The Blue Danube [OLD]

- 𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔲𝔯. ﾐ

╲⠀╲⠀╲ ╲

⠀⠀╲⠀╲⠀☆⠀ ╲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀☆⠀╲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ★

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀★

april 1859

A soft humming filled the dewy spring night air. The moon hung high in the sky that night, unusually bright and washing everything in view with a white-bluish tint; Paul had snuck out the window of the one bedroom they had, not wanting his father or brother to catch him meeting John, and he was lying on the crisp, cool grass next to the house, hands resting comfortably in his lap, excitedly fidgeting with one another. His eyes were half-lidded as he hummed a tune John and Paul had practised together at John's place to himself, elongated eyelashes brushing against the top of his flushed cheeks.

A heavy, warm breeze caressed his skin, the blades of grass brushing up against his arms causing them to itch slightly. Excitement and nervousness was coursing through his veins at the prospect of meeting up with John, heart pumping fast and causing the hairs on his arms to stand on end. He had been waiting for about twenty minutes now, just listening to the distant sounds of crickets and animals rustling in the night, everything else dead silent in that moment, pretty much the entire city of Liverpool fast asleep in their homes. They would meet up here then hang out in the warmth of the barn house for the night so the older wouldn't be caught by Jim. John was a little late, but Paul didn't mind - he knew that the prince might struggle to sneak out unseen as guards were posted outside the house, or the servants or maids could catch him.

He just hoped that John would come at all. The more seconds that dragged by, the more nervous the younger became, getting more and more worried by the moment. What if John doesn't come at all? What if he forgot? Maybe something happened to him? The thoughts were running rampant in his mind, and he quickly sat up, moving to lean against the side of the house, resting his head just under the half open window he came out of. The doe-eyed boy's bare foot tapped impatiently against the ground. Anxiety began to take its holds as Paul grew more and more worried about his absence. 

He's not usually this damn late. It's been almost half an hour.

He pulled nervously on the ends of his trousers before scanning the street for any sign of the prince, jumping up with a grin when he spotted something rustling in the bushes by the house opposite his, but faltering when it was just a sparrow, pecking at something on the ground before flying away. Alas, nothing.

He grew more and more anxious as more excruciating minutes went by, still no sign of the other boy; at this point, Paul grew increasingly doubtful that the prince would come at all. His throat closed up tightly as unwanted emotions began to stir in his chest, bubbling up to his throat, ready to spill and cascade from his eyes in the form of bitter tears. Did John forget to come? Did he get caught up in something else? Did something stop him from coming? He just hoped nothing bad had happened to his friend.
There were so many unanswered questions he was begging to ask, and he grew increasingly more desperate, standing up and running out onto the street, glancing around frantically for any sign of him whatsoever.