Lovesick - Lennison One-Shot

One-Shot

John laid on his bed as he often did, feet resting against the wall, heart pounding, head spinning a little.

It was all that kid's fault.

That stupid, lovely, pathetic, absolutely wonderful kid.

George Harrison. Hazza for the mates. Which John particularly wasn't, but he called him that anyways.

He wasn't anything special, John told himself. A scrawny child who liked to follow him around like a lovesick puppy, lame and stupid and oh so very cute-

He had started at Quarrybank just a couple of months ago. A face like any other, except for those eyes. Deep dark chocolate eyes that got John's heart doing backflips at first sight.

It hadn't stopped since then.

At first he had ignored it, had ignored him. Didn't last too long, though.

A pencil, a stupid pencil he forgot for a Very Important Test was what started it all.

The Harrison kid just so happened to have a spare one. So John took it without asking, why the hell not.

He did his stupid test, probably failed it, and put the pencil back where he found it, in the lad's desk by the rest of his supplies.

The kid noticed, tough.

'You can keep it' he said, and his voice gave John goosebumps. 'Seems like you need it more'

It was utterly confusing, and like with every confusing feeling he got, he decided to react with anger, and snapped the damned thing in two.

'Don't need yer bloody garbage!' he growled, slamming the remains of it on the desk again.

The lad barely reacted. He just took one of the halves and put it in the front pocket of John's shirt, doing the same on himself with the other.

Before John could spit anything else, the bell rang, and the Harrison kid left, giving him a half smile and a rather awkward wink as he walked away.

John thought about that single exchange for two weeks before daring to interact with him again.

(He also kept the half pencil, sharpened it proper and used it for tests since then on. He swore it was good luck.)

The kid sat by his side on most classes. Sometimes John got distracted looking at him, albeit he tried real hard not to.

Wasn't very difficult when he had Shotton sitting on his other side and they could dick around the whole time, passing notes back and forth, whispering mocking commentary on their classes and just generally having a good laugh.

They spoke of blokes sometimes, nothing out of the ordinary, although John swore the kid leaned in and paid more attention to him than to the class when they did.

Like every teenage boy out there, John liked Elvis, found him quite desirable and so. He mentioned it off handedly once, giggling with Shotton about some rather filthy things, didn't gave much of a thought to it.

Next day, though, the Harrison kid walked in sporting a quiffed hairstyle, the neck of his uniform popped up. He walked in longer strides, trying to look taller, more confident.

It was a bit silly, but John found that his dark eyes really shone more when his hair was out of his face.

'Looking nice, Hazza', he smirked, and he swore the kid blushed before giving him another wink, swifter this time.

He liked him, John decided. In fact, he may say, he even fancied him a little. Well, he fancied half the school, had accordingly fooled around with most of them. Barely meant anything. Barely made him dizzy like George did.