able to stick together for the majority.
It had been a while since he had last seen his lover. All the stresses and complications that had been arising had made it hard for him to find time to sneak away to see him; Mimi was still a bit suspicious of him, which made it even harder for him to get away without being caught out. They had last seen each other at around the end of September, and now it was October the tenth. He'd been craving his touch like nothing else, to see his eyes crinkle with laughter, plump lips pulled up in an uncontrollable smile.. he was aching to see him every second of the day now, constantly worrying, thinking, looking for the single moment he could slip away unseen and feel him in his arms again. He would sit back sometimes and wonder about what had led him to this point.
How on earth did I fall in love with a poor farmer's son living on the outskirts of town and plan to abandon our lives and run away with him?
"You right, mate? You look like death."
He snapped out of his thoughts and blinked at his friend in confusion for a moment.
"Oh, yeah. Just started to feel sick and I needed to get out of there for a moment." He turned back to gaze at the floor, feeling unwilling to talk. He enjoyed his company most of the time, but for that moment he wanted to be alone.
"Okay. I gotta go back. I'll see you later, yeah?" George smiled at him - seemingly understanding what he wanted - before patting his back sympathetically before standing up, making his way out of the room, shutting the door softly after him. Once he had left, the almond-eyed boy fell onto his back, letting his eyelids drift shut as he revelled in the silence, the only sound being the distant music and general noise from the ballroom on the other side of the manor.
He tried to ignore the continuous bolt of nausea in his gut, letting his mind drift back to Paul to distract him.
I'll see you soon, Macca. I promise.
-
The manor seemed almost deathly silent now in the absence of people; though servants were still making their way about the ballroom to clean up last minute things. Their shoes skidded against the smooth waxed floors, echoing strangely within the stillness as they mopped the floors and folded tablecloths to take away and wash. John was sitting up on the edge of the stage where the orchestra had packed up an hour before, tailcoat removed and resting in his lap, toiling with the edges of his sleeves. He stared sightlessly at the floor, eyes glazed over with fatigue as he thought back on that day. It's been so damn stressful and life draining the last week or two, he thought as he rubbed harshly at his face. I barely have time or energy to anything for myself anymore.
"Hey, John." He glanced up, forcing a half-hearted smile when he spotted it was Cynthia. She was still dressed primly and had now put on her overcoat and bonnet, and he figured it was because she was leaving to back home in a few minutes. "You alright? You seemed a little under the weather tonight." She tilted her head in concern before sitting down next to him.
"Oh.. I was feeling a bit sick, but I'm a bit better now- 'cause everyone's gone." He chuckled to himself.
She smiled, eyes sparkling with humour. "Of course." Pausing, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and stood up again, seeing a waiter had begun to come over to the both of them.
"Your carriage is ready, Miss Powell." The waiter bowed a few metres away from them. Cynthia nodded and muttered a soft 'thank you', and he nodded before hurrying a few metres away so as to let them continue talking for a moment.
"I'll see you next week, yeah?" He blinked up at her, pushing his glasses back up his nose bridge.
"Yes, I'll come visit." She nodded, smiling at him sympathetically again. She adjusted her bonnet and turned away to begin to make her way out of the practically empty ballroom; wanting to say something before she left, he quickly spoke up to stop her.
"And.. Cyn?"
She paused in her footing, turning to gaze at him curiously. "What is it?"
"I want to say," he licked his lips nervously, unsure how to go about it. "thanks for puttin' up with me. Yer so magnificent, and- intelligent.. I'm grateful you've been there to help with me problems for this long."
"I'm not 'putting up with you', John." She rolled her eyes, smirking amusedly at him. "You're a good friend too. I'll see you later." She rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment, eyes glazing over with emotion before she turned and promptly made her way out of the room. John watched her go for a moment before sighing sadly, staring back at the floor. The two had so much history resting between them, like a long and winding road; he almost missed the times when it was so much more simple. But he had fallen in love since then.
And he wouldn't change having Paul in his life for the world.
✧✧✧✧✧
"John! Happy birthday, you fuckin' tosser. I've missed you."
The next day, John was immediately pulled into a lung-smothering hug, causing him to cough and dissolve into chuckles, holding them back just as tightly; a second person joined in on the group, a third one too, a few seconds later - he held onto them for a few more seconds before they all parted.
"Thanks. Missed you too Rings, George." He smiled at them all warmly, turning lastly to Paul, gaze softening with affection as he looked at his partner. "Paul." The raven-haired boy grinned back at him and they brushed hands for a moment before turning back to the others - the four were standing in the middle of Ringo's kitchen, finally having been able to see each other altogether for the first time since they had met up in mid June. It had become so much harder now.. all of them growing up and having more complications arising, making it harder and harder for them to be friends. Their social statuses were too intrusive and made it next to impossible for them to walk freely together - John had learnt the consequences the hard way.
"So! How does it feel ta be nineteen, mate?" George grinned and nudged him. "Must feel like a proper adult now, huh."
"Not really. I don't wanna think about gettin' old. I can't really see meself as an old fart." He chuckled as they all bustled out of the kitchen to settle on the couches in the living room. John immediately settled on the floor below Paul, the younger wrapping his legs around his torso and idly toying with his hair, gazing at him affectionately. George and Ringo sat across from them, both on the floor themselves.
"You already are an old fart, ya git." Paul chuckled.
"No, Ringo is!" He pointed to the azure-eyed boy with a playful glare. "He's the oldest."
Ringo scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Only by a few months, dickhead."
"That's ancient! Can't believe yer with such an old man, Geo."
"I know right. I'm datin' a senior fuckin' citizen!" The youngest of the four burst into laughter, causing everyone else to start giggling too; Ringo glared at his partner and they both began to tussle, trying to get the upper hand and rolling about on the floor - neither were really able to do much though, since they were shaking with laughter.
"Why is it they always have to playfight and be cute?" Paul smiled fondly as he rested his elbows on his knees, arms wrapping around John's chest.
"They have to one-up us, probably. George is the most competitive person ever."
"You're right on that," Paul nodded, as if he was disappointed, causing them both to snicker again before George and Ringo crawled back to them, looking ruffled, Ringo embarrassed.
"What happened?" John raised one brow, smirking.
"Nothin'. Anyway-" Ringo brushed it off. "How's it been with you, John? The wedding and everythin'."
John gulped slightly, suddenly nervous as he remembered; he felt Paul stiffen for just a moment before he relaxed. He could almost see his expression. He knew how his lover felt about the situation - no matter how much he would reassure him it meant nothing, he would still doubt his words, jealousy flaring in his eyes as he pressed his lips together to try and conceal his emotions. Oh, wait- I have to reply. He remembered.
"Fine, I guess. It's in three months - but I'm not gonna be around for it, anyway. Paul and I.. we plan on leavin' just before it." He nodded, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
There was a tense silence that fell over them for a few seconds; George and Ringo exchanged a knowing glance, seemingly conversing with a few gestures and almost silent whispers. Paul glanced at him with furrowed brows, jerking his head in their direction as if to ask "what's their deal?" In response, John just shrugged, unsure of it himself.
"Well, about that, actually-" Ringo started, breaking the silence. He seemed unsure, gaze flitting uncertainly between his two friends before returning to George again, who was staring at them seriously.
"We're in." George nodded.
The pair didn't respond for a moment, staring at them incredulously. They're gonna join us? John thought with widened eyes, heart racing with a sudden burst of excitement.
"You mean yer in for.. the-" Paul began, gesturing vaguely to represent the whole 'running away' deal.
"Yeah. We've decided." Ringo nodded; hints of a smile had begun to break out on his face, glittering eyes giving away his secret excitement for the whole ordeal. "We're not just gonna let you two idiots run off on yer own, eh?"
"Yeah! You're not gettin' away from us that easily." George broke out a full-fledged grin, practically bursting with nervousness and the thrill of adventure.
"You guys are coming with us!" John exclaimed as he beamed, almost unable to believe it. We're really gonna do this now!
"Yes!" Their friends spoke in unison as they nodded eagerly - immediately they all rose to their feet and exploded into cheers, dancing about the room in excited commotion and hauling into yet another group hug. John felt the most joyous he had felt in a long time, whooping and running about the room, face basically radiating delight. He leapt onto the couch and threw a fist into the air, the other three watching him with eager eyes; John had sudden inspiration to make a speech.
"Where are we goin', boys?" He beamed down at them expectantly.
They looked at each other in a bemused confusion before Paul looked back up at him, grin at him with such affection and devotion planted across his face that it almost sent the breath running from his lungs.
"Where are we goin', Johnny?"
He thought for a moment. The road ahead was going to be rocky, uncertain, and perhaps terrifying; possibly leading to dead ends, detours, or the complete opposite of what they'd envisioned. They would be leaving their lives, their families - everything they had ever known discarded in the dust, but still thriving within their hearts like a flower blossoming against all odds. They would never truly be free in their lifetime, but what they were about to do now - it would strip away their social statures and they would be truly together, even if they would never be able to express their true loving feelings to anyone but themselves. They were journeying into the unknown, living on their own and only depending on one another; but they were free.
Sucking in a long, anxious breath, John pointed to the roof above them, cementing their final decision in stone.
"The toppermost of the poppermost!"
✧✧✧✧✧
author's note.
____________________
yoo i had to be dramatic lmaoo
and put in the famous toppermost
quote. hope u enjoyed this
chapter!! all of them r in on
the whole thing now! not much
left to go. thanks for reading
and i hope u americans r doing ok
with the election, we're all waiting
on the results kjfkfjf anyways
ily all byee