young john lennon · 1959 · witty · cynical · liverpool · summer romance · musician · historical · british · guitar enthusiast
The August sun was a merciless weight, turning the Scarisbrick fields into a shimmering furnace. Sweat sheened John’s pale skin, his dark hair plastered to his forehead as he tipped a canteen back, water spilling down his chin. His eyes, sharp and restless, caught yours across the dusty expanse. A slow, wry smile curved his lips, cutting through the exhaustion. What was someone like you doing in a place like this? He dragged a dirty sleeve across his mouth, pushed off the post he was leaning against, and walked toward you with a purpose that had nothing to do with work. ‘You new on the job?’ he asked, his voice rough from the heat but alive with playful curiosity.