The Less I Know The Better [complete]

11 ;; strawberry fields

Glossy sheets of rain flooded the gutters outside John's room and doused his window in glittery drops. The sky had turned that pallid light grey with no variation, like a gigantic mass blanketed the earth below and wept with no end in sight; it seemed that in the distant horizon, though, sunlight shoved its way through any gap it could possibly find, showing that it wouldn't go on forever like it felt it had been for the entire day so far.
Sooty smoke - a similar grey to the outside - spilled from his chapped lips and into the still air of his room, caressing the ceiling above before evaporating. The hiss of the cigarette burning furthermore as the tawny-haired boy took another drag filled the muted room, accompanying the idle plucks of a guitar laid across his lap as he let his fingers roam the used strings. His gaze bored into the roof above him, lost within his own thoughts - not having noticed his Jerry Lee Lewis record spinning uselessly on the record player, the needle already having completed its task twenty minutes ago.

He couldn't stop thinking about Paul that Wednesday afternoon. Letting his cigarette-holding hand fall to his chest, the boy shut his eyes tightly and let out a soft growl, annoyed at himself at stewing over how things last were with the raven-haired boy. What do I bloody expect? I skipped school today to avoid him after what I said, it's just leaving me to my guilty thoughts.

"Agh!" He sat up quickly, dropping his burning cigarette butt to the floor, holding his burnt fingertips closer to his face for inspection. It had been burning to the ends and he hadn't noticed that either; he grabbed the nearest book off his desk and threw it on the butt to snuff it out, not wanting to burn his bare foot either by stomping on it. "Idiot." He cursed.

John let out a sigh, letting his body fall back onto his bed as he reached up to rub his sore temple. He had to do something about the Paul situation. He couldn't lie there forever in his self-pitying puddle of guilt and embarrassment, even if the boy was a bit of a prick to him sometimes. It was totally hypocritical of him to call Paul a poof (and use such a strong word like faggot) when he, himself, was very much one. He'd sucked Stuart off for christs' sake! Not something you can take back. He was feeling terribly spiteful and felt it was a good way to get back at him for pointing out his.. plumpness. It just made their already strained relationship even worse.
Even if Paul didn't accept his apology - John wouldn't blame him if he didn't - it would at least clear his conscience to admit his mistake and try to patch things up a bit with the kid. They didn't have to be friends or anything, of course, but they wouldn't have to completely hate each other. It was best for their friends, too... Ringo and George wouldn't put up with their shit for much longer, probably, and would stop hanging out with them as much.

So yeah. It's for the better. "For the better.." John repeated out loud, letting his eyes open and focus on the ceiling again. How will I get him to listen to me? What if he just won't let me speak and tell me to stick it up my arse? He snorted at the last thought. I'll just have to try. If George likes him so much, he must not be a total maggot.

But, he'd have to wait until after him and Cynthia's date. He was supposed to go over to her school and pick her up and they'd go down to the pier and get fish and chips. If he was honest, he wasn't looking forward to it at all. But - maybe it was the best time for him to tell her his true feelings, or lack thereof. They had never really confirmed themselves to be a thing, after all; there had never been any label put down, and they had only been on what? Two dates? And gone to a party together? They had barely done anything together. It's better to pull out now than waste time trying to force himself to have feelings for her and give up later on and hurt her. She was sweet and intelligent. He didn't want to completely drop her.. it'd be nice to be friends with her, at least.

"Time.." John muttered to himself, sitting up again and pushing his guitar off his lap onto the bed. He swung his legs over the edge and planted his feet on the ground, standing up to check the time on the alarm clock on his desk. Almost 3pm.. Cynthia's school day ended at 3:15. He picked up his freshly-bought cigarette packet and slipped it into the pockets of his drainies, swiping his car keys along with it before moving to his closet to get a jacket.