Face Painting

July 5th, 1958. St. Peter's Church, Woolton, Liverpool, England.

The annual garden fete was the highlight of the year for many of the sleepy port city's residents, and rightfully so. Along with music, there were craft and cake stalls, police dog demonstrations, and the traditional crowing of the Rose Queen, which went together perfectly with the sunny skies. Among the crowd were two teenage boys who looked no different among a sea of young men currently caught up in the skiffle scene, but the fete was special to them.

"So, John," Paul McCartney, the younger of the two, said to his mate John Lennon. "What do you wanna do?"

John shrugged and took a drag of a cigarette. Now that he was 17, the garden fetes weren't as fun as they were when he was a kid, but he only came because Paul begged him to. "I dunno Paul, I didn't even wanna come here but you forced me to."

Paul sighed. "John, you know why I wanted you to come this year – hey, look!"

John squinted his eyes to try to find whatever Paul was talking about (he didn't bring his glasses, of course), but the sound of music directed him to a lorry with a local skiffle group playing on it. Ever since the skiffle craze began in England a few years ago, it seemed like there was a band playing almost anywhere you went, and John and Paul knew that all too well; they had their own group, the Quarrymen.

"Eh... they're rubbish." He stepped on his cigarette butt and continued to observe the group. "The singer sounds like a dying cat and the guitar player is off."

Paul laughed. "Y'know John, you're one to talk, considering last year you could hardly remember the words to what you were singing and I had to teach you how to tune a guitar. Who's rubbish now?"

"Hey," John scorned, getting defensive of himself. "If I'm rubbish, so are you 'cause I let you join me band. And when I played I was pretty damn good if you ask me."

The hazel eyed boy laughed some more before walking around to find something to do. "Sure, John. And I only wanted you to look at them to remind you that that was you a year ago, y'know. Do you remember how we met?" He asked, smiling softly at John. The two 'friends' were actually lovers, but kept it a secret from everyone due to the backlash they'd receive for being two males in love.

"Of course I do." A blush began creeping on John's face. "Me band was playing, and you were oh so impressed by how good I played and how handsome I am that you couldn't help but beg to join me 'till I said yes." He chuckled, smirking at his fabricated version of what happened.

Paul elbowed John in the stomach, not hard enough to cause pain, but just enough so that he could feel it. "Oh shut it you wanker, you know that's not what happened." He said with false anger in his voice, turning away from him. Folding his arms, Paul gave his boyfriend the silent treatment, looking around the fete until his eyes lit up. There was a face painting stall not far from where they were! Perfect.

"John," Paul suddenly said, tugging at his arm. "Look, there's face painting over there! Come on," He said, literally dragging John over to where it was. At the moment, there were two little girls giggling and painting butterflies on each other, but they were practically done anyway.

John scoffed. "What the hell Paul, do I look five? There's no way I'm letting you paint me bloody face like that." He tried to keep his feet planted in the ground so he wouldn't move but it was no use. If Paul really wanted to do something, no one was going to stop him.

"Johnny, please," Paul said, looking at John with puppy dog eyes. There was no way John would say no now. Whenever Paul looked at John like that, with his big, downturned hazel eyes, he could get almost anything he wanted. "You can wash it off later anyway."