The Less I Know The Better [complete]

10 ;; assembly

tw - gay slurs

-



"Okay, okay, guys - have we got everythin' down? Everythin' prepared? Know all the lyrics and chords?"
Paul paced anxiously, looking frightened for the first time in his entire life. John has never seen him so nervous about anything ever, and it was unsettling as all hell to witness.

"Yes, for the thousandth time, Paul!" George cried, throwing his hands up in annoyance, glaring up at his best friend from his spot on the floor. "The answer still remains the same after five minutes ago."

John's shoulder slumped, and he took another quick, discreet drag of his secret cigarette before flicking it to the ground and smothering it with the heel of his shoe. The four of them were lying in wait backstage outside the curtains that led to the assembly room stage, guitars strapped firmly to their torsos and nervous energy bouncing between them all, high strung and staring around with bright, excited eyes.
Some of the other students in their class were hanging around like they were, with their various instruments ready for when they would have their moment of fame. Most of their year level had performed their songs now, and the numbers were dwindling until there was only six or so groups left.
John heard them from his place of leaning against the wall beside the curtains and he had to say - some of the songs the kids came up with were pretty decent. Most of them came up with rock-n-roll types, while some others chose more classical routes. His nerves were crackling like lightning all over the place, all hairs on his arms standing on end like he had just been electrocuted by said lightning; his heart was thumping erratically in his chest akin to the times his skin would connect with Paul's, and his stomach was bubbling with anxiety mixed with excitement, creating this confusing concoction in his abdomen that made him feel queasy. People were going to hear the song they came up with! He was about to perform in front of other people!

It's not that big of a fuckin deal, John, jesus, he told himself, trying to calm his high-strung nerves. you're just performing a song you finished in a week in front of your school, not the bloody Madison Square Garden.

"Yeah, can you just shut up for a moment, Paul?" John crossed his arms, his anxiety making him irritated - and the fact that Paul was freaking out as well was particularly exasperating. He wasn't running around the place screaming, at least, but his incessant questions and pacing and nervous fingernail-biting set his teeth on edge.

"I'm tryna make sure ye don't fuck this up for us, Lennon." Paul spat out his name like it was a mouldy piece of food, stepping up to stand in front of him, almost nose-to-nose, glaring him down intimidatingly. John tried not to stare at his lips. "I've worked bloody hard on this song, I need to make sure everythin's perfect. I can't start gettin' shit grades because of ya. "

John felt the familiar enragement building in his chest like a wall of bricks. He's worked hard? "I think you're forgettin' somethin', McCartney. I worked on it as well, y'know."

Paul clenched his teeth, rolling his eyes; he seemed to remember that they were standing quite close to each other, so he created an extra metre of space between them, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Thank god, John almost uttered the words out loud. He was standing way too close for comfort. Does he think he's intimidating by doing that? Well, he's wrong. He doesn't exactly look like the toughest guy. Instead like a sad eight-year-old that just dropped his ice cream.

"And who did most of the work?" He noticed the doe-eyes boy was speaking again.

"Wanna go down that road, huh?" John placed his hands on his hips, taking a step forward and gazing down at Paul with a snarky, amused smile. "Think because you had to teach me a few chords that yer the big man now?"

"No-" Paul started, looking actually a little confused.

"'Cause it ain't workin' on me! Always actin' as if yer superior. All 'high and mighty'-" John made exaggerated air quotes. "-well, who had to save you from a little confrontation with some guys pickin' on ya, huh?"