The Less I Know The Better [complete]

19 ;; birthday

The air was raw and bitter, though the steadily setting sun warmed John's face; the wind was unable to screw his carefully-styled teddy boy quiff up, since he'd spent so much time on it that it was practically set in stone, and his gaze watched the way his strange, long-legged shadow - distorted due to the sunset - passed across the shops he was walking past, mimicking his movements. Three other shadows accompanied his, and he lifted his head to gaze at them. His three friends, George, Ringo and Paul, strolling alongside him and chattering away. George and Ringo were a metre of so ahead of him, while Paul walked alongside him. Seeing the raven-haired boy next to him, round eyes squinting and brows furrowed slightly against the glare of the sun, hands shoved in the pockets of his dark green corduroy jacket, half-smoked cigarette hanging from his lips; it made his heart race and his stomach to swoop with a nervous joy. Ever since Paul tried his first cigarette at John's a while ago, he began to smoke more regularly, though he always borrowed them off of John, scared of buying his own and his dad finding out. Though John was pretty sure Jim would find out simply just by the smell, but he didn't say so.

"Yer basically geriatric now, John! Soon you'll need a walkin' stick!"

He forced himself to tear his gaze from Paul to meet George's. The younger boy was grinning, flashing sharp canines that gleamed in the light; his hair was done up in a perfect quiff that mimicked John's own, which he had styled himself an hour before in the bathroom of his place for him. He'd done it for Paul, too, even though he was pretty sure he knew how to do it, but after seeing the boy's large eyes gazing at him with the tiniest of smiles, he couldn't refuse. His hands still tingled and fizzled like mad after running them through his raven locks.

"Shut it. 'M only eighteen." He rolled his eyes, taking another puff of his own cigarette before flicking it to the ground, smothering it with the heel of his boot. The four of them were on their way to the pubs, as they'd decided to do for John's birthday, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips at the prospect of tasting familiar amber liquid. They no longer had to lie about their age - well, George and Paul still had to - but now it was legal for him to get drinks. It seemed to take a bit of the fun out of it, though, now that it would be easy for him.

"Yeah, nearly a quarter of a century old!" Ringo chuckled, walking backwards in front of them, trying to dodge people walking by and avoid accidentally smacking into something.

"Like you can talk!" The auburn-haired boy retorted. "'Sides, eighteen is not a quarter of one hundred. Have ya even heard of maths?"

"Yeah, I said nearly."

"You're not exactly Einstein yerself, John, mate." Paul snorted, though the eyes that haunted John's thoughts shone with amusement.

"You'd like to go there, eh?" John felt a wicked grin form on his lips, and he snatched the cigarette right from the younger boy's lips, feeling the need to be cheeky; he only chuckled and held it high above his head when Paul attempted to get it back.

"Ugh, c'mon, give it back!" He groaned, one hand on his shoulder while he tried to reach for it - he was actually almost close enough to grab it, and John noticed with a hint of envy that Paul was almost as tall as him. And probably would get taller over time.

"Oh, but 'm achin' for a drag meself-" he brought it to his own lips, grinning madly when the other boy continued to protest, but he eventually relented and gave it back.

"Git." Paul stuck it back between his lips, but he couldn't seem to be able to contain his own smile.

"Anyway, now that you guys are done courting each other-" Both John and Paul protested feebly with red cheeks at George's words, but were ignored - "we're nearly there."