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Boys don't cry

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It was a sad, gloomy Wednesday afternoon, quite fitting for the occasion. A stone faced John Lennon stood, jaw clenched and eyes glassy as he looked down at the newly placed grave below him.

John was never one to show emotions, he had always kept them in, never one to let anyone see the salty tears roll down his cheeks, hear the small sniffles or the sobs escape from him as he cried. He rarely ever cried, his tears turning into anger normally, making him dangerous and unpredictable. It wasn't a healthy thing to do, but John didn't care. He wanted to keep up the 'tough teddy boy' image he had worked oh so hard on.

The seventeen year old boy suddenly collapsed onto his knees, his hands coming up to hide his face, sobs wrecking through his body. He felt vulnerable and weak, like a baby, dependent on his mummy to come make him feel better, but for John, his mummy wouldn't be there to make him feel better.

It was a lovely, sunny Tuesday morning when Julia Lennon was walking back from her sister Mimi's house, only to be struck down by an off-duty police man, bloody bastard he was. Her sudden death had hit John hard, only just beginning to get to know the woman who was his mother. He hadn't known what to do, thoughts and emotions rushing over him, putting him on the verge of having a breakdown. He didn't believe it when he was told, but he had eventually had to, there was no doubt that Julia Lennon was dead.

John cried and cried. It was like the tears would never end, they just kept coming. The boy had never wanted the comfort of someone in his life more. He wanted his mum to be back at her house, playing a song on the banjo and smiling at him with all the joy in the world. He wanted to dance to Elvis with her again, just like how they did after getting back from Blackpool.

Suddenly, John felt a hand on his shoulder. He froze, his body quickly tensing up and shying away from the touch, though it didn't seem to work as the hand gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"John, it's me, Paul." A voice cautiously spoke, almost as if it was scared of triggering anything in the young boy in front of it. John visibly relaxed, taking his hands down from his face and looking up at the raven haired boy, sorrow in his eyes, a numb look on his face.

Paul felt his heart shatter at the look on his companion's face, he hated to see John sad. Lennon was the type of boy who lit up a room when he walked into it. He was always so full of life and beauty, so confident and creative. He was a glowing ball of art and music, he was Paul's idol.

Paul crouched down next to him, gently rubbing his back in a soothing, rhythmic pattern. "It hurts." John whispered, his voice weak and unsure, scared almost. "W-Why does it hurt?" He breathed shakily.

"I know, John, S'gonna hurt for a while.." Paul whispered back to him. He wasn't going to tell him lies, tell him that he won't always miss his mum, that he won't think about her daily, because he would, the pain would always be there, it'd just get easier to deal with as the days passed.

Arms suddenly wrapped around Paul, squeezing him tightly, like he was afraid to let go. "It's okay, John, it's gonna be okay." Paul said to him as he squeezed him back, a hand going into John's hair, twirling it around his fingers.

"She's gonna come back, right? Please tell me she'll come back-" John sobbed, "She can't be gone, o-oh God-" his body shook, trembling weakly as he cried into the clothed shoulder of the younger boy, who's arms acted as a safety wall, protecting him from the world where his mother seized to live.

"She's gone, John, she's not coming back." Paul stated, knowing that the sooner John accepted the truth, the easier it would be for him to cope.

The two boys sat there, embraced in eachother's arms long after the sun had set, way past their curfew. Paul continued to comfort John with hugs, squeezes and kisses, letting the boy let his emotions go. John may not have Julia anymore, but he did have Paul and he supposed that was enough to keep him going.