OC Oneshots

Teenage Lovers

Roger Beckett/Johnson Morgan

Roger belongs to Im_Not_Old_Sport

Just a little drabble for when the two were teenagers.
Jon is 14; Roger is 15.

Tooth-rotting fluff.

---

The day was long; many people seemed somewhat restless. Others positively enjoyed their time, chatting alongside the walkways. 

A tall and awkward boy wandered into the market, books clutched to his chest. He was clumsy, rather ditsy for a young man, yet gave forth mannerisms of a lad of wealth. Eloquent in step, no matter how much he tripped over himself.

He acted like a toddler taking their first steps at times. 

It was a fascinating sight.

I moved from where I sat on a roof, following the lad with my eyes. His expression shifted on occasion, falling to look disappointed. Peculiar. 

I've seen this boy several times, enough to count on my hand, at least. Though, he fell away from the stereotypical nonsense that his father and brother often placed fourth. I liked that. He always seemed to be reading- each time I've seen him- he's either peering over his book or burying his face into it. 

Poetry. 

He loved poetry.

I smiled, shaking my head. The poor lad stuck out like a sore thumb here. I moved a bit closer, hoping to catch his attention. The damned fellow ended up turning a bit too fast and fell forward. 

I caught him by his overcoat, blinking a couple of times. I hadn't noticed the action- I was entirely caught off. 

Yet, I eased him up, plucking his book from the ground. "You nearly splattered your face into the cobblestone." I teased, getting a good look. His face was chubby, lingering with youth- and he was somewhat littered with acne- simple red bumps clustered on his chin. His eyes glimmered like a fancy gemstone- emeralds- a beautiful gem. Oh- and his lips- they seemed full and pink. 

I grinned, tilting my head. "Do be a bit more careful next time, will you? A scrape from the ground can be painful." 

The lad's face seemed to heat, turning red. He seemed embarrassed, perhaps shy. I glanced down, dusting the book cover before handing it over. I almost forgot that I had it. "And before I forget, here is your book. Hopefully, the fall didn't damage it horribly." 

"Oh! I don't think so- it was merely a small tumble. Tis' all!" 

I snickered a bit- unable to help myself. The boy spoke in a skittish tone, yet his voice squeaked and broke- much like an old chair when rocked too heavily. It's adorable. I took a deep breath, hoping to settle myself. "You have a lovely voice, may I say? The squeaks suit you."

The lad batted his eyes- as if he was trying to hide in plain sight. A vanishing act that didn't work well. Embarrassed- he seemed relatively embarrassed.

"What's your name?" I chimed, hoping to get an answer. "I've known your brother's name for a while now- but I don't believe I caught yours." 

As I spoke, I moved between the booths, noticing that he followed along- much as a lost puppy would. He wasn't out here often, and the people were intimidating. Yet, I stopped before a regular booth, smiling at the miss running it. I placed down some shillings I had scraped up over the past few days. Since I began working, I had been a bit easier to afford food.

I took a loaf of bread and turned back to the boy, smiling.

"Roger," he blurted out, "my name is Roger Beckett. And you are the son of Issac Morgan, aren't you? I saw you at his..." The lad trailed, for a good reason, I suppose. I shook my head, splitting my bread and handing it over.