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“Mornin’.”
You open your eyes, and shriek as you see John’s eyes a few inches from yours.
“John?!”
“I bought yeh tea.” He grins, and you narrow your eyes. “An’ some toast. If yeh wanted it, love.”
You pounce, wrapping him up in the covers, and he tumbles, flailing, from the bed, as you sit up and take a sip of your tea, rolling your eyes. You wish you could say that you weren’t used to this, but the day that John Lennon seemingly adopted you as his little sister to beat up as he pleased, you had had to put up with this and more.
As he surfaces from under the covers, he sees you serenely sitting there holding your cuppa, and rolls his eyes, before launching himself onto the bed with you, nearly spilling your drink all over your bare legs. You would scold him, but would it stop him? No. It was typical John.
“So what’s the plan today?” you ask, and he shrugs, squeezing your leg.
“Well, love, I was thinkin’ we could go for a wander around Liverpool, seein’ as we’ve got a day off and Macca’s bein’ a poof and hangin’ out with his bird.” You sigh. “Oh, don’t yeh start, I’m only jokin’. We can stay in, love, if yeh want.”
“You’ve got a day off?” you ask, curiously, and he nods.
“Studio tomorrow, but nothin’ today.” He rolls onto his stomach, and you think about how fond you are of the scruffy grown-up kid that is currently squeezing your thigh. “There’s proper scran downstairs, love, but have yer toast.” You grab the plate, and he looks you up and down – you realise you’re in a t-shirt and your knickers. “Maybe yeh wanna get dressed first, love.”
“(Y/N) and me are goin’ out.”
“Blimey, that was quick, you were just mates yesterday, like,” George says dryly, and John straight-up punches him in the arm. “Bloody hell, lad, it’s peace and love, not violence, like…”
“Sit down an’ eat yer breakfast, Harry,” John snaps. “Just sayin’.”
“That’s fine, John,” Brian says, from where he’s poking some extremely unappetising egg around his plate. “Security’ll…”
“Nah, we’re good, thanks, lad, but thanks for the offer,” John talks over him. “We’re just goin’ around the docks, like.” Brian rolls his eyes but says nothing. “(Y/N), love, y’okay with that, like?”
“Sure,” you shrug, and you see John smile – as you stand up to get another plate of bacon, he slaps your arse, and you jump a mile before everyone at the table laughs hysterically. Typical John.
“I like this.”
You stand in the wind at the Albert docks, looking out across the Mersey to Birkenhead. John is smoking, of course, and as he speaks you look over at him.
“S’nice just…” He waves his arms around. “Spendin’ time with yeh.” You smile at him. “Specially when yer that fit.” He smirks, and you roll your eyes, pushing him a little. “Oi, quit that, it’s not birdlike.”
“Shut it,” you laugh, and he pulls you close.
“Yeh look cold. Stop it, yer wearin’ daft, bird clothes.” He wraps his coat around you, and offers you the cigarette; you take it, after a moment. “Reckon yeh could swim it?”
“What? The Mersey?” you snort, and he nods. “No way.”
“We was gonna as a publicity stunt. Reckon it’d get way more publicity now.” He grins. “Do yeh wanna see me do it, love?”
“Try-hard.” You feel peaceful, out here with your best friend; this feels so right, and you lean your head against his chest. As you stand there, you hear a bunch of girls pass, nattering about something; you feel John turn to look, and elbow him. “Oi.”
“What? Jealous?” he teases, and you shake your head. You’re not, honestly, you just want him concentrating on you… as his friend. “Yer prettier than them.”
“Stop teasing,” you mumble, and turn to look. “Oh, there’s a blonde, I reckon I know who you’d be chasing after…” He laughs, and pulls you closer.
“Actually, there’s a bird I have my eye on anyway.” You look up at him, and feel a sickness in your stomach – it must be because he hasn’t already told you. You thought you didn’t have secrets between you. “Don’t look so surprised, love, yer the first person to know.” Oh. Well, at least he’s told you before Macca. That sick feeling can go away now…
“Who is it?” you ask, and he laughs. “Someone I know?”
“Deffo jealous,” he says, and you fold your arms.
“I bet she’s blonde too. Blonde, and skinny, and looks a bit like Brigitte Bardot,” you say, and you are alarmed by the wobble to your voice. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you scared John will be taken away from you? He looks down at you, and you nuzzle up to him again, hating yourself a little for that ridiculous display of emotion. Jealousy might be closer to the mark-
His lips press against your hair softly.
-you stiffen, and look up at him. His lips are inches away from yours, and he grins down at you.
“I’ve actually been loopy for her for a while now,” he murmurs, and you feel the wind plucking at your hear as your heart pounds against your ribs. His eyes are insane – that dark, cold brown that means you can see yourself reflected in them, and he grins. “I was gonna ask her out, but like… she doesn’t seem to notice I’m flirtin’.”
You feel like a fucking moron, and then he hesitates and you realise he wants you to say ‘yes’, he wants you to let him kiss you, and you close your eyes – as you feel his lips on yours you feel a little giddy. You have been so, so far in denial, you think giddily, and then he pulls you even closer, wrapped up in his coat as you stand there.
“Get a room!” comes a shout from the girls, who’ve stopped a few feet away, and you giggle against John’s mouth before he pulls back.
“I’m an idiot,” you titter, and he nods.
“Yeh, I know it,” he grins. “C’mon. Let’s walk. I reckon yeh’ve got the message now.”