#i’m just curious cause i write it both ways (often mixing it whoops)

[another-blog-bites-the-dust]

The journal.

Summary: After accidently leaving your journal at a cafe, your closest friends can't help themselves and start to read it...a person that you write about in particular the most reads it too.

Warnings: Tiny bit of angst, lots of fluff.

A/N: Y'all I don't know about you but I just needed some John fluff 😫 I hope you enjoy and enjoy the little poem(ish) type bits I've wrote! (They are in bold italics!) 😁💖

You checked your watch and loudly gasped "Oh god! I'm supposed to be having dinner with my mum and dad! I said I'd be there half an hour ago!" You frantically collected your things- a little too fast. Your bag fell and you let out a sigh, you were halfway through fastening your jacket.

"I've got it," John bent down under the table and scooped the contents back into your bag. You really didn't care how messy it was.

"Thanks, Deaks." You quickly pecked his cheek and the cheeks of Brian, Mary and Roger. Freddie had a date with Jim so they both took a rain check to meet up with you all at the cafe for a catch up another day. "See you all soon!" You waved them goodbye and rushed out the door. John's eyes didn't leave your frame until you had completely vanished from sight.

Roger sipped on his coffee then furrowed a brow when he kicked something. He glanced down and spotted a bright yellow notebook.

Your journal.

"Oh! Look what fell out her bag!" Roger grinned and picked it up from the floor. Mary, John and Brian all went wide eyed and held in a breath of air. There was a lot of speculation around the thing now being held by Roger. They had all seen you writing it, they didn't know what you did in it or what you used it for. They just knew it was a sacred object- a piece of you.

"What are you doing?!" Mary snapped and yanked it out of Roger's grasp when he was about to open it. "You can't read her journal!"

"Oh come on, Mary!" Roger grabbed it back off her. "This is the only chance we'll probably ever get! Aren't you just as curious as me to find out what Y/N spends all day writing about?" He asked.

John sighed "Mary's right, Rog. You're invading her privacy. If Y/N wanted us to see what was in it, she would have told us." John was always very protective over you. He had known you since the pair of you started primary school. He was unbelievably shy, standing in the corner clutching on to the straps of his school bag while he watched everyone play. He felt a tap on his shoulder and turned. You were there with your hair in bunches with bright yellow ribbons tied into a bow where the bobble was tied around each bunch of hair. You asked him if he was alright, he had no idea what to say so he shyly looked away. You were the only one who had talked to him all day- the only person who had made an effort. You took his hand and introduced yourself as you walked him over to the swing set. You pushed him first and when John finally began adjusting to your company he then offered to push you.

"I like your ribbons," he said.

"Thanks- yellow is my favourite colour!" You grinned, a tooth that had been wobbly for months was missing- you had spent the day before trying to wiggle it out of its spot.

John smiled back. "I like yellow too."

Back in the cafe, Brian disapprovingly sighed at Roger who was acting like a five year old waiting to open a new toy as he tapped the hard cover of your journal like it was a drum kit. "Just one page!" He whined.

"No Roger!" John sternly spoke.

"Fine," Roger held up the journal, ready to pass John the thing so he could return it to you. "Whoops!" He grinned when he let the journal fall to the table, opening at a page with words and little doodles on it.

"You did that on purpose," Brian nudged Roger with his elbow. They all peered at the page, their curiosity getting the better of them. "Stars...?" Brian murmured at the title on the page- there was little drawings of stars surrounding the block of words- not exactly a poem- in the middle of the page.

'Stars-

People say stars are cold and distant- like lovers when love hasn't worked in their favour. I don't see stars like that. I see them as little bursts of delight. Someone's wishes. Someone's plea. People rely too much on them to bring them their dreams I think. But perhaps that's not such a bad thing. Perhaps people should tell stars their dreams more.'

"That is so lovely!" Mary gushed. "So poetic!"

John kept his eyes firmly fixated on the page, in all the years he had known you- he never knew you were that good with words."What about that one?" Roger glanced to the next page, they all now found themselves being pulled into your journal by some kind of invisible string. "It's called 'Sunflower'."

'Sunflower-

My dear darling friend. She reminds me of a sunflower. She shares the names of Queens of past and perhaps future. A partner in crime- she's so pretty it's illegal. She is as precious as the jewels the Queen wears- and yes, I'm thinking more of Fred than her royal highness. But she's a sunflower. Bright. Bold. Beautiful. Radiant. Warm. They're yellow. My favourite. As is she.'

"I think she's talking about you," Roger looked up to Mary who had tears in her eyes.

"Oh that's so beautiful! She's so sweet and talented!" Mary grinned and let Brian flip another page. It was the beginning of another part and the four of them felt a bubble of tension burst. They already knew the words behind the ominous page they were looking at were going to be different to the other things you wrote.

An almost blank page. It had one bold three letter word on it.

HIM.

The words in the next few pages were going to be intimate, they could tell. The group shared a wary glance- well all except John who was glaring at the page. It was only oblivious to you and him that the pair of you were in love each other and had been for a long time- everyone else could see that. Brian noticed the look. "Maybe we should-"

"Let's read it." John gritted out. The very person who was completely opposed to reading your journal was now desperate to. The consequences of doing so could cause irreversible damage.

'His smile-

That smile. Almost infectious. Every single time I see it, I smile myself. Maybe that's why he smiles- because he subconsciously thinks of others and how their day will brighten when he flashes those priceless pearls. Sometimes his nose crinkles when he grins. Canyons of joy making their way to his cheeks and lips before disappearing before they reach there. When he laughs there's usually a smile on his face. It's gorgeous. Someone should paint it and then place in a museum- it is such a work of art. His smile sparks sheer happiness. Especially when it reaches his eyes whenever he is so gleeful. Oh don't get me started on his eyes.'

John swallowed hard, the other three felt compelled to snap shut the journal to stop John from torturing himself by reading your beautiful words. Roger tried to pull away the book from him but John tightened his grip on it and they read the other block of writing on the next page.

'His eyes-

The only place I find myself lost in- even when I'm standing in a familiar spot. It's a good type of lost. The kind where you accidentally find yourself being after turning one too many wrong corners, but you find the most magical of places in the place you eventually end up in. His eyes. Oh...you got me started. They hold hope. They hold dreams. They hold stars. They hold answers to questions you didn't even know you had. I've drowned in them more times than I can count. I don't want rescuing though. Sometimes they'd be covered by his hair. But that's something else to talk about entirely.'

Mary placed a hand on John's arm. "Maybe that's enough." She could see a mix of conflicted feelings on his face.

"One more..." he croaked out. It probably wouldn't be the last one he read.

'His hair-

Change. That's the style. He changes it so often that I couldn't tell you what way he had it last week, or right now, or even next month. He let me braid it once. Hated it. Secretly loved it, of course. I liked wrapping it around my finger when it was long. Then he cut it. It looked lovely. Always does. He'd suit any change.'

There was two on the one page. He felt like he had to read them. He needed to.

'His heart-

Sadly not mine.'

John felt like punching 'HIM'. You had spilled your heart out onto paper for 'HIM' and yet you never got his love in return.

'My heart-

Belongs to HIM. Forever.'

It was like he had looked at your soul. He felt as if he had exposed you. Stripped you bare. "I have to give her this back." John's voice barely raised above a whisper and he shut the bright yellow journal over, protectively wrapping his hands around it but at the same time he felt like he had his hands around the neck of the person who he only knew as 'HIM'. The three of them stood up but he held out his hand. He just needed to be alone at the moment. He slowly made his way down the street, he stopped at a play park halfway between your flat and the cafe. He sat down on one of the swings, his legs couldn't carry him any further. John's heart struggled to beat. He felt jealously fork through his veins. Who was this person? Why did you have to be so vague and call them 'HIM'?

You grabbed your bag after having dinner and your whole body froze. You couldn't see the flash of yellow that you had always seen. You searched through your bag, almost tearing it to shreds as panic set it when you realised that your journal wasn't there. The only place it could be was the cafe. So after bidding a hasty farewell to your parents, you rushed back to the cafe. By the time you got there, it was shutting.

You frantically banged on the glass of the door and one of the waitresses noticed you. She opened the door "I'm sorry but we're shut."

"I know, I just really need to see if I left something here. My bag fell and everything fell out and I've lost my notebook. It's bright yellow. Can I have a look? I swear I'll only be a few minutes!" You cried out and the waitress could see how upset and distressed you were.

"Course," she smiled and let you in "I'll help you look." You walked as fast as you could to the back booth and got on your hands and knees to look under the table. You let out a small groan when you saw nothing there. The waitress frowned and looked over her shoulder. "Hey, Deb?" She called out and another woman popped her head out from behind a doorframe that lead to the kitchen. "Weren't you serving these tables today?"

The woman, Deb, emerged "Yeah I was. I recognise you from earlier!" She grinned at you "Is everything alright?"

"She's lost her journal- a bright yellow one. Have you seen it?" You were full of hope that she had picked it up.

Deb turned to you with a grin "One of the boys you were with took it with him. I noticed him holding it when he left."

You let out a reserved sigh of relief. A part of you was glad that someone had it- the other was worried that they were reading or had read what was inside it. "What did he look like? The blonde one? The one with the black curly hair?"

"No," Deb smiled "The quiet one with the brown hair."

You let out a shaky sigh and nodded. "Okay, thank you both so much." You sent them both a small smile before leaving the cafe and walking home. Then you spotted a figure on the swing set, slowly, almost dismally, using a leg to swing himself. You spotted a flash of yellow. It was like he was holding your heart in his hands. "John!" You called out and jogged to him, his eyes quickly looked up and found you standing in front of him. "You found it." You nodded at the yellow journal. He looked down at it and then held it out for you to take. You did, very carefully before hugging it against your chest. "I thought it was gone for good," John noticed the tears in your eyes.

"I'd help you hunt it down- even if it meant walking the entire earth." He whispered, his own eyes welling up. "I know how much it means to you."

You sat down on the swing beside him, still clutching your journal next to your heart. "Did you read it?" You asked, eyes flashing with bolts of worry and fear- yet still slightly foggy from the tears that had welled up in them.

John opened his mouth and shut it again. He was going to say no but he couldn't lie- not to you. "I did."

You looked to your feet and bit the inside of your cheek. Your heart could put Roger playing his bass drum to shame at the moment it was thumping so hard. "And?" You wanted to know what he thought. His face wasn't giving anything away. "What did you think?" You quietly asked.

John let out a long sigh, it was only then that he realised that he had been holding in a breath. "You're a good writer, Y/N. The person you call," he had to bite down on his tongue and swallow hard "'HIM'...is a lucky guy."

"I'm lucky to have him in my life." You looked at him grinning. He looked sad, disappointed...jealous?

"Who is he?" John almost spat out "Do I know him?"

You furrowed your eyebrow intently "You...you didn't read the last page, did you?" John shook his head, a confused look flickered across his face. You opened the journal and turned to the very last page. "It's called 'John'." You didn't see his eyes shoot open or his jaw drop ever so slightly.

"John-

I'm not sure what I could write that will possibly do him any justice, but I'll try. John. John Richard Deacon. I think the best day to ever exist is the 19th of August 1951. He was born that day. I thank his parents every day for blessing this earth, and me, with him. He wraps gifts he gets me in yellow because he knows how much I love it.'"

You stopped yourself before reading the next line. He had already seen too much of your journal not to hear it. "'But I love him even more.'" You finally admitted and he went wide-eyed finally hearing your voice say those words.

"'He wore yellow trousers once- I secretly hoped he did that for me. Even if he didn't, he perfectly suited them. He's always so kind. He's always so thoughtful. He once took care of me when I was ill. I told him to stay back incase he became unwell but he didn't listen. He's so selfless. I love him. I always have. Even in my past lives, I'm sure. I love him.'" You spoke the last words in a whisper before softly shutting over the bright yellow journal and reaching across to hold his hand that was on the chain of the swing- he had stopped swinging a while ago. "You're 'HIM'."

A tear slipped down his cheek and his face lit up when he happily smiled. "I did wear those trousers for you," he let out a watery chuckle before standing up. You did the same but he pushed down on your shoulder slightly, making you sit on the swing again. "I love you too. So much. God, it killed me thinking that you were writing about someone else." He wiped away the tears on his cheeks with the back of his hand.

You reached your hand up and helped him wipe away his tears of joy. "Why would I write about someone else? It's you, John. Always." He leaned down and finally- after years of practicing on his hand and imagining it was you- kissed you.

He pulled back after a few minutes, both your lips tingling from feeling one another's for the first, of hopefully many, times. "Do you have a pen?" He asked. You nodded and took it out of your handbag. "Can I?" He silently motioned to the notebook and you handed it to him. He flicked to a page near the end and scribbled something before handing you back your yellow journal. He kissed you again with a grin "Hold on tight."

He went behind you and began pushing you on the swing. You opened the book to the page he wrote in.

'His heart-

Sadly not mine. Belongs to HER. Forever.'

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