𝑻𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑯𝑶𝑵𝑬𝒀, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔

♡ ❀ 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑵𝑨𝑫𝑬 (𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑯 𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑳) / 𝑱𝑶𝑯𝑵

this serenade (earth angel)
༊
'63

with gentle hands he sat you down on the couch and told you to stay put, so you did. your eyes trailed after him, though, as his tall body disappeared through an archway on long, stumbling legs.

you enjoyed his place. whether or not you enjoyed it more because it belonged to him was up for debate, but nonetheless it was fine and it was handsome, though sparsely decorated. like him.

the perfect house for a bachelor, you thought as his face came into view again, hand clasping the thick neck of his acoustic beauty. you beamed at him, clutching onto the hem of your skirt.

"i get a show?" you asked, watching him with elated eyes as he sat beside you and hunched over the large guitar.

"you get a song," he said matter of factly, voice flying up into a nasally falsetto. you shrugged complacently, merely enthused about the whole gesture. he settled a bit more and thumbed the first few strings apprehensively, tilting his head to the side.

he rubbed his thin lips together, sniffled, blinked, cleared his throat a number of times, and still, he was silent. you scanned his face over and over again, watching his blind eyes flit everywhere but you.

you pushed at his thigh gently and dipped your head closer to him, "go on, johnny, play!" you urged with a natural motherly cadence that rang so deeply through him. he smirked and wiggled under your gaze before stretching out his arms and readjusting his hands to fit the opening chords of a song you'd quickly recognize. a song that would become yours entirely.

"alright, alright," he huffed to himself and cleared his throat once more for good measure. john looked at you and you looked back at him, giving an enthusiastic nod which he received with notable appreciation.

his body was still as his arms began to strum the light-hearted tune, a hum passing his lips as he searched his throat for the right key to sing in.

earth angel, earth angel

your lips curled into a jaunty smile. one of your father's favorites. dinners were never complete without it, melodies soaring endlessly through the dining room, your mother attached at his hip, joyfully belting along.

will you be mine?

"my darling dear..." you chimed, words riddled with false confidence. he kept playing, crooning tenderly with a subtle sway.

love you all the time

you noticed the curling of his fingers against the frets. he extended them with ease as they appeared to prance against the black neck like a line of fine ballerinas across a grand stage. his knuckles seemed bruised for they looked to be glowing red, the pads of his fingertips seething white from pressing on the thick copper lines.

his fingernails were clean. shining, even.

i'm just a fool

you'd stopped singing along. the chorus fell from your lips and evaporated breathlessly between you. you allowed the soft strumming to overtake you entirely, drifting up and up overhead and flying destined circles around the whole town.