𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝘽𝙤𝙮 || A Starrison Fanfic

The Beginning of Something

𝙄𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩, 𝙍𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙤 𝙢𝙚𝙩 𝙂𝙚𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙚.

With shaky fingers, he had lit a cigarette, walking through the hallways aimlessly to get to his homeroom. The halls were empty, Ringo was far too late to see the people come and go before the bell rung. He was in his own head so much that he didn't hear the rushed footsteps from around the corner, the heavy panting, the curse that flew from the boy's mouth.

Wham!

Ringo gasped, knocked to the ground upon impact. "Fuck!" he cried as he fell, his mind racing to see if there was anything he could grab- which, there was nothing, of course. He hit the floor with a loud thump, causing bolts of pain to race up his back and neck. To top it all off, the boy fell on top of him, crushing the air out of his chest. Lying there, Ringo cracked his eyes open, (when had he closed them?) and looked the boy that caused his short suffering. 

His eyes were the first thing he noticed. Those dark orbs, widened with fear. That sounded a little cliche, but that really was the first thing. 

Snap out of it, Ritchard, he gave himself a mental shake, pushing the boy off of him. Yes, it was no secret to himself that he was gay. Or bi, or whatever... But that didn't matter. He was a rough teddy-boy, wore leather, smoked every day, hung out at night with his friends without a care for the police. There was no time for rainbows and silly crushes and smiles. Ringo was sure that he was flustered to some extent, and he dusted himself off as he rose from the floor, glaring at him. That was it, the moment is over, Ringo told himself with a frown. "Okay, Jesus. What the hell was that?" Ringo snapped, running a finger through his messed up hair. Time to get into his tough persona, then.

 "Sorry, mate!" the boy said rather meekly. "I wasn't watchin' where I was 'goin." 

"Yeah, I know that," Ringo rolled his eyes, feeling the anger in his chest fade to a dull annoyance. Something about this boy made it so hard to stay mad at him. 

"What's yer name, then?"

 "George," he said quietly. "George Harrison."

"Alright, George, how about this," Ringo hissed, trying to intimidate him. "You stay the fuck out of my way, and never come by me again. But if you don't want to do this, then I'll make sure yer' arse regrets every single second of it." 

George gulped, talking a small, shuffling step backwards. "Right, then... Sorry, again." 

Fuck, this guy was annoying. Nevermind about the earlier thoughts. Ringo moved forwards, making sure to hit George with his shoulder as he walked by. Soon after, he sat in homeroom, late of course. Detention on the first day of school. Who would have thought of it. Which led his mind to think of George. George. Why couldn't he stop thinking of him?

"Shit," he groaned, slumping over onto his desk. 

"What's wrong, Rings?" John whispered to him, eyeing the teacher who had her eyes on the board, back turned to them.

 "Nothin, John." Ringo murmured halfheartedly. 

John scoffed, a smile on his face. "Girl problems already? I can tell what's got ye' down in the dumps. Or a dry spell? I can certainly help with tha-"

"John!" Ringo grinned, laughing a bit. "Shaddup, you know that's illegal, mate,"

The younger cackled, turning his body forwards to face the teacher, who was droning on and on about some new procedures the school would be using during this year. Ringo mostly tuned it out, tapping his fingers on the desk to some new drum part he listened to on the radio. John had done a good job at distracting him, but George still lingered in the back of his head. Eventually, the teacher, Mrs. Wilson, let them go to first period. Ringo's schedule this year was pretty good. He and John had the band for their first class, with another friend named Paul."Ye got ol' Bardot for maths, Rings." John chuckled as they compared schedules in the hallway. 

Ringo groaned. "He's such a let-down. That old rag aint' got nothin new going on with him since th' thirties." 

John laughed, shaking his head in mock sympathy. They turned to go down the flight of stairs, where, lo and behold, was Paul! 

"Paul!" Ringo shouted, ignoring the annoyed looks he got from other students. "Mate, come 'ead,"

 Paul broke into a grin when he saw the two rushing down the steps, pushing past people without a care.

"Heya, girlies." Paul spoke. "Yer all in band for first?"

"Yah." John said. "Gizzus' your schedule," he demanded, grabbing at it greedily. 

Paul handed it over with an eye-roll, striking up a conversation. He was gone for the majority of the time off of school, hanging out with her most of the time. Soon, they reached the bandroom, shoulder to shoulder. They squeezed in through the door, taking a seat in their sections. Ringo in the back by the percussions, Paul and John in the guitarist's section. Eventually the bell rang, and the class started. Mr. Stott started the introductions per usual, informed them they wouldn't be playing today, and went on about his normal rules. 

Halfway through class, when Ringo was already bored out of his mind, there was a knock from the door. He perked up, trying to get a glimpse of who was knocking at this time. But, when the teacher opened the door, his heart dropped. It was George. That good for nothing boy, getting in Ringo's way all the time.

 For fucks sake.

"What's got ye' lookin at that rat for, Ringo?" came Paul's questioning voice, with a hint of humor. 

"Nothin, Macca. That boy was just bein' a prick ths' morning, that's all."

 "Oh," Paul paused thoughtfully. "Wish ye' the best of luck, sonny." 

Ringo snorted, though he felt weird. "Sonny?"

Normally, he would have insulted the boy further, but something was off. He didn't want to make him feel bad. Maybe it was just because of the hurt look on his face this morning. Or maybe it was the way he woke slept- just didn't get enough. That was probably it. 

Ringo shifted uneasily, trying to focus on remembering whatever Mr. Stott was saying. Concerts at the end of the year, take care of your instruments, yada yada. Well, all he had to do was take care of his drumsticks, since his own kit was at home and no way in bloody hell could he lug it all the way back and forth, every day. That was basically a death sentence.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted George speaking to Mr. Stott, then looking around for a place to sit. He was probably late and didn't have a clue as to where he should be.

 Whatever.

----- 

How's that for a beginning? New updates coming soon. Probably tmr. See everyone later! 

-𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙮.𝙉𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨