Pointless McSutcliffe

One Shot - Blackbird

He was older than himself, Paul knew that. But he was smaller. Weaker.

The boy had thin bones. Hollow, like a bird's. And he liked heights, too.

Paul first saw him while hiking, just a small dark dot in the far distance that grew as he approached.

The lad was sitting at the very edge of a cliff, legs dangling off with no sign of fear or vertigo.

Seeing him there, for a brief second, made Paul want to push him. Just to see if he'd rise above in featherless flight.

Instead, he just continued his walk, having trailed behind his friend and his brother.

***

Liverpool was a small town, everybody knew each others through someone else in there.

Paul met the hollow-boned lad again through the friend of a friend.

Stuart was his name, and never did he utter a word during their whole interaction.

He shook Paul's hand politely and nodded in acknowledgement, mouthed his name but not quite said it, and retired back again to the dark corner of the room he was sulking in when he first arrived.

Despite surrounding himself by loud teddy boys such as Lennon and Best, Stuart was quiet. Demure, even.

He reminded Paul of severe Victorian widows, mourning for ones who'd never return.

***

Lennon and Stuart shared a small flat on the dangerous zone of town.

Paul wasn't allowed to be anywhere near them, but he could care less.

It was clearly an artist's den, with ink splatters everywhere, papers scattered on every surface, pens and brushes in the oddest of places, canvases proudly displayed in the walls.

He loved it. Loved the smell of beer and oil paint and fresh bread, the dark warmth from drawn curtains, the jazz and blues that played every waking hour.

It felt oddly homely. Paul certainly liked it better than his own home.

Lennon talked a mile a minute, about all and any things he could think of, from music to art to birds and blokes he enjoyed eyeing and more. He was entertaining and smart, rude too, but in a fun way.

In any other world, any other version of reality, Paul just might've fallen for him. But Stuart still drew him in, and he had no idea why.

His bird lad was never around. Lennon said they kept opposite hours to never leave the house alone, so Stuart was out all day and in all night, while he did the reverse.

Still, Paul visited, hoping for just another sight of him. Once, just once, hopefully.

***

'May I paint you?'

Four short words in a breathy, almost unnoticeable voice.

Paul looked around for a moment, briefly spooked out, before finding the origin of them.

And there he was, the boy with bird bones, no glasses in sight for once, just looking at him. Admiring him.

'S-sure', Paul stuttered out, heart fluttering like a caged hummingbird.

Stuart turned on his heels and walked away, looking back just once, to indicate Paul should follow him.

And that he did.

***

For the following four weeks, Paul waited until nightfall and snuck out, hidden in the darkness of the streets and with his brother as only confidante.

He made his way through town, taking all the shortcuts and passages Lennon taught him, until finding himself at his favorite hideaway in the world.

Every night, at 12 a.m. exactly, Paul would knock thrice, and find himself surrounded by warmth and the scent of beer, bread and paint.

Stuart would guide him to his room, have him undress and sit him on his bed, uncap a few tubes of paint, and carefully apply and blend them on a wide canvas, Paul's silhouette illuminated vaguely by candles.

Paul questioned the practicality of painting in the dark at first, but soon came to realize it was little more than an excuse for better, more exciting things that could be done under the veil of the night.

When the rest of the world was away and the last candles were blown off, Stuart's spindly hands roamed Paul's thicker frame, held on to him, as Paul quietly undressed him as well.

No words were uttered, the entire time. Only sounds, little sighs, desperate moanings and incomprehensible pleads were heard.

Every morning, at 5 o'clock sharp, Paul made his way back home, still safe under the darkness, and slept briefly but happily as he ran his hands through bites and bruises.

Frail as he was, his bird still scratched and pecked.

***

On the night of the thirtieth day, Paul heard three knocks on his own room, just as he readied himself to head out.

After the initial shock, he drew the curtains to find Stuart climbing his drainpipe, arms shaking and a wide canvas secured on his back.

Hurriedly helping him in, Paul noticed the feathers stuck on his hair. Took them out and collected them in a small cardboard box.

His bird proudly presented him the finished painting, a surrealistic portrait that barely made sense yet still perfectly displayed Paul's figure.

It was an odd thing to look at, subjectively ugly, yet Paul felt immediate attachment to it, hanging it on his wall with the proudest of smiles.

'Father is out for the weekend', he smiled. 'Brother won't say a word'

Stuart merely nodded and closed the curtains again.

Yet another sleepless night.

***

As the sun drew in from a few holes in the wall, Paul admired Stuart under actual light for the first time.

His skin was almost transparent, veins glowing under it, freckles peppering his cheeks, arms, shoulders and back. Paul kissed them up and down, fascinated.

He could feel thin bones, tender muscle. Delicate like porcelain, skin soft and see-through like silk. He bruised easily, something Paul enjoyed thoroughly.

Seeing him like this made Paul want to tear him apart. Rip his skin open and pull out his hollow bones, carve a hole on his heart to hide himself in.

Stuart's eyes fluttered open, and Paul bit down without thinking twice, drawing blood on the first try.

***

A small series of notes on Stuart's frailness and Paul's recklessness.

This isn't meant to make any sense, I just thought it'd be interesting studying Stuart's physical weakness through the eyes of a fascinated Paul.

No, Idk what the ending is either, I just wrote it all in one go with no idea of where I was going. Lowkey wanted to make Stu a bird shapeshifter, like a selkie but a blackbird instead of a seal. Also lowkey wanted to turn Paul into a sadist. Or a cannibal, if you will. Couldn't commit to the violence tho, so have it open-ended.