The Less I Know The Better [complete]

7 ;; party

"So - you've got 'em?"

"Yeah! Be down in 5,"

"'kay, hurry up or we'll be late."

"Will do, commandant! See ya."

There was a chuckle. "See you."

The phone was put back down on its holder. Sighing, John stretched his stiff limbs high above his head before relaxing; he quickly darted through all the rooms of the house to properly make sure that Mimi hadn't spontaneously decided to come home from her visit to one of her sisters and find that John had 2 bottles of wine and 3 beers out on the table, ready to be taken to the party. Ringo had nicked from his dad's store of alcohol and gotten 3 bottles of vodka and a few beer cans of his own - Stuart had asked them to help out on the drinks, so they had obliged and gotten some stuff. There was never much alcohol in the Smith house, mainly just wine or other fancy drinks if there was any.

Making his way into the kitchen, John leant over the sink to peer out the window. The sun had gone well below the horizon now, the world outside dark and mysterious, but he knew it would be alive with people having parties and gatherings like lots of people did on the weekend. Excitement raced through his veins, oh-so-ready to get piss drunk and wake up in some random girl's bed, something he loved doing on the weekends. Maybe smoke a bit of pot, too, since that was sometimes fun. Stuart and his artsy friends always had some. It wasn't quite so popular with the regular kids.

He wondered who would be there. John knew the regulars would be there - their extensive friend group from school, probably some of Stuart's arty friends, maybe some kids from other schools, but a single particular person came to mind. Specifically, Paul. Would he go? George too? He felt it was unlikely, since the pair weren't exactly the most popular. It would be upsetting to not see at least George there, but he didn't care about Paul. He could go to hell for all he cared.

Since the outburst the night before, he hated the younger boy more than ever. He felt there wasn't any point in trying to make friends and break through the overlaying animosity when Paul continued to push him away, and he had made up his mind - he wouldn't interact with him anymore than necessary, and when the task was complete, never again. He'd be just another kid in his classes. Nothing more.

"Oi! Lenny, open up! You gonna stand there all day and figure out the meanin' of life?"
A familiar voice cut into his thoughts and he straightened up from leaning against the counter, a little surprised. Grinning as he realised it must be Ringo, he rushed out of the kitchen down the front hallway, flinging open the door.

"Rings! We better get go-" He immediately fell silent, mouth agape. What the-

George stood next to Ringo with a deadpan expression like always, but his eyes glittered with a new friendly warmth. But even worse than that - Paul fucking McCartney.

The boy was refusing to look at anywhere but the ground, gaze determinedly fixed on his feet, hands in his pockets. He was wearing a white blazer with a little flower in the pocket, black trousers, and a blue-and-black-checkered shirt. He bore white worn out sneakers and his hair was intricately done up in a perfect quiff, looking as neat as ever. The flower is cute, was John's first immediate thought. The next was: NO! What the actual fuck is he doing here with them??? Why??

"Oh." Was all that came out of his mouth, throat suddenly closing up as he gripped the doorway tightly, trying to keep all of his angry emotions from becoming visible as he felt rage beginning to swirl in his stomach like a noxious brew.

"Aye, John! Let us in, will ya? This box is heavy," Ringo was seemingly unaffected, but he had noticed the tightness of his friends movements, so he was staring at him in concern when the auburn-haired boy moved aside to let them in. John - again - ignored the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when Paul's shoulder brushed his own.