Ten Petaled Rose

Chapter 1: Introductions

John wasn't the straight-forward type. He didn't tend to think all that much about what he did, and he cared less to explain himself. He just did whatever he felt like doing; joking to get around the morals of these things because he wasn't the emotional type either. Not very considerate which would make him an asshole, if it weren't for his invaluable sense of humor. Most people let his insults or jabs roll right off their shoulders. They'd laugh him off because they knew he was just takin' the piss. Bein' John and all. Even though most of the time, he wasn't joking. At least, mostly. He liked telling people off. Though, that wasn't to say he wasn't friendly. And that wasn't to say he wasn't popular. He had plenty of friends. Well, more or less. There weren't a whole lot of blokes that could endure his version of friendship. He wasn't exactly fond of the thought. People getting to know him. Very few did; and John was strange in the way that he didn't show affection in a way that made sense. Stolen items, light shoving, downright gritty insults. 'Gentle bullying', as Ringo referred to it. The oldest of John's friends. The best equipped to handle the unpredictability of John's fiendish personality.

"Y'know, John, not every girl in Liverpool wants to shag you." Ringo muttered, glancing at the clock above the door. Waiting for John to finish his hair in the mirror beside him.

"That remains to be seen, but I'm tellin' you, Joanie was givin' me the eyes." John told him, mischief in his voice, accompanied by an all too excited grin.

"The eyes." Ringo echoed. He'd heard that about a hundred times. Funny thing was, if ever he pointed it out, John couldn't name the colour. He didn't pay that much attention. So long as she had legs, John was intent to shag her. Not for any sensible reason. Simply cause he could. Not to mention the reputation it gave him. Though that didn't matter to him as much as skipping class. John was by no means stupid, but he found intrigue in subjects not often taught. It was more than arrogance speaking when he said his classes were useless.

"Anywho, I'll be gone till lunch."

The comb scraped the side of his head, hair flat against his skull. Giving that everyday pompadour it's signature attraction. High and slick, as per usual, though he'd used a bit more pomade to keep it securely in place. Most girls had a habit of ruining it. Incessant fingers combing all the wrong ways. It was irritating, but worth it. Slipping out into the hall, from which Ringo had already taken a few heavy steps toward the door. Purposely slow and lingering, waiting for John to catch up. Pausing as he locked the door and pulled out a smoke.

"Thought your aunt hid all your cigs." Ringo mentioned, lighting his own, offering John a side glance.

"Oh, she tried but she's no good at hidin' things. Always the same few spots. Top o' the bookshelf, back o' the toilet, or under her mattress. I just slip one and replace the carton when it's empty. She's none the wiser." John sounded pleased with himself. Like he was especially clever for that. Ringo knew the reality. John could easily keep smoking, against Mimi's wishes. He could snatch 'em and puff smoke right in her face. But John would never do that. He loved her too much, and he'd hate to hurt her.

"Ever the rebel." Ringo remarked, offering a soft grin. That was something he appreciated about John. Sure, he was a liar, and oftentimes the meanest bugger Ringo'd ever met, but he never lied about anything terribly important, and he was only mean when he was hurt. Rather than meanness, for the sake of meanness. He had a heart, hidden as it was.

The walk wasn't far from John's house. Before they knew it they were on the campus, angling toward the rest of their friends. George rolled his eyes as John peeled off, arm wrapping around Joanie, who melted under his touch. Turning 'round to flirt with him. Ringo met the group with a smile and glanced over his shoulder at John.