1957, Liverpool

John was jealous. Again. Just the sight of you with that scumbag of a "classmate" was making his blood boil and his hands curl into fists. He had no right to feel like that when he, John, was no better than just a classmate to you. Worse, an annoying one.

Now he was at some shitty college party. Lights, music, pretty dresses, giggling girls and awkward (or not) dances. John was at his usual place — no, not on the stage. On the big and old apple tree, that seemed to know more than the other youngster trees. It seemed to feel John more than anyone. Always loyal and a quiet listener. Now, a partner in crime too.

John stared down at the improvised dancefloor. You were there, a drink in your hand, with that beautiful red dress, reserved for "special occasions", your hair and makeup neatly done. Next to you was Derek — John's worst enemy for the past month. He was grinning ear to ear, while you were laughing at his stupid joke. Pathetic. Unsettling. John hoped you were laughing not to offend Derek. What a kind soul.

While Derek tried to impress you, John felt jealousy creeping into his mind. But then, that scumbag asked you to dance. And you said yes. The simple word was worse and sharper than any dagger. And it seemed to stab John in the heart deeper and deeper.

Why couldn't it be him? Why could Derek summon all his courage of an antisocial nerd and win your attention, even if it was just for the night, while John wrote countless songs about you in the privacy of his notepad? And every time he talked to you, he was never more than a classmate. Sure, you were polite. You smiled at him with the brightest and sincerest smile of yours. And John couldn't even tease and make jokes about you with his lads. It felt wrong. Embarrassing. No pretty chick could compare to you. No one deserved to be treated like you.

As the party went on, John's temper gave in. The rational part of his brain screamed for him to just leave. But John was reckless. John was full of untamed fire. Without thinking much, he tore a barely reddish apple from the tree and threw it in Derek's direction with such hate, like it had personally offended him. The weapon hit the boy on the back and he almost stumbled. Your gaze locked with John's. It was just a brief moment, but enough for him to understand — he was in trouble. Run.

Like an acrobat, John jumped off the tree, managing to hide in night's darkness with practiced ease. Heart thrumming against ribcage. Cheeks burning with something he refused to recognize. Oh, the blinding venom of jealousy...