The Less I Know The Better [complete]

4 ;; practice

John was running, chasing after this figure that was calling his name. The figure kept calling his name over and over again, and as they ran through the deserted hallways of the school, he noticed the hallways were filling up with tattered, worn out notebooks, flooding from the lockers and out the classroom doors, making him have to leap and jump over them just to avoid tripping over them. He felt like there were people staring at him from behind, but when he looked, there was no one; the voice was getting louder now, more clearer, but he couldn't identify why it sounded familiar. The figure was getting further and further away, and he tripped on one of the notebooks, crashing to the floor.
Suddenly, the figure was above him, but he couldn't make out their face from where he was on the floor.

The figure spoke,
"Get up, John!" It was quiet at first. "Get up! For goodnesses' sake-" They grew louder as everything began to fade away, and suddenly he was floating in a inky void, the figure still hovering above him.

"John!"

"I'mnotebookswha-" He flew awake, clutching onto the sheets for a moment as he stared at his surroundings. He was at home, in his bed, and blurry Elvis and Brigitte stared at him from their positions on the wall at the foot of his resting place. Suddenly, as the last wisps of the dream slipped from his mind, exhaustion came rushing back and he fell back into bed, groaning at the pounding in his head. It must've only been an hour since he finally fell asleep!

"Let's not wait for the grass to grow!" There was a quiet, but firm knock and he recognised Mimi's voice from behind the bedroom door, before there were steadfast footsteps disappearing down the stairs.

"Shit.." He grumbled to himself, feeling his eyes slip closed again. John laid there, trying to come to his surroundings, but he felt the ever-so-tempting walls of sleep closing in on him, dragging him into its depths while he struggled to keep to the surface.
It took him so long to sleep last night. The last time he checked the clock on his desk, it was around 5:17am and then he was out from there. He barely got a wink of sleep.

And it was all because of one certain person. Paul.
The boy had invaded his thoughts like a nosy little kid, always persisting as he stewed over the events of what had happened a few hours before.

Their interaction was equally baffling and aggravating, and especially overwhelming. The boy seemed such a complex character, so stubborn and closed-off from seemingly everything - except George, the only example John could think of when it came to what Paul cut himself off from. And music, too. It frustrated him to no end. He lay awake, lamenting over what had happened and trying to come up with ways to get through to Paul. To break through the rough, carefully-built walls that surrounded the enchanting doe-eyed boy. He could see it. The boy was hiding something from others, or at least hiding away from something. He saw it in Paul, and he wanted to find a way to get through to him. But he couldn't exactly help getting a little annoyed with him when the boy was a total twit!

He shut his eyes tightly, angry that he was letting him take over his thoughts again. Instead, he just tried to focus on the warm confines of sleep. It wouldn't hurt to have 5 more minutes, right?

-

"Oi! Fuckin' bellend.. John! Get up!" A voice called in his ear, hands shaking his shoulders vigorously.

"Wh- gah!" John's eyes peeled open as he scooted back, being bluntly ripped from his slumber for the second time that morning. Who the fuck is it now? Fumbling for his glasses on the table next to him, he slid them on to see Ringo standing above him, fully dressed for school.

"Ringo? What the hell you doin' 'ere?" Speaking made pain shoot down his raw, dry throat, and he swallowed uncomfortably, reaching to rub at the skin as he stared up at his friend. He hadn't dreamed the second time round, though - thank christ.