The Less I Know The Better [complete]

40 ;; advice

Ringo did indeed arrive twenty minutes after the phone call. John had been incessantly pacing back and forth in his room, cursing himself over and over again as he ran shaky hands through his hair, wondering whether it was even a good idea to talk about it to him or not. A fifth cigarette dangled from his lips, and he absentmindedly took a drag before tapping off the ashes in the ashtray on his desk. He was afraid of what Ringo would say - afraid that he'd call him an idiot and that he really hurt Paul's feelings (which he knew both was true, but it would hurt more coming from his best friend), or that he would judge him for it or.. he sighed, slumping down onto his bed. He knew he was being unreasonable there. Ringo was his best friend! And he was an unfailingly kind person who actually understood where John was coming from half the time, sticking by his side even when he felt like he didn't deserve it in the first place.
Mimi, who'd been sitting on the couch with the radio on, had grown irritated with him after he'd been pacing in the hallway back and forth due to being unable to keep still whatsoever, and had snapped at him to stop - "can't you see I'm trying to listen to the afternoon news?" - so he'd delegated himself to pacing upstairs in his room instead. And finally, there was a knock at the door; he quickly put out his cigarette in the ashtray before flying down the stairs and opening the door before Mimi could even enter the front hallway, and there Ringo had stood, squinting against the harsh winds and the snow that was falling in droves outside. The older boy offered a tentative smile, hands tucked in his jacket pockets.

"Aye." He greeted. John rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Come in." He stepped aside to let his friend in, watching as he absentmindedly brushed off the snow sticking to his shoulders and hair before shutting the front door, grateful as the sudden blast of cold subsided. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Hullo, Mrs. Smith!" Ringo called out politely.

"Ah, hello, Richard." His aunt nodded at him before turning back to the radio; Ringo met John's gaze before jerking his head in the direction of the staircase.

"Upstairs?" He asked softly. John nodded mutely before hurrying up the stairs, feeling terribly self-conscious all of a sudden and not really wanting his friend to see his face. He was aware of Ringo's presence behind him as he slipped back into his bedroom, glad for the privacy; he adjusted the sleeves of his green woollen jumper before sitting down on the edge of his bed. He nervously met his gaze - he didn't really know what he was expecting, but, his racing heart seemed to slow and his breath deepened when he saw the kindness in his azure, puppy-like eyes, the quirk of his comforting smile as he shed his jacket and draped it over John's desk chair; lighting up two cigarettes, he offered one to the auburn-haired boy, who took it gratefully with a murmur of thanks before inhaling deeply. His throat was dry and scratchy from the amount of cigarettes he had smoked within such a short time, but he couldn't get himself to stop - it was the only thing keeping him calm at the moment as he tried to find a way to express his feelings.
That was something that wasn't really John's strong suit. Expressing vulnerability, acknowledging that he'd fucked up.. not to anyone else besides himself, at least.

"John.." Ringo began. He settled himself on John's desk chair, tapping off the ashes of his cig before catching his eyes, expression serious, albeit encouraging. "You can tell me what's up, you know. I just want to help you guys." He nudged his shin with his foot. John sighed. Ringo really was the sweetest person he'd ever met.

"I-I know." He ran a hand through his hair, taking another drag of his cig before expelling the smoke through his nostrils. "Okay, fine." He sucked in a breath, preparing himself for the explanation, which he knew - once he'd started, the words would spill from his lips like liquid, unable to stop until he'd reached the very end.
So he began with that day at George's house just before Christmas. How just a simple movement of Paul entwining their hands, the look on his face when he'd agreed to go to his family party with him, had set something off inside him. Something that had utterly terrified him, making him hide in the bathroom as he suddenly realised that he actually was falling in love with Paul. That it wasn't just a simple attraction anymore, no longer just a simple affection. And it scared him. The world had no place for queers like him - it was why they'd kept their relationship such a secret from everyone except the people they could trust, why they'd have to hide away, after all. Falling in love like this was completely different. What were they going to do in the future? It was unlikely they would've been able to stay together for years and years. Paul had ideas about what to do in the future, and John too. He didn't want to keep him all to himself, but at the same time.. He didn't want him to leave. But instead, as he was wrestling with this new reality that had set in, he'd pushed Paul away in the process. He told him about how he blew off Paul during Christmas and spent the night wandering around, getting insanely drunk before coming home. How Paul had come over and they'd had a row and John had barely been able to even look at him because he was terrified of Paul not feeling the same way. He'd nearly convinced himself completely that he didn't feel as strongly as John. And now he felt like he had completely fucked everything up in his own blind terror, and now he had no clue how to put the pieces back together before it was too late. Would Paul forgive him? How would he even confess the depth of his feelings? Would it be better to just keep it to himself forever? If he was rejected, what the hell would he do?