Paul & John

[Chapter One - The Freshman]

-- J O H N --

John Lennon stared out the window of the school bus, his thoughts were interrupted by the crude comments the girls made from behind him. He rolled his eyes, tempted to light a ciggy inside the vehicle. He hadn't had a smoke in nearly two days, and this bloody bus took its sweet-ass time picking up its passengers.

The older lad hated school, especially since the teachers gave him a hard time. Most of the time he isolated himself with drawings, drawings of either the teacher himself, or drawings of a charecter he created on his own.

Suddenly the seat shifted in movement, and John had the audacity to turn to his left. Adjacent to him was a younger-looking lad; his head of black hair facing him. Once he turned around, the boy stammered upon his words; worried he would get yelled at.

"I'm sorry, would you-would you like me to m-move?" John furrowed a brow, confused as to why the doe-eyed boy stuttered so much. John had changed his ways once he entered high school.

John gave his bus companion a half smile. " It's fine," he returned back to what he was doing---which was looking out the window of dreary Liverpool.

Once the bus driver parked the bus to its stop at Quarrybank school, John excused himself from his seat, looking back at the boy who accompanied him. His face fell once he saw the brown mark hidden underneath the doe-eyed boy's button-down shirt.

He got off the bus, with a few Jocks pushing him down the steps.

---

The term 'teddy boy' meant rebellion; to go against the school's regulation as such. John sat on the brick wall; having the first cigarette of the day. The rest of the leather boys were to arrive at any moment, but as of now, he had the opportunity to smoke and think to himself.

The bell for the second hour rang, and John felt the need to attend. After all, some of the birds there were quite fit. John smiled at the thought of a quick fuck before class, so he jumped off the brick wall and stepped on his cig; leaving the other teddy boys to converse on their own behalf.

--- P A U L ---

Paul McCartney swore on his life sentence that if someone stepped on his books one more time, he was going to murder that person without remorse. He was fed up with these people always stepping all over him. Why did they hurt him on a regular basis? He would never know.

Of course, he had perfect reason as to why they picked on him--and it was because he was fat. He was merely 224 pounds, and the name-calling just stuck.

"Hey fatty, you nearly broke the fountain!"

"Everyone, move out the way! Chubby McCartney is rolling his fat ass to the bathroom!"

"Vomiting after every meal doesn't solve yer problems, mate!"

The voices never stopped. It wasn't just school Paul had to face, he had to come home to an alcoholic father and a younger brother that was never home. He was usually out getting high at the park; or with some bird he was bound to shag for the night.

Paul was now in class, trying to listen to the teacher and her lecture on the Pythagorean Theorem. He wasn't able to, because the bruise pulsing on his skin made it hard to write. The damn seat was also squeezing the life out of him, the constant giggles escaping from the other pupils made it even worse.

He could never get a break.

The bell rang, indicating that it was time to go home. Paul shuffled out of his seat, placing his college-ruled notebook into his satchel; he told the teacher goodbye, then left the classroom in a hurry.

Once the bus came, he quickly got on and sat by the window; cowering his face from the other passengers. All he wanted was to go home, into his room and drown out his father's angry antics. For now, he just opened his book---blocking the world around him.

---

Paul awoke to the sound of harsh cackles and a boy dressed in leather. His hair was styled back, it was as if he was going for the Elvis Presley look, but failed miserably at its attempt.

He saw how annoyed the boy looked, he couldn't be no more than a year older. Paul wondered how such a tough looking lad like he dealt with pricks like them on a daily basis. He knew he could never be as brave as the teddy boy next to him.

"They never leave ye alone do they?" Paul spoke as he turned a page, pretending that he wasn't staring. John turned to face the chubby lad, sighing as he shook his head.

"They don't. They always give me shit about me glasses and about what I fuckin' wear. It's a bunch of bullshit."

Paul chuckled, then looked up to capture John's features. John sat in a hunched manner, his eyebrows slightly bushy but they complimented his pale face wonderfully. His jawline brought a certain bravery to his face, it spoke fearlessness and courage. If you looked close enough, you could see the light specks of gold hidden within John's chocolate-brown orbs.

Let's face it: John Lennon was a beautiful man.

"I'm John," the teddy boy spoke, snapping Paul from his trance. Paul flinched, but managed to bring his hand to John's.

"I'm Paul."

The bus pulled on its breaks, and that's when John had to leave. John collected his notebook--a notebook he used for Art class--and left his seat.

"Until we meet again, Paul."