The Less I Know The Better [complete]

29 ;; lending books

John was rudely awaken from his dream-filled sleep by a crack of thunder.
He hadn't been dreaming of much; but he remembered being inside a shower that was constantly pouring down freezing cold water on him, and it wouldn't turn off no matter how much he turned the cold knob to stop it. At first he just brushed it off, slowly returning to reality thinking it was just a dream, but he opened his eyes and was met with something that showed why he'd been dreaming of cold water.
He was still sitting under the tree in Strawberry Fields! Pain spread up his back and arse to his neck, presumably from sitting for so long, and his limbs had gone stiff from being in such an uncomfortable position. And why he was so cold? It was storming, completely pitch black except for distant street lights distorted by the endless river of water cascading from the sky. But he wasn't paying attention to that. All his focus was on his book - he looked down at his lap to see it missing, and fumbled through the soaked grass, ignoring the freezing water that stung his fingers until he finally came upon something. He quickly ran his sleeve across the surface of his glasses in order to clear them up a bit and gaped at what he was holding in his hand.

"No, no!-" His heart sank into his feet with dread. "Fuckin' hell.."

His Alice's Adventures in Wonderland book, half-open and waterlogged to the core; he let out a horrified, dismayed noise and began in vain to shake it and wipe it on his trousers (it wasn't much help since his trousers were soaked already) to try and dry it. His childhood book, which still had his initials written on the front page to mark it his, something that he'd treasured for years and years - completely ruined and probably not suitable to read anymore. A surge of fury coursed through him and he struggled to his feet, trying not to slip on the slicked grass; his skin was soaked to the bone, and he shivered involuntarily, his clothes being detriment to him since they were as wet as he was. His vision was even blurrier than it usually was, and he hastily shoved his glasses into his pocket. They were useless to him when covered in water droplets that obscured his vision even more.

With a muttered curse, he bolted out of there as quickly as he could after hiding his book under his soggy jacket so it wouldn't be damaged any further. Another flash of blinding white light disoriented John for a moment, causing him to stumble on a pebble as he sprinted down the gravel path. A sound like someone snapping a branch in half overthrew the steady roar of the rain, slowly fading to low rumbles as the thunder echoed through the city. I'm gonna get a fucking cold for sure! He thought in frustration. Why had he fallen asleep there? That was so stupid of him. Especially in this weather, even if it hadn't been raining when he'd fallen asleep.

He shakily scaled the water-slicked red gates of Strawberry Fields - they'd been locked hours ago and were unable to open - and landed on the other side, shoes sending up lashes of water that glinted in the street light above him. Mimi would kill him for staying out late and coming home completely soaked in water. He could almost hear her scolding voice in his ear: "you're tracking water and mud all over the house, John! I just swept the floors!". What was he going to do? He had to just figure that out as he went along. For now, all he focussed on was finding shelter. His pace picked up to a run as he tore blindly through the streets, not even really knowing where he was going - only going in the vague direction of home. Eventually he found himself jogging down a very familiar street, heart suddenly leaping with mixed anxiety and excitement. Even in the haze of rain he'd recognise it.

Forthlin Road.

He didn't really know why he'd come by this way. It was longer to go around this section of streets back to Menlove Avenue, he probably could've just continued straight and made it home faster. Well, he knew the reason in the depths of the back of his mind, but he refused to admit it aloud, of course.
His breath was ragged now as he slowed to a pitiful dragging of his feet, rattling in his chest as he sucked in every breath. He knew exactly what it meant - he was going to be sick tomorrow. Coughing up phlegm and nose basically relegated to being a snot supplier. Damn it all!
Thunder rumbled menacingly in the distance. He was drawing ever closer to Paul's house. His heart beat even faster with fear, worried that if Paul saw him he'd laugh at how miserable he looked or would just watch from his bedroom window, warm and dry. But something happened that he didn't quite expect.