Chapter Text
1957, July 5th
“Ay, pass it will you,” John’s voice rang through the small corridor, snatching the cig from Pete’s lips as the smoke piled in the air “smoke like a bloody bird, you do.”
Quarry Bank grammar school, a prestigious, living hell for rebellious boys such as the two. A scorching day it was — ties hung loose and blazers shrugged off to the side. The boys, rather than attending 6th hour, hid up in the stairwell right above the headmasters office
Shotton was undeniably against the idea as a whole, but Lennon couldn’t help but get a bliss out of the eliciting feel of practically sitting on the headmasters neck. The stolen cigarette hung dull from the boy’s lips, spilling ash onto the marble floor as it threatened to revel away
Almost comical timing, the cig was abandoned—thrown high out the window, just as stomps began to ring through the hallways, leading up the stairs. “Lennon, you daft delinquent!” “Shit.”
Pete muttered, defeated as 6th hours head teacher emerged from the foot of the stairs.
“You could play with all your little incompetent, blimey friends but you do not fool me!” He shouted, snatching the boy by his arm before stopping to point at Pete. “Do not think I’ll forget that I saw you here, I’ll speak with you later, I will.” That said, the lad dragged the boy down the stairs with him.
“You do understand how fortunate you are, do you not?” The headmaster bellowed in disappointment, sitting back in his leather chair as he eyed the mess of a boy in front of him
“Failed examinations, one after the other. I’d say I’d expect much more from you but truly you fail to see through it.” John’s head hung low, rubbing his aching hands after having put up with 6th hours head teacher
“I want you to try I know you have it in you. Submit your art portfolio by next week, I’ll see where I can get you. I know you can do better than this—I want to help, that’s what I’m here for.”
John straightened up slightly, sighing dramatically—he’s heard this conversation far too many times. “That being said, I’d best inform your guardian of your behavior today, maybe you’ll straighten yourself out with a bit of discipline.” The headmaster stood, guiding John out of his office
“Duffer prick.”
“Canning seems to be a recurring event for you,” Pete laughed, waiting at the entrance of the school, another cig hanging low from his bottom lip. “I’m beginning to think you’ve come to enjoy it, masochist nutter ‘yer are.” “Lay off it, son.” John adjusted the string that tightly hung onto his chest with the sore of his palms—slinging his guitar onto his back. A shit guitar it was, but its rusty strings were just good enough to produce a relatively pleasant tune
Leaving Pete, John walked past him, hardly acknowledging him. Students slowly began to pour out of the school, screams of excitement filling the air as the Friday sun shown high in the blue afternoon sky. Colorful flowers bloomed brightly in the patchy green grass that decorated the exterior campus, leading a path all the way down to the public bus stop which barely led down to Mendips. Leaving a decent walk to Menlove Avenue
The two boys walked in silence as Pete knew John’s shitty mood by the twitch of his thick brows—refusing to test his patiences, he caught up to him as a breathy laugh fell from his lips
Approaching the stop, two boys awaited in a school uniform that wasn’t of Quarry Bank. The next grammar school over, it was. Liverpool institute grammar—all boys. Full of sodding queers John’d thought
One of the boys stood very capturing. Long lashes, droopy eyes, pale skin dripping slightly with a trail of sweat which leaked down into the collar of his uniform shirt. His flushed cheeks complimented his complexion and the color of his hair which was combed in a greasy, sad attempt of a DA—a few strands of tousled hair resting on his forehead
‘A bird’
John’d assumed it was a bloody bird at first but no, no this was no girl. He was surely no Bridgette Bardot but hell, no prossy could be. The boy stood tall, enveloped in an inaudible conversation with another boy whom he’d recognized. “Aye, Ivan lad!” John shouted as he raised a hand in the air to grab the boys attention
The younger looked up and the boy next to him mimicked him movements; meeting John’s wistful eyes.
Gorgeous he was.
No other adjective would fit without being met as an understatement
John rubbed the sweat from his forehead in an attempted hidden panicked frenzy. He’d finally come to realize his unbearable thoughts sounded as though he was a damn queer himself!
“John, woah- great to see you mate.” Ivan, turned to John, eyes glistening with the excitement that of a young boy speaking freely with his older brother. “Alright, mate?” The question hung heavy in the air as John and Pete finally approached the boys. “Alright.” Ivan responded relatively quick—the boy next to him lifted his head to practically eye the two elders before glancing away
“Aye, perfect! This here is Paul, I’d meant to introduce you two down at the féte tomorrow, but what a coincidence it is that we see you here.”
The bus stop slowly became crowded with students who waited impatiently for the arrival of the vehicle. Chatter from the crowd filled the street, pulling the boys in closer
“So?” John pinched his brows together placing a smoke in his mouth and bringing light to it with a match
“Uh, he’s a talent for the guitar, that he is.” Ivan scratched the back of his neck, turning to Paul who finally looked back to John. “Couldn’t picture it if I tried.” John cockily retorted, blowing a cloud of smoke towards the obviously younger lad
“Yeah, and you’re an alright git yourself, I’ll take it?” Paul as though unfazed by the smoke, nodded to the dirty string which held John’s guitar tight to his back—glaring through the smoke and eyeing the lad whom he clearly had an inch or so on
“Ah, so it does speak.” John chuckled, jabbing Pete in the chest who joined him in a laugh. “Uh- he’s sorry, knobby prat he could be.” Ivan nudged Paul which earned him a confused glance. “What do I care?” John muttered, turning away to leave the boys in an awkward silence
Arriving soon after, the bus doors opened and John trampled in first, followed by Pete in an attempt to get a seat rather than be forced to stand and cling to a soddenly scorched metal bar
Taking their seat, John’s breath shuddered as he stared daggers through the back of Paul’s head who sat first seat at the front of the bus beside Ivan
He’d tried to gather his thoughts and better understand the strange feeling he’d felt just staring at the boy. Though the falling cigarette from his lips clung desperately to that thought rather than getting rid of it
No type of smoke could clear his bloody head of such thoughts, he’d best shag a girl soon to better his conscious
“I’m off here, yeah?” John stood as his stop approached. “Tah Tah, Johnny boy.” Pete bid farewell, scooting into John’s seat next to the window.
“We’ll catch you tomorrow, John!” Ivan’s voice rang through the small of the window, waving to the elder but John couldn’t help but instead glance beside him, catching Paul’s gaze once more before the bus resumed its route.
Saturday afternoon was just as bloody hot as the previous, John dressing in a tucked collared shirt with tight slacks as he attempted an Elvis like comb over which he understood would definitely get ruined by the summer heat.
“I’m off, will I see you?” John stumbled down the landing, slinging his guitar onto his back, carrying his small arm by the handle.
Mimi was sat in the lounge, sitting in her evening chair near the window, smoking a cigarette as she flipped through the thin pages of a book.
“You’ll see me, you will. Don’t let me see you’ve forgotten your glasses again, John.” She stared up at him through her reading glasses, elbow resting on the arm of the chair, fingers raised high as the smoke from the cigarette between them filled the air.
John dug through his trouser pocket, waving his thick frames at her before placing them on his face. “‘lright then.” He’d say before leaving out the front door, catching up to Pete who’d been waiting outside the gate of the houses garden, biting his nails, bored.
“Alright?” “Alright.” Pete replied and watched in amusement as John routinely swiped the thick frames off of his face, shoving them back into his trouser pocket.
The féte was bustling full of people. Children rounding the church in an excited frenzy whilst the distinct sound of music muffled through the cheap speakers hung high on light poles.
Stands lined up serving lemonade on the exterior of the church. Promotion fliers for today and upcoming events began being passed around and hung asymmetrically on a scheduling bulletin board
The event was flourishing with life, the usual sleepy Liverpool district having rarely caught such events to bring in a decent sized crowd.
“Hiya, Johnny..” A girl ‘round his age waved over to the desperate lad; biting her lip softly, she giggled along with a group of friends. John waved a hand, contemplating whether or not he’d just go up to her. Likely get a wank in before the Quarrymen went up.
“Ay’ you’ve got me on bloody tea chest and you think you can just happily get your fill?” Len nudged John playfully, waving the girls off who just smacked their lips before turning away
“You twatty cunt,” John shoved him off, laughing with a hinge of annoyance “you’ve not got anything better to do though, ‘ave you?” “Ay’ it’s better than a minging washboard.” Pete chimed in, earning a chuckle from John and a sympathetic scoff from Len
“Ungrateful shits, the lot of you.”
Catching the parade, the boys trampled onto a lorry, setting up gear to prepare for their 5:00 performance. As the time approached, the lorry soon began to move in the crowd. Ripples of people twisting and dancing along to the music as the boys attempted to keep upright whilst still playing.
Making its final stop somewhere in the far end corner of the event, John’d begin a new number, strumming his poor strings at a rough pace. He would look up, singing into the microphone whilst strumming away—muting a few string in the accidental progress.
Then there he was.
In the crowd, he’d caught the sight of Paul and Ivan who was pointing out the members of the group; evidently giving Paul the names of the boys. Paul held a small cup of lemonade in his right hand, left carrying a large scale guitar case.
He’d make eye contact momentarily with the boy, who nodded along to the beat of the drums unconsciously. Paul squinted his eyes slightly—staring down at John’s strumming hand before looking away, shaking his head with a small smile.
“Sopping wet, I am.” John sat in one of the empty pews of the church next to the rest of the boys who’d began gulping down cups of lemonade.
“Could go for a swig, couldn’t you?” Colin smirked, pulling out a pack of beer which had been hidden under one of the few pews.
“Ay’ you tosser.” John smiled as Colin threw him a bottle of which John would take an unnecessarily large gulp. “We’ve got another hour in playing soon, quit messing about.” Eric warned with a chuckle, taking a swab from his own bottle
“John, lad!” Ivan shouted, wandering into the church with Paul at his side “Paul, John. John, Paul.” Ivan introduced the two almost as though he’d forgotten yesterday’s encounter which he’d clearly wanted to “I wasn’t pulling ‘yer leg when I said he’d play a hell of a tune.” Ivan explained, practically flaunting Paul off
“Sure, one you’d hear off a shite jazz album maybe.” John laughed, which pulled a laugh from the rest of his group. Ivan and Paul’d shared a short laugh before John pulled his hand out to Paul.
“‘M John.”
Paul took his hand, shaking it gently before releasing it
“Paul.”
“Saw you in the crowd,” John muttered, turning away to take a sip of his drink “what’d you think?” He beckoned, nudging his head up to Paul
“Right, it was alright.” “Alright?” John stared, taking one more sip of his drink before placing it down—walking up to Paul. Paul glanced around nervously before John smiled, “Right, let’s see how alright you are on one of those then, yeah?”