(no subject)
Title: 'Cause Love's Not That Easy
Author: Darco16
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1878
Time-frame: 1959ish
Summary: Do you remember being a dreamy eyed teenager, writing love songs and mooning over your best-friend? Well, welcome to the life of Paul McCartney.
Warning: Cursing and badly written lyrics.
Disclaimer: I own nothing! Nothing in this story ever happened.
“Length times width,” Mr. McNealy droned, scraping the equation across the board to the attention of drowsy-eyed teens. Every boy listened wearily, either fiddling with their rulers or taking modest notes. At the back of the class sat one boy, peculiar in many ways from his peers. Left elbow pushed out awkwardly on a desk cut for someone right-handed, Paul looped oversized cursive words with vigor in his Algebra textbook. Every now and then he would look up, his oval-eyed gaze never nearing his teacher, the math equations or the other boys but out the window and across the way to the nearby art college.
“Only ten more minutes 'til lunch,” the chubby-faced youth whispered to no one, diverting his gaze back to his gratified textbook. The margins were filled, coupling two names together repeatedly and neatly. Lennon/McCartney and Lennon-McCartney were scrawled next to graphs and equations, mixed with the odd John&Paul. The names were never spaced apart but squeezed tightly together as if they were one word meant to be said in one breath.
On the same page were stanzas, some scratched out, others circled and underlined. All of them declared as Another Lennon/McCartney Original sitting above bold lyrics:
In my bed late at night
Slipping into slumber
Close my eyes really tight
And let my mind wander
Chorus:
Oh, you got me thinking of you
I wanna kiss you gently
Oh, you got me dreaming of you
Below the last line was scribbled a hurried Finish chorus. Paul sighed, standing as the bell rang and quickly headed for the exit. If asked what the area of a rectangle was as he dashed out of his maths class, Paul would have no idea.
Jumping every other stair down two flights, Paul glanced at a familiar bony figure advancing his way. He sped up, rushing out double doors, but midway across the well-trodden lawn, Paul's sleeve caught between the long fingers of the twig-like boy. Neither slowed their stride to the art college only a yard away.
The younger boy never let go of Paul's sleeve but only tugged a bit harder, finally catching the full attention of the other boy. “Get your fucking head outta the clouds Paul,” George berated, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Thought you were gonna wait for me?”
Paul responded with a slow, cow-eyed blink and an innocent, “Oh, I must of forgot.” It only served to frustrate George more as he shrugged off his coat and yanked his tie over head before hitting Paul across the neck with it. “What the fuck?” Paul yelped, rubbing the bruise blooming along his neck.
“You were gonna fucking ditch me again,” George accused, pulling Paul's tie off, “Take off your jacket or your gonna stick out like a sore thumb.” Ignoring the older boy's continued curses he stuffed their school uniforms in his bag.
Paul pulled off his own jacket, folding it before sandwiching it between book and binder in his bag. “I just wanted some time alone with John so we could finish this song I've been working on,” Paul sighed, opening the back door to the Liverpool Art College, letting George pass before he entered himself.
“Ain't gonna happen Macca,” George announced as they walked through the lunchroom, “Not with Stu keeping 'im company.”
“Shut it, you,” Paul warned, spotting and waving to a distracted John. Walking towards the light-haired Teddy Boy, Paul continued his glare, “It's bad enough that he thinks I'm jealous. Don't need you running your big fat--” Abruptly quieted, the round-faced boy turned a toothy smile at the three occupants of the lunch table.
“'Ello, what do we have here?” John barked, letting his gaze stroll up and down the new arrivals, lingering on Paul a moment longer. “Looks like we 'ave two runaways from the grammar school.”
“Better return them before they need a diaper change,” said the freckle-faced boy sitting next to John. His stare narrowed on Paul before giving a stage whisper of, “Especially the smiling one. I think he just had an accident.”
“Stop it Stu,” admonished the blond girl on John's right. “I expect that from John but not you.” She gave a quick slap across both their heads before moving their bags so the younger boys could have a seat.
“Thanks Cyn,” George beamed, sitting down and accepting a cigarette from the blond. “You're an angel and deserve a sight better than this lout,” he continued, lighting up and flicking a fake ash in John's direction.
“Watch it mouthy, or I'll knuckle you one,” John glared, raising his fist and shaking it at George.
Paul begged off a cigarette from a weary Stu. “Thanks mate, owe you one,” he acknowledged before diverting his eyes back to John. “I started a song in maths,” he chirped, giddy, finally catching the full attention of the older boy.
John's brow perked as he turned an inquisitive eye Paul's way. “Did we now?” he asked grinning, taking the lit smoke from Paul's hand. He demanded on exhale, “Let's see it then.”
Wasting no time, Paul nodded and pulled his textbook from his bag before dropping it back to the ground.
“What the hell is that?”
Startled by the abrupt bark from John, Paul dropped the textbook on the table. John's arm stretched across said table, long fingers rounding on the side of Paul's neck. Everyone froze, sharing the collective and horrified thought of, “What is John about to do?”
“What's what, Johnny?” Paul asked quietly, calmly, as if soothing an angered animal.
John tapped a two beat on the pulse point of Paul's neck before answering, “You got yourself a hickey Macca.” He turned Paul's head to the side so everyone had a better view. “You musta been quite a busy boy during maths. Writing a song and sucking on some bird.”
Paul's hand snapped to his neck, knocking John's out of the way. He threw a defensive look towards John before tilting his head to George. “It wasn't a bird. It was George,” he protested without thinking, and was met with a shocked giggle from Cynthia.
“No, not like that,” he ranted, turning for support from George. In response, the younger boy gave a suggestive wiggle of the brow before turning a salacious look towards Paul. “It was his tie, dammit. He hit me with his tie.” All eyes turned to George and his open collar, sans tie. “It's in his bag, you perverts.”
“A likely story, you tart,” John accused, voice laden in humor. Taking the abandoned textbook from the table he continued, directing his mood towards George, “You flirt with my woman, then you attack me best mate with tongue or tie. I oughtta beat you on sheer principle.”
Flipping rapidly through the book, John stopped on a page closer to the back, giving it his squint-eyed attention. Paul waited ten minutes and counting while John slowly read. The brunette sighed, put upon, “You need your glasses Johnny. Can't see anything pass your nose without them.”
Not missing a beat John sniped, “Don't know what your talking 'bout Macca. Must still be dizzy from Georgie's horrid breath.” Taking up a pen, John started scribbling rapidly across the page.
Curious, Stu chanced a peek over John's shoulder only to be shoulder bumped away. “Watch it, son. This is meant for Paul and my eyes only. You'll get a look when we finish it,” John chastised.
Paul let himself relish in a tiny victory, giving Stu a derisive, toothy smile. Stu raised an eyebrow in response, turning to John, “Lunch is over mate. We gotta get to class before we're late.”
John looked up, snapping the book closed before giving an exaggerated gasp. “An artist and a poet. Stuart Sutcliffe, your a regular Renaissance man.” Pressing the book back into Paul's hands he spared the young boy a lingering glance before making his way out of the lunchroom, arms wrapped around both Cynthia and Stu.
“I really hate that arsehole,” Paul murmured, not meeting George's eyes and clutching his book tighter against his chest.
George roped a scrawny arm around Paul's back, patting him on the shoulder. “Which one you mean, John or Stu?” he asked with a snort.
Paul bit his lip, getting up and shrugging, “Either. Both.”
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Later that evening, Paul lied belly down on his bed, meandering over his math homework. It was made difficult since he refused to open his textbook, burning holes through its hardcover with his angry gaze.
Minutes passed, his curiously growing every second he resisted opening it, until finally he let out a breath. “Fucking idjit, just open the book,” he murmured, taking hold of the book and flipping to the back page. He didn't spare the equations a second look but narrowed in on the messy scrawl that could only belong to one other boy.
In my bed late at night
Slipping into slumber
Close my eyes really tight
And let my mind wander
Chorus:
Oh, you got me thinking of you
I wanna kiss you gently
Oh, you got me dreaming of you
I wanna hold you against me
But I wake up lonely
'Cause love's not that easy
I'd give my heart freely
If you'd just please me
Repeat chorus
Fade out with:
Oh, you got me thinking of you
Oh, you got me dreaming of you
The last line was signed John Lennon, giving way to a tinier print below it. Do you think about me when your in bed Macca or just when you're in maths? I can't stop thinking 'bout you. Keep your window open tonight 'cause I really wanna please you. And stop letting George kiss you, you tart!
Paul let out a shocked laugh, closing the book and pressing it against his chest. Shifting onto his back, he let his eyes wander to the open window. The sun slowly dipping into Liverpool Bay would soon give way to night. In any moment John will be climbing up the side shingles of Paul's council estate, tumbling through the window with a laugh. Until then Paul closed his eyes, humming softly to himself before singing a repetition of Oh, you got me thinking of you. Oh, you got me dreaming of you.