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At exactly 10:15 on December 9th, 2030, Paul McCartney was pronounced dead.The morning that it happened, the whole world went silent. Not a single soul had any idea of the events that would occur that day until Paul was found in his Liverpool home, alone. He was found laying in his red quilted armchair, reclining lazily, with an expression of faint peacefulness ghosting his paling, weathered face. Beside a half-open window, he sat, with the golden light of the rising sun casting its first rays onto the face of the newly dead. He had not died in agony, but rather, painlessly: in a state of silent reflection and tranquility, acknowledging his innate sense that death would soon come upon him.He was right, of course, and upon inspection, the pathologist declared his death to be linked to his terrible heart complications. Unbeknownst to the public, he'd had these complications for fifty years now, speculatively due to the tragedy he'd undergone from the death of his first wife, Linda.They had been so wildly in love, having fallen in love almost at first glance, and spending every possible waking moment loving each other. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that despite the multitude of partners Paul McCartney had taken, Linda was the one he'd loved more than any of them. For Sir James Paul McCartney, Linda Louise Eastman had become his everything: first true love, partner, and muse, right up until the day of her death. And now, reunited in death, they might meet again.The media became quickly involved with Paul's passing, noting the shift in his demeanor that had occurred as his death neared. He had become placid and almost unnervingly Zen in the past months, especially in November and early December. News anchors, too, became involved, stating their opinions and educating the general public about this death."And so, the final remaining Beatle, James Paul McCartney, is dead. His, along with Ringo Starr's death in '28, marks the end of an era, ladies and gentlemen. The whereabouts and details of his funeral are unknown, as well as the location in which Paul requested to be buried, if at all. When such information is disclosed, we will not hesitate to inform the people. Thank you very much, this has been the daily news."___________________________________________On December 15th, 2030, the world was met with yet again another shock.A statement was released by McCartney's managing team on Twitter, putting out his prepared final statement on Paul's former personal account."Ladies and gentlemen,Upon your reading of this final statement of mine, I must already be dead. Before anything else, I would like to say how grateful I am to have lived. It's the highest honor, you know, to have lived. Not only because living is such a rare and sacred thing, but also because while I was living I had so many beautiful moments. To recount each of them would take another lifetime entirely. So this is dedicated to you, the people of the world whom I love. Thank you. I hope I've made some sort of good in your life.Along with the beauty and tranquility of life come the heart aches and trials that I certainly dealt with. During the time in which I became so greatly acquainted with you all, I also became acquainted with Fame and her many facets which often left my friends and me in uncomfortable spots. The constant speculation, breaching of our boundaries, and lack of privacy made us, especially myself, quite wary. I wish to now share with you not only the full story of my life, but also to reveal the truths I have been withholding for years. It is indeed a shame that I had not found the courage to address my mistruths while I was still living. However, to educate you now and to offer you all my sincerest apology just may be sufficient.PBS, 19/12/30. 7:30 GMT.Paul McCartney."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The documentary opens with an ominously black screen.

A microphone cracks, buzzes, then picks up the hauntingly familiar acapella voice of John Lennon.

"I know, it's true..."

The screen illuminates suddenly, displaying a white room: white walls, white couch, accented slightly with neutral tans and grays. Above the couch is a singular, silled window, on which lies a light blue artisan vase holding a solitary white orchid. In front of the couch, Paul McCartney, 88, is perched on the edge of the couch, holding his knee as he crosses one leg over the other.

"I often felt as though I couldn't fully express my feelings while being at the height of our popularity." says Paul, "Especially when concerning... y'know, the people I was closest with."

The screen goes black again, and that same haunting voice returns.

"It's all because of you..."
The screen flashes back to Paul McCartney, where the offscreen interviewer asks him, pointedly: "Is there anyone in particular who comes to mind when you think about the times in which you couldn't always... give the full truth?"
Black screen.

"And if I make it through..."
Paul reappears, closing his lips tightly. He focuses his gaze on something in the corner of the room, then finally, meets the eyes of the invisible interviewer. "Well, yes, there were many people like that. But I think the one tha' stands out in my mind, who I've never felt comfortable with speaking about completely truthfully is, y'know," Paul pauses to smile lightly, but his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Is John. John Lennon."
There's a pause, and referring to Paul's earlier statement, the interviewer concludes, "Until now."

The screen goes black again, for the final time, and John Lennon's voice echoes through the void.

It's all because..."

The voice fades away, and the screen is filled with the title of the documentary: Now and Then, on a dark, turquoise-tinted record. The show has begun.
___________________________________________
The footage on the screen develops: Paul, sitting in that same white room, wearing an outfit suggesting that the weather is quite fair. The offscreen voice calls out to him, "Testing, Paul McCartney, Now and Then. Take one." Paul smiles a bit, his head cocked to one side, his smile lines etched deeply into his weathered face. "Happy Easter to you, Paul, and we hope you've had a pleasant break."

Paul shifts in his chair, his fingers tapping mindlessly on his propped-up knee. "Thank you, Michael, and I must say that I'm pleased to see you again. Yes, I've had a nice break, and very relaxing: ehm, it's certainly allowed me to gather my thoughts for today, and all tha'."
"We're glad to hear that, sir. And to you, also, it's nice to finally work with you so closely, again." Michael pauses, then proceeds to the true order of business: "Now, Paul, would you mind me asking what exactly your intentions are for the filming of this documentary?"Paul feigns annoyance, saying, "Yes, I do mind," then laughing as he shifts again so that his leg is no longer propped up on the other. "No, it's completely alri', Michael. See, my idea for this documentary was to, essentially, cover all of my bases, right: to tell my full life story, from the early days right up to the present. Talk about the Now, and Then: a clever little play-on-words that I'd come up with in reference, of course, to our final Beatles song that came out a couple o' years ago in 2023."
"Clever, indeed. And am I to assume from this reference that your main talking points during this documentary will be centered around your career as a Beatle?"
"Not... necessarily my career, if I'm being honest. Moreso, all that came with being famous, and the core relationships I had during those years. And, of course, all the things I've failed to mention abou' those aforementioned relationships." Paul pauses, shifting in his seat again. "You know, I... I really don't feel as though I'll be offending anyone with all that I'll be saying... I might be, who knows. But I want to put on the record that offending people or gaining publicity is not my intention in doing this, and that my only intention is to... speak truthfully about everything, as I should 'ave done many years ago."
"Do you think that after watching this film, people's opinions on you might change?" Michael asks, to which Paul smiles nervously.
"Oh, I think it's almost inevitable. I mean, they're bound to, and I hope they do, because I'm publicly revealing a part of myself that's never been seen by most people before, and I think that it's a rather beautiful thing." He rests his chin on his fist as he continues with a laugh, "And you know, it won't really matter what they all think after this, because this documentary isn't set to release until after I'm already dead!"
The two laugh for several moments, and then Michael says, "Well, it's not as if a tough Scouser like yourself ever truly cared much about how you were perceived by others, right?"
Paul cocks his head to the side, his eyes widening slightly. "Oh, gee, I wish that were the case. If I'm being truly honest, I was never as tough as I let on: um, none of us were, really. Especially John, y'know, he always had this big front." Paul smiles, making a grand gesture with his hands. "So for us it was that we'd behave a certain way while the cameras were goin', then, all the other times, we could just be us." Paul pauses again, then saying, "That's part of the reason that I haven't talked abou' this subject matter, until now: because of the front we had. But I feel as though I owe it to, well, to everyone involved, I suppose."
"I'm gathering that this subject matter, then, is relatively heavy, or quite personal stuff?"

Paul nods, "Yeah, I'd say that. It might be a bit complicated at times, but I'll try to be as concise as possible, without leaving any great details out."
"Of course. And, during the intro, when asked, you mentioned one person in particular that you wish to speak about." Michael commented, and Paul smiles softly. "Is there any reason in particular that you wish to dedicate this documentary to John Lennon?""Yes, my... my dear friend." Paul says slowly, with reminisce. "Yes, well, I'd like to, ehm, clear the air abou' all that's happened between us. There's quite a bit, and... I feel I owe it to 'im." His smile has faded completely, now, and is replaced with an expression of regret. "He was the one thing... the one person, the one relationship that I have never been completely honest about."
"So, would you conclude that this documentary could be seen as a tribute to the relationship of Lennon-McCartney?"
Paul bites back a smile and says, "I suppose it could be taken that way, yes. It must be, I suppose, when I've spent all these years debating whether I should share all this or not. And now I finally feel as though I can freely speak about everything, regardless of Yoko, or the others, or whoever else is listening. You get to my age, and it's like, who the hell cares, man?"
Michael laughs. "Of course. And do you think that John would be pleased with this documentary, had he been here to watch it?"

"Oh, I know he would." Says Paul, proudly, with confidence. "I know he would, because I speak with him all the time. He comes to me in my dreams, he does. Sometimes I'll even be wide awake, and I'll see him," He snaps his fingers briskly, "Right in front of me, or I'll feel him touching me, and it all... it all feels very real to me."

Paul stops speaking and looks down at his lap. He sniffs once, and looks up at Michael, who says, "Now, Paul, where would you like to begin?"

Paul straightens up, his face brightening ever so slightly as he says, "I'd like to begin in the spring of 1957."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Paul McCartney had first noticed John Lennon long before July 6th, 1957 at the garden fete.Paul was thirteen during the end of his ninth year and wasn't particularly popular. He'd been popular early on in secondary school and had been known as the boy who could draw portraits of naked women on folded-up paper scraps. This, however, led to suspension, humiliation, and isolation from the "popular" cliques.He felt insecure, sometimes, about his slight build and shorter stature, as well as the way that he could never seem to fit in with his schoolmates. Eventually, he didn't mind all this as much. He'd made a great friend, George Harrison, a boy in the year below him, and could talk with him about things that his other peers would probably find uninteresting.Most of all, he and George shared a love of music, and often spent their time together discussing it while the others would whisper about them and their strange obsession with that sort of thing."I'll tell you what, Hazza," Said Paul one morning as he boarded the bus on the way to school. He slid into the seat beside George, who watched him intently, clinging to his every word. "I think one day we'll make it big. An' I don't mean like any ol' stars, I mean like the biggest stars from 'ollywood and all tha'."George barred his fang-like teeth in a hopeful grin. "You think so, Paulie?""I know so," Paul corrected him, setting his schoolbag down on the seat and glancing up the aisle. He saw the older kids sitting up there, some with real leather jackets, others with slicked hair, some with girls' arms wrapped around their necks. Among their number was a boy Paul had seen at the fish n' chips or on his paper route occasionally: he was tall, with sandy hair and sideburns, sporting that Teddy-Boy look that Paul admired so greatly."Hazza," Paul nudged George lightly, nodding up at the boy at the front of the bus as he furrowed his brows. "Who's that one?""Who?" George followed Paul's gaze, "Oh, 'ow should I know?" he said lightly, shrugging. "I don't care abou' the popular culture, much.""Bloody righteous, you are." said Paul, slumping down against the sticky, leather seat, looking away from the boy at the front or the bus. "You'd swerve me in a second if 'em popular kids would 'ave you."George smiled at him, saying simply, "No, I wouldn't. Honest to god, Paul, I don' really give a shit abou' what they do or anythin' like tha'. I'd ratha' be a nobody and play music with you than be all plazzy like they is."Paul smiled at George. He liked having George as his friend: truth be told, it was quite the confidence booster, as George was indeed a year younger and practically worshipped the ground that Paul walked on. It was exactly what Paul needed after his sudden fall-out with the rest of the student body."Comin' hitchhikin' wi' me later, 'en?" Paul asked George suddenly, "Dad said we're not doin' anythin' tonight, so we migh' as well go off an' find some more chords, right?""Seems sound to me," George agreed, smiling. "An' by nex' month, we'll be off o' school. Isn't tha' wonderful?"Paul smiled, too, nodding in agreement with his best friend. "Indeed, it is, George. Indeed it is."___________________________________________Summer break came upon Quarry Bank soon after, and all of the children flooded out of the schools and into the streets like mobs. Paul and George continued to hitchhike, searching for new chords to play on their old, busted guitars. One night in the early summer, Paul brought his friend Ivan Vaughan to meet George at the nearby fish n' chips place. It was a beautiful, perfect night in June: the sun was setting, the air was hot and damp, and there were cars and children up and down each street, probably headed for the beach.Paul and Ivan Vaughn were born on the exact same day, however, Ivan often found himself hanging about with the older students for one reason or another. Besides George, Paul counted Ivan as his only other true friend."'ow come I never see you hangin' around wi' Paul's class?" George asked Ivan as he sipped loudly on his Coca-Cola. "Y'always seem to be sittin' off with the older ones,"Ivan shrugged, smoothing down his immaculately gelled brown hair as he replied, "Jus' happened to find myself with 'em, you know. They've also got this band, a few of 'em: a shotty little skiffle group called the Quarrymen. It's a great deal of fun to listen in, now and again."Paul turned to look at Ivan, his round hazel eyes going even wider with interest. "Christ, Ivy, why haven' you mentioned that to me before?"Ivan looked down, tapping his knees embarassedly. "Well... they're not that good yet. It's still a work in progress, I s'pose." He cleared his throat, saying, "They play at little clubs and such on the weekends, but they don' want publicity from the rest of our school. Said they'd be too embarrassed if the word ever got out.""Who all's in this band?" George asked, his mouth stuffed half-full of vinegar-soaked chips, but Ivan managed to understand his barely-comprehendable mumbling."It's mainly Lennon, Shotton, and Griffiths doin' everythin', but there's a few others, too." Ivan replied, "You might've seen Lennon and Shotton on the bus, I think they ride the same one as you lot." he shrugged. "I doubt you've spoken to em', though. They usually aren't particular to us youngins'.""Oh," George says, setting down his Coke bottle. "Is Lennon the one with the sideburns, nice clobber, an' all that shit?"Ivan smiled. "Tha's him. Real scally, he is, but he's one of my best mates aside o' Paul. 'im and Shottie get into loads of shite with the teachers, tha's for sure." He glanced over at Paul, who'd been quite quiet. "I can ge' you an invite, if you want: they're performin' a' the garden fete in Ju-ly. I'll introduce you to my mates, and there'll be plenty o' drinks and girls, too." He glanced at George, then said rather apologetically, "Not sure if they'll wan' a youngin' like you up so close to the stage wi' us. Sorry, lad."George's face fell slightly, and Paul added, "Very sorry, Georgie. I'll be sure to put in a nice word for ya'." Paul felt quite badly for not being able to include George in this, but he was rather excited to have a night for just him and Ivan and these cool, older kids. It felt as though things may be finally looking up for him, and that this was his golden opportunity.___________________________________________July sixth came about fast: a whirlwind of a summer had already gone by. The blazing sun beat down on the scorched earth, burning the bare feet of the young ones running through the grass and into the black paved roads. It was the day of the garden fete at St. Peter's church in Woolton, and Paul McCartney, now fifteen, had never been so excited for anything in his life.The beautiful Redstone church was covered in vibrant flower bushes, vendor tents, and mingling teenagers parading around in their flouncy summer attire. Paul arrived with Ivan, eager to meet new people, yet slightly too timid to do so on his own. He'd taken his careful time getting ready, selecting a nice white shirt and khaki shorts in case he saw any pretty girls. He'd even gelled his hair back, doing his best to imitate an Elvis-style pompadour, and succeeding heavily.Ivan led Paul around the church to the open field and the makeshift stage set for the scrappy little band. There were already a number of people crowded around, and Paul, having assumed that this was the Quarrymen's first public gig, was impressed by this. People of all ages were standing on their tip-toes to get a glimpse of this new, local phenomenon, who'd apparently already taken the stage."C'mon," Paul huffed, scrunching his brows together and grabbing Ivan's arm. "I can't see for shit back 'ere, let's get closer to the stage."The two weaved through the crowd, and eventually, made it to an opening where they could stand with a clear view of the stage, about ten feet away from the edge of the boards. Paul's gaze travelled from one member of the band to another, admiring each one of them in turn. When his eyes finally found the leader of the group, his heart stopped for a moment.He gazed at him for a while. Sure enough, it was the boy he'd been admiring for some time now, on the bus and in the street, or wherever else he could possibly catch a glimpse of him. Paul remembered, absently, that the boy's name was John Lennon.He had dirty blond hair that curled slightly into his dark eyes. Paul couldn't tell what color they were, exactly, but he became determined to find out. He also had quite a distinctive nose, Paul noticed, and his lips would curl upward whenever he grinned, displaying pearly-white teeth. And, of course, he had that fabulous, tough Teddy-Boy look to him, and Paul could barely even think straight. He was already so fond of this guitar player, and he hadn't even begun to play yet."Yeah, that one's John.""What?" Paul whipped his head around to look at Ivan, who'd interrupted his train of thought."The one that's lookin' at you," Ivan told him, as though he were stating the obvious. Paul's eyes widened as he glanced back up at John, who was, to his surprise, looking at him, too.John looked at Paul with an intensity in his eyes that Paul couldn't quite get a read on. Maybe John had a feeling, somehow, that this was the meeting that could change history forever. Maybe he knew that it was fate, drawing them together, for that very reason. But after a moment, they simply nodded to each other simultaneously, and John gave Ivan a quick smile before turning to speak with his bandmates. Paul smiled to himself, too, feeling triumphant in that the cooler, older boy had paid him enough mind to offer a curt nod.Mere moments later, John came up to the shoddy mic stand and adjusted it to his height. "Hello-" his voice cracked through the loudspeakers, and he and the rest of the band began laughing about it. Paul watched him, still, propping his fist beneath his chin as he smiled up at him adoringly, laughing lightly into his hand."Sorry 'bou' tha'," John smiled around at the people, squinting slightly, in the wake of the blistering afternoon sun. "But again, hello to you all. On behalf of us, the Quarrymen, we'd like to thank you all for comin' out an' seein' us." He glanced back at his bandmates, nodding discreetly. "I'd like to begin wi' a little doo-wop called Come Go With Me by the Del-Vinkin's."Paul glanced over at Ivan, excitedly. Paul knew this song well and was excited to hear the Quarrymen's take on it. John began playing his guitar, which Paul immediately recognized was out of tune. Paul didn't mind that much, though, and forgot all about the badly-tuned guitar when John started singing."Well, I love you darlin'," John sang, his voice gritty and raspy as anything. Paul enjoyed the sound, though, and listened with piqued interest as John continued, "Come go with me... to the penitentiary.""Come go with me to the penitentiary."It's not in the lyrics.Paul glanced over at Ivan, who looked thoroughly embarrassed. John had gotten the words completely wrong, and continued to sing lyrics that he seemed to be making up on the spot: "Way below your knee, I need you, baby, yeah, come go with me. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, come go with me, you're in my heart, I need you, baby, at that damn penitentiary!"Paul had never smiled so hard in his life. John was improvising these lyrics with such wit and confidence that Paul began to like him even more. He smiled when he sang, too: and worked the crowd like a good-and-true rockstar."You like 'im?" Ivan asked nervously over the noise of the cheering crowd, to which Paul replied without ever even taking his eyes off of John."He's fuckin' brilliant, Ivy," said Paul with his mouth agape.Ivan seemed to be less tense, now, and relaxed as the band continued to play little skiffles and doo-wops, albeit with several strings of original, nonsensical lyrics peppered in. Paul enjoyed himself, too, but was unsatisfied with the length of the band's fleeting performance. "They're playin' again later in the evenin'," Ivan told Paul, who immediately lit up. "Wanna hang around an' see their second show?"Paul could barely agree faster. "Yes," he said as Ivan, seeming pleased with himself, led Paul back to the church that the band had just retreated to. "Wait, where're we goin'?"Ivan shot him a little smile. "I can introduce ya to the band, if ya wan'." He waited for Paul to catch up to him as the two continued walking back to St. Peter's. "They aren' bloody celebrities, remember, they're jus' me mates."Paul shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. Of course, they weren't celebrities: he knew as much. But they were far more experienced than Paul was, and they were two years ahead of him. He couldn't help but feel slightly nervous as Ivan pushed through the great swinging doors to the anteroom, with the great chestnut-wood stage where the band was kicking their feet until their next performance. He took a deep breath and put on a surprisingly good, confident front."Oi! You boys killed it!" Ivan called to the band, who had been huddling in a little group beside the stage. They all turned to look at Ivan and instantly broke into smiles, thanking him, shaking his hand, and patting him on the back by way of greeting. Paul lingered back a bit, as he didn't want to completely intrude on Ivan with his other friends.He did so until Ivan took his arm, dragged him forward, and introduced him, "Boys, this is Paul McCartney, a great friend of mine. He's big on the music scene, too." He began pointing out each of the band members, each of them smiling at Paul in turn. "That's Eric, Rod, Len, Colin, Pete, and Johnnie, there."Paul looked around at them, smiling, "Hello." John watched Paul as he went from one boy to the next, greeting them, and was the last one in the group to offer Paul his hand to shake. Paul took his hand, his breath hitching slightly."Paul McCartney," John repeated as he shook his hand. Paul nodded, nervously returning John's smile. "I saw you from the stage, Paul- when you were standin' next to Ivy. I though' you were Elvis, for a secon'." Everyone laughed for a moment, and Paul seemed to not realize that John meant it as a genuine compliment until John added, "I mean, you look good."Brown.John's eyes were dark brown.And John's hand was surprisingly soft, save for the callouses on his fingertips from playing the guitar. They weren't perfectly smooth, but felt almost leathery: Paul realized that this was an odd thing to be thinking about and dropped John's hand as he replied, "You, as well." he glanced over John's shoulder and saw his dark, acoustic guitar on the stand and nodded to it, feeling boldened. "Can I have a go?"John glanced back at his guitar, then back at Paul. "Ehm, alri'," he said, sounding quite surprised as he took the guitar down and handed it gingerly to Paul, "You play?"Paul nodded, taking it into his hands and beholding its glory. "A bit," He mumbled, flipping it around so it was playable with his left hand. Then, he began tuning it, as he'd taught himself to do with his and George's guitars. He strummed a few chords as a warm-up, then looked up at the others. "Twenty Flight Rock," he said quietly as he began to strum and sing.As he finished "Get to the top, I'm too tired to rock," after a few minutes of performing mindlessly, he glanced up at the boys, waiting for a reaction. They all simply stared at him for what felt like an eternity, then broke out into loud cheering. Ivan looked particularly proud of Paul and clapped him on the back."That was brilliant, mate!" said Pete, and the other boy, Colin, said, "We'll need you in the band, son."John stood there, biting back a smile. "You're not bad, Paul." he said, as the others swarmed him, saying, "You're just jealous because Paul actually knows the lyrics to the songs he sings." To which John conceded, "Yeah, yeah. You're... you're quite good."Paul could tell that John was trying to play it cool, so he felt rather pleased with himself and his performance. The rest of the night, he hung out with Ivan and the others, swapping stories about being musicians and about life. For the first time, he felt included in a group of people with whom he truly connected. Little did he know, this was only the beginning.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"Later tha' month, I was asked to join the band." Paul remembers with a smile. "It was actually Ivy who asked me to join, oddly, but he did so because John told 'im, 'Ivan, ask Paul to join! I can't ask 'im, so you have to ask 'im! Did you ask 'im yet?' You know, John was really impatient about it." Both Paul and Michael laugh. "Eventually, Pete Shotton even sought me out: the washboard of the Quarrymen, and John's best friend at the time. He approached me while I was cyclin' through Woolton, and he, like Ivy, tol' me that John was adamant that I joined them."
"Did John ever tell you why he couldn't ask you that himself?"
Paul grins, propping his chin beneath his fist. "I mean, I'm sure there were a few reasons. I'd like to think tha' he was nervous or even intimidated by me, maybe, but I can't say for sure." He shrugs, "That was all for naught, though, as soon after I joined, John and I became absolutely inseparable. There were no preconceived nerves or anythin' between us, either: we just became... a unit, I dunno."
Michael nods to Paul, saying, "What d'you think it was about John that allowed for the two of you to bond so seamlessly?"
"Well, after I joined the band, it became even more apparent to me tha' John was the leader of this group, of the Quarrymen." Paul replies, "The others didn't take it as seriously, right. But I wanted to take it seriously, so John and I spent much more time together, while the others would be at parties an' runnin' round, we'd be practicin' at my house, or at Mimi's. We were both dreamers, John and I: we 'ad great ambitions and less-than-desirable pasts that we wished to overcome."
"Would you say that the other members of the band noticed how you two would isolate yourselves from them?"

"Yes, I'd say that the rift between us and the rest of the band played quite an important role in all this and definitely didn't go unnoticed."

Michael nods again, saying, "Thank you, Paul. Now, please, go on."

Paul nods faintly, "Now, where did I leave off..."
___________________________________________The summer of '57 was unlike any other that Paul had experienced before.He spent every waking moment he could with his new best friend, John Lennon, writing songs with him and teaching him how to properly play the guitar. They became inseparable, immediately, and went almost nowhere without the other. When they weren't sitting off at each other's houses, they'd be taking strolls together past Strawberry Fields, the Salvation Army near John's home, or hanging about at their original meeting place, St. Peter's. When they'd ensured that no one else was around, the two would pick the cemetery lock and sneak in to lay out on the gravestones and tan. As odd a pastime as it was, they enjoyed it, if not for laying shirtless on the gravestones, for at least the fact that they were together.One evening in late July, Paul invited John over for dinner with his father, initiating the first meeting between his family and John. Paul was nervous, to say the least: he knew that John wasn't the most well-behaved but hoped that he'd put on a good face in front of his father and younger brother, Mike.Paul helped his father prepare a nice dinner of pasta with meat sauce and vegetable salad, and when John arrived looking dapper as anything, Paul breathed a sigh of relief. Throughout dinner, John remained well-mannered and polite. Several times, he would slip in a casually witty joke (almost out of habit, it seemed to be an automatic mannerism of John's), and Paul, feeling proud, would watch his father's face melt into a grin each time.The two boys ate rather quickly, and Paul asked for the two of them to be excused. Jim McCartney obliged as it was time for him to take Mike to his rugby match. Paul and John bid Jim and Mike farewell, glad to finally have the house to themselves.Paul glanced over at John with a lopsided grin and said, "Shall we have a smoke, then?" opening a small drawer by the table and revealing his father's polished, gleaming wooden pipe. "I've got enough Typhoo tea for us both, tonight."John grinned back at him, "I brough' an entire pack o' bifters, but I'd never pass an opportunity to smoke a pipe."The boys were all smiles and giggles as they prepared their tea leaves, set them in the bowl of the pipe, and lit it with the candle from the center of the dining table. They went out to the back porch to sit together and enjoy their smoke when suddenly Paul raced upstairs, saying, "I've forgotten something! Wait right here for me."John shook his head at Paul, settling himself on the back porch of the McCartney residence with Jim's pipe between his teeth. John was sitting on the porch swing, having at last summoned the courage to wear his glasses in front of Paul, decided that while Paul was upstairs, he'd take them out of his front pocket and put them to use.Paul came downstairs in a hurry, but stopped short in the doorway, holding something rather small behind his back, out of John's view. He grinned cheekily at John, almost giggling as he mused, "I didn' know you wore glasses."John took them off that instant. "Sorry. I can keep 'em off, if you like."Paul began laughing lightly, sitting down beside John on the porch swing. "Why would ye need to apologize?" Paul snatched the glasses out of John's hands, studying them thoughtfully. "How bad's your eyesight?""It's bloody awful," John muttered, ashamed of himself and his pathetic vision. "I'm blind as a fuckin' bat, Macca."Paul grinned again, flipping the glasses around and placing them gently onto John's face. "Hold still, now," Paul mumbled when John tried to move his head away. John held still, reluctantly, allowing Paul to adjust his glasses. "I think they look rather nice," Paul added, softly, as he pushed the glasses up the bridge of John's nose, tilting his head with a smile. "Yes. Yes, they do look rather nice."John looked completely stunned, but what Paul had said was nothing short of the truth: John looked very nice in his horn-rimmed glasses, almost like Buddy Holly.Realizing that John seemed a bit awkward, now, Paul mumbled a quick "um," and reached behind himself, "Anyroad, this is what I meant to show you." In his hands was a little, leather-bound book. "I bought this three days ago, just for us." He scooted closer to John on the porch swing, opening the book and showing him the headings he'd already written across the top of the pages. Another Lennon-McCartney Original, he'd written, on each and every page of the notebook.John's eyes widened, clearly unused to this kind of spontaneous thoughtfulness. The feelings of embarrassment seemed to have melted away and been replaced with complete surprise. "Macca, Christ, you didn' 'ave to spend all your own cash on this-""I know," Paul interrupted him, pulling out a pencil and tucking it behind his ear. "But we need this, John, if we're ever gonna make it big. We can start writin' our song ideas, and credit 'em to the both of us." He pointed with the tip of the pencil to the heading on the first page. "I wrote your name first because you're the older one."John looked down at the page, slowly beginning to smile as he handed Paul the pipe. "Lennon-McCartney, huh? I don' mind that." He stretched out a bit, pondering, "It's got a sort o' ring to it, I suppose."Paul smirked, resting his head against John's shoulder briefly and raising the pipe to his lips. "I can always change it to McCartney-Lennon, you know.""Oh, piss off," John grinned, shoving Paul off him lightly. "That's not that bad, either, though," John conceded after a moment, watching Paul exhale the pipe smoke. "Any which way, it doesn't sound too bad.""Too bad," Paul repeated, shoving the pipe at John and beginning to scribble onto the first page of the notebook, "Too bad about what?"John began laughing, tipping his head back in thought. "Too bad about all the sorrows we've endured, dear Paul." He said rather aristocratically, improvising his passionate, unmeaning monologue as he'd done so many times before. "And of course, about love, too. Because there'll be no tomorrow for us to love.""Of course, of course. You're very right, John." Paul smiled, scribbling down a few final words, then reading: "Too bad about sorrows, too bad about love, there'll be no tomorrow for all of your love." He looked up at John expectantly. "How is that?"John stared down at the page and then back up at Paul, "You're fuckin' brilliant, I think." he tilted his head as he examined the page, "Will this be our first Lennon-McCartney Original, then?"

Paul waited for John to look back up at him, then nodded. "That, it will. And it'll be our first of many." He smiled, falling back onto the swing and letting his head drop against John's shoulder. "We're going to be famous one day, John Lennon. I've got a feelin'."___________________________________________The two began writing in that little notebook every night.Except, of course, for those nights that Paul had set aside to hang out with George. George was still his best friend, no doubt, but now he considered John as his best friend, too. But Paul felt that the two were completely different, and therefore, could not overlap.George was still young, very juvenile: much too flighty and daft for Paul's liking nowadays. Whereas John was older, more thoughtful, and though he was often daft and silly, too, he was also practical and adultlike when he needed to be. There was also this something about John that connected him and Paul like an invisible string. How they completed each other's sentences and seemed to communicate with only their eyes made especially the others in the Quarrymen convinced that the two had telepathic abilities. Eventually, even Paul and John became convinced of this. One particular meeting on a Friday in August, they met at St. Peters, as the deacons had given the band special permission to use the small anteroom and stage for their rehearsals on week nights. It was the first meeting in over a month for which whole band was present, and John was planning to make known his dissatisfaction of the band's overall ambition.But Paul and John's partiality to each other was becoming blatantly obvious and near impossible for the others to ignore."I would like to know," said John, sitting on the edge of the stage, lecturing the band who sat in the pews on the floor, "Why you all suddenly decided to start flakin' out on practices and not sayin' anythin'."Paul, who was the only one sitting by John's side on the edge of the stage, added, "And it's alri' to take a day or so for yourself, now and again, but this is a tough industry, and we need all the practice we can get."Eric, Rod, Len, and Colin all looked at each other with sour expressions. Pete just stared at John, having gone completely silent.Pete Shotton had been John's best friend all throughout secondary school. Together, the two had gained quite the reputation as troublemakers- even the teachers would refer to them as "Shennon" or "Lotton" from time to time. But ever since Paul came onto the scene, Pete realized that John no longer cared for him as he used to, and that John's favorite was now, undeniably, Paul. "If you're only here to lecture us, I'm leavin'," said Rod, "Unless we'll actually be practicin' today, which I doubt.""We'll be practicin'," said John coldly, "If you'll be quiet for once an' listen to me.""To hell with it, John." Rod said, standing, "We haven't even done proper skiffle in ages. It's all rock and roll now, and there's not much place for a banjo, is there?""You're welcome to leave, Rod, but don't expect to come back." John said, his voice steely with apathy. Paul glanced over at John, knowing that these were empty words, and that Rod was a vital member of the group. But John said not a word as Rod took up his banjo case and pushed through the church doors. He was out.Paul felt the stage creak: John exhaled deeply, then leaned against Paul's shoulder to mumble, "D'ye bring the notebook, Paul?"Paul nodded, his face heating up when he noticed everyone's eyes were now on him as he pulled the little notebook out of his shoulder bag. He handed it to John, who announced, "Paul and I decided that we'd like to become famous." he said assertively, brandishing the notebook for all to see. "We've started writing our ideas down here, because sooner or later, we'd like to begin singing our own material.""Tha' sounds great in theory," said Colin, twirling his drumsticks around on his fingers boredly, "But are you sure that it's possible?""'Course it is!" Paul assured him, "All the stars do their own songs, who's to say we can't, too? We'll just need to work at it, and be diligent about practicin' more often."The others merely stared at him until Pete retorted, "Who th'ell put you in charge, McCartney?"Paul stared at him. He'd never been challenged like this, before, and found confrontation to be among the worst things in the world. He felt John's hand on his back, so he looked over and found John's dark eyes speaking to him. They looked at each other for several moments, and then John nodded and said, "Pete, I want you out."Pete stood suddenly. "What?"
"You heard what I said. I want you out."Pete stepped closer to John, saying, "You don't mean that, John, I know you don't.""I do." John replied cleanly. "I do mean it, Pete. Your ambitions don't align with ours, and what's more, I won't 'ave you speaking to Paul like tha'."Pete stared at him, completely taken aback. He then turned to the rest of the boys, saying, "Is no one else going to say anythin'?"Len raised his hand, declaring, "I don' see why you're makin' all the executive decisions, Lennon. It doesn't seem fair for the rest of us.""I started the band," John replied, "And I intend to lead it as I see fit. And my intention in all this is to become wildly successful, and to maybe even have our name in lights.""And if all tha' doesn't interest the rest o' you," Paul continued, rather boldly, "Well, then I suggest you leave now." He gave Pete a pointed look while feeling John's sideways, approving gaze.Pete glanced around at the others, looking completely shocked. His eyes found John's again, and he said, "Rod was right. It's not skiffle anymore; you've gone completely off your rocker, now." He took up his washboard and shook John's hand briefly, "No hard feelings and all tha'. But I'm out, too, Lennon."Then, in the same fashion as Rod, he strode out, the door slammed behind him, and the anteroom fell silent again. In the pews, only Eric, Len and Colin remained, staring at John and Paul who remained seated on the edge of the stage."What d'we do?" Paul whispered, glancing over at John. The band had practically collapsed in a matter of minutes, and all hope seemed lost.John looked down at the floor. A sheen of sweat, or maybe it was tears, had gathered just beneath his eyes. He wiped his face with the front of his shirt and stood, addressing Eric, Colin, and Len. "You three... you three are stayin'?The boys glanced at each other, and then Len replied, "I s'pose I'll stick around."Eric and Colin nodded in agreement, with the same lack of enthusiasm as Len. "I'll be doin' the same." Eric mumbled.John looked over at Paul, looking utterly hopeless. "You're not givin' up on me too, are ye, Macca?"Paul chuckled lightly, saying, "Never, John. And you?"John exhaled with relief, seeming slightly more optimistic now, and replying: "I'll be with ye forever, Macca."___________________________________________The next few practices were quite tense. It became increasingly obvious to both Paul and John just how little Eric, Colin, and Len cared about the band. They'd leave practices the instant the clock struck nine and refused to do any work on weekends. They'd leave Paul and John to clean and lock up the church themselves almost every night.On one night like this, Paul watched the door swing shut and noticed that Colin had left his entire drum kit on the stage. "'e left his drum kit, John. We asked 'im to practice for the Monday gig over the weekend."John, looking rather warm in his white T-shirt and shorts, shrugged carelessly. "He'll be the one lookin' bad on Monday, not us." He glanced around at the floor, looking disheartened. "I dunno if we should be looking for replacements for 'em or simply expanding the band, but I don' think that any of 'em are doin' much for us, anyroad.""Yeah, I've figured tha'." Paul sighed, leaning against the side of the stage and saying, "Me dad's not gonna be home tonight, d'ye wanna come back to mine?"John glanced up at him, ruffling up his hair in the reflection of a window. "I would, Paul, but I've got a bit of a date."Paul stared at him for a moment. "A date?""Not so much as a 'date', I s'pose," John said, turning back to him and snatching his jacket up from where it lay on the amp. "It's just my house. 'Cause Mimi's out tonight too, so I can 'ave my girl over to spend the night.""Your girl?" Paul asked, realizing just how over-interested he seemed about John's love life. They'd barely mentioned anything about girls before, so Paul never really had to think about what John might be doing in his spare time. But John was fairly attractive, Paul supposed, so it wasn't as if there were no girls interested in him. It was only that John had never mentioned it to Paul before, and to hear him do so took him slightly aback.John shrugged again, smiling sheepishly, "Why? D'ye not like tha'?"Paul shook his head quickly. "Oh, no. I don't care, really, I was jus' surprised to hear tha' you 'ave a girlfriend tha' you causally failed to mention to me.""She's not a girlfriend," John argued, taking the broom from Paul who'd been standing there, quite unhelpful since John had told him about his "date." He leapt onto the stage and began to sweep as he continued, "She's jus' casual, I dunno."Paul couldn't really validate this, as he'd had not much experience in that area. He'd had two girlfriends in his life, both lasting less than three months, and neither of which he'd slept with. Compared to John, he seemed quite behind with these types of things.John leaned against the broom, smiling down at Paul. "'ave you ever 'ad a girlfriend?"Paul nodded solemnly, not wanting to appear uncultured to John. "Yeah, two. Didn't last long, but it was alri',"John nodded approvingly, probably having assumed that Paul had never even seen a woman before. "Not recently, though?"Paul shook his head, having assumed that because he was now so involved in the band, he had no time for girls. But realizing now that John managed both leading the band and seeing girls, it felt like an invalid excuse. "I will, once school starts back up."John nodded again as he finished sweeping and set the broom up against the stage wall. He ran his hands through his hair again, and Paul realized that John was still sweating. "It's hot, Macca. We've got no air conditionin', fans, nothin'. We've gotta find a new buildin' or somethin', I don't know. Rehearsin' here is shit.""I know," Paul placed his hand on his hip and bit his lip. He glanced around at the old, beaten-down church, recognizing just how badly they needed to change their rehearsal location. "We'll figure it out soon, John. Don' worry about it.""If I'm bein' honest, Paul, me head's been chocka since half the band walked out." John hopped off the stage, and up-close, you could see clearly that John had incredible dark circles and looked as though he hadn't slept in days. "I'm gonna head out, now, if it's alri'.""Yeah. Go home, John," said Paul understandingly, rubbing his eyes as he, too, was getting tired. "Talk to you later, 'en?"John smiled slightly, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. If you need me, you know where I'll be," he patted the side of Paul's head rather affectionately and strode past him to the door. "At home, shaggin'."Paul smiled at him until he had disappeared completely behind the church door.___________________________________________
"...it was around that time tha' John and I became even more intimate." Paul reminisces with a smile. "
Around that time, 
we had our first talk 
abou' our mothers, and the fact that neither of us really had one. Mine had died when I was young, and John's wasn't involved with his life since her sister Mimi had gotten custody of 'im. Julia was completely unfit to raise 'im, so... she didn't."

Michael nods to Paul, urging him to continue.
"It was also the time during which I realized that I could have my independence while still being with the band, like John did. I did everything back then because of John, and if John didn't do it, I wouldn't, either." he continues, "When he spoke abou' goin' home to his girl, it made me want to do tha' too. So I then decided to put myself out there a bit more, like John, and ended up having more girlfriends and losing my virginity and all tha'."
"Did yours or John's girlfriends ever cause conflict within the band?"
"Not during the early days, never." says Paul, shifting in his seat. "During those days, none of us really cared about each other's love lives because they were all really casual. No one had a relationship at that time that interfered with the band or their commitment to the band, so it was never an issue. It was all, y'know, minglin' and sleeping around in those days; we just did what felt good."
"And only a few months later, George joined the band, correct?"
"That's right. I remember playing at the Clubmoor Hall in October during my first year, playin' Guitar Boogie. I played as our stand-in lead guitarist, and I was completely shit." Paul laughs, pushing his hair out of his eyes, "I was so terrible that John told me during that performance that we needed a new guitarist. Of course, I suggested my friend George, and I finally had my way in February of the following year, and George joined us."
"Of course. And what after February?"

Paul's smile fades. "Well, in the summer of 1958, 
John's life changed forever.
"

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Joining the Quarrymen was the pinnacle turning point of Paul McCartney's life. After that moment, everything seemed to change: and Paul was growing up.That year, in 1957, he'd become more extroverted and comfortable in his own skin. He now considered himself one with the "in crowd" and never found himself short of having any friends. People liked him, girls liked him, and he was happier than he'd ever been before.While all this could partly be due to the fact that he'd grown five inches that year, or that he'd become even more handsome than before, above all else, John was the one behind it all. He helped Paul escape from his shell and see his own worth for the first time. He began talking to Paul during school, introducing him to his own friends, helping him to expand his circle.John was so completely perfect to Paul, and Paul didn't quite know what he did to deserve such a person as him.The feeling was mutual, though: the infatuation that the two boys had for one another was so completely reciprocated. They couldn't go a single day without seeing one another, without writing together, without laughing together. Somehow, they never became bored with each other or wished to have any other company. They were perfectly content with themselves: as Lennon-McCartney.Soon enough, Paul became guilty for not seeing George as often any more. So he pointedly mentioned George to John, often, pestering him to allow George to join the band. They needed a lead guitarist, anyway, so by February, Paul finally had his way with John and George was recruited.Initially, the relationship within the band was strained: George, the naive fourteen-year-old, John, the cynical leader who was now seventeen, and Paul, the middleman between the two. George was rather frightened of John in the beginning, but John, only partial to George because he was a friend of Paul's, did his best to make sure that George felt welcome in the band. Soon, the three of them became inseparable.Eric, Len, and Colin were still in the band, too: but of course were not nearly as involved and persistent as the other three. Paul invited his other schoolmate, John Lowe, to play piano for the group, as he played many a time in school and was phenomenally talented.When George and John Lowe joined the group, there was obviously a need for more frequent practicing. So the group began meeting in Paul's bedroom, due that his father was often out running errands with Mike and that no one in Paul's neighborhood seemed to mind all the noise."I want lower harmony on guitar," said Paul, pointing to George, who glanced up at him through a curtain of dark bangs."I thought you said you wanted me as lead guitar on this one, without Eric," George said plainly."Eric can't do lower harmony like you can," Paul mumbled, low enough that Eric wouldn't hear him. "He can only do melodies. I'll be playin' rhythm on this one, and you know John, he's strictly rhythm.""Yeah, 'cause that's all you taught him how to do." George smirked at Paul.Paul had taken it upon himself during his early days with the Quarrymen to teach John how to play guitar. John, of course, had been asking Paul for lessons and despite knowing how awful he was at teaching, Paul finally obliged.John, who'd been standing directly over Paul's shoulder, said, "Because Paul's a shite teacher, that's why,"Paul swatted at him. "Quit medlin', John. An' anyway, you've got rhythm to be workin' on." An idea suddenly popped into Paul's head, and he leaned backward into John and muttered, "D'ye think we could convince Eric to start playin' bass instead? I've added all these guitar harmonies, 'cause there are too many guitars and I've got no idea what to do with him, but he can't play for shit."George glanced between Paul and John, quite apologetic for complicating their situation. John considered this for a moment, then nodded, "Fuck it, no harm in askin'."Paul smiled, striding towards his bed where Eric and Len were lighting cigarettes. Paul crinkled his nose. "Don't be gettin' burn holes on me mattress, now." he shifted his gaze to Eric, saying, "I 'ad an idea, Eric, regardin' you."Eric's gray-green eyes widened. "Yeah, sure."Paul placed his hand on his hip, trying to formulate the words. "Ehm, John and I 'ad a chat abou' this already," he glanced back at John, who, upon hearing Paul say his name, immediately came to Paul's side, "And we think it'd be nice if you could play bass for us, because we have three other guitar players, now."Eric shifted, not looking too particularly thrilled with this proposition. He took a long drag from his cigarette and said, "I s'pose I could." he glanced between John, Paul, and George, saying, "Why can't any o' you three do it?"Paul glanced between John and George, too, wondering how to best articulate that simply none of them wanted to play the bass in the slightest. Instead, John cut in, "We though' you might be good at it. You're good at finger-picking, yeah?Eric shrugged. "S'pose so." he repeated. "But a good bass guitar isn't cheap, is it? Assumin' tha' I'll be payin' for it, that is."John and Paul glanced at each other. "You've saved some money, haven't you?" Paul asked. "I don' know, I think it'd be worth the price, mate.""It'd be a hell of a success for the band if we finally had a bass." John coaxed.Eric hesitated. "I can't." he refused, with finality. "I'm savin' money, and I can't afford to spend it all on a bass."Paul looked at John again, and the two of them turned away from Eric and the others to speak privately."He bloody can afford a bass," Paul muttered as he shut the bedroom door behind them. "He just bought a new car not ten days ago.""I don' know what else we coulda' expected from 'im." John sighed, leaning against the wall of the hallway. "He's been disagreeable like tha' ever since Pete and Roddy left us.""Well, then," Paul began. He shoved his hands into his pockets, raising his perfectly arched eyebrows, "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"John raised his eyebrows, too, "I think I might be." He tilted his head, giving Paul a lopsided grin. "We convince Mr. Walley to fire Eric?"Paul grinned back at him. Nigel Walley was the Quarrymen's unofficial manager. If Paul and John could convince him to fire Eric, then Eric wouldn't be upset with either of them, but rather with Mr. Walley."Right on, love." Paul said through his grin. The two laughed for a moment before reentering Paul's bedroom, returning to practice as though nothing had happened.___________________________________________Dismissing bandmates was a sort of guilty pleasure for Paul and John: a complete and utter power trip.Later that week, the two successfully convinced Mr. Walley to fire Eric. Eric was caught off-guard by this news and cut ties with the band, having a strong inclination that his refusing to purchase a bass was the reason behind him being fired.Around that time, Len contracted meningitis and spent three months in the hospital, subsequently leaving the band and never to return.The band, a now five-piece, began recording in early July with their new amplifiers and pickups that Paul and George had implemented on their guitars. For the first time, the Quarrymen truly had that electric sound that they'd admired for so, so long.But of course, after their first and only recording session, a row began."We don't need as much percussion on this track," John told Colin, rather sharply. "We've got enough as it is with all these guitars.""Muffle your microphone, Colin." Paul added, agreeing, as usual, with whatever John said. "It's meant to be soft, this song, and we don' need all that extra noise."On the way home from that recording, Colin expressed his annoyance with John and Paul for constantly bossing him around. Of course, neither of the boys appreciated this, and Colin was never invited back after that session.As if all this wasn't enough, John Lowe was leaving the Liverpool Institute and lost contact with the group, too. He hadn't left on bad terms, as the others had, but he certainly wasn't as genial to the band ever again. It was now a three-piece of guitarists: John, Paul, and George. None of them minded this, because they seemed to be on a similar wavelength. At last they felt progress could be made.___________________________________________But mere days later, on July 15 of 1958, Paul received a frantic, hysterical call from John.John's mother, Julia, had just been struck and killed by a speeding car. John was in complete shambles: even over the phone, Paul could practically see the tears streaming down his face. He didn't see John for a week after that: he'd go to John's house every single day and knock with no reply.Eventually, John opened the door for him, but he was in such a terrible state. He was sleep-deprived, malnourished, and smelled strongly of alcohol and cigarettes. Paul blinked in surprise when he saw John."John," Paul breathed, the air having suddenly whooshed right from his lungs. "You... Are you alright?"John stared right back at him through his dark, empty eyes, saying nothing, but embracing Paul so swiftly and tightly that Paul once again felt as though he could barely breathe. Paul felt John heaving great sobs, feeling the wetness of John's tears soak through the shoulder of Paul's shirt. It was awkward, to an extent, to be standing on John's doorstep and holding him like this, in broad daylight, while he cried into Paul's shoulder.Eventually, though, Paul realized that he didn't mind it all that much. He felt closer to John than he ever had before, and it seemed that the two were even more interlinked now, if it were even possible.Paul and George were understanding and knew that John needed space. So that summer, while John took up a job in a restaurant at the Liverpool airport, Paul and George hitchhiked through Wales with a local skiffle group. As a result, the Quarrymen were mostly inactive that summer, and even more so when John started art school in September.John had a bit of a rough patch, admittedly, and was often in a bad mood and too drunk or hungover to properly function. However, with empathy and patience from Paul and George, John slowly but surely began to heal.While at art school, John remained his mostly unserious, comical self while gaining the slightest bit of etiquette and knowledge. Throughout '58 and '59, the Quarrymen were still primarily a three-piece band. A decent drummer would come around now and again, but they never stayed for long. They also hadn't had a bassist since Len Garry was dismissed, until late in 1959 when John started bringing around his friend from art school, Stuart Sutcliffe.___________________________________________Paul was laying on his stomach in bed, flipping through the journal that he kept with John. George was sitting against the pillows beside him, drinking tea and finishing his homework."I've abou' had it with him," Paul said, breaking the silence.George didn't even look at Paul, and continued scribbling madly, clearly bored. "Who, John?""Well, who else?" Paul flipped over onto his back, raising a hand to his forehead dramatically. "He's never here on time. I don' care abou' his bloody art school. He should drop out." He heaved a great sigh. "He's not good at art, anyway." A lie: Paul admired almost everything about John, including his art.George smirked at him from over his homework papers. "I'll tell 'im you said that, I will.""Fuck it, I don' care." Paul said, "'Cause at this rate, he'll never even show up to practice-"Before Paul could finish speaking, he was interrupted by his bedroom door swinging open. John strode in, smiling, being tailed by some boy that Paul had never seen before.The boy was quite short, had defined cheekbones, and dark hair and eyebrows. His eyes, too, were intense, but seemed full of nervousness at the moment.Paul sat up in bed, glancing from a disheveled-looking John to the other boy and back to John again. He nodded to the other boy quickly. "Who's that?"John smirked. "Hello, to you, too," he said, reaching down to squeeze Paul's hand. John raised his eyebrows, "Y'alright?"Paul looked up at John, pulling his hand out of John's with a shrug. He was growing impatient and simply wanted to know who it was that stood in his doorway, completely uninvited."Well," John cleared his throat rather loudly, wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulders. "This here is Stuart Sutcliffe, a good friend of mine from art school. I've been tellin' 'im all abou' the band, and he'd like to join us." John gestured to George, and then to Paul. "That's George Harrison, he's got lead guitar. He's fantastic for 'is age. And tha's Paul McCartney. He's alri', I s'pose."John gave Paul a little smirk, and all Paul could do was shake his head as Stuart interjected, "Oh, is this the one you're always going on abou'?"Paul sat up a little straighter, smiling suddenly, "What's this, then, John? You're always talking about me?"John rolled his eyes as the others, Stuart included, laughed. "He's exaggeratin'. I do no such thing." When the other boys paid no mind to him, John sat down next to Paul on the bed and shoved him lightly, saying with a smile, "Oh, fuck off, will ye? So what if I've mentioned ye before."Paul giggled, nudging John right back. Before he could reply, George interjected, "So, ehm, Stuart... what d'ye play?"Stuart seemed rather awkward, shoving his hands in his pockets and saying meekly, "I play piano and the acoustic, primarily. I've also done the bugle and can sing decently."Paul slipped a quick, nervous glance at George, before asking, "Would you ever consider playing the bass, Stu?""I've got a bass," Stuart replied, and Paul's eyes met John's: that's all he needed to hear. "I don' play it much, but-""Yeah, you're in." Paul cut him off with a smile. Stuart's eyes widened, and he seemed rather shocked."You're not joking?" Stuart asked, and for the first time since entering the room, he smiled."No, no I'm not," Paul replied, glancing around at the others, still smiling radiantly. He looked at John again, and John looked happier than Paul had seen him in a long while. It seemed as though everything was well.___________________________________________
"I think even at that point, John was grieving the loss of his mother." says Paul, "And I don't blame 'im one bit for it: I'd gone through that same thing. But for the moment, y'know, he seemed to be in better spirits. And now, as we finally had a bass player, we were on a high."
"I see," says Michael, "And it seems as though this was a very transformative period for the band."
"Oh, extremely. We'd lost so many members and were now dealing with John's loss, new job, and new school." Paul hesitates, looking down at the ground for a moment. "It was quite a bit for us to process." He looks up, continuing, "The summer before Stuart joined, we actually disbanded. George started playin' in the Les Stewart Quartet, because with our lack of bookings, he became quite unmotivated."

"Can the same be said about yourself and John?"

Paul smiles. "No." He looks up at Michael, remembering. "No, John and I continued to see each other and write together. We still had that shared ambition, y'know, even when George got uninterested. John and I seemed to be of one mind, and I think that shows quite clearly in our work, as well."
"Of course." Says Michael with a nod. "Did you and John ever perform on your own? As a duo, I mean: without George or Stuart or anyone else."Paul pauses. Then, slowly, he smiles: "...yes, actually. I don't believe I've spoken much abou' that, but we actually spent a great deal of time as just us..." He pauses again, relaxing against the stark white couch. "Yes, I s'pose we did. Some great times, too... great, great times."___________________________________________It was October of 1959: the crisp bite of cold pierced the damp English air, and the leaves had begun their pretty, swirling dance down from the tree bows.Not a week earlier, John had first brought Stuart round, who, currently, was away for the weekend with his family in Ireland. George, too, was busy with his little quartet at the Casbah, and hadn't been keen on practicing with the Quarrymen recently.That, of course, left Paul and John to their own devices: finding themselves characteristically swinging on the back porch of the McCartney residence, smoking a pipe, home alone."Chilly, today, no?" Paul asked, handing the pipe over to John, who cupped it in his hands for several seconds, absorbing what little warmth it emitted."Extremely." John mumbled with a nod, taking a long drag of the pipe, staring off into the distance. When he looked away like that, he reminded Paul of those handsome movie stars: looking away all wistfully, as if in contemplation."Whatcha' thinking abou', John?" Paul asked, after watching him idly for several seconds. Really, he could've simply sat and watched John all day, had he been given the chance.John didn't reply at first. His legs were crossed, all gangly and lean, twisting up surprisingly neatly on that porch swing seat. He didn't look at Paul as he replied with a half-smile, "Oh, you'd think I was crazy."Paul adjusted himself, moving toward the edge of the swing, smirking, "I already think you're crazy." He leaned back against the swing's arm rest, having now a proper view of John. "Doesn't mean I don't like you any less.""Shit, thanks," John mumbled, chuckling the slightest bit, tilting his head and sobering up to say, "I don't even know what you'd think of me, then; if you already think I'm crazy, that is.""Well, tell me, so I can tell ye what I think of you." Paul egged him on, poking him several times, buggingly, with the toe of his sock. "Come on, now, love."John gave a great roll of his eyes, but conceded, "Fine. A friend of mine- one from art school, that is- has offered us a little weekend gig." John finally locked eyes with Paul, grinning slightly as he continued, "At the Dart, y'know- in Queen Square, Williamson."Paul raised his eyebrows, figuring that John really was being serious. The Dart was part of the gay-friendly quarter of Liverpool, in an area where the sort of thing was not only allowed, but almost celebrated by everyone in it."The Dart?" Paul asked, a small, amused smile creeping upon his lips."We- y'know, we don't have to go, Paulie." John assured him, quickly, "Jus' thought I should mention that it was offered to us as a weekend gig. I wasn't sure how you'd feel abou' it, but y'know, I didn't have a problem with it, so I thought, y'know...""John," Paul chuckled, interrupting John's admittedly adorable rambling, "I don't see why we shouldn't.""Oh," John replied, almost dumbly, "So, you don't... you don't have any aversion to... y'know...?""To, ehm," Paul mumbled, understanding that John was probably talking about gay people, in general. "Ehm... no. No, I don't. No problem at all." He paused, quickly putting a hand across his heart, saying, "I mean, I'm not... y'know.""Oh, no, me neither." John assured him, almost frantically. "But... y'know. No problem, at all, right.""Right, right." Paul parroted.Simultaneously, they both seemed to realize how awkward their conversation had become, and burst out laughing. It was a great laugh: Paul felt it in his chest, in his stomach, in his heart. The best part was, he knew John felt it, too.___________________________________________"So... we did. We played at the Dart, John and I." Says Paul, smiling faintly, "We only played for a few weekends, because we didn't want people to start... talkin'. You know 'ow they talk. But, ehm..." Paul reaches up to mess with the gray hair that had fallen into his eyes. "We had a brilliant time, however brief it was. We didn' tell anyone where we were goin', and we never really did, either."
"How was the crowd at the Dart?" Michael asks, "Any different from your usual?"
"Oh, it was quite different, yeah." Paul nods, "They were much more friendly and didn't demand as much as our usual crowd did. They cheered for us after every single song, too." Paul chuckles. "And they'd offer to buy John and I drinks, sometimes: the men did, 'cause, y'know, they were trying to pick us up. After declining so many times, the crowds all jus' started assumin' that John and I were goin' out, and we didn' correct them: we thought it was a great laugh.""I can imagine," says Michael with a grin, "Did you and John write new music to perform specifically for the Dart?""Actually," Paul mumbles, lowering his head with another little chuckle, "We did. We wrote a whole bunch of songs, mostly abou' each other. We sort o' played up the fact that the people in Queen Square all thought John and I were in love, so that's what we wrote abou'." Paul pauses, touching his chin gingerly, "And, y'know, the lyrics were all more-or-less true: we 'ad a number called I Don't Know (Johnny Johnny), another great laugh, of course. It's a sort of crooning, old-time love song- obviously, we were singin' it about each other, things like: 'Oh, Johnny Johnny, my Johnny boy.', 'You know you got me, baby, will you be my boy?', and 'I don't know what I'm gonna do when I tell my father ye want me, Johnny.'"And then, o' course, John would come in, 'Oh, little boy', 'I love you Paul, ahh-ah.'" Paul smiles, shaking his head, "All we 'ad to do was take the feelings that we already had for each other an' over-embellish 'em a bit, and then, there we 'ad it:" Paul gave a little gallic shrug, "endless love songs. And, though I really do regret it now, we didn't record most of 'em, and they ended up being lost, and unwritten in the history books, just like our playin' at the Dart was." Paul sighs, "Neither John nor I regretted havin' done all that, but neither of us wanted the speculation that surely would've come out of it. We knew what the stories would be, and John didn't mind as much as I did, but... I wanted to preserve my reputation, and John respected my wishes, as he always did."
"Of course." Says Michael, nodding, "But eventually, that year, George rejoined your group, sometime before Mr. Sutcliffe joined?"

"Yes, well, George was actually fired from the Quartet 'e was in for swervin' practice, along with his bandmate, Ken Brown." says Paul, "And they'd secured a deal by then with the Casbah Coffee Club, and we started playin' there, gainin' a bit o' popularity among the teen crowd. Ken stayed with us for a short bit, but of 
course fell
 ill not long after and quit."

"Did you continue playing gigs after Brown left?"

"No. Our gigs with the Casbah stopped, and we were back at square one: a three-piece o' 
guitars, and
 no bookings whatsoever." Paul places his fist beneath his chin, "But not before I 'ad a chance at meetin' a girl called Dot Rhone one night at the club, when it had been just John and I performin'. She came up to us, and she liked John at first: I could tell. But eventually her and I ended up datin', and she became my first serious girlfriend." Paul pauses. "Well, at least as serious as I could get. I 
didn'
 care much for 'serious' relationships."

"I see." Says Michael, nodding.

"And around then, of course, is when John brought 'round 'Stuart for the first time."
"And how did you feel about Stuart, personally?"
Paul shifted in his seat, biting back a little smile as he admitted, "I hated him."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Paul and George met John and Stuart at the Casbah Coffee Club later that same week.It was a very tame, polite first meeting: Stuart was posh, and he'd come from money, unlike Paul or George and was even better off than John. He spoke with an air of indifference that nearly made Paul's blood boil: he was far too nonchalant."You don't like coffee?" Stuart asked, raising one eyebrow as the boys were served their cups.Paul shook his head. "Never liked the taste. It's sort of pretentious, too, isn't it?"Stuart shrugged lightly, raising his cup to his lips. "I suppose so."The silence that followed was extremely awkward, and in an attempt to lighten the mood, John nudged Paul, asking, "What'd you get?""Hm?" Paul set his cup down, nodding to it. "Oh, I got the same thing as you. That Typhoo tea that we like."John grinned, rolling his eyes. "Always copyin' me, ey?" the two laughed for a moment, and then it was awkwardness once again.After several bleak exchanges, Stuart revealed that the bass that he owned was in horrible shape and deemed it unplayable. Before he could suggest becoming their fourth guitarist, Paul suggested that he buy a new one: specifically, the Hofner President 500/5 bass that was on display in Frank Hessey's music shop. John immediately backed him up, and by some miracle, the two successfully persuaded Stuart to buy that new bass.___________________________________________The four-piece began holding their practices in Stuart's Gambier Terrace flat: it served as a much better rehearsal room than Paul's bedroom did.But not long after Stuart joined the band, Paul realized that Stuart did not come without his complications. For one thing, he wasn't good at the bass in the slightest and seemed to be learning as he went. Secondly, Stuart's relationship with John was seriously beginning to annoy Paul.All of the sudden, John's attention became divided, and Paul no longer had him all to himself. John and Stuart were really close: they were classmates, after all, and Paul was two years behind them. Still, Paul resented Stuart because it felt as though John was no longer only his, and he began taking it out on Stuart."Could you pick up that bass a bit, Stu?" Paul griped, frowning slightly. Stuart was playing unbelievably quiet, and it was a wonder that anyone was able to play with such a noiseless bass."Sorry," Stuart mumbled, adjusting his fingers on the fretboard gingerly. "I've got blisters.""Yeah, well, you don't practice for long enough to let 'em get calloused." Paul retorted, and upon seeing John's disapproving gaze, he wish he hadn't said anything."Buzzer off, Paul." John mumbled, adjusting the volume of the bass for Stuart, because of course, Stuart had no idea how to do that on his own.Paul's jaw clenched. John was supposed to be on his side, not Stuart's, or anyone else's, for that matter. John had never spoken to Paul like that before, in that dismissive, demeaning tone.John glanced around at the others after upping the volume of the bass, saying, "Let's give it another take, then."Paul continued to play- albeit more aggressive than usual- and tried not to focus on the fact that John had defended Stuart. He'd started doing that more, recently, and Paul couldn't stand it. He didn't know why exactly it bothered him so much, but it did. Especially when tonight, John had finally worn his glasses in front of the others: the glasses that Paul had convinced him looked nice.They finished the take successfully and decided to call it a night. George was helping Stuart put all their equipment away, so Paul took the opportunity to speak with John."Y'alright?" John said as Paul approached him. He stood up from his guitar case and leaned against the wall. "Y'look tense, Macca."Paul shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Alright, I guess." he paused. He wasn't sure how to convey that he was hurt about what John had said, along with the fact that he'd sided with Stuart over him, without seeming too pathetic or desperate. "Just... I dunno, you seem to be on Stuart's side all the sudden.""What?" John seemed shocked. "That's what you're upset about?" he shook his head. "Jesus, Macca, it's not that big of a bloody deal. I'm not on Stu's side or anythin' like tha'. I don' want there to be sides, we should all be workin' together.""It's not abou' workin' together," Paul insisted, "It's... I don't know." He stared at the ground, and quickly attempted to change the subject, "Are you comin' home with me tonight?"John laughed apologetically, "No, actually, I'm stayin' 'ere. I'm, uh, I'm movin' in with Stu.""Oh." Oh. Of course John was moving in with Stu- practically everything seemed to revolve around Stu these days. Why don't they just get married while they're at it? "Right, of course you are.""Paul," John said. His gaze softened and he reached out to touch Paul's arm. "You're... you're not jealous of him, are you?"Paul stared at John, his face burning, but he kept himself composed as he said, "No, I've got no reason to be." He shrugged, pulling his arm away from John. "Anyroad, I'm fine."John hesitated. "I'll be here if you need me." He told him, and all Paul could do was mutter a quick "thanks" as he corralled George and headed straight home.___________________________________________"I... I was very jealous of him." Paul admits. "Because all of the sudden, I had to compete for John's attention. This was no problem when we were a three-piece: between myself and George, I knew that I alone could have my way with John. But with Stuart, it felt as though we were fighting over 'im."
"And why do you think that bothered you so much?"

Paul hesitates, then says slowly, "I had no idea." He pauses. "And it killed me, because I couldn't even explain it to John. I felt this possessiveness of him, the same way you'd feel about a girlfriend or any sexual relationship that I couldn't put into words because I'd sound like a queer."

Michael nods, "I see. So your possessiveness at that time for John was completely platonic?"
Paul takes a breath. "Yes, I- well, I was confused, to say the least, because I'd never felt like that about anyone, and had never been that desperate to be at the center of anyone else's attention- even when it came to girls." He says, "Because I was still datin' Dot at that time, and of course, sleepin' around too. Even then, I was admittedly quite demanding of the girls that I dated, but somehow I never cared abou' them as much as I did abou' John." Paul breathes out, deeply, "And it's a bit more complicated than that, but I'll spare you the details."
"Oh, no, please." Michael urges him, crossing his legs. "Spare no detail."
___________________________________________Seeing as John had recently moved into Stuart's flat, Paul found it difficult to proceed with the band as usual. He found himself and George together more often than not, because John and Stuart spent long hours at art school and often were unable to practice with them."What d'you think abou' progressin' E into B7?" George asked Paul one night. They were in Paul's bedroom, as usual, and Paul was having a smoke at the window and George was on the bed with his acoustic guitar. Jim and Mike were out, so the boys were still awake at close to midnight, not tired in the slightest."Wouldn't wanna wear it out," Paul said, balancing himself as he sat against the frame of the open window. "We've used that one for In Spite of All the Danger, and that's one of our best songs. Mustn't overshadow it."George pursed his lips. "Right." He pushed his hair out of his eyes and began strumming mindlessly. "What was that one tha' you and John were writin' a few days ago? The one abou' the mailman or some shit."Paul raised his cigarette to his lips and smiled. "Ehm, that's One After 909. And it's a bluesy freight-train tune, ye gobshite.""Ah, whatever it is." George waved him off, laughing. "I like that one. It's got a nice sound.""Oh, thank you kindly," Paul said, taking a long drag. "I'm quite proud of it, as it was a success in itself to pry John away from Stuart in order to write the damn track."George looked up at Paul, who was still sitting in the window. "What's all that about? All your drama happenin' with John and Stu.""It's not drama," Paul said dismissively, blowing out a breath of smoke into the clear, dark night."Then what is it?" George coaxed him, as he continued to play thoughtlessly on his acoustic, "I thought maybe you were jealous o' Stu because of your fervent obsession with John, or whatever."Paul's face heated up. "Don't say it like that." He shook his head. "See, it's not-"The phone in the hall began ringing madly, startling Paul so much that he fell out of the window and onto the floor. He was scrambling to get himself upright, so George offered, "D'you need me to answer it?""No, no." Paul assured him, hastily putting out his cigarette and tossing it into the ashtray at his bedside. "I'll get it."George eyed him quizzically as Paul excused himself to answer it. He shut the bedroom door behind him, ensuring some privacy. There was only one person who would be calling Paul in the middle of the night like this: and by some miracle, Paul was quick enough to pick up the phone on the last ring."Hello?" Paul asked, a bit breathless."Hello," John chuckled on the other end of the line. "God, did I interrupt ye?""No, no, not at all." said Paul quickly, "I'm just, ehm, home with George at the moment, and I fell out of the window when I heard the phone ringin'.""You what?" John laughed even harder, now, "Why'd you... I mean, you're all right, though?"Paul laughed with him as he said, "Yes, John, I'm all right. Anyroad, why're ye callin' this late?""Well, Stu and I just got back to the flat," John explained, "And we've 'ad a long day, but I didn't talk to you at all yet so I wanted to talk to ye before it's tomorrow."Paul smiled softly, glancing over at the clock on the wall: it read 11:51. "Well, you made it just in time.""O' course I did. Well, Stu and I were discussin' new names for the band today, and we came up with quite a few decent ones, but I'll talk to ye about that tomorrow. Mainly, I wanted to tell you about the dream I 'ad last night. A dream abou' you."Paul tried not to dwell on the fact that John and Stuart had spoken without Paul or George about new names for the band. Instead, he focused on the dream that John had, because he'd had a dream the night before about John. "You're blaggin', John. I dreamt abou' you last night, too.""You did not." John exclaimed, "Well, in my dream, we got famous, 'ad all this money and hundreds of women. Then, right at the height of our career, we retired and moved into these huge farmhouses, right beside each other.""Johnny," Paul laughed, "I dreamt almost word-for-word of what you said. Same thing as you did.""You're fuckin' with me, aren't ye? It can't be possible to dream the same thing as another person.""Well, it seems to me like we have done that." Paul grinned, leaning against the wall. "God, it was a great dream, too.""It was the best I've ever 'ad." said John, who seemed to finally accept that he and Paul did in fact have the same dream the night before. "Y'know, it'd be great if that all 'appened in real life.""Maybe it will," said Paul dreamily, quite fond of this scenario. "We could do all that, and grow old together, and then... what is it that those storybooks say?""We live happily ever after." John replied, completing Paul's thought.Paul smiled, "I-"George's muffled voice from his room called Paul's name: he'd been talking for quite a while now, and George was getting rightfully impatient. Part of Paul wanted to tell George to fuck off and allow him to finish his call, because he hadn't had a good conversation with John ever since Stuart joined the band. But he thought better of it, and sighed."I've got to go, John." Paul mumbled, "George is still here, and I feel bad ignoring 'im.""Oh, that's alright." said John, "Tell 'im I said hello, and I'll see you tomorrow?""Yes, I'll see you then. 'Night, John.""'Night, Paulie."Paul hung up, smiling still as he came back into his room. He met George's eyes and said, "John says hello."George raised his eyebrows slightly, his lips flicking up in an amused grin. He looked as if he were about to say something, but thought better of it at the last moment, and instead merely said, "Hello to him, too."___________________________________________The next day at practice, John leapt over his equipment to meet Paul as soon as he walked through the door."'Ello," he said, smiling. He hugged Paul quickly, almost seeming like he hadn't meant to do that, but rather did so out of instinct, and was quite awkward afterwards. "Ehm, anyway, uh, I've got some news."Paul's stiff body relaxed when John let him go, and he grinned amusedly, "What is it, John?""Pete called me this mornin', Pete Shotton." he said, clearly pleased with himself. "We've made up, and he wants to help wi' the business portion of the band.""Business portion?" Paul asked, his eyes widening. "Jesus Christ, John, that's incredible. But what business do we 'ave to cover?"John glanced back at Stuart, who was practicing painstakingly slowly on the bass at the moment. "We've got more news for you aside from that, but I think it'd be best to wait for Hazza to get 'ere."So they did: they waited until George came in to discuss all the new installments for the group."First," said John, as soon as the four of them were settled in a circle of chairs in the echoey, chamber-like flat. "Stu an' I were talkin' yesterday abou' some name ideas for the band. I know we've all come to rather dislike the moniker Quarrymen, and I think Stu's come up with some good ones."Stu cleared his throat. "Well, ehm," he still spoke in that posh, nervous way, and Paul couldn't stand it. "I was just thinking, Buddy Holly 'as his Crickets, and we could do somethin' similar to that, like the Beetles or another kind of bug like that."Paul scrunched up his nose, glancing discreetly over at John, who seemed a bit embarrassed by Stuart's pitch."That's not bad," George replied thoughtfully, picking at the loose threads of his guitar case. "But I think longer band titles are in, now, so what abou' dressing it up a bit? We could be, I don't know, So-and-so and the Silver Beetles.""That's got a ring, I suppose," Paul shrugged, propping one leg over the other. "We could incorporate one of our old titles, too, and make it Long John and the Silver Beetles."The others seemed confused, but Paul and John caught each other's eye and burst out into giggles. "Long John" had been a nickname that Paul had given John a while back, and John, of course, thought the nickname was perfectly fitting."How'd that nickname come about?" George asked, smirking slightly.Paul and John continued laughing, glancing at each other, wondering how on earth to explain it. "It's from a session a while back," John replied, "Ehm... when we had a few other friends over. It's a fitting nickname, though, I'll tell ye."Paul could barely contain his laughter as he offered, "Winston Churchill and the Silver Beetles." And the two, again, burst into laughter, leaving the other two wondering what was the matter with them.They were, of course, eluding to the circle-jerk that the two had been involved with, among several other friends. They hadn't done anything together beside that, but several inside jokes were formed at that session: both "Long John" and Winston Churchill.George merely rolled his eyes at the two, whereas Stuart looked as though someone had stolen his best friend. Paul noticed this and felt that this was his opportunity to get back at Stuart for stealing John away from him first. So Paul grabbed John's arm and continued laughing dramatically, all for show.Stuart cleared his throat. "So, are we deciding on a new name, or what?"Paul wiped his tearful eyes, moving away from John and back into his own chair. John was smiling amusedly, unaware of the fact that Paul had been using him, clinging to him, all to make Stuart jealous."I like the Silver Beetles, it's concise, but it's nice." Paul shrugged. "But we can always decide on that in the future. No need to finalize things now.""Actually, we should decide now." Stuart replied, smiling slightly. "Because I've gotten us a deal.""A what?" George asked, sitting up. Paul, too, was intrigued by this proposition. John, having already known about this, simply smiled proudly.Stuart smiled, "I've secured us a manager, a friend of mine, Allan Williams. He's been lookin' around for bookings recently, and he's found one.""Fuck's sake, Stu," said Paul, his eyes widening with excitement. "You've gotten us booked?""Not only that," Stuart continued ominously, seeming proud of himself as he announced, "But so long as we make the audition, come two months from now, we'll be performin' with Johnny Gentle, and touring around all of Scotland."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"We were all very excited about the prospect of touring Scotland," says Paul. "We toured in May, but George and I's families, especially, were less than thrilled about us missing all that school."
"And how did the tour go over?" Michael asks.
Paul purses his lips. "It was quite the letdown. We toured in an old van, and because we had no percussion, I was our stand-in drummer. Besides that, Stuart, God rest 'is soul, was awful on bass." He sighs. "Our equipment was cheap, and we barely made a dime. And openin' for Johnny Gentle... we realized quickly that it wasn't the type of image we wanted to put out.""I see," says Michael, glancing at his notes quickly, "What image did you want to put out, exactly?"
"Well, John and I spoke about it often," Paul remembers with a smile, "And we seemed to have the same opinion about that, as usual. We wanted a very distinct electric sound, combined with a bit of bluesy rock. And tourin' with Gentle like that did nothing for us."

"Hm, right. And after the tour?"

Paul's expression shifts to that of complete sincerity. "After the tour, I nearly gave it all up."
___________________________________________Paul arrived home from the Scotland tour late at night.John had offered to walk him home, as they'd all been dropped off at John and Stu's flat. Paul declined, as he and George were practically neighbors and would be fine walking the few blocks to their houses. Before Paul could leave, though, and after George was out the door and Stuart had gone to bed, John stopped him to speak with him.John's hair had grown darker since Paul had first met him, fading into a dark ash-brown color that suit him very nicely. It was a mess, as they hadn't had access to proper amenities while touring, and his clothes were badly wrinkled. But he was smiling slightly, and seemed not to care about that too much."After all that, we're flat broke." John muttered, running a hand through his hair, leaning against the wall beside Paul."Are we?" Paul blinked at him, wondering how on earth they'd performed a whole tour without saving any money. "We can't be completely broke... can we?"John grinned again, trying to make light of the situation. "We are." He nodded solemnly. "With the expenses of travellin' and all that, and the very measly sum of money that was allotted to us by Johnny Gentle, we're left with absolutely nothing."Paul bit his lip. How on earth were they meant to proceed like this? It wasn't as if touring opportunities like this came about often. This had been their opportunity: and they'd blown it. "What could we 'ave done differently?""Well," John heaved a great sigh. "'Much as it pains me to say it, Stu's done nothin' for us." Paul's heart leapt when John spoke those words. He'd finally admitted it. "And as much as I love the man, I don' think we'll get anywhere so long as 'e's as bad as 'e is.""Mhm," Paul mumbled, propping his fist beneath his chin, as if he hadn't been thinking that same thing since day one. "Well, I s'pose I can see where you're coming from.""Oh, don't be daft with me, Paulie." John offered another little grin. "I know you've been thinkin' that ever since Stu joined the band." He shook his head. "Anyroad, I don't think we should fire 'im or anythin'. He's done far too much for the band to be kicked out.""What should we do, then?" Paul asked, "I mean, we'll 'ave to do something, 'cause we can't keep goin' on like this when we've got no gigs and are flat broke.""Well," John said, again, shoving his hands into his pockets, "Eventually, we'll tour again, with someone who's a bit more in our field of interest. But mainly, I think we need you on guitar, Paul, you've got too much talent just to waste it.""I- thank you," Paul replied, shaking his head, "But who's going to do drums, then? We need some kind of percussion."John waved his hand. "We'll find someone. Drummers are easy to come by. I'll ask around." He glanced at the clock, realizing just how late it was, and said, "It's gettin' late, Macca. Your dad'll probably want ye home now.""Right, ehm," Paul glanced around, picking up his shabby suitcase and smiling slightly at John. He noticed that he was now equal in height with John: something he probably should've realized a while ago, but didn't. He smiled. "Ehm... well.""Well," John parroted, tilting his head just slightly. "We're going to be okay, in the end. We'll be stars one day, and all this won't even matter." He took in a shaky breath, adding slowly, "And, ehm, regardless of how the tour went, I'm proud of you. I... I always am, actually."Paul met John's eyes, staring into their depths, his heart overflowing for his best friend. What he was feeling, as usual, he was unable to communicate. "I'm proud of you, as well. Always am."With that, they bid a quiet goodnight to each other, blushing smiles upon each of their faces. And what a good night it had been.___________________________________________When Paul arrived home, Jim McCartney was awake still, despite it being well past midnight. He was sitting at the kitchen table, a glass in his firm grip, with an unreadable expression on his gaunt face.Paul shut the door behind him, softly, and said, "Hi, dad," clutching his suitcase to him tightly.Jim smiled slightly when he saw Paul, and pulled out a chair beside him for his son. "Sit, Paul." Paul obeyed, sitting beside his father, practically shaking with nerves. It wasn't like his father to be so stern. "Did you have a nice tour?""I guess so," Paul replied meekly, staring at the patterned tablecloth."You guess so?" Jim said incredulously, "You've been gone for more than a week and that's all you've got to say about it?""I dunno," Paul mumbles, "I'm tired, da, I 'aven't slept much since I've gone away."Jim took in a deep breath. "Paul, I know you enjoy doing all this, performin', and whatnot." He rested his hand on Paul's shoulder. "But it's wearin' you out, you've missed so much school, and you can't make a career out of this."Paul held his tongue. He nearly told his father all that he and John aspired to do: to get famous, and be together until they fade out like all the brilliant stars do. He knew his father wouldn't approve of that, because he barely even approved of John, for that matter. So Paul simply answered, "I could make a livin' doin' this, dad. It's not unheard of."Jim looked apologetic as he shook his head. "But it's impractical. You'll never have consistency in your life, and the odds of gettin' anywhere from bein' in that industry are slim to none." He stood up, and Paul braced himself for the worst. "I won't have that for my son. You're going to get a job this summer."There it was: the fact that Paul was nearly eighteen and was yet to be employed had finally caught up to him. Paul stood, too, regardless of knowing better and said, "Dad, I can't work while being with the band. We want to tour again, and that'll be impossible if I've been employed wi' someone else.""Paul," said Jim, sternly, "You're getting a job. I've already arranged for you to work at the wire factory. No talking back to me."Paul stared at his father, his lip trembling, "Dad, I won't have any time for the band, then."Jim sighed. "Then you simply won't see them anymore."___________________________________________The school year ended rather abruptly after that, and soon enough, summer began. Paul had yet to tell his bandmates about his job at the wires, and held off telling them until the last day of school, when the four of them met at the Art building for lunchtime.Paul assured them that once the summer was over, he'd rejoin the band and they'd continue on as if he'd never left. But John, George, and Stuart were immensely upset by this news and gave him the cold shoulder after that. John, especially, was upset by this and didn't speak a word to Paul for the rest of the day.And seeing as Paul was forbidden from practicing with the band that summer, John didn't speak to him even when the summer began.Because of this, Paul became depressed and lonely as the time wore on, working tirelessly day in and day out with no interaction from his friends besides the occasional, pitiful call from George.But on the eighteenth of June, Paul's eighteenth birthday, he received a call from the person he'd been missing most. Before he even picked up the phone, he knew who was calling him, with this sixth sense he'd developed over the years."Paul." Came John's voice through the earpiece, stern and startling as ever.Paul cringed. "Hello, to you, too." He mumbled, having been hoping for a greeting even slightly more genial than that which John had given him. It was, after all, his birthday.John sighed loudly. "Paul, I'm sorry." He said it like a confession, as if he were truly ashamed of himself. "I've been a complete dick to you. I shouldn't 'ave cut you off like tha', and I've missed you like hell."Paul smiled in spite of himself, forgetting how on earth he could be angry at such a man as John Lennon. "I've missed you, too,""Not only that," John continued, going off on a rambling tangent, "But I am never going to do that again: ignore you, I mean. Because I've been bloody depressed for weeks. I swear it on my life." Paul chuckled lightly at that. "And I decided, well, what better way than to offer my sincerest apologies along with wishing you a most wonderful eighteenth birthday?""Ha, thank you, Johnny." said Paul, twirling the phone cord around his finger as he sat up on the dresser next to the phone base, propping one leg over the other. "You're not finished?""I'm afraid not," said John, his tone shifting ever so slightly, "I've been putting it off ever since school let out, and I can't go on any longer without sayin' it.""Oh," Paul mumbled, bracing himself, "What's up?""I need you to quit your job, Paul. Quit your job at the fucking wire factory and come back to me, alright?""John... God, John." Paul gasped out, running his fingers through his dark waves. "You know I... you know I can't do that. My dad, 'e's bein' really strict with me. He won't allow me to quit, and I've been askin' 'im every day if I can.""No, Paul." John's voice had turned sharp again, demanding, even, and it commanded Paul easily. "You're an adult now, legally, and are capable of making your own damn decisions." He paused for dramatization. "So I'm asking you now to choose. It's either your father or me."It wasn't fair of John, not really, as he was fully aware that he could have his way with Paul in a single instant. They were becoming each other's weaknesses, muses, and everything else: they were dangerously dependent on each other. It didn't seem like a bad thing at that time, though, in either of their minds. All Paul could think about was what he'd lose if he turned John down: everything.He'd lose everything, because to him, John Lennon was everything.And though that realization terrified Paul to no end, he agreed with a simple, quiet, "You," And when he finally found his voice, he followed up with, "You, John."John was silent for a moment, then said through a smile, "I was hoping you'd say that." He chuckled. "Welcome back, Paul McCartney. You've been greatly missed."___________________________________________
"In that moment, my fate became sealed." Paul says, "I quit my job that day. And that night, when my father came home, I told 'im off in front of Mike. I told 'im abou' the plans that John and I made, and that I wouldn't let 'im stop us from livin' out our dream. I didn't care anymore about what 'e thought o' me. I think a bit o' John's spirit of rebellion must've rubbed off on me."

Michael laughs. "I suppose it did." He eyes Paul curiously. "Do you think you made the right choice?"
"I know that I did," Paul says confidently. "Though I don't believe I made that decision for the right reasons. It wasn't the practical choice, at all, and I only went with John because I loved performin', and I loved him. If we hadn't gotten lucky like we did, later on that year, I might've told you that I made the wrong decision, as we wouldn't 'ave made it nearly as far as we did."
"Of course. So you think that without luck, you wouldn't have made it to where you are now?"

"Oh, definitely not. There's always got to be a little luck on your side in order to make it big. By some miracle, they needed another act at the Indra Club at St. Pauli in Hamburg, and Allan Williams, our then-manager, had first dibs at it. An opportunity like that doesn't come 'round every day, so we took it, and in August, we were off to Germany." Paul says. "And Mona, the owner of the Casbah Club, allowed us to recruit her son Pete to join us on drums. So just like that, I was back on guitar with George and John, just like he'd wanted me to be."

"That seemed to work out very nicely for you all." Michael says, nodding. "And how was Germany?"
Paul pauses briefly, biting back a smile. "I don't think my life had truly, really begun before arriving in Germany."___________________________________________By then, the five-piece called themselves The Beatles, without any extra fuss besides the musically-intended pun that John had come up with, swapping "Beetles" for "Beatles". It was a tasteful change, and the others agreed to it without much discourse.The drive to Hamburg was long, made longer still by the cramped confines of the minivan they were travelling in. There were ten people in total squeezed onto and in-between the seats, along with compacted band equipment and minimal clothing packed for each of them.Paul stared past John and out the cloudy window of the old beaten-down van. Starting then, he vowed to pay more attention to everything, soaking in every minute detail, accepting that it all may be ripped away from him at any single moment. That's showbusiness, he supposed, staring blankly at the silver-gray sky, watching thunderheads rolling in from the coast.John looked over at him, catching his eye. "You can 'ave the window seat if you like, Paulie."Paul, being rather on the skinny side along with George, was crammed in the middle of John and him, with Pete Best on George's other side. Stu was sitting up front with Allan, and though Paul had been warming up to him recently, he was still admittedly not as fond of him as he was the others."I'm alright, John." Paul assured him with a little grin, leaning closer to him. "I think George and Pete are gettin' on."John looked past Paul at the other two, who were geeking out together over some magazine issue about Indian meditation practices. "I didn' even know George was into things like tha'," Paul muttered, glancing up at John.John shrugged. "It makes perfect sense to me, honestly.""Maybe," Paul conceded, tilting his head. "Anyroad, me dad's insistin' that I call 'im every night from the club. Where're we stayin', anyway?"John shrugged again, glancing up at Stu and Allan at the front of the minivan. "Fuck if I know. I think we might jus' sleep in any extra room they've got at the Indra for now."Paul crinkled his nose. "That sounds perfect."John smirked at him knowingly. "Trust me, it will be." He leaned in, to mutter in Paul's ear, "St. Pauli's the world capital of prostitution and strippers, y'know. We'll be havin' the time of our lives wi' all them German birds."Paul's grin returned, and he raised his eyebrows excitedly. "Really." He whistled, glancing back out the window. Despite having a girlfriend back in Liverpool, who he'd sworn he'd write to daily in his absence, Paul knew that Dot wouldn't mind much about him sleeping around: she was far too meek to say anything about it. Besides, she wouldn't need to know. "Noted. Thank you, Johnny."___________________________________________The first night spent at the Indra seemed to pass in a blur. They'd taken a brief nap on the red-leather seats in the alcoves, then were woken promptly by Allan at ten o'clock to perform for the opening of the club at eleven.The boys were nervous at the mere sight of the crowd: hundreds of people had crowded into the dim, dingy club around ten thirty, awaiting their show. The club itself was all neon lights and crude posters, unpainted brick, high ceilings and walls stacked high with hard alcohol and colorful glassware. There were counters on either side with attractive young German women bartending in tiny red outfits with necklines that seemed to plunge down below their ribcages.The atmosphere was hazy: a mixture of every kind of smoke imaginable, along with the dampness of sex and the lingering perspiration of alcohol. The only lights in the whole club were from the neons, several cheap lightbulbs near the bar, and the lights radiating from the stage. The stage was better than any that the boys had previously played on, not to say that it was great in the slightest. Everything was covered by a thin sheet of dust, and the amps buzzed fuzzily whenever noise was output from them.Still, it excited them all to no end to be in such a godless, sinful place, among countless gangsters, hookers and transvestities. And upon realizing that all these people only spoke German, anyway, they became much more relaxed and unconcerned about putting on a perfect performance.Their first performance was primarily covers of other popular songs, by the off-chance that the Germans had listened to English radio and heard the recent hits. Despite Allan's advising, they managed to sneak a few of their own songs into their setlist. They quickly realized, though, that the Germans didn't really mind what it was that they were playing, so long as they played loud enough to rupture their eardrums.So they upped the volume of their amps, engaged all their pickups, and had Pete pick up Stu's slack by drumming to compensate for the inadequate bass. The crowd seemed to love it, and at one point, one of the ladies in the front in a particularly revealing outfit crawled onto the stage and grabbed onto Paul's leg. She was yelling up at Paul in German, and Paul, unsure of how to handle it, tried shaking her off and began laughing. He looked over at John, who was completely hamming it up, laughing along with him until finally, security came to remove the woman from the stage. Things like that happened frequently, they found out, and sometimes happened several times in a single show.None of them really minded, though: they never felt that they were in actual danger, and sometimes they'd even flirt or dance with the hookers that came up onto stage with them. It was liberating, sexually and otherwise, and at long last, they were home free.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"We only performed at the Indra for a few weeks." Says Paul. "Our living conditions while performing there left a lot to be desired. We lived in the storage room of a cinema by the backstage of the Indra, on two sets of bunk beds. It was terrible: the walls were bare concrete, no heat, and cold water. Most nights, I'd sleep with John or occasionally George for the sole purpose of conserving heat, as the only covers we were provided were Union Jack flags. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the walls were very thin, and next-door to us was the women's public restroom: you can imagine the smells and sounds that came with it."
Michael's face twists slightly in disgust. "I take it
, these
 conditions were what drove you away from continuing to perform at the Indra?"

Paul smiles. "No, actually. Despite the terrible 
life-quality,
 despite the pay of two pounds fifty a day, we were enjoying ourselves. It was the noise-complaints from the neighboring buildings that put the Indra out of business, as it'd been known for being a rather classier club before we'd come onto the scene."

"Right. And after you left the Indra, I assume you returned home?"

"No," Paul 
says, wistfully
, "No, we'd only just begun."
___________________________________________Staying at the Indra was a rude awakening for the band.They performed for hours and hours at a time each day, and in-between shows, they'd hang around the club with the other performers, especially the women. There were enough strippers hanging around that there was never a moment when one of the boys wasn't getting a private show. Most notably of these encounters was on the second day at the Indra, after their morning show.Paul was sitting at the bar, smiling, with sweat beaded on his brow from an exhausting performance. John sat beside him, in an all-gray outfit to match Paul's, his hair ruffled up and damp. They'd ordered a huge beer and Moscow Mule from the blonde bartender and were sharing them with each other, a singular straw poking out of each glass.John, very obviously drunk, leaned against the counter and slurred, "You're a fit one, you are."The girl behind the counter merely giggled at him, probably because she only spoke German. Paul elbowed John, in an attempt to be chivalrous, "Now, John, don't be desperate."John laughed, looking up at Paul with his eyes alight. He was about to say something before he and Paul were knocked forward by a couple who'd bumped into them.Paul latched onto John's arm to steady himself, glancing backward to see who'd run into them. To his immense shock, it was George, being dragged along by a stripper. She had long, brown hair in Hollywood curls down her back and eyes so green they looked neon. Her legs went on for days and were accentuated still by the skimpy black outfit she was in."Fuckin' 'ell?" John mumbled, situating himself upright and helping Paul back onto his stool. Paul kept ahold of John's arm even when he was seated again, stretching to get a proper look at George and his girl."Oh," said George, quite embarrassed, probably having assumed that he wouldn't run into either of them.Paul smirked up at George, glancing between him and the girl, "Havin' fun, there, Georgie?""Fuck off," George said, pulling the girl along. She looked quite frightened, but still beautiful, in her dark, glittering eye makeup with perfectly red cupid's bow lips. Paul and John watched George take the girl backstage, to the storeroom where the boys were living, and Paul turned to John with a grin."George's a virgin, you know." Paul raised his eyebrows cheekily, the effects of the alcohol starting to take affect as he took another long sip of the Mule. "We should go watch them.""I didn' know George is a virgin," John spat out, as if virgin was a dirty word. The concept of virginity meant nothing to John, as by the time he'd figured out what that even meant, he'd already bedded five women. He stared after them, watching the two disappear behind the red velvet stage curtain. "You wanna?"Paul grinned, standing, finishing off the beer and saying, "We can press our ears to the door, that'd be a bit less intrusive."John finished the Moscow Mule in one long sip, hopping off the barstool and bidding the bartender a dramatic goodbye. He tried blowing her a kiss, and Paul swatted at him."Fuck off with that, John," he said, taking John's arm and weaving through the rather scarce day-crowd. "You're sex-obsessed; that's what you are.""Ahh," John smiled, following Paul out the same way George had come, seeming amused. "You're just jealous that you're not the one fuckin' the stripper.""What?" Paul muttered, shaking his head and refusing to look at John as they approached the storeroom. "You drunkard. Don't be sayin' that.""But why not?" John instigated, pleading, almost, "Tell me why not, Paulie.""Shut up." Paul hissed, abruptly putting an end to their conversation, as they found the door to the storeroom wide open. Pete was standing in the doorway, looking stunned."Fuckin' 'ell," Pete drawled, grinning madly. He glanced into the room, then back out at John and Paul. "George just came in with a girl, and I dunno what the hell to do now.""Let's get in there," John nodded, shoving past Paul and Pete and into the storeroom.Paul and Pete shrugged, following John into the room where George and the girl were already beneath the covers in George's low bunk."Don't mind us!" Paul smiled, climbing the ladder up into John's bunk, in order to give George adequate privacy."Yes, go on!" Pete yelled down to George, having climbed up into his own bunk, directly above George. "We won't bother ye.""Fuck you all." George grumbled, seeming rather annoyed with the other's insistence on being in the room while he had sex for the first time. Nevertheless, Pete grinned over at John and Paul from across the room, who were clinging to each other in the top bunk.The boys all smirked at each other as the sound of creaking metal and high moans cut through the air. It took everything in them not to start laughing as the noises became louder and more desperate. Paul leaned against John, pressing his mouth against the fabric on John's shoulder to keep himself from laughing.You could very clearly make out George's whimpers and sighs, and of course, the dramatic moaning of the stripper. Silently, Paul commended his friend, giving John a nod of approval that John returned with immense enthusiasm. When at last George had finished (it was very obvious, even while being covered beneath a sheet), the other boys began applauding and cheering for him."Jesus Christ, George!" Paul hollered down to George, shielding his eyes, careful not to see him unclothed, "I didn' know you could fuck!""Ah, piss off!" George called back, laughing slightly, as he helped the girl clean herself and gather up their discarded clothes. When at last, she scurried out, smiling and seeming satisfied, the boys all jumped out of their bunks to congratulate George. It was quite impressive, what he'd done, especially as it was his first time.And it was rather symbolic, Paul supposed, of their new lives as sexual, promiscuous individuals, that the only remaining virgin among them would lose his virginity to a stripper from St. Pauli.___________________________________________In early October, the band was relocated to an even larger, more infamous club in Hamburg, the Kaiserkeller.It was owned by the man who, too, owned the Indra, Bruno Koschmider, and in comparison to this place, the Indra paled completely.The Kaiserkeller was far larger than the former and an even larger crowd and even more risqué individuals within it. The crowd was livelier, here, and subsequently the boys started going all-out as true rockstars when performing. The only problem was the makeshift stage: bare wood planks balanced on top of empty beer crates. Regardless of that, they'd dance and stomp around the stage, knocking their heads together, with John especially hamming it up for the crowd.With a bit of their salary, the five-piece bought biker outfits and shades from a nearby shop to accentuate the styles that they wished to convey. They started strutting, gaining a reputation and attitudes along with it as they gained publicity among the people. Even still, John and Paul would swap sweet glances at each other while onstage, assuring one other that beneath their ruggish personas, remained still their unmatched and unbreakable relationship.One evening, Allan found the band in their rickety sleeping quarters. "Boys," he started, looking slightly nervous. "Rory Storm and the Hurricanes are here."The boys sat up in their beds, glancing between each other, having known full well about the Hurricanes and their great reputation. "They're performin' here?" Stu asked, propping himself up on his elbow.Allan sighed, "Yeah, they just came in. Good news is that you boys'll have less showtime, and can have more free time and breaks throughout the day." He paused, rubbing at his watery, tired eyes. "Bad news is that this band is your leading competition, and they're incredible."___________________________________________After the Beatles' performance that evening, they filed into the crowd, eager to watch the notorious Hurricanes perform. They were, in fact, just as spectacular as Allan had said they'd be. The main focus, though, at least in Paul's mind, was the drummer.Paul watched him for a while. He had dark, messy hair that fell into his downturned eyes, a Teddy-boy look that reminded Paul of what had first attracted him to John all those years ago, and a cigarette between his lips even while he was playing. He played effortlessly, with a different technique than Paul had ever seen before.Paul tapped John's arm, leaning over to say, "What d'ye think?"John, his gaze transfixed on the stage, mumbled, "They're alright, I s'pose." He looked away from them, meeting Paul's eyes and saying, "I've really only been watchin' the drummer. He's really good, and leagues ahead o' the rest of the band."Paul stared at John, a grin spreading across his perfect pink lips. "I was thinkin' the same thing. As usual."John leaned closer to him, his breath hot on Paul's skin, only adding to the warmth of the bustling club. "D'ye think..." He almost stopped talking, but continued after a moment of contemplation. "D'ye think we could steal their drummer?"Paul giggled, shifting in his seat to say lowly, "Of course not, John. That's ridiculous."But the more Paul thought on it, the more he realized John may be onto something: having the Hurricane's drummer would be huge for the Beatles, possibly even career-saving.After the Hurricane's first show, they introduced themselves to the band. Rory was the leader, clearly, and had the ego to prove it. The drummer's name was Richard Starkey, but no one ever seemed to call him that, and instead referred to him as Ringo.When the Beatles met him, they were honestly terrified. Regardless of his short stature, Ringo was older and came off quite intimidating to them. That could've been partly due to the attire of the Hurricanes, similar to the Beatles' new look: gang-ish, with leather jackets and sunglasses.But even though Ringo scared the living daylights out of the boys, John, Paul, and George decided that if Pete Best ever stepped down, they'd certainly know who to call up.___________________________________________
"There were a fair few problems in Hamburg." Says Paul, "And they often revolved around one of us bandmembers doin' somethin' stupid. Sometimes it'd be one o' the Hurricanes, like when Rory jumped off a piano and broke the stage, splittin' it right down the middle. But usually, it was John."

"Oh, I bet." Michael smiles. "What exactly would John do?"
"Well," Paul says, sitting perfectly upright, "By the time we'd gotten to the Kaiserkeller, we'd gained really bad attitudes, basically like, we didn't give a shit abou' anyone, and doin' what we wanted. Very disrespectful, y'know. And with all the prostitutes and strippers hangin' around all the time, whenever we weren't performin', we'd be sleepin' with one. John would miss the beginning o' some of our performances 'cause he'd be in the bathroom, shaggin' some hooker."And then the bouncer, Horst Fascher, would drag 'im onto the stage and embarrass 'im. It was quite amusing to the rest of us. And then, there'd be other times when John would say somethin' controversial or make a reference to Adolf Hitler, and the crowd would get really riled up."
"Were you ever concerned at all for the safety of the band while performing?"

"Yes, very." says Paul as he runs his hand through his hair. "It was quite often that someone would come onstage and try punchin' us or throwin' glass bottles at our heads, even without John provokin' them. None of us ever got hurt, though; at least never badly enough to be significant."

"That's good to hear." says Michael. "And how was the rest of your stay in Germany?"

Paul exhales deeply. "Quite chaotic. We were rather successful, and that was great. And we slept with hundreds o' girls, and that was great, too. But there were lows, of course, like the shoddy living space we were allotted, the pay wages, and of course, the first time that John and I ever fought."

"Oh?" Michael asks, his eyebrows crinkling slightly. "And why was that?"

Paul bites his lip. "It... it seemed to come out of nowhere, if I'm honest."
___________________________________________It was one thirty at night, and Paul found his drunken way back to his room.Occasionally, the boys were allowed to sleep in hotel rooms, and this was that sort of night: so Paul seized his opportunity and brought one of the strippers to his room, knowing that the others wouldn't walk in on him. Not that he hadn't been bringing girls back to the band's shared sleeping quarters, but it was far harder to have privacy with the others around."You don't speak English?" Paul slurred, swiftly unbuttoning his leather jacket, then moving to unlace the girl's corset-top dress."Oh, nein." she purred, shaking back her long, blond hair. It fell in huge curls down her back, and she had that classic glamorous makeup that seemed to be the standard for sex workers. "Kannst du Deutsch sprechen?""Ehm," Paul muttered, finally having unlaced her dress, and letting the satin fabric fall to the floor in a heap. "I don't... I don't speak German.""Oh, scheiß drauf." she shrugged, now fully naked, as she began removing Paul's shirt and pants. She had a beautiful body: long and slender, sculpted like a ballerina's, except for her full breasts. "Kannst du mich ficken?""Uh, yeah." said Paul, quite positive that she'd asked him to fuck her, and the last of his clothes had slipped off of his toned body. The girl collapsed onto the bed, and Paul slid right on top of her, kissing from her lips down her neck to her hips, taking his sweet time. She was loud, moaning louder every time Paul would suck down on her skin.By the time he'd covered every inch of her skin with his mouth, he pressed himself against her, his mouth against her ear. "I-"But he was interrupted by the door swinging open.It was John. He was yelling, "PAUL, I'VE BEEN LOOKING-""FUCKIN' HELL!" Paul yelled, rolling onto his side, trying to shield the poor woman from being seen. Paul was fully naked on the mattress, having no time to dress or to cover up, and stared John dead in the eyes. "GET OUT, JOHN!"John stared right back at Paul, the door hanging open still. His jaw tightened, and he shamelessly let his eyes slide down Paul's naked body. He then noticed the woman in bed with him, who had managed to slip beneath the covers, looking horrified."Fuck, John! Get out!" Paul repeated, noticing that John's eyes were swollen and that he was completely drunk, too.But John made no moves to the door. He only yelled back, "What the fuck's all this, then?"Paul knew what he was referring to: the woman in bed with him, but it confused him that John would suddenly care about such a thing, as they'd all been sleeping around flippantly for the past few months since they'd arrived in Hamburg. Perhaps it was alcohol talking, and John was far too drunk to control himself."Get out of my room!" Paul exclaimed, finally finding a throw-blanket to cover himself with."Who the fuck are you?" John demanded, staring daggers at the girl. "Get outta here, before I make ye leave!""John!" Paul cried out in anger as John spotted a pair of scissors on a nearby table. He made no delay picking up the girl's dress that had been lying discarded on the floor and snipping it up into a million pieces. The girl began sobbing, crying hysterics in German as John only continued to snip away.John stomped on the fabric, staring again at the girl and exclaiming, "Didn't you hear me? Get the hell out!"Streaks of charcoal stained her beautiful porcelain face, and she sobbed, covered in nothing but the sheet from Paul's bed as she ran from the room. Paul slid on his underwear amidst all the chaos and cornered John."What the fuck was that, John?" Paul demanded, grabbing John by the collar and pressing him against the wall. John didn't look apologetic in the slightest, but rather satisfied, as if what he'd done was nothing short of incredible.John swallowed, his throat tightening slightly at the pressure. "I don't... I don't know, Paulie.""Don't fuckin' call me that." Paul hissed, releasing John, who stumbled forward. "Why would you do this to me? To her?""Sorry." John offered sheepishly, shrugging casually. "I'm very drunk. Maybe you should call security on me.""Yeah. Yeah, maybe I will do that." Paul wiped the sweat from his brow, completely exasperated and confused with John. "Why'd you fuckin' need me, anyway?"John stared at the ground, seeming for the first time this evening, embarrassed. "I don't know." His face was completely red, and he didn't make eye contact with Paul. "I'm very drunk."Paul stared at him. "Get out. Go to bed."Without so much as another glance, John nodded, shuffling meekly from the room as Paul was left to stand there and watch John until the door closed behind him.___________________________________________"So, last night." Said Paul, leaning against the bar, mumbling lowly to George so that no one else would hear. "John walked in on me while I was havin' sex with some German stripper."George's dark eyes widened, his eyebrows shooting up. "Ehm, alright. What'd he say?"Paul scoffed. "What didn't he say? He asked who the fuck she thought she was, and threatened to make 'er leave. Then, when she didn' do anythin', he started cuttin' up her dress with a pair o' scissors that he found in the room."George's mouth dropped open. "What?""I know. He made her cry, and started yellin' at her again, and she ran from the room dressed in the covers from my bed." Paul muttered, shaking his head. He still couldn't quite believe what had happened, and what on earth John had been thinking."Why'd he do that?""Well, I don' fuckin' know. All 'e said was that he was 'very drunk' and got all flustered when I cornered 'im about it." Paul shrugged. "I dunno. I dunno why he did that. He's never done anythin' like that before, but maybe he was just really, really drunk an' didn' know what he was doin'.""Did you speak wi' him at all today, yet?""Yes, I saw 'im in the hallway." Paul said, frowning. "I asked him if he remembered last night, and he stopped and stared at me for a solid minute. He said he didn't, really, so I told 'im what happened and all he said was that he probably did it because he feels very protective of me.""Huh." George muttered, pausing for a moment. "That's interesting." He almost said something else, but in typical George fashion, thought better of it, closed his mouth, and ended the conversation.___________________________________________
"When I told George about it, he didn't say much." says Paul, relaxing in his chair. "But I noticed that after that point, he would analyze John whenever somethin' like that would 'appen. And because John and I spen
t
 practically every waking minute together, things like that would happen quite often."

"Really," Michael says, not particularly as a question, but rather as an amused remark. "Why d'you think that was?"
"Well, I didn't really know why." Paul sits up straighter. "I mean, we were best friends, John and I. So naturally, we'd strive for each other's attention and get irritated if we didn't have it. It went both ways, too: it wasn't just him. Admittedly, I was quite possessive of 'im, like when he first started bringin' Stu around, and a fair few other times, too, I suppose.""I see." Michael smiles. "So what was different about that particular encounter, when John walked in on you?""Probably the fact that until then, we'd never gotten into a fight about a woman. Like, neither of us really cared about who the other slept with, because we'd have sex with so many different girls back then. Sometimes we'd talk about it, and brag to each other, like, 'Yeah, this girl was a smokeshow!' or 'Well, I had one yesterday who made me tie 'er up!', that sort of thing." He laughs a bit as he says this. "But never, until that night, did I sense any sort of jealousy from John like that. He acted like I was cheating on 'im, and I was so confused as to why he suddenly cared so much. Even though he was drunk, y'know, there's that saying, 'Drunk thoughts are sober truths', so maybe he was actually jealous. George certainly seemed to think so, even though he didn't say it at that time."
"Did your relationship with John change at all after that interaction?"
"No, actually. It was a bit awkward that morning, when I asked John about it, and he seemed to forget everything. But we jus' sort of moved on after that. I never forgot about it, but I tried not to dwell on it." He shrugs. "And I didn't dwell on it, at least, not at that time."
"And what about the rest of your stay in Germany?" Michael asks.
Paul smiles. "It was purely chaotic. For one thing, my girlfriend from back in Liverpool, Dot Rhone, came for a visit with her friend Cynthia Powell, who was quite interested in John. Of course, neither Dot nor Cynthia much cared for John or I's sexual habits that we'd acquired in Hamburg, but were both too submissive to correct us. After that, George was found-out for bein' underage and deported, Pete and I were deported for lightin' a condom on fire, John came home only because I was goin' home, and Stu had a cold, so he stayed in Germany with his photographer-girlfriend, Astrid Kirchherr. That was just before we'd started performin' at the renowned Top Ten Club, so we returned to Hamburg in April once we were all cleared to come back, and when George was finally of age."We stayed in Hamburg that second time for thirteen weeks, having our stay at the Top Ten, and from it, we gained lots of publicity. We even started recordin' together while we were there with Kaempfert and Sheridan helpin' us. Right after that, though, Stu decided to leave the band to enroll in a German art school and propose to Astrid. Though I was thrilled to have John practically all to myself again, it of course meant that I needed to take over on bass, as I was by far the most flexible when it came to playing multiple instruments. I didn't want to, at first, but soon I realized that it wasn't as bad as I'd thought it'd be."
"So there were major changes taking place during that time, I gather." Michael nods. "And when did you return from your second trip to Hamburg?"

Paul pauses for a moment, remembering. "We came back in July. John continued living in the flat he'd shared with Stu, but in his absence, lived alone." He pauses again, then says, "And although he never allowed it to interfere with his commitments to the band, everything seemed to change when John began dating Cynthia Powell."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"Was I mean to him, John?"Said Paul one afternoon in July of 1961, shortly after returning home to Liverpool from their second stay in Hamburg. Paul and John were sitting on the swing of the McCartney's back porch, characteristically without the rest of the band. They were drunk on old whiskey and were passing a cigar back and forth, the coals scorching the thin pages of their shared journal.They were, of course, discussing the fact that Stuart had permanently left the band and stayed in Hamburg with Astrid. Paul felt as though he, himself, was partially responsible, as he'd never been particularly kind to Stuart."No," John said after a moment's thought, leaning back on the swing. "No, you weren't mean. You obviously weren't as fond of him as you are of George or especially as fond as you are of me." He gave Paul a little grin. "But honestly, it might've been more my fault. 'Cause him and I started as really good friends, and eventually, I started gettin' sharp with him, and that affected our friendship."Paul shrugged lightly, lowering the cigar from his mouth. "Still. If I wouldn't 'ave gotten..." He paused, wondering if he should say it or not. "If I wouldn't 'ave gotten jealous of him like I did, and jealous of how close the two of you were, maybe he'd still be around."John didn't reply for a moment. He nodded, amusedly, because finally, Paul had admitted to his jealousy of Stuart. But John didn't say anything about it, because it was still an open wound. "We mustn't dwell on it, Paulie. Stuart was always more interested in art than music, anyroad." He relaxed again, draping his arm across the back of the swing, practically putting it around Paul's shoulder. "We can only move... forward. And where are we headed?"Paul lowered his head as he grinned. His cheeks were still chubby with adolescence, and John found that absolutely endearing. "To the toppermost of the poppermost, Johnny."___________________________________________In early August, the band decided to have an impromptu meeting at Paul's house, more so to simply talk and sit off with each other rather than to rehearse.George and Pete were laying on the check-patterned rug on the floor of Paul's room, propped on their hands to look up at John and Paul, who were draped across Paul's bed. George and Pete were smoking cigarettes, but the other two, wary of putting burn holes through Paul's bedding, were sipping tea from little China cups that they'd found buried in the glassware cupboard."It's a miracle that Stu left you 'is Hofner 500/5, Paul," said George in between drags. "I reckon it cost 'im at least a month's pay.""I know," Paul nodded, lifting his teacup to his lips. "I told 'im that 'e didn't have to, but he sorta insisted. Who am I to refuse?""I'll say," Pete nodded, tossing his cigarette into the ashtray on Paul's bedside table. "Do any o' ye know how much money we made performin' in Hamburg?"Collectively, a few hundred pounds." John replied, absently tracing his fingers along Paul's hand. Paul, smiling slightly, didn't mind John's gentle, absent-minded touch, and figured John probably didn't even realize he was doing it. "Knowin' us, though, we've probably already blown through half of it.""I know I have." George smiled cheekily. "I've only got abou' twenty pounds left. I spent most of it on new clothes while we were in 'amburg.""Oh, I did, too," John grinned at him. "I..." his grin disappeared suddenly. "What time is it?""Ehm," said Pete, stretching back to glance at the clock. "It's quarter-to-seven. Wh-""Shit." John muttered, pulling away from Paul, startling him, and leaping off the bed. "Shit, shit, shit.""What's it...?" Paul sat up in bed, his eyes wide. He blinked up at John incredulously, watching as he pulled on his jacket and put his shoes on."I... uh," John ran his hands through his slightly outgrown hair, looking royally stressed. "I've gotta meet Cyn at seven."Paul's eyes went even wider, and he slumped down against the pillows. He'd known about John's friend Cynthia Powell that he'd met in art school for well over a year now. She was a pretty blonde, a straight-a student, pretentious, and was quite well off. And, in Paul's humble opinion, not at all suitable for John."I take it this means you and Cynthia are dating?" Paul asked, a hint of annoyance lacing his voice."Ehm, yes." John mumbled, embarrassed. "Yeah, we are.""And when exactly were you going to tell me?" Paul demanded. George and Pete sat, silently, watching this odd exchange between the two."I only asked 'er yesterday." John rolled his eyes. "I wasn't goin' to keep it a secret or anythin'. No need to be jealous.""I'm not." said Paul, lightly, shrugging. "Have fun." He added airily as if he hadn't a care in the world.John bid a rushed goodbye to them all, and after he walked out, Paul realized he was no longer in the mood to socialize. He didn't care, really, that John was going out with Cynthia. But after experiencing the promiscuity of Hamburg, John seemed to be craving a true, official relationship. And that was something that Paul had absolutely no desire for.___________________________________________Everything seemed to be happening all at once.Dot Rhone, the 'serious' girlfriend of Paul McCartney, had become pregnant earlier that summer, and was now three months along.Paul, despite knowing better, didn't tell any of his bandmates: as awful as it was, he was almost embarrassed of it. He'd molded Dot into a blonde bombshell, just as John had done with Cynthia: to look exactly like their dream girls. Still, Dot was shy and ordinary in Paul's eyes, but it felt rather wrong to leave her, especially when she was pregnant with his child.Dot told Paul the news in late August, and on his father's orders, Paul became engaged to Dot and bought her a gold wedding band. But in a matter of only three weeks, Dot miscarried.Paul brought her home from the hospital afterwards. She was bundled up, and had been sleeping for a whole day in the hospital bed. He laid her down onto his bed and whispered to her, pulling the blankets up around her. "Don't cry, Dottie. Don't cry.""Your child," She whispered: she kept whispering it. Her flat little nose was scrunched up, and her bead-like blue eyes were squeezed shut. "Your child is gone. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.""Oh, Dottie," Paul mumbled, laying down against her, pressing his lips onto her face. He couldn't say that he was relieved, because although he did love children, he knew in his heart that he wasn't ready to have one of his own, let alone be married. "Please don't apologize. I'm not angry at you, you're all right.""You're always angry at me," Dot sobbed into Paul's pillow, turning away from him, "You're always angry with me, Paul. I'm never pretty or blonde enough for you, or as thin, or as much like Bardot. You control me, and I don't know if I can handle much more of it."So, she'd finally snapped. It was bound to happen soon, with Paul's mistreatment. Even he knew that it was inevitable, he knew how terrible of a boyfriend he was. But he didn't know that she'd say this so soon.He sat up, propped up by his elbow, and peered down at Dot. "So, is that it, then? You don't want to be with me anymore?"Dot, still crying softly into the pillow, said, "It isn't that simple, Paulie.""It sure fuckin' is." Paul retorted, sitting up straighter, his hand on Dot's face, turning her head so that she met his eyes. "Tell me what you want."Her eyes were still swelled up, tearful and red. "I don't know.""Well, I need to know!" Paul said, his voice raising, "Because although it doesn't seem to matter much to you, I'm the one with a career. I'm the one in a band who needs to have a certain public image if I want to make it big.""Then we should be done." said Dot, her voice again on the verge of crying."Yes," said Paul, the bed creaking as he stood up, "That's all that needs to be said."___________________________________________"I didn't treat Dot well." Says Paul remorsefully. "I know it now, and I even knew it then. But I was careless with my relationship: very selfish. Eventually, Dot and I did make up, years later, when she was married. I've apologized profusely for my mistreatment, and I think she's accepted it wholeheartedly.""I see," says Michael, nodding. "Did you ever end up telling any of your bandmates about Dot's miscarriage or your engagement to her?""Eventually, yes." Says Paul, nodding back. "A few weeks later, I told them all. I actually left out the bit about our engagement, because that was initiated by my father, not by me. I would have called off the wedding sooner or later, even if Dot had carried the pregnancy to term. It sounds awful, but I didn't love her as much as she loved me: it was very unbalanced. It wouldn't have worked out." He pauses thoughtfully. "But I told the band about the miscarriage, and they were plenty riled up abou' just that, anyway. They tol' me that I was bein' careless, not usin' a condom, an' all that. We all sort o' agreed that we'd all be careful to not get anyone pregnant after that point, because doin' so could really affect our career."
"Of course." says Michael, glancing once at him notepad. "So, then, John and Cynthia stayed in a relationship, right?"
Paul gives Michael a half-smile, his head tilted slightly. "Yes, yes they did. Despite the fact that John treated Cyn the same way that I treated Dot, they stayed together. In fact, I quite liked to watch them, wondering when they'd reach the same conclusion that Dot and I had come to: that we were no good for each other. Somehow, though, their relationship seemed to only get better as time went on."___________________________________________For the most part, John and Cynthia's new relationship had no affect on the band. John still attended every practice, although occasionally he'd leave slightly early to go on dates, and still made time to see Paul on his own.Paul would ask, every once in a while, about how the relationship was treating John. John would say very little, with quite little enthusiasm, but always seemed content.Paul was unaware of just how quickly John and Cynthia's relationship was progressing, though, until one night in early September.It was a practice-night at John's Gambier Terrace flat. Paul had walked over with George, and Pete had driven himself over from the Casbah. The bright yellow paint still clung to the drywall, as done by John and his former roommates, and rightfully vexed his patient landlord.John brought out some cheap, expired alcohol, pouring a few glasses for himself and the boys, none of which minded its quality. He also had found a pack of old cigarettes that they managed to smoke through within the length of the practice."I've got an idea for Love Me Do, Paul." said John, grinning wickedly. "And it's got to do with that harmonica I stole back in Arnhem."Paul's mouth dropped open and he began to giggle. "No, John! Stop it."During their trip to Hamburg, on a trip around town, John had stolen a harmonica from a little Dutch store. He'd shown the others what he took as they walked away, and they had all laughed hysterically.John puts up his index finger, rummaging through a little shoebox beneath the coffee table. "Brings back fond memories, ey?" He pulled out the gleaming silver harmonica with a brandish. "It's perfect for the song. We'll use the same chords as for the lyrics, and everythin'."Love Me Do was another of many Lennon-McCartney Originals, written down in their precious journal, and had been a product of writing without any particular goal in mind. John, especially, was fond of it, and was eager to show the others what he'd been working on."Me Uncle George gave me my first harmonica when I was a lad," John explained, theatrically, as the others gathered around to watch him. "He was very fond of 'em. He passed away, though, a couple o' years ago, and you wouldn't believe the sound that came outta his coffin." He held the harmonica up to his lips and began playing a melancholy tune, eliciting boisterous laughter from the rest of them.John, smiling and quite enjoying the attention, performed for them on the harmonica like a seasoned professional. He took a quick, dorky bow, and the others applauded him, though none as loudly as Paul, who was grinning from ear to ear.After the short comedic break, the band began focusing on John's proposed ideas for Love Me Do, including a harmonica and excluding the electric guitar."It's really only G7, C, and D for its middle eight." Paul mumbled, glancing between the journal and John. None of them were able to read music, but they had a basic understanding of chords, upon which they relied quite heavily. "Perhaps you could start the song with the 'armonica, and then pick it up again after the chorus.""Reading my mind as always, love." John smiled up at Paul, shaking his head. It really was odd how often the two of them shared thoughts, but they'd all seemed to be used to it, by now.When at last they'd completed the first draft of the song and began lethargically packing their equipment away, John cleared his throat."Ehm, I forgot to tell you all." John said, his face going slightly pink, and the others turned to him with curiosity. "Cynthia and I are engaged."Paul's cigarette slipped from his lips.
What?
John and Cynthia, engaged?"To be married." John added quietly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers.All Paul could do was stare at him. He knew that he'd heard him correctly, but he didn't want that to be the case. They'd been dating for less than three months, but were already engaged. Paul couldn't quite process it: on one hand, he was surely happy that his best friend was so crazily in love. On the other hand, it felt like a loss for Paul, somehow. And in some dark, twisted, and unexplainable way, Paul was so, so, jealous."Oh," George quipped, before anyone else could speak. His eyebrows were raised, and he looked relatively shocked. "Really?"John stared at George. "Ehm, yes, really." He looked rather insulted. "Don't act so surprised.""Sorry," George muttered, glancing over at Paul, who was still staring at the floor, his lips pressed into a tight line. "I just... never mind."Paul snapped his head up to look at George. What George was getting at, he wasn't sure, but he'd had enough of it. "Well. Congratulations, John." said Paul, finally meeting John's sad, dark eyes. His eyes had always spoken a thousand words, and seemed to speak quite clearly at that particular moment. Paul forced himself to smile. "I'm sure you two will be beautiful together."John smiled back softly, looking at least partially pleased at those words. "Thank you, Paulie."Pete, too, offered John a "congratulations", and excused himself along with George to the kitchen to refill their drinks.Suddenly, everything was quiet: and it was only John and Paul, alone, in the echoey expanses of the living room. Paul realized, then, just how upset he'd be if his friends had given him such a lackluster felicitations for getting engaged. And this was John, his John, his best friend, who he cared about more deeply than anyone else in the world.Feeling he'd been unfair, Paul met John's eyes and cracked a small grin. "I really do mean it, John. I'm very happy for you."John returned his glance, his lips turning up ever so slightly. "I know you are, Macca. And I know you probably think that I'm rushing into this, and rightfully so." He sat with a sigh onto his tan plaid couch. "But Cyn comes from a sort of family that puts a high value on marriage, so she was quite hasty to be betrothed." He sighed again before assuring him, or maybe assuring himself, "And I really do love her."Paul gazed down at John for a moment before sitting down beside him. "I hope so." He said, quietly, "Because John, you deserve someone absolutely extraordinary. And Cynthia is... she's wonderful." Paul swallowed hard, attempting to swallow down the stinging jealousy that was lumped in the back of his throat for reasons he couldn't even comprehend.John stared at Paul, processing all that he'd said. It seemed as though eternity had passed while staring into John's eyes before he said, "Paul, why don't we run away together?"Paul's stomach dropped. "I... what?""I can take you somewhere," John rambled earnestly, taking Paul's hand in his own, "I'll take you anywhere you want to go. My aunt's just given me a hundred quid for me early birthday, and that's more than enough to take a good, long holiday with.""Christ, John!" Paul grinned cheekily, feeling rather spoiled, "You don't 'ave to do that. Besides, you've just gotten engaged. Shouldn't you take Cyn-"John shook his head adamantly. "No. No, I want to take you, Paul." For a moment, he looked nervous, as Paul didn't seem as enthused as he was. So he assured him, rambling again, "You don't have to, if you don't want. It was... it was just a suggestion.""Yes, John, I'll go with you." Paul conceded, smiling, squeezing John's hand and watching his expression shift to relief. "You absolutely don't have to do this for me, but... I think I'd be the happiest man alive if you did.""And where, may I ask, would you like for us to go?"Paul knew exactly where he'd like to go. "Maybe we could hitch-hike like George and I used to, to save money. Maybe to Spain." He paused dramatically. "But most of all, John, I'd like to see Paris. We can travel through it on the way."John smiled at him affectionately, nodding, furtive, as George and Pete came back in. It was unspoken, but it was clear that this trip was going to be a secret between only Paul and John. And Paul, who'd practically had his heart broken mere moments earlier when he'd heard the news of John's engagement, could now no longer stand to wait until the two of them would arrive in Paris, alone, at last.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"We didn't tell the others about our trip." Paul smiles. "John and I figured tha' we shouldn't worry them about it, and it was nice, y'know, to finally have something that was ours, and ours alone."
"Completely understandable." Michael nods. "What, in particular, excited you most about the prospect of this holiday?"
Paul grins again, rather proudly. "Well, it was sort of taboo, wasn't it? The fact that John was newly engaged and tha' we were having a vacation together, just the two of us. I found that very exciting." He pauses for a moment, then adding, "It felt as though I was proving a point, too, in a way. Because even though he could've taken Cynthia in my place, he didn't. He took me instead, and I was quite proud of that, 'cause to me, that implied that he preferred me to his fiancé."Of course, that was quite the stretch." Paul chuckles. "I also just loved John, which is somethin' tha' I think a lot of people seem to forget. We had a deep love for one another, and it was so, so natural, the way we completed each other. He had this tough, ruggish exterior, but 'e allowed me to see his internal, emotional, vulnerable side. Not many others saw that side of 'im, but I didn't mind that, because if they had, everyone would've wanted him. I was happy to have him all to myself. Of course, with the new exception being Cynthia."
"That's very sweet." Michael smiles.
"Well, it's the very least I can say about 'im. And the trip we had, together..." Paul trails off, losing himself in thought. "We only actually went to Paris. We intended to go down to Spain, but we loved Paris, so we stayed the whole week there, in the same little hotel room."
"Mhm. And what of the trip itself?"
Paul smiles, the faintest blush appearing on his cheeks. "It was perfect. Everything was perfect. And I'd give anythin' to go back."___________________________________________It was raining on September thirtieth, 1961: the day that John Lennon and Paul McCartney left for Paris.The two were clad in matching bowler hats, which Paul had learned from experience seemed to attract hitchhike drivers. They wore their black leather jackets that they'd bought in Hamburg along with their drainpipes and had gelled their hair nicely beneath the bowlers.They were running through the streets of Liverpool, each carrying a brown leather suitcase, and waiting for a driver to pick them up.They'd finally left Liverpool late that morning, finding rides here and there at different stops, and giggling to themselves all the time."I can't believe we didn't tell them, Johnny." Paul mumbled, grinning mischievously. They were crowded between their suitcases in the backseat of a small buggy, and were pressed almost uncomfortably close to each other. "The others, I mean: George, Pete, our parents, even. They probably think we've gone missin'.""Oh, let them talk." John waved him off with a scoff. He adjusted Paul's bowler hat, which had been laying quite flatly against Paul's dark hair, and placed it farther back on Paul's head. "It'll give them somethin' to talk about, at least. Nothin' ever happens in Liverpool, Macca.""Well, I met you." Paul offered, and John shook his head, grinning at him."Alright, fine. I suppose one good thing has ever come out of lousy ol' Liverpool." His gaze softened. "The two of us."___________________________________________After hours upon hours of hitchhiking, driving, and train-hopping, the two had finally arrived in Paris.It was raining there, too, and the sun had already begun to set. They'd taken a train to the Gare Montparnasse station and admired the building: it had columns and arches and sconces, with sophisticated people strutting all around them."Jesus Christ, Johnny." Paul drawled, spinning around and staring in awe at everything around him. "We've made it."John smiled over at him, picking up his suitcase and saying, "Not yet, we 'aven't." He intertwined his free hand with Paul's, lacing their fingers together firmly, as to not lose track of him. "We've got to see the Eiffel Tower, haven't we?"John led Paul down the steps of the Gare, into the rain. "John! It's rainin'. Let's wait." Paul tried pulling John back beneath the awning with a laugh."Oh, please, Paulie." John tilted his head at him, pleading with those great big brown eyes. "We have to see the Tower tonight, seein' as we're leavin' for Spain in the mornin'. And I'd like to see it before dark."Paul sighed, unable to resist the earnest plea in John's eyes. He smiled faintly and nodded. "All right, John," he said, his resolve melting away. "You lead the way, I s'pose."John smiled back determinedly, guiding Paul through the rain as they ran down each street, nearly getting smashed by cars and busses at the crosswalks. They could only laugh, because nothing else seemed to matter other than the fact that they were here, together. Paul waved apologetically at each person they ran into, and John kept barreling on, pulling a highly amused Paul along by the hand.Running through the streets of Paris made Liverpool feel a million miles away. There was something different about this city, and whether it was the bustling crowds, the elegant architecture, the light downpour, or the glowing streetlamps, Paul couldn't be sure. It could've been simply that this was Paris, the city of love, and that he was experiencing it all with John.His best friend.They ran for a while. Entire blocks flew by, but it felt like a mere instant to the two boys, who were still laughing and carrying on as they went.John swerved off the the right, only for the purpose of stomping in a huge puddle, splashing himself and Paul, and soaking right through the bottom of their drainpipes."John!" Paul giggled, clutching onto John's arm: a feeble attempt at staying dry. "Stop that."John chuckled as they continued on their way. "It's already rainin', Paulie- a little water won't hurt ye. But we were smart to bring hats, weren't we?""I'll say," Paul agreed, and before they knew it, they'd turned a corner, and had a clear view of the Eiffel Tower.Paul sucked in a breath: it was magnificent. It was all lit up with thousands of twinkling lights, standing illuminated amidst the still-pouring rain. The sun had almost set behind it, covered partially by clouds, but still breathtakingly scenic nonetheless. John insisted that they move closer, and they came upon the Champ de Mars, treading across the slick green grass amongst several scattered, umbrella-clad tourists.The two stopped a few hundred feet away from the Tower, setting their suitcases down on the lawn, taking it all in. It was even more marvelous up close."Well?" John asked, quietly, releasing Paul's hand at last. "What d'you think?"They stared up at the Tower, and Paul muttered back, without looking away from it, "It's beautiful."John glanced over at Paul, smiling softly. "Yes, it is."John stared at the side of Paul's face for several moments. Paul could feel John's gaze, admittedly, but was suddenly too shy to meet his eyes.Why am I nervous? Paul wondered, staring still at the Eiffel, It's only John. He's only looking at me.He didn't know why he felt this way, but was relieved when John finally looked away from him. They stayed there, simply looking up at the Tower for a few minutes, until Paul finally picked up his suitcase."You ready?" He asked, ducking his head down, hoping that by then, the blood had flown from his cheeks."Yes," John smiled, totally unaware of Paul's flusteredness. Down the street they went, finding a quaint little hotel and stepping into the lobby.It was homely, smelling vaguely of flowers and fresh bread. The lobby was nice: a bit cramped, but had a nice view of the Tower, a fireplace, and ornate French decor."Ehm," said John, having realized that the man behind the counter only spoke French, "One, er, un room."Paul bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. It was very typical of John- a muddled mix of English and the native language of a country he knew far too little about. But the man behind the counter seemed to understand him, brought out a key, and offered it to John in exchange for money.They thanked the man, and then began climbing the stairwell to their room. It was room number nine, which John claimed was a "good omen" (as it was his favorite number). The room itself was cozy, just as the lobby had been, with expensive-looking furnishing and several small, open-floored rooms: a living room, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom.Paul set down his suitcase, careful not to dampen the rug too much, and kicked off his shoes. John did the same, and laughed loudly when Paul collapsed onto the queen-sized mattress."Oh, this is a nice bed." Paul smiled, peeling off his leather jacket and drainpipes, balling them up, tossing them into a corner, and tossing his hat to John. Now only in his white t-shirt and briefs, Paul leaned back onto the pillows, relishing in the undeniably comfortable bed.John grinned down at him, taking off his hat, too, and throwing the hats along with his jacket and drainpipes into the corner just as Paul had done. He sat down on the edge of the bed and laid down. "God, you're right. It's very comfortable.""Mhm," Paul mumbled, one eye closed as he relaxed with his hands behind his head. He was very tired, and between his aching legs and weary eyes, felt as though he could fall asleep right then and there. "Are you as tired as I am?""Oh, I could fall asleep this instant, if you'd let me." John smiled, closing his eyes. "I feel like my energy's been zapped right out."Paul turned his head slightly to smile at him. "I'd let you. I'm nearly asleep already."Suddenly, John began snoring loudly and incredibly dramatically, heaving violently with each exhale."Oh, fuck off!" Paul laughed, sitting up and smacking John in the head with a pillow. "You're so dramatic.""That's rich, coming from you!" exclaimed John, jumping up in an instant and taking his own pillow, knocking Paul back onto the bed with it. They pillow-fought while yelling empty insults at each other until they were both out of breath, flopping back onto the mattress and laughing. Deciding that they hadn't any energy left, they brushed their teeth and washed their faces before returning to the bed and slipping beneath the sheets."It's even more comfortable like this," John smiled as Paul reached over to turn the light off. "Sorry that there's only one bed, by the way. I can't speak French, so I couldn't ask-""You're full o' shit, John." Paul teased him, laying sideways on his pillow so he could face him. "We've seen each other fully naked and slept together loads of times. It's nothing new for us.""Oh, have we?" John asked, propping himself up on his elbow and smirking. Even though all the lights were out, they could still see each other's faces by the light of the partially cloud-covered moon. "We've slept together, Paul? How long ago was this?""Shut the fuck up, John." Paul grinned, realizing the innuendo he'd accidentally made. "You... y-you know what I mean. We've slept adjacent to each other, countlessly.""Ah, right," John nodded. "Sorry, I was just confused." He flipped onto his back, stifling a smile. "You see, I knew you didn't mean tha' we'd actually had sex. 'Cause I would've remembered if we had... and especially if it 'appened so many times."Before he could stop himself, Paul imagined a scenario in which he and John truly did have sex. He was repulsed immediately, for a multitude of reasons: most importantly, though, that both he and John were men. It wasn't as if Paul was homophobic: he wasn't, but he had always believed that he simply couldn't be attracted to men. Never, at least, in the way he was attracted to women, because John really was attractive, and everything about him was perfectly complimentary to Paul, in the same way that spouses seem be.
But John was not a woman.
Realizing that he'd been dwelling for too long on such an embarrassing concept, Paul turned away from John, laying, too, on his back. He tried very hard to keep up the joking charade of the conversation by saying, "You definitely would've remembered. I'm very memorable, John.""I know you are, Paulie." John sighed, chuckling slightly. Paul tensed up at John's words, who, after a moment of silence whispered, "Now piss off, I'm sleeping.""Right." Paul shook his head, relaxing into his pillow, a fond little smile on his face. "Goodnight to you, too."___________________________________________John woke the next morning before Paul, and even before the sun had risen.It was still mostly dark outside, but no longer raining, and everything was covered in dew. John gently shook Paul's shoulder, waking him, and Paul's eyes fluttered open slowly."Oh," Paul offered a weak, tired smile and stretched. "Hello."John smiled down at him in return, "Hello," John's voice was laced with an amused smile, and  low and raspy: something Paul always enjoyed hearing the morning after spending a night together with John. "Sorry to bother you, love. I just thought I'd tell you, there's a train leavin' from 'ere down to Bordeaux in an hour. We could take it, then go the rest o' the way to Spain on our own, if you like."Paul sat up slightly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, reaching over to turn on the table lamp. "Really?" He mumbled, realizing just how little he wanted to leave Paris. They'd barely even seen the Eiffel, let alone the rest of the city."We don't 'ave too," John assured him, softly, quickly. "We don't even 'ave to leave Paris at all if you don't want. Whatever it is that you want, Paul... I'll do it.""Oh, John." Paul said, feeling rather spoiled and guilty, "It's your money that we're spendin'. I don't-"Wordlessly, John reached over and turned the lamp back off, smiling as he laid back against the pillows, pulling the sheets up around him. "We'll stay in Paris." He said, like always, reading Paul's mind and knowing exactly what Paul wanted.Paul laid back down, too, smiling. "Honestly, the bed's much too comfortable to get out of, anyway." He muttered, closing his eyes again. "Thank you for this, John. For everything."John inched closer, his hand brushing slightly against Paul's underneath the sheets, leaving Paul to wonder if that had been intentional or not. "I'm glad we're staying." He whispered, "And for what it's worth, I never actually wanted to leave."___________________________________________They fell back asleep and didn't wake up until noon.When at last, and with much procrastination, they got out of bed, they went out into the city and explored for several hours. John had brought his camera that he'd used in art school, and the two took photos of each other everywhere they went.There was an ice cream shop a few miles away from their hotel that had caught Paul's attention, and though it was rather expensive, John bought him a banana milkshake."Is it all right?" John raised his eyebrows, amusedly watching Paul suck through the straw, seeming to struggle.Paul giggled, swallowing his long sip and nodding, "It's incredible. Very thick, though, and I think there's real banana in it."John leaned in, taking a sip to try for himself. "Oh, yeah, it's not bad." He shrugged. "Dunno. I'm not much of a banana-person, but I'm glad you like it.""Very much. Thank you, John." Paul grinned. They found a little table outside the shop to sit, and so they sat across from each other, separated only by a dainty vase of tulips."It's funny," John started, pushing the vase aside to assure that he could look at Paul, "That we didn' even tell the others where we where headed, we just up an' left."Paul laughed, "I was thinkin' that," He took another sip of the milkshake. "They're probably worried, knowin' them. They might be thinkin' we've gone back to Hamburg without them!"John chuckled. "Let 'em think. We'll be back in a week, and they'll be alri' until then." He glanced around at their surroundings: they'd quickly concluded that Parisian architecture was unparalleled, at least to the places that they'd been before. It was all columns and arches and flowers and shops with cafes lining each street, along with the beautiful, elegantly-clad locals.That day they went up near the Avenue de Anglais, sitting in bars for the rest of the night. They laughed about it: the fact that among all these distinguished artists and posh people, there they sat, as two uncultured Liverpudlians in leather. They looked nice, though, as they'd purposefully dressed in their nicest clothes and done up their hair in gel for this occasion.John continued snapping away with his camera, taking occasionally candid, but primarily posed photos of Paul, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head.Paul leaned back and lowered his wired sunglasses, winking seductively as the camera flashed. John was grinning from ear to ear behind the camera, chuckling at Paul's dramatic modelling job. After some time of this, Paul made him switch, so that he could be the one taking photos as John posed for him.It was a beautiful and amazing thing, to be in Paris only accompanied by each other. They quickly forgot about everything and everyone else, and Liverpool became but a distant memory.___________________________________________"We carried on for hours and hours." Paul smiles. "And for days and days. Some very distinct memories came out of it, too, like when we spotted two very stylish-looking men sporting bellbottoms and blazers. Of course, we bought our own bellbottoms, too, and although we looked nice, they were wildly uncomfortable." Paul laughs, "And of course, we ran into Jürgen Vollmer, who we'd known since Hamburg, who'd moved to Paris to study art. That's when 'e took John and I in, and gave us the same 'aircut he had. That was the beginning of the iconic 'Beatles mop': and in our opinions, we looked rather good."
"I've always been fond of those hairstyles, myself. Iconic, indeed." Michael nods. "And what about the rest of your Paris holiday?"
"Well," Paul props up his chin with his fist, slightly covering his smile, "It was amazing. We went everywhere you could possibly go, and got very drunk together, as usual, and it was all incredible. We'd go admire art galleries, and even amongst all of that beautiful art, somehow we'd still end up taking photos of each other.""Hm," Michael smiles amusedly. "May I ask... During that trip, were there any indications of... romantic feelings or intentions between the two of you?""I... no. Not really. I mean, surely he must've been a bit fond of me, because he bought me all the banana milkshakes that I wanted. And I must've been fond of him, I suppose, because I had started pretending that he didn't have a fiancé, because I didn't like to think about the fact that 'e was engaged. But that was all very normal, and very typical behavior for us. I don't think tha' any of that was romantic." Paul pauses, losing himself in his thoughts for a moment. "But, I s'pose there was one thing that happened in Paris that was like that."
"Like what?" Michael asks. "Romantic, you mean?"

Paul nods solemnly. "Ehm, yes." He hesitates, seeming to wonder if he should even speak about this encounter or not. But finally, he continues, "It happened on our last night in Paris."
___________________________________________Their final full day in Paris had been spent savoring every moment of the enchanting city, and savoring, too, the final moments of alone-time that they'd have before returning to Liverpool.With their new haircuts, the boys looked almost unrecognizable: they looked cleaner, slightly, and maybe even a few years younger. John, at first, had thought their haircuts looked silly and refused to go anywhere without his bowler cap. Unsurprisingly, Paul convinced him within the following few hours that he looked rather handsome, to which John had flung his hat into the sky and seemed much more pleased with himself.The eve of their last day was spent in bars, getting drunk together. For once, both John and Paul paid little attention to the beautiful women around them while in Paris and focused solely on each other. Then, they stumbled back to their hotel, drunk on vodka and Pernod, clinging to each other and laughing loudly, catching the attention of everyone in the street.When at last they'd made it to the hotel, Paul drunkenly flung himself into bed, closer to John than he'd meant to."I'm sorry," Paul slurred, laughing slightly, his side pressed-up against John's chest, "Am I crowding you?""No!" John assured him, completely intoxicated, "No, don't move, I've got more 'n enough room."That wasn't true, as Paul had placed himself right up against John, nearly laying on his chest, with his head down on the same pillow that John was using. Still, neither of them seemed to care, because even if they had been sober, this was completely typical behavior for them.Soon enough, they fell asleep like that: facing each other, on the same pillow.It wasn't until three hours later, at one in the morning, when Paul woke up.Paul woke lying on his back, to the sound and sudden shift of the bed creaking. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel something looming over him, hovering. He recognized in an instant that it was John, sitting up, and leaning over Paul, who John assumed was still asleep.Paul held his breath, keeping his eyes shut, feigning slumber. Why is John awake at this hour, only to stare at me while I sleep?Despite being mildly uncomfortable at first, Paul kept his eyes closed. Memories from that night flashed back to him: their stumbling back to the hotel and having brushed up against John in bed while being completely wasted all the time. He supposed John was awake with a headache, and hungover, or something: but John just laid there, propped up on his elbow, gazing down at Paul.John tilted his head slightly. He admired Paul's long, dark eyelashes, his beautiful porcelain skin. He admired the way that the moonlight caught distinctly on the perfectly upturned tip of Paul's nose and on the cupid's bow of his pink, dainty lips.John leaned closer, now mere inches away from Paul's face. Paul could feel John's warm, mint-scented breath on his face, wondering what the hell was going on. John was hungover, most definitely, and was probably incapable of controlling himself.For several moments, Paul kept holding his breath. He could feel John's mouth impossibly close to his, now, and wondered suddenly if John was going to kiss him.John is going to kiss me, right now, because he thinks that I'm asleep. Shouldn't I just open my eyes by now, and tell him that I've been awake all this time? Paul was panicking now.
No. That would be incredibly awkward, wouldn't it? And besides, I shouldn't be assuming John's intentions. Perhaps he doesn't want to kiss me at all.
But John stayed, leaning right over Paul's mouth for what felt like an eternity.Well, if he is planning on kissing me, I wish he'd just do it now and get it over with.Paul couldn't believe what he was thinking. He scolded himself, silently, for how immediately he assumed that John was trying to kiss him, along with how quickly he'd just accepted it. How vain could he be? John was his best friend, and was engaged to Cynthia, and anyway, neither Paul nor John was gay.Still, it was undeniable to Paul just how intensely John was staring at him. The tension was palpable: surely, there was something there.But John leaned away from him slowly. His softly calloused fingers traced Paul's face, moving his hair out of his eyes, and he caressed his cheek for one fleeting moment. John allowed his eyes to linger for just a second longer, and without another word, laid back down, his back facing Paul, and returned to sleep.Paul let out the breath he'd been holding.Just as it had started, it stopped. As if it had never even happened at all.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"We returned home the next morning." says Paul, a faint smile tracing the thin line of his lips. "And neither of us made any mention of what 'ad 'appened the night before. I couldn't bring it up, because then John would've known that I had been awake, and that would've been a very awkward conversation, y'know?""Right." says Michael, glancing down briefly at the notes he'd kept in his lap. "So you returned home to Liverpool, and then what?"
"Well, I s'pose everythin' sort of went back to normal." Paul sighs. "We were back to our old groove. I went back to sleepin' around with any pretty woman I could find, and John went home and continued to date Cynthia, and I became painfully reminded that she and John were going to be married."

"And how was the relationship between John and Cynthia?"

"Fine, I s'pose." Paul shrugs. "I never paid much mind to them, myself, because it was almost sickening to watch them. I was still slightly bitter that she'd sort of stolen 'im from me, y'know." Paul chuckles, "But looking back, I think that he really did love her madly. And of course she loved him, but that's to be expected, because what's not to love about John?"

"I remember hearing, a while back, about something happening between John and Cynthia that was called 'borderline abuse.' Can you clear the air about that?"

"Oh, of course." Paul pushes his hair back, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Well, it 'appened shortly after we returned from Paris, John and I. Stuart Sutcliffe came back from Hamburg to visit some family, and we ended up all goin' out to a club together. John didn't feel like dancing, so he stayed at the bar to drink, and I kept 'im company, as I always do. And, ehm, Cynthia was rather upset, and said something about always coming second to me, and went off to dance on 'er own. Long story short, she and Stuart started dancin' and flirtin' with each other, and John was absolutely furious. And because the two of us had 'ad a few drinks by then, he had no shame in walkin' up to 'er on the dance floor and slapping her across the cheek.
"Of course, I'm not defendin' his behavior in any way." Paul adds hastily. "But I'm here to dispel the rumor that John abused Cynthia senselessly, because this was the only time he ever laid a hand on 'er."
"I see," says Michael, nodding, "Did the two call off their engagement because of this, or...?"
"Ehm," Paul smiles slightly. "No, ehm, they didn't. In fact, it only took Cynthia a week or so before she forgave John completely, and then sure enough, she ran right back into 'is arms." Paul pauses. "That was the thing abou' John. You could never be angry at 'im. You could never stay away, because he was like a drug, almost addictive.""Do you think that you were under that same spell, as Cynthia was?""I actually did become worried abou' that, after seein' how easily Cyn rushed back to 'im. I worried that maybe I was being manipulated by 'im, or somethin' like that." says Paul. "But then, I came back to reality and I thought, 'What the fuck, this is John that we're talkin' abou'! Y'know, he's my best friend.' So I came to the conclusion that I wasn't as bewitched by John as Cynthia was. But lookin' back, I suppose that in a way, I was. We were codependent, basically, even in the early days. But the codependency thing never got really conernin' until the later years, which... well, I s'pose I'll get to eventually."
"So, then, after returning from Paris, and after the brief issue between John and Cynthia, what was the next big thing for the Beatles?"
Paul thinks for a moment. "Well, I s'pose it'd be when we began bookin' at the Cavern Club in Liverpool. That certainly changed the trajectory of the band forever, because in doin' so, we caught the eye of a local record-store owner, who was also the manager of Rory Storm and the Hurricanes. Of course, that man was Brian Epstein."___________________________________________"Ladies and gentlemen of the Cavern Club, if I may have your attention, please!" Rang the sing-song voice of Bob Wooler, the emcee for the Cavern Club in Liverpool. "It is my honor to announce that we have 'ere tonight someone rather popular: the owner of NEMS, band-manager to Rory Storm, among other titles, Mr. Brian Epstein and assistant Alistair Taylor!"The poorly-lit club erupted into hoots and hollers, and among all the applause, John tapped Paul's thigh, leaning close to mutter, "Who's that, again?"The boys were seated at the circle tables by the far-left wall of the Cavern Club, and had all turned their chairs to face the stage. They were waiting by the backstage door because any minute, they'd be called up onto stage to do their gig.Paul grinned at him cheekily. "Honestly, John, you'd think you're a fuckin' amnesiac." He shook his head, leaning into John and pointing across the room at Brian Epstein. "That's 'im, there. He owns the record store downtown and we met 'im back in Hamburg with the Hurricanes, remember?""Ah," John nodded, a lazy smile spreading across his dim face. "'Course. Sorry, Hamburg was rather a whirlwind."That, it was: still, among everyone in the Cavern Club, Brian Epstein stood out quite easily. He was very clean, with a suit and tie, and his mousy brown hair was gelled into finger-waves. He even smoked a pipe, and was passing it back-and-forth with his assistant who sat directly beside him. There was something different about Brian, but Paul couldn't quite put his finger on what it was exactly."He looks rather odd, doesn't he?" Paul asked John lowly, nodding over at Brian.John hesitated. "Depends what you mean." His eyes never left Brian, and he tilted his head. "And anyway, you can't really tell, at least not this far away.""Brian's 'ere," George butted into the conversation, leaning in between the other two. He and Pete were sitting behind John and Paul, watching the stage from over the other's shoulders. "I talked with him and Ringo for a while in 'amburg. He's a great manager, apparently.""Oh, I bet," Paul nodded. "I wonder why 'e's stopped in today.""I dunno." George shrugged. "After our gig, though, I'll go up to 'im and give you all a proper introduction."___________________________________________The Beatles performed their lunchtime gig around noon.Brian Epstein and Alistair Taylor sat in the back of the crowd, watching, Brian especially, with piqued interest in the band. The boys put on a fantastic show that afternoon, rather rugged and animalistic, as they characteristically did.After the gig, the four retreated to their makeshift dressing room. It was barely as big as a broom cupboard, and it was quite the unfortunate place for Brian and Alistair to poke their heads in to offer their condolences to the band.Luckily, the boys had all redressed into their casual clothes, and were simply sitting off by the time Brian and Alistair walked in. It was rather embarrassing, at least in Paul's mind, to be meeting a renowned and well-groomed man as Brian in such a measly dressing room. Neither of them, however, minded in the slightest.Brian came in with a contagious smile across his face. Up-close, he seemed even more perfect, like a businessman you'd only see in the city. George greeted him with a smile. "And what brings Mr. Epstein here?""Hello, George! Hello to you all, you were all terrific." Brian smiled, his blue eyes crinkling. He spoke in a fanciful way that perfectly matched the way he looked, with a sort of intonation to his voice that the others lacked. He went around to each of them, shaking their hands genially. "Wonderful jobs. Very lovely."Grinning "thank you"s were offered by each of the boys in turn. And though it might've only been Paul's imagination, Brian seemed to be particularly interested in John, his eyes lingering for slightly longer on him than they had on the others."I've just come by because I've had a customer at the record store ask for a copy of a song of yours. I believe it was one that you played in Hamburg... My Bonnie, I believe it was." Brian said, closing the door behind him."Oh, come off it." said John jokingly, shoving lightly at Brian's arm. "If you're here for a private showing, all you've got to do is ask. Say the word, and we'll perform for ye."At John's touch, Brian seemed to tense slightly, but still laughed amusedly. "No, I assure you, I'm here on business." He cleared his throat. "Although, of course, I wouldn't mind managing you all.""Really?" George's eyes lit up. "I thought you might've had enough on your plate with managin' the 'urricanes."Brian hesitated, "Well, yes, I suppose you're right." He seemed a bit distraught when remembering that technically, he was already managing one act, and probably hadn't the time to do another. "Who knows what'll happen. I'll keep an open mind."They spoke for quite a while, a half an hour, almost. Both Brian and Alistair were absolutely charmed by the boys and their quick wit, and just how easily conversation with them could flow, like water from a spigot. In that time, also, Paul realized why Brian stood out in the way that he did: Brian was a gay man. It was so very obvious, at least in Paul's mind, and was confirmed still by Brian's lingering glances and sweet smiles at John throughout the entirety of the conversation.It was an odd thing, to see another man so clearly interested in his best friend: the best friend who was engaged, and who Paul had gone to Paris with just last month. It didn't really bother Paul, not really. He felt slightly possessive, he supposed, in the same way that he was about John being with Cynthia. But in Paul's mind, his possessiveness of John was a natural, valid feeling, so he didn't think much of it."...and please come see us again!" John called out to Brian and Alistair, as the two finally took their leave some time later."Oh, believe me, I'll be stopping by." Brian assured him, his eyebrows slightly raised as the door shut behind him.John let out a little sigh, smiling. All Paul could do was stare at the door, in a complete daze, with a million different thoughts swirling behind his dark hazel eyes.It was George who snapped him out of his trance a few hours later, after their night show in town."Y'all right?" George asked, nudging against Paul's shoulder as they walked back to their homes from the Town Hall ballroom. "You seem out of sorts."Paul glanced up from the sidewalk and saw John and Pete, about twenty paces ahead of them, talking and laughing as they went. "No, I'm fine, George, really." Paul muttered, kicking at a smooth, gray stone, skipping it across a puddle and into the black paved road."I dunno abou' you sometimes, Paul." George said, seemingly treading very carefully as he spoke, as if across broken glass. "You can be so temperamental. Like, one minute, you're on a high, and the next, you've hit fuckin' rock bottom.""Well, I..." Paul shrugged, his voice lilting slightly, stumbling over his words in the way he always did when he was nervous. "Well, I dunno, really.""I just want to know that you're all right." George said, delicately, just like before. "I don't say these things to pick on you or prod or whateva'. I just hope you're all right, and that's the truth."Paul smiled vaguely, feeling at least slightly comforted by his sweet, sweet friend. "Thanks, George. I'm all right, I think." He paused, sneaking another glance up at John and Pete, staring at the back of John's scruffy head. Already, he was in need of a hair trim.Before Paul could stop himself, he asked George in a low, gossipy voice, "You don't think Brian Epstein likes John, do you?"Instantly, Paul regretted his words, because George's face fell. He realized what a terrible friend he was: that all he could ever talk about with George was John. "God, sorry, George. Forget that, forget it all. Never mind about John, all right?"George kept on staring blankly at the ground as they walked, probably hurt. He shrugged, as if he didn't care, but Paul knew better. "I don't know, Paul. I don't know if Mr. Epstein likes John, and to be frank, I don't care. It's not really any of our business, is it?"Paul hesitated. George had given him an answer, at least, but it wasn't the simple 'yes' or 'no' answer that Paul had been hoping for. And what's more, Paul thoroughly disagreed with George. "Well, I think it certainly is my business." Paul mumbled, kicking at another pebble that had broken off of the sidewalk. But realizing that he was still talking about John to George, he paused and shook his head. "Anyroad. We've got a gig tomorrow, and it's earlier than usual. I'm sleeping at John's tonight, and you and Pete are more than welcome to meet us bright and early in the morning."George smiled slightly, seeming at least partially cheered up. "All right. I'll see you then."___________________________________________
"For the next few weeks, Brian Epstein came and saw us at the Cavern Club almost every day." says Paul, grinning amusedly. "He was our first committed fan, I suppose. He showered us with praise, and it was all terrific. It was on the tenth of December in 1962, I believe, when he officially offered to become our manager. Of course, we accepted wholeheartedly."

"Right," Michael nods, with a smile, "Was there any part of you that thought Brian was biased because of his... initial attraction to John?"
"Well," Paul heaves a great sigh, sitting up slightly and propping up one leg over the other. "I certainly thought that was a viable reason. In fact, part of our marketing deal with Brian was that we'd 'ave to start wearin' suits and acting a bit more put-together, and he'd give us compliments abou' our new look and all that. But we all noticed that he'd compliment John more than the rest of us, and the others didn't really mind, because they thought, as George had put it, that it 'wasn't really our business.'" Paul rolls his eyes dramatically. "And of course, I was convinced that it was my business, even if it wasn't the others', because I was the closest with John."
"But that didn't cause any problems within the band, did it?"
"No. No, not at the time being. But tensions were slightly higher than usual, as we had failed the audition with Decca Records, and then upon comin' back to 'amburg, we learn that Stuart died of brain hemorrhage." Paul sniffs into the back of his hand. "That was quite difficult for us. But then, as if by some miracle, we scrape by at our audition with George Martin after we returned to London. He was a renowned producer with EMI, and we were all in shock."It was such an incredible opportunity. But there was one singular catch to having George Martin produce our music:" Paul pauses, holding up one hand for dramatization. "He was unsatisfied with Pete Best as the drummer. So that night, John and I went home with George, who, by another miracle, had exchanged phone numbers with that incredible drummer from Rory Storm and the Hurricanes. We spoke with him that evening and seemed to have the consensus that this was the drummer we needed: Ringo Starr."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It was early in August of 1962.It had been quite a drowsy summer: the boys had spent the majority of their time recording music in London with their hip new producer, George Martin. It was raining for practically the whole summer, so upon retreating indoors, the boys found quite a bit of time for writing new songs, too.Writing songs, though, was primarily only a job that John and Paul felt qualified doing. George, though by now he'd meshed quite nicely with the other two, was still (in their opinion) not quite up to their caliber musically, especially when concerning lyric composure. And Pete Best still didn't really gel with John, Paul, and George. For example, during their April trip to Hamburg, Astrid had cut George's hair into the same mop-top that Jürgen Vollmer had given John and Paul. Pete thought the style was downright awful, and refused to have his cut in the same way.Among everything else, Pete's humor and work ethic didn't quite match the others': he was quite introverted, and often vocalized his annoyance with their frequent practicing and gigs. And although the other three would never admit it, the fact that Pete was known as the "handsomest" Beatle was absolutely infuriating.So by early August, it became clear that a change needed to be made.With John being engaged to Cynthia, George Martin agreed to relocate his studio to Liverpool, so the boys would be closer to home, and John, with his fiancé. Often, Paul would go out with John and Cynthia, analyzing their relationship obsessively, and coming to the conclusion that things weren't really working.They'd just returned to John's flat from one such date, and Paul nudged John's shoulder as they climbed the creaky metal staircase up to the flat."What's the deal wi' you an' Cyn, then?" Paul muttered, careful not to let his voice carry too loudly through the echoey expanses of the stairwell. Cynthia had driven home after dropping the boys off, as she had errands to run, but nonetheless, Paul still felt the need to speak cautiously.John sighed loudly, running a hand through his rain-slicked hair. He'd put on a little weight, just a few pounds, and honestly, Paul thought it looked rather good on him. Obviously, he would never say this, as that would be very queer to say aloud. "I dunno," said John, rather airily. "I dunno how to 'ave a proper relationship, honestly. This is my first one, and we're fuckin' engaged. There really isn't any backin' out now."Paul hesitated. "I... I'm sure that you wouldn't be the first person to call off an engagement." John eyed him, curiously, with his thick eyebrows raised. Paul's face paled: he'd forgotten that he hadn't told anyone about his and Dot's previous engagement. So Paul played off his slip-up by saying, "Sorry, that was a bit forward. I mean you can call off the engagement, if that's what you want." He glanced over at John as they continued trodding up the stairs. "What do you want, John?"John stopped, standing right outside his door. He stared at the ground for a moment, then looked up at Paul. "I don't want a relationship." He replied, slowly, shamefully. "At least, not a relationship like this." He started pacing, averting his eyes from Paul's, and rambled off. "We're not meant for each other, Cynthia and I: I know as much. I'd call off the engagement this second if I could. But..."There was probably a full minute of silence before Paul urged him, "But what, John?"Finally, John met Paul's eyes again. "Cynthia's pregnant."
Oh.
Paul wasn't sure if he'd said it aloud, or if he'd simply said it in his head."And I don't want my child to grow up without a father," John added, rather quietly. "So I'm going to follow through, and marry Cynthia, as I'd intended to do. Even if it's not..." He looked away again, uneasily, as if Paul's gaze made him uncomfortable. "Even if it's not exactly what I want."Paul opened his mouth after what felt like an eternity, ready to speak, but John put his hand up, issuing Paul to stop. "Let me say somethin'," John said, his head lowered shamefully. "I know we all promised that we'd be careful not to get anyone pregnant, after what 'appened with you and Dot. But, god, I don't even remember the night." He met Paul's eyes, his own completely glossed over. "Fuck, it was a fuckin' bottle o' whiskey, Paul. That's all it took, and now this. I'm sorry."Paul stood there, silently, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants that only now he realized were too long for his legs. His hair was hanging into his eyes slightly; he was in need of a trim. It was also far too humid in that little stairwell. There was a clock ticking, somewhere, and the faint dripping of a water leak into a metal pan sliced through the deafening silence like a knife.A faint little grin spread onto Paul's face, growing slowly wider as he replied in a whisper, "Christ, John. You're gonna be a dad."Only an instant later, John's eyes welled up, and round, rare tears slid one after another down his face. "I know," He mumbled between choked sobs, laughing ever so slightly. "I'm not ready for this, Paul. You know that I'm not.""Oh, hey." Paul muttered, pulling John in, embracing him tightly. John barely ever cried, and what's more, the two barely ever seriously hugged- despite knowing each other as well as they did, and needing to be near each other for every waking moment. But it felt amazing to do so: like a much-needed release. "Maybe you aren't ready for it, and I can't blame you for that, because I wasn't, either." Paul spoke softly against John's ear. "But you'll be great. I know you will."John pulled away, wiping his face with his sleeve, embarrassed of himself and of his vulnerability. "Everything's going to change." He said, guiltily, with another gentle chuckle. "I'm sorry. The baby will make it difficult for us to tour and work long hours, but the band will always be my first priority, I promise you."It was hard to be angry at John, even in his carelessness, because it was only a year earlier that Paul was in the exact same position, except he'd been deprived of fatherhood only by a chance miscarriage. "John... you don't have to do that. If the baby needs to take precedence over the band now and again, jus' tell me, and I'll understand.""I will, I will." John assured him, "But, you know..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key to the flat. He slid it into the doorknob and twisted it, holding the door open for Paul. He gave Paul a little grin, tilting his head, with tearful, twinkling eyes. "You know where my priorities lie, Paul."Paul grinned back at him, knowingly, averting his eyes from John as his heart swelled. "Yes." He ducked his head in a quick nod, stepping into John's flat. Quietly, so quiet that he was unsure that John had even heard him, he said: "And mine lie with you, too."Of course, despite Paul's disappointment in John's slip-up, he was thrilled for him. John was going to be a father: and Paul, an uncle.All that was going to have to wait, though, as mere minutes after John and Paul had made it to the flat, George arrived, collapsing onto the brown leather chair across from the couch that the other two were on. Paul and John agreed to leave out the bit about Cynthia conceiving until after the meeting was over."Here's the situation, now." said George, kicking up his feet onto the coffee table. "George Martin and the technical engineers all want us to 'ave a new drummer for our recording session on the fourth of September. But Mr. Epstein isn't so sure abou' that.""Well, why not?" John asked, setting two small China cups of tea down beside both George and Paul."Christ, he said lots o' shit." George shrugged, bringing his tea cup to his lips. "He doesn't want to break our 'already-established' group that we 'ave, for one thing. Of course, Pete's an asset to us for gigs, and brings in a lot o' girl fans, and is entertainin' enough.""Brian does know that since our contract with EMI, we're legally bound to pick a new drummer, doesn't 'e?" Paul asked, sipping slowly on the piping-hot Typhoo tea."Yeah, he realized that." George said, smiling slightly, as he continued on triumphantly: "He said that 'e was considerin' Johnny Hutchinson from the Big Three to replace Pete, but I convinced Eppy tha' all three o' us 'ave wanted Ringo from the beginning.""Fuck's sake," John grinned, settling himself down onto the couch beside Paul. "Are we actually gettin' Ringo, then?""I think we will," George replied, smiling wider than Paul had seen him do in a long while. "I'm almost certain of it."___________________________________________"Pete was immensely upset when he learned abou' the contract." says Paul. "Rightfully so, I s'pose, but he didn't really enjoy performin', or even bein' in a band with us at all. He liked the publicity and notoriety that came with it... and, y'know, eventually, we got sick o' him. So on the sixteenth of August, Ringo came in, and my god, it was incredible. There was a whole new energy, as if we all knew that finally, finally, the band was complete."
"I can imagine," says Michael, smiling. "And after Ringo joined?"
"Well," Paul says, pushing back his hair as he takes a moment to think. "It was only a few days after Ringo joined that John and Cynthia got married at Mount Pleasant. It was a quick, sort of spur-of-the-moment ceremony, and to my immense shock and displeasure, John had chosen Brian to be his best man."
"Oh," Michael raises his eyebrows. "That must've been quite a surprise to you."
"It was." Paul says, shifting slightly. "I thought for sure that he'd want me to be his best man, but alas. And as if that weren't odd enough, Brian joined John and Cyn on their belated honeymoon in September.""Oh, my." Michael says, half-smiling. "And what did you think of that?""Well, I... y'know." Paul shrugs lightly, tossing his hair back again. "I was a bit confused... and a bit stunned because their honeymoon was in Paris, where John and I had gone together, almost exactly a year earlier. It stung, a bit, if I'm bein' honest." Paul looks down at his hands. "I almost hoped that John would get Deja Vu from when we'd gone down to Paris together, out of my sheer jealousy. But we all moved on, and put that in the past."
"Right." says Michael, glancing down at his notepad. "And after the honeymoon?"

Paul smiles. "Well, I suppose that it was the good-and-true beginning of Beatlemania, now, wasn't it?"
___________________________________________By now, the band was gaining serious traction all around the UK.They released their two singles, Love Me Do and Please Please Me, within months of each other, subsequently recording the rest of their album in February. A month later, in March, the album was released to the UK and became the number-one hit for months.The band toured everywhere: all around the UK, gaining more and more fans by the minute: they still didn't quite understand how.And although, truthfully, the other three had been rather nervous of Ringo, given his tough look and cool demeanor, they quickly realized that they had thoroughly misjudged him. Ringo turned out to be an extremely sweet and thoughtful person: funny, too, and never missed an opportunity to crack a joke in John's wake (who was, until then, the certified funny man: now having responsibilities with his pregnant wife and hiding his marriage from the public under Epstein's orders).The baby was born on April eighth, around eight o'clock, in Sefton General Hospital. It was a boy: John Charles Julian Lennon.It wasn't until three days after his delivery that John could finally see him, as at the moment of his birth, the band was on tour. So on the eleventh of April, in the early morning, the boys arrived at the hospital to see the baby boy: he was called "Julian" for short.Paul came into the room, tailing John, eager to catch a glimpse of his new "nephew": he was wrapped up in a striped blue-and-white blanket, weighing barely six pounds. He saw Julian's face, and Paul's heart nearly stopped. He was such a beautiful boy."He looks like you, John," Paul whispered, and it was true: that even being merely days old, he could see the resemblance of his best friend in the face of this child. The same perfect features, all handsomely shaped.It was safe to say that Paul was rather nervous for John. Paul liked children, and he always had. But he was unsure of how John thought of them, and thought that with John's mood swings and borderline personality, he might treat the baby unkindly.Nevertheless, Paul tried to remain optimistic: without, of course, making any mention of Cynthia or Julian to the public. Brian had warned John when he and Cynthia had gotten married that he was required to keep his relationship and pregnancy a secret, as to not get an uprising from their primarily-female fanbase. They all understood this, of course, and the secret of John's marriage remained classified, for better, or for worse.___________________________________________It was only a few days later when the Beatles topped the bill at the Royal Albert Hall with a concert broadcast live by the BBC.They'd called it the Swingin' Sound '63, and it included a handful of decent group acts and solo singers. The Beatles, of course, were the crowd favorite: they were so likeable, and seemed to be gaining more and more publicity by the second.After the event, the band was swarmed with photographers, and managed to slip backstage before the fans could claw their way in. They were met, surprisingly, with only more photographers waiting backstage. It was a large, open room, with dressing tables by the walls and equipment stored away in boxes all over the room. At the moment, it was mostly empty: except, of course, for the Beatles and these photographers."What's goin' on 'ere, 'en?" George asked one of them, wiping his forehead off with a towel he'd found discarded on a vanity stand."Sorry," said a disembodied girl's voice, from within the sea of photographers. After a moment, she weaved her way through and stepped out in front of the band. She was slender, done-up in dollish makeup, had a partially torn blue paper dress, and had hair as red as fire, in thick bangs and curled prettily onto her shoulders.The boys' mouths dropped open, realizing instantly who this was: Jane Asher, an actress they'd all fancied for ages, standing right in front of them."Oh, wow!" Paul drawled, stepping closer to inspect the girl, "You're a redhead!"Jane looked rather shy, and gave him a little smile. "Yes," She said, quietly, her downturned blue eyes crinkling up up the corners. "I'm Jane, by the way.""Oh, we know," said Ringo, giving her a polite little handshake. "We've seen you on the telly. Juke Box Jury, wasn't it?""Yes, we've only seen you in black-and-white," said John, "We'd 'ave never known you were a ginger, we all thought you'd be blonde.""Oh, I hope it didn't shock you too much." Jane said softly, twisting a piece of her hair around her finger. "I wouldn't want to scare you.""Not at all, not at all." Paul assured her, very clearly trying to pull her. The others watched him amusedly: his attempt at flirting was rather good, in all honesty. "Now, what brings you round 'ere, m'love?"Jane stared up at him, lowering her head to laugh for a moment, obviously smitten. "Well, I'm just with Radio Times, and they want me to have a photo with you all. Is that all right?""Of course, you may," said Paul, an arm wrapped easily around Jane's shoulder, leading her to stand against a plain white wall, as a backdrop. The other boys stared after him, glancing at each other, taken aback slightly. Still, they took photographs with Jane: John, especially, noticing the way that Paul had nestled his hand into the crook of Jane's little waist; the way that Paul was looking right at Jane's mouth for half of the photoshoot.It wasn't out of the ordinary for Paul to be lusting over a woman like that: but what was significant was that Paul seemed to be actively flirting with her, as if he wanted to take her out. John watched them, discreetly, the whole time, and after Jane and her people had gone away (and, of course, after her exchanging phone numbers with Paul), John sidled up to him."Are you flirting?" John asked, blatantly, and so starkly so that George began to laugh."What?" Paul turned sharply to look at John, meeting his intensely dark gaze, "Of course I am, John. What'd you think?"John shrugged, eyeing Paul up and down once, and saying, "Was just curious. Didn't peg you for the romantic type. Thought you wouldn' want a girlfriend."Paul rolled his eyes, turning away from John, "Maybe I do want one. Maybe I even want twenty girlfriends. Or perhaps I don't want any at all." He smiled, slightly ominously. "You'll never know, will you, John?"Paul didn't mean to be rude, but sincerely hoped to convey the point that it wasn't up to John to decide who or whether Paul dated. Really, it shouldn't even concern John at all.John hesitated, staring at Paul, and saying quietly, "No. No, I suppose not."And that was the end of it.___________________________________________A few days later, John arrived, uninvited, to Paul's house for an afternoon visit.He arrived to the McCartney residence with his guitar slung over his shoulder, having just completed the first rendition of a song he'd titled All I've Got to Do.He jiggled the doorknob, feeling that he was close enough with Paul that he could walk into his house without needing to knock or ring himself in. It was open, to his surprise, so he strode in and glanced around the kitchen: no one was around."Paulie!" He called, kicking off his shoes and leaving them on the mat by the door. "You home?""John?" Came Paul's voice from the living room, sounding a bit drowsier than usual. "Wait, John, don't come in, I can come out-"John ignored him completely, making his way into the living room and stopping in his tracks when he saw Paul on the couch, with Jane Asher sitting on his knees, in his lap. John glanced between the two of them, leaning coolly against the doorframe: Paul's hair was messed-up, and he had peach colored lipstick smudged all over his face. Jane, on the other hand, looked so embarrassed she could practically die right there.Of course, Paul and Jane had kept in touch since the Swingin' Sound '63, and had talked on the phone or in person everyday since then. Paul had asked her, just the night before, to be his girlfriend, to which she had replied with a quiet, but elated, yes.But Paul hadn't told John about that yet. Now, upon seeing Paul with Jane, John was highly amused, a slightly grim smile creeping onto his face as he observed them. "Oh, so things are serious now?""Oh, John. Come off it." Paul huffed, lifting Jane gently off his lap and standing. He turned hastily to Jane, who was still looking terrified, and said, "Ehm, sorry, Janie. I'll be back in a moment."He gestured impatiently to John for him to move back out into the kitchen so that the two of them could talk privately. John was still smiling to himself, faintly: he'd ruined a perfectly romantic moment between Paul and Jane, and he thought that was rather funny."John." Paul began, sighing, when the two had come out into the kitchen, standing by the front door. Paul was dressed casually, for the first time in ages, in jeans and a white t-shirt, bunched up in the front from where Jane had been grabbing him. "Why'd you 'ave to... you should've knocked first.""Oh, my bad, Paul." said John, grinning, "I'd just assumed we were past that stage of our relationship. But you're free to correct me if I'm wrong.""John..." Paul sighed again, shaking his head. "No, you... ah. Yeah, you're right, I s'pose." He caught John's eye again. "You're right. You just came in at the wrong time, y'know?""Oh, I've figured that," John replied, stifling his grin. "You and Jane Asher, then?""Well, yeah." Paul shifted, shrugging again. "Yeah, s'pose so. I dunno. Why?""Jesus Christ, Paulie." said John, chuckling slightly, with his head tilted. His eyes were glimmering, the same way they always seemed to be. "Why'd you 'ave to interrogate me all the damn time? Maybe I don't 'ave a reason for askin', the same way you 'maybe want twenty girlfriends, or maybe none at all.'""Oh, enough of you." Paul said, finally smiling, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "But anyroad, why'd you stop by?"John waved him off, in wake of having walked in on Paul and Jane. "It doesn't matter now, it can wait. And I can leave, if you want me to."John's tone made it obvious that he didn't want to leave, and that if Paul would let him, he'd stay. But even though Paul knew this full well, he wanted desperately to get back to Jane, and was still a bit annoyed with John for interrupting them. So Paul opened the door and chuckled, "All right, then, I guess."John hadn't really been expecting Paul to actually dismiss him, so he pursed his lips tightly and said, "I won't be around next week, by the way.""Oh?" Paul raised his eyebrows, genuinely curious."Yeah," said John, stepping into the doorframe as he replied casually, "I'm going with Brian to Barcelona. We'll be gone for a week.""Wait." Paul shook his head, refusing to believe what he'd heard, he stepped closer to John, who was now standing out on the porch. Paul laughed slightly, manically, as he said, "What? You can't be serious.""I am," John nodded, shoving his hands placidly into his pockets. "I've told you that Brian's been asking me to go on trips with 'im for several months now. You've heard him ask me, even.""Well, yeah." said Paul, running a hand through his hair, thoroughly confused and almost distressed. Brian had been asking John, many times, to have a holiday with him. Paul had heard Brian asking John, himself, many times. "But I didn't think you'd actually say yes to 'im!"John shrugged annoyedly, "Why shouldn't I?"Maybe because Brian is so obviously in love with you, John, and going on holiday with him while having a wife and child at home is so unbelievably wrong? Why couldn't John understand that?"Well," Paul sighed, shrugging, unable to put his concerns into words without seeming incredibly nosy and intrusive. "I don't know. I hope you have fun, though. Make sure to call me when you get there safely."John backed onto the porch steps, nodding briefly to Paul. "I will. I'll see you later, 'en, Paul."What an awkward end to such a conversation. "Yeah," said Paul, retreating back into his house, stopping in the doorway to offer John one last small wave. "'Bye, John."Paul watched John turn on his heel and walk away. He studied the way that his windbreaker flapped slightly, refracting the colors of the sun like a kaleidoscope.He almost called out John's name. He almost called out for him, telling him to come back right this damn instant. He almost admitted to himself that deep down, he'd rather spend the rest of his evening with John, instead of Jane, or perhaps, even the rest of his life.Almost.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"...so, Brian took John on a trip to Barcelona, unaccompanied by anyone else. The two of them went alone."

"Oh, my." Michael says, smiling slightly at the prospect of it.
"I was so shocked that John agreed to go." Paul sits back on the couch, leaning coolly against the cushions. "Because we all knew that Brian was gay. None of us had any problem with that, of course, but I thought that knowing Brian's intentions, John would turn down his advances. But John didn't turn him down, and admittedly, that was the moment when I considered again the possibility of John being gay.""Really," says Michael, "Very interesting. What did the rest of the band do while John was away with Brian, then?""Well," Paul breathes, thoughtfully, "Well, I s'pose that's when I moved into the attic of Jane's family home. We were in a serious-enough relationship at that point, and I'd had enough of living in my childhood home. Then, George, Ringo, and I took a few girls and went to Santa Cruz, Tenerife: it was a beautiful place. But I was bothered, really, and couldn't properly enjoy our holiday, because I was preoccupied, thinking about John. I didn't know why it bothered me that much, but it did, and he was on my mind the whole time he was gone."
"Interesting," says Michael, a faint smile still tracing his lips. "Then, when John returned home?"

Paul blows out another dramatic breath, smiling only barely. "When John returned home, well. It was... I can't even begin to describe our conversation to you. So I'll recount each detail as best I can..."
___________________________________________It was now May of 1963. John had just returned home: Paul knew this because he'd spent the morning driving around, coincidentally passing by John's Aunt's house several times, until he saw a car pulling into the driveway, driven by Brian Epstein.Paul waited for a while, strategically, before returning to Mimi's house to see John. He braced himself, knowing that this conversation would be quite the awkward one. How exactly was Paul supposed to ask about the intentions and purposes of their holiday without seeming intrusive or speculative?Paul decided he didn't much care about that as he knocked on the door, though, that afternoon, two hours precisely since he'd seen John pull into the driveway with Brian.John came to the door, smoking a cigarette and wearing all white. It was hot out, and the sun reflected off of his clothes, stinging Paul's eyes with John's rather angelic-looking gleam."Hello," said Paul, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair quickly, realizing that he hadn't yet combed it today.John offered him a little grin, tilting his head to the side. "'Ello, Macca."Paul looked at him for a moment, clutching his hat to his chest tightly, wondering where on earth to begin. "May I, ehm," He returned John's smile. "May I come in?""Oh, sure, sure." John opened the door wider, allowing Paul to step in after him to the surprisingly vapid, quiet house. Cynthia and Julian and Mimi were nowhere to be seen.The two found themselves in the living room, collapsing onto the couch and chair. It wasn't as small as Paul's childhood home, but it had the same homely feel to it: soft, weathered furniture, plush rugs, an old TV set, and all the other standard things you'd find in an Aunt's home. Paul glanced around for a moment: he hadn't been here in what felt like ages."Where're Jules and Cyn?" Paul asked, finally, when the silence of the ticking clock became far too loud for his personal liking.John took a drag from his cigarette, carelessly shrugging. "Fuck if I know. They 'aven't been home since I got 'ere."Paul looked down at his knees, pressing his hands against them until his knuckles turned white. John was mad, again: just like he'd been a few years ago when Julia died. He didn't know why, and it felt strange to ask, because John was treating him like someone he didn't even know.When Paul said not a word, John added, "I only got back two hours ago, an' I jus' got off the phone with Shotton, 'en, too. I haven' even 'ad time to unpack me luggage."Pete Shotton? Paul had no idea that John was still close with his former best friend. Paul had known that since a few years ago, Pete Shotton had been helping with the "business" portion of the band, but he hadn't personally interacted with him. Apparently, though, John still did, and probably quite regularly at that.John continued, "An' I was gonna 'ave Brian stay 'ere wi' me until Jules came home, so he could say hello to his godson, but he and Martin 'ad stuff to do."Paul's entire body stiffened. "Godson?""Yes," said John, blowing out a fairly good smoke ring. "Yes, I had Brian become Julian's legal godfather earlier this week, before we left. You didn' know that?""You never told me," Paul informed him, quite irritably. "You don't tell me anythin' anymore. You're my best friend, John, you know that, right?"John shifted in his seat: Paul had struck a nerve. "I know.""If I ever got married, I'd have you be my best man, you know." said Paul, earnestly, almost pleading to John, hoping that he'd understand just how hurt he was. "If I 'ad a son, I'd 'ave you be the godfather." He almost carried on, but instead shook his head, feeling that he'd made his point. "What I'm sayin', 'ere, is that you're my first choice, John: you always will be. And I'm sorry if you can't say the same about me."John was staring at the floor, guiltily, wallowing in his self-dissatisfaction. "You're still my best friend," He muttered, looking up from the floor, "But Brian is different. I don't know, he's... he's our boss, y'know.""Sure," Paul shrugged, half-laughingly, not understanding at all the significance of what John had just said. "Fine. So what you're saying is tha' you're doing all these things with Brian, just to score extra points with him, because he's our boss?""No," John shook his head, lowering it into his lap once again. "It's hard to explain, it is.""Okay." Paul breathed, taking that as his que to drop the subject. "So, why'd Shotton call?"John took a moment before answering him. "I called him, actually. Just to talk, y'know... I wanted to talk to 'im abou' Barcelona.""Oh," said Paul, his voice lifting, along with his eyebrows. "Why's that?""I jus'," John struggled through his words, unsure how to phrase it. "I needed to talk to someone abou' it.""Did something happen in Barcelona?" Paul asked, sitting up straighter. His heart was pounding faster, now, and he could hear it in his ears. "You can talk to me abou' it, y'know. You can talk to me abou' anything.""I..." John started. He took a moment, to choose his words, before he finally changed his mind. "I don't know, Paul. It's all very complicated."At that point, there was no doubt in Paul's mind that something did indeed happen in Barcelona: maybe emotional, maybe even a physical affair. It puzzled Paul, though, that John would tell Pete Shotton about it, and not even tell him.Paul sighed, feeling discouraged. "All right." He stood up, avoiding John's gaze, and stretched his weary limbs. "Well, I'll best be leaving, now." He strode to the kitchen table, where he'd left his hat. "I'm sorry about your trip to Barcelona. But I thank you for taking it: you're being a good representative for the band. It was smart of you to want to get on Eppy's good side, and suckin' up to 'im, and all that."John remained seated on the chair in the living room, practically unmovingly, watching Paul as he moved throughout the kitchen. He hadn't been expecting Paul's half-joking quip."Actually, Paul," John called to him, after a moment's silence, "Epstein's the one who sucked up to me!"Paul's hand was on the doorknob, but he froze in his tracks and spun around to face John, who was still sitting on the chair, a coy little smile plastered across his face."I, ehm," Paul muttered, knowing exactly what John was implying, but not knowing at all what to do with that information.Brian had given John oral sex. John had let him do it."You can't be serious?" Paul asked, desperately curious, as he strode back into the living room to stare John dead in the eyes. John looked up at him, shrugging, with that same little amused grin."You'll never know, will you?" John asked, teasingly, crossing one leg over the other and taking a conclusive drag from his cigarette."All right." said Paul, accepting his defeat, finally cracking a grin, himself. "Whatever."He started walking away, his hand, again, on the doorknob before John called out to him, "I'll be seeing you later this evening, love!"Paul glanced over his shoulder, his hip popped, still smiling. "Will you now? And why's that?""We can go out tonight, just us, like was used to do." said John: his admirable attempt at reconciliation. "Come and pick me up later!""Okay." Paul chuckled to himself, swinging the door open. "I'll be over. Seven o'clock, John, I'll be at your door. Don't keep me waiting!"As Paul was closing the door, John called out with a smile, "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it!"The door closed behind Paul, and he stood there on the front step, smiling to himself. He knew that this was only John's trying to appease him, to make up for the fact that he was being so secretive about Brian Epstein. Probably, too, to make up for John's new partiality to Brian, in making him his best man, taking him on his and Cynthia's honeymoon, and naming him Julian's godfather. And now, to make up for the affair between John and Brian that John himself had basically confirmed.But really, all that didn't matter much. Because for the moment, Paul could pretend that it was still years ago, when it was just John and him, and when everything was simple and perfect.___________________________________________Several weeks had gone by: a quick blur of time, during which the Beatles spent most of their time performing and sitting off.John told no one about his affair with Brian Epstein: which had, in fact, truly happened, except for Paul and Pete Shotton. Paul had no idea what to make of the affair, frankly: because although he'd sensed a tension between John and Brian since the moment they'd met, Paul hadn't expected John to act on it: because John wasn't gay.But perhaps he was.Paul didn't really know. He didn't much like to consider that John could be gay: to think about it made Paul weak in the knees, because it meant that John could very well have taken advantage of him, because maybe he'd fancied him. That would surely explain that night in Paris, that now more than ever was weighing on Paul's mind, as well as every other encounter that the two had throughout the years in which John's intentions had seemed a bit more than friendly.But perhaps the affair hadn't meant anything: it seemed within reason to think that John might've just been horny while in Barcelona with Brian and needed a quick blow. That, in Paul's mind, was the most reasonable conclusion.Still, the situation weighed on him even by the time it was June: by the time it was his twenty-first birthday.It was hosted at Paul's Auntie Gin's house on Dinas Lane in Liverpool, at her marquee in the back garden. Paul travelled all the way there from the Empire Theatre with Jane, Billy Kramer, Cliff Richard and several of his other friends. He hadn't any idea of how huge the party was going to be: nearly everyone he knew was invited: of course, his Dad, Mike, John, George and Ringo. But also, there were people he hadn't thought would show up: several of his old schoolmates, cousins, some of John's friends, and a few of the folks he'd met around Liverpool through the years.There had to be about a hundred people in attendance: Paul was flattered, he truly was, but was almost embarrassed with his and Jane's late arrival, having assumed that the gathering would be more casual and with a much closer-knit group of people. But his Auntie Gin insisted that it was no problem at all, had done all the cooking herself, and along with the help of the Beatles, had booked the Fourmost to perform.It was a splendid party: everyone was in a great mood, and it was great to finally relax after months and months of working with the band.The only thing that made Paul quite nervous was that rumors about John and Brian's holiday together had been spreading all around Liverpool ever since they'd gone. People talked about how odd it was, how Brian, who was quite obviously gay, had gone on a holiday, alone, with the tough Scouser and rising star, John Lennon. People started speculating, then, that perhaps John was queerer than he let on.Fortunately, no one had made any mention of that gossip yet. Unfortunately, though, halfway through the party, Bob Wooler, the emcee of the Cavern, decided to speak on the subject.Paul had been hanging around by the dance floor, his arm wrapped snugly around Jane's waist, having a nice conversation with John, Cynthia, George, Ringo, and Brian. All of them were fairly tipsy: the alcohol selection had been quite good. Bob approached them, intoxicated, too, and draped his arm around John's shoulder. "'Ey, Johnny.""Oh," John jumped slightly, having not been expecting Bob to come up like that. "'Ello, Bob.""So, tell us, Johnny," said Bob, his arm swinging wildly, sloshing his bottle of beer. "Tell us what really 'appened on your trip to Barcelona wi' Epstein, why don't you?"Everyone in their little circle glanced around at each other, exchanging nervous glances. John only stared at Bob, looking shocked. "What?""You know!" Bob nudged John, smiling grandly, and waving his beer bottle over at Brian, gesturing to him. "You two's honeymoon, wasn't it? I 'ope you 'ad a nice honeymoon, I do."Everyone within several feet of the group stopped and silenced, listening intently to this confrontation. Paul caught Cynthia's eye, feeling awfully for her. She looked shocked and confused, grabbing onto John's arm and trying to pull him away from Bob Wooler. Brian, equally, looked shocked: his icy blue eyes were wide as saucers, his mouth pressed into a thin line."Don't fuckin' say that." said John, his eyes narrow and cold, staring daggers at Bob. "It was not like that at all."But it was like that. Paul pressed his lips together, keeping himself from saying anything he might regret. He thought that after that, Bob might concede and drop the subject, but he didn't.Instead, Bob only smiled wider and spoke louder. By now, the party had practically stopped, and everyone in the marquee was watching and listening. "Come on, John!" Bob laughed, loudly, "Come on, you can tell me! All of us already know what 'appened!"It all happened rather quickly: John hauled off and punched Bob in the eye, tackling him to the ground and continuing to go at it. Cynthia and Jane had both screamed, and everyone else started yelling, too, as the dance floor cleared, making room for John and Bob, who was continually getting pummeled by the former.Paul stood in shock for a moment before yelling, "John! Jesus Christ!" He stepped in, looping his arms beneath Johns', hauling him away from Bob before he could cause permanent damage. John struggled against Paul's grip, practically writhing, trying to get back to Bob.Bob was on the ground, still, clutching his eye. From what Paul could tell, he was completely bruised.Brian knelt down beside Bob like the good Samaritan he was, helping him stand. It was only a minute later that he had helped Bob into his car and was driving him to the hospital.John, on the other hand, was still shaking. Paul didn't want to let go of him, not really; but he did, helping John to stand properly."John, John, John, John." Cynthia mumbled, holding John's face in her hands, as everyone continued to swarm around them, asking him if he was all right, asking him what Bob had said that agitated him so greatly.John's eyes never left Paul, though: he didn't look at anyone else, not even for a moment. Probably because Paul was the only one that knew about John and Brian's affair. Or maybe because Paul was the only one that John really trusted; maybe Paul was simply John's favorite person. Paul was thinking too much about this, and it didn't even matter, really.John's voice was shaky when he finally spoke. "I'm sorry," was all that he said. After that, Cynthia took his arm, thanked Paul for inviting her, and walked out to the car, her arm looped tightly with John's.Paul watched the car until it was out of sight, a lump swelling in the back of his throat as Jane ran her hands up into his hair. The rest of the party was dreary, no one wanted to dance or sing anymore after the fight that had broken out. Everyone else seemed to blame John for it all.Paul didn't blame John one bit, though: not even slightly. He understood why John had done what he'd done, and just like every other time, Paul found himself excusing John's actions. He simply couldn't be angry at John Lennon. He loved John far too much.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

John's outburst wasn't at all what Paul had expected to come out of his own twenty-first birthday. Of course, he still didn't blame John for the way he reacted, wishing only that John might've reacted slightly less aggressively, but it was past that, now. He could only hope that the past-version of John that had been violent and aggressive nearly all the time hadn't returned.It was a week later, now. Paul was laying in his bed in the attic of Jane Asher's home, staring at the low ceiling. Dust fell into the beams of light from the yellowed windows, and Paul watched them dance absently. John had called him an hour ago, but they hadn't spoken for long: John had sounded rather busy, and had mentioned briefly that he might come over and hang out in the attic with Paul. But it had been an hour already: and still, John wasn't there.Paul took that to mean that John must simply not be coming. He understood, as John was still a relatively new father. But mere moments after he'd thought that, the door latch clicked and the ladder made a loud thump onto the floor, and the sound of footsteps up the ladder made Paul sit up in bed and smile.John's head popped into the room, his eyes crinkling in a perfect grin. "Sorry tha' I'm late, Paulie.""Oh, Johnny," said Paul, smiling still, moving over in the bed to make room for John, "I thought you wouldn' be comin'."John scoffed, closing the hatch-door, kicking off his shoes and climbing onto the bed. He was carrying their notebook in his hands, and set it down on the nightstand. "No, I jus' had father-duties to do at home." He made a face. "Quite fuckin' awful, honestly."Paul giggled. "I can only imagine," He reached over John to grab the notebook, but was stopped by John's hand."No, ehm." John stumbled over his words, sitting up slightly. "Not yet. I 'ave somethin' to give you, first."Paul's eyebrows raised. "Oh?" His lips curved up slightly, and he sat up, too. "What's that?"John grinned, reaching into his pocket. "Okay, a bit of context, I suppose." He breathed deeply, and Paul sat back, listening intently to John's every word. "This was meant to be your birthday present, but in the chaos of the party, I never got a chance to give it to you. I'm sorry about that, again; that was really my fault."Paul shook his head, grinning, "No, no, John. It's really all right."John smiled sheepishly. "Well, I s'pose. Anyroad, this is somethin' tha' I've been savin' for a while. I wanted to give it to you at a special time, and you didn' 'ave a birthday party last year.""Okay, okay, John!" Paul laughed, still listening intently, but growing increasingly impatient, "What is it? You're killin' me.""Wait!" John chuckled, standing up beside the bed. "As I said, I've 'ad this present for a long time now. But the moment has never felt quite right." From his pocket he pulls out something quite small, not bigger than an envelope, wrapped up in tissue paper. "Here it is. You're welcome to open it, and then I can explain."Paul reached out and took the little parcel, thoroughly confused and having no idea at all what could be inside. He unwrapped it, practically holding his breath. Inside was a silver bracelet: an identity bracelet, with his name, Paul, engraved across the metal. He was speechless, running his fingers along the smooth silver bracelet, his mouth open like an 'o'.John watched him fondly, smiling softly, and asking after several moments of silence, "May I explain it, now?""I don' think you even need to," Paul mutters, the 'o' of his lips curving again into a little smile. "I already think that it's the greatest gift I've ever gotten.""Well," John shrugged modestly, "I feel like I should tell you that I actually bough' it while we were in Paris. I saw you lookin' at it at a shop in the city, and when you weren't looking..." John watched Paul still, his head tilted, as Paul fumbled with the chain of the bracelet. "I bought it."It took Paul a moment, but he did remember: it was one of their first days in Paris, and he had been marveling at the intricate silver bracelets on display, smiling at the fact that he'd found a bracelet with his name on it: like it was made for him. He remembered that John had encouraged Paul to take a smoke outside the shop while he finished his shopping. He remembered John acting secretive, but thinking not much of it; it had seemed so insignificant at the time.But now, everything made sense.Paul looked up at John, his eyes a bit glossy. "I love this, John. Thank you,"Wordlessly, John reached down, taking the bracelet and wrapping it around Paul's wrist, clasping it for him. It fit perfectly: "Like it was made for you," John mumbled, and Paul smiled, because just as he'd done countless times before, John said exactly what Paul had already been thinking."You do like it?" John asked, collapsing onto the bed after a moment, seeming slightly nervous."I don't think I'll ever take it off," Paul replied earnestly, touching the metal again, relishing in the feeling of its coldness on his skin.John gave him a smile, solidifying it. They spent the rest of the afternoon in Paul's bed, and stayed there until nearly midnight, simply writing songs together and talking. All the time, Paul would trace his fingers along the metal bracelet, smiling absently. He'd hardly ever been so happy in all of his life.___________________________________________"1963 was the turning point of our career," says Paul. "Tha' was when we started gettin' really, really popular: only in the UK, though, at that time. Please Please Me was called Introducing the Beatles in America, and it didn't sell very well. Still, it didn't much matter, because our success in the UK was just so great.""Ah, I see," says Michael. "So, then, what did you and the rest of the band think of it?""Well," Paul smiles fondly, his head tilted to the side. "I... I was having so much fun; I think we all were. I was living the life I'd been dreaming up with John since we were fifteen, and I think especially the two of us were on a really incredible high."___________________________________________The Beatles toured all around the UK during the final months of 1963.They'd even performed for the Queen of England, and of course, John had still made his clever little joking quips all throughout, classically.Eventually, they even became popular in America, starting with I Want To Hold Your Hand, and soon, the Beatles had wooed the entire country, just as they'd done the UK. So, naturally, in early 1964, the band left to tour in America.It was going to be a long flight, Paul had heard from an attendant that it would be many hours before the plane reached New York. But all was well: it was a comfortable flight, and the band had even gotten private seating in first class.They boarded early in the morning. Paul filed into the row first: two seats per row, so of course, he tugged on John's arm, pulling him into the seat beside himself."What'cha pullin' me for?" John laughed, reaching up to load his and Paul's carry-on luggage into the overhead bin. "I was plannin' on sittin' with you, anyway. Ringo and George are sittin' up in front of us.""Oh," Paul giggled, shrugging sheepishly. "Sorry. I'm a bit nervous, John, I s'pose... to see America, y'know." Paul nodded quickly to the window as he sat. "D'ye want the window seat, by the way? You're welcome to 'ave it.""Oh, no." John assured him as he, too, sat. "You like the window seat, don't you?""Well, yes. But you're welcome to have it if you want it, John.""It's all right." John nodded, giving Paul a silly little smirk. "You're not a bad view, yourself."Paul shook his head, chuckling. It wasn't out of the ordinary for Paul and John to give each other compliments like that: certainly it was something that every pair of friends did with each other now and again."You're an odd one," Paul mused. It wasn't long after they'd taken off that John gasped, suddenly remembering something. "What is it, John?"John reached up into the overhead bins, glancing quickly down at Paul and saying, "Don't look, Paul. I've just remembered.""Remembered what?" Paul asked, squinting up at John, trying to see whatever it was that he'd fished out of the compartment."Don't look!" John grinned, finally closing the compartment and sinking back into his seat. "Keep your head turned away, Paul. Look out the window for a bit."Paul chuckled, completely confused, but compliantly keeping his eyes glued onto the glass of the window pane, turned completely away from John. "Fine. How long will you be?""Oh, fuck knows," John replied, exhaling thoughtfully. "Could be days. More realistically, I should only take half an hour or so."Paul shook his head, laughing lightly. "All right. Tell me when you're done with... whatever that is."Paul's head dropped mindlessly as he gazed out the window. He lost himself in thought, wondering briefly what John might be doing just beside him, tempted to take a sneaky glance. Still, true to his word, he kept his gaze on the window, his thoughts whirling as he ran his thumb across the smooth metal of his identity bracelet, feeling each of the letters' grooves spelling out his name. He wasn't sure how the time passes so quickly, he'd only seemed to be thinking for several moments about America, about his bracelet, about Brian, and Jane, and John before he felt John's elbow pressing against his chest."Wake up, Paulie," John said through a smile. "Wake up."Paul's eyes fluttered open groggily. He rubbed them, and his vision sharpened, the shape of John's face appearing mere inches away from his own. "Hello," Paul yawned. "Did I really fall asleep?""Yes," John nodded, still smiling admiringly. "Yes, you did. Only for an hour, though, and I do feel bad for waking you, but I was feelin' lonely. I've also finished your gift."Paul sat up straighter, his lips suddenly curling into a little grin. "A gift?""A card, I s'pose," John shrugged, handing Paul the letter he'd been holding tightly against his chest. "Happy early Valentine's day, Paulie.""What?" Paul mumbled, smiling, as he stared down at the card in his hands. The cover was fairly plain: baby blue-and-white stripes with red and pink hearts scattered all over. Inside the biggest heart was printed, 'To the one I love!'Paul glanced up at John briefly, eyeing him curiously through his dark eyelashes. He opened the card, where the factory-printed message read, 'Sending a happy valentine, with wishes fond and true, from one whose heart will always hold such loving thoughts of YOU!'There was only one thing written by John, up in the top-left corner, surrounded by little pen-drawn hearts: 'To Paul, with love'.Paul's face flushed when he read it, wondering why such a thing had taken John an hour to prepare. But then he flipped the card over, his eyes crinkling when he saw what was written on the back. John's handwriting was scrawled all across it: beautiful and loopy, without any error, in black pen.
'If I fell in love with you

Would you promise to be true

And help me understand

'Cause I've been in love before

And I've found that love was more

Than just holding hands

If I give my heart to you

I must be sure

From the very start that you

Would love me more than her

If I trust in you, oh, please

Don't run and hide

If I love you too, oh, please

Don't hurt my pride like her

'Cause I couldn't stand the pain

And I

Would be sad if our new love

Was in vain

So I hope you see that I

Would love to love you

And that she will cry

When she learns we are two.

If I Fell.'
Paul took three minutes to read it, scanning over each syllable as if his life was depending on it. He took it all in: all the words, and how beautifully they flowed."Christ, John," Paul muttered, his hazel eyes round as saucers. "Christ. You wrote this?"John nodded nervously.Paul didn't ask John who he'd written the song for, even though he desperately wanted to know. It didn't sound to be written for Cynthia: it sounded to be about someone else. He wondered if maybe, maybe, the song was written for him, because after all, John had given him the Valentine.But how selfish did that sound? Of course the song wasn't written for Paul. John had only used a Valentine because he hadn't any other paper available to write on, and was feeling inspired for whatever reason, sitting there next to Paul during the flight.It didn't matter, anyway, who the song was written for. It was objectively very beautiful, and Paul managed a smile while finally glancing up at John again. "This is so beautiful."John propped his fist beneath his chin, smiling, pleased. "I'm very glad you like it. That's your Valentine's Day gift." He exhaled suddenly, standing up, seeming almost embarrassed of himself. "Well, I'm going to stretch me legs. Cynthia and Julian are probably asleep, but I'm going back to business class to check on them, anyway."Without another word, John started down the aisle, and Paul stared at his back as he walked away. He wondered why John had suddenly left like that, all flustered and embarrassed, seemingly without reasoning.It didn't seem like John. It worried Paul, slightly, but also made him consider again: maybe the song was written for him, and in wake of Paul having not verbally affirmed that he knew the song was for him, John got embarrassed.Still, it couldn't be written for him: it did not make sense, because John was in love with Cynthia. John would never love Paul in such a way, and Paul, never John.Never.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"So, we'd made it to America," says Paul, fondness lacing his voice, and he smiles. "It had been an ambition of ours- John and I's, especially- ever since the beginning. Finally, then, we were there: it was an incredibly rewarding feeling, and it felt different than before, when we'd only ever been in Europe. We felt, in a sense, as though we'd made it. And we had." Paul's smile deepens. "We had."
Michael smiles. "That must've been an incredible feeling: very accomplished, I suppose."
"Very," Paul agrees, "The fact that we were famous finally dawned on us. Still, we were surprised when millions of fans would tune into our shows or have merchandise with our faces plastered all over them: because we fel' as though we were still these ordinary musicians from Liverpool, y'know."
"Oh, of course." Says Michael, "And how did America treat you?"
"Well," Paul smiles again, shifting in his spot. "America was incredible. We did the Ed Sullivan Show, of course. And then, we toured all around: we truly were on top of the world."___________________________________________The first live performance given by the Beatles in America was at the Washington Coliseum in D.C.They'd come in by train, as it was snowing heavily, and by the time of their arrival, eight inches of snow had piled up on the ground. Several hours later, the boys were lounging around in one of the backrooms as Jay & The Americans performed their opening."It's a new one," George mused, pressing his ear up against their dressing room door, listening to the band's opening performance. "It's got a clever tune, listen."Ringo, too, pressed his ear to the door and grinned. "Never heard that one, either." He glanced over at John and Paul. "Have a listen, you two, you might recognize it better than us."John and Paul, having been doing their hair in the mirror at that moment, took a break to listen to whatever it was that Jay & The Americans were singing. They took Ringo and George's spot at the door, pressing their ears against it, and listened.Faintly, Paul could hear the song from the outside: he did recognize it. His gaze flicked up to John, wondering if he, too, recognized it."I know tha'," said John with a grin, nodding at Paul. "You do, too, don't ye, Paulie?"Paul cocked his head and returned John's grin, "Yes. Yes, I do." He stood up straighter, stretching, trying to jog his memory. "Where'd we know that from, John?"John, too, stood up straight and replied, "We were talkin' to Jay and Howie a while back, and they sung a bit o' that song for us.""What's it called...?" Paul wondered aloud, raking his fingers through his ebony-brown hair, staring up at the ceiling. "Ah, right!" He lit up, suddenly, grabbing his comb to use as a microphone as he sang, "Come a little bit closer, you're my kind o' man, so big and so strong!"George and Ringo giggled to each other, sitting back and watching John continue the show, singing into Paul's comb-microphone: "Come a little bit closer, I'm all alone, and the night is so long!"They were all laughing to themselves, now, and the other two were even applauding as John and Paul continued on to the second verse. They harmonized, this time, Paul still holding onto the "microphone", and with John wrapping his arms around Paul's waist, swaying dramatically as they sung: "And we started to dance, in my arms, she felt so inviting... and I couldn't resist just a-one little-"A knock on the door startled the boys: a knock signaling that they had one minute before showtime."For fuck's sake," George mumbled, shaking his head as the boys began scrambling around again, preparing themselves. "Wish I could take a bifter out there,""No kiddin'," Paul mused, returning to the mirror, continuing to fix his hair. "I could use abou' twenty packs at the moment.""Don't keep fussin' with your hair, Paul, it'll fall out!" Ringo chuckled, tossing George and John their suit jackets."Really?" Paul asked, his nose scrunched up in disgust at his not-quite-perfect-looking hair, "And who said that?""Elvis, probably." Ringo shrugged. Quickly, he peeked through the door, then turned back to the others to say, "We've got abou' a minute, now."While George and Ringo were getting themselves ready, John wandered over to Paul; Paul, who was still sat in front of the mirror, doing his hair.Paul sighed frustratedly: it was far too long at the moment, all fringy and messy. "Does it look as bad as I think it does?" Paul muttered through another deep exhale, noticing John standing over his shoulder, watching him in the mirror."You wouldn't believe me, even if I told you." John replied, tilting his head and properly examining Paul's "bad" hair."Tell me," Paul prompted, sighing again. "It does look fuckin' awful, doesn't it?"John grinned, shaking his head. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he fondly mused, "No. No, it doesn't.""You're a hell of a liar," Paul mumbled, finally accepting defeat and standing, stretching, feeling at least somewhat comforted by John. "But thanks, John."They congregated with George and Ringo by the door, waiting: when Paul's eyes lit up, realizing that he'd forgotten something."What's the matter?" John asked.Paul's eyes trailed down to the collar of John's shirt: left unbuttoned, as they always were, before every show.Paul couldn't help but grin a little as he grabbed John by the collar and steadied him. "Hold still, now." He did up John's buttons in the same way he'd been doing ever since they'd started touring: it had become a ritualistic thing, Paul standing John still while doing up his unbuttoned shirt, mere moments before they took the stage.John would stand there every time, smiling faintly, as if it weren't on purpose that he'd left his buttons undone. Paul really didn't know whether or not John did it on purpose: by now, though, after hundreds of shows, surely John should remember to button his own shirt.But it didn't really matter whether John was doing that on purpose or not. It was always an amusing little occurrence for all four of the boys: and often for the workers bustling about around them, who'd witness it firsthand.Paul didn't quite realize just how intimate the gesture must've looked. John, however, did realize this: as if he needed any more motivation to keep leaving his shirt unbuttoned and his tie undone every single night.___________________________________________For that first trip, the boys remained in America for a few mere, short weeks. It was an amazing time: they stayed only on the east coast, but promised the fans that they'd be back to visit again in no time.Now, though, their obligations were back in London, as their first film was to be shot. They'd be performing in a comedy titled after their latest album, Hard Day's Night: a strange little phrase dreamed up by none other than Ringo Starr, who quite often would say such things that made no sense whatsoever.The filming started in Marylebone Station in early March, as the film was being shot nearly sequentially. It was quite an amusing first shot: the boys running through the streets and into the train station, being chased by mobs of fangirls, hiding in phonebooths, with Paul sporting a fake mustache in disguise: it was brilliant, they all thought so.While they took a break from filming inside of the train, speaking to Dick Lester about the filming process, George seemed entirely too distracted to speak properly."Y'all right, son?" Paul nudged George, worried slightly for his friend. "You look rather distraught, you do.""No, I ain't distraught." George mumbled through a sigh, his eyes wandering still to a compartment slightly out of Paul's view. "Jus' preoccupied, y'know?""Why's that?" Paul asked, lowering his head, hoping George would disclose to him what was wrong, even in a whisper.But George only sighed again, straightening up as he stared into that same compartment. "Who's that girl?" He nodded discreetly at a girl who was in the compartment, and Paul moved around a bit until he had a clear view of this mystery-woman."Which one?" Paul asked: but he already knew who George was probably speaking about. The girl in the middle of the seat, the most beautiful one: with her shiny blond hair and bangs, gray pinafore dress and tie, her knees nearly knocking together. She was nervous. Even so, she was one of the most beautiful women that Paul or George had ever seen in their lives."Oh," Paul raised his eyebrows, a slight smile creeping onto his face, "I don't know. She's a pretty one, though."George didn't even look at Paul. His eyes were fixed on the girl. "She's beautiful," He muttered, watching her still, as she shyly spoke to the other schoolgirls sat with her. George swallowed loudly, before repeating, "She's beautiful." As if he hadn't already said it with as much emphasis as he'd needed to.Paul grinned, catching John's eye, who was still speaking to Dick Lester, unaware of George's new fascination.Then John, Ringo, and Dick all joined George and Paul outside of the girls' compartment. Dick started, "Well, I s'pose I should 'ave you boys meet the schoolgirls.""Well, they aren't real schoolgirls, are they, Dick?" John asked, smirking, his head tilted."I'd surely hope not," Paul smiled, nudging John, wondering how on earth they were meant to act if these girls were all really underage."No," Dick assured them with a smile. "No. These girls are all adults, performing as a group of schoolgirls. Nothing to worry about, as far as ages go.""That's sound, innit?" George grinned, his canines poking out like they had since he was just a boy."Don't harass them," Dick advised the boys as he slid open the girls' compartment door, saying lowly, "They're models.""Ah," Ringo nodded, peeking into the compartment first, despite George and John nearly clawing at him, trying to get past him and into the compartment. "Hello." He waved sweetly, and all the girls' heads turned to him, and every single one of them swooned."Hello, girls!" John interrupted, finally having shoved past Ringo, waving at them, grinning from ear to ear. "How are we, this fine afternoon?"Giggling little "good"s echoed through the compartment. Paul watched all this, having stepped back, not wanting to appear overbearing, as the others seemed to have no aversion to.It was not ten seconds later when Dick Lester shut the sliding door, telling the boys that they had scenes to film elsewhere. John looked put-out: he'd seemed to have quite enjoyed meeting the girls, even if it had been just giving them a mere wave. George, though, looked even more distraught: he'd had a chance to say something to that beautiful blonde, but had been completely tongue-tied, and hadn't even gotten a word in.Luckily for them, when lunchtime rolled around, the boys and girls ate together in the dining compartment. Paul, John, and Ringo ate close with Dick and Wilfred Brambell, who'd been playing Paul's cheeky (and very clean) grandfather. George, however, seized his opportunity and sat on the outskirts of the boys' group: seating himself right beside that same girl from earlier.Paul smiled. He knew George, and he knew what George's expression meant, too: everything was entirely calculated.George didn't speak much to that girl, but they all got a better up-close look at her: her name was Pattie, and sure enough, she was a model. Somehow, up-close, she was even more beautiful than she'd looked sitting there in the compartment, if it were even possible. Her eyes were the most clear, shining shade of blue, with a gap between her two front teeth behind plump pink lips, and skin and hair so soft and smooth that she could've been mistaken for a doll.It didn't take a genius to realize that all of the boys fancied her: even Paul and John, though both were in long-term relationships, thought that Pattie was quite a catch.They tried not to dwell on her, though. Instead, they made jokes with Ringo and Dick and Wilfred, passing the time with their collective sharp wits and tongues."I still can't get over that your name is John McCartney," Ringo laughed, tucking himself into the bean sandwich that he'd packed himself for lunch, glancing across the table at Wilfred Brambell, whose stage name as Paul's grandfather was, indeed, John McCartney."It is rather funny, isn't it, John?" Paul grinned, nudging John, as he, too, tucked into his fish 'n' chips. "Imagine that.""Imagine what?" John asked, glancing at Paul between bites of his own lunch. "Imagine if I 'ad your last name, you mean?""Mhm," Paul mumbled, in between bites, his mouth full. "Imagine."John chuckled, shaking his head. "I don' mind it, really. It's got a sort of ring, doesn't it?"Paul nearly choked on his chips when John hadn't met his quip with any sort of retort or disgust. In fact, he'd seemed almost interested by the prospect of having Paul's last name. The others at the table continued to laugh and joke about it, all while Paul was silently reprimanding himself about, once again, reading into John's words and actions, without so much as a hint that they actually meant anything at all.___________________________________________"That first day was great." Says Paul, one leg crossed over the other, remembering fondly the memories of his distant past. "Of course, the most crucial part of all o' that was the first meeting of George and Pattie."
"How nice," Michael smiles. "Can you tell us more about them? When they first met, I mean."
"Yeah, yeah." Paul leans back thoughtfully, remembering each detail with a wistful smile. "After that first day of filmin', we took that same train back to London. We hung abou' with the girls, then: John and I weren't as interested as the other two were, naturally. But George sat down right beside Pattie, and struck up a little conversation." Paul's smile deepens. "Both of them were very shy, so it was quite amusin' for the rest of us to watch.But as the train neared London, George looked Pattie dead in the eyes and said, 'Will you marry me?'"
Michael laughs. "Oh, my. And what did Pattie say?"
"Oh, she laughed." Paul chuckles. "She didn't know whether he was being serious or not, so she didn't reply. Then, he said: 'Well, if you won't marry me, you should at least allow me to take you for dinner.' But she declined, because at the time, she'd had a boyfriend, old and dull as he was." Paul leans back, shaking his head slowly. "Of course, we know how the rest of the story goes, though. Pattie regretted turning down George, and ten days later, she ran to him in the studio. He must've asked how her boyfriend was doing, or somethin' to that effect, because she tol' him then that she wasn't dating him any longer. So, he said, 'Good. Let's go out tonight.' And the rest is history, I s'pose."Michael smiles. "It's nice to hear of their story from such an inside source, y'know. After Hard Day's Night, then, what was next for the Beatles?"Paul sighs. "Well, we 'ad a number of songs on the top-ten and hundred on the Billboard, and we seemed to be at the height of Beatlemania at the time. But I s'pose the next project for us was a sort of less-serious sketch tha' we did for ITV: we, of course, performed in a rendition of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It was April of 1964: the Beatles had just finished filming their first movie, A Hard Day's Night, and now had set their sights on Shakespeare.Jack Good had reached out to the boys in early April, providing them a script consisting of songs to perform (their own songs: Twist and Shout, Roll Over Beethoven, and Love Me Do, just to name a few) as well as an excerpt from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. This came as a great surprise to the boys: it hadn't been yet one month since wrapping the production of their first film, and they were already being offered new roles, however brief they were.Of course, they all thought that this was a great (and, rather hilarious) job opportunity, and accepted."Have a limited amount of funny business, boys." Brian mused from the passenger seat of the limousine, smoothing down his hair in the overhead mirror. "Certainly, though, they've already heard a great deal abou' your personalities: doubt they've booked you for your acting abilities.""Oh, enough o' ye!" John grumbled, fumbling with the window-shade, ensuring what little privacy was possible for the Beatles. "We're actors, now, y'know- isn't that right, boys?""Yeah, right-on." said George, producing from seemingly nowhere a package of biscuits, splitting one in half with Ringo. "Give us your Shakespeare, Ringo.""Me? Oh, I haven't had any practice." Ringo grinned, shaking his head bashfully."Oh, try!" Paul egged him on, reaching over John for one of George's biscuits. "Do try, Ringo. You're the best speaker out of all o' us."Ringo, conceding, cleared his throat and declared, in a deep character voice: "Hark! What light doth shine from thee package of biscuits?" He picked up the package of biscuits: now completely empty. The boys were all giggling as Ringo continued, disheartened: "'Tis empty. I am but a poor jester: no biscuit nor maiden shall ever see me. I shall die alone, in this package of crisps: dance a merry jig, and say farewell to you, my friends."A collective holler of applause rang out through the limousine: even Brian, far in the front, was laughing. Ringo gave a nod of his head as a bow, and Paul remarked, "Christ, Ringo, you're a natural.""I don't know why I'm even here anymore." George mumbled, laughing, "Ringo's better than the rest o' us at everything. Let's all quit while we're ahead, lads, before 'e takes our jobs.""No biscuit nor maiden shall ever see me," John quoted, elbowing Paul, "I'm going to be using that, from now on.""All right, boys." Brian called, still laughing ever so slightly, as the limo came to a smooth halt. "We're here."___________________________________________They'd arrived at Wembley Park Studios at two o'clock in the afternoon, leaving them just enough time to get familiar with the place before starting their rehearsal.As for the skit, it was very brief: so brief, in fact, that Jack Good hadn't specifically assigned any of the boys to a particular role. He'd simply given them a script several weeks back, telling them to talk amongst themselves about who should play which part (because, of course, the boys knew each other and their personalities better than Jack would)."Have you decided yet who wants to perform as each part?" Jack asked after he'd concluded their quick tour of the studio.The boys all glanced at each other, feeling guilty that they hadn't managed to come to a complete consensus yet."Well," Paul exhaled, glancing around, "I mean... I'd mentioned that I'd not mind playin' Pyramus, but.... but, y'know, that's entirely up to you, Jack.""That's no problem at all," Jack assured him, jotting down several notes onto a clipboard he'd been carrying. "And as for the rest o' ye?"Mumbles of "well"s were echoed by the other three, trying desperately to remember the fleeting conversation they'd had about their roles several weeks prior."I think..." George mumbled, his dark eyebrows scrunched together, "I think I said that I'd be Moonshine, or whatever his name is. That one seemed a bit like me.""I was the Lion, I'm sure." Ringo added with a nod, looking up at Jack, "Seems like somethin' I could do pretty naturally."Jack continued scribbling away on his clipboard, finally turning to John, and lifting his gaze to him. "And so that leaves you, Lennon... as Thisbe. Does that sound right?"The boys all chuckled slightly, even John, who looked over at Paul, seeming to forget how to properly form a sentence in-between his laughs. "Ehm, yes. We talked abou' this a few weeks ago, and I'm sure that's what I said, isn't it, Paul?"Paul, who was still giggling surreptitiously with the other three, cleared his throat to reply, "Oh, ehm... yes, John. I think so."It was only funny because Thisbe was a girl, and that John Lennon, as rough and tough as he was, would be willing to play such a damsel in distress. Of course, it was made funnier still by the fact that Thisbe was the lover of Pyramus, who, of course, was being played by Paul.Paul didn't mind that, much. Of course, if he could choose anyone to act as his romantic interest in such a skit, he'd pick John every time. It was a simple fact that the two were most comfortable and natural with each other, and had chemistry they could mold almost effortlessly into that of a staged romantic relationship: whatever that meant, Paul wasn't quite sure.Most likely, it meant absolutely nothing."Excellent," said Jack, unaware of the reasoning behind the boys' giggling, and trucking right along, showing the boys his plans for costuming, makeup, line delivery, and other.Impressively quickly, they received updated versions of their scripts, all of which were highlighted for their newly-finalized roles. They sat around in their actor's chairs, ogling and laughing over their stage direction and lines."My cherry lips have often kissed thy stones." John read aloud, looking pointedly at Paul, as the boys broke again into giggles. "What the fuck's that s'posed to mean?""God, John!" Paul giggled, leaning against John's shoulder to read from his script through continuous laughter: "O wall, full often has thy heard my moans, for parting my fair Pyramus and me!" Paul doubled over in his seat, glancing over at Ringo and George. "Fair Pyramus, y'hear that?""Piss off," John grumbled, though he was still smiling broadly. "And I'm only a damsel in distress, I s'pose.""At the end, you kill yourselves," George muttered out of nowhere, glancing up at the others with a giggle. "Paul, it says that you stab yourself in the chest with a sword, and then John finds ye, all Romeo and Juliet type stuff.""I get to stab myself?" Paul's eyes grew wide, and his smile, wider: "Jesus, wonder how I'll manage to pull that off!""You'll have to use a real sword, y'know." Ringo said, stifling a smile, "Because you'll need to actually die. The director told me so.""Yeah, Paul. Your acting's lousy- so we need to kill ye." John chuckled, nudging Paul, and suddenly, Jack was at his side again, clearing his throat."Are we ready for rehearsal, lads?" Asked Jack, an eyebrow raised expectantly.The boys glanced between each other, mumbling "ehm"s and smirking slightly, having not realized that they'd been allotted this free time in order to learn their lines.Paul stood up first, his script clenched in his fist, "Yes, sir! More than ready." The others stared at him, wondering what on earth he was going on about: but John followed suit, and Jack informed them that he'd like to practice a bit of "chemistry" between only Pyramus and Thisbe, allowing George and Ringo to continue with their break.After several long moments of purely jotting down stage-direction and what the director called "blocking", Paul and John were finally prepared to run a scene together, without their noses buried in their scripts."We ready, boys?" Jack asked, sitting down in his chair, as Paul and John readied themselves in center-stage.Paul grinned, nodding slightly. "Ready as I'll be, I s'pose.""READY!" John yelled, gruffly, in a voice much deeper than his own."All right, then," said Jack, "Pyramus and Thisbe's meeting, scene one, take one! And, action!"The studio lights dimmed: something that Paul had not been expecting for a simple rehearsal practice. Almost immediately, he felt ready to laugh, and he or John hadn't even said a line yet.There was no wall separating the two of them, yet: that was going to be an addition in a later practice. For now, it was an imaginary wall that Paul was gazing through as he yelled, "Thi-isby! Thi-isby!" with his hand held up to his eye like a looking-glass, mocking a hole in the wall."Oh!" John mused, his voice high and girlish, looking at Paul through his own curled-up hand: the hole in the wall. "My love! My love! Thou art-" John lowered his head, stifling a laugh. He took a moment to sober up, then returned to the "hole in the wall": "Thou art my love... I think?"Paul pressed his lips together firmly as he stared through the hole at John's crinkling eye. Then, he replied, strained, with holding in his giggles: "Whist thou at Ninny's tomb meet me straightaway?""Ninny's tomb?" John replied, in that same high voice, giggling while we spoke, "Is that... is that still open? Oh... jolly good!"The two stepped away from the "wall", exiting the stage together. Paul avoided John's gaze, knowing that he'd laugh if he met his eyes while still on that damn stage."Cut!" Yelled Jack, and a relieved John and Paul came out to the front again, both mouths pressed into tight lines so they wouldn't begin laughing hysterically. Jack sighed, "How do you boys think that went?"Paul, stupidly, looked over at John, who was already looking at him, and began giggling. "Sorry, it's hard to be serious this early on in the production." Paul muttered in-between laughs. "We'll get it right, eventually. We just need, y'know...""We need to get the laughter out of our systems, is all." John completed Paul's sentence, who nodded along with him, stoically."Oh, of course," said Jack, half-smiling, almost seeming understanding of Paul and John's contagious antics. "Shall we run the scene again, then?"It was obviously a rhetorical question, so the boys both replied with a nodding "yes" and made their way back to center stage. They were careful not to look at each other for more than an instant, knowing that even mere eye contact with each other would make them both, again, break out into laughter.But, Paul supposed, that that was the fun of it: to be acting oppositely of someone he knew and loved so dearly that simply looking at him would make them both start giggling. He realized for the nth time how lucky he was to have that sort of relationship with John, and that even after all these years, after all this time, that John was the person who made Paul feel more than anyone else in the world ever had.___________________________________________The recording of Around the Beatles was drawing nearer and nearer, still: soon, the boys were practicing in costumes and makeup, and John and Paul had finally sobered up to the point where they weren't laughing every time they made eye contact.John had stopped using his high, girlish voice, and swapped it for a gruff voice, even deeper than his own, only adding to the comedy of it all.John's outfit, too, was a sight: a choppy blonde wig with pigtails, a white nightgown and mantle with red ribbons. The makeup artist even painted a gap between John's two front teeth: earning John's clever remark of, "Look, George, Pattie and I could be sisters!" (which, of course, George did not much appreciate).Finally, then, it was time for the real recording of the skit.The first bit went extremely well: the wall, now portrayed by an actor, was found to be very funny by both the boys and live studio audience alike. It was sometimes hard to hear the cues for their lines with the uproar of the live audience, but they performed as well as they could.When finally the last scene was at hand, the boys all held their breath, knowing that this scene had posed the most difficulty for John and Paul in practice. It had required John to drop his sash upon seeing the Lion, and for Paul to swoop in and stab himself with his sword, and wrapped-up by John reentering and peering down into the face of the dead Pyramus, admiring his beauty (which, the two had found, was extremely difficult to do whilst trying not to laugh), and then killing himself in Paul's wake.The scene opened: John stepped up beside George, in his ridiculous costume, and yelled gruffly, "So this is old Ninny's tomb!" He muttered a quick "thank you" to the audience member who'd cried out, "You're beautiful, John!" and proceeded to open the imaginary door of the tomb."But where is my love?" John wondered aloud, and suddenly, screamed in horror when Ringo (dressed in a lion costume) leapt at him from inside of the tomb. The audience roared with cheering and laughter as Ringo chased John, running circles around George dressed as Moonshine with his heap of brambles and his dog.When at last, Ringo and John had concluded their chase and retreated to the upper stage, Paul arrived, looking handsome (however cheap) in his gray knight's costume, which John had not failed to compliment each time Paul had worn it in rehearsal ("I used to think I liked blondes... now I'm thinking that maybe I like knights!")Quickly, he'd found the mantle that John had dropped on his way out and placed it closer to the front of the stage, glancing up at George and saying, "Sweet moon, I thank you for thy sunny beams, remember."George shook his head, his lips tightly closed to keep himself from smiling.Then, Paul looked down, noticing (albeit, not for the first time) the sash of John, discarded on the floor. "Hello, hello, hello, what's this?"He picked up the sash, examining it as he knelt, seeming almost nonchalant, as if he were reading from a script: "Eyes, do you see? How can it be? What dreadful dole is here. Thy mantle good; all covered in blood! O dainty duck, O dear!"He'd surprised himself with how well he'd remembered such flowery, stupid lines.He stood, then, announcing, "Come tears, confound! Out sword, and w-" He reached for his sword- which was not in its sheath. In its place was a small, puny dagger- one of the boys had surely replaced it while Paul hadn't been looking. Had he not been trying desperately to remember his lines, at the moment, Paul would've broken out into laughter right then and there.The audience seemed to think that it was rather funny, though, and continued laughing away, even when Paul continued: "-and wound the pap of Pyramus! That left pap!" He cried, far too excitedly, pumping his fists and pointing to the left side of his chest. "Where heart doth hop! Thus die I, thus- oh." He sighed, as he stabbed himself with that simple dagger, falling onto his knees, and then flopping onto his back dramatically, all while the audience screamed in horror.Feeling he'd overdone it a bit, Paul sat up and assured softly to the fans, "'Tis all right, it's all right!" He looked into the camera and fell back into character: "Now am I dead. Now-" He paused for a moment, smiling around at all the fans who had started screaming, trying desperately not to break his act again. "Now am I fled. Ah, well, you can't win 'em all! Tongue, lose thy light; Moon, take thy flight! See ya, George!" He ad-libbed, glancing up at George, and waving to him as George walked off with his pup and staff.He smiled cheekily, raising his dagger again, and stabbing himself repeatedly as he laid down, "Now, DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE-"Then, of course, John approached him, skipping, practically doing a jig as he sat down beside Paul in his frilly white dress and blonde pigtails. Paul squeezed his eyes shut: John was trying to make him laugh, now, and Paul couldn't give in. "ASLEEP, MY LOVE?" John yelled, staring down at Paul's lying figure.Realizing that he needed to say something, to simply keep himself from laughing, Paul began stabbing himself again, saying, "Die, die, die!" while the audience simply screamed for him.John stared down at him, and Paul met his gaze, wondering what on earth John could reply with. "What, dead, my love?" John asked with a smile: silently, Paul commended him: a great ad-lib. Returning to the script, John grasped Paul's shoulders, shaking him. "Pyramus, arise, arise! Speak, speak!""Quite dumb," Paul replied, looking up at John from where he lay flatly on the ground. His eyes crinkled up, and he giggled slightly, waiting for John's horrid next line: it was the most difficult line to be serious during.John looked up at the audience, saying, "A tomb must cover thy eyes. Those lily lips-"Paul, noticing that the camera had panned on to him, stared directly into it, smiling, raising his eyebrows.John continued, "His cher-ry nose..."Paul glanced back at the camera, which was still pointed directly at him, and scrunched up his nose. He looked back to John, up at him, as John continued to admire him: "His yellow cowslip cheeks are gone, are gone! Lovers, make moan, his eyes were green as leeks!"Though Paul still had not a clue what all that meant, he cocked his head at John, grinning at these odd lines and at John's odder delivery of them."So, not a word, not a word..." said John, a finger to his lips, as one of the hecklers repeated his line in a yell. John took a moment to break character, glancing the heckler's way and yelling, "SHUDDUP! Not a word... come, trusty, eh..." John found Paul's dagger, having not been expecting such a tiny blade, and let out a little laugh. "...sword. Come, blade, my breast imbrue!"The crowd cheered for him: he hadn't even had a chance to stab himself. But he continued, anyway; Paul sat up, awake from the dead, to say the last line of the play in-sync with John: "And so, farewell, friends! Thus, Thisbe ends! Adieu, adieu, adieu...!"It hadn't been scripted, but as John and Paul lay down, "deceased", and as the crowd roared once again with cheers and laughter, John grasped Paul's hand firmly. Paul gladly took John's hand and held it, keeping them grasped together, somehow for longer than he'd meant to.Paul breathed a sigh of relief, because finally, finally, it was over. No longer did he need to practice lying on the ground or his chemistry with Thisbe. In a way, it was bittersweet: because although part of him was finally glad to have closed this chapter of his life, he'd miss the stage and the role of Pyramus, and, truth be told, playing oppositely of John, too. Of course, he'd never say that, just like he could never speak of what happened that night in Paris, or in Barcelona, or about many other things, too- secrets upon secrets.And what all of that meant, he truly, truly, had no idea.Perhaps, like everything else, it meant nothing at all.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"At long last, we were done wi' all o' our filmin' in the UK." says Paul, "And by this time, A Hard Day's Night, both the album and film had been released: both of which were smash-hits."
"Seems like another high for the Beatles, eh?" Michael asks with a grin.
"Oh, certainly." Paul nods, "Then, in August, we came back to the States and Canada to continue tourin'. It was a great ordeal: we were all very, very busy during this time."
"Are there any particular stories that stand out to you from that era of your life?"

"Ehm, yes." Paul glances up at the ceiling thoughtfully, smiling, "...yes, quite a few. I'll try to recall the details as best I can."
___________________________________________The tour opened at the Cow Palace in San Francisco.This tour was more physically demanding than any job the boys had taken, prior. It required them to go without sleep for several shows, to have no private time other than driving or the mere few hours they were allotted to spend in their hotel rooms.Some shows even proved to be hazardous for the boys' health. At the Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Denver, the altitude was far too great to comfortably breathe while performing. Because of this, the show lasted not much longer than a half an hour, ending on a poor note for both the boys and the crowd. (The boys did their best to remain optimistic, though: John, especially, having noticed that Paul's spirit had dulled during that lousy show, walked offstage with him afterward, muttering, "Oh, Paul, you look so cute tonight." Paul met John's little compliment with a dismissive, "Sod off, Lennon." Even so, John felt as though he'd succeeded: because even though Paul had shrugged him off, it was obvious that as he turned away from John, Paul was grinning madly from ear to ear.)Oftentimes, even mere hours before a show began, the boys would do phone-in interviews from their hotel rooms. While the others would get increasingly bored of waiting by the phone and hearing questions that they'd already answered countless times, Paul was patient, and finished each interview even if the others had wandered off.It was typical of a phone-interview to begin with all four of the boys huddled around the answering machine, trying to get a word in, until George and Ringo would disappear down the hall to the hotel cafe or bar. John, though, stayed with Paul, even if he wasn't being asked or answering any questions, and simply laid on the bed beside Paul, listening, watching; keeping him company.Paul much appreciated that: one of many countless thoughtful gestures of John that reminded Paul of why he adored John as much as he did."You know," said the interviewer one evening. Paul was sitting straightly in a chair at the small hotel room table, with the answering machine done up to the highest volume, on the insistence of John, who was laying in bed. His arms were crossed behind his head, and he was staring up at the ceiling, listening absently to Paul's interview. "I don't go for these gossip-column type questions-""AB LIE HLINE!" yelled John, suddenly, madly: complete gibberish, simply trying to prove to the interviewer that he was there with Paul.Paul giggled lightly, glancing over at John, briefly giving him eyes so that he might shut up for a moment. The interviewer continued, "...but I wanted to ask you one question. Since there's so many girls who do like the Beatles, uh... if you had to pick a wife, let's say: what type of things would you look for?""Uh," Paul smiled at the all-too-familiar question: probably his most frequently asked question, having been considered by most people as the "cute" Beatle, and thus being the one that the girls all desired so greatly.John, still staring at the ceiling, but smiling ever so faintly mumbled, "Two arms, two legs..."Paul chuckled again, replying, "As John says, two legs, two arms, uh..." Paul's gaze rolled up to the ceiling, sighing thoughtfully: in all honesty, he didn't quite know what attracted him about girls. He couldn't seem to think of anything that wasn't as generic as a good style, intelligence, charm, wit, attractiveness- what on earth was so attractive about girls that wasn't as unspecific as all that?"Special kinds of things? I dunno." Paul replied after a bit of contemplation, "Jus'... I don't... I like girls to be reasonably sensible. I don't like 'em to be... stupid, or... dizzy. Y'know, the dizzy blonde type: I can't stand. Uh..." Paul took another pause, trying to come up with an answer that was even remotely distinctive. He couldn't, really. "Sense of humor. I like people to, er, girls to have-""HA HA HA!" John shouted, easily picked up by the microphone. He was reading a novel, now, but had heard Paul say enough about liking people ("er, girls") with a sense of humor, and felt obliged to make his presence again known; specifically by proving that he had a sense of humor, for whatever reason.Paul glanced over at John, chuckling lightly, his eyes warm with affection, "Like... that's John," He told the interviewer, softly, fondly, "Laughing away."After another moment's pause, and after John had finally met Paul's gaze with a cheeky grin, Paul turned back to the mouthpiece and continued, "Ehm... yeah, I like a girl to have a bit of a sense o' humor, y'know..."And all that really was true: that neither Paul nor John had a particular "type" of girl that they fancied. They simply thought they were pretty, and liked the sex- but certainly, it was unacceptable to say that, especially while having both Cynthia and Jane in their corners. And there, the two women stayed, despite being aware of the boys' promiscuous, cheating habits (that, albeit, had slowed since their early days in Hamburg, but having not stopped completely).Their behavior was to be expected by the wife or girlfriend of such rock-and-rollers.Cynthia did come to America for a short time, accompanying the band while on tour, to the frank chagrin of John (who, although he did absolutely adore his wife and son, would have preferably not spent his only free time during such a demanding tour entertaining the two of them). Jane, however, was off doing acting- sometimes in the States, but primarily, in London- and rarely saw Paul (though he did write her frequent letters and phone her in every week or so).It was only several days after that phone-in interview that the Beatles arrived in Key West: having meant to perform in Jacksonville, Florida, but being diverted by the all-too-tempestuous Hurricane Dora.A day off in Key West, although completely unplanned, was exactly what the boys had been hoping for.___________________________________________"Our plane landed in Key West at 3:36 in the mornin' on September ninth, 1964." Says Paul, crossing one leg over the other as he remembered the specifics: "John swore that it'd been 3:37, but I disagree. Eventually, though, he admitted that I was probably right."
Michael chuckles lightly. "Right, right. Were you swarmed by fans on the way in?"
"Oh, naturally!" Paul laughs. "Y'know, we checked into the Key Wester Motel on South Roosevelt- near to the airport- and, ehm, we were met by a few hundred screaming teenagers, and we were like, 'Ohhhh no.' 'Cause it was, y'know, it was still only three in the morning!"
"I can only imagine," says Michael, "Did you have a chance to rest in the motel, though?"
"Yes, yes." Paul says, smiling ever so slightly, "Stayin' there- at the Key Wester- we spent the day in the pool and
at the beach... and we gave a few interviews, too. I took loads of photos, having taken my camera, because I'd desperately wanted to preserve it all. I'm sure tha' I took more photos of John than I did of anyone else, though." Paul's hazel gaze softens, and his smile lines deepen as he adds, "It was a beautiful time. The night, though... it was a night I won't forget until I'm gone."___________________________________________"Cheers, my fine ladies an' gentlemen!" said Paul, raising his cocktail glass up.He was in the ocean, about waist-deep: and the sun was lowering behind them. It was a typical, balmy, romantic sort of southern evening. The four boys, Brian, the Exciters, Clarence Henry, and several roadies were all wading into the water, running in and out like children, holding glasses of alcohol high above their heads.Every last one of them was drunk."A toast!" John yelled back, raising his glass to Paul's, grinning wildly. "To the woman who's gathered us all 'ere tonight: to Dora!""To alcohol!" George laughed, holding up a cerulean bottle of hard liquor that he'd been swigging from all evening."To love!" Paul added, smiling over at John, who had began to splash Paul all over with the salty, clear-blue waves. "Oh, you." Paul giggled, dipping his fingers into the sweetly cool water and splashing John right in the face.John nearly gagged at the bitterness of the water, but recovered rather quickly and replied with a smirk, "Oh, you're gettin' it, now, son.""No!" Said Paul in-between laughs, bounding through the waves, shielding himself unsuccessfully behind George and Ringo as John chased after him. Paul grabbed onto Ringo, trying to hide behind him, protecting himself, but to no avail.John caught up with him, eventually: and after running between the girls and Brian, John had caught him and had nearly tackled him into the shallows.Paul sank down into the sand, still laughing, his knees giving out and his glass flying out of his grasp and into the tide. John fell with him, his glass, too, flinging to nowhere, and toppling onto Paul, nearly being swept away by the waves.They were both laughing hysterically, now: simply laying there, being washed-over by the little waves on the wet sand. For Paul- even while being pressed into the sand beneath John- it was a sort of exhilarating thrill that was really only possible while drunk on the beach and in such company."Got ye," John chuckled, standing himself upright, "Lost me drink, though.""Lost mine, too." Paul said, his words slurring together slightly, "We can always get more tonight, though.""'Course we can," John agreed, offering Paul a hand to help him stand, too, "I'm already feelin' it, though."Paul grinned, running a hand through his hair and glancing over at Brian, who gave him a small, almost parental sort of wave. "Me, too. Brian'll probably make us go back to the 'otel soon, anyway. Cooped up in there for the rest o' the night, I'll be blacked out at some point, surely."And Paul was right: an hour later, Brian had wrangled the boys into their hotel room, on the order to "shower, clean yourselves, and rest", as they were to be leaving their hotel early the next morning via plane.So, the boys did as they were told, more-or-less: all showered, but all still drinking carelessly out of some bottles they'd collected from the motel lobby.By midnight, they'd become nearly too drunk to function: the four boys sat out in the hallway outside of their motel room, talking, smoking, and laughing: something they hadn't been able to do so casually in years.By one o'clock, both Ringo and George had gone inside to sleep. Paul and John, however tired they were, had now become so drunk that they hadn't even registered how tired they truly were and decided that they'd rather keep talking than calling it a night.Paul sat in one chair, tilted ever-so-slightly towards John, who was sitting about a foot to his left in another chair, overlooking the moonlit beach. The balmy evening had melted away into what was now a relatively cool, fluttery night.Paul tossed his cigarette over the railing, onto the beach below, and reached for a new one. "Nice day today, eh?"John took a moment before answering, his eyes glued onto the moonlit horizon of the ocean. "Yes, very." He inhaled loudly, before he added, "Very, very nice day."Paul glanced over at John, studying the profile of his face. It caught the moonlight in just the right way: he almost looked unreal, like a painting, or perhaps, like a god. John's eyes were unmoving, dark, and beautiful, reflecting with the light of the moonlit ocean and of the moon itself.Paul watched him for a bit: John made for a nice view.Paul looked away. They went silent again, the crashing waves of the ocean slicing through the silence, echoing into the perfect night.John broke the silence first: "D'ye think tha' you and Jane'll last?"Paul hadn't been expecting John to say that. "Fuck, I, ehm..." Paul pulled one leg up onto the chair, resting his chin on his knee, wondering how exactly to answer it. He stared down at the silver identity bracelet on his wrist, tracing the letters of his name with the pad of his index finger. "I dunno, really. It's sort of... complicated."John angled himself toward Paul, leaning closer, slightly, and replied in a mutter, "Is it?" His gaze fell from Paul's face to Paul's finger, tracing over the bracelet that he had given him, all that time ago: the only piece of jewelry that Paul almost never took off. "Talk to me about it, Paul; I've got all night."Paul raised his gaze to meet John's, his heart swelling, and lips turning up into a grin as he looked away, almost bashfully. "Uh," He chuckled, scratching the back of his head, "Well... it's sort o' like you an' Cynthia, I s'pose: complicated."John leaned back into his chair, taking a contemplative drag from his cigarette. "I think..." He began, trailing off, and then continuing after another beat of silence: "I think that... maybe love is meant to be complicated. I mean, you never really seem to understand it fully." He looked up from where his eyes had been glued, again, on the moonlit beach, and saw Paul. "I certainly don't.""Perhaps you're right," conceded Paul, blowing out a breath of smoke. He looked over at John, again, who was still looking at him.John smiled softly. "Or, maybe I do."Paul stared at John, hoping that maybe he'd elaborate, but John looked away to take another drag.Everything was now blissfully hazy, like some sort of fever dream. The lights were beginning to blur. The lines, too, were beginning to blur.Paul looked away, down onto the beach, smiling. "I'm feelin' it, John. The alcohol, y'know."The details were becoming all-too blended, like the swirling saturation of a watercolor painting. It was a great feeling: like flying, and floating, and falling all in the same breath."I can't," John admitted with an embarrassed little chuckle, "Think I'm immune."But Paul knew that John was drunk, too: he was smiling and radiant and red-faced, like he always seemed to get when having drank to much: specifically, though, only Paul's company."Isn't it so odd to think of where we were, not five years ago?" Paul asked, giggling, taking another smoke. "We could only ever dream of coming this far.""We've been through so much, Paulie." said John, staring out over the dunes, "...and we've made it, now."They'd made it. The fact that John said it made Paul sure that they really had accomplished great things. "I'm proud of you," said Paul, with a smile, reaching down beneath his chair to bring his bottle of alcohol to his lips. "I'm proud of you, John.""I'm proud of you." said John, with a sappy sort of grin, "I'm proud of us."Paul giggled again as John produced his own half-drunk bottle of alcohol: "I'll cheers to that." Their bottles made a little clink together, and they both began laughing, almost unable to stop themselves; almost unable to breathe.The shapes and colors of the world were bleeding into each other, and the sound of John's voice could have easily been the heavenly song of an angel: Paul was far too intoxicated to know the difference. But they continued to talk, giggling in-between smokes and breaths.Paul grabbed John by the collar at one point, pulling him in, and doing up his buttons, as if it were moments before a stage performance. John had pulled Paul's hand into his lap, too, his fingers grazing gently across that identity bracelet on Paul's wrist, relishing in the fact that he had given it to Paul, and that Paul seemed to prize it over all of his other possessions.They did those sorts of things: the kinds of things that you'd only ever do while drunk.Somehow, even barely conscious, Paul remembered part of their following conversation."We're the opposite, Paul." said John. "But we're the same. Two sides of the same coin."Paul couldn't have said it any better, himself. "We are," he grinned. "I can't imagine not having met you.""I'd probably have been dead." Replied John, in an all-too-serious tone, "I'd have grown up and become a criminal: I'm not joking, either." His gaze was intense, electric, and in technicolor. "You saved me, Paulie.""No," Paul mumbled with a chuckle, leaning closer, John's face finally coming into focus. "No, I didn't, John. I'm not that great.""You're the greatest thing that's ever fuckin' 'appened to me." John replied. "I don't think that's ever gonna change, either. Nothin' will change this: nothin' will ever change this.""John," Paul felt almost guilty, as if John was giving him much more credit than he deserved. "You don't 'ave to do tha'- please don't.""I don't believe in god, Paul." John replied, his voice a soft mutter, "But you make me wonder if there is somethin' out there, because you are everythin' that I've ever needed." He looked down, at Paul's hand, still resting in his lap, running his thumb along the curve of his wrist and along the silver of the bracelet. "You're... you're my best friend."Paul's vision blurred even more when his eyes clouded with tears, streaming down his cheeks as he slumped back into his chair. "John." he chuckled, pulling his hand out of John's gentle grip, covering his face, "Christ, you can't say this to me. I'm a fuckin' mess, now.""I'm sorry," John replied with a light laugh, his eyes glazing over and tears welling up in his eyes, just as they had in Paul's. "Jesus, Paul, don't cry. I'll cry if you cry.""It's too late for tha'." Said Paul, still chuckling, as the two moved closer to each other, half-way out of their seats, and wrapped their arms around each other.Two sets of tear-stained eyes soaked into the shoulder of each other's shirts, and the tears only kept on rolling. Paul felt John's heartbeat: he could feel it so clearly, pounding against his own chest. He could feel John's exhale, heaving great sobs and half-laughs, understanding exactly what each one meant, even as they both were far-from-sober: they understood it all. They knew each other. They knew.What happened next, Paul couldn't quite remember.For all he knew, they could've been wrapped up in that embrace until sunrise. He was sure that they'd stayed out there, alone, until dawn.But echoing in his mind, all the years since then, were the words "I love you". He was almost certain that they'd exchanged the phrase over and over through their tears and smoke. He was almost certain that John had said it, over and over again, his lips pressed against Paul's shoulder.And he was almost certain that he'd replied, "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, John."Even if they had, it'd surely been the alcohol talking. But would that have made the words they exchanged any less true?It really was senseless to dwell on such a thing: because, of course, Paul didn't know for sure what had happened that night.But he was almost certain.Almost.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"We finished up the tour of the Americas not long after Key West." says Paul, his head tilted. "Ehm... 'twas a great long tour, it was. And then, later that year, we released the album Beatles For Sale, which... topped the charts, y'know, like all our records seemed to do.""Right," says Michael. "So, that night in Key West... you wrote about that, didn't you? I believe it was in Here Today."Paul chuckles, lowering his head. "Yes... yes, I did." He glances up at the ceiling, blinking: perhaps blinking away the tears that had begun to form. "Yes, ehm... Y'know, I don't talk about it tha' much." He looks down, meeting Michael's eyes again with a nod. "But ever since that night, I've thought abou' it more often than I'd care to admit. It became a fixation of mine, sort o' like that night in Paris had become: and, honestly, rather like all my memories with John, even the ones that were more arbitrary.""Of course." Says Michael, a soft, comforting smile forming onto his lips. "I can only imagine having such a complex and deep relationship like that. I mean, you were right: you seemed to compliment each other in the perfect, equal-and-opposite sort of way.""Yeah, we really did." Says Paul, although grinning, seeming still nearly in tears.Michael, noticing how emotional Paul had become, continued on: "And then, it was 1965, wasn't it?"Paul takes a moment to think, and then replies: "Yes... yes, I s'pose it was." He paused again, smiling slightly, "We, ehm... tha' was when John and I had our photoshoot wi' David Bailey. What an experience that was, I'll tell ye..."___________________________________________
"Telegram for you, today, Lennon." Said Brian, genially, sitting down with his cup of tea in the living room of Kenwood in Weybridge."Oh, was it?" Asked John, sat on the couch between Paul and Ringo, with George on Paul's other side in a great cushioned armchair. "The po-lice have found me out, 'ave they?""It was the local zookeeper," said George with a fangy grin, sipping slowly on his mostly-cream-and-sugar tea. "He wants his monkey back in its cage.""Shut up, you." John grumbled, while all of the other boys chittered surreptitiously."Heh- no." Brian chuckled, shaking his head, "It was David Bailey, the photographer, y'know- wants to meet you for his Box of Pin-ups feature: says he'd like to have your photos done."John's eyes were comically wide as he batted his lashes, cluelessly. "Why'd he want me for it?" He nudged Paul over and over, his elbow jabbing right into Paul's ribs. "Tell 'im 'e can 'ave Paul, he's far prettier than I am."Paul glanced over at John, rolling his eyes, grinning cheekily. "That's enough of you." He nodded over at Brian, "Is it just John that David wants to 'ave?""Ehm, yes. He asked specifically for John." Brian replied with an amused little smile, raising his teacup to his lips."John's goin' off and startin' his solo career!" Ringo said with a grin: probably only joking. "I knew it all along. He's tryin' to be rid of us.""I'd do no such thing." John replied incredulously, a hand placed defiantly over his heart. "Can't believe you'd think so lowly of me." He smiled, looking back over at Brian, "When did David say he'd take me?"Brian, who'd been sipping his tea, took a moment to dab at his lips with a napkin before answering: "I believe that he said the twenty-first of January. That's sixteen days from now, and I told 'im that I'd be sure to ask you, though it is rather short notice.""Oh, it's all right." said John with a careless shrug, "Send 'im my phone number, and tell him to call. I'd be glad to do it."___________________________________________David got in touch with John almost straightaway: securing the details of the photoshoot and striking up a nice first conversation between the two of them.But on the morning of January twenty-first, Paul received a knock on the door (technically, on the door of the Asher residence, where he continued to live primarily).John stood at the door, looking rather embarrassed and red-faced, but dapper as ever in an all-black suit and tie."Y'all right, John?" Paul grinned, leaning coolly against the doorframe. "What's all this for?""Ehm," John mumbled, grinning bashfully, "Well, you see, Paulie- I've got a sort o' situation, and... well, I need ye, for the afternoon." His gaze fell to Paul's outfit, adding, "And... change into somethin' nice. Wear a suit, if you've got one.""Well, 'course I do." Paul replied, "But what's-""You're comin' to my photoshoot," said John. Realizing he'd sounded a bit demanding, he cleared his throat and corrected himself, "Will you... come to my photoshoot, with me." He was still smiling, but his eyes were extra-wide, looking like he was nearly on the verge of throwing up. "Please."Paul couldn't help but chuckle slightly. He didn't mind going to John's photoshoot, and it was funny that John seemed so hellbent on it, for some reason."Yes. I'll change." Paul replied, shaking his head, chuckling still, "We can take my car. Wait for me out there, all right?"So Paul changed, into his typical three-piece, of course, and met John in the car, who was smiling faintly as Paul slid into the driver's seat and buckled himself in."Okay, so what is goin' on with you?" Paul asked, laughing, as he started up the car and drove down the road, "And where's the studio, anyway?""Ehm, it'll be at John Cole's Studio Five." John replied, heaving a great exhale. "Sorry for the short-notice, by the way. Didn't mean to catch ye so off-guard like tha'.""Really, John- I wasn't doin' much today, anyroad. But what's goin' on?""It's really not tha' big of a deal." John replied with a nonchalant chuckle, "I jus' wanted someone there wi' me, because David seemed rather... interested with me over the phone.""Oh?" Paul asked, glancing both ways before turning left onto a new street. "Interested, as in...?""Interested." John confirmed, nodding dramatically. "And I jus' thought it'd be wise to bring ye with me, y'know.""Oh, I'm honored, John." Paul replied, grinning, "But wouldn't it 'ave been smarter to bring Cyn with ye, though, if David really was... interested?""No," John replied, confidently. "No, I don't think so. Practically everyone knows that I'm married wi' her already, so bringin' her 'round wouldn't make much difference. I jus' thought that if I were to bring you, or maybe Brian wi' me- maybe it'd turn David off, y'know."Paul raised his eyebrows, his gaze still glued onto the road, wondering how exactly to interpret such a comparison. After all, Brian and John had an affair together in Barcelona- so what was that to mean about John's idea of his relationship with Paul?Perhaps he was reading too much into it, as he always seemed to do."Yeah, I s'pose." Paul replied, "Again, I don't mind at all, y'know- I could even say somethin' to David abou' it, if ye like.""Ye probably won't need to," John assured him, giving himself a little once-over in the overhead mirror, "Jus'... stay by my side, alri'? Don't leave me.""Of course, John." Paul chuckled.Before they knew it, they'd arrived at the studio- a great, plain building with an expansive car lot, in the same general vicinity of all the other London studios.David was fussing over his camera when the two boys walked in. David was handsome in an untrying sort of way- tousled dark hair, big gray eyes, and a black shirt that clung nicely to his lean and toned arms. He turned when he heard footsteps approaching him, and his eyebrows raised when he noticed that it wasn't only Lennon, but rather, Lennon and McCartney."Hello," said David, with an inflection almost comparable to that of Brian Epstein's, half-smiling, as his gaze flicked between the two men."Eh, hello, David." said John, with a quick grin, shaking David's hand gregariously, to make up for the fact that he knew David hadn't wanted Paul at the shoot. "Hope you don't mind that I've brought Paulie wi' me- 'e won't be too much trouble: tell 'im, Paul.""Hi," said Paul, reaching out to shake David's hand, too, "Sorry for showing up without an invitation. But John wanted to bring me along, so-""Oh, oh, no trouble at all, really." David assured them, but rather unconvincingly. He turned away to lead them to a white backdrop, onto which dozens of lights were shining, illuminating the area with an angelic glow. "This is where we'll be shootin' ye- I s'pose we can add Paul into a few shots, if that was what you were goin' for, John.""Oh," said John, smiling pleasantly, reaching behind himself and pinching Paul's wrist in a gesture of amusement, "Yes, o' course: I was hopin' you'd let us 'ave a few together, if tha' isn't too much trouble, David.""No, no. It's all right." said David, nodding over at a chair set up just beside his camera, seated directly in front of the white back drop, like a front-row seat. "If you wouldn't mind, I'll take John's photos first- just a few by himself, mind you- then I'll throw you into the mix, McCartney, and see how best to position you both."The boys exchanged a cheeky little glance, and Paul agreed, "Yes, seems sound to me." and took his place on the chair beside the camera setup."Now, John," said David, walking up beside John and grabbing ahold of both of his arms, "Hm, now, how do I place you...?""However you like, David." John replied, his chin up, catching Paul's eye and giving him a quick smirk. "I'll do whatever you need."Paul shifted in his seat, wondering what the hell John was trying to do. He'd brought Paul to the shoot specifically so that David wouldn't make advances on him, but now seemed to be actively flirting with David, almost; all while keeping direct eye contact with Paul. Very classy, John.David's lips flicked upward into a flustered smile, his hands adjusting Johns' that hanging loosely from the pockets of his dress pants. "Ehm... this should work. Yes, ehm, keep your hands just there, in your pockets. It won't matter much, though, I'll be zoomed-in on your face for these shots.""Oh, lovely." said John, as David stepped back and checked the view from his camera. "Am I lookin' all right?""Yes, quite all right." David said, with a hint of teasing. "Look off to the side for this shot. Try and convey a bit of dreaminess, passion- whatever you're feeling, John. Convey that."John glanced off to the left of the camera, meeting Paul's eyes again, and accidentally smiling, just barely. He kept direct eye-contact with Paul while asking, "Am I looking in a good direction, David?""Yes, that should work nicely!" David called out to him, while peering at him through the lens of his camera. He didn't seem to realize that John was staring directly at Paul. "Three, two..." said David, as the camera began to snap.Paul returned John's stare, leaning back in his chair. It seemed like a million years had passed while simply staring at John (and, even so- Paul wouldn't have minded). He grinned into his hand, keeping John's gaze, and tilting his head quizzically. "Stop," Paul mouthed to John through his smile, having not wanted to distract him while having the camera clicking away.John grinned slightly when Paul did that. In the near-fluorescent lighting, it was plain to see (especially in the subsequent photos) that John's pupils had dilated majorly."Try not to smile." said David, still seeming unaware that John was looking at Paul, until he took a step back from his camera and frowned. "Try not to look at Paul, either.""Oh, it's hard not to." John replied easily, giving Paul another quick teasing smirk, "I'm tryin' not to, David, I swear.""There's such tension when you're looking at 'im," David told John, returning to his spot behind the camera, "Try closing your eyes, John. Feel peace."Paul slumped down in the seat, biting his lip. Surely, David had purposefully misconstrued his and John's eye-contact as being antagonistic, because he was jealous, and because he liked John. Did David really feel threatened by Paul? That prospect made Paul smile, because it was so outlandish, so absurd that someone in love with John would be jealous of Paul.How dumb could David be? He was dating Jane, and John was married to Cynthia. Clearly, he and John were not a couple.Even so, David told John to keep his eyes closed: to feel, as he put it, peace.Admittedly, John seemed much more relaxed and serene there, with his eyes closed. Surely, he was less expressive now that his eyes weren't on Paul. That was to be expected."... very good, Lennon." said David, as he completed his shots, and then glanced over at Paul, "All right, McCartney, then- go on up wi' John, now."Paul grinned, practically leaping from his seat to join John in front of the starkly-white backdrop. His hands in his pockets, and with John's elbow propped up on his shoulder, Paul asked, "How'd you like us to pose, David?""Hm," said David, glancing down at his camera, and then back up at the boys, "Let's try separating the two of you, just for a moment. Leave abou' a foot o' space between ye- and have your hands in your pockets, as you had just before."Paul shuffled to stand on John's left, and John stood just beside him, returning his hands to his pockets. "How's tha'?" John asked."Good, very good." said David, moving his camera, centering it perfectly between the two of them, "Now, look wherever feels the most natural to you."John glanced over at Paul at the exact moment that Paul looked at him. They started chuckling lightly, and then John conceded, "Might be best if we look away from each other, I'm afraid.""Yes, it might be." Paul agreed, almost disheartened, turning away from John, so that the two of them were looking in near opposite directions. Paul's shoulders were still tilted just slightly toward John, but he didn't even realize: it was more instinctual than purposeful."Very nice, boys." said David, as the camera started clicking away, "You're getting a knack for this, you are.""We're very fast learners, aren't we, Paulie?" John asked, smiling, as he still looked off to the side, avoiding Paul's gaze."Oh, o' course, Johnny." Paul agreed, his eyes glued onto the far corner of the room, trying his best to keep a serious expression, for the integrity of the shoot."All right. Now, step closer, and maybe interact with each other." asked David, lowering his camera to peer at the boys, "You can try anythin' you'd like."The boys stepped closer, trying various poses for several minutes: Paul propped a fist beneath his chin, trying his best to look scholarly. John started whispering nonsense to him, and Paul ended up giggling for quite a few of the shots. Then, without a word, John stepped slightly behind Paul, propping his chin on Paul's shoulder, saying, "Take this pose, David. It probably looks like shit on camera, but it's an idea."Paul lowered his head in a laugh, the weight of John's head on his shoulder tickling him slightly. "All right, I mean, whatever- whatever you think, David.""That's fine," said David, coolly, as he snapped three or four shots of that pose before pausing to say, "If you'd like, Paul, take your chair and place it up there, in front o' John.""Oh, you're right." said Paul, as if forgetting for a moment that David was the photographer, picking up his chair and placing it just in front of John and sitting down on it. "This all right, David?""Very good. Now, John, position yourself however you'd like."John chuckled slightly, "God, I dunno how to do this." He wrapped his arms around Paul's shoulders, setting his chin against the back of Paul's slightly-tilted head. "Let me know if you need me to move, Paulie."Paul's breath caught in his throat, and he gasped out a little laugh. His face reddened, slightly: not because of the way John was touching him, but rather, that these photos were going to be seen publicly, and felt much more intimate than anything else the two had done in the view of the public eye. "No... you're fine, there." said Paul, slowly, as the camera went off flashing again."Set your chin on top of Paul's head, now, John." said David. John did so, and found it to be much more comfortable and less awkward in this new positioning."Good, boys." said David, and again, started snapping their photos. Paul nearly smiled, because the feeling of John's head on top of his was still all-too funny and causelessly affectionate. "Try posing differently. Interact slightly with the other. Don't be as ridged: embrace the fluidity."Though Paul hadn't a clue what David was going on about, John seemed to understand the instructions clearly. He raised his hands in front of Paul's face, creating a sort of avant-garde, experimental sort-of shot. Paul raised his hands, too, only adding to the strange, sphere-like encapsulation of hands around Paul's face.They moved around a bit more, then: Paul eventually grabbed ahold of John's hands that had been resting on his shoulders and laced them with his, resulting in many of the shots being unusable, due that the boys had both began giggling, compromising the professionalism of the shot for their own gaiety (which, in both of their opinions, was decidedly worth it).The day ended with a handshake from David for each of them, and a fanciful "Come again, soon". David was certainly kinder to Paul than he'd expected him to be, but still had a clear preference (or perhaps, as John had put it, "interest") for John, becoming even more evident in how he'd shaken John's hand for far longer than he'd needed to. Paul noticed it all.Back in the car, at long last, John sighed as he buckled himself in, "Thanks again, Paul. For comin' wi' me, y'know.""Oh, o' course." Paul replied, starting up the car, "I mean, even I thought it was rather fun, and I'm not usually one for photographs.""I liked havin' some time by ourselves, too, y'know." said John, glancing quickly at Paul, trying to discreetly gauge his reaction, "Obviously, I adore the others, but... it was nice, y'know- to be alone. Alone as we can be, considerin' who we are, an' all tha'."Paul couldn't quite hide his smile as he pulled out of the parking lot, saying, "Yeah... yeah." He carefully selected his words, saying slowly, "Ehm... it was nice, wasn't it?" He glanced down the street: nearly empty, as it was nearing eight PM already. "Shall we go for a drink, then? Can't end such a great night this early, can we?"John grinned over at him, punching lightly at Paul's shoulder. "You want to? We'll be bombarded by half the city within minutes, Macca."Paul chuckled, "So?" He made a quick U-turn, seeing as the street was empty, save for them. "We 'aven't been out together in so long. We can go to a plain pub downtown, and try not to get recognized." He paused, glancing both ways before taking a turn, "I'd even suggest tha' we go to the Dart, where they probably wouldn't swarm us as fast- but I doubt we could afford to be seen there, anymore."John laughed, "We'd make the headlines, we would. 'Two Beatles spotted in a gay club'."Paul laughed, too- strained, slightly, by an awkward lump welling in the back of his throat. "Ha- yeah. Don't think it would be very wise of us, especially considerin' tha' we're not, well... y'know.""Right, right," John agreed, in-between soft laughs. "We're not... y'know." In wake of the awkward silence, John added with a slight giggle, "Ehm, anyroad... make sure to park close to the club, so that we can make a fast getaway if we do get mobbed by fans.""Oh, o' course," Paul said with a half-smile, his mind still whirling with their previous conversation, in spite of himself.Paul hated how frequently he found himself dwelling on such things. He simply couldn't help himself: he was fond of details, and over-thought nearly everything.It didn't satisfy Paul in the slightest to dismiss his intuition about John possibly having slight feelings for him, but it was completely necessary. Paul couldn't afford to dwell on his thoughts, especially when he and John were as intertwined as they were in nearly every aspect of their lives. He couldn't say what he was thinking: he couldn't ask John point-blank if he'd ever loved Paul as more than just friends. It would ruin everything.And anyroad, it was preposterous to just assume such a thing of John time and time again. Paul swore to himself that from that moment, on, he would stop overthinking such ridiculous things.So as dangerous as he knew avoidance of intuition to be, it was all Paul could afford to do at this time. And that would have to be enough.

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"...it took not a half-hour before we were swarmed by fans in the little bar we'd visited." says Paul, smiling fondly, "Word had gotten 'round, and there had to 'ave been hundreds o' screamin' fans, lined up all around the block. So John and I finished our drinks as quickly as we could, grabbed ahold of each other's hands and sprinted out the side door to the car, laughin' all the way."Michael laughs. "My god, sounds like quite a night!"Paul shrugs, still smiling, "Well, I mean, we were almost used to it, by then. We didn't really know peace anymore, and we jus' kinda had to deal with it." He shrugs again. "Things were nice, though: we began filmin' Help! in the Bahamas, an' recordin' the album whenever we found time. I'd already begun to write, ehm... Yesterday, one of my bigger hits: one tha' John actually titled, because I'd originally called it 'Scrambled Eggs'." Paul pauses to laugh. "Of course, John started' writin' the title-track, Help, an' regretfully, I didn' realize at the time tha' the song really was a cry for help from John.""I believe I know the answer to this," Michael says with a slight pause, "But would you mind refreshing our audience with the story behind John's song, Help?""Yeah, ehm..." Paul takes a moment, clearing his throat. "In the year o' '65, especially, John 'ad gotten a lot of negative press abou' his weight. He wasn't even overweight, he was jus' sort o' fillin' out, as one does when one gets rich and famous like we did. But it was the fact tha' George, Ringo and I stayed nearly the same as we looked pre-fame as we did in '65, and tha' John was changin' slightly. He got self-consious abou' it after a while, and nearly depressed, too, during a period of time that would've otherwise been one of our happiest, y'know.""Of course," says Michael, propping a fist beneath his chin and asking, "So then, in early 1965: what exactly were the Beatles up to?""Hm, well..." says Paul, glancing up at the ceiling, sighing, in remembrance. "By tha' time, Ringo had begun datin' Maureen, and George and Pattie were married. And I believe tha' it was in April tha' John an' George were slipped LSD by their dentist at a dinner party." Paul stifles a smile, shifting slightly in his spot on the couch. "It was, of course, their first encounter with acid, and neither Ringo nor I were in attendance, and missed out. We'd been smokin' cannabis for a while already, I think we'd begun that with Bob Dylan in 1964. But when John and George tried acid, their minds were blown."Paul chuckles lightly as he continues, "They weren't addicted to it, but it certainly influenced their songwriting, which George had begun to do more often by tha' time." He pauses, glancing down at the floor, "And, ehm... it was another sort of high for us, other than John's slight depressive episode. Ticket to Ride was released as a single, an' it was number one on the Billboard for many, many weeks. Because o' that, we ended up goin' out a lot, to celebrate."___________________________________________
It was May of 1965. The boys were out and about in London, having already finished filming the movie Help! (which, in all honesty, had proven to be less-enjoyable of a production than that of A Hard Day's Night)."'Tis a night for celebratio-o-on!" sang John, lighting a cigarette in the back of the white limousine, "Because the Beatles are such a sensatio-o-on!""I asked Pattie if she could meet us there, at the club." said George with a shrug, "But she's off doin' some sort o' modelin' thing.""Oh, I didn't even ask Jane to go," said Paul with a cheeky grin. He felt guilty, slightly, but he always seemed to enjoy himself more while going out without Jane. "I didn'... I didn' even realize we were goin' out tonight until Mr. Epstein rang.""I didn't ask Cyn," said John, passing Paul his cigarette, "But she probably wouldn' 'ave wanted to go, anyway."The boys all turned to Ringo, expectantly.Ringo gave them all a silly smile and said, "I jus' walked out the front door. Mo gave me a kiss on the way out, but she didn' say anythin'. She's used to my antics by now."The boys all began laughing, laughing still as they came upon The Marquee, leaping from the limousine and sprinting in through the doors surrounded by their newly-improved security team."Fuckin' 'ell," John drawled as the boys made their way inside the dimly-lit, smoky club. It was full of people, ringing with music and voices, so loudly that it was almost overstimulating. "What a crowd.""What a crowd," Paul parroted, whistling, nodding to John at a group of pretty blonde girls sitting up at the bar.John's eyes widened as he grinned at Paul, shrugging slightly, "I'm tryin' to do better wi' tha' sort o' thing. For Cyn's sake, y'know.""Really?" Paul asked, giving John a tiny nod of approval, "I 'ad no idea, but... good on ye, I s'pose." He glanced around, spinning in a circle, looking for George, Ringo, and Brian. "Where'd they go?""Who the hell cares?" John asked, linking his arm through Paul's, pulling him close, as to have his voice heard over the deafening music and people. "Let's go get drunk."Paul glanced over at the group of blondes again, then back at John, "You sure you don't want to...?""No!" John assured Paul with a smile, pulling him along, to the opposite side of the bar from the group of girls. "I told you- for Cyn. I've got to be good." The two jumped up onto barstools, and John continued, with his elbows up on the table, propping his fist beneath his chin, "Besides, you can distract me, can't you?"Paul giggled, turning on his stool to look at John, "What?" He leaned closer when John didn't reply, pestering him, "What'd you mean, John?""You know." John replied, giving Paul a little crooked grin, "Just... help me forget abou' all the girls, y'know?""Oh," Paul replied dumbly, nodding along, quite unsure of what exactly this would entail, but willing as ever to do whatever John needed him to. "I mean... yes. I s'pose I can.""Good." said John, approvingly, calling over a bartender, ordering six shots to start with. He gave Paul a sideways glance, saying with a grin, "We're going all-out tonight, Paulie."Paul raised his eyebrows as shots began clinking down onto the tabletop in front of them. Six shots had lined up in no time flat, and Paul found John's eyes again to say, "Ready, now?""Mhm," John muttered with a nod, picking up the farthest shot on his side. Paul picked up the farthest shot on his side, as John declared, "To tonight.""Tonight!" Paul agreed with a chuckle, clinking his glass against John's. Heads tilted back, the shots slipped down their throats, burning all the way down to their stomachs. Laughing, they coughed, reaching for another shot, and then another- as if it were magic, the six shots were gone as swiftly as they came."Agh," John chuckled, clutching his head, swaying slightly, bracing himself with Paul's arm. "God, I'm dizzy.""You make me dizzy, Miss Lizzy!" Paul giggled, helping John sit straightly on his barstool, singing almost completely out-of-tune. "The way you rock-and-ro-o-oll!""More shots!" John called out to the bartender through a laugh, "Please!"More shots came and went, slipping swiftly down their throats, one after the other, like clockwork. It didn't take long before they were both completely drunk, almost to the point of being unaware of their own actions. They'd begun singing to each other, singing songs that they'd written together: it was a sickeningly sweet thing that almost definitely wouldn't have happened so publicly, had they been sober.After nearly an hour or so, and after the bartender had smilingly advised them to stop taking shots, the boys leapt to their feet to find the others."Wait a second!" Paul scrambled after John, latching onto his arm, as to not lose him in the ever-expanding crowd. "It's still so fuckin' crowded.""It's a club on a Saturday night." John laughed, near hysterically, as he and Paul waded through the pool of bodies towards the back. "Of course it's fuckin' crowded, ye lunatic.""I wish they'd all jus' leave!" Paul yelled, glancing around at the people, annoyedly. "I'd like to be alone, an' jus' dance. Y'know what I mean?"John gave him a little amused glance, giggling, "That would be nice, wouldn't it?" He paused, offering Paul his hand, "We can still dance, though, y'know.""I know," Paul mumbled, halting in the middle of the crowd, moving closer, his hand hovering hesitantly above John's. "But it'd look odd, dancin' around wi' all these couples.""You think too much." said John, decidedly grabbing Paul's hand and doing a little jitterbug, out there on the floor for all to see. "No one even knows we're here! How often do we 'ave such a bloody good opportunity to dance?"Paul tried to stifle his grin, ultimately failing, allowing John to pull him in and began mirroring John's daft jigging as he conceded. He didn't need any more convincing: he was drunk, anyway, and felt rather bold at the moment. "Yes, you're quite right.""I always am." John agreed, continuing with their little dance.The two spent a decent amount of time simply cutting the rug. They jigged and spun each other around and laughed, far too drunk to give a damn about anyone watching or what they would be doing tomorrow. They sang to each other: a continuation of the private concert they'd held at the bar. Alcohol coursing through their veins, they'd nearly screamed the lyrics of Be My Baby by the Ronettes to each other, blending perfectly with the, likewise, drunken and shouting crowd that had enveloped them amidst it all.They'd spun and fallen into their own little, beautiful world: where nothing but their present dance mattered."Well," John huffed after a while, while still swaying slightly to the backbeat (albeit, now much less energetically). "Shall... shall we go and find the others?"Paul chuckled slightly, glancing down once at his clothes, wrinkled from dancing, and back up at John, who, like him, was completely red in the face and even sweating. "Yeah... ehm, maybe we should." He followed John, staying close to him, as they braved the crowd again. "God, we were probably dancing for nearly an hour."John laughed loudly, completely unaware of how obnoxious he sounded, due to his absolute drunkenness. "Oh, I bet even longer than tha'. Wouldn't 'ave traded it for the world, though."Paul opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, he and John stumbled upon George, Ringo, and Brian, huddled near the back corner of the club, surrounded by a small circle of fans. John pulled Paul into the circle by the arm, smiling, "Hello!"Standing with the other three were two women, probably mid-thirties or so, and two men, about the same: probably the women's husbands. The women stared at Paul and John as they approached, mouths agape. The taller one with curly brown hair jumped up and down excitedly, squealing, "Oh my god! Can I have your autographs?""Ringo and I've already given 'em ours," George smiled, eyes wide with drunkenness. "I think even Brian signed."Paul glanced between the fans, waving apologetically, "Sorry, we're- we're, ehm, we're very drunk, right now!" he giggled, glancing at John, nudging him, and continuing, "But we can sign whatever you've got, can't we, John?""Oh, o' course," said John, nodding at the curly-haired girl, "We'll sign anythin'."The girl's eyes were wide as saucers, smiling with great big pearly white teeth up at John, "Oh, ehm- yes, ehm, I've got a napkin. It's all I've got at the moment, so I hope it'll do.""Yes, yes. That'll do." John chuckled, taking the napkin and pen from the girl, pressing the napkin against the wall and scribbling out his signature. "It looks like complete shit!" he added, chuckling, still, handing it to Paul. "There you are, love."Paul took the napkin, pressing it against the wall, just as John had done, and began to scrawl out his signature. Paul's vision had become very blurry, and his hand shook madly as he signed. But just as he finished looping the 'y' at the end of his name, he noticed something.He noticed John's signature, just below George's. He noticed that John had signed his name as John McCartney.Paul reread John's signature over and over again, wondering if he was hallucinating. But he read it twice, three times, ten times over: and all the while, it remained the same: John McCartney.Paul blinked, moving away from the wall in a daze-like confusion, handing the napkin and pen back to the woman, wordlessly. She, her friend, and the two men who were accompanying them thanked the boys profusely, but all the while, Paul remained silent, completely absent from their conversation.All he could think about was John's signature. All he could think about was that John had signed as John McCartney.John McCartney.Clearly, John was far more drunk than Paul had assumed him to be. Paul wasn't sure exactly how to process such a thing, seeing as at the moment, he, too, was drunk out of his mind, and could barely even see straight. As he followed Brian and his bandmates out of the club and back to the limousine, he became convinced that he'd simply hallucinated John's writing. His drunken eyes had played tricks on him: they hadn't failed to do so in the past, and it seemed to be the most logical explanation for this scenario."Y'all right, Paul?" John asked him during the drive home. His voice was higher than normal: he was, indeed, completely wasted.All that Paul could do, really, was laugh. He giggled and giggled, nearly choking, before catching his breath and nodding, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm all right."He laughed even more. He really had probably just imagined John's signature. He was surely drunk enough to have done so. And even if John had signed his first name with Paul's last, it was certainly due that he, too, was far too drunk to have done it purposefully.Yes. That was surely it.___________________________________________"...so?" Michael asks, nearly on the edge of his seat, grinning widely. "Was it only in your imagination that John signed his first name with your last? Did you ever find out?""Ehm, heh." Paul glances down at the ground, chuckling to himself. He looks back up at Michael and says, "To be honest, I really did think that I'd only imagined it. But quite recently, I remembered the incident, because I 'ad a dream about it. So, in my curiosity, I searched all around on the internet, an' after parusin' for some time... I had my answer.""And?!" Michael asks, his eyes wide as saucers, waiting eagerly for Paul's drawn-out reply."And..." Paul chuckles again, pausing again. He smiles softly, glancing up from the ground and saying, "Well, it turns out tha' I was right from the start. John had, in fact, signed his name as John McCartney while drunk in a club in May of 1965." He chuckles again, continuing, "An' I contacted the woman who had kept the signature on the napkin, and I told 'er that I'd been lookin' for it, and thanked her for sharin' the image online. Because she'd given me the answer tha' I'd been waiting for ever since tha' night in 1965.""Wow." says Michael, smiling, "And... how did you take that?""Oh, well, I dunno." Paul laughs lightly, waving him off. "S'pose it didn't matter much, but... it was nice to finally 'ave an answer, y'know?" But Paul's expression clearly shows that it really did matter to him, despite whatever he might say.
"Right, right." says Michael, "And then, what?"
"Hm," Paul hums thoughtfully, sitting back against the cushions. "Well, we released Help!, and tha' was fantastic. The album was met with more praise than we'd expected, and seemed to blow up even more than the others did." Paul recalls, "I remember bein' especially shocked when a song I'd written... co-written- abou' 75-25, mind you- with John became one of the greatest-sellin' and covered songs of all time. I mean, Yesterday hadn't started out as anythin' more than jus' a melody in a dream, and then a heap of nonsense abou' scrambled eggs, y'know... but it caused some rows, too.""Did it?" Michael asks, with an inflection of curiosity, "I don't believe I've ever heard that before.""Yes," Paul replies with a bashful grin, "Yes, it was one of our certainly lesser-known rows... I dunno if you'd even call it a row to begin with. But it caused some tension between John and I, and to me, that was even more horrific than any real row we'd had prior."___________________________________________August 1, 1965: the day for the Beatles' performance on the TV special, Blackpool Night Out.The boys, all donning their typical white dress shirts and black trousers and having not yet layered on their black suit jackets were lounging backstage, rehearsing, three hours before the show was aired live."Hello, hello, hello!" George yelled into his and Paul's microphone, grinning wildly when the microphone made an ear-bleedingly loud screech. "Fuckin' 'ell. I hate these stupid microphones.""Don't scream!" Paul muttered, grinning, grabbing the microphone from George and testing it himself, with his contrastingly soft, dramatized, whispery voice, "You'll only make it worse by screamin'. You 'ave to whisper, like this...""Never thought I'd hear Paul tellin' George to be quiet," Ringo smiled over from where he sat, behind his drum set.Paul glanced over his shoulder at Ringo, smiling, "And what's that s'posed to mean?!""It means you've got a big fuckin' mouth." John replied, walking past Paul, brushing against his shoulder. He glanced back at Paul as he passed, smiling, "It looks good on ye, though.""Oh, shit, thanks, John." Paul replied, rolling his eyes with an amused little grin. He spun around, finding Brian, and furrowed his eyebrows. "We practicin' any more before the show, Mr. Epstein?""Hm..." Brian mumbled, glancing down at the setlist, and nodding up at Paul after a few moments' pause. "Yes, I think that'd be rather smart. We could do Yesterday, Paul, if you're up for practicin' alone in front o' us.""Oh," Paul mumbled, flushing faintly, and sputtering, "I mean... yeah, I can do tha' if no one else has anythin' they wanna practice instead.""No, go on and do Yesterday, Paul." said Ringo, relaxing in his seat behind the drum set, eager to listen to Paul sing alone. "I like that one.""That's fine by me," George shrugged, taking a seat near Ringo, "'s long as it's sound with John, then we're all in agreement."All eyes turned to John, who was standing rather awkwardly next to the drum set. He shrugged apathetically, glancing around at the others, "Oh, I don' fuckin' care. You can do whateva' you want, Paul."Something in John's tone made Paul uneasy. He sounded almost bitter: something Paul had noticed in John's intonation, recently, whenever Paul's solo tracks were mentioned. Specifically, though, John seemed to have a strange antipathy for Yesterday, for reasons Paul couldn't even begin to comprehend. Perhaps John was jealous of Paul's songwriting ability. Or perhaps, John was acting on his newfound insecurity, due to the media's scrutiny of his physical appearance, and was simply in a bad mood. Those were the only explanations that seemed relatively feasible."Okay," Paul muttered, already feeling bad for rehearsing with a solo song, but feeling even worse when John seemed as pissed as he did.So Paul sang Yesterday, playing guitar softly as he did so, pointedly avoiding eye-contact with anyone as he sung. When at last he was finished, a round of applause rang out for him from his bandmates and the crew all around him. He grinned embarrassedly, "All right, all right!" he set his guitar down against the wall, even giggling slightly. "Thanks, you guys.""It's a great song, Paul," Brian said, nodding, with a smile upon his pink lips."It is nice," said John, as the others carried on with varied praise, "For havin' lyrics that mean absolutely nothin', it's not bad."John made his remark so carelessly, casually, that no one else seemed to even hear him. But Paul had been waiting to hear what John, specifically, would say about the song- and John's words had cut into Paul's chest, piercing him right in the heart.John's words hadn't even been mean, really- but it stung.Paul looked away, pressing his fingers into his tear ducts, catching any tears that would've fallen. He cursed himself for being so damn sensitive- but he couldn't help it. He thought far too highly of John and of John's opinion to let such a remark just roll off his back. He spent the rest of rehearsal keeping mostly to himself, replying in single-word answers to anyone who approached him. Even during the live show, he wasn't up to his usual standard for performing.John, George, and Ringo carried on with the show like nothing had happened, because they hadn't even realized that Paul's feelings were hurt. And selfishly, Paul almost wished that someone would notice him sulking and ask him what was the matter.He got his wish after the show. The Beatles' publicist, Tony Barrow, approached Paul backstage, while Paul was sitting alone, for once, without the other three."You all right, Paul?" Tony asked him, placing a hand on Paul's shoulder."Oh," Paul muttered, standing instantly, and cursing himself again for wishing that maybe it would've been John speaking to him, maybe even offering an apology. "Yes, I'm very fine, thank you, Tony.""All right. If you need anything at all, don't hesitate to ask."As Tony began to walk back toward Brian and Alistair Taylor, Paul called out, "Actually, ehm, Mr. Barrow, I do have a request." Tony turned on his heel, looking rather concerned for Paul. Paul swallowed the lump in his throat, boldening himself, as he forced out, "Can you, ehm... maybe jus' tell Mr. Epstein that I'd like to drop my song, Yesterday, off the tourin' set list, please.""Oh, ehm..." Tony seemed surprised at Paul's abrupt request, but nodded, nonetheless, and replied slowly, "...yes. Yes, I'll do that.""Thank you, Mr. Barrow," Paul said, sinking back into his chair. He exhaled deeply, his eyes closed, hands pressed against his temple.Hopefully, with dropping the song from the set list altogether, the strange animosity he'd received from John would subside. He dropped his head into his hands, and for the first time in a long while, Paul cried.No one heard him crying, either; no one came over to ask if he as all right. Or maybe, it was simply that no one cared enough to ask.

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"...for several days, I was quite upset abou', y'know. Abou' what John said abou'  Yesterday." says Paul, pushing his bangs from his eyes. "But I got over it within' a week or so, because I began to quickly realize that John hadn't meant to hurt my feelings. He was in an awful mental state, he was- so I forgave him, because I knew tha' he probably hadn't meant what he'd said."
"Interesting." says Michael, tapping his chin once and pointing to Paul with his index finger,
"That was around the time that the Help! album was released, wasn't it?""Oh, yes. Help! was released, toppin' the charts and all tha'. We did Shea Stadium, then, with a record-breakin' attendance." Paul pauses thoughtfully. "But it kills me to think abou' that time, 'cause John was essentially depressed, and no one had any clue. He didn't show tha' side of himself to the public, and sometimes, not even to me."He'd become irritable: almost comparable to when his mother 'ad passed, in the early days." Paul says, his voice soft, "The high we'd experienced in Key West was far behind us, now."___________________________________________Paul was laying in the hotel bed that he shared with John, staring up at the ceiling.He was humming to himself, enjoying this little bout of peace and quiet- composing a tune for a song he'd had in the works for several weeks, now.George was asleep in the other bed, and John was sitting at the little table beside the door, scribbling madly onto a new piece of paper, after crumpling up his five previous rough-drafts of whatever he was writing and starting anew. Ringo was out in the hotel cafe with Brian and Alistair, presumably, having an afternoon coffee.Paul sat up slightly to glance at the clock: it had seemed to be 3:00 for the past three hours.Paul heaved a great sigh, then, turned to where John was sitting and muttered, "What'cha workin' on, John?" John seemed to not have heard him, because he remained bent over his paper until Paul repeated, "John?""What?" John's head snapped up, and meeting Paul's eyes, his own looking wide and stressed and sleepless. He said, "Oh, ehm... a letter. For Cyn.""Ah," Paul mused, falling back onto his pillow with his hands behind his head. "How's she?""Oh, I... I dunno. Haven't written in a while." John rubbed his eyes, shrugging lightly. "I feel like shit about it, though. Her an' Julian, y'know... I've been away for ages." Paul muttered a "yeah" in vague agreement, and after several beats of silence, John asked, "How's Jane?"Paul blew out a breath. "Christ, ehm." He chuckled lightly, his eyebrows raised, wondering where to begin. "I dunno, ehm... she's very... independent.""Oh?" said John, glancing over at Paul between strokes of his pen, grinning slightly, "Don't like your women independent, eh?""Oh, I dunno." Paul shrugged, smiling slightly, himself, "She's amazin', y'know. I jus' feel like... like we're on two different pages, y'know?" He pauses, "And, I mean, if she knew abou' all my other girlfriends and such, she'd have a fit, I tell ye.""Mhm," John hummed, stretching in his chair, seeming exhausted beyond measure. "I dunno. Me an' Cyn are like tha', too. But I can't quite-"The sound of a key unlocking the hotel door made both boys jump, and in walked Ringo and Alistair Taylor. With them, came a cloud of cigarette smoke."Come downstairs," Ringo announced jovially, ambling up to John, who shoved the letter he'd been writing beneath the table's placemat before Ringo might've been able to read it. "Brian's got dinner all set up in the cafe. It's early, but, y'know- we're leavin', soon.""Y'all right, John?" Alistair asked, standing still in the doorway, his gaze glued onto John concernedly. "You look like you're abou' to be sick."Truly, John did look rather ill at the moment, with his dark eyes wide as saucers and his face nearly void of any color whatsoever. John glanced up at Alistair, and to Paul's immense surprise, John admitted in a voice no louder than a mumble, "No. No, I'm not all right.""All right, then. Come along." Alistair muttered, pulling John up from his seat at the table, draping an arm around his shoulder and leading him out of the room and into the hallway, for fresh air or privacy, Paul wasn't quite sure. As John walked out, he nodded, his eyes welling up, like he was going to cry, or throw up, or something to that effect.The door clicked behind them, leaving Paul and Ringo to only stare at each other, and with a sleeping George in the next bed over."What's wrong wi' John? Is he sick?" Ringo asked, sitting down on the edge of Paul's bed."I don't think so." Paul muttered with a shrug, glancing at the ground, "We were jus' talkin' abou' Cynthia and Jane an' stuff, and he got... ill, or somethin'. I dunno.""I don' think tha' John's in the best state, at the moment." said Ringo, softly, his eyes drifting over to George, who seemed to have awoken from his slumber. "He's missin' his wife an' son, he's self-conscious from all the people callin' 'im fat, and he's jus' downright depressed.""I know," said Paul, glancing, too, at George, whose dark eyes opened with a flutter as he stretched his arms and yawned. "I wish I knew wha' I could do to help 'im.""We've just got to be patient." said Ringo, "John has his seasons, y'know- he's quite temperamental. Hopefully, it'll pass, in time.""Oh, believe me, I know all abou' John's mood swings." Paul replied with a sarcastic little chuckle, "I jus' hope he'll be all right, that's all.""He will be," said Ringo, assuring him with a nod, as George sat up, and Ringo offered him a smile, "Good mornin', Georgie.""Fuckin' 'ell." George mumbled, rubbing his eyes, "What time's it?""Time for dinner!" Ringo replied, standing up from the bed, gesturing for Paul and George to follow him down to the cafe. "C'mon, you two!"George stood with a groan and a half-laugh, smiling slightly as he passed Paul, who called, "I'll be down in jus' a minute," with his eyes glued intently on the letter that John had shoved beneath the placemat. "Save me a plate!"The door clicked behind George and Ringo, leaving Paul to his own devices- and he knew exactly what he was going to do.He stood and pulled that letter out from underneath the placemat, taking a seat on the edge of his bed to read John's writing.He felt slightly guilty for reading something that John had purposefully hidden away, to be kept private- but he needed to know, or at least, have an inkling as to why John was in such a depressive state.Gingerly, he unfolded the paper, reading each word with care, scanning for some sort of indication of John's true feelings.
Dearest Cynthia and Jules.

I am truly sorry for not returning your calls. Tell that to Jules for me, Cyn. And, tell him that I love him. Don't let him read the rest of this.

I meant to call you back, and I meant to write much more than I have been. But I'm depressed, Cyn- I really am. I'm worn out, and I'm confused. You know how I used to bed loads of women on the side, Cyn. You know how much of a shameless pervert I used to be- you know that. But it's as if I've shaken myself awake, and now, none of that is as appealing as it used to be. All the women throwing themselves at me, giving me their sex- I don't want any of it anymore. In fact, I'm almost disgusted by it- and I'm sure you'll think of me as a bloody queer for saying this, but it's true- I don't find them all that attractive anymore, anyways. What does that mean, Cynthia?

I'm so fucking lost, especially with you and Julian being so far away from me. I can't let the band down, but I feel terribly for my dear son. He doesn't see enough of me as it is and I really want him to know me and love me and miss me the way that I seem to be missing both of you. I'll go now because I'm bringing myself down thinking about what a thoughtless bastard I seem to be- and its only sort of three o' clock in the afternoon- the wrong time of day to be feeling so emotional. I really feel like crying, it's stupid- and I'm choking up right now as I'm writing. I don't know what's wrong with me.

Whatever goes on, don't ever doubt that I love you, Cyn, and you, Julian- no matter how little you see of me. Sending love.

John.
Paul sat on the edge of his bed for several moments, vision blurring as he unfocused. He let his mind go, wondering why the hell John wouldn't tell him that he really was depressed.He stood in a daze, replacing the letter, leaving it just as it had been before he'd read it, and started down the hall to the cafe.He didn't even know what to think. Of course, John had told him that he'd been trying to take a break from having side-women, but he'd told Paul that it had been for Cynthia's sake. Apparently, though, it was because John wasn't even really attracted to those girls, anymore: at least, not like he used to be.Perhaps John was simply maturing- maybe it was natural for a man to outgrow the desire to shag every attractive girl he saw once he'd reached maturity. Paul certainly hadn't reached that stage, yet, but nonetheless, maybe John had.The hallway spilled out into a warm, bright room, with a dining table set up nicely in the center, where the others were already dining. The others were talking and laughing away, hardly even noticing Paul as he walked in. The only empty seat was beside John (that he'd saved for Paul, purposefully, no doubt), so Paul made his way there and sat. John was looking slightly more stable, still, not up to his usual happy, comical self- but perhaps that was all only a facade. Paul couldn't even be sure about that, anymore."Y'all right?" John asked as Paul sat, his mouth stuffed with some sort of green bean-potato dish that looked absolutely divine."Oh, yes, thanks." Paul replied with a nod, leaning closer slightly to ask, "And you? You're all right now, right?"John looked over at him, right in the eyes, and gave him a little smile. "Yeah. I'm good." He turned back to his plate, saying in-between bites of his food, "Mr. Taylor gave me a nice pep-talk. Bloody needed it, too, I s'pose.""I coulda' done tha'." Paul replied lowly, grinning teasingly, as he began to tuck into his own food."Ha, I know you could've." John replied, returning Paul's grin and nudging him gently. "I know I can always come to you, Paul. Thanks for tha'."Paul picked up his glass, saying coolly, "Oh, yeah, o'course."As he raised the glass to his lips, though, he smiled. He smiled, smiling at the fact that he had such a relationship- as strange and complicated as what he and John had was, it was certainly the truest and most solid relationship that he had, ever. Despite every row, despite the few times they'd argued- they would always return to each other. No doubt, a friendship such as this could never be broken: not ever.___________________________________________
"...I added what I'd learned abou' John in that letter to my mental box." says Paul, smiling thoughtfully, "I kept a box in my mind, full of all the things I knew abou' John. It seemed to get fuller and fuller by the day, really. And it suddenly had a new item in it: the fact tha' he wasn't quite as attracted to the girls as he used to be."

"Mhm," Michael hums, pointing at Paul with his ballpoint pen, saying, "You'd been on tour at that time, am I right?"
"Ehm... yes, I believe tha' was during a tour." Paul remembers. "Tha' tour was interesting, to say the least. We had loads of fun, oh, o' course we did. But there were times o' tension, too." He exhales, saying through his breath, "For example, near the end o' the tour of America, the band all stayed in a rented house in LA. We took several days off o' tourin', an' we had a sort o' weeklong party with our crew, loads of friends, and girls- that's when John an' I had another little row. Nothin' serious: they never were serious rows, at least, not at tha' time. But to me, y'know... well, I s'pose I'll tell you the story."___________________________________________It was late August, now: the summer only accentuated by the humid Los Angeles heat, the rush of traffic the city provided, the beach, and of course, the mansion that Brian Epstein had rented for the boys in Beverly Hills.The boys and crew stayed for several days in the expansive, Spanish-style villa while on break from their tour. And, naturally, while cooped up in such a confines, the boys grew stir-crazy and hosted parties nearly every day.There were people all around the house and property, careful, though, to not go out near the front-gate, where Beatles fangirls were waiting, clinging to the bars, in order to simply see the boys.There were two wet bars in the house- plenty of alcohol, though, in the boys' opinion, not nearly enough.It was their final full day in the villa when they hosted their biggest blowout party: by now, The Byrds and Peter Fonda had stopped in, along with many other friends, the crew, and some celebrities they hardly even knew.So, this is what stardom feels like, Paul thought to himself as he stumbled out onto the balcony in the middle of the afternoon, wine-drunk, sloppily kissing his side-girlfriend Peggy Lipton, careless of whoever was watching. There were people in every corner of the property, in every room- all drunk, making out, making love- the usual. Nothing mattered much, here, in Beverly Hills."Paul, Paul!" came Ringo's voice from somewhere far, far away. Paul pulled his mouth away from Peggy's with a smile and spun around, finally spotting Ringo, as he ambled out onto the balcony, looking drunk, too. "Y'know where George and John got to?""Oh, ehm," Paul muttered, reaching up to ruffle his dark hair as he blew out an exasperated breath. "Christ, Ringo, I don't. Maybe they're-"As if he was summoned, John came up behind Ringo and propped his elbow on his shoulder. "Care to join us, boys?" John asked, glancing between Paul and Ringo, pointedly ignoring Peggy, and as if either of them had any idea as to what John was talking about in the slightest."Ehm, doin' what?" Paul asked, reaching his hand around Peggy's waist, taking ahold of her hip as he spoke.John smiled mischievously: he'd been in a much better mood since arriving at the mansion, but it was probably due to all the alcohol and hallucinogens he was ingesting. "Acid." he said with a little chuckle, "We're goin' upstairs to take it, in the master bath."That's when George and Neil Aspinall, the road manager, came up beside John and nodded along. George said, "Yeah, we're takin' LSD upstairs. Come up with us, come on, boys!""Yeah, come on!" John parroted, as he stared pointedly at Paul, who seemed particularly unconvinced and tried, "Come on, Paulie. Come up with us.""We're probably missin' it, come on!" Neil smiled, gesturing for the boys to follow, as he made his way back into the house to the master bath.Ringo glanced at Paul and shrugged, grinning. "I dunno, Paul. I think I'd like to try it."Paul raised an eyebrow at Ringo, quite skeptically, almost disapprovingly. "You have fun with that, Rich.""Oh, you, too, Paul! Come on!" said George as he and Ringo started inside, ambling after Neil, who had already been halfway up the grand staircase. Now, only John was left, and of course, Peggy- who hadn't left Paul's side since the party had begun.John turned back to Paul, saying, "Please, Paul. Come up with us, it's a really good time, once you get the hang of it.""Ehm," Paul mumbled, glancing down at Peggy, and trying to give John the hint that he wanted to spend the party with her. "I... I think I'll pass, John.""Why?" John asked, his arms folded, still pointedly ignoring Peggy, and saying, "You haven't ever done acid, yet- what better time to try?""I don't want to, John." Paul replied, getting slightly irritated, now. "What part o' that don't you fuckin' understand?""You'd rather be with her, right?" John asked, for the first time, acknowledging Peggy's presence. He hadn't said it in a rude way, even- he was just making an observation. "Is that it?""Yes." Paul replied shortly, "Yes, it is.""That's dumb." John replied, mimicking Paul's shortness of speech. "Don't you realize tha' droppin' acid together could give us new song ideas? We might have a revelation.""I don't want to." Paul repeated, "So piss off.""Your loss, then, son." John replied with a shrug, turning to walk off in the same direction the others had. "Come find me whenever you're done with her and want some real fun."Paul stared after him, his mouth nearly hanging open. He glanced down at Peggy, into her beautiful brown eyes. "Fuck, Peg, sorry abou' him. He's... he's somethin'."She looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed. "Did I do something to John? He seemed irritated with me."Paul rubbed at his temple exasperatedly. "No, you didn't do anythin'." He assured her, pulling her close and kissing her forehead softly, "He gets in his moods, y'know.""Maybe you should go with him. He really wanted you to drop acid with him." Peggy replied, her voice laced with amused sarcasm.Paul smiled down at her, pressing his lips against hers, and saying, "No, acid's not really my cup of tea. And besides, he needs to learn that I've got a life of my own."Peggy smiled sweetly, pulling Paul in and returning his kiss, "I was hoping you'd say that."___________________________________________"I spent the party with Peggy, every second of it." Paul recalls with a smile. "Of course, it pissed John right off. He was hostile with her for the rest o' the party: he hated her, all because she'd stolen my attention from 'im."
"Ah," says Michael with a grin, "Why'd you think it bothered John as much as it did?"
Paul gives a little shrug, "I dunno, he was probably jealous, y'know. He didn' really have girls anymore, and got sort o' upset wi' me whenever I did. I never thought much of it, y'know... I took it simply as, he was my best friend, and naturally, wanted my attention."
"I see," says Michael, "And during that party, you never took LSD, I'm assuming?"
"No, actually. I was the only one who didn't. Ehm, Peggy too, I s'pose." says Paul, "Even Ringo and Neil did, and that, too, pissed John off. We went back to London, then, and John was still sort o' upset with me, because I hadn't joined him." Paul pauses, his mouth pressed into a tight line before he continued, "And then, when we were back in London, and I was back wi' Jane in our home at 7 Cavendish, I got a knock on the door."It was a visitor who, though I 'ad no idea at the time, would change the course of history. Would change, y'know... the entire world, for tha' matter."
"...and who was this visitor?" Michael asks, his voice only a hair louder than a whisper.

Paul pauses again, before saying, "This was the first contact with the band of John's future wife, Yoko Ono."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

By late September of 1965, John had become slightly more tolerable and less depressed than he'd seemed to be when the year began.Perhaps it was because he'd taken the advice of his adoring fangirls and lost a bit of weight, but it might've also been that he and the rest of the band were now back in London, where he was living at home again with his wife and son- yes, that was probably it.Among other news, Paul, too, was at home in 7 Cavendish with Jane: though more often than not, one or the other was off doing some sort of acting job or recording in the studio. It was one of those such afternoons: Paul was home alone, and had yet to begin his day, despite it being well past noon by now.Soon, the afternoon turned blustery and gray- and that was when Paul got the knock on the door. He hadn't been expecting anyone, and wondered if fans had discovered his address, somehow. His house was a white, three-story brick building: it surely wasn't the typical celebrity's abode.So he stood, stepping through the empty, echoey house, peeking through the blinds out the door and into the face of a woman he'd never seen in his life.He opened the door slowly, careful to leave the chain done-up, staring down at the short Asian woman, dressed in a long, brown coat, with her frizzy black hair falling onto her shoulders. "Ehm... can I help you?""Hello," she had a sweet voice: soft, and rather unassuming. English was clearly not her first language, but her speech was still quite pretty. "You're Paul McCartney, aren't you?"Paul resisted the urge to teasingly reply, You can't tell?, and instead nodded, "Uh, yeah. That's me."Paul undid the chain, knowing that the woman most likely wasn't here with any ill-intentions. Really, she seemed to not even recognize that he was a member of the Beatles. She stuck out her hand, saying, "Nice to meet you. I'm Yoko Ono.""Hello, Yoko. What can I do for you, then? And, ehm, how did you get my address?" Paul asked, with a half-smile, almost amusedly."I'm here on an errand," she replied. "With a group of musicians, you see- we're collecting manuscripts for John Cage's birthday, for a book he'll be writing. Have you got anything?"As polite as her voice sounded, she certainly was assertive. "Manuscripts?" Paul repeated, leaning against the doorframe and running a hand through his hair. "Oh, god, I dunno. I don't really think I have anythin'.""No handwritten songs or anything?" Yoko asked, persistent, it seemed, on this strangely elusive project for John Cage's birthday present."Well," Paul hesitated, remembering suddenly that the notebook he and John had been sharing for years now was tucked away upstairs in his bedroom. But he couldn't give her that: it was far too personal and sentimental, and half of the pages weren't even songs, just inside jokes and notes that the boys had written to each other. "...I don't think so. You can ask John, though- John Lennon, y'know- 'e might have somethin'.""Oh," Yoko replied, nodding slowly, looking slightly put-out. "All right, then. Is he here with you?""Oh, no, no." Paul replied with a chuckle, "He's at home with his wife, at the moment. I can ring 'im up and tell 'im that you'll be goin' to see 'im, if you want.""Oh." she said, again, rather dumb-founded. "Have you got a wife?""Me? No." Paul answered with another light laugh, shaking his head. "Don't like marriage, no: not for me.""Ah. Well, you're very handsome." said Yoko with a smile before shaking his hand again and saying, "Maybe I'll see you again, sometime, Paul McCartney.""Oh, ehm... sure!" Paul replied, watching her go down the driveway, returning her wave politely, slightly confused. She hadn't really explained what she was there for, and who had sent her- but it didn't matter, anyway. He figured that she'd leave, and he'd never even see her again.Of course, how very wrong he was.___________________________________________"Oh, you look nice!" Paul smiled as John slid into the passenger seat of his car.It was several weeks later: several weeks since Yoko Ono had shown up at Paul's doorstep, that is. Paul had scored tickets from a friend to a Claus Oldenburg opening, and despite knowing that Jane would probably be interested in seeing it with him, asked John to accompany him in her stead.At the moment, Paul was busier than ever: the band's sixth studio album was now in the works: a great project that they'd started calling Rubber Soul. Their sound was evolving quicker now than ever before, beginning to incorporate overlays and exotic instruments the likes of which they wouldn't have even dreamed of in the early days.Because of this, Paul spent increasingly little time at Cavendish with Jane, and she'd begun to grow slightly impatient with him. They really were going steady, at the moment- despite what little information the pair relayed to the media- and had been living together in that brick house for months now. But Paul had gotten busy, and Jane, idle: not a particularly preferable situation for such a "serious" romantic relationship."Thank you." said John with a grin, closing the door behind him, "I'm quite excited for this- dunno what to expect, exactly, but y'know.""I thought tha' maybe it'd give us some new ideas for Rubber Soul, y'know- very avant-garde artistry.""Oh, you're quite right." John replied as he buckled himself in, and as Paul pulled out of the driveway, he asked, "Jane didn't wanna go tonight, 'en?""Oh, heh." Paul chuckled, glancing out the rearview mirror as he reversed. "Well, ehm. I didn' actually ask 'er to go, to tell ye the truth.""Really!" John grinned, amusedly: maybe even smugly, propping his fist beneath his chin, as he continued, "Why's that? Are you two goin' through a rough patch?""Oh, I dunno." Paul replied, having begun to drive down the road, watching for traffic. "I mean... yeah, I s'pose so. She doesn't like 'ow much time I'm spendin' in the studio, y'know.""Huh." John mused, grinning still. Paul glanced over at him, socking him in the arm for preying on the downfall of his relationship. John laughed, clutching his arm, "Jesus, I'm only fuckin' kiddin'." He paused, glancing out the window, trying hard to stifle his smile. "Only, I'm not. I do think it's rather funny tha' Jane's jealous abou' not havin' your undivided attention.""Yeah, well, not all of us wanna get married," Paul mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "Jane wants to, I'm sure- and I still don't.""It's not all tha' bad, I've told ye." John replied, heaving a sigh, "Nothin' really changes once you're married. It's the same thing as before, especially if you're already livin' together.""Then what's the point?" Paul asked, genuinely dumbfounded. "If nothin' changes, as you say."John's quiet for a moment, "I dunno, really. It's almost a social thing, I s'pose- sayin' to the public, y'know, 'This is who I love, and we're now bounded by law.'""That sounds fuckin' terrible." Paul replied, then slowly conceded, "Maybe I simply 'aven't found the right person, but... marriage 'as always seemed unappealing to me.""Even I haven't found the right person, Paulie." John chuckled, earning a side-eyed glance from Paul, to which John muttered, "Kidding. I like my marriage. Isn't perfect, but... I don't reckon they should be, anyway."Paul paused for a moment, taking in the fact that John had essentially admitted that he thought Cynthia wasn't his soulmate. John had, of course, inferred that before, but to actually say it- to speak it into existence- was something completely different."Dunno... maybe not." Paul spoke, at long last. And by now, he was pulling into the hall where Claus Oldenburg was being hosted.It was a pretty, historic hall: the type usually inhabited by pretentious old bastards to watch a ballet, all to appear more cultured than the rest of society. Tonight, though, there were many younger people, too: Paul and John being among the youngest in attendance, no doubt. Still, young-ish people were gathered all around in the hall, curious about this upcoming phenomena in the world of artistry."Christ, what a turnout," John mumbled, glancing around, moving closer to Paul. "So prestigious. I'm feelin' very gentlemanly, are you?"Paul's eyes lowered, catching onto John's collar, as his lips melted into a grin. "You and your fucking tie..." He mumbled, grabbing John's lapels and pulling him in, straightening his tie. "Tsk, tsk, tsk... I can't you anywhere, John." He said as he pulled John's suit together, doing up the top buttons.John stood a little higher, lifting his head, probably glancing around to see if anyone was watching. His cheeks had reddened slightly, and he was smiling. "I really dunno what I'd do without you." He spoke like he was embarrassed of himself, but with such remarkable integrity.Paul's grin widened slightly as he finished John's buttons with a little pat on the chest. "I know." He stepped back, looking around, and finding the door to the the auditorium room. "Well, then, ehm... probably this way, then."So they braved the crowd, all to come out on the opposite end of the entry hall, where the room emptied into a great auditorium with thousands of seats and a red velvet curtain parted prettily with silk.Stupidly, Paul trucked along, wading through the sea of old money without realizing that John wasn't behind him anymore.It wasn't until he'd reached their row, row L, when he turned on his heel, his lips parted, saying, "John-", when he realized that John was gone."Ehm," Paul mumbled, glancing all around, spinning in place, scoping out the place. "John? Where the hell'd you go?" He spoke to himself, thinking that he must be going absolutely mad. But at least within his range of vision, John was nowhere.So he hurried back up the stairs, knowing that the show was starting shortly, scrunching his eyebrows in worry. Never had this happened before, and he felt rather silly: searching all around the hall like a lost child for his plus-one. His head swiveled in all directions, searching for that scruffy auburn head and white suit jacket.Finally, after what seemed like ages (albeit, truthfully only several minutes or so) he saw John, standing by the door outside the auditorium that Paul had just walked through moments ago.He wasn't standing alone, but talking to someone- a woman.Paul's steps hurried, nearing John when he made that realization. "John- why'd you leave me?" Paul asked as he approached. John, who'd been in the middle of a word, it seemed, looked up at Paul from the woman he'd been talking to. The woman: whose face was turned away from Paul, still."Oh, Paul! Sorry, God, didn't mean to run off on ye." John said with a genial grin, pushing past the woman and the man she seemed to have been there with. He came over to Paul, brushing against his shoulder and saying, "I jus' met these two."That's when the woman turned around- and when Paul's heart nearly dropped to his shoes.That same woman that had been at his doorstep weeks earlier: with the frizzy black hair and wide eyes that seemed to bore right through his.What was so significant about her, Paul wasn't quite sure. But he had this gut feeling- strange and superstitious as it seemed- that this woman be important some day, for one reason or another."Oh," she spoke as softly as she had that day on Paul's doorstep, staring right at him. "I know you.""You do?" John asked, clearly clueless, glancing between Yoko and Paul. "How's that?""She, ehm." Paul shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling rather awkward. "Came up to my door askin' for manuscripts for John Cage's book, or somethin'.""That'd be me." said the man accompanying Yoko- who Paul hadn't recognized in the slightest. He stuck out his hand with a smile. "John Cage, Mr. Paul McCartney. What an honor it is.""Oh, I'm sorry." Paul replied, feeling even dumber than before. "Mr. Cage, right- how'd you do.""Well, it was nice to talk to you all." said John, clearing his throat and pulling on Paul's sleeve lightly. "We'll best be off, still 'aven't gotten to our seats, yet, y'know. Have a good evening, both o' ye.""Oh, thank you, John!" Yoko replied, taking ahold of John Cage's arm, starting the opposite direction as John and Paul, waving, as if she and they were anything more than acquaintances. "We'll be seeing you soon, I hope!"John gave a little nod of his head over his shoulder as he and Paul walked in on through the doorway, down the steps, to their seats. Seated, Paul turned to face John, "Why the hell'd you leave me? It gave me a fright, it did.""I didn't mean to- honest." John replied with a sigh, glancing over his shoulder, looking paranoid. "We got separated, somehow, I dunno- and there was this weird sort of vibe behind me. Turns out, it was that woman- Yoko, wasn't it?""She was at my house, several weeks ago." Paul muttered, his voice a hush whisper.John's eyes widened, and he mumbled back, "She didn't tell me that. Jus' said tha' I looked interesting, or somethin- started up a conversation. I though' that maybe she didn't even recognize me."Paul raised his eyebrows, realizing that she'd seemed the same way to him when she'd shown up on his doorstep. "She acted tha' same way when she showed up at my house. She must know who we are, though: she's got to.""Oh, no doubt she does." John replied, then slowly said, "I dunno. There's something extraordinarily different abou' her- am I right in sayin' that?"Paul hesitated, almost wondering if John was interested in this woman- but thinking better of it after a mere moment's contemplation. "Yeah, no- you're right. It's hard to pinpoint what it is, exactly, though, isn't it?"John nodded, staring down at the stage with an absent smile on his face. "Exactly." He propped his fist beneath his chin as the lights began to dim, eyes glued on the stage, and still, Paul's gaze remained on him. "You're exactly right, Paul- as usual."___________________________________________"...so, that was it. We'd finally met Yoko: at least, John and I had: a significant piece of history that would change the trajectory of, well, everythin'. Though at that time, we hadn't any clue just how much it would, y'know."
"I see." says Michael, crossing a leg over the other. "That was the end of 1965, wasn't it?"
"Yes, ehm... yes, I believe it was." Paul replies after a moment's thought. "The rest of the year was rather uninteresting: loads of time in the studio, completing Rubber Soul. The most significant part o' all that, in my opinion, was John's song for the album tha' remains one o' my favorite songs to this day, In My Life."
"I think it's fair to say that it's a crowd-favorite song, too, isn't it?" Michael asks with a smile.
"Oh, yes, I'm sure." Paul smiles fondly. "It's a beautiful, beautiful song. It was a song tha', y'know... even though he hadn't actually said it, I though' that maybe he'd thought of me while writing it." He chuckles lightly, waving an airy hand. "Of course, that's a great assumption, and I'll never really know, for sure. But... it was something I liked to imagine, because he'd held my hand while recording those vocals in the studio, y'know.""Really?" Michael's eyes widen, and he asks, "Was that... awkward, at all? Or did it come rather naturally?""Well, ehm, ha." Paul stumbles over his words, shaking his head lightly. "I mean, I dunno. I played it off, surely- didn't think much of it, and didn't want it to become a whole ordeal. But it was a great experience, I'll tell ye- and in my mind, I was ecstatic, because this was John Lennon, you 'ave to remember. 'Cause even though 'e was my best friend, he was tough. So things like tha'- those softer moments- I cherished them greatly."
"Of course." says Michael, "And how about yourself and Jane, and Cynthia and John?"
Paul sighs. "Well, Jane was growing increasingly impatient with me, from all the time I spent workin'. Ehm, rightfully so, I s'pose- but it made me irritated with her, because I didn't really consider her my first priority, as awful as it sounds: work was my priority, before anythin' else." Paul pauses to think. "An' John an' Cyn... they were alrigh'. Cynthia was more understandin' and patient than Jane, because she was occupied wi' Julian, and hardly had any time to be upset with John's constant working and absence in the home."An' Julian, my god... he was my favorite." says Paul, smiling brightly. "I spent quite a bit o' time wi' him an' John, an', y'know. For 'ow much disdain I 'ad for marriage, I'd certainly always loved children. Julian was like a son to me, I s'pose- perhaps one o' the reasons I loved 'im as much as I did was because, y'know... every time I looked at 'im, I saw his dad, y'know... I saw John." Paul looks off into the distance as he speaks, "An' that was a feelin' tha' was hard to put into words, y'know: to see the man I loved so dearly in this child; it made me want to jus' love an' nurture dear Jules as if he were my own son."
"I know the relationship between Julian and you remains strong to this day. That's such an incredible bond, I suspect."
"Oh, it is, yeah." Says Paul with a nod. "Durin' the end o' that year, too, we wrapped up Rubber Soul, an' had it released. Smash-hit, it was. Ehm," Paul takes a moment to remember what comes next. "An' then... it was 1966: the year of the Revolver." Paul takes a solemn pause to say, "O' course, we can't go on without addressin' what John said in March o' tha' year, in one o' his interviews with Maureen Cleave.""Oh, right." Says Michael, sobering up, "And that would be his remark abou' being 'more popular than Jesus', is that right?"Paul nods. "Yes." He swallows, a lump having formed in his throat from the mere thought of the incident. "None o' us were religious, y'know: but John knew more abou' it than any o' the rest of us. He read abou' it loads: he was very smart, 'e was. But he made an off-hand comment, y'know... sayin' tha' we were more popular than Jesus, and tha' Christianity will go.
"An' he didn't mean to offend anyone, not at all. But the interview was published, and, ehm... it got into the hands of ultra-religious groups, in America, especially." Paul shifts slightly in his spot. "And, ehm... those groups o' people started turnin' on 'im, 'cause he'd demeaned their faith, essentially."

"Right. Didn't people begin to burn their Beatles records after the incident, too?"
"Oh, yes. Fans started burnin' their records in bonfires, y'know, protestin' against us. But we stood by John: we didn't publicly support what he'd said, y'know, but we made it known that we didn't think he'd said anythin' particularly wrong." Says Paul, "And John was rather upset, but we assured him tha' he really didn't do anythin' wrong, y'know. So, we tried our best to, ehm, jus' sort o' move on from it. An' we did, y'know- we left tha' little quote in the past, an' eventually, it became as irrelevant as Jesus had, y'know." Paul smiles faintly at his joke. "Kiddin', y'know. But, yeah, we left tha' in the past, and tried to move forward. Of course, we 'ad no idea tha' John's quote would eventually bring abou' his demise."Paul tenses up, finally adding, "But at tha' time, it didn't matter. We went on abou' our lives, and tried to forget abou' it. An', for the time bein', we did."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"...Eleanor Rigby, dah-dah dah-dah, dah-dah-dah, dah-dah-dah, dah-dah-dah..." Paul hummed to himself, shuffling around the studio, rolling up the long sleeves of his white tee shirt. "Lives in a dream, waits at the window..."It was early in June of 1966: another busy day at the studio, banging around on their instruments and experimenting with the subsequent recordings. It was entirely too hot to be outside, and somehow, the heat had penetrated into the expanses of EMI Studios: which had, up until now, practically been an ice box."Wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door..." Ringo offered with a smile, looking up from his drum set, as he and Paul sang together: "Who is it for?" in-between laughs."We were damn lucky to 'ave Shotton weigh in on tha' one," George mused, blowing into his steaming cup of tea from the corner where he sat on the floor. "He's a bloody genius, I reckon- we ought to replace John wi' him."John, outright ignoring George's joking quip, stormed around the studio, his footsteps falling as heavy thuds onto the tile. "Which one of you took my glasses? I'll have your head, I will!"George, Ringo, and George Martin all glanced at Paul, who was sitting prettily on the piano bench, one leg crossed over the other: with, of course, John's horn-rimmed glasses on the tip of his nose. But John, without his glasses, was far too blind too see that: he had no way of knowing where his glasses were, or who had stolen them. Paul and the other three all bit their lips, trying not to laugh as George suggested, "Where'd you have them last, John?""Oh, how'd I fuckin' know? I'd lose my head if it weren't attached to me neck." John mumbled, stumbling, bumbling into every piece of furniture and equipment in the studio, his arms out in front of him, trying to feel his way through the room. "Can anyone see where I've left 'em? I can't see well enough to look!"Everyone burst out into laughter, and John stopped short, his shoulders slumping as he finally realized. "Oh, my god." He exclaimed, starting to laugh, too, as he approached what was, in his vision, a Paul-shaped blob propped up by the piano. "Macca, give 'em back!""No!" Paul giggled uncontrollably as he leapt off of the piano bench, over the piano, and sprinting to the other side of the room."MACCA!" John yelled, nearly weezing as he laughed, chasing Paul as best he could while still being legally blind. "Macca, I swear to god-""YOU'LL DO WHAT?" Paul yelled back, ripping the glasses from his face and holding them high above his head, laughing still, as John jumped up and down, trying to reach them. "What'll you do, Johnnie?""Oh, fuck you, Paul. You bastard." John heaved a great sigh, a final laugh escaping his lips as he collapsed onto a nearby chair."Mhm. Wow, such an intelligent come-back." Paul replied, sarcastically, his eyebrows scrunched up and smirking with condescension. Everyone else in the studio was still laughing hysterically. "Admit that I'm simply taller than you, and I'll give 'em back.""Well, yes. By a fuckin' half-inch." John replied, snatching his glasses from Paul's hands, scowling up at him."Hm," Paul hummed, satisfied, a bright smile plastered upon his face. "Thank you, Johnnie."John's face lit up suddenly, clearly having come up with an excellent retort. "Right, 'cause to you, Paul- a half an inch must seem incredibly large.""Oooooooh!" Came from everyone in the room, listening, as if it were some sort of act. Paul glanced around, his cheeks aflame, still grinning madly."Okay, now don't-" Paul mumbled, laughing slightly, running a hand through his hair. "Don't bring private matters into this, now. Especially ones that aren't true.""OH!" Everyone laughed, egging the two on- the two who had now realized that they'd gone too far with such a pathetic, dramatized argument."Prove it," John replied, leaning forward in his chair, a grin still plastered across his stupidly smug face. All Paul could do was chuckle and shake his head, walking off to where he'd left his bass propped up by the piano."You two." Brian mused, shaking his head as he walked in with his own steaming cup of tea, smiling. "You'll pay for any furniture you break with those antics, now, boys.""Paul started it," John informed him, smiling still, running a hand through his grown-out, shaggy hair, which, in Paul's humble opinion, looked nicest when it was kept just like that: as if John had just rolled out of bed, or something. He'd always preferred John's hair that way- he wasn't exactly sure why- nor did he have any desire to tell John that this was the case. "I've decided to not give 'im his birthday present anymore, since 'e stole my glasses."Paul's interest was piqued, now: his gaze snapped onto John, again, as he replied without a second-thought, "What's my gift, John? I'm sorry, I'll never take your glasses again."John shook his head, his arms folded defiantly. "No. You're a right ol' bastard, and ye don't deserve a birthday gift this year."Paul's eyes went wide, and he gestured over at John as he stared incredulously over at George. "Can you believe him?"George smiled, standing, and setting his now-empty teacup on top of the piano as he replied, "I've got you a gift, too, Paul- it's out in the car. I'll give it to ye after rehearsal.""Don't take his side, Hazza!" said John, letting out a little chuckle as he began to strum mindlessly on his guitar, tuning as he went along. "Fine, Paul- but your birthday's not until Saturday, so I'll bring it over then."Paul's face brightened immediately, and he grinned over at John. John was rather great at gift-giving (that silver bracelet still clasped around Paul's wrist, to serve as a reminder of this) and he was quite excited to see what John had gotten him. "I'll come over to yours, John, to save you the trip: I'll come by at noon, not a moment early, nor a moment late."___________________________________________"...so, that Saturday, I drove over to Kenwood at Weybridge on the instant tha' the clock struck noon." Says Paul, smiling fondly, his chin resting on the heel of his hand. "John wished me a very happy birthday, an' so did Cynthia an' Jules, of course. What he gave me, though... I certainly hadn't expected it."
"What did he give you?" Michael asks, his voice full of curiosity.
"He... ehm." Paul chuckles lightly as he sits up straighter. "He gave me a kitten. He'd named her Thisbe, after the role he'd played in A Midsummer Night's Dream." He pauses again to smile. "Even sweeter than that, the kitten 'ad a brother: and John kept that kitten for 'imself, an' named 'im Pyramus, after the role tha' I'd played in tha' same performance: y'know, the play where John an' I 'ad been those star-crossed lovers, y'know.""Oh, how sweet!" Michael chuckles, "So John kept the kitten that was named after your character, Pyramus, and gave you the one he'd named after his character, Thisbe? Is that right?""Yeah, yes... yes, it is." Paul smiles, his head cocked to the left. "I though' it was rather cute, y'know: a very nice gesture, remindin' me of the play tha' we'd done together." He pauses again, thoughtfully. "I came over to visit again the following Saturday, an' then, the Saturday after that: and started a little tradition of visitin' Kenwood every Saturday durin' the summer, aside from, y'know... the days tha' I'd visit there with the others, too."Paul pauses again, remembering: "An' I believe tha' it was the Saturday after John 'ad given me Thisbe tha' I'd written what I'd consider to be one of the best songs I've ever written. Ehm, y'know, I wrote it at John's house, while I was waitin' for him to wake up: a song called Here, There, and Everywhere."___________________________________________"Uncle Paul!" Came the gleeful voice of three-year-old Julian Lennon, running down the front steps of Kenwood at Weybridge to meet his "uncle"."Julian!" Paul called back, kneeling down beside his car, his arms spread open. Julian came running to him, practically tackling him with a hug as both boys fell into fits of giggles. "Oh, 'ow are you, Jules?""Good." Said Julian, pulling back from Paul's embrace. Paul's eyes drifted from Julian to Cynthia, walking down the steps after her son. He smiled at her: she looked beautiful, as she always did, with a blue baby doll dress and her hair done-up into a Bardot-like bun."Cynnie," Paul said, smiling still, as he stood. "All is well, 'ere, I presume?""Quite well, yes." She was soft-spoken, but was smiling almost always: that was the charm of Cynthia Lennon. "And how is dear little Thisbe treating you?""Oh, she's doin' fantastic. She's a sweetheart, she is." Said Paul, "And 'ow abou' little Pyramus?""Oh, he's a sweet little thing, too. He's upstairs wi' John, I believe- he likes John best, you see." Said Cynthia, pushing back the lock of blonde hair that had blown gently into her eyes. "I'll just 'ave you know tha' John is sleepin' upstairs at the moment. He didn't get back until quite late last night, and decided to 'ave a midday nap.""Oh, o'course. Rehearsal went rather late, last night, it did." Paul replied with a nod, taking the hand that Julian had extended to him. "I'm rather tired, myself, honestly.""Oh, you might want to lay out by the pool. It's such a beautiful day," said Cyn, leading Paul (still, holding onto the hand of the iron-gripped Julian) into and through the house, to the back door. "Go on an' lay out: I can make you a drink, if you'd like.""Oh, I'm fine. Thank you, Cyn." Paul assured her with a smile."All right," she said, taking Julian's other hand and pulling him along. "Come along, now, Jules, we'll let Uncle Paul 'ave a bit of rest." She glanced back at Paul with a smile and said, "John should be out shortly, Paul. If you need anythin' at all- ask me. Or, of course, just fetch it for yourself- you know where the kitchen is!""Thanks, Cynnie!" said Paul with a laugh, wondering how on earth Cynthia was as polite and hospitable as she always was. He slid open the back door, stepping onto the terrace: a beautiful patio, with potted plants and weeping trees hanging over the white fence. There was an in-ground pool, with lounge chairs all around the outside: and a table, and more chairs- all underneath the blazing afternoon sun, with that perfect gentle breeze.Paul sighed as he reclined onto one of the lounge chairs, laying down, allowing himself to drift into a half-conscious state: the borderline between awake and asleep. He felt the sun on his skin, kissing all over him, and he began to blush. The day couldn't have possibly been more perfect than this.His mind began to go: but what could he write about? The day had inspired him, but he wasn't exactly sure what to write a song about.His favorite song, recently, had become God Only Knows- a masterpiece, in his opinion, by the Beach Boys- and felt as though he could write a sweet, lovely ballad like that on a fine day such as this."To lead a better life..." He mumbled, squinting up into the sun, stretching on the sun-scorched lounge chair. "I... need my love to be here." He smiled to himself, turning to lay on his side, and staring up at John's bedroom window, where John was probably still not yet awake. I wish he'd come down, already.Turning onto his other side, he noticed one of John's old acoustic guitars propped against the patio table. Realizing that he now had the beginning of a melody, composed there in his mind, he stood and took up the guitar, returning to that same lounge chair and strumming in G."To lead a better life..." He started again, wondering what chord he could do next. Finally, he decided on B-flat: "I... need my love to be here..."He paused, smiling to himself. The chord progressed naturally: the song seemed to be writing itself, almost: Paul was merely the means by which the song could flow into the world."Here." Paul repeated, as the chord progressed again, upward: "Ma-king each day of the year..." He paused, staring at the concrete floor of the patio. He realized, absently, that this song he sang was a love song: so he couldn't, in his right mind, use John as his muse. Despite having intended to write about John in the beginning, somehow, the lyrics had shifted to this, this romantic ballad.So, chiding himself, Paul switched gears and sang: "Chang-ing my life with a wave of her hand..." He paused again, and continued: "No-body can... de-ny that there's something there."He laid back down on the lounge chair, holding his guitar, strumming still. He started right into the chorus: "I want her everywhere... and if she's beside me, I know I need ne-ver care." He strummed a few descending notes and continued, "But, to love her is to need her e-very-where." He paused, having come up with a great phrase: "Here, there, and e-very-where."He opened his eyes. John was standing there, just over him, casting a shadow onto Paul's body. He was smiling. "Sounds nice, Macca."Paul sat up, slightly, smiling back at him. "Does it?" John dropped with a nod onto the lounge chair just beside Paul's, sitting on the very edge, turned to face Paul. "I've just come up with it, all while waitin' down 'ere for you.""Really?" John asked, clearly impressed. "I thought tha' maybe it'd been in the works for a while- it sounds almost finished, it does.""Oh, it isn't." Paul assured him with a chuckle, laying back against his chair. "I skipped over a fair few bits, and I 'aven't even gotten a second verse, yet..." He turned to look at John again, asking, incredulously, "But you like it?"John was staring out at the sky, having reclined against his own chair, now, too: "I think it might be one o' your best songs, yet. Honest," He added, with a glance over at Paul, who seemed to think that John was kidding. "It sounds like you really mean what you're sayin'. What's the word...? Ehm... integrity, that's it.""I didn't even really know what I was sayin', to be frank." Paul admitted, glancing back over at John with a shrug. "I jus' kinda started singin', y'know... it doesn't mean much of anythin'."John blew out an impressed breath. "Certainly sounds as if you mean what you're singin'.""And what does it sound like I mean, John?""Well, it... rather sounds like you're in love, Paul." John replied, a faint grin upon his face, as he turned again to face the sky. "Am I right in sayin' that?" He asked, looking back over at Paul, with that charged, dark gaze.Paul was staring into the clouds, now, too: his brows furrowed, wondering how on earth to answer him. After all, he'd just sung all about having a love that he needed beside him, here, there, and everywhere: but, when really thinking about it, he realized that the lyrics he'd sung weren't as true as they'd sounded.Surely, the idea of Jane had inspired such lovely lyricism. But, truly, that was all it was: the idea of Jane.He'd fallen in love with an idealized version of this undoubtedly beautiful, talented, sweet girl. But the two weren't as perfect a pair as they hoped they'd be: they'd grown almost ornery, and had begun to realize that they weren't meant for each other, as they'd hoped they'd discover over time.It wasn't of any fault of Jane's, or even Paul's, for that matter- but no matter how much time they'd allowed to pass, nothing seemed to change. In fact, things almost almost seemed to be getting worse between the two.Paul loved Jane. But he was not in love with her: and that, in his mind, was a distinction that made all the difference."...I'm not in love." Paul said, finally, his voice soft. "But I'm not sure I even really know what bein' in love feels like. 'Cause... I don't know if I ever have been."John didn't reply for several moments, staring off again, until he said: "I know what you mean, Paul. I really do: 'cause, y'know... I feel the same way." He sighed deeply, leaning his head back onto the lounge chair, his eyes closing. "And I feel almost guilty abou' it- 'cause there isn't a single thing wrong wi' Cyn. She's perfect." He glanced over at Paul, his eyes opening only slightly. "So, why do I still feel like there's somethin' missing?"Paul couldn't look at John. He simply couldn't return John's expectant stare, because he was too preoccupied, with his mind tracing back to the letter John had written Cynthia, nearly a year prior.You know how I used to bed loads of women on the side, Cyn. John had written.
You know how much of a shameless pervert I used to be- you know that. But it's as if I've shaken myself awake, and now, none of that is as appealing as it used to be.
Finally, Paul glanced over at John, meeting those eyes. He looked lost- truly, truly lost. Paul saw himself in that stare, in the reflection- and he felt the same way. There was nothing to be unsatisfied about, not in the slightest. But still, here they both laid: unsatisfied.
All the women throwing themselves at me, giving me their sex- I don't want any of it anymore. In fact, I'm almost disgusted by it- and I'm sure you'll think of me as a bloody queer for saying this, but it's true- I don't find them all that attractive anymore, anyways. What does that mean, Cynthia?
What does that mean, John?"What does that mean, Paul?" John's voice rang out clear, as if from a distant memory, or a dream; snapping Paul right out of his daze, beckoning him back to the present."I don't know, John." Replied Paul with a tired sigh, running a hand through his hair. He really hadn't a single clue why either of them felt this way, or why they seemed to be feeling the exact same feeling, at the same time.They were both looking at the sky, up into the blue, where only little wisps of clouds dared float around the great golden sun. Paul smiled to himself, faintly: crinkled lines forming around the corners of his closed eyes as he offered, "For what it's worth, I doubt tha' any woman could ever ever replace what we 'ave, y'know?"John looked over, again, the sun shining brilliantly off of his face as he smiled, "I've figured tha' for a long time, Paul." He turned away again, his smile fading, slowly. Perhaps he was finally realizing, like Paul, that it wasn't necessarily a good thing that no relationship with a woman could even come close to being as significant, as all-encompassing, as the relationship between the two of them. "It seems rather tragic, doesn't it?"What had once made Paul feel as if he were the luckiest man alive- that is, to have this sort of relationship with John Lennon- now made him wary. He wouldn't ever be truly satisfied with any other relationship- not even a romantic one- because nothing else could compare with what he and John had. He'd feel eternally unfulfilled, frustrated with everyone he'd ever meet- and it wouldn't be anyone else's fault.It was a sort of problem that had no possible solution. Because, as he'd needed to remember far more frequently than he'd care to admit, John was not a woman.Paul turned away. He nodded, slowly, his heart weighing heavier than it almost ever had before."Yes." He spoke softly, knowing, unfortunately, how right they both were. "Yes, I suppose it rather does."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"...it's safe to say that we were goin' through a rather transitional period at tha' time." Says Paul, "'Cause, y'know, the early sixties were fadin' 
away and
 the late sixties were now upon us."

"Right," Michael says with a smile, "The hippie movement was starting, wasn't it?"
"Right," Paul replies with a chuckle, "We began changin', y'know... because the world was changin'. And our sound did, too, I s'pose. We all took a small hiatus from the band, y'know. George 'ad become quite interested in Indian culture and meditative practices, an' 'e took a trip there wi' Pattie, an' all that. John went off to Spain to film How I Won The War, an' Ringo spent a bit o' time down there as well. I stayed in London primarily, with Jane, of course, and in the company of Thisbe and my new, beautiful little sheepdog, Martha."And around November in 1966, I believe it was, on a flight back to London, I 'ad the idea of this fictitious, Edwardian-sort of miliary band. That, o'course, was the earliest conception of what became Sgt. Peppers, y'know." Paul pauses to think. "But, ehm, November o' '66 was also when John attended the Indica Art Gallery in London. There, 'e had his second run-in with Yoko Ono, at her Unfinished Paintings exhibit."
"Oh, my." Says Michael, "Did the two... hit it off, then?"
Paul cocks his head slightly, "It's hard to say, really. I believe tha', at first, they were both sort o' wary with each other." He shifts in his seat, slightly, one leg propped up on the other. "I mean, y'know, she was a rather strange, avant-garde artist. And he was a slightly off-putting, waggish, and witty rock star. So, I mean... they really weren't tha' similar, and both were married with children, y'know.""Right." Says Michael, glancing once at his clipboard, "D'you think that after meeting John at the exhibit, though, Yoko became more fond of him? At least, fonder of him than she had been, previously?""Oh, surely." Says Paul with a nod. "Y'know, I've heard the story countless times. An' I think it's safe to assume tha' Yoko was rather charmed by John, and admired 'is character, because 'e was quite clever, with a sharp wit, and very likeable because of it. 'Course, 'e was rather handsome, too, wasn't 'e?""Sure," says Michael, "And then... you began composing Pepper?""Yes; yes, we did." Says Paul with a smile. "My personal favorite album, it was. The first songs to go were Strawberry Fields an' Penny Lane. Good songs, y'know: we'd started gettin' much more technically skilled around this time. We'd broken through, an' started this new movement of psychedelic sort of rock music, y'know. John 'ad become all the more insightful in the recent times, ever since he'd filmed How I Won the War back in September o' '66, really." Paul looks down, his smile growing mischievous as he says, "And, ehm, while John was away filmin', I spent increasing amounts o' time with an old friend o' mine, Barry Miles, 'cause, y'know, I'd stayed behind in London. I ended up havin' my first-ever acid trip with Barry, despite resistin' John and George when they'd asked me to join 'em."
"Oh, my." Michael smiles, "And I bet George and John didn't take very kindly to that, did they?"
"I didn't tell 'em at first." Paul admitted with a cheeky grin. "But, yeah, I needed to tell 'em eventually, an' they weren't pleased, to say the least." Paul chuckles. "But, y'know- we worked it out. After all, it helped me with writin' the album, so the others couldn't possibly stay pissed at me."'Cause then, came Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds, Getting Better, an' Fixin' a Hole, y'know, jus' to name a few." Paul scratches the side of his mouth, finally saying, "And then, ehm, came a song tha' I still, to this day, hold to be John and I's best collaborative work. Not only because of the end product, but the process of writin' it, too: we'd become of one mind, almost: John and I."
Michael smiles. "And what song was this?"
"The final track on the album of Sgt. Peppers: a song we called A Day in the Life."___________________________________________A Day in the Life had started from an idea of John's.It was the middle of January, 1967: cold and blustery outside, the boys had retreated to their homes. Great fires rolled in the hearths of their houses, keeping them warm- which, in Jane's prolonged absence on a business trip, was found by Paul to be a difficult task, indeed.It had been snowing overnight, and still, the following afternoon, snow fell in flurries onto the earth.A knock on the front door startled Paul right up from the great armchair in the living room of Cavendish. His pipe fell onto his lap, so as he made his way to the door, he hastily brushed the ashes from his trousers.His eye up to the peephole, Paul peered right into the dark eye of John. John's face was pressed against the door, his eye comically wide through the aperture, staring right at Paul, almost creepily. Laughing, Paul undid the chain and threw open the door. "God, you're a fuckin' lunatic.""Still, you like me." Said John with a silly little grin, stomping the snow from his boots before stepping into the house and closing the door behind him. "It's cold as shit out there, Macca. Can't believe I walked all the way 'ere.""You walked?" Paul cried, incredulously, smiling in spite of John's stupidity. "D'you lose your damn mind?""I can't very well drive my car through all this snow, now, can I, genius?" John replied, brushing the snow from his newly-grown mustache with the pad of his index finger. Paul, too, had grown a mustache recently- as did George and Ringo. It was the new, hip look, they supposed: the look of the late '60s. "Besides, it wasn't a far walk. I only contracted hypothermia once, and only froze off two fingers-""Oh, poor baby." Chuckled Paul, patronizing him, leading John over to the living room, where the fireplace was all lit. "Come, sit by the fire, young man.""It's all right, really. It was my pinkie and ring finger tha' got taken off, anyway, and no one cares about those. Especially not on the left hand." John smiled up at Paul as he crouched down beside the fireplace, brandishing his left hand, with his pinkie and ring fingers folded down, as if they really were missing."John, John, John." Paul tsked at John lightly, shaking his head. "That's your wedding band finger, for Christ's sake.""As I said before," John muttered, prodding at the fire with the poker-stick, "Quite useless."Paul couldn't help but lower his head in a chuckle. "You're right with that one, you are." He stared at the fire, watching the flames dance. After a while of silence, he turned to John to ask, "What'cha been up to, recently? I thought you might be visiting with some new idea for the album, y'know."John's eyes lit up, having suddenly remembered: "That's right." He stood, walking over to the great beautiful piano in the corner of the living room. "I did 'ave an idea. I wrote somethin' the other night.""Did you?" Paul asked, sitting atop the piano, nodding down at John, "Oh, do play it for me. You've got words for it, right?""Oh, certainly. It's not finished, but... y'know." John replied, his fingers brushing over the keys gingerly in a chord that Paul didn't recognize very well. "I wanted to hear your thoughts. I'd like you to help me finish it, y'know.""O' 'course." Paul replied, watching John, with piqued interest. "You've got my undivided attention."John glanced up at him once, smiled, then turned back to the keys: pressing in that same chord, several times, before he started to sing. "I read the news today, oh boy." He played that chord again, then went on: "About a lucky man who made the grade."And though the news was rather sad, well I just had to laugh.I saw the photograph.He blew his mind out in a car: he didn't notice that the lights had changed.A crowd of people stood and stared: they'd seen his face before.Nobody was really sure if he was from the house of Lords...I saw a film today, oh boy:The English Army had just won the war.A crowd of people turned away, but I just had to look:Having read the book..."Briefly, John paused: playing some notes up and down the scale, before returning to that beautiful, original melody: "I read the news today, oh boy."Four thousand holes in Blackburn, Lancashire.And though the holes were rather small, they had to count them all.Now, they know how many holes it takes to fill the Albert Hall..."With that final, piercing high note, John trailed off, his dark eyes opening with a flutter. He played some final string of notes before reconnecting his gaze with Paul's and saying, "Like I said, y'know, it's nowhere near finished."Paul, still sitting on top of the piano at that time, was staring off into space with a ghost of a grin upon his lips. This song was entirely new and different from anything that either of them had written, prior: yet, Paul felt as though he recognized it from somewhere, as if it had been a song he'd sang in a past life. It was one of the most gorgeous things Paul had ever heard. It didn't even matter that the lyrics were nonsensical and, at least to Paul, seemed unmeaning- because it had the most beautiful melodic flow that completely captivated him."Wow, ehm," Paul muttered, tiredly rubbing at the side of his face, "Truly, that's one o' the most spectacular things I've ever heard."John stared up at him. "What." He replied, dumbfounded- as if he simply could not believe Paul. He chuckled, "I thought it wasn't much, y'know. Didn't seem all tha' special to me.""Are you fuckin' mad?" Paul replied incredulously, hopping down from the piano with a grin, running his hands through his hair. "John, I really think it's one of your best works, ever.""You are serious?" John tilted his head, staring up at Paul as a slight smile formed into his lips. Upon Paul nodding feverishly, John conceded, smiling brightly now, "All right, then. I'll need you to help me write the rest of it, though- 'cause I'm bloody stuck.""Deal." Paul replied with a coy little grin. "Have you got the notes an' lyrics written down?"John plucked a piece of folded-up paper from his front coat pocket, handing it over to Paul, "It's got loads of blanks on it, but-""Perfect." Paul cut him off, eagerly taking the paper, and promising, "I'll have worked something out by next rehearsal. I'll get started right away, too: I've already got some ideas."___________________________________________Two days later, when the snow had finally been plowed from the roads, the boys were back to work."Ooh, it's chilly in 'ere." Said George, lighting a cigarette as he adjusted the knob for his amp. "We ought to get a better heater.""We've got a good heater," Brian replied, lighting his own bifter, "It's jus' that you lot 'ave trouble rehearsin' while it's on, because of how bloody loud it is."Paul glanced up from the piano, tuning out the back-and-forth of George and Brian about the heater. John was about ten feet away, on his folding chair, strumming something on an acoustic guitar."Johnnie," Paul called to him with a grin, "I think I've got my bit done."John looked up, meeting Paul's gaze. "Have you?" He asked, smiling, as he abandoned his guitar to come and join Paul on the piano bench. "What, your bit for- what'd we call it- A Day in the Life?""Yes, that's it." Paul replied, running his fingers down the piano keys in a complicated, pretty pattern- simply showing off, with absolutely nothing to do with the song. "I've got an idea involvin' a bit of a shift in tempo, y'know- in between your verses.""Excellent," John replied, straightening himself beside Paul on the bench, "Have at it.""Right, so..." Paul began to play a repetitive chord on the white keys, "Starts with a middle-eight, y'know: after your, 'havin' read the book'...""Right," John said with a nod, watching Paul's hands on the keys."So, then, I start with a... woke up, fell out of bed-"Dragged a comb across my head.Found my way downstairs and drank a cup,And looking up, I noticed I was late.Found my coat and grabbed my hat; made the bus in seconds flat.Found my way upstairs and had a smoke:And somebody spoke and I went into a dream...""Oh," John mused, nodding, with a grin forming on his lips. "I quite like that.""And then, y'know- add a filler in, after tha'." Paul continued, pointing to the lyric progression on the paper he'd propped up on the music stand, "An' then, back to your verse- y'know- with your final 'I read the news today, oh boy.'""Right, right." John replied, his elbows propped up on the wood, hands beneath his chin, pondering: "I jus' have no idea how to connect our two parts- y'know? We might be able to fade it in, somehow- have Martin come up with a clever lick for in-between them, or somethin'.""Yeah." Paul muttered, propping his elbows up just like John had, pouting his lips as he, too, pondered. "Hm..."Their two distinct parts of the song were so incredibly different, and displayed perfectly the dichotomy between John and Paul. One being the cynic, the other, the sanguine.So, how on earth could those two impossibly opposite worlds come together? Paul continued to wonder, tilting his head, as he placed his index finger on the key of that high E5.He placed his ring finger onto the G5, then coming back down to E5; quite unsure of what he was doing: pure experimentation.His index found B4, then the half-step to C5; and repeated this, over and over again.Paul raised his eyebrows slightly, having liked that little melody he'd created. John's eyes followed the movements of Paul's hand as it repeated that same melody again.In the following silence, after Paul took a moment to think, he played it again, only once more- before falling back into silence.After that silent lapse, Paul looked pointedly up at John and said, in no more than a mutter: "I'd love to turn you on."Silence. He looked up at John, still: hoping for some feedback. John was still staring at Paul's hand, where it lay there, on the ivories.John looked up, finally meeting Paul's gaze. And he replied, in a voice even softer than Paul's had been: "Yes."And then, they just looked at each other, staring, in silence.Paul was confused, really, about John having simply said, "Yes", wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean. But all John did was stare at him, with those deep eyes of his.And then, Paul realized what he'd said: that he'd told John, deliberately, "I'd love to turn you on."Paul realized that that saying, as arbitrary as it had seemed when he'd spoken it, had certain implications that he hadn't even considered.And what's more: Paul realized that John had, probably, considered those implications, and had replied with an uncomplicated, "Yes."Or, perhaps John hadn't even realized the sexual innuendo Paul had made, and was simply praising the phrase for being what Paul had intended it to be: a lyric for the song.Breaking the silence after what seemed like an eternity, Paul spoke: "Is that all right?" He paused, and John only continued to stare at him. So Paul mumbled, adding, "For... for the lyrics."John's eyes widened slightly, his mouth turned slightly upward in a strangely charmed smile as he mused, "Yes." John sighed, standing up from the piano bench, his smile widening noticeably as he added, "Yes. It's a very nice lyric, Paul."With that, John walked away, announcing that he was going to the studio kitchen to make himself tea, all with that amused smile upon his lips.Paul stared off into space, and in John's absence, exhaled deeply, heavily confused.Why on earth was John so amused like that, if not for having realized the innuendo Paul had made, albeit, accidentally?But why would that please John so much in the first place? Against his better judgement, Paul's mind spiraled into that same tried, old conclusion that he thought he'd left behind him.But here it was, again: the notion that perhaps John fancied Paul, as more than just friends, more than musical partners- and more than whatever else they were.No. Paul thought, dropping his head into his hands, reprimanding himself. This idea, as it always has been- is entirely ridiculous. It makes no sense, really- and, likely, never will.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"...that was pretty much the tone of the entire Sgt. Pepper's album," says Paul, flicking his bangs from his eyes, "Lots of psychedelia- deep introspection, and, of course, drugs."
Michael smiles slightly. "Yes, of course."
Paul, too, smiles as he continues: "And, what's funny is tha' George Martin insisted to me that Pepper wasn't a 'drug album'. Of course, he's completely wrong." Paul chuckles. "We were on substance for nearly the whole thing- loads o' different kinds, but still, I hadn't done acid with the rest o' the band. I'd done it wi' Barry Miles, the year prior- but hadn't yet dared to try any with my bandmates.""Really?" Michael asks, his eyebrows lifting. "But you did, though, eventually, right?""Oh, yes." Paul props one leg over the other, stifling a grin. "Yes, I believe it was in March o' that year, 1967, when I 'ad my first trip wi' any o' them. Obviously, it had been John and I, and, ehm..." Paul trails off, nodding at Michael as he says, "Well, I'll tell you the story."___________________________________________March twenty-first, 1967: it had been a rather typical studio day, finishing up the recordings for the Sgt. Pepper's album.Specifically, the development for the track Getting Better had been on the agenda for the day. There wasn't much work left to be done for that song, and by the afternoon, the song had been fully recorded."All right," said George Martin, pulling a folding-chair close to the piano where Paul sat. "I have a proposition for you, Paul, regardin' Lovely Rita, then.""Oh, sure." Paul replied, flicking his dark bangs from his eyes, taking a swift drag from his cigarette. "What's that?""I'd like to add a piano solo," Martin replied, glancing down at the notepad he was holding, pointing to a break in the lyrics, "Right after, 'When are you free to take some tea with me?'""Right, right." Paul replied, nodding down at the notes Martin had written, "Have you any ideas abou' the note arrangement for that, or...?""Well, yes, I do have a few ideas." Martin replied, placing his fingers onto the keys as he continued, "I'd like to hear what it'd sound like if you'd start with-"The door leading to the neighboring studio opened, and in walked John. He'd been paying a short visit to Studio One, where Pink Floyd had been recording- and looked absolutely miserable."Fuckin' 'ell," said George, who was sitting nearest to the door with his guitar, looking up at John with furrowed eyebrows. "Y'all right, John?"It took John a moment to respond: he blinked slowly, turning to George, looking completely out of it. "No."His eyes were swollen and red, and he was pale as a ghost. He certainly hadn't looked like that earlier, and looked nearly like he was going to collapse."God, John, come on, then." Said Martin, standing swiftly and wrapping an arm around John's shoulder. "Let's get you some air, then- come on."John nodded, his mouth pressed into a tight line- perhaps to keep himself from vomiting. George Martin led John out into the hall, to the stairwell: presumably, then, up to the roof.In their wake, it was only Paul and George left in the studio: Ringo having been at home today with his wife and son."Ehm," Paul muttered, glancing at the door, then over at George. "You're thinkin' what I'm thinkin', aren't you?"George's eyebrows raised, realizing: "Tha' John had probably dosed himself? Yeah, I do think so."Paul glanced at the door again, almost smiling. "I don' think Martin realized, though. I think he jus' thought John was sick." Looking back at George, he said: "I bet John meant to take an upper or somethin' and accidentally took acid instead.""Fuck, yeah." George ran a hand through his hair, blowing out a worried breath. "Ehm- we should probably tell Martin, then- he'll need to know."Paul stood, putting out his cigarette and throwing it into the ashtray on top of the piano. "You're right. Hopefully they'll be down soon, 'cause I doubt John will tell 'im- I doubt 'e's even conscious enough to know what happened."Nodding in agreement, the boys waited for a meager two minutes before the door to the hall opened. In walked George Martin- and no John."Where's John?" Paul asked immediately, having been pacing, as he approached Martin in the doorway. "Up on the roof, still?""Ehm, yeah. He looks ill, he does." Martin replied."He's high, Martin- we think 'e took LSD without meanin' to." Said George, striding over. "He wasn't ill until he came back over from Studio One, an' he took 'is drug bag with 'im over there.""His- drug bag?" Martin replied exasperatedly, sighing. "God, there's- there's no way." "He's on somethin', Mr. Martin. Trust me." Paul informed him, pushing past them both and into the hall, up the stairwell- closing the door behind him, once he'd gotten out onto the roof.It was cold up there, the sky a dim gray above, almost completely covered by clouds. The cold wind felt bitter against Paul's skin, and he pulled his velvet jacket tighter to his body. John was standing on the center of the roof, staring all around him, as if in awe of such horrible weather."John!" Paul called out to him. John spun on his heel, turning to look at him. Paul came closer, slowly- hoping that John was cognitive enough to reply. "You all right, man?"John looked over at him, his eyes glossy. "I'm not feeling well.""Well, yes." Paul replied with a chuckle, coming up right beside John, "But... d'you know what 'appened?"John looked out over the city below, smiling ever-so-slightly as he said, "Think I took acid. Didn't mean to, honest- but it looks an awful lot like my uppers, it does."Paul chuckled again, replying with a satisfied little grin, "I knew it."John rolled his eyes, saying, "I couldn't tell Mr. Martin, though- he might get mad at me."Paul stared at him, realizing that he still looked deathly pale- and very ill. "Would d'you like me to take you home? I can drive you."After a pause, John replied: "Not to Cyn and Jules." He shook his head with complete distaste. "Can we go to yours? I don' want either o' them to see me... like this."Paul's gaze softened, in tune with his voice as he replied, "Yes, John. I can do that."___________________________________________The drive home to Cavendish was rather quiet: John, staring wistfully out the window, and Paul catching glimpses of him out of the corner of his eye, ensuring that he really was all right.Thankfully, John was slowly but surely coming to, and eventually caught Paul's eye to ask, "Jane's still away in America, right?"Paul turned back to the road as he answered, "Ehm, yes. Her actin' tour won't be over 'til May, I think." Admittedly, it did get rather lonely, sometimes, to be at home alone without Jane. But she'd been gone since January, and Paul had taken to having John over more frequently in her wake, which was quite a favorable substitution, indeed. "Why'd you ask?"John, smiling slightly, replied, "No reason," as he turned again to the window, his fist propped beneath his chin, unsuccessfully attempting to stifle his smile."What." Paul asked, knowing that John certainly had some motive in asking. "Did you want to do somethin' today?"John shrugged, still grinning, saying simply, "Maybe," with which he turned back to the window, leaving Paul to only shake his head, smiling wonderingly to himself, until they'd finally gotten to the house.The instant that Paul opened the front door, Martha bounded onto the porch and jumped up onto John by a rather enthusiastic way of greeting. "Martha! My girl!" John laughed, grabbing ahold of Martha's paws and doing a comedic little waltz with her. "Who's a good girl, Martha, my dear?"Paul chuckled at him, proceeding into the house, where Thisbe lay in a patch of light on the center of the wooden floor, sprawled out like a starfish. "This-a-by! We've got a guest!"Thisbe's little head popped up, her eyes opened suddenly, making a little chirping sound to greet her guest. John knelt down slightly beside her, saying, "'Ello, This-a-by." Leaning closer to her, John said, with cheeky grin up at Paul as he spoke, "You're adopted, y'know- and I'm your real father.""John, don't tell 'er that, Jesus Christ!" Said Paul with a laugh, scooping Thisbe up into his arms and petting her softly, "Sh, sh. Don't mind him, This-a-by: he doesn't know what he's talkin' about.""Whatever you say, Paulie." John replied, stretching, as he started over to the living room."I'll get you a drink, John. I bet you're parched." Paul called over his shoulder, fixing John a nice cold water, and returning to the living room to find John leaning against the arm of the couch, smiling up at Paul cheekily. Paul raised his eyebrows, smiling barely as he asked, "Oh, what."John tilted his head, looking up at Paul with that odd twinkle in his eyes. He was holding his brown satchel close to his chest, opened up, with his hand inside. Paul heard the faint crinkling of foil from inside the leather: he knew what John was holding."D'ye wanna...?" John asked, nodding to the spot beside himself on the couch, inviting Paul to sit.Paul hesitated. There, he stood, in the doorway with that unwanted glass of water, staring at John, in whose hand was a package of LSD tablets, wanting to have a dose together.Oddly, Paul was slightly nervous at the prospect of indulging in such a hallucinogenic with John- not as if he didn't know what to expect, because he had taken LSD before with Barry. For some reason, it was due to John's company that Paul was frozen in his tracks.Paul considered his bond with John to be the strongest he had with anyone, ever- and was nervous, then, about what taking such a significant drug could mean for the two of them, or rather, for their relationship.As much as he hated to admit to himself, he was nervous that John might have some sort of sexual epiphany about Paul and try to act on it. It wasn't exactly out of the question, considering everything that had happened between them in the past. Perhaps these hard drugs would be the thing to give John that final push, to finally make advances on Paul.Advances that would not be reciprocated.But here Paul was, again, assuming that John liked him, like the self-absorbed bastard he was.
Get out of your own head, Paul.
"Y'know what? Fuck it." Said Paul, conceding with a collapse onto the couch right beside John. "We've waiting long enough. Let's have at it."John stared at him, blinking: "Really?" He chuckled, throwing his satchel to the floor and popping open the foil. "I thought you'd be turnin' me down, Paul, if I'm bein' honest."Paul sat up against the cushions, bracing himself. "I thought I would, too." He cocked his head, taking the bright red tablet from John and eyeing it. "But, y'know... I'm feelin' bold."John gave him an endearing, approving smile with a nod, "Good." With that, he moved slightly closer to Paul, raising his eyebrows, "Now."The two tipped back their heads, dry-swallowing the pills: something that, by now, they'd gotten far too skilled at doing.They stared at each other, waiting for something to happen: obviously, it was far too early to feel the effects of the drug, so they simply sat off and laughed with each other. They did so for a while- nearly half an hour- before anything became noticeably distorted.For Paul, the hallucinogenic began to kick in with slight dizziness. Typically, that sort of thing would make him nearly nauseous. But instead, Paul was practically elated: he was so incredibly happy, and couldn't be bothered with such insignificant things as dizziness.As he continued to talk with John, they both became rather giggly, almost resemblant of how they acted while drunk. Still, they sat on the couch, shoving at each other and teasing, as the colors around them began to swirl and blend and become so very vibrant.There were patterns on the walls that Paul hadn't noticed before: a kaleidoscope, glittering in the light from the open window, in colors that Paul hadn't ever even seen before: colors he hadn't even known existed.Colors that reflected back into John's eyes, bringing out hues that Paul had never before noticed."Your eyes look gold, John!" Said Paul in-between giggles, leaning closer to John, tilting his head as he observed, "They aren't so dark in this light. They're, like... sort o' amber."John, having not yet become much affected by the acid (due, of course, to his built-up tolerance), smiled at Paul amusedly. "And yours look rather greener than usual." He tilted his head, his voice soft, "I've always been fond of your eyes, really. They're very... sparkly.""Oh, are they, really?" Paul asked, almost incredulously, his smile brightening."Very much. I've thought that ever since I've known ye." John replied coolly, leaning against the couch cushions. "But especially back when we did concerts, y'know- when I didn't wear my specs 'cause Eppy said tha' I'd look too old with 'em on. Without 'em, I couldn't see anythin'- except for you."Paul's mouth got slightly dry. A sheepish little grin plastered across his face as he asked, "Oh, really?"John nodded, his head dropping as he began to giggle. "Yep. And your eyes were always shinin' madly." John paused, shifting into a more comfortable position, laying down on the couch, "We've known each other for so long, haven't we, Paulie?" He asked, glancing back, up at Paul.Paul, still slumped half-upright against the pillows where John had rested his head, mumbled with a slow nod, "I s'pose we 'ave. It's been..." His eyes widened slightly when he realized, "It's been ten years, now, John- since 1957, y'know- the year we met."John didn't speak for a while. Then, slowly, he replied: "I can't imagine not havin' met you." He didn't even look at Paul as he spoke. He stared at the wall, but he spoke with an undeniably great deal of passion- he was getting high. "I mean, I know I say it all the time, so it's sort o' like a broken record by now, but... y'know. We were very fortunate to 'ave met, you and I.""Yeah," Paul mumbled in agreement, staring off in the same direction of John. The patterns swirling on the wall began to dance faster and faster, like some sort of mad ballet. It was mesmerizing- and it made Paul's brain buzz like a wire. He felt as though he'd unlocked this new secret knowledge- that his eyes were suddenly open to everything around him. "I know,"John sat up, sitting just beside Paul, turning to him. His gaze was soft, and his tone, too, as he replied, "I know."Paul tilted his head. Something so tangible between himself and John had become impossibly clear and heightened, he felt as if he could reach out and touch it. Touch whatever it was that connected him and John so intensely since the day Paul had first laid eyes on him."I know." Paul repeated.In John's eyes he saw the boy he'd seen everywhere in Quarry Bank: the boy he'd been admiring from afar for far longer than he'd ever care to admit. In this light, John looked almost heavenly- shining with a radiance that he'd never before had, or perhaps, that Paul had been simply too blind to notice."I know." Said John. His voice sounded impossibly far away- Paul wanted him closer.Closer, despite John's face being mere inches away from his own.It wasn't enough to be inches away. Though, it wouldn't be enough to touch, either- Paul wanted to crawl inside of John's head, to occupy the space behind his eyes. He wanted to stare through those golden windows and look back at himself, in order to understand how John perceived him.He wondered how John saw him. He wondered why John loved him like this."I know." Said Paul.It was an odd thing- to be sitting here, staring, repeating this phrase over and over again. But it felt so right.Perhaps it was the drug's influence on the boys that led them to such a conclusion: that they could simply stay here forever and be eternally satisfied."I know." John whispered.The connection between them had become solidified even further. They'd achieved a new height: this transcendental, spiritual binding; it couldn't possibly ever get broken.A pit in Paul's stomach had formed, realizing that eventually, one of them would surely die- and leave the other behind.
How will it end?
"I know," Paul replied, in that same whisper.
It won't. It won't ever end.
The connection, at least, in Paul's mind- was not bound by life or death or anything else. Their love was god.Nothing else in the world, or in the entire universe, mattered even in the slightest to the two. It was only them.They knew."I know.""I know.""I know."The two repeated this simple phrase, over and over, their voices and glances growing ever softer, for well over an hour.It felt as if only a minute had passed, but at the same time, it felt as if Paul had been looking into John's eyes for a million years, as if he'd spent every past life swimming in John's gaze, and in every alternate universe; none of which Paul minded in the slightest."I... I know." Said John: the final repetition. Paul had allowed him the last word, and with that, silence fell upon them, both smiling, not quite knowing how to proceed.After a minute or so, Paul glanced down at his feet, noticing Martha stirring. "Oh- Martha, you'll probably 'ave to go outside, won't you?" He stood, quickly, and said to John over his shoulder, "I'll- I'll be right back, John."His mouth felt cottony and dry, almost sore from that retrospectively strange hour-long exchange with John. But he was, admittedly, quite excited by the rush he'd experienced in doing it; it was a sort of exhilaration that Paul couldn't quite explain.Before he knew it, he was closing the door behind him, returning inside after excusing himself and Martha for a brief stroll in the garden.He stepped through the house, back to the living room, wanting terribly to pick up right where he and John had left off."John, I-" Paul began, his stomach dropping, as he stepped through the living room doorway, after seeing John.The acid had completely washed over Paul, now: and the effects had never been more clear. Everything was bright: brilliant, especially, was the man himself.John was sitting on the great armchair directly in front of Paul, one leg over the other, as if sat on a throne of gold. He sat straightly, his chin up. He looked rather similar to what Paul believed god would look like: radiant, just as he'd been before. Everything else looked so incredibly dull in comparison, and John stood out starkly against the paling world around him.He was the most magnificent person, the greatest, most beautiful thing Paul had ever laid eyes on.In Paul's epic, euphoric vision, John was the absolute emperor of all eternity.Paul's mouth had slacked, and he couldn't quite tear his eyes away from John."What's wrong?" John asked, cluelessly. "Ye look like you've seen a ghost, Paulie."Paul's face heated up, thoroughly embarrassed of himself: he didn't understand what was happening to him."Nothing." Paul muttered, averting his eyes at last, unable to bear one more second of looking at John while being in this strange, unbridled state of awestruck admiration. He stepped back, running a hand down his face exasperatedly. "I... I'm going to bed.""Ehm, what?" John said, standing, approaching Paul as he continued incredulously, "Did I... Did I do something?""No." Paul replied shortly. He kicked off his shoes, running a hand through his hair, hoping that by now, the blush had faded from his cheeks. "I'm just very tired, y'know. And I, ehm... I don't feel well."Collapsing onto the couch, John conceded, "All right." He was, like Paul, incredibly stoned: but still cognitive enough to have his feelings hurt by Paul's abrupt leave."Well," said Paul, the knot in his stomach only twisting up further as he offered a quick glance in John's direction (without, of course, meeting John's eyes.) "Good night.""Good night," John called, sounding rather confused and almost frustrated by this sudden shift in Paul's mood.At the moment, though, John's feelings were the last thing on Paul's mind.Paul treaded up the stairs, heavy-footed, still clutching his head as it began to pound in time with the foot falls of each step.He was so, so very confused.He hadn't a clue as to what that grand vision of John was supposed to mean. He wasn't sure, similarly, why it had affected him as greatly as it did: but he simply could not stop thinking about it.He could not stop himself from seeing John in that new light inside his mind's eye. That new light had painted John to be so completely perfect, so extraordinary- and, what's worse- Paul believed it. The fact that he was even still thinking about it, though, made Paul irritated at himself.He needed to stop- he almost sounded like a bloody queer, thinking all of these fantastical things about John.But Paul believed it. Every single word.That was why Paul had excused himself like he did. He suddenly realized that his feelings for John were much deeper than he'd ever known before. And that uncertainty- the fact that the lines were truly now beginning to blur- it frightened Paul.He could not allow himself to go on with all this ambiguity.He could not allow anything to happen between himself and John. Despite what he'd seen in that euphoric vision- he'd have to forget about it.Because it frightened him.He could not allow it to continue for any longer. It was simply a trick of the acid, Paul assured himself, collapsing onto his bed with his head in his hands. It wasn't real.
Nothing is real.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"I... I was very confused after what 'ad 'appened that night." Says Paul, his head tilted. "I didn't know why I was feelin' the way I was. I had this new sort of passionate feeling abou' John, and it... it frightened, and confused me, to be honest.""Hm," Michael mused, smiling slightly, "And what about that frightened you?""Well, y'know- I was starting to sound rather queer, wasn't I?" Paul pauses to smile, "And that wasn't somethin' I was very fond of- at least, not for myself. I didn't mind if other people were queer- not in the slightest." Paul pauses again, placing a hand across his heart, "It was just something that I could never be. Never."___________________________________________Several days had passed since getting high with John, and since having that grand revelation that had completely shifted Paul's perspective about him.There was a strange new complexity about their relationship- another layer, leaving them both in a perplexed sort of daze that they couldn't quite understand the cause of. Despite this, despite this awkward new feeling that had become present between the two- they had, oddly enough, become closer and more intimate than ever.There had been no studio rehearsal scheduled for the afternoon, so, naturally, John met Paul at Cavendish to spend the day. Present, too, was a man they'd only met once or twice before: an author and journalist called Hunter Davies, there to observe the songwriting process as the two developed a track for Pepper called With a Little Help From My Friends.Their songwriting process, as it had been for the past few days since their acid trip, was noticeably slower than usual. They still seemed to be in that trance, unable to break out of it, even in the attentive presence of Mr. Davies.Paul sat at the piano, staring off into space, one hand laying limply on the keys. A foot or so behind him was John, sitting sprawled on the cushioned armchair with his guitar, his head lolled lazily to the side.Hunter Davies was across the room, sitting straightly on the edge of the couch, staring expectantly at the two with his notepad and pen. He seemed almost sorry for them, his eyebrows scrunched together, with a pitying sort of look.It had been nearly a an hour before either of them had any good ideas, when John offered, "How 'bout we use, 'What do you see when you turn out the light? I can't tell you, but I know that it's mine.'""Oh," Paul replied slowly, breaking briefly out of his daze to say, "I like that. Shall we add that to the second verse, then...?""That's exactly what I was thinking." John replied, playing some note progression absently on the guitar.Paul nodded, turning back to the piano to start playing just as absently as John: in chords that had nothing to do with the song they were writing in the slightest.For several slow, painstaking hours, this same pattern of coming up with a nice line or several good notes and then falling back into their trances ensued. The better part of the day was spent simply strumming and banging away on their instruments, to the immense surprise of Mr. Davies, who'd expected a much more structurally sound process of songwriting from the world's greatest musical partnership.Paul seemed to be in some sort of writer's block- and John, presumably, was the same, and neither of them could think very cohesively, nor could they clear this thick fog from their minds.They'd only written a minute of the song before the clock struck five- when Cynthia Lennon and a great friend of the band's, Terry Doran, arrived at Cavendish."How's the song going?" Cynthia asked sweetly, sitting down on the couch near Hunter, picking up a paperback book from one of Paul's bookshelves for some light reading.Paul and John exchanged a glance, knowing just how underwhelming their song was, yet- especially considering that they'd been working at it for the entire day and had only gotten that far. Hunter gave Cynthia a little smile and answered, "Those two seem to be in their own little world, today."Paul turned to Cynthia, realizing just how strange it must sound to have a journalist who'd been observing them all day tell her that her husband was off "in his own little world" with his work partner-slash-best friend. Cynthia gave the two of them a little glance, seeming not to think too much of what Hunter had said as she shrugged, "Well, they always seem to be, don't they?"Paul turned away, his face warming, busying himself with the piano. He hadn't really ever considered how Cynthia might perceive him and John- but supposed that Hunter had made a rather fair assessment. He wondered if it bothered Cynthia, at all, that Paul was as close to her husband as he was.Paul wondered, too, against his better judgement, if Cynthia had ever noticed the way that John looked at him: with all those loving glances that really should be reserved for her, as John's wife.In all fairness, those looks of love probably hadn't meant a single thing, Paul reminded himself, placing a heavy hand onto the ivories, playing far more aggressively than he'd meant to.And I hope they don't. Paul added onto his previous thought, rather hastily. I hope, like everything else seems to- that they don't mean anything at all."...yeah, I s'pose you're right about tha'." John chuckled with an bashful little nod, at which Paul jerked his head around to give him a look, as if to say, please stop talking. Thankfully, John understood Paul's plea that had been primarily to spare the suspicion of Cynthia (and, of course, that of the journalist analyzing them), and closed his mouth into a tight line and forcing a knowing nod."Of course I am," replied Cynthia with an airy wave of her hand, "These two see each other nearly every day, Mr. Davies- they've got a special sort of relationship.""Oh," Hunter replied, curiously pleased, his left eyebrow raised, "Yes, I can quite tell- they're very natural with each other, they are."Oh my god. Paul turned his head to glance at John, his brows raised, only to find that John was already looking at him. They're talking about us as if we're not still in the room. As if we aren't literally right here."I'm sorry," Paul mumbled to John under his breath, giving a look of gesture toward Cynthia. No one else was listening to the two, now, and Paul continued quietly, "Y'know, I'd hate for Cyn to think tha' we... y'know-"John shrugged lightly, leaning closer. He smelled nice: fabric softener and cigarettes, without any trace of his typical booze. "Oh, I don' fuckin' care." John replied, his head tilted, offering a twisted sort of grin that made Paul's stomach tie up into knots. "It doesn't matter, Paul, really."But it does, John.Paul had this unavoidable gut feeling that Cynthia had noticed the strange energy that crackled in the space between himself and John. Paul wanted desperately to assure Cynthia, to remind her that John was her husband, and not Paul's- and that Paul was not a threat to her marriage whatsoever.John didn't seem to understand that Cynthia was beginning to pick up on it. After all, she had eyes.Perhaps John didn't understand- but John wasn't dumb. More likely, in Paul's mind, was that John simply didn't care."All right," Paul replied, softly: willing to concede so long as the conversation could end there.Turning back to the others, they found themselves amidst a very strange and annoyingly superstitious conversation headed by Terry Donovan on a book he'd been reading about astrology. Giving a carelessly uninterested eye-roll, Paul turned back to the piano, singing as he played. "Can't buy me lo-ove!"He turned to look at John, who'd been still sitting behind him- he was smiling. John hopped up onto the piano, sitting neatly as he joined in, "Lo-ove, can't buy me lo-ove!"The others turned to the boys, slightly shocked by this sudden, spontaneous burst of energy. Their previous conversation melted away, as they shifted their focus onto the musicians, banging away on the keys, laughing, and singing: "I'll buy you a diamond ring, my friend, if it makes you feel all right. I'll get you anything, my friend, if it makes you feel all right.""Cause I don't care too-" Paul sang, half purely screaming, banging once on the piano to serve as the beat."...much for money!" Sang the both of them, leaning close together as they giggled, "'Money can't buy me love!""Oh, yeah!" Said Paul, seeming to have finally awoken, with a new energy coursing through his veins as he shouted, "Oh, 'ow 'bout this one, Johnnie?" He started playing an all-too-familiar piano lick, yelling, "Tequila!""Yeah!" John shouted, having seemed to have the same new energy as Paul, "Tequila!"Cynthia and Terry reopened their books, smiling amusedly at each other, watching the boys' antics with a discreet interest. Hunter sat, too, watching: his pen scribbling every now and again, smiling faintly."Oh, god, Paul- remember in Germany, when we used to shout anythin'?" John asked, hopping down from the piano, nearly stumbling with laughter onto the bench beside Paul. It was almost as if they were both drunk- without any alcohol in their systems whatsoever. "God, what'd we used to say...?""Oh, yeah!" Paul nodded, remembering suddenly, as he continued hammering the keys, "We'd say crude stuff, y'know- we'd yell, Hitler! Erection! Knickers!""Fuckin' hell- we did." John replied, almost fondly. The crowd they'd accumulated on the couch were all chittering, now- Cynthia, even, though she looked more embarrassed than the other two. "An' we'd say nonsense, like, 'Duke of Edinburgh!' just to see if we could force a laugh out of anyone.""Oh my god, I remember that!" Paul giggled, clutching John's arm as he laughed."...are they always like that, Cynthia?" asked Hunter Davies incredulously, after another minute of observing the boys, who were now completely immersed in each other, laughing madly as they'd moved on and began to play a perfectly synchronized duet piece on the piano.Cynthia watched them just as Hunter had: objectively, probably hoping to, finally, understand the depths of those charged glances, touches, and words."Oh, they are." Cynthia replied softly, her head tilted with a sad sort of smile, "Like I said, Hunter, they are in their own little world, John and Paul." She turned to look at her husband, her dark eyes shining with the faint glitter of what might've been tears. "...I just so happen to be living in it."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It was several days later, on the thirtieth of March, 1967, when the photoshoot for the Sgt. Pepper's album commenced.It was late in the afternoon when the boys arrived at 4 Chelsea Manor Studios, just off King's Road.Michael Cooper, the owner of the studios and director of the shoot was a short, long-haired, eccentrically artsy sort of man. Peter Blake and his wife, Jann, had headed up the creation of a "collage" for the boys' album cover, which they'd yet to see, and were rather excited to do so.There were people bustling all about, crowding the studio- as if it wasn't yet crowded enough from the countless wax figures and dummies hanging around. There'd been Brian, Alistair, Mr. Martin, and Mal, among others- most of which the boys had never met before.Pattie and Maureen, too, arrived to the shoot on their own- Paul and John having coincidentally not invited either of their girls.The first task was to change into their stage-makeup and costumes. The boys, though slightly embarrassed by the flamboyance of their outfits, did think they looked quite nice in them. They each opted to wear their favorite color, leaving them all quite pleased with their respective costumes."Oh, we look good!" Ringo laughed after having their first-look at each other in their Pepper uniforms.Paul glanced around, grinning madly. They did look rather good- and fit the vision Paul had for Sgt. Pepper perfectly. The pink was good for Ringo, as was the orange for George. The green for John, too, was quite stunning: it pleased Paul to see that John had decided to wear his wire-rimmed specs for the shoot, as self-conscious as he'd been of them previously."We do, don't we?" Paul agreed with a laugh, examining their costumes again. "I like tha' we got to choose our colors. It makes it feel more personal, y'know?""It's good none of us 'ave the same favorite color." Said George with a half-smile, "I'd 'ave fought anyone who wanted the orange one.""Blue's good for ye, Paul." Said John, cleaning his glasses with the inner fabric of his jacket. "Suits ye, y'know.""Oh, well, thank you," Paul replied with a grin, "And your green's very nice, too.""Boys, if we could have you, now." Brian called to them from over near the collage that Peter Blake had put together- a collection of sculptures, figures, and cut-outs of famous people, even with some of the band themselves. There was a set of band instruments, with the painted drum kit, displaying the logo for Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, colorfully complimentary to the arrangement of flowers at the front of the set, reading, Beatles, in red, purple, and yellow flowers."Wow," the boys all breathed, smiling up at the vibrant, eye-catching set.Brian looked over at them, smiling. "It looks nice, doesn't it?""Good lord, Brian. It looks fuckin' fantastic." Said Paul with a whistle. He pointed down at the arrangement of flowers, asking with wide eyes, "Those can't be real, can they? They're absolutely gorgeous.""They aren't real," said Peter Blake, walking in-between the group carrying a cardboard box with some difficulty. He was a tall man, with shaggy, sandy-colored hair, wearing a wrinkled-up shirt, suggesting that perhaps he'd been working for far longer than he should be. "We've got a whole bunch o' leftover flowers, too." He placed down his box, having a great sigh. He looked back up at the boys, pointing down at the box and saying, "I think they're in this one, actually. They should be, anyway..."Peter knelt down, peeling the tape from the box and opening it: inside, were fake flowers of all different colors. "If you lads like 'em, feel free to use 'em for whatever you'd like, y'know... we won't need them. At least, not for this shoot, y'know." With a light laugh, Peter walked on towards the photography and lights operators, leaving Paul to crouch down beside the box and leaf through the hundreds of plastic flowers.John knelt onto his knees beside Paul, looking down into the box with an amused grin. "I didn't know how fond of flowers you are, Paul."Paul loved flowers.He didn't flaunt that fact, as he thought it'd make him seem rather feminine. But, truly, Paul simply adored all different kinds of flowers- mostly because of his late mother.What little Paul remembered of Mary, he remembered her to be happy, and remembered that she loved flowers. No matter what season it had been, there always seemed to be a fresh bouquet on the dinner table. He remembered running to her with a bouquet that he'd picked, wrapping his arms around her neck, and saying: "Look what I picked for you, Mum!"And always, she would do the same thing: she'd say, "They're beautiful, Paulie." and pick the prettiest one from the bouquet, tucking it behind Paul's ear, among the tufts of his dark brown curls.Silently, Paul dedicated every flower in that box to Mary.Paul didn't look over at John, having gotten lost in thought. He played it off as if he'd simply still been completely immersed in the contents of this box, smiling down, with his eyes alight. "Oh, I love flowers, John." He said, shaking his head. "Tsk, tsk. You didn't know that about me already?""No," John replied with a chuckle, "But I know, now, and I'll be sure to keep it in mind.""Very good." Paul praised him, pulling out a bundle of short-stemmed daisies. He glanced up at John, giving him a once-over, debating where he could attach these daisies to his costume. "Hm... I think they should go... here." Said Paul, pulling up the elastic on John's shoulder pad, sliding the daisies beneath the band so that the flowers stuck out over his epaulette.John shimmied his shoulder, asking, "Does it look good?""Yes, very." Paul replied, holding John still so that he could do the same with his other shoulder. "I think I'd do quite well as your stylist, John."John chuckled, peering down into the box from behind his wire-frames, "Well, I'll have to get some flowers for you, Paul. It's only fair.""All right," Paul replied with a giggle, sitting himself closer to John, watching him rifle through all the foliage. "Which ones do I get?"John was silent for a moment or two, smiling when he'd finally found something he deemed suitable: a bundle of slightly smaller daisies, still highly resemblant of the ones Paul had given him. "These ones." He said, holding them up for Paul to examine.Paul grinned softly. "I like those.""I knew you would," John replied, looking Paul up-and-down, searching for somewhere to attach the stems. Eventually, his eyes found Paul's chest- the top button of his uniform. John's hands slowly found their way to that button, looking up into Paul's eyes before he undid the clasp. "May I?"Paul looked up, having been intently watching John's hands. He smiled, slightly, blushing when he realized just how odd this exchange must look to anyone watching. It reminded him so greatly of when he'd do up John's buttons before every show, all those years ago."Please do," Paul mumbled, his face flaming up when John looked up at him, grinning at his reply. "Ehm... I mean, yes." Paul smiled, correcting himself with a chuckle, having not meant to come across as too eager. "Please. And thank you."John was grinning amusedly, still, laughing lightly as he tucked the flowers just above the button. "Nice manners," he mused, doing up Paul's button when he was sure that the little bundle of daises was secure. With a pat on Paul's chest, he stood. "There you are, love. We've got our matching flowers."Paul's knees cracked as he stood up beside John. He'd been crouched down for far too long. "We're really lookin' good, now." He glanced around, finding Ringo and George: they'd wandered closer to the set. George was already looking at Paul, his eyebrows raised, nodding him over. "Come on," Paul urged John, nudging his shoulder and leading him along to where the other two stood."Did you two get flowers?" George asked as John and Paul approached, examining the the daisies on each of their uniforms, softly touching the petals. "They're matching," he observed."They are," John nodded, brushing against Paul's shoulder, "It was mostly Paul's idea. His ideas are always good, though.""That's very true," Ringo said with a smile, leaning back to admire the two's matching daisies. "Very nice!""Thank you," Paul replied with a grin. He caught a quick glance of George, who seemed to be biting the inside of his cheek, looking quite distraught.Looking away, Paul made a mental-note to check in on George. He wouldn't have felt so inclined, had he not felt personally responsible for George's mood. He knew, from that intuitive pang of guilt piercing right through his chest, that George was feeling rather left-out from the tight bond Paul and John had formed.It hadn't really been anyone's fault, particularly: but Paul felt as though he owed it to George to at least ask him if he was all right. So he swore to himself that he'd remember to do so, and swiftly turned back to John."I hate this makeup." Paul complained, batting his reddening, watery eyes, eliciting a chuckle from John. "I can feel my eyelashes touching my eyebrows. It's making me uncomfortable.""It's 'cause you've got the longest eyelashes anyone's ever seen." John replied, tilting his head, examining Paul's lashes from beneath. "You curl 'em, normally, don't ye?""Well, yeah." Paul mumbled, almost embarrassedly, as the camera crew made their way over. "'Cause otherwise, they'd be pokin' my eyes out. I only don't like the mascara.""All right, you four!" Brian interrupted, clasping his hands together. "Let's try posing for the album cover!"Posing for album cover turned out to be quite the production: among all those dummies and cut-outs and garden flowers, it was rather crowded. Especially crowded, it became, when Michael Cooper handed each of them an brass band instrument, shuffling around in nearly a hundred different positions before ultimately lining the boys up, shoulder-to-shoulder, in the very center of the shot.Smiling from behind the camera, Michael Cooper yelled, "Oh, that was the shot!" Examining the photo he'd taken, he nodded again, triumphantly. "Yes. That is your album cover, boys!"Glancing around at each other, the boys hollered and laughed, because finally, after an hour and a half of trying, they'd finally achieved their album cover."We're not done, yet!" Said Michael, sliding from his chair, holding up a reassuring hand. "Don't worry. It won't be much longer- we're only taking the inside-cover photo.""Oh, good. I'd like to be home for supper." Ringo said with a chuckle, "Only kiddin', of course- great things take time, y'know."Michael led the boys to the wall just left of the main set: a solid, bright yellow backdrop, illuminated by dozens of fluorescent lights.First, the boys sat: some cross-legged, some with their legs stretched out, some holding their hats. They were subject to rather close confines, squeezing together so they might all fit into frame: John and Paul in the center, quite used to this closeness, didn't mind so much."Very good shots, boys. It's almost as if you're used to this!" Michael mused, standing back slightly, trying for the optimal shot."I've actually never been photographed before, so it's all rather new." Said John, "I've never even seen a camera before."Paul glanced over at him, his eyes shining as he laughed, as the band and photographers alike had all done."All right..." Michael murmured, lowering his camera to nod, "If I could 'ave you stand, now, boys- that'd be much appreciated."Up the boys went, standing against the wall, staring rather awkwardly into the lens."Try to look less uncomfortable, boys!" Brian mused, smilingly, from a chair behind Michael."Sorry, Michael." Said Paul through a laugh. "Is there a way that you'd like us to look? I 'ad an idea, actually: from somethin' I saw on TV about apes. It sounds rather silly, I know.""No, no, go on, Paul. I'd like to hear your thoughts." Michael replied, propping his fist thoughtfully beneath his chin."All right." Paul cleared his throat, becoming awkward when he realized that all eyes seemed to have fallen onto him. "Well, y'know- it was somethin' called eye messagin', I think it was. Y'know: converyin' a message through your eyes without sayin' anythin' at all.""Oh, I like that!" Said Michael, nodding, "Let's give that a try, then- try to tell a story with your eyes, boys. Look into the camera and really say, 'I love you!'" He stooped down, his eye back up to the camera. "Really feel the love. It'll show in the photo: it's a state of mind. Say, 'I love you.'"
Flash.
The camera had taken a capture sooner than Paul had been expecting.And even more unexpected than this, Paul felt a set of eyes on the right side of his face.
"Say, 'I love you.'"
John's eyes were on Paul, on the side of his face, simply staring; ignoring the clear instruction to look into the camera.
Flash.

"'I love you.'"
Paul turned his head to look at John. They looked at each other, Paul's eyebrows scrunched together, asking.If he hadn't been waiting for it, Paul would have missed the subtle dip of John's chin in a nod.Paul's gaze softened, his eyes, shining.
Flash.
"Very good, boys!" Came Michael's voice, impossibly far away, almost not even earthly.Whatever he said next, Paul didn't quite catch. He was looking at John. And John, him: wondering if they'd meant the same thing in those pointed, exchanged stares.
I love you.
What did it matter, anyway?Nothing. Paul reminded himself, forcing his eyes away from John's, walking off to where George and Ringo had gathered beside Michael to examine the shots. Ignoring the pit that had formed in his stomach, as well as his heart pounding in his ears, Paul cursed himself.You can't keep assuming that John likes you. He is your best friend.He is your best friend.He.
Just like everything else, it means nothing.

And it never will.

Never.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"I don't suppose I was very happy with myself at that time." Says Paul, smiling faintly. "Jane was still away from home, and I was mad at myself for assumin' John's intentions, again."
"Right," says Michael, grinning. "And how did that particular situation make you feel?"
Blowing out an exasperated breath, Paul says, "Well, y'know- I hated just assumin' anythin', y'know. Especially somethin' that I swore I'd stop thinkin' about, that was as important as... y'know, as John and I." Sitting up straightly, Paul continues: "But luckily, by the time that May of '67 rolled 'round, I'd found a very suitable distraction."
"Oh?" Michael asks, an eyebrow cocked, "Who- or what- are you referring to, now?"

Biting back a smile, Paul replies, "Oh, god- well," he chuckles lightly, shaking his head, "I'll start from early May o' '67, Michael, and go from there."
___________________________________________"...I do care, Janie- I didn't want you to leave for as long as you did."Another call, made by Paul to Jane, who was still away, touring in America."But whenever I am home, you seem to be preoccupied by... work. Among other things." Jane replied, her voice pretty and clear as a bell: just as Paul remembered.Pretty and clear as it was, hearing her voice had recently begun to give Paul such a strong feeling of distaste; hidden well, though, by the thousands of miles separating the two.Paul sighed, leaning against the doorframe, combing his fingers through his hair. "Look, I can't help that, Jane. You know 'ow much work I 'ave to do.""I thought that by leavin' you home alone, we'd have the space we'd been needing for months." Said Jane, "Even you said that we needed a break.""Well, not for five fuckin' months!" Paul replied, sighing again, almost unable to contain his irritation."I can't simply tell my agency no.""You damn well can." Paul insisted, "You can ask for a few months off, surely. Where's the harm in that?""How about you try taking a few months off? We can try workin' things out, and settle down for once.""You know I can't do that, Jane." He couldn't quite explain to Jane that her taking off work and his taking off work wasn't exactly the parallel that she assumed it was. He couldn't quite say, my job is much more important than yours, though he really did think so."Well." She sighed, then, clearly having mentally checked out of the conversation. There was a long pause, then she spoke again: "I'll best be going now.""As will I." Said Paul, glancing at the clock, realizing that by now, he should be leaving, anyway. "I've got Dudley an' Stash over, still, an' we'll be headed out any minute, now.""Have fun." Came Jane's reply: cold and distant, without a trace of the sweetness Paul had heard just moments before. "I'll be home soon.""Right," Paul replied, "Bye, love." With that, he slammed down the phone, wiping his face with his sleeve.Although he'd been wary with Jane home, it was far worse to have her away for all of five months. Not only were they still at odds, but Paul was getting incredibly tired of being horny and only having strangers to bed.But he went out that night to the Bag O' Nails: a quite renowned music club in London, with a group of friends, feeling much better after several drinks and after being in good company.Accompanied by Dudley Edwards, Stanislas de Rola, and a few others, Paul sat at a table near the stage: watching in a drunken daze as Georgie Fame and the Blue Flames did their bit, smiling and laughing all the time. He'd needed this: this break from from the band, from Jane, from John- to be out and about and wasted was to live."He's fuckin' great," said Paul, nodding up at Georgie Fame, blowing out a breath of cigarette smoke. "Think he'd do well with that new soul album we've been into- what's that called?"He glanced between Dudley and Stash, and in doing so, accidentally caught the eye of someone just in the middle of them, behind them, at the neighboring table.Paul didn't hear anyone's reply, nor did he care, frankly: all that he saw was her.She was beautiful. Straw-colored blond hair cut just below her shoulders, perfectly white teeth, and sharp, angular features. Her long body was dolled up in a navy-blue pinafore and overcoat, stockings of blue halfway up her legs. Her eyes were downturned, adding a sweet softness to her otherwise intense face.What's more: she was looking at him, too.Oh my god. Paul thought to himself, twisting around in his seat to get a better look at this girl. She was still watching him: probably thinking that he was some sort of pervert for eyeing her up like he was. But then, she smiled at him."McCartney?" Stash jabbed at Paul with his elbow, at which Paul finally snapped himself from that blissful daze. "Eyein' up the chick, are we?"Red in the face and rightfully embarrassed, Paul muttered, "Well, piss off, you lot." as the others at the table chittered at him. He shook his head, taking a drag of his cigarette. "An' so what? She's quite fine, y'know.""I s'pose," Dudley shrugged, smiling slightly, and with that, their conversation continued on as usual. They didn't speak of Paul, or the woman he'd just locked eyes with: those eyes of glimmering blue that remained still at the forefront of his mind. As Paul spoke, as he took drags, he kept finding those eyes, sharing secret little glances with this girl he didn't even know.He felt as if he was a teenager again: with a one-track mind, fancying a girl he'd not once spoken to, allowing everything else to slip away into complete insignificance.It was several minutes later when she and the rest of her table stood up; probably, to leave. Paul recognized her company being that of The Animals, a band he knew about only slightly.Sure enough, the people from her table shuffled one-by-one out of their seats, walking past Paul- who was on the edge of his seat, admittedly waiting for the girl to pass him by.She was the last of her party to walk past Paul. She was taller than he'd expected her to be- beautiful, long legs that went on for days. She came nearer, and Paul, despite knowing better, did what he'd intended to do since he first laid eyes on her.Just before she walked by, Paul stood from his seat, moving to stand just in front of the girl- blocking her way. "Hello." He said, barely able to contain his smile, looking down into those eyes. Up close, she was even more beautiful than she'd been from a distance. "Sorry, ehm- sorry to block your way, but... how are you? How'd you do?"The girl's face twisted into a brightly amused smile, covering her mouth with her hand to laugh. "Oh, god- you're funny." She said. She was American, and her voice was calm, collected, womanly- it alone made all the blood rush to below Paul's belt. "I'm, ehm, I'm Linda- Linda Eastman." She offered Paul her hand: fingers as long and slender as her legs, fingertips lacquered in the lightest shade of pink. "How'd you do?"
I am going to marry this woman.
That was all Paul could think cognitively: his mind had turned to complete mush, and he'd become so completely entranced that all of Jane and his other girls were slipping from his mind in the wake of this woman.
Linda.
"Linda," Paul repeated, blushing, accepting her handshake. In touching her hand, he could barely contain his nerves: he'd never before been so smitten in his life. "I'm, ehm... Paul, y'know- Paul McCartney.""Oh, I know who you are, Mr. McCartney." Linda smiled, pushing back a lock of blond hair that had fallen into her eyes. "You've got quite the reputation among my people, y'know.""Please, just Paul will do." Paul assured her, giving her a slight nod as he returned her charmed grin. "I hope that you've heard good things among... your people."Linda shook her head, giving an airy wave. "Only the usual. I'm with... what the righteous would call the burnt-out rock-and-roll freaks. I think that they're incredible, but... not everyone does, I guess." She raised her hand, gesturing to Paul, "And they say you're like them, y'know- gotten into the drug scene and the groupies and all that.""Is that what they say?" Paul asked, daring to take a slight step forward, tilting his head. "I'd hope they'd speak o' me a bit higher than just that.""Well, you're quite elusive, Paul. Rather harder to get ahold of then some o' these other lower-grade performers.""Well, I'm not just any other lower-grade performer, am I?" Paul asked, smiling coyly, his voice dropping as he asked, "And you seem to have gotten ahold o' me rather easily, haven't you, Miss Eastman?"Linda stared up at him, her gaze shifting between Paul's eyes and his mouth, an excited smile playing on her own. "Yes, I s'pose I have." She bit down on her lip, glancing past Paul to where her party had gathered by the door, waiting for her. Finding Paul's eyes again, she said, disheartened: "I guess I should be going, now.""We're going to another club after this: the Speakeasy, y'know." Paul said, before she could move away, hoping he could pull her by inviting her along to their next spot. "Will you join us? Please?"As if she'd been expecting such an invitation, Linda smiled, satisfied. "Oh, of course I will." She worriedly glanced past Paul again, at the rest of her group. "Oh, but what'll I tell them? I can't just leave 'em.""Take 'em along with us!" Paul replied, touching Linda's arms earnestly, smiling over his own table, who'd been watching this incredible endeavor since Paul had first sprang from his seat. "Have 'em follow our car. You can ride with us, though, Linda- I'll make room enough for you."Linda smiled, flashing those perfect, white teeth. "Thanks for inviting the rest of the guys. Wouldn't want 'em to think I was abandoning them for some one-night stand.""It's the least I can do," Paul shrugged, leaning closer to mumble, "And anyway, this won't only be a one-night stand if I have anythin' to say about it."Leaning away from him, stifling her charmed grin, she mumbled back, "We'll see about that." She looked up at him, again, adding, "But I damn well hope you mean it."___________________________________________"...we went on to the Speakeasy after that." Paul says, a smile playing upon his lips. "I found out all about this Linda Eastman. I found out tha' she'd actually given her portfolio to Mr. Epstein's assistant, Peter Brown, earlier that same week, 'cause she'd wanted to take pictures of the band. Our band, y'know: she was a photographer. A real renowned one, and she was damn great at it."
"Oh, I can only imagine." Michael says, his head tilted contemplatively. "I've seen some of her works before. She took much different shots from anyone else: all very candid. Very natural."
"She was bloody brilliant." Paul smiles with reminisce. "Ah, well- the Speakeasy was great, y'know: we heard Procol Harum's song, A Whiter Shade of Pale, for the first time. It became our song.
"We were joined by countless others, then: and came back to Cavendish when it was nearly dawn." Paul smiles, scratching his chin, taking a pause. "Dudley and Stash and the other guys had brought back some other girls, too- it was a riot. And despite what many people like to say, I never slept with Linda that night."
"Really?" Michael asks, sitting up slightly straighter."Really." Paul replies, chuckling. "Because, y'know, I felt much more strongly abou' Linda than I did about any o' the other girls I was bedding in Jane's absence. I wouldn't have been able to stand the guilt: it would've felt much more like cheating than all of these other dirty hookups." He pauses. "And Linda left Cavendish earlier than the others, anyway: she had other errands to run. It was an odd feeling: I was almost glad tha' she left, so tha' I wouldn't be tormented with her presence any longer when I couldn't even fully have her.
"And, anyway- I found out tha' she was from New York, and tha' she was only in London on business. She told me that she wouldn't be staying for long- that she'd be flying back home within several days."

"...and you were worried you'd never see her again?" Michael asks with a knowing grin.
"Exactly." Paul says, "I cursed myself the morning after, for not making love to her, for not taking what might've been my only chance to ever do so. All my mates thought it was rather silly, that I was holding out hope for this... groupie. But, luckily for me..." Paul looks down, smiling slightly, "I did see her again. Only, under much different circumstances..."___________________________________________It had only been four days since they'd met: four days, which, in Paul's mind, was far to long a span of time spent away from this Linda Eastman.After much time contemplating the best means of promotion for their biggest project yet, the album of Sgt. Pepper's, the band decided to host a promotional party. The party was to include a press launch, and was to be held at Brian Epstein's home at Chapel Street in London.Jane was still away from home: she still had several days of touring left to do. Of course, Paul was relieved beyond measure about this: as he had a suspicion that Linda might be in attendance of such a photo-worthy event.He hadn't mentioned Linda to any of his bandmates, nor Brian, not even to John- he couldn't quite articulate, while still being "exclusive" with Jane, that he highly fancied such a girl. It was different to have loads of girls, without any strings attached- it was much more expected, much more accepted to sleep around casually than to have a steady side-piece.It wasn't guaranteed that he'd even ever see Linda again, anyway- he needn't mention it to anyone, yet. At least, not unless- until- it got more serious.So, then, around noon, the party began. Recently, the boys had begun to dress more in-tuned to the style of the late-sixties: much more colorfully eccentric. All wore mismatched, striped suits: save for John, wearing a floral yellow jacket with fur on the hems and a rather strange, native-looking sporran. He was wearing his glasses in public, again: and Paul thought it suited him well.Before the photographers had arrived, the boys stood around, sitting off with their crew and other friends."It's a shame tha' Jane couldn't be 'ere." George mumbled, having a long drag from his cigarette. "Pattie would've loved havin' her back. How long 'til she is back, anyway?"Paul stared up at the ceiling, thinking. "Ehm, I s'pose it'll be... ten days, now, 'til she comes back."John, smilingly, said, "Tsk. What a bummer."Paul smiled, open-mouthed, slugging him on the shoulder, "Now, what's that s'posed to mean?""Oh, I dunno." John shrugged carelessly, nudging Paul back. "While she's gone, she can't boss ye around like she tends to do when she's home. I quite like you when you're single, Paul. You're a great deal more fun."The boys all chuckled, and Paul shook his head, "I'm not single, John: and don't you be tellin' that to the press, now. I've got enough girls tryin' to climb the fence at Cavendish as it is.""Serves you right, for bein' the good-lookin' Beatle." John muttered smilingly."Oh, shut up, John." Paul replied, shaking his head. He wasn't sure what else to say, other than to return the compliment: but couldn't quite do that in good conscience, knowing that he was actively trying not to appear like some sort of queer.Luckily for Paul, it was at that moment when a journalist called Norrie Drummond had taken John to have a brief interview. Paul listened, as he stood just outside the doorway with Ringo and George."I dunno what to expect from this party, really. We've not really hosted such a thing before, 'ave we?" Ringo asked, after which Paul tuned out their conversation in order to listen in on John's.Paul didn't mean to eavesdrop, really- he was just simply curious beyond measure about what John might be speaking about to the press."I've... I've had a lot of time to think." Paul heard John say, moving slightly closer to the doorway in order to hear him most clearly. "...and only now am I beginning to realize many of the things I should have known years ago."Oh, god. Paul leaned against the wall, his breath hitching.If he hadn't known any better, he would've taken John's words to mean a rather romantic-sounding epiphany. He didn't even want to consider if such a thing could be related to him, in some way."I'm getting to understand my own feelings." Said John from beyond the wall.With that, Paul decided he shouldn't be eavesdropping, anyway, and stepped away from the wall, rejoining the conversation that George and Ringo had kept on at.John wasn't talking about you. Paul thought, his nerves finally subsiding when he assured himself, He's only talking about the music. That's all he meant.It was soon enough when John came back out, and George went in to give Norrie his sentiment. John was smiling as he walked out, looking more pleasant than he had in a long while."What're you smilin' for?" Paul asked, an infectious grin spreading across his own face, now."Oh, I dunno." John shrugged, his smile growing slightly wider. "I'm jus' quite happy at the moment. And I'm in great company, y'know." He glanced over at Ringo, then back at Paul, quite earnestly.Paul, rather unsure about how to take this unusually-jubilant form of John, replied gingerly, "I mean- good for you, John. I'm jus' not used to seeing you so smile so much." Feeling he might've come off cynical, he added: "But, y'know, it's nice- you've got a nice smile."John hadn't been expecting the compliment, clearly, and replied with a brightly charmed, "Well, thank you, Paulie."Paul nodded, turning away, wondering- was that flirting?Oh, god- was I flirting? He ran a hand through his hair, taking several steps away. I sincerely didn't mean to- I didn't even mean to compliment his smile like I did. It all just sort of happened- I didn't even know what I was saying.No: I wasn't flirting. Paul concluded, excusing himself from the room and wandering out into the hall, going to see if any guests had yet arrived. But John might interpret it as if I was- and I suppose I can't really blame him for that- because it does seem quite queer of me, in hindsight.His thought-process was interrupted, though, by the slew of guests that had appeared from nowhere into the lounge. Friends, strangers, photographers alike- though not yet any sight of Linda Eastman, who he'd most pointedly been hoping to see.Not wanting to return to John and Ringo, Paul sighed, collapsing onto a great cushioned armchair by the fireplace. He started smoking: smoking through three cigarettes without even having realized, all because he was so terribly nervous. Nervous about John, nervous about Linda- wondering whether she'd even show up or not.Nervous about Jane- wondering what the hell he was going to do if she came home to find Paul with Linda.With Linda- assuming that Paul would ever even see her again.But as if it were fate, as if she'd heard Paul thinking about her, his eyes found hers as she came through the crowd, making a beeline right for him.Paul sat up straighter, getting red in the face. Hastily, he reached for another cigarette, putting out his old one and watching, transfixed, as Linda approached him. She looked different than before: her hair was cut bluntly at her chin, washed, and pin-straight.She was dressed in a King's Road striped barbershop jacket with an incredibly short skirt to match. Her makeup was done perfectly: lips blushed as well as the apples of her high-boned cheeks, with fluttering false lashes on those great big eyes of hers. She had her Nikon camera, strapped onto her wrist, clutching it tightly as she strode to him.Paul watched her until she was right in front of him: standing before him, as if it were some amazing dream, it didn't feel quite real."Hello, Paul." She said, her head tilted down at him.He looked up at her, unable to keep from smiling as he replied with a bashful, "Hello."It was all he could muster, at the moment. Clearly, she was the bolder of the two, and didn't hesitate before sinking to her knees between Paul's outstretched legs and smiling up at him. "Mind if I take some pictures?"Paul watched her, completely enamored. "Um- yes. Yes, of course." He adjusted himself, leaning closer to Linda, saying, "I- I didn't know if you'd be here today. I thought I might not get to see you again."Raising her camera to her eye, Linda snapped several shots of Paul, adjusting the settings briefly while saying, "Oh, well, y'know- I couldn't very well go home without giving a proper goodbye, could I?"Leaning back against the chair, Paul replied, "I'd hope not." He took a drag, then chuckled, "And I rather hope this isn't goodbye, either- we've really only just met."Lowering her camera, she looked up at Paul. "I feel as though I've known you for all my life." She looked down at her camera, pressing some buttons without looking up. "But I still wouldn't mind getting to know you further."Paul smiled, blushing profusely as he replied, "I feel the same."Before Linda could reply, they were so rudely interrupted as John, George, and Ringo approached."Oh, hey." Paul mumbled, going even redder in the face as he looked up at his bandmates, all while Linda was still on her knees between Paul's legs, snapping photos of him from such an intimate angle."Hey." John replied, his arms folded, staring at Paul quizzically. "We're not interrupting anythin', are we?"The coldness in John's tone was impossible to miss. Paul tried his best to remain composed as he replied, "Oh, no. Just catchin' up with...  with Linda." He stood, helping Linda to her feet, too, gesturing in turn to each of his bandmates. "John, George, and Ringo- y'know. And this is Linda Eastman- she's a photographer.""I wouldn't have guessed." John muttered, glancing pointedly at the camera in Linda's hands."Will you be takin' our pictures, too? Or is it just Paul that you're here to see?" George asked with a teasing smile, noticeably less irritable than John.Linda chuckled, "Well, yes- I really am here to take photos of all of you, together.""Oh, let's do it now, then!" Ringo chuckled, moving in front of the fireplace, "It'd be best to take our photo before we get any drunker or higher than we already are."Giving Linda a sad, apologetic glance, Paul left her side to join the band in front of the fireplace. They spent a while posing for Linda as her shutters clicked away. She was perfectly engaging- much more entertaining than any of the other photographers that they'd had. She was funny- and Paul laughed harder at all her joking quips than anyone else, simply because he was so in love with her.What Paul noticed, too, was that John seemed quite interested in Paul and Linda's newfound connection- he paid good attention to them, careless in even trying to hide his keenness.It wasn't until after Linda had left, though, that John made any mention of what he'd observed.Much to her chagrin, Linda left the party with all of the other photographers. This was, of course, not until after Paul had grabbed her hand and promptly given her his phone number.Still love-struck from seeing her, Paul fell back in line with the rest of the band in her absence. It was then when John gave him a sideways glance, saying casually, "So... you're with the photographer, now?""Oh, ehm." Paul blinked, shaking his head swiftly. "No. No, I'm not- but I'd like to be, y'know.""Hm." John hummed. It was only the two of them, now: the others having joined a conversation with Brian and Mal. Paul and John had suddenly become quite secluded from the rest of the party, in their own little corner by the door. "I only ask, because, y'know- Jane and you.""I know." Paul nodded, blowing out a breath, treading carefully on the edge of what could easily be a much more awkward conversation. "I doubt anythin' will come of it, though- 'cause Linda's from New York. It really isn't more than any other fling." Oh, but how I wish that it were.John nodded slowly, taking off his glasses and cleaning them with the frill of his green blouse, "Interesting." He breathed onto the glass, placing them back onto the tip of his nose and saying, "I just wasn't sure. I really thought you and Jane'd be done by now.""What is it with you and Jane? You've been preying on our breakup for ages, it seems." Paul asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. He really had meant that in all seriousness, but followed up with a smiling joke, "Do you want 'er?"John's eyes widened, his mouth twisting up into an amused grin. "No." He assured Paul, shaking his head, peering at him from over his wire-rimmed specs, "No. I don't want her."Paul stared back at him for a moment, wondering what the hell John was trying to get at."Oh," Paul chuckled, his eyes crinkling up. I'll just take that to mean that he didn't want Jane, and was simply incredulous at such a proposition. "Good."Paul turned away, thinking only of Linda. That was the end of it: with that, the two returned to the party. One of them was falling more madly in love with every passing day.The other, dazed and confused: hardly sure of anything, anymore.And it's anyone's guess as to which one is which.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"... so, we released Sgt. Pepper's, and it was received greatly by most people." Paul says, folding his fands neatly in his lap. "Y'know, save for those prudes who cancelled us for promotion' drug use: can't quite argue with that, I s'pose." He laughs.
"Right," Michael chuckles, "So then, did you see Linda again before she went home, and before Jane returned?"
Paul glances down, stifling a grin. "Well... no." He tilts his head, looking almost embarrassed. "You see, ehm- the weekend after the party at Brian's, Linda called. But I wasn't home to pick up the phone: Stash was, though, who was still stayin' with me 'til Jane was back.""Oh, my." Michael blinks, "So... did she speak with Stash?""Well." Paul says, pushing his bangs from his eyes with a nervous chuckle. "Yeah, you could say that." He pauses. "You see, she did ask 'im if she could speak with me. But I was away in Liverpool, visitin' family- and Stash told her so. And, ehm- she decided to go over, anyway, and slept with Stash, an' all that.""Wow!" Michael laughs, "I'm sorry- I just wasn't expecting that.""Oh, neither was I." Paul agrees with a chuckle. "But, y'know: that's quite how things worked back in the sixties. It wasn't cool to be... jealous. Or exclusive." He shrugs. "Stash called to tell me what had happened, and I s'pose that I was rather jealous, 'cause I promptly made him move out."So, 'e did: an' a took Linda with him. Apparently, Linda was quite involved with the rockers of London: she got around, y'know." Says Paul, his eyes widening suggestively. "I should've expected it, I guess. She stayed with Stash for the next few days, right up until her flight left to go back to New York. I didn' speak to 'er again after that, and it had become rather like what I'd been afraid that it was: a momentary, inconsequential fling.""Right." Says Michael, glancing down at his notes, "And then, ehm... I s'pose that the era of the Magical Mystery Tour had begun.""Ah, yes." Paul smiles fondly, remembering. "The Magical Mystery Tour had commenced: kicking off with our performance on the TV program called Our World, and our performance of that most influential, significant single: All You Need Is Love."___________________________________________"... it's a premise tha' I feel very strongly about." Said John, lighting a cigarette over the strings of his guitar just before the premiere of Our World, 1967. "And it's easily intelligible to anyone, anywhere: no matter who you are or whatever else you believe in. It's catchy and simple, but it's something that I- that we- believe strongly in, and believe that there's no reason why the rest o' the world shouldn't."The band was all in place, prepared for their momentary performance for a multi-national audience with a message that'd be heard all around the world."All you need is love!" Paul said, chuckling lightly, glancing over at the journalist who'd been fortunate enough to get such a short-notice interview. "It's quite self-explanatory, I s'pose- jus' like John said. It's understood easily, but it's important, y'know.""And it's positive, too, y'know." George chimed in, pushing back the wavy hair that had fallen into his eyes, "It's a nice change from all this crap you hear abou' on the news, where everybody's gotten so negative.""Of course." The journalist smiled politely, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses further onto the bridge of his nose and saying, "And you- Ringo, what're your thoughts on all this?""Oh, well, y'know-" Ringo shrugged, grinning. "I've got the same thoughts, really. I'm just happy to be able to perform, today, really."With a collective chuckle, the interview came to a gradual halt- it was now only moments from the live broadcasting.The boys hadn't changed much in their appearance since Pepper, but John had recently become clean-shaven again, just as Paul had: leaving only George and Ringo to don their mustaches.Their fashion remained generally the same: those bright colors, mismatched suits, and eccentric patterns. Their outfits matched nicely with the set of Our World: dozens of bright, primary-colored balloons, streamers, and scattered confetti- of course, along with a vivid array of fake flowers, completely resemblant of those used for the Pepper album cover set.There were people all around, buzzing and lively as a wire. Brian had found his way up onto the raised platform, where the boys were set up, and smiled at them. He looked handsome in his navy-blue suit, but he looked slightly less chipper than usual. He didn't look nearly as seamless as he typically did."All right, boys!" Brian said, clasping his hands together with a slow, drawn-out sigh, "Ehm... terrific job rehearsing. We've only got a few minutes 'til we go live, so... best be prepared.""Y'all right, Mr. Epstein?" John spoke up, looking up from his guitar at Brian, quite obviously concerned. "Y'look worn out, you do."Brian heaved another great sigh, his shoulders rising and falling as he breathed, giving a slow, unconvincing nod down to John. "I'm all right, just... tired." He replied, smiling wearily. "Thank you, John. I do appreciate you for asking."With that, he stepped down from the platform, back over to where he and Mr. Martin and the others had gathered, where they wouldn't be in the camera shots. Slightly worried glances were exchanged between the boys in his absence. John leaned closer to Paul to say, "Somethin's wrong. Do you feel it, too?"Paul nodded, staring off at George and Ringo, who'd begun their own conversation on their part of the platform. He turned back to John to reply lowly, "With Brian, you mean?""Mhm." John mumbled, nodding back at him. "I almost feel like... like he's struggling, or somethin'." He tilted his head, staring down at where Brian had just sat with Mr. Martin. "I dunno. I don't want to assume anythin', but... you can't 'elp but worry, y'know. He's got a lot on 'is plate, an' I only hope 'e doesn't get overwhelmed. He shouldn't 'ave to worry about us, y'know?" John stood, walking several steps away, to prop his acoustic guitar he'd been practicing with against the wall."Yeah." Paul agreed, looking down to pick at a stray thread from his green bellbottoms. "We can ask 'im, later, an' make sure 'e really is all right." He looked over at John, asking, "What abou' you, though? How've you been feelin', lately?"At Paul's question, John turned back to him with a pleased, surprised grin. "I've been... good." He turned away again, briefly: turning to the colorful display of flowers set up beside the wall. He plucked the prettiest one: a full, fuchsia flower, touching its petals gingerly before returning to Paul, grinning still.John sat down on his stool, inching ever-so-slightly closer to Paul. "I've been very good, actually." He said softly, tucking the flower just behind Paul's ear, over-top of the headphone set he wore. He adjusted it, gently: as if he were afraid it might wilt.Paul didn't breathe at all while John did so, not with John being as close as he was. He wondered if his face had gone red, but realized that in the warm lighting of the studio, no one would hardly be able to tell, anyway.When John's hand had finally drifted away, Paul watched John's eyes, searching for some sort of sign: for any indication that John's gestures might not be romantically motivated. For anything at all.What Paul had been searching for, he hadn't found. He was only met with that dark gaze: that unbridled admiration that he'd come to expect from John ever since he'd started deliberately looking for it.Unable to help himself, Paul lowered his head in an almost smitten grin. He reached up, feeling the layered petals of that plastic flower as he said, "You've seemed very good, lately." He lowered his hand, tilting his head as he continued slowly, "You've seemed... happy."Looking into John's eyes, Paul saw not a trace of the drunken, angry teenager he'd once known.He saw an adult: having matured not only into his handsome looks, but also into a secure, confident, and successful man.John's dark eyes twinkled as he replied, "I am." He smiled, reaching up again, to touch the petals of the blossom tucked behind Paul's ear. "I could very well be the happiest man alive, Paul."Paul's eyebrows scrunched together, wondering silently if it had been him that had such a drastic, incredible affect on John's mood.It doesn't matter who or why John is as blissfully joyous as he is. Paul thought to himself, giving John a final smile before the lights began to lift, and before the cameras began to roll. It's rather conceited to assume that he's as happy as he is because of you, isn't it, Paul?
All that matters is that he's happy.

So long as John is happy, I will be, too.
___________________________________________But such a time as joyous as this can only last so long. It, like everything else, must eventually pass.It was late in the evening on Sunday, August seventh, 1967, when Paul McCartney received the telephone call.The band had been busy and away from home. They'd been in Bangor, pursuing a new fad that was of great intrigue to them: a ceremony held by the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi on Transcendental Meditation.They attended the private ceremony in the morning. The boys, each with their respective partners, were all deeply interested and moved by Maharishi's sentiment. By the afternoon, they'd all felt those "good vibrations" that had been promised to them in wake of their enlightenment.If it were even possible, John was even happier than he'd been before. They all were: they seemed to have reached the highest point of ultimate happiness.And then, it all came crashing down, all at once."Paul-" came the half-sobbing voice of Peter Brown, assistant to Mr. Epstein, over the telephone. "Paul, I can't believe... you won't believe it. I... it's Brian."Stepping away from the rest of the group, Paul pressed the phone closer to his ear. "What? Mr. Brown, what...? What about Mr. Epstein?"Paul's heart was pounding in his ears. He knew from the instinctive sinking feeling inside of him that something really was wrong. Brian hadn't seemed particularly stable for the past few months- and if he was gone, now, Paul wouldn't ever be able to forgive himself for not doing something about it."Brian, he's-" Peter sighed, and with that, Paul understood.
Brian Epstein is dead.
His eyes wide as saucers, spilling tears down onto his paling cheeks, Paul's shoulders slumped."Paul?" Came the far-away voice of John, arms wrapping around Paul's shoulders, trying gently to shake Paul from his daze. "Paul, what's 'appened? What's goin' on?""Paul." Was from Jane, staring up at Paul, with that same worried, frenzied look as John. "It's not Mr. Epstein, is it? Is he all right?"Voices all around him only made Paul's head pound louder, and louder, and louder. It wasn't until all the ringing in his ears had subsided, until the entire world went silent, when Peter Brown finally spoke.
"He's dead, Paul."
Everything was falling apart.
Brian Epstein is dead.
The one who'd held the band together since the beginning- who had seen them through it all. Who had believed in them, who had watched them come up from nothing.
He is gone.
"PAUL!" John practically yelled, grabbing ahold of Paul, eyes searching all over Paul's face, "What the fuck is happenin'?"Paul couldn't look at him for any longer than a moment. He simply couldn't force himself to watch while John's face melted into complete despair over a man he was even closer with than Paul had been. Instead, he looked around at everyone: George, Ringo, Pattie, Cynthia- all the others, and said, "Brian's gone."After the deafening silence, John was the first to speak. "Gone?" He repeated, his eyes glazing over; the joy melting from his eyes and mouth and soul. "Gone, like...?""Dead." Said Paul, shaking his head, latching onto Jane's arm, wiping at the tears that only continued to stream from his reddened, hazel eyes. "He's dead."The voice of Peter Brown was the last thing Paul heard before retreating to Henry Grossman's car with Jane, in order to drive back to London."I am so sorry, boys. He'll be greatly missed... by everyone."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"... Brian died due to an overdose." Says Paul, his voice low: remembering the horrific period that ensued post-Brian's death. "An' I believe tha' it was an accident. But... there's no way of knowin' for certain, y'know." He shrugs, his shoulders heaving heavily in-time with his breath. "Not like it matters whether or not he'd meant to kill 'imself: it didn't change the fact that he was gone. This man, who'd been the head of our band, who'd kept us all in line for all these years- was gone in an instant.""How terrible," Michael mumbles, shaking his head reverently, "And it's not something that you can undo. You can't just call him; tell him to come back: it's like, this is it."
"Exactly," Paul nods, shifting in his seat. "It left us all in a rather odd state o' mind: all sort o' shocked, and didn't really know 'ow to proceed. Y'know, we needed to move on for our own sake, but we didn't want to... erase the memory of our beloved late manager."

"I can only imagine," Michael nods, pointing his pen at Paul and saying, "How did you all end up fairing?"
"We... well, we all sort o' handled it differently." Paul shrugs. "We were busy already with our latest film project, the Magical Mystery Tour, y'know. But aside from tha', George and Ringo clung to their wives- their families. I did tha', too, as much as I could, with Jane: but it wasn't quite the same." He pauses for a moment, in order to think. "John handled it rather differently, though. I s'pose I'd almost expected that, 'cause Brian had been closer with John than any o' the rest of us.""How exactly did John handle such a personal tragedy, then?""Well... he started wi' Cynthia- an' Jules, of course. But then, somethin' odd started happenin'." Paul leans back onto the couch, his head tilted as he says, slowly, "John started gettin' these constant phone calls: calls on his home telephone, mind you." He pauses again, then adds: "Calls from someone I'd nearly forgotten about: from someone I'd had a feelin' abou' since I'd met them, but had been unable to place the meanin' behind their significance."
"Who was this?" Michael asks, obviously, very curious.

A trace of a smile ghosts upon Paul's face as he answers, "The calls were from Yoko Ono. After all this time, she'd never forgotten about John: and was now, more than ever, pursuin' him."
___________________________________________It was now early September of 1967: Paul was paying a visit to Kenwood for the afternoon.He'd brought Jane along with him, albeit, only for her to socialize with Cynthia. The girls knew that it wasn't their place to interrupt whenever the boys were composing music, and hardly ever even tried to do so.But today was a casual hangout, and the boys and their girls simply sat on the plush furniture in the living room for several hours, talking."I quite like the set for the film." Said Cynthia, raising her steaming teacup to her lips, "Y'know, Magical Mystery Tour- I think tha' it might be better than the other sets you've 'ad for your other films, y'know."Only a week earlier, the band had begun the filming of Magical Mystery Tour. Currently, they were taking a day off from filming: though they'd been assured by the production team that the filming should only carry on for a week longer, at the rate they were filming. It was, admittedly, largely improvised: proving to be a rather easy job for the band.It was much more enjoyable, too: at least, in Paul's opinion. He'd gotten a great say in the scenes they shot, and his input nearly always resulted in the final take. He'd even gotten the boys to do a ballroom scene for his song, Your Mother Should Know, and had it choreographed just as he liked (despite, of course- the slight irritation and embarrassment expressed by his bandmates.)It had been a great distraction, really, from the fact that Brian Epstein was still gone. Still gone, Paul told himself, as if someday Mr. Epstein might return from an impossibly long holiday, and be welcomed back: full of love, and full of life."I think it's rather good, too." Paul replied, reaching across John to pick up his own cup, "I quite like the way that they've started implementin' our songs, too, y'know- it seems tasteful, in an abstract sort of way.""Quite like a fever-dream." John grinned, chuckling lightly, "I think bein' a wizard an' then a walrus is the best thing that's ever 'appened to me." Upon noticing Cynthia's pointed glance, John chuckled again, nudging her foot with his own as he corrected himself, "Aside from marriage. Obviously."Cynthia gave a tiny little nod of approval, smiling, as she turned away to Jane.As quickly as she looked away, though, John turned to look at Paul, giving him a highly dramatic eye-roll.Paul couldn't help but grin, stifling his giggle by raising his teacup to his lips. The girls would never understand this. The girls would never understand what they had.This common, surreptitious exchange between the two boys was rudely interrupted by the ringing telephone."Oh, fuck it." John mumbled, standing, only to stride quickly to the answering machine, glance briefly at the number who'd been calling him, and slam the phone down."Who was that, John?" Asked Cynthia, with an air of irritation, as if the question was rhetorical, and that she already knew who'd been calling.Glancing up from the phone briefly as he continued to press buttons on the machine, John mumbled, "Well, the Ono woman. Who else?"At that, Paul's eyebrows shot up, and he gave Jane a quick glance.He wasn't quite sure why, but Paul found himself heavily interested about Yoko's calling John. He found himself glancing back-and-forth between John and Cynthia: his own heart sinking with what might've been jealousy. Jealousy, of course, only on the behalf of Cynthia.Paul's interest only piqued further when Cynthia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose while mumbling, "Dear Lord, John. That's the fourth time this week that she's called.""Well... four isn't terribly much, y'know." John replied, still pressing wildly at the buttons, seemingly only to keep his hands busy.Cynthia stared up at him incredulously, her eyebrows scrunching together as she replied, "It's Tuesday, John."John glanced away, and Paul knew that he was simply trying to hide his smile at what Cynthia had said: she hadn't meant for it to be a joke, but nonetheless, it had been rather funny.John made his way back to the couch, and as he sat, Paul turned to him. "That's... that's the woman we saw at Claus Oldenburg." He turned his entire body to look at John, desperately curious. "What's she doin', callin' you?"John shrugged, bringing his teacup onto his lap. "Well." He said, seeming almost impatient as he explained, "She wants money, y'know, for her avant-garde bullshit.""Tell her, absolutely not." Cynthia said, sipping on her own cup."Why would she even think of askin' you, John, of all people?" Jane asked, shaking her head. Paul pulled Jane's hand into his lap, running his thumb along her fingers as he wondered.Yoko is trying to pull John. Paul thought, staring down at the floor. I only wonder if he'd consider making a pass at her, too.
I hope not.
For Cynthia's sake. Paul added hastily onto that thought, listening intently as John replied: "Well, I offered to fund one o' her art galleries. Half-A-Wind, I believe it's called: it opens at the Lisson in October.""Oh, how very nice of you." Cynthia mumbled, her voice quite clearly laced with sarcasm. "Might as well take 'er out to dinner, then, too."That was the sternest that Paul had ever heard Cynthia Lennon speak: clearly, her maliceful tone had even surprised her husband."Oh, Cyn." Said John, standing up from where he'd been sat by Paul on the sofa, over to where Cynthia sat. He sat directly beside her, taking one of her hands, kissing it softly. "Don't you be worried abou' that, now." He assured her, bowing his head to kiss her hand once more.Cynthia, looking at least partially more pleased, only sighed. She tilted her head down at her husband, taking in the sight on him.Then, she looked up: locking eyes with Paul.Paul hadn't meant to be staring at her and John like he had been, and felt his cheeks flame with embarrassment when Cynthia noticed him looking. She held Paul's gaze for only a moment, though, before looking back down into the eyes of John.With that, in that deafening silence, Paul looked away.___________________________________________The boys returned to work the next morning, spending only the following week filming for the Magical Mystery Tour film.On one of the final days of filming, the eccentrically-decorated, psychedelic bus (which had been the means of transportation throughout the entirety of the film) came to a halt at Newbridge on Dartmoor.They went on to Plymouth- spending the beautiful, blustery fall day out on the rolling hills, overlooking the sea.They spent the day wandering about, laughing and sitting off with the castmates of the film that they'd become quite close with. Every last one of them was dressed in extremely camp hippie clothing: even the extras were clad in their colorful bellbottoms, lace and frills, their ties. Of course, the band themselves hadn't hesitated to dress similarly.Today, they were dressed in a slightly more neutral palette than usual. Striking, though, in Paul's memory, as the tie that John wore. He remembered it to be bright: diagonally striped in yellow and orange, as if it had been nearly neon. Of course, it could've very well been that Paul simply was accustomed to paying close to the ties that John wore, due to the many years he'd spent doing up John's buttons and ties.Upon the pleading insistence of the band, George Martin (who'd, upon Mr. Epstein's death, become a sort of stand-in, unofficial manager of the band) had allowed them to take a break while on Plymouth, lunching at the Grand Hotel and spending the afternoon running up and down the moors.It had been the happiest, most liberated, that the boys had felt since the passing of Mr. Epstein. They could almost, for one single afternoon, forget that he'd ever even passed.He's busy in London, Paul thought to himself, running down the rolling grassy hills of Plymouth with his arms outstretched, the breeze blowing fiercely against his face, the sun shining as clearly as ever. Running with him was George, laughing with him, all the way down to the hill's foot: running to John, laughing as John caught him in his arms, swinging him around in a sweeping embrace. Laughing still, they watched as George ran down, crashing to Ringo and sending them both flying onto the lawn.Brian is only a call away. He told himself, pulling John down into the grass, all four boys falling onto their sides to roll down the next foothill. He's healthy- he's well. He'll be all right.He glanced around at his bandmates when they'd come to the bottom of the foothill, smiling with an absolute radiance that he hadn't displayed in a long while.
I'll be all right.
Paul assured himself, giving a final sigh as he collapsed into the grass beside John and George, with Ringo on George's other side: all in a row, they sat.The weather had become quite beautiful: it was incredibly sunny, and just enough so that it didn't become unenjoyable. From where they sat, the boys had a clear view of the picturesque Plymouth Sound: sparkling with the reflection of the sun rays on the water.There were people down below, on the docks, on the water- but none of them bothered the boys. Not any of them even seemed to notice their presence.It was the most perfect day that almost didn't feel quite real- so idealistic, so incredible- that it all very well could've been a great dream.Paul stretched his legs out in front of him, legs clad in the pants of his two-piece navy suit, just as John had stretched, his. George and Ringo remained, legs crossed, staring out over the Sound.Paul smiled, relishing in the feeling of the sun on his face. As he squinted, he glanced around at the others, "Today... today's been quite nice."They all returned his smiling glance, and all heard as George Martin spoke to one of the photographers, "Take this photo. They haven't been so happy since Brian passed."In their typical fashion, the boys did their best to ignore the cameraman crouching down in front of them, shutters clicking madly."Look just there," said Ringo, pointing down to the Sound, where a quaint little boat of people had just come ashore. The boys all turned their heads to look.It was then when Paul felt the unexpected touch of John's hand on his.Internally, Paul's entire soul had leapt up from the depths of his being; he dared to glance back, behind him: staring down at John's hand, still, on top of his own.Paul didn't say anything; nor did he look John directly in the eye. He only looked at their hands, unable to contain a secret little charmed smile as he looked away- looking back, over the Sound.Paul didn't move his hand. He'd even surprised himself with just how little it bothered him that John's hand was on his.
It didn't bother Paul: not even in the slightest.

In fact, it felt quite right.
Paul was grinning still, even after several moments of being silently sat there, still surveying the Sound. Eventually, though, George turned back to them and said, "This is the nicest day we've 'ad in a long, long time."When George looked back at the two of them, John pulled his hand away from Paul's- intentionally, covertly- presumably just so that George didn't notice that they'd ever even been touching.And what surprised Paul greater than anything had thus far was how his heart had sunk upon feeling John's hand slipping away from his.I almost wish that he hadn't pulled himself away from me. Paul thought, pulling his own hand closer to his body; protecting himself.
Almost.

But I don't suppose it matters, in the end.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"... that small gesture- when John had put his hand on mine, while we were looking out over the Sound-" says Paul, his head tilted just so, "It marked a change between John and I. I don' think tha' either of us knew how to proceed after such a thing: 'cause, y'know, it could've very well been a romantic advance, but it also could've simply been a testament to our steadfast bond as... friends." He pauses. "And I had no idea which one it was. And, to be honest, I dunno if he even knew.""Right," says Michael, propping his fist beneath his chin amusedly, "So, I take it, you were back to wondering what John's intentions with you really were.""Exactly." Paul nods, "And, y'know... I was mad at myself, honestly. 'Cause those types o' situations would 'appen: when John would do somethin' like that. When he'd hold my hand, when he'd stare at me, and- oh, God." Paul mumbles, shaking his head with a disappointed little chuckle. "And... and after a while, I didn't mind it all that much, anymore. All those little glances and touches that used to send me spiraling- they'd begun to be almost exhilarating. In... in the best possible way." He sighs. "I'd never felt like that before, and it... it frightened me."___________________________________________The rest of 1967 was rather odd.It all passed in a sort of blur. Paul didn't quite know how to go on with John- not after all that had transpired in the recent months.The two had become strangely dependent on each other. Everyone noticed this: people began to wonder why the two had become so oddly reclusive. But Paul felt, for some reason, that he could only be his true self around John: specifically, when it was only the two of them, alone.They became robotic, and fell into a daze: eternally distracted, zeroed-in on each other. Constantly striving, fighting for the other's attention.On one afternoon in November, after a particularly tense (albeit, productive) rehearsal, George Martin pulled the two aside.Paul and John had spent the entire rehearsal hunched over the piano, isolating themselves from everyone else. They hadn't anything against George, Ringo, or the crew- they simply had no need for them. They were perfected contented and occupied working only with each other."Dah-dah, dah-dah..." Paul mumbled, playing a little note progression they'd just come up with on the keys, "...you have always been an inspiration, please..." John took over, playing another note progression they'd made, before Paul continued, "Be good to me."George Martin was standing behind them, and at that moment, he cleared his throat rather loudly. "Ahem. Boys."Paul and John glanced back at him, almost carelessly, as John replied with a simple, "What?""I'd just like to have you know-" said Mr. Martin, looking slightly irritated, "that rehearsal for the day is almost over.""Oh, is it?" Paul asked, dumb-founded, glancing over at John."Well, fuck." John mused, grinning slightly, "Wow, I guess time flies when you're havin' fun, right?"The two stood up from the bench, synchronously, when George Martin added, "And you've been over here, camping out at the piano all day.""Ah, well." Paul shrugged, running a hand through his hair, "Y'know, I- I mean, we got quite a lot accomplished, y'know.""But that's just it." Mr. Martin sighed, folding his arms as he spoke, "You boys 'ave been isolating yourselves like this for several weeks now. And I understand that you're very efficient while working together, but you need to consider the others in the band."Glancing around the empty studio, Paul bit the inside of his cheek: he realized, his face flushing, that George and Ringo had left early. He hadn't even realized that they'd gone."Oh." John mumbled, seeming to realize, too, that George and Ringo had already left, and saying, "You're right, Martin- we just got caught up, that's all."George shook his head, his eyebrows scrunched together, disregarding what John had said, and demanding, "What is going on with you two?" He glanced between Paul and John, almost worriedly.Paul glanced over at John, shrinking under the weight of George Martin's expectant stare. John returned his look, and they both gave a small shrug. Really, even they hadn't any idea why they'd gotten so codependent- so dangerously intertwined in this strange, symbiotic sort of bond.
It all just sort of happened- but it feels so, so right.
And wrong- but I'm not sure how we're ever meant to stop.I don't want it to ever stop."Whatever it is." Mr. Martin interrupted Paul's train of thought, sighing again, "I expect you both to figure it out."At that, George took his brown leather jacket from where he'd left it lay on top of the piano and walked out. The room really was empty, now: save for, of course, Paul and John.What am I supposed to say, now? Paul wondered, running his hands through his hair, yet again: a gesture he'd come to repeat whenever he found himself nervous or awkward. We've just been told-off by our stand-in manager because we're pairing off too much: that we're leaving the others out.I don't really see a problem with all that, personally."Paul," John muttered, resting his knee upon the piano bench, "'s'much as I hate to say it... Martin's right." He looked down at the ground. "I didn't realize it before, but... we have become sort o' recluse, haven't we?"Paul didn't meet John's eyes as he replied with a stern, "...no." He shook his head, striding over to the chair by the door, where he'd left his jacket. "No, John: I really don't think so."It was a bold-faced lie. Paul knew that they'd become so dangerously codependent that they'd essentially become one. But he thought that perhaps if he ignored it, if he denied the fact that this strange thing was even happening, at all: then, maybe it'd fade away on its own.John, however, seemed to want to address it: "Are you sure, Paul?" He asked, standing up, walking over to him, "Why else would Mr. Martin bring up such a thing...?""Well, I don' fuckin' know." Paul muttered dismissively, shaking his head.
It's simply not happening.
"I'm gonna go home." Said Paul, offering John a wave as he wrapped his fleece scarf around his neck, "It's gettin' colder an' colder out there- won't want to be stuck out in the snow, y'know.""Right." John mumbled, blinking away his doubts- his thoughts that perhaps Mr. Martin had been right. "Right. I'll just close up for the night. I'll... see you tomorrow, then.""Yes." Paul replied, taking his leave as he bid a final, "Goodnight, John," before he closed the door behind him, after one last look into the dark eyes of John.It's not happening. Paul reminded himself as he started the walk out to his car- as the flurries of snowflakes began catching onto his eyelashes and onto the curl of his outgrown bangs.What George Martin said- it doesn't really matter. But even if he is right- surely, with time, it'll all go away: and we'll be back to the way we were before.___________________________________________Yet another change in the air between the two boys was taking place, now.Since that day in the studio- since the day they'd been told-off by Mr. Martin- Paul and John had become incredibly awkward with each other.Probably due to the fact that John seemed to have taken Mr. Martin's words to heart, and that Paul had done the opposite: simply denying that there was anything odd going on at all.Paul would try looking at John in the studio. He'd try to catch John's eye; but whenever John would return his stare, Paul would simply freeze: his cheeks would flame up, and he'd look away in an instant. He didn't know why the hell he did that, and tried relentlessly to overcome this strange embarrassment he now had about John.But whenever he'd meet John's eyes- that same thing would happen, every time, without fail.By early December, it'd gotten slightly better. But now, being in close proximity, again: the boys had become oddly embarrassed of touching.Paul couldn't explain it, and he doubted that John could, either: it was a strange phenomena, that for some reason, after all these years, after touching each other for all these years- that if ever they would so much as graze the other's skin with their own, they'd stiffen and go silent.The others in the studio- George, Ringo, Mr. Martin, and even the wives and Jane- had begun to notice this, and, naturally, began to wonder why."God, are you two all right?" Ringo asked one day at rehearsal, glancing worriedly between John and Paul- just after they'd touched hands, having been playing a duet piece on the piano- and had promptly moved to opposite edges of the piano bench after doing so. Ringo chuckled lightly as he said, "You've been so tense, lately.""Ehm," Paul mumbled, glancing over at John, meeting his eyes, nervously."Ehm." John parroted, blinking, as he looked over at Paul- mirroring that expression of unbridled nerves."Yes, ehm-" Paul replied, glancing up at Ringo, quickly; dismissively. "We're, ehm- I mean, I'm fine, y'know- I dunno abou' John, but... y'know.""Oh, yes- we're fine. I'm fine, y'know." John nodded up at Ringo, grinning slightly. "Everythin's good, y'know.""Right, right." Paul agreed, catching John's eye and saying, "We're good- right."Without even having meant to- without even realizing how awkward it was- Paul offered his hand to John. John stared at it, for a moment. Then, John took Paul's hand, and they did an elaborate, fully-improvised handshake: simply in order to hide their incredibly palpable, embarrassed tension.Ringo watched them, his lips twisting up into an amused, patronizing grin. "You two." He shook his head, mumbling to George as he walked past, "I'll never understand 'em."But George never said anything of it: he only watched, observing, in that completely typical George fashion. He saw what was happening between them, no doubt: but what was going on behind George's dark eyes, Paul had no clue. Nor did Paul ask: it was a touchy subject, and Paul already felt as if he were treading on thin ice, and he didn't need another reason for tension within the band.It went on like that for several weeks. John and Paul, now able to touch, would do elaborately ostentatious handshakes and impulsive jigs with each other- still, all this, to combat their apprehension with each other- and still, not really knowing why they'd gotten like this, in the first place.By the middle of December, they'd gotten a bit farther along- and John, being eternally the bolder of the two, had given Paul a hurried, spontaneous hug at the end of a rehearsal. Of course, it lasted for barely an instant before John pulled away, feeling as though he might've crossed a line.But by the end of December, they were able to embrace regularly- and began to do so often- enjoying this newfound feeling: the feeling of the ice melting once again, and of their relationship returning to normal.I was right. Paul thought to himself, fully relieved. Things aren't exactly as they were, before- but it's close enough.They became more comfortable with each other, again: this time, including George and Ringo into their little close-knit circle. Still, John and Paul remained closest to each other- but that was to be expected, really.Their rehearsals ran late, all throughout the end of December. They were working, producing, and recording more efficiently than ever- and work had never been more enjoyable for any of them. The wives and Jane certainly weren't quite pleased at the fact that their boys were working so late, and were barely ever home- especially during the holiday season.But the boys didn't quite care, much. They were wrapped-up, so consumed in their work, that they let the rest of their lives fall to the backburner.Of course, this was truest for John and Paul, who'd been working harder than anyone else, spending hundreds of hours in the studio, and had become so obsessed with their job and themselves that even Cynthia and Jane, who would normally never dare comment on such a thing, became vocal about their discontentment.It was Christmas Eve, and there was a rehearsal, just as there had been every night for about a month. They hadn't finished until nine o'clock: which was significantly earlier than their recent practices had gone until. But on the order of their girls, and on the demand that they were let out early since it was Christmas Eve, their practice was cut shorter, much to the band's chagrin."...but the fire is so delightful..." John was singing, grinning from ear-to-ear. It was nine-thirty, now: but no one seemed to want to go home, just yet. John was waltzing around the studio as he sang, wearing a Santa hat, as jolly and festive as ever. "And since we've no place to go-o-"He raised his hands, gesturing for everyone to chime in with a smiling, "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"Laughter rang out through the garland-and-tinsel-adorned studio. "All right, guys." George mumbled, looking quite apologetic as he stood with a sigh, "I best be gettin' home. I told the wife I'd be home by nine- so if I'm home any later than ten, I won't be gettin' any presents this year.""Well, fine." Paul sighed, too, watching as Ringo stood."I'd better do the same. The wife an' kids'll be expectin' me- 'specially 'cause it's Jason's first holiday." Said Ringo, as the boys all stood, exchanging hugs and wishes for a very happy Christmas."Cyn's been on me, lately." John muttered to Paul while George and Ringo were speaking, far enough away that they wouldn't hear. "It's no surprise, really- with how fuckin' long we're in the studio, recently. But, anyroad- she wanted to go away on holiday for Christmas, y'know- and she's kinda upset tha' I derailed those plans.""Oh," Paul mumbled, his eyebrows scrunched together, "So... what're you gonna do abou' that?"John shrugs, smiling slightly. "Nothing."Paul couldn't help but smile. John's devotion to the band above all else was, admittedly, rather charming. "I s'pose tha' Jane's been kind of the same. Doesn't like how much time I'm spendin' here. But... y'know. I don't really care, either."John tilted his head, looking away. "Well... good to know tha' we're in the same boat." He glanced back at Paul, smiling slightly, "But I'll be seein' you tomorrow, won't I?""Of course." Paul replied, leaning in to wrap his arms around John in an embrace. "You an' Cyn an' Jules are welcome over anytime. Wouldn't want to miss spendin' Christmas together, y'know.""Well, o' course." John nodded, taking off his Santa hat and placing it on Paul's head, giving him one final smile. "Happy Christmas Eve, Paulie. I'll see you tomorrow."Paul couldn't resist giving John one last, lingering hug as he mumbled, "Happy Christmas, John."___________________________________________
"... that night didn't end the way I'd expected it to." Says Paul, his voice dropping as he continues, "I got home on the night of Christmas Eve, as merry as I'd been in the studio. But Jane... she was upset."

"Oh," Michael says, his head tipped to the side. "I'm assuming that this was due to how late you'd been staying at the studio?"
"Yes." Paul nods, his eyes wide. "She was on my case the second I walked in the door. She was very, very upset: much more than I'd expected her to be, and much more than I'd ever seen her, before." Paul leans against the arm of the couch, "She was nearly in tears, explaining to me how unimportant she felt- how my recently constant absence had left her feeling like she meant nothing to me at all."
"My god," Michael muses, clearly, quite invested. "So, how did you combat that?"
"Well." Paul sighs, his head lowering slightly. "I... I didn't handle it in the right way. Y'know, in the moment, I felt as if I was doin' the right thing." He shakes his head, muttering, "But I never should 'ave done it."___________________________________________"...you're... engaged?"It was Christmas Day of 1967: John had arrived with Cynthia and Jules to Cavendish, where Paul and Jane had been hosting a late lunch. Paul had pulled John out into the hallway, to speak privately- to tell him about the previous night, and about what he had done.John was staring at Paul incredulously, clearly not having expected such an out-of-the-blue confession."Listen," Paul sighed, gesturing for John to pause and hear him out. "I... I don't even know why I did it, to be frank with you.""Well, I don't quite know, either." John replied icily, "Not when you've been complainin' about Jane for years, now.""I know, I know." Paul mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "But listen to me, John- it was the sort o' thing that just happened. And we're gonna make it work: Jane and I, y'know- I just wanted you to be the first to know."John went silent. Then, slowly, he mumbled, "I still don't understand it."Paul couldn't help but feel irritated at John's irritation. "Well, you don't have to understand it." He replied coolly, "It's not your engagement, now, is it?""I simply do not understand, Paul-" John replied sternly, "Why you're trying so hard to make this thing with Jane work, when it clearly isn't going to.""You can't possibly know that, John; dear god." Paul mumbled, increasingly frustrated."But I know you, Paul." John shot back, his tone slightly softer than it had been. "I know you: and I don't think that marrying Jane is what's best for you.""Oh, so you think you know what's best for me, then?" Paul replied, his eyebrows scrunched together as he gave an exasperated shrug. "What do you think, then, John? Enlighten me.""Well, I don't fuckin' know, do I? I'm no psychic." John replied blatantly. "But you 'ad that affair with whatever her name is- Linda, y'know.""What's that got to do with anythin'?""I'm only trying to make a point. I don't think you care much for Jane: that's all."Paul stared at John. He couldn't believe this accusation that had come out of simply announcing his engagement.All that Paul had wanted was a mere "congratulations". Instead, John had inserted himself- giving his very unwanted opinion on the matter."Well." Paul muttered, "Even though it really doesn't concern you- I just wanted you to hear it from me.""Doesn't concern me?" John replied incredulously, his dark eyes widening. "Really? You can't be fuckin' serious.""Well, why should it?" Paul replied, genuinely quite curious. "I don't mean to sound rude or anythin', but, y'know-""Of course it fuckin' concerns me." John replied earnestly, taking a slight step closer to Paul, "You know... you know that since the very beginning, Paul- it's been us. It's been us, Paul: you and I."Paul simply stared at him."You know that since the very beginning, Paul- it's been us.""It's been us, Paul.""You and I.""Excuse me, sorry." Paul muttered, confounded, his head tilted at John, trying his best to understand. "What...?""Oh, honestly, Paul. It's not that fuckin' complicated." John replied, speaking in that same harsh tone as before. Giving his best attempt at patience, John continued, sincerely, desperately: "Before Linda, before Jane... before Cynthia, goddamnit." He looked up from the ground, up into the cynical gaze of Paul. "Before them... it was us."Paul's brows furrowed. He took a slow, careful step away from John, shaking his head.He wasn't quite sure what John was getting at: but he'd had enough of it."I..." Paul mumbled, looking away. He didn't want John to say another word. He didn't want to hear anymore of this, this- pleading- he simply couldn't stand it.Not when the lines had blurred so greatly, with this borderline love confession- no. This ends here."I, ehm." Paul muttered, blinking back what might've been tears, finally meeting John's eyes again. "I have no idea what you're talking about, John."
A lie.
But it was what needed to be said.John's frustration melted away in an instant to an expression of complete and utter dejection."All right," replied John, his voice barely louder than a whisper. As if he were almost ashamed of himself, he stared down at the dark wooden floorboards. Then, he repeated, "All right."Paul stared at him, standing still, several feet away from John. Paul watched, his heart nearly shattering when John reached up to wipe discreetly at the tears forming in those shining eyes of his."Well." John mumbled, giving Paul a quick glance, "I... I left you an' Jane's presents in the car. It's not much, but, y'know...""It's fine, John." Paul assured him, quickly: feeling rather terrible for how things were turning out. "Really. Please... don't worry about it."John gave him one last look, nodding, before he excused himself to the car to bring in Paul and Jane's gifts. Paul saw him, watching from the window: he could tell that John was very upset.Paul knew this, due to the fact that John had gotten into the driver's seat while he was out there. He'd slammed the car door shut, and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel- his head in his hands.Paul saw all of this from the front window.He barely even realized when the tears he'd been withholding began sliding down his face, one after the other.What have I done? Paul thought, watching John- witnessing the despair that he, himself, had caused.And then, he thought of Jane: his fiancé.Paul turned away from the window, his tearful eyes even wider, now.
Married.
His hand over his mouth, he realized: he was going to be married.
Oh, my god.

What have I done?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"For the Christmas of 1967, John Lennon gave me heartbreak." Paul begins, smiling slightly. "But he gave me another gift, too: an artwork he'd created. A collage."
"Oh, really?" Michael asks, his eyebrows lifting. "That sounds incredibly thoughtful. What'd it look like?"
"Oh, well, y'know." Paul mutters, pushing his bangs aside as he glances up, thoughtfully. "It was rather dark, actually: gory, almost. All red and black- with dozens of ultra-wide eyes cut out from magazines, glued all over." Paul lowers his head with a chuckle. "To anyone else, y'know- they probably would've thought it was horrid, and... ugly.""... but you didn't?" Michael guesses, smiling softly, after a beat of silence.Paul chuckles again. "... no." He shakes his head fondly. "No, I didn't. Y'know, 'cause I understood John- I mean, really knew him- and knew that this art was a testament of his love- as strange and twisted as it might look to anyone else." He pauses. "I recognized just how much meaning it carried. And he'd titled it, too: he'd called it, 'I Only Have Eyes For You.'""Oh!" Michael smiles amusedly, "And did you... consider that John might've been making certain... romantic implications with a title like that?""Well, certainly." Paul smiles. "Y'know- that was nearly my first thought. But of course, I couldn't quite consider John like that, anymore. I couldn't keep looking at 'im and thinking, 'huh, maybe if I was a woman-', 'cause, y'know- I was goin' to be married, for Christ's sake.""Did you often find yourself thinking about those scenarios?" Michael asks softly. "Thinkin' about... y'know- if you might've been a woman, or if John had...?""Eh..." Paul mumbles, smiling slightly, giving an embarrassed little shrug. "Yeah. Yeah, I s'pose I did. I would've never admitted it, but those thoughts were... constant, and intrusive." He pauses to chuckle. "Y'know- I mean, I couldn't ever really jus' look at John anymore without thinkin' abou' all that we could've had if we'd just... if we hadn't both been men.
"An', y'know-" Paul chuckles again. "Lookin' back at the photos, I s'pose I can't really blame myself- John 'ad always been quite good-lookin', hadn't 'e?"

Michael laughs lightly. "Oh, o' course. And then... what came next? After Christmas, after your engagement...?"

"Oh, then..." Paul sighs thoughtfully. "Well, then- I s'pose it became 1968." His expression shifts: almost suspenseful.

"And, judging from your expression..." Michael chuckles, "That year is... significant?"
"Yes." Paul dips his chin in a hesitant nod. "Yes, ehm- 1968, in my mind, at least- is the greatest turnin' point of my story. Of our story." He corrects himself, giving Michael a slight smile as he continues, "The events tha' unfolded in '68... well, it changed... everythin'."
"Oh, my." Michael muses, glancing down at his notepad. "So, what 'appened?"

Paul heaves a great sigh, his shoulder rising and falling dramatically as he breathed. "Well." He glances up from the ground and back up at Michael, smiling, strained. "Well, I s'pose I'll start at the beginning.
"By 1968, we'd completely wrapped-up Magical Mystery Tour. An' all that happy, vivid psychedelia- from both that album and Pepper- it was now a thing o' the past, y'know." Paul says, "That era had come and gone. An' we moved on, in order to change with the times, y'know: after the Magical Mystery Tour, we released the Yellow Submarine album. An' we made that into a kid's film, y'know."
"And how did you all feel about that?"
"Well," Paul chuckles, "Y'know, I mean- we weren't entirely thrilled by it. It was quite underwhelmin': we really only released... four new tracks, I think: the rest were all instrumentals tha' Mr. Martin 'ad come up with." Paul shrugs. "It was fine, I s'pose: an easy job, y'know. It contrasts greatly with the albums before and after it in our discography; especially the latter, which we'd already begun workin' on at tha' point."
"The latter, being...?"
"The latter," Paul grins slightly, chuckling, "Bein' our self-titled album. The one tha' became widely-known as The White Album.""Oh, of course." Michael grins, propping a fist beneath his chin. "That's a different one, y'know. Much different from all your other works.""Ah, very." Paul nods. "Y'know- you can really tell tha' in this album, the band was, essentially, in the early stages of its breakup: whether we knew it at the time or not." He says, "You can really hear our individuality for the first time.""So, then... after you'd begun The White Album, what came next?""Yes, ehm." Paul mutters. "We started tha', an' then- well, we took a trip tha' we'd been plannin' to take for some time. Our plans 'ad been diverted the year prior, of course, due to the death o' Mr. Epstein." Paul pauses, taking a long breath before he continues: "But by February of 1968, we decided tha' it was time." He looks down, shaking his head regretfully, chuckling ever-so-slightly. "We 'ad no idea as to what would end up happenin'- or that this trip would change... well, everything."Looking mildly hesitant, Michael glances up from his notes. His eyes are wide as he realizes, "I believe I know what you're getting at." He tilts his head, "I've been waiting for you to speak on this, Paul. I've wondered, y'know-" he chuckles embarrassedly, "I've wondered if you were even goin' to speak abou' it."
Paul lowers his head in a humble little chuckle. "Yes- I believe you're thinkin' abou' the right thing, Michael." He glances up, pushing his bangs from his eyes as he says: "The Beatles' trip to India, in the year o' 1968." He takes a long pause, smiling: knowing that he had every person in the world on the edge of their seats.

Finally, after all these years.
"... the trip that changed everything."___________________________________________Paul arrived in India on the nineteenth of February, 1968, in the company of Jane, Ringo, and Maureen.It was a great ordeal: not particularly to the surprise of anyone in attendance. Upon arriving, the group was greeted by their long-time roadie, Mal Evans, with whom they made a trip the following day up to Rishikesh.John, Cynthia, George, Pattie, and her sister, Jenny, had already arrived in Rishikesh by the time they got there, having flown in on their own several days prior. In attendance, too, were Neil Aspinall, Denis O'Dell, Donovan, Mike Love, Mia, Prudence, and John Farrow- among many others.Of course, there was the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi and his own staff- the strange little man that he was, he was held in high regard not only in Rishikesh, but also worldwide.Rishikesh was beautiful- despite it being the middle of February, the sun shone brilliantly all through the day. The ashram, itself, consisted of several acres surrounded by lush jungles- full of wildlife and blooming with flowers. There were six long bungalows in addition to Maharishi's own, a post office, lecture theater, and a few pools of crystal-clear water.There were several vegetable gardens with footpaths connecting the entirely of the ashram- lined with beautiful, sprawling trees of red hibiscus and fern.It really was breathtaking."It's such a joy," said Maharishi, after concluding a tour of the ashram, heaving a great, tired sigh. "Isn't it?""Ehm... yes," the boys all affirmed, glancing around at each other, smiling secretly at the blatant oddness of Maharishi."I want what he's smokin'." John muttered to Paul as they began their walk back to the bungalows.Paul lowered his head in a giggle. Sarcastically, he replied, "Oh, but- y'know, he doesn't smoke, remember?""Oh, right." John muttered, nodding, feigning solemnity. "My bad- I forgot abou' that."After Paul's engagement, there had been a new, unfamiliar sort of strain on his relationship with John- but Paul had found that by simply ignoring it, things could almost go back to normal on their own. He could pretend that his and John's altercation hadn't even happened at all.Ignoring it: as Paul seemed to do with all of his problems.But it did seem to work rather well, didn't it?A slender hand slipped into Paul's, without him having been paying much attention. He laced his fingers with Jane's, his breath hitching slightly when his finger grazed over the diamond adorning her ring finger.He sincerely hoped that no one noticed the heavy sigh escaping his lips at that moment: a sigh, as he had remembered yet again that he was going to be married.He wasn't quite sure about how to feel about that, yet. But he couldn't quite call it off, now, could he?A shoulder brushed against his other side. He turned his head, watching as John walked ahead of him: holding hands with Cynthia, just as he was, with Jane.He looked at John, for a moment, after he'd brushed against his shoulder like that. After a moment, John looked back at him, a soft smile playing upon his lips. He might've seen Paul's sigh, or might simply be trying to lighten the mood- or perhaps, he was taunting Paul, for getting engaged with Jane- and knowing that Paul really was unhappy. As if to say, I told you so.Paul turned away, shaking his head.Shaking his head, despite the fond smile forming on his own lips: a smile he wouldn't give John the satisfaction of seeing.___________________________________________Days at the ashram seemed to last for an eternity.It felt as if, within the confines of the wire fence and gates surrounding it, that the outside world had faded into oblivion. This golden, sun-kissed paradise was so incredibly vibrant: the colors and energy of the enclosure made Britain (and, really, everywhere else) pale in comparison.Over time, the retreat had proven to be almost like a spiritual summer camp. They followed a daily routine: a communal breakfast, hour-long meditation, more meals- and, of course, recreational times for simply sitting off, playing, or composing music.Technically, there was a ban of drugs and alcohol- imposed by none other the Maharishi, himself- but was bypassed constantly by the guests, who, being as significant as they were, assumed that no one would chastise them for being disobedient.The only person who was truly discontented in the early days of their retreat was Ringo, though it was of no fault of his own. He was simply allergic to most of the foods served at the ashram, and was constantly ill because of it. He'd had seventeen allergic reactions within the first fortnight of arriving, and had been in-and-out of the ashram to visit the hospital, daily.Maureen, too, seemed unhappy with her stay- the insects, particularly, terrified her to no end. Maharishi was of no help to the situation, who would simply wave her off whenever she voiced her concerns.George, on the other hand, had gotten really into transcendental meditation, shocking absolutely no one, as he'd always been the most Zen, free-spirited of the group. Pattie did her best to do the same- and though not quite as interested in the practice as George, seemed very intrigued by it- though, probably only for his sake.As for John- well, Paul wasn't quite sure.Clearly, John was trying to be polite, and gave Maharishi the benefit of the doubt. He tried to do what George was doing- trying to tap into a higher realm of consciousness, meditating, and all that- and though it did seem to be working, he wasn't nearly as interested in it as George was.Paul was trying, too, to become like the guru and George- but had found it quite difficult to keep up.For one thing, he honestly didn't care as much for transcendental meditation as the others seemed to. He understood that it was useful, and that it felt nice in the moment- but it all seemed rather fantastical to him.Besides, the meditation didn't seem to be affecting him in any great, significant way- probably due to the fact that ever since he'd arrived, he'd been constantly distracted.Distracted, of course, by the impending sense of regret about his proposal to Jane- and, unfortunately- distracted, still, by John.Paul simply could not believe himself- he couldn't understand why he was still so interested in John, when, at the moment, their relationship was practically back to normal.Still, he found himself on edge from their last argument, despite it having been all the way back at Christmas. Paul had taken to heart all that John had said- and found John's words swirling through his subconscious almost constantly."Before Linda, before Jane, before Cynthia... before them, it was us."Paul couldn't help but wonder, still, what John had meant by that.As if all that wasn't enough, Paul found that with each passing day beneath the blazing Indian sun, he'd only become more fascinated by John- by everything about him, really.He noticed how John's voice would drop whenever he spoke to Cynthia- speaking carefully, sweetly- as if Cyn were the most important person in the entire world. Paul noticed how John was giving his most earnest attempt at meditation, how respectful John remained of the guru- despite Maharishi's eccentricity. John's diligence was, though Paul would never admit it, rather admirable- almost charming.Most of all, Paul couldn't help but be absolutely fixated on the way John looked at him.It was those glances, those undeniably charged gazes, that were what distracted Paul more than anything else.Though Paul really had tried to abandon the notion that John might like him, he simply couldn't- not when there was still this tension between them. Tension that Paul had been trying to explain away for years- and had failed at doing, time and time again.
Tension that, here, at the ashram- was more palpable and obvious than ever.
It was getting so apparent that Paul had truly begun to lose his mind- and he wanted more than anything the boldness to simply ask John, directly, if he was in love with him. But the days wore on- and Paul held his tongue all the while, simply taking all of John's eyeing, all of his incidental touches.And then, Paul cursed himself- cursed himself, because, just as he'd begun to do, last year- he no longer minded all this as much: and was beginning to almost relish in the chase and casual flirting that occurred between himself and John.It was only then that Paul purposefully began doing all that right back to John- and honestly, enjoying himself, quite immensely.And besides, it was highly unlikely that John actually was in love with Paul- so it didn't matter much whether or not Paul flirted back.It was, simply put: empty flirting, empty words, touches, glances- with absolutely no hidden, deeper meaning.
Casual.
That's what Paul assured himself.All that mattered, really, was that things with John had gone back to normal. The weight on Paul's chest had lifted significantly from that, alone: despite the fact that he still felt entrapped by his engagement.Well, you can't have everything, Paul thought, as he laid beneath a great sprawling willow on the perimeter of the ashram, his head resting in Jane's lap.Jane twirled her fingers through Paul's hair, staring mindlessly off into the sky as they listened to John play his guitar underneath the willow just beside their own.Laying just beside John, her head lolled onto the knobby roots of the willow, was Cynthia: her blonde hair fluttering in the light breeze, eyes peacefully closed.Jane smiled, glancing over at Cynthia. "She's asleep, I think."John glanced down at her, smiling faintly as he mused, "I s'pose so." He glanced up at Paul and Jane, saying, "She's a heavy-sleeper. She'll be asleep through anythin'."Paul tilted his head. Through the weeping bows of the willow, glimmers of sunlight slipped through onto Paul's face. It was a beautiful afternoon, just as every other day had been: save for the fact that George and Pattie were currently accompanying Ringo and Maureen back to the airport. Between Ringo's severe allergies and Maureen's deathly fear of insects, they'd had quite enough, and were to fly out of Delhi that evening for home.That had left Paul, John, Jane, and Cynthia to have a free afternoon, spent bathing in the clear blue water of the pools all around the ashram or singing beneath the trees."You're a rather light-sleeper, John." Paul mumbled with a smile up at John, as Jane went on with her fingers coiled round his dark locks.John, playing mindlessly on his guitar, replied, "Yes... you're quite right about that." He glanced over at Paul, saying after a moment of contemplation, "I s'pose you are, too, Paul.""Mhm," Paul hummed with a little nod, glancing up at Jane, "What are you, then, love?"John started playing a pretty melody on his guitar: a song he'd begun composing since arriving in India: rather soft and sweet."Oh, god, I don't know." Jane muttered thoughtfully, her head tilted. She glanced down at Paul, teasingly, "Shouldn't you know, after all these years, Paul?"Paul chuckled, "I dunno. I never... I've never really noticed." He glanced away, up into the willow tree, "I only knew abou' John 'cause, y'know- we've spent months at a time, sharin' a bed- ever since we were young lads."John exhaled lightly in a chuckle, continuing to play his song as he replied, "Yes, we have." He glanced up at Paul briefly, catching his gaze.Both grinned slightly before looking away: before John looked back to his strings, and Paul back up into the tree bows. Nothing more was said, not even by Jane, whose expression had fallen slightly- unnoticed by the two boys.John had gone on, singing: and Paul, preoccupied, too- listening to John.
"Words are flowin' out like endless rain into a paper cup,

They slither wildly as they slip away, across the universe.

Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind,

Possessing and caressing me.

Jai guru deva, om

Nothing's gonna change my world,

Nothing's gonna change my world.

Nothing's gonna change my world,

Nothing's gonna change my world."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

By early March, the boys had begun to finally see the effects of their practicing transcendental meditation.Even Paul was feeling different: he, like everyone else, felt as if his soul had become lighter, higher- truly, enlightened.It was a feeling that almost couldn't be described by words alone. An almost out-of-body experience- they'd essentially become reborn.Not only did Paul feel more intelligent since arriving at the ashram, but also happier and more carefree than he'd been in a long while. Nearly everyone felt this way: this blissful, trance-like state of elation had become infectious.Somehow, even Paul's worries about his engagement were beginning to fade. Here, they didn't talk much about marriage, or legalities, or about the rest of the outside world- here, the thing of importance was strictly spirituality.It was also rather enjoyable to write songs in such a secluded environment. Composing here had proven to be much different than it had, outside the barbed-wire fencing. Inspiration was all around them, inside them- radiating from the energy of their enlightened souls.The bond, too, between Paul, John, and George- though, undeniably somewhat strained- was nearly as strong as it had been, back in the early days. Though they'd begun composing songs separately, they remained in each other's presence, sitting off and exchanging words of advice all the while.And, of course- there was John.
Oh, God- there was John.
Paul had never been quite so confused in all of his life. Here he was, finally having almost accepted the fact that he was engaged- watching, living in close-quarters with John and his wife- and yet, growing only closer and more fond of John by the day.But now, there was something different occurring between the two. Something new had blossomed beneath the brilliant sun of Rishikesh: something that had never been there before.Late at night, on the mattress of his room in the bungalow, Paul remained wide awake. Laying beside his sleeping fiancé, Paul tossed and turned: completely preoccupied."Damn it, Paul." He muttered to himself against his pillowcase, pressing his mouth into the fabric as a tired sigh escaped from his lips.Damn you, Paul- for lying awake at night, only to think of John.It was almost embarrassing that Paul cared about it as much as he did- but his and John's changing relationship was weighing heavily on his mind. There had been a very noticeable change- ever since Christmas, and since the engagement, surely- also since simply arriving in India.In some strange, twisted way: Paul and John were closer now than they ever had been.Paul turned over onto his other side, heaving a great, deep breath.I can't believe myself- that after all these years, I'm still wondering if John might love me- love me, of course, as more than just... friends.
Come off it, Paul- you're only being conceited and arrogant, as you always are.
It was late at night, lying in bed, when Paul would run-through every past scenario he could recall in which John's motives had seemed even slightly questionable.The night in Paris; the Valentine's Day card.A Midsummer Night's Dream; the night at the Key Wester Motel.The David Bailey Photoshoot; the fact that John had given his autograph as "John McCartney".John's letter to Cynthia; John's persistent jealousy of every single girl that Paul had ever had.No. Paul assured himself, turning again beneath the sheets.
Not to mention, all of those arbitrary things that happen every single day. Those lingering touches, glances, words...
"No," Paul mumbled, shaking his head; turning over, just once more, as he closed his eyes tightly.This is so completely ridiculous. John Lennon is not in love with me- nor has he ever, nor will he ever be.And, of course- adding hastily onto that thought, as he'd constantly had to remind himself: and I hope that he isn't.
I hope that he isn't.
I hope.___________________________________________It was several days later when Paul noticed something.He'd noticed that John checked the ashram post office several times, daily: as if he were waiting for mail.Feeling as though he had a right to know, Paul asked John casually over lunch one afternoon, "Whose letter are you lookin' for, John?"He asked in a low mumble: quiet enough to not be overheard by Cynthia nor Jane.John didn't look up from his food. Paul studied his face as he looked down: John had shaven last night, and those admittedly horrible side-burns were gone: thank god.John looked nice: not as if he hadn't before, nor as if he didn't always look nice, but- yes. He looked nice."Ehm," John mumbled, setting his fork down and looking up, finally meeting Paul's eyes: "Yoko's been writin', y'know."Paul's eyes widened. "Oh." He mused, thoroughly surprised: not at the fact that Yoko had been writing to John, because he could've seen that coming from a mile away.It was the fact that John was being secretive about it: hiding her letters away and presumably not telling Cynthia about it that made Paul wonder if, perhaps, John was falling for Yoko."Oh." Paul repeated, shaking his head, still wide-eyed. "God, well, that's- that's something.""Don't say anythin' about it to the others, okay?" John asked, leaning closer to Paul, in his eyes an earnest plea.Paul stared into those dark eyes for a moment, his brows scrunched up as he mumbled, "There isn't somethin' goin' on between... between you and Yoko, is there?"John stared back at him, and replied shakily after a pause: "I don't know, Paul." His gaze was almost too heavy for Paul to handle. He moved closer, still: saying beneath his breath in that same, pleading way: "Just please... don't say anythin'." He tilted his his head, saying again, "Please, Paul."Paul only continued to stare at him, into the depth of John's eyes. It was impossible for Paul not to give in."I promise," Paul replied softly, gaze flicking between John's eyes and his mouth, from which all those words came: words that would eternally leave Paul bewitched, of which he remained pathetically defenseless."I won't tell anyone, John." He added, nodding slowly, and leaning back into his seat at the table.John leaned back, too, looking quite relieved. "Thank you, Paul." He breathed, almost silently.Beneath the table, John's fingers grazed against Paul's. "Thank you." Said John, gently: squeezing Paul's hand by way of showing his gratitude.Paul nodded, unable to meet John's gaze again and, too, completely tongue-tied.It wasn't until John pulled his hand away from his that Paul let out the breath he'd been holding. He prayed that no one had seen him: that no one had noticed his expression shift, nor the way he'd become profusely red in the face.
Oh, my god.
Pull yourself together, McCartney- it doesn't matter if anyone saw: because it didn't mean anything.
It's only John.
It's only John- and it's only you.There is nothing there. It's only John and you. There is nothing there.Nothing at all.___________________________________________It was the middle of March, now: and spiritual enlightenment among the group was at an all-time high.George and Pattie, most of all, had truly devoted themselves to the practice. They'd even moved to separate bedrooms in the bungalow, in order to "not disturb each other's meditative practice"; though, quite honestly, Paul suspected that the two might be experiencing slight marital problems.Though still highly convinced of the legitimacy of transcendental meditation, the deceptive intentions of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi were becoming increasingly clear.Maharishi spoke increasingly often about money, publicity, and celebrity endorsement- and was then met with quite quizzical skepticism by his guests (most of which, of course, were celebrities)."I don't quite trust him, anymore, if I'm honest: Maharishi, I mean." John muttered to Paul one morning as they sat on the steps outside of their bungalow, guitars in hand, and having a smoke. "He speaks far more abou' material things than any religious guru should- especially not while preachin' against all that shit in the first place.""I completely agree with you," Paul replied with a nod, tapping the end of his cigar on the charred face of his guitar. "An', y'know- it's not to say that I don't believe in his meditation practices, 'cause I really do- y'know, I've experienced the effects of it, first-hand.""Right," John replied, tuning his guitar mindlessly as he added, "It's only tha' I don't trust him, y'know. I think he's been puttin' up a very nice front, especially when we first met 'im, in order to try an' win us over.""Oh, exactly." Paul muttered, blowing out a long drag of smoke before saying, "I don't think 'e's quite as... holy, or... perfect as he lets on.""Mhm," John hummed, laying back against the concrete stairs, having finally tuned his guitar to his liking. "After all, he's only a man, y'know."Paul glanced down at his guitar, chuckling lightly as he began to strum. "Heh, right- and men are... well, we're quite terrible, aren't we?"John looked up from his guitar after a moment of silence. "We're not all bad," Paul waited a moment for John to elaborate. In receiving silence, Paul looked up, meeting John's eyes, quizzically."Well, I'm nothing special, y'know." John specified, pushing back a lock of slightly-outgrown hair that had fallen into his face. He smiled, tilting his head just slightly as he softly spoke: "But, Paul- I think that you're simply extraordinary."Paul stared at John for a few silent, significant seconds: unable to speak, to reply. His mouth had gone dry, and his face as red as the hibiscus blossoming on the tree bows all around them.He was unable to do anything else besides smile in that bashful, nearly charmed way as his eyes found the strings of his guitar, only for the sake of busying himself. For an excuse to look away.___________________________________________During the ides of March, Paul noticed something else about John: this time, pertaining to John's relationship with Cynthia. About, he supposed- their marriage.Paul had noticed that since arriving at the ashram, Cynthia had seemed especially affectionate and attentive toward John. Not as if she wasn't typically a doting wife- but she had become even more so since having come to India.She wanted to spend nearly every waking moment with her husband: to accompany him even while he was busy with his bandmates. She wanted to sit beside him everywhere: to hold his hand, or his arm- or to simply be near him.But it was obvious to Paul (and, frankly, whoever else observed them) that those feelings were not reciprocated by John.In fact, it seemed that John was falling out of love with Cynthia with every passing day.John was never mean, nor violent- especially not to his wife. But he'd become standoffish, slightly colder- almost uninterested in Cynthia. He'd become shorter in speech, and hardly ever intentionally spent time with her.It now seemed that in her place, as the object of John's interest, affection, and obsession- was Paul.John clung, now, to Paul: stronger, more desperately than he ever had, before. Whether it was to simply repel Cynthia, in order to combat her increased advances, or, perhaps, John's undefined feelings towards him- Paul didn't quite know.
He had absolutely no fucking clue about anything, anymore.
Days at the ashram remained long, drawn-out, and hot. Paul spent his days in frequent meditation, wrapped up in the kiss of his fiancé- or, preferably- in the company of John.In a way, it all reminded Paul rather strongly of the early days- before fame, when he could simply sit-off with his mates and smoke, all through the night. It was terribly, terrifically freeing to have finally escaped the prying eyes and shuttering cameras of the outside world. Paul felt untouchable, almost- as if he could do anything, and that nothing would come of it- that no one outside the ashram would ever find out; that no one would ever know.It was a dangerously tempting amount of liberation- such that Paul, nor John, nor any one of them had ever known.Paul became especially aware of this phenomenon as the days wore on: aware, even more so, when everything began to change.The change itself was hard to describe, considering that it had been an ongoing shift for- well, several years, Paul supposed. But while in India, having lay awake nearly every night, considering what John's true feelings towards him might be- Paul now seriously contended with the notion that, yes- John might like me.
Maybe.
That air of uncertainty- it made Paul all the more obsessed with this fixation he'd developed- and, frankly, with John.I wonder if he'll try anything. Paul wondered to himself, watching John as he went about: his eyes alight with admiration. It's certainly not out of the realm of possibility- I mean, he's nearly done it before.
It'd be exhilarating if he did, surely.

I almost hope-
No. Paul looked away, shaking his head- chiding himself, as he'd needed to do increasingly often. It was then, when Paul caught himself nearly hoping that John might try making advances with him- that Paul decided to take a step back.No- this is all utterly ridiculous. You can't seriously be considering this- at least, not in your right mind.You might love John- but you'd never love him as anything more than just... friends.Yes, that's it: friends.Why can't you just accept it? It doesn't matter that he seems to be in love with you, nor all those ways that he's expressed his feelings in the past.It doesn't matter that you love him as much as you do, or that you have such an incredible history together- it doesn't matter that you find him as attractive as you do. It doesn't matter that you'd consider him to be your soulmate.Because he has Cynthia, and because you have Jane.Because, goddamnit- because you're both men.That had become, unfortunately, Paul's constant internal monologue as the month of March dragged along. He was so completely obsessed- John was the only thing on his mind.On the night of March twenty-third, after the nighttime meditation session, Paul and John remained out on the front steps of their bungalow, simply having a smoke.George had sat-off with them for a while, too: but had, only a few moments ago, retreated inside to sleep (with Pattie- much to Paul's surprise- and he was pleased to hear that, perhaps, the two of them weren't going through a rough patch, after all).The same, of course, couldn't be said of the marriages of Paul and John- who remained still out on the steps, well after midnight, despite having been called to bed by their wives for hours, now.The two were having a nostalgic sort of conversation: in hushed tones beneath the starry sky, as to not wake anyone who might be already asleep. (This was, admittedly, rather pointless: as the chorus of wildlife in and around the ashram never silenced, not even in the dead of night.)"So, then-" Paul grinned, leaning back on his hand, taking a swift sip of a bottle he'd managed to keep hidden from Maharishi, "Speakin' of bein' drunk, remember Key West?"John plucked the bottle from Paul's hand, returning Paul's grin, and said after he took a drink: "Oh, yeah- fuck, tha' was so long ago, wasn't it?""Indeed, it was," Paul replied, raising his cigarette to his lips as he slowly added, "In a way, Key West sort o' reminds me o' Rishikesh. I can't quite explain it, but it makes sense, y'know?""No, I completely agree," John replied thoughtfully, setting the bottle down onto the concrete as he, too, leaned back on his hands. "This sort of freedom, y'know- we hardly ever have it."Paul looked over, at John: who was leaning back in the same way as Paul, and said, "Exactly,"John returned Paul's glance. "I've hardly ever before felt so..." John tilted his head. He spoke softly, carefully, sweetly- "so unafraid.""Unafraid?" Paul repeated, his voice no louder than a whisper. He leaned closer to John, leaving merely inches between their faces."Of... everything." John replied, mirroring Paul, and leaning in, closer. "I feel as if I could do... anything.""Do anything," Paul mumbled, not quite as a question, but merely, an utterance: he hadn't even really meant to say it."Anything," John muttered, in that same, indefinite way.Paul's eyes searched John's face, studying those features of his- the features he'd known since he was a boy. The face he'd seen light up a million times, the eyes- the eyes he'd gazed into for far longer than he'd ever admit.Slowly, carefully, hesitantly, John came nearer- closing the space between them, the space dwindling with every moment.Oh, god- Paul thought, his brain buzzing like a live wire, as he felt his eyes begin to flutter closed, I don't want to stop this.Why don't I want to stop this?John's breath on his lips practically made Paul's soul ascend, and Paul had stilled, completely: frozen, unable to move- indecisive, unsure, exhilarated-"John?"The voice of Cynthia from inside the hall of the bungalow made both men startle.John pulled away from Paul, his face flushing furiously as he stood and called, "Yes, Cyn, love?"Paul remained sat on the concrete steps, though: staring at the ground, completely mortified.What the hell was that?He was red in the face, feeling as though he'd nearly compromised all of his morals- knowing that what they'd almost done was so, so completely wrong.They hadn't done it, but they almost had- and that, alone, was enough to send Paul into hysterics. That, and the fact that Paul had almost allowed such a thing to happen: that he'd wanted it.
No. No more of this.
Paul stood, looking back at John, seeing him speak with Cynthia at the top steps: "Sorry, love- we just lost track of time. I'll come to bed, now."Something about how casual John was being- how he'd simply gotten up, and ignored what had almost happened between them- it irritated Paul to no end.John turned to look at Paul, his eyes full of an emotion Paul had not before seen. "Well." John mumbled, clearly finding difficulty in meeting Paul's gaze, "I... goodnight, Paul."Despite knowing better, Paul gave Cynthia a pointed glance, registering her curious, questioning expression shifting between the two. "Yes." Paul replied, giving an earnest attempt at mirroring John's light, indifferent tone: "Ehm... goodnight, John."Eyebrows furrowed slightly, Cynthia took John's arm, offering Paul one swift smile before turning to walk back through the hall of the bungalow, back to their room.Paul watched them as they walked away, a pit forming in his stomach, unable to decipher exactly what it was that he was feeling.It was only when John turned around, to look back at him- halfway down the hall, already, giving Paul those eyes- that Paul knew.
Oh, god.
I really might love him.Paul was the first one to look away: to break eye contact, as if to say, yes. I do love you.
But we can't do this. We can't have this.

We can't.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"... so, then." Paul says, sitting straightly with one leg crossed over the other, his hands folded neatly in his lap. He gives an amused little grin as he continues, "That happened: when John and I nearly kissed on the steps outside the chalet.""I was... I was not expecting that," Michael muses, stifling a grin as he chuckles, "I... wow. What was going through your mind at that moment?"Paul chuckles, too, replying: "I don't believe that I nor John knew exactly what we were thinking. It was... sudden- and spontaneous, y'know- and so very rudely interrupted, of course." Paul lowers his head, pausing, laughing lightly still. "And, y'know- we'd been slightly drunk, too. So when I woke up, the morning after- I dismissed it, y'know- as if nothin' 'ad happened at all." He shrugs. "'Cause, y'know- really, nothing had 'appened. It didn't  really matter whether we'd intended to do somethin' or not- because nothin' had come of it, anyway."
"I see," says Michael, giving a swift glance at his notepad, asking: "And then, the following day: had anythin' changed between yourself and John?"
Paul blushes, slightly- giving a smiling sigh as he responds, "Yeah. Things 'ad changed." He pauses again, as if formulating a reasonable response. "It wasn't... bad, not bad at all." He shakes his head thoughtfully. "We'd almost become closer due to this... romantic encounter, if you can believe that."Michael responds with a smilingly sarcastic, "Oh, I can believe that."Paul laughs at his quip, and continues: "Y'know, it seemed that with each new encounter, with every passin' day- John and I became... closer." A soft, fond smile forms across Paul's lips. "And now, we'd nearly crossed the line- despite me knowing it was wrong, I'd become... almost hopeful.""Hm," Michael hums, his brows furrowing slightly. "Did you consider, if you don't mind me asking-" he lowers his head in a bashful grin, "that perhaps, you really were interested in John... romantically?""Well, y'know-" Paul sighs, his shoulders slumping, "Y'know, I really had no fuckin' clue what I wanted. 'Cause although I'd have given practically anythin' to have just... been with John-" he pauses, meeting Michael's eyes. "I wasn't a woman... and nor was he. And in my mind, y'know- I jus'... I could never be gay."Even though, by that point- I was nearly certain that John was interested in men as well as women, and that he might really love me- I jus'... I didn't think tha' I could be the same. I just... I couldn't accept it." Paul's gaze shifts around, awkward, as he continues: "There was this still, small voice in the back of my mind: tellin' me... no. You simply can't be this way. You simply can't be... you can't be queer, y'know.""Oh, I see," Michael nods, "So, then- it seemed that yours and John's relationship was doing just fine, by that point." He glances, again, down at his notes, his eyebrows noticeably furrowed. "But only three days after that... you and Jane left the ashram, and it seemed that everything had suddenly changed, within the band- for the worse."Paul sighs. "Well," he takes a long, contemplative pause, glancing down at the floor. "Well, yes- ehm, I s'pose tha' I've yet to touch on the most important part." He smiles faintly, solemnly- almost sadly. "The part I've hardly ever relayed to anyone. The bit that, y'know- really does change everythin'."
Michael's face lights up, slightly- eyes narrowed with intrigue, he says, "... go on, Paul- the world has been waiting for this."
Paul, sitting straightly in his chair, takes a deep, conclusive breath. "All right." He sobers himself, staring dead into the lens of the camera as he speaks, "On the night of March twenty-fourth, 1968: when everything we'd been avoiding came to light. When the feelings between us- between John and I- became all-too impossible to ignore." His gaze shifts: in his eyes, the faintest glimmer. "The night that it happened."___________________________________________The day began with an increased- though, not particularly unfavorable- tension between Paul and John.Due, of course, to the previous night, out on the steps- and what had almost happened.Thankfully, both were able to put up a very convincing front, appearing to the others as unphased and unsuspicious- completely unchanged. But internally- they were both simply hysterical.Paul, on one hand, dwelt heavily on the fact that he'd almost come to enjoy this teased homoeroticism- and was plagued with such guilt, realizing that he had been so close to simply giving in.If John tries anything like that, again- Paul vowed to himself, I simply won't allow anything to happen.Last night was only circumstantial- a one-time incident. John and I will never cut it that close, again- I won't allow it.Paul brushed off the incident- as if it had been a one-off, or as a result of their drunkenness (which was, truly, a failing argument- as they'd only had one bottle, shared between the both of them).Still, throughout the day- Paul couldn't quite help but remember: remember the way John's lips had come so close to his own. He couldn't quite help but watch as John spoke, romanticizing each soft movement of John's mouth that no one else paid any mind to in the slightest.Several times, he'd catch John's gaze, and they'd simply smile: smiling about a secret shared shame that only they knew of. Then, Paul would turn away bashfully, in order to hide his blushing face that even he couldn't quite explain.He noticed Jane watching them, with an air of unbridled skepticism- as if she'd noticed the shift, too."Are you all right, Paul, truly?" She asked at lunch, staring earnestly into his eyes, placing her hands on his.Paul looked away from John, having been laughing at a rather dumb joke that John had made about marriage. "Oh, what?" He asked, returning her expectant stare, turning to face her full-on. "Sorry, Janie- what'd you say?"Jane's eyes softly narrowed, her head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side as she replied, "See, this is just what I mean." She reached up, running her fingers across Paul's dark, sweeping bangs and muttered, "You seem so... distracted.""No, I'm not." Paul replied swiftly, taking her hands in his, kissing the soft, perfumed skin on her wrist as he assured her, "I promise you tha' I'm not, Janie." He looked up into her beautiful, sea-blue eyes: "You know tha' I love you, don't you?"Jane glanced down at their interlaced fingers, her mouth twisted prettily into a stifled smile. "I know." After a moment, she looked up again, swimming in his gaze, and replied: "That wasn't what I asked you, though."She paused, sighing lightly before she continued, "I asked you if you were all right, because you do seem... distracted.""No," Paul replied, shaking his head softly as he replied, "No, Jane- I'm not. I promise."He leaned in, placing his lips onto hers in a nearly apologetic kiss. He only pulled away once, in order to mutter: "I promise."The day wore on, longer still than any day had, yet. It felt as if an eternity had passed in the uncomfortable and incredibly watchful gaze of not only Jane, but also Cynthia. Cynthia: who, although she hadn't seen just how close the two men had gotten last night, out on the steps- she had noticed the tension between them since then, and had become wary because of it.At six o' clock, over dinner- Maharishi claimed to have some sort of announcement."Ahem-" came his voice from the head of the table as he stood, smiling, "If I could have your attention, boys and girls."Amused, patronizing glances were exchanged between everyone at the table, though no one hesitated before giving Maharishi their undivided attention."I'm very pleased to announce our very first women's retreat night at the ashram!" He said, his arms opened wide, "For one night only, all of our lovely women, here, will stay in their own bungalow to be taught by our very own, female gurus!"More glances were exchanged- not particularly thrilled ones, at that- especially by the women at the table."I didn't even know there were female gurus," replied Cynthia, sounding slightly miffed."Not many people do," Maharishi replied, taking his seat, smiling still. "I thought tha' it'd be rather nice- to explore your spiritualities together.""Huh." Jane muttered, turning to look at Paul as she spoke softly, "I s'pose I'll be leaving you for the night, then.""I s'pose so." Paul replied, leaning closer to ask with a slight smile, "You don't want to go, do you?"Jane smiled embarrassedly. "Ah, no." She chuckled. "What gave me away?"Paul searched her face, grinning amusedly as he replied, "Really, everything." He chuckled, too- placing a quick kiss on the corner of her mouth as he assured her, "It's only one night, though- you'll be back before you know it.""Oh, I know." Jane mumbled, sounding thoroughly unconvinced. "I dunno, I jus'-""Hey," Paul mumbled, tipping Jane's chin up, in order to look at him. "You'll be all right." He kissed her lips, leaning away to say, "It's only one night."Jane nodded as she moved away from him. She really didn't want to leave.Paul thought that, perhaps, Jane's hesitance to leave him might be due to her heightened suspicion of him- really, of him and John.
John: who he'd be spending nearly the entire night with, while both of their girls were away.
It doesn't matter. Paul assured himself, as he bid a final, great goodbye to Jane- placing a thorough, last, lingering kiss on her lips. Jane will be back by tomorrow.
Tomorrow, Jane will be back- as if she'd never even been gone. Surely, nothing could happen in such a short time as her absence.
Pulling away from Jane's kiss, Paul stepped away, watching her go. He watched as she walked off with Cynthia, Pattie, and the others- and turned to John.John was already looking at him.Come on, now, McCartney. Paul chided himself, turning to walk back to his own bungalow, with John in tow- stifling the charmed little grin that had fixed on his lips upon meeting John's eyes.Nothing is going to happen, tonight- nothing, so long as you don't allow it to.
Nothing.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

In the girls' absence, the men spent the evening around the campfire.Though most were slightly irritated with the absence of their wives, girlfriends, or sisters- Paul and John, frankly, found the experience to be pleasantly liberating.And though several smuggled bottles of alcohol were being passed around the campfire ring, Paul didn't partake. He knew himself well enough to know that by drinking, he might misstep, might become too bold: might do something that he'd regret.Something that he'd regret- of course- having to do with the fact that John was sat just beside him, with barely any space separating the two of them.Whenever the bottles would come around, Paul would mutter a grinning "no, thank you." As if John understood, he did the same: refused every bit of alcohol that came his way, keeping himself highly sober- even as the sun dipped down below the horizon. The shared cigar being passed between the two of them, alone, was highly sufficient.Perhaps he's taking precautions, too. Paul wondered, laughing loudly at a joke made by Mike Love, catching John's eye as everyone joined in on the laughter. Perhaps John doesn't trust himself, just as I don't trust mine.Perhaps John knows, as well as I do, that if the two of us were to have any bit of alcohol tonight, we might really end up crossing a line.And that wouldn't do at all, would it?"I liked the song tha' Paul did 'round the campfire last night." Said Donovan, taking a long swig of whiskey- only further enhancing his intense Scottish tongue. "Which one was tha'?""Oh, tha' one!" John grinned, draping an arm lazily around Paul's shoulder, "Tha' was Rocky Raccoon, I think. Honestly, Paul, you've come up with so many new songs recently, it's 'ard to keep up with ye, anymore.""Oh, well, y'know-" Paul started, turning his head to smile at John before his mouth slacked, when noticing the shirt John was wearing. "Oh, my god."Paul shook his head incredulously at the coral blouse John wore: the one with flared sleeves and white floral embroidering on the cuffs.John, pulling his arm back, smiled cheekily at Paul. "What?"He obviously knew what Paul was referring to. "That's my shirt!" Paul exclaimed as he and everyone else around the fire began roaring with laughter."Oh!" John quipped, glancing down once at the blouse, shrugging. "Is it?"Paul couldn't respond without giggling hysterically, leaning back on the bench in order to catch his breath. "How the hell'd you get my shirt, John?" Paul truly was baffled: they'd shared clothes before, quite often, really- but he hadn't noticed John rummaging through his things recently, and had absolutely no idea as to how his blouse had gotten into John's possession.John looked up, finally sounding sincere: "I stole it a while ago." He admitted, his head tilted up at Paul, eyes alight with the glow of the roaring fire. "I don't even remember when."Everyone around them only went on laughing- and amidst all the sound, Paul and John had gotten wrapped up in their own moment."Unbelievable." Paul muttered, shaking his head once more at John, disapprovingly: though in Paul's gaze, there was not so much as a hint of malice- not even annoyance- only pure, unbridled affection.John grinned at him, sitting himself slightly closer on the crude wooden bench they'd been sat on. "Forgive me, Paul." John muttered softly, his head tilted apologetically- pleading with eyes, with that look that nearly made Paul's stomach flip.Then, John did something that he'd taken to doing whenever he and Paul would have such miniscule altercations. He lowered his wire-rimmed glasses down the bridge of his nose, peering at Paul from over them, saying: "It's only me, remember."Paul hadn't realized just how close the two had gotten- legs hanging off the side of the bench, practically touching. Paul also noticed just how hot it had gotten- something he assumed must be due to the (albeit, dwindling) campfire.Paul didn't reply to John. He couldn't quite come up with the words to do so. Instead, he merely furrowed his brows and nose at John, humorously, and turned away- avoiding that intuitive feeling inside of him that seemed to be growing stronger, more unavoidable- with every waking moment.Stop this, Paul- you can't possibly still be considering such a thing, can you?Paul glanced over at John, watching as he began a new conversation with George. He smiled at the view: at the side-profile of John, aglow in the fire light- with that beautifully distinctive aquiline nose that Paul had never seen on anyone else. Those heavy brows- perfectly expressive, rising and falling with all of John's many facial expressions. The jawline- sharper than anything, that kept Paul mesmerized in a way that he couldn't quite explain.Yes. Paul thought to himself, turning away again.Yes. I am still considering that, perhaps, there is more between John and I than I will ever likely admit. But, surely, nothing will ever come of it; I know that much.He turned his head to look at John: giving him one last, longing look.God- I'm so fucking pathetic, aren't I?Because, here I am: still holding out hope for this terrible, forbidden thing, when I know that such a thing as this will never happen.
Never.
With that, Paul turned away- biting down on his lip, to keep from saying anything that might cost him absolutely everything.___________________________________________It took only an hour for Paul to convince himself, for what truly seemed like the millionth time, that- no, of course there's nothing going on between John and I.
We're simply friends.
In only an hour, all of Paul's intuitions and hopefulness had died out, just as the great rolling campfire had been reduced to practically nothing: save for a pile of red-hot coals, growing colder with each passing second as the air around them cooled with the breath of night."Well," said George, after another great laugh, heaving a sigh as he stood from his seat at the fireside, "I s'pose I'll be gettin' to bed, now."There were other men there that Paul hadn't known, prior, but had gotten to know quite well, especially during that night's activities. Among their number was Jerry Stovin, who stood, too, and said: "I think I'll do the same.""We all might as well get to bed, then, I s'pose." Said Tom Simcox- another actor- standing with a chuckle as everyone else followed suit.All of them stood, save for Paul and John: who sat there on the bench, still, and glanced sideways at each other, at the same moment."Me, personally," said Paul, smiling slightly, propping his first beneath his chin, "I'm not quite tired, yet."John returned his smile, his eyebrows lightly raised, "Neither am I."Paul only continued to stare at John, his mouth twisting in amusement: clearly, John knew what he was doing.John is making it increasingly difficult for me to ignore these feelings- whatever they are- that have been threatening to surface for so long, now."Ehm..." Paul mumbled, glancing away for a moment, watching the other men bid goodnight to one another, and dispersing afterward to their respective bungalows.The last of them to leave was George. He turned to Paul and John, a smile still playing across his angular face as he asked, "Are you two comin'?"The two looked over at each other, again."Ehm," Paul repeated, quite dumb-founded, hoping that John might take initiative on this one. Hoping that John might say, "No, George- Paul and I would like to remain out here for a little while longer."But John didn't say that.Instead, he muttered a stalling "Ehm," then cleared his throat and replied, "Yeah, ehm- we're comin', George."With that, John stood, offering Paul a hand to help him stand, too.Paul and John walked several paces behind George as they approached their bungalow. Paul couldn't quite help but feel a bit let-down: he'd truly wanted to stay out with John for a little while longer.Perhaps, this is all for the better. Paul thought, taking careful, slow steps up the concrete stairs into the hall of the bungalow. This way, we can rest assured that nothing, nothing can happen between John and I tonight: nothing that we'd regret, come tomorrow.
Yes.

Yes: it's better this way.
In the pitch-blackness of night, the hall was lit up with the warm light of sconces, hanging on the wall outside each of the separate rooms. The right wall, opposite to that with the doors, was open, with merely a fence-railing, and overlooked one of the many crystal-clear pools of water, reflecting the light of the moon across its softly rippling surface.It reminded Paul rather strongly of many of the motels they'd stayed at while on the road. Specifically, though, it reminded him, again, of Key West.His thoughts were interrupted by coming upon the door to George's room: the first door on the left wall."Well," said George, giving both men a nod, "This room's mine.""Yeah," came the soft mutters of both, in reply.George's expression shifted slightly when Paul and John spoke so synchronously, but it was rather hard to tell what he was thinking, especially in such dim lighting."Ehm," George chuckled, opening his door, seeming almost awkward, now: "Have a good night, you two."Paul lifted his hand in a meager wave, registering slowly what George might've meant by that. It seemed, at least, in Paul's mind, that George was insinuating that he and John might have a good night together, by the way he'd addressed the both of them at the end of his statement.Stop being so paranoid. George didn't mean a thing by what he'd said: it was only that you interpreted it that way.
Right.
"Sorry?" John asked, giving a hasty glance over at Paul."Oh, god." Paul muttered, his face flushing, as he scrambled after John down the hallway to their rooms. "How much of that did I say out loud?" He'd spoken with a chuckle, but internally, Paul was losing his mind, hoping that he hadn't said anything too incriminating.John chuckled, too, as he coolly replied, "You only said, 'right'." They continued down the hallway: with Paul having fallen back into step beside John, who gave him a teasing glance and asked, "Why? What were ye thinkin' abou'?""Oh, nothing." Paul mumbled, breathing a soft sigh of relief- I hadn't said anything else. Good- but I ought to be more careful, next time."See, there you go, again!" John said, smilingly, his voice growing softer: probably as to not wake anyone who might be presently trying to sleep. "You're... lapsing into thoughtful silence.""Why? Is there a problem with tha'?" Paul asked, his own lips curving into a grin."Well, no." John replied slowly, his eyes glued onto his feet as they proceeded down the hall with slow, drawn-out steps. "I jus'... I dunno." His voice had become even quieter, now, adding a new air to the conversation. "I'd jus' like to... know what you're thinkin', I s'pose."Paul's eyes found his own shoes. He wasn't exactly sure what to say.To be frankly fucking honest- I think about you almost every waking moment, John Lennon."Paul?" John asked abruptly, leaving Paul to worry that perhaps he'd spoken out loud, again. Thankfully, though, that wasn't the case, and John only added: "You're... you're going quiet, again.""I'm sorry." Paul mumbled, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground as they walked on- with those purposeful, almost painfully slow steps- all in order to prolong their time together."Y'don'-" John chuckled lightly, and Paul saw from the corner of his eye that John had glanced up at him briefly. "Y'don' need to apologize. I'm jus'... god, I'm so fucking confused at the moment, Paul."Paul looked up, nearly looking over into John's eyes. He couldn't make eye-contact, though: not here, not now; not when a simple glance at John might be the thing to push Paul over the edge.Paul was hesitant to assume what John was speaking about, but he was almost certain that John had been speaking about the two of them.So Paul replied with a soft, "I am, too, John."After a pause, John replied with that same, soft tone: "Well...""Well." Paul parroted, his voice almost reduced to a whisper. They were approaching the door to Paul's room, now.
This is it, Paul. This is your chance to address it all.
Say something. Say anything.
Speak now, or forever hold your peace.
Paul's mouth opened only slightly. He breathed a soft sigh, and almost spoke.Speak, Paul!But not a word came from his opened mouth. He pressed his lips tightly closed- without saying anything.
No. I can't.
The both of them had gone quiet. Their steps had slowed even further: as if the entire world had spun into slow-motion."Well." Paul mumbled again, his mouth going dry, as he pointed to the door not ten feet ahead of them. "This... this room's mine."He didn't look over at John. But he was certain that John's expression had fallen as he muttered a disheartened, "Oh." Because John knew, too, that Paul would disappear behind that door, and they'd never speak about such a thing again.Not as if they'd truly said anything, in the first place.
But they'd gotten close.
They drew nearer to Paul's door, with those same steps: those same- intentionally slow- steps.As Paul neared the door, his senses heightened. He became astutely aware of everything around him: the warm, nearly red light radiating from the sconces on the wall. The balmy air; the chorus of nature, that had now seemed to have silenced completely. The night that had become perfectly still.
Only five more paces, and I'll have made it to my door.
The buttons around Paul's neck seemed all-too tight. The swishing from the fabric of John's pants, as he walked just beside Paul, had become so very loud.
Three paces, now.
It was then, at that very moment, when Paul felt John's hand brush against his.It didn't seem intentional: not at all.Perhaps, it was: but it didn't matter, really.At that simple moment of contact, Paul froze in his tracks, feeling something so powerful- so unavoidable- rising up inside of him.Paul dared to look up, slowly, from where his eyes had still been fastened to the concrete. He looked up: looked up into the eyes of John, who'd frozen, too, just beside him.In those depths, he could read John's mind- hoping, just as he'd been able to do, all those years ago- that John could still read his.
Yes.
Yes: looking into John's eyes, Paul knew, with every ounce of his being, that he and John were thinking the same thing.___________________________________________"... AND THEN?!" Michael exclaims, having nearly fallen off the edge of his seat.Paul chuckles lightly, slowly: biding his time. "Well, I'll spare you the details, Michael." He crosses one leg over the other, looking almost pleased with himself.With that, Paul looks up, rather thoughtfully: as every single detail from that night floods back into his mind.He smiles, softly- radiantly- because even after all these years, he remembers it all.___________________________________________It could've been an instant, or an eternity- or, perhaps, something in between- before John's mouth was on Paul's.
Either way, it'd taken entirely too long for Paul's liking.
Too many years had gone by; too many wordless confessions of love had been exchanged- and now, they simply couldn't ignore it, any longer.Still, the suddenness of the kiss took Paul aback- and he simply allowed himself to become limp as John slammed him up against the door to Paul's room, kissing him with a passion that could only be explained by years and years of pent-up yearning.And at that moment, Paul had his great epiphany: dawning on him, suddenly- realizing just how obvious it had been, from the start.Oh, my god- I've been so fucking blind. And then, Paul kissed John back- with an equal amount of fervor- wrapping his arms around John's neck, lips moving in-sync with John's.The outside world had fallen impossibly far away: Jane, Cynthia- everything and everyone else- had become so insignificant.Even Paul's inhibitions no longer constrained him, nor the fact that he was presently kissing a man: nothing mattered, anymore: except for this feeling.This intoxicating, addictive feeling.John's hands went to Paul's face, cupping his skin, only pressing Paul harder against the door- as if he couldn't satisfy his maddening hunger. His hands trailed down Paul's back, to his waist- pulling Paul's body flush against his."Oh my god-" Paul muttered, allowing his mouth to open for just long enough in-between kisses that John began kissing his bottom lip, biting down against the skin- eliciting a soft moan from Paul.I need more. That was all Paul could think, cohesively.I simply cannot get enough of this feeling.John pulled away from Paul's mouth, slowly- glancing up and down the hallway, ensuring that no one had seen them. His breath was hot against Paul's lips as he mumbled, "Fuck. We shoul' probably..."Reaching behind himself, Paul opened the door to his room- thanking god that the door had been unlocked."My room," Paul breathed, barely able to contain himself, wrapping his arms around John's neck, pulling John backward into the room, dipping his head into another passionate kiss as they walked.John let out a surprised, pleased little hum as he walked Paul into the room, closing and locking the door behind him, all while still kissing Paul.Paul could barely feel the skin of his lips, anymore- John had practically kissed him raw.John's hands had found Paul's hips, guiding him to stand just at the side of Paul's bed, while at the same time, he unbuttoned Paul's shirt- freeing Paul's body from the fabric, and slinging the shirt over his shoulder.For a moment, John simply admired him- then leaned in again, kissing the skin on Paul's neck, sucking down onto the area just above Paul's collarbone."John, fuckin' hell." Paul sighed, nearly chuckling, sliding down onto the bed, sitting with his legs hanging over the side, with John standing between them, leaning over him.John kissed all the way down Paul's bare torso, placing lingering kisses all the way down to his waist. With that, John sank down to his knees- his hands trailing down Paul's hips to the belt of his trousers."Oh, dear god." John mumbled, staring up at Paul, fumbling lightly with the buckle of Paul's belt- "... may I?"Paul stared down at him, smiling fondly. "Yes." He breathed, his head tilted with pure affection for this man. "Yes, John.""My god." John repeated, undoing the belt, skillfully- clearly, having been well-practiced at such a thing. "You 'ave no idea 'ow long I've wanted to do this, Paul.""Really?" Paul sighed, leaning back, his eyes closing slightly, "How long?"John chuckled. "A long fuckin' time." He replied quietly, slipping the belt from its loops, pulling the trousers off of Paul's body, now eyeing the boxers that remained in their wake. He took his time, sliding his fingers carefully beneath the elastic, with frequent, amused looks up at Paul."Hurry up, you fuckin' bastard." Paul muttered through another sigh, leaning back against the mattress. He felt the cold air hitting his skin- the skin that had been previously clothed by his boxers."Oh, well, that's not very nice." John teased, his voice low. His breath came closer to Paul's body, and he mumbled, "For that, I'm going to be taking my time."Paul couldn't help but grin. Even while in bed, John was as teasing as ever. "Fuck you..." Paul muttered through his grin, shaking his head as he propped himself up by his hands, still sat on the side of the bed.John looked up at him, his gaze flicking from Paul's eyes to his mouth and down his body, now completely naked. "You're... you're so perfect, Paul." He mumbled, his mouth agape, as his rough hands trailed down Paul's sides, fingers dipping with each curve- as if sculpting Paul by hand. "We've learned all this shit about meditation and spirituality here, in India.""Yes," Paul mumbled, running his fingers through John's hair, staring down at him, "I thought you quite liked it, though.""Well, it's fine, I s'pose." John's voice was as soft as his touch: fingers trailing across Paul's lower stomach, down the curve of his hips- "But none of that- none of it, at all, has made me feel the way you do." 
"John..."
"I feel... I feel like I'm the closest to god that I've ever been." John muttered, his breath becoming hotter against Paul's stomach as he came closer- "You are my god, Paul McCartney." John's open mouth pressed against Paul's hip, kissing him, as he breathed: "And what a religion it is."Paul's eyes fluttered closed- processing such an incredible compliment. He really didn't feel that he deserved such praise: and felt, instead, that he could very well attribute that same sentiment to John."Please, John." Paul mumbled smilingly, feeling himself harden with each kiss John pressed against his waistline, "Don't flatter me.""I mean every word, Paul." John whispered, slowly pulling his mouth away from Paul's body, "Because, I... god, I truly must be fuckin' dreaming."Paul's head tipped back when John's hands moved, ever so deliberately, to his thighs. "Maybe..." Paul mumbled, his breath growing ragged when John began prying Paul's legs apart, "Maybe we're both dreaming."John looked up at Paul, catching his eye- smiling at him in-between pressing kisses against Paul's inner thigh. "If that's the case, I hope tha' we never wake up." He muttered, sucking down on the skin dangerously close to Paul's ever-stiffening hard-on, clearly enjoying such dauntless taunting.Paul leaned back against the mattress, staring down at John, watching John breathe all over him- simply teasing. John's hand found Paul's, then- and guided Paul's hand down to the back of John's head. Paul's fingers laced through John's hair- wasting no time, and pulling John's head down, further, closer...It didn't surprise Paul that John was as skilled as he was- seeing as the two of them had been having sex constantly since they were young teenagers- it only came as a slight, pleasant shock that John seemed so skilled at giving another man oral sex."Have you..." Paul muttered, smiling slightly at the stupidity of the question, before he even had a chance to ask.John looked up at Paul, pulling his upturned lips away from Paul's inner thighs to briefly whisper, "Have I what, love?""Have you ever... done this before?" He didn't feel the need to elaborate: John probably knew what he meant.John smiled softly, his eyes glued onto Paul's, "No," he leaned closer, his mouth again positioned just between Paul's legs. "No, Paul- you'll be my first."Paul stared down at John, smiling fondly, his voice warm as he replied, "And you'll be mine."John's lips curved up into a smirk as he breathed, "Oh, I'm already yours." He leaned in, finally pressing his lips against the tip of Paul's erection, pulling back again to mumble, "I'd simply like to know that you're mine."John's head dipped down again, pressing his mouth all over Paul- licking him, and taking his sweet time."Fuck. God, John-" Paul's breath hitched, feeling himself coming completely undone. "Yes, god- I'm yours." He mumbled, fingers twisting into John's hair, pulling him down, harder: John had taken him, halfway, into his mouth."Fuck, John-" Paul whimpered, overcome now by ecstasy, his head flying back as John only continued to please him. "Oh, god- keep going, fuck-"John pulled his mouth back briefly, only to mutter, "You like that?"Paul nearly smiled, though completely pissed with John for pulling away like that. So he took initiative, grabbing ahold of John's hair, pulling him back down again.This time, John took him completely in his mouth- and Paul nearly lost his fucking mind when he felt his tip ram against the back of John's throat."JOHN! Oh my god-" Paul gasped, instinctively pulling John closer, wanting him nearer, if it were even humanly possible.John kept his lips wrapped around Paul, making those eyes up at him all the while as he bobbed his head up and down- moaning softly as Paul pushed himself into John's mouth, with thrusts growing quickly more exhausted."I'm close, John." Paul whispered, leaning back onto the bed, his eyes fluttering closed. "Fuck-"With a final, dramatic gasp, Paul finished inside of John's mouth- his eyes popping open to stare down at him.John took every last bit- swallowed smoothly, and even stared up at Paul as he did."Jesus," Paul mumbled, closing his eyes as he fell back onto the bed, stretching out- flexing the muscles of his still-naked body, simply for John's viewing pleasure.John took several, slow moments to stand: still clothed, as he stared down at Paul."Fuckin' hell." John drawled, his eyes alight as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.Paul smirked, rather enjoying the affect he had on John. "Now, you." Paul mumbled, his eyes fluttering open ever-so-slightly. His gaze flicked between John and the space between his own thighs- his voice heavy, laden with desire: "Your turn."John's brows flicked up with amusement, "As you wish." He mumbled, joining Paul on the bed- sitting up on his knees, between Paul's legs.Paul looked up at John, his head propped-up on a pillow, watching intensely as John unbuttoned his shirt. John discarded it, the same way he'd done with Paul's: with a careless sling over his shoulder."Oh," Paul mumbled, his head tilted up at John: simply enamored, entranced by everything about him."Oh?" John muttered with a chuckle, leaning down to press a quick kiss against Paul's lips, "Now, what's got you sighin' like that, love?"After a moment's thought, Paul replied: "You." He wrapped his arms around John's neck, pulling John's body down against his own- kissing him hard. "You, John." He mumbled against John's lips, before they came crashing down on his own, again- with John pressing Paul's body against the mattress as they kissed.John pulled away, soon after, though, in order to smilingly, swiftly undo his own trousers.He fumbled slightly with the buttons, giving an adorably apologetic grin up at Paul, "Sorry."Paul sat up against the pillows, allowing his legs to open wider as he muttered, "You're such a fuckin' tease."Finally, John had freed his legs of the constraining fabric, tossing his balled-up pants to the side, where all their other discarded clothes had amassed.John leaned over Paul, pressing kisses from his mouth to his jawline, "You love that, though- don't you." He mumbled, in regards to Paul's last comment about him being a tease."Mhm," Paul nodded, pulling John down again, his head flying back onto the pillow when John's mouth worked its way down to Paul's neck. Paul's eyes closed, eliciting soft gasps from his opened mouth when John began thrusting his body against Paul's- with John, unfortunately, still clad in his boxers- with John's mouth still on Paul's neck. "Take them- take them off, John."John pulled away, nodding, and did just as Paul asked- tossing away his underwear, with both men, now, fully unclothed. Paul couldn't quite help but stare at the sight- couldn't help but imagine every inch of John inside of him.John leaned over Paul, placing a kiss against Paul's mouth before mumbling, "Do you... d'ye want me to...?""Yes." Paul breathed, his fingers wound again through John's hair, spreading his legs open wider, as if instinctually.Paul could tell that John was trying earnestly not to smile as he pulled away, back onto his knees. "Lift your hips for me, Paul." He whispered, leaning closer, "Just... just a little bit."Paul nodded wordlessly, laying further against the pillows, so that one of them was practically beneath his back. "Is this... is this all right?""My god- yes." John mumbled, inching himself closer, closer. "It's more than all right."Paul smiled, slightly, having found the most optimal position: comfortable, while still being able to stare at John's face.There was a hint of apprehension in John's dark gaze- but frankly, it put Paul at ease, because he was quite nervous, too.
Neither of us have ever done this, before.

And what a beautiful thing it is.
"I'll be gentle, Paul." John mumbled, having at last aligned himself: Paul could feel the ghost of John's touch on his body.Paul's breathing hitched as he smiled again. He kept eye-contact with John, simply staring at him as he muttered, "Don't be- please."John hesitated, his brows furrowing lightly, "Are you sure?" His hand cupped the side of Paul's face, "I'd hate to hurt you."Paul shook his head, placing his hand over John's, staring up at John with those doe eyes of his, "I can take you," he muttered, "I want it- now, John."John's eyes lit up- the hesitance melting slowly, as he smiled. "What do you want?" He asked, pressing himself against Paul, tauntingly. "Tell me what you want, Paul."Paul's breath grew heavier still as he muttered in reply, "You... in me."John gave a pleased sigh, pushing himself inside of Paul- eliciting a moan from Paul when he felt his skin being stretched."Oh, god-" Paul gasped, curling his fingers around the bed sheets at this entirely new sensation. "God, John-""Fuck," John mumbled, pushing himself further- pausing only to mutter, with a glance up into Paul's eyes, "Is this all right?""Yes-" Paul nodded hastily, his breath catching in his throat, "God, yes."John nodded, too- pushing himself fully in, to which Paul nearly screamed out in pleasure."John, I can't-" Paul sputtered, ecstasy pumping through his veins more than it ever had, before. "Oh my god, John-""Let me hear you, baby." John mumbled, pulling himself in and out- and over, and over, and over again- "Fuck- hold on to me, Paul."Paul didn't need to be told, twice: his fingers, previously curled around the sheets, were now clutching onto John's back- nails digging into the skin with each thrust.With each, too- Paul screamed John's name, his entire body rising and falling in time with his heavy breaths. And though Paul truly hadn't expected anything less, John lasted for a long while- minutes, probably, of those beautifully skillful thrusts into Paul's body- before he showed even remote signs of finishing."Fuck." John swore, madly- his movements becoming hurried, more desperate with every passing moment. "God, Paul, fuck- I'm close."Paul took in the sight of John: the beautifully naked figure of him, glistening with the beads of sweat, defined with the dim moonlight."Fuck-" John panted, "Paul, d'ye want me to-""No. Don't pull out- I want you." Paul assured him, shuddering- his fingers digging further into John's shoulder blades, his own back arching against the pillows."Oh, god-" John came, then: filling Paul with this indescribable sensation of warmth.Paul's head flung back onto the pillow, his eyes squeezed tight, watering. His mouth had come open, gasping loudly at this final, incredible feeling.John pulled out, and Paul simply laid there: his chest rising and falling, still: trying to catch his breath. He chuckled to himself, slightly- having enjoyed every single moment.John crawled up to Paul, leaning over him and asking: "Was it all right for you?"Paul's eyes fluttered open. He stared up at John, smiling slightly. "Yes, John." He muttered, his gaze flicking between John's eyes and his mouth, "And, for you...?"John smiled down at him, leaning down to kiss Paul before mumbling, "It was the single greatest thing that I've ever fuckin' done."Paul pulled him down, kissing him passionately- smiling against his lips.You'll regret this, Paul- came the voice in the back of his mind.
You've made a terrible mistake, you have.
John pulled away, and his eyes scanned over Paul's face in the moment of silence. He probably sensed Paul's sudden realization, that the two of them, being who they are, with their great reputations- had slept together."Paul, I... y'know, we shoul' probably talk-"John was quickly interrupted by Paul's lips on his.Paul didn't want to hear whatever John was about to say. He didn't want to think about the consequences for what they'd done; he didn't want to think about tomorrow.
He simply needed this moment.
"Don't... don't say a word." Paul mumbled, shaking his head, "Please, John, just... let me have this."John looked rather hesitant. But he couldn't, in his right mind, deny Paul what he so desperately needed.It seemed like an eternity had passed before John muttered in reply, "All right," nodding: giving in. "Okay."Paul smiled: thankful, more than ever, for this moment- for this man.With that, Paul pulled John on top of him, again: kissing his lips, with the hope that all this wasn't just some great dream.With the hope that tomorrow might never come: that the sun might not rise, that he might never need to leave the embrace of John, that he could ignore the rest of the world- ignore the consequences that might come from what they've just done.That he could lie here, in this beautiful place- until the end of his days.
This is it, John.

You are all I need.
    
(A/N: Sorry if anyone was caught off-guard by the smut- I was going to write a note at the beginning of the chapter to warn about an upcoming sex scene, but I didn't want to spoil the surprise! I hope you enjoyed reading the scene, regardless- and to read at your own discretion if you dislike the inclusion of adult scenes- because there will be more mature scenes in future chapters throughout this book! As always, thank you for your support!)

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“... well, I’ll spare you the details, Michael.” Paul had spoken, with a wistful smile up at the ceiling. There had been a long moment of silence before Paul added, “... but, yes: that night in India, John and I slept together.”Michael’s mouth drops open, his eyes wide as saucers: “I knew it.” He mumbles, with a slight chuckle- “I knew it- I mean, it had been building up to tha’ point for a while, there- hadn’t it?”Paul lowers his head, too- still blushing slightly. “Ah- yeah. It had.” He smiles, looking up at Michael, “But it wasn’t until it was happening tha’ I realized… y’know, I realized just how much I wanted it.”“Oh, right.” Michael nods, a slight, amused smile upon his lips, “So, you slept with John on the twenty-fourth, only for you and Jane to leave India two days later- and your relationship with John seemed to have irrevocably changed.” He looks up from his notepad, his eyebrows furrowed, “So… what happened?”
“Well,” Paul sighs, staring off into the distance as he gathered his thoughts, “The thing you need to remember abou’ tha’, Michael, is tha’... y’know, it was still only 1968.” He meets Michael’s eyes, as he goes on: “And, y’know- in those days, it was unheard of for two men to be involved sexually with one another. It was… shameful, it was… wrong.”
Michael’s voice is soft as he asks, “Did you believe that it was wrong?”Paul heaves a great sigh, propping one leg over the other. After a long while of silence, he replies, “In the moment, when… when John and I were in bed-” He presses his lips closed, thoughtfully. “It didn’t… it didn’t feel as though we were doing something wrong.” He pauses again, and says: “In fact, it felt like...” He lowers his head in a bashful chuckle.
“Felt like, what…?” Michael prompts him, the corners of his lips turned slightly up.
“Oh, god- it sounds so… so stupid.” Paul chuckles again, but continues, anyway: “But… not only did it not feel... wrong-” Paul says, his eyes wide, “- it felt so… right.” He pauses to chuckle, close-lipped, as he looks down at the ground. “As if it were the most right, and… genuine thing tha’ I’ve ever done.”Paul stares away for several, silent moments. Then, he mumbles: “But, the next morning… I was horrified.” Paul swallows loudly, shaking his head. “Horrified abou’ what we’d done, together- John and I- and… I vividly remember wakin’ up, and looking down-” Paul drops his hands into his lap, and he softly speaks: “Lookin’ down, and, there he was layin’: still asleep, still… unclothed. Layin’ there, beneath the sheets of my bed- with his hair all messed-up, y’know.”Paul smiles softly, fondly- while picturing John and his messed- up hair. “The morning sun came through the blinds, and fell upon him perfectly. He had this… look abou’ him- so… peaceful. So, I didn’t wake him.” Paul looks up at Michael, nodding, biting down on his lip. “I just looked at ‘im for a long while.” He pauses again, as if untrusting his voice not to break, “And… and I decided, y’know: I thought, ‘...I can’t do this’.”Michael’s eyes widen. “You were… guilty, I’m assuming?”“Oh, terribly.” Paul nods, “Terribly guilty: ‘cause, y’know, this wasn’t jus’ any other affair: it was… not only sexual, but an emotional affair, obviously- because, y’know… John was… my best friend.” Paul takes a long, deep breath. “But…”
Paul shakes his head, lowering his gaze to his shoes. Michael allows him to have this moment of silence.

When Paul finally looks up, his eyes are welling with tears. “But… he wasn’t a woman.” He purses his lips to keep from crying. “We were both men. And I… I jus’ couldn’t be gay.”

Michael tilts his head, his eyebrows furrowing with sympathy, “So… what did you do?”

Paul blinks up at the ceiling: blinking away those tears that, otherwise, would have fallen. “Ehm…” He mumbles, folding his hands in his lap, “Well, I s’pose I… did the only thing I could possibly conceive of.” He sighs, almost smiling, as he looks up into Michael’s eyes. “I looked at John for a few moments longer.

“I kissed him on the mouth, knowin’ tha’... it’d quite possibly be the last time I’d ever do so.

“And, ehm.” Paul dabs at his eyes, sniffling- composing himself, and concluding: “And I stood up. I got dressed. And then… I left the room, left John to wake up, alone- as if I had never been there.

“As if it had never even happened, at all.”
___________________________________________After promptly leaving his room, Paul wandered out into the ashram- only to find that the girls had returned, and that the day was unpleasantly humid. (He normally wouldn’t have minded the heat, all that much- but upon looking himself over in the mirror that morning, Paul had come to realize that half a dozen bruises had formed down his neck and collarbone- and had decided to wear a turtleneck, in order to hide the marks.)He met the others in the dining hall for breakfast. He realized, upon entering, that he was the last person to arrive- save for, of course, John- who Paul had left, asleep, alone in his room.Jane had been saving a seat for Paul, smiling when he entered. “Morning, love!” She stood, greeting him with a kiss when he’d come to his seat.“Hello, Janie.” He replied, with a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.He couldn’t hardly focus on her while his mind was weighing so heavily on what had happened the night before.Jane eyed him as he sat- though she didn’t say anything about his undeniably suspicious behavior. Instead, she asked lightly, “How… how were you, last night?”Paul looked up from his plate of curry, his stomach nearly dropping to his shoes, his mouth dry as cotton: wondering, worrying that perhaps someone might’ve seen- or heard- what he and John had done, and had told Jane.His jaw tightened as he glanced around the table at George, Mike, Donovan- and, too, at Pattie, Cynthia, and the girls- all of whom were listening to him, as if they knew that something had happened.Doing his best to appear unfazed, Paul gave a shrug, chewing evasively- and spoke as casually as he could. “‘T’was fine, I s’pose.” He looked up from his plate, giving Jane a nod, “I’m glad tha’ you’re back, though.”Jane’s gaze softened, her resolve melting away as she replied, “Me, too.”Turning back to his plate, Paul was so completely relieved- relieved that he was as great a liar as he was, relieved that Jane was naive as she was, and, most importantly: that no one had any idea of what had happened last night.
Perfect.
Breakfast went on, as normal- the soft speaking across the table, in-between the red hibiscus bouquets in a row of vases down the center of the table. And though Jane did seem slightly wary of Paul’s quietness, she made no mention of it, at that time.“Where, ehm...” Cynthia spoke, after several minutes had gone by, in-between bites of the fresh fruit they’d been served with their curry, “Where’s John? I feel like he really should be awake, by now.”Oh, god. Paul’s foot began tapping nervously against the ground, hoping that he wouldn’t get found-out by such a simple question.“Mhm, right.” Jane mumbled with a nod, nudging Paul to ask, “‘ave you seen ‘im at all, today, Paul?”“What?” Paul muttered distractedly, looking up from his plate in a dumbfounded daze, “Ehm- no, no, I… John? No, I ‘aven’t seen ‘im since yesterday. No idea where he’s gone.”Out of the corner of his eye, Jane and Cynthia exchanged questioning, amused glances- probably not suspicious of Paul, but at least slightly skeptical.George, on the other hand, stared at Paul from across the table, silently: his eyebrows furrowed, his dark eyes narrowing with know.
Oh, lord- George might be catching on.
Paul, looking up at George, gave him a slight shake of his head- discouraging George for thinking whatever he was thinking- to which George’s eyes simply widened incredulously, and then looked away.“Hm.” Cynthia mumbled, her lips pursed tightly together, “Well, I don’t know-”And then, as if on-cue, John ambled into the dining hall- in the same clothes as he’d worn yesterday, though wrinkled slightly from having been crumpled in a pile all night.“Oh, good, John- there you are.” Cynthia mused smilingly, fixing up the placemat beside her own for John to use, “I’ve saved you a seat, right here-”John had stopped walking in the doorway. He didn’t look at Cynthia- nor did he even appear to have heard her. His eyes were fixed on Paul.Slowly, Paul’s eyes trailed up from his food, in order to meet John’s gaze.John looked dazed, confused: possibly hurt, but more likely, just in want: of an explanation, of another night like the last- of a simple confirmation that Paul didn’t regret what they’d so spontaneously done.
A confirmation that Paul was unable to give.
Paul tore his eyes from John’s after only a second or two- finding it incredibly painful and uncomfortable to meet John’s gaze.Upon feeling such discomfort, upon finding himself unable to maintain the stare of his best friend, which had, only days ago, been the stare he most desperately craved more than anything else- Paul came to the realization.We really have fucked up.
I should’ve never allowed for us to cross that line.
The relationship between John and I has been practically ruined: and it is all my fault.“Oh, ehm- thanks, Cyn.” John mumbled, taking his place beside his wife and tucking into his food, in the same way that Paul had: trying, so earnestly, to appear as if nothing had happened.Staring down at the white tablecloth, Paul had completely zoned-out: ignoring whatever vacuous, polite conversation was being exchanged, and silently wallowing in his own despair.After several moments of Jane staring pointedly at him (Paul had noticed this from the corner of his eye, but hadn’t wished to engage with her in the slightest) she nudged against his shoulder, “Are you all right, love?”“What?” Paul mumbled, blinking. He turned to look at Jane, allowing his vision to unblur. “Yes. I’m fine.”Jane’s eyebrows furrowed as she stared at him, gently cupping Paul’s face in her hand as she replied, “Your face is all red. Perhaps you’re getting ill.”It was so incredibly awkward: with everyone at the table going silent, in order to listen to this exchange.“No, I’m fine, Jane.” Paul muttered, feeling himself only blushing more, as that feeling of discomfort coursed through his veins, to his entire body: he wasn’t ill. It was all to do with John.“Maybe you should go lie down, Paul.” Cynthia replied, looking equally concerned- with John sat, silently beside her- looking as if he could curl up and die, right there.“I’m just hot.” Paul retorted, shaking his head adamantly. “I’m not fuckin’ ill.”Jane turned away from Paul: she’d never liked facing him when he was upset. Confused glances were exchanged all around the table- with wide eyes, surprised by Paul’s sudden, defensive tone.“I’m just hot.” Paul repeated, much calmer than he’d been, before. He didn’t want the others to think that he’d gone mad.“Right.” Jane breathed, reaching for Paul’s hand beneath the table, lacing her fingers with his. It was only a moment before she pulled her hand away, again- because she was not met with any response from Paul in the slightest.She knew, then, that she truly was losing him.___________________________________________The rest of the day was, relatively, the same.The meditations were quiet. Not many words were exchanged- and none at all between Paul and John.For practically the entire day, John wandered around, as if he were lost: trying desperately to make eye-contact with Paul.And Paul, though fully aware of what John was trying to do, purposefully kept his gaze glued elsewhere- anywhere, so long as he wasn’t looking at John.He couldn’t quite bring himself to look John in the eye. He wished that he didn't feel so awkward, but Paul knew that if he met John’s gaze, they'd both simply freeze and go silent.Still, John persisted, all throughout the day. He would place himself near Paul at every given opportunity, he kept on staring at him- even from across the room.But Paul refused to give in: he remained as stubborn and ornery as ever, and dismissed his own demeanor as being due to the heat.All this carried on into the evening, when, typically, Paul, John, and George would sit out on the concrete steps and write music- but no such thing happened, as Paul was practically silent, staring distractedly into the distance. John was staring at Paul, waiting for the latter to finally meet his eyes- and George was left in the middle of it all, his cynical gaze flicking between the two men- as he was beginning to realize that something truly catastrophic had happened between them.After the final meditation of the day, Paul practically sprang from his spot on the bench, mumbling, “I’m going to bed, now.”Jane stared up at him, “Oh- ehm, all right, then. I s’pose… I s’pose I will too.”Somehow, Paul managed to contain his annoyed sigh as everyone else around the circle stood, too, taking after Paul and going to bed early.Paul walked ahead of the others, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his flared trousers, simply wanting to get away from everything- wishing that he might be left alone, for once. He walked along the dirt path, heading to the bungalow, with Jane, Cynthia, and presumably, John in tow (it was hard to tell- Paul still hadn’t looked at him since the morning).And then, Paul felt an arm brush against his own- and a soft voice mumbled, “Hey.”He looked over, met with- of course- John, with those dark, shining eyes of his. Even after only less than one day- Paul had missed those eyes.“Hey.” Paul muttered, as John fell into step beside him- taking several moments to relish in that charged, earnest gaze. And though it was rather awkward, Paul felt a significant weight lifting from his shoulders, realizing that he and John could still speak to each other.“So, ehm…” John mumbled as they walked along, careful not to walk too close to Paul- as their wives were walking only several paces behind them. “Listen, Paul. I really think we should talk about… everything.”Paul stopped walking. John stopped, too, looking taken slightly aback by Paul coming to a sudden halt like that.“Wanna take a walk?” Paul asked abruptly, almost unable to control himself- taking this moment of boldness, and speaking- before he would have a chance to lapse into awkward silence again. “Y’know… with me?”John raised his eyebrows, asking, “Alone?” just as the girls approached them.Jane and Cynthia exchanged concerned glances- wondering why the hell the two men hadn’t spoken for the entire day, and why, suddenly, they needed to talk, now.“Ehm- what?” Jane interjected, quite confused, as she stepped up beside Paul.“Yes,” Paul replied with a nod of his head, without prying his eyes away from John. “Alone,” He didn’t even acknowledge Jane- he had barely even heard her.“What’s this, now, John?” Cynthia asked, looping her arm through John’s, staring up at him.“Oh, ehm- nothin’ to worry abou’, Cyn.” John replied cooly, slipping his arm out of his wife's, and placing a quick kiss on her cheek. “Paul an’ I are jus’ goin’ for a walk, is all.”“I thought…” Jane mumbled, looking up at Paul, shaking her head, still thoroughly lost. “I thought tha’ you were goin’ to bed.”“We’ll only be a few minutes.” John interjected, stepping away from Cynthia, and over to Paul, giving Jane the most sincere voice he could muster, “It’s a… work conference, y’know. It really can’t wait until morning.”The girls simply stared at Paul and John, completely and utterly confused. “All right.” Cynthia replied with a sigh, pulling Jane along by the arm to the bungalow. “Don’t stay out too late, now, boys.”With that, Jane and Cyn had gone- gone, too, was everyone else in the ashram, already to bed- leaving Paul and John to stand alone, in the garden.Paul took several deep breaths- inhaling the cooling air of the night. There were hardly any clouds in the sky- in their place were millions and millions of stars- and all around them, tropical birds sang their nighttime lullabies.Paul couldn’t force his eyes away from sky- he’d become awkward, again. He had no desire at all to look down at John- nor to address what had happened, the night before.
I can still pretend that it had all been some fantastic dream.
“Paul.” Came the voice of John, from far away- Paul had gotten lost in the sky.
Please, lord- let it all have been a dream.

“Paul.”
I can’t look at him. I simply can not look into those eyes.Beside him, back on earth, Paul heard John heave a great sigh. He still couldn’t quite look at John: no matter how much he consoled himself.A minute or so had passed by- Paul wasn’t quite sure how long it had been, frankly- before, while Paul was still staring up into space, he felt a hand graze the side of his face.“Hold still.” John muttered, placing a red hibiscus flower that he’d just plucked from a low-hanging tree bow behind Paul’s ear.His chin tilted up, still, at the sky, Paul let his eyes flutter closed. He couldn’t bear to keep them open while John was fixing that flower behind his ear.Breathing softly, relishing in John’s gentle touch- Paul closed his eyes tighter, knowing certainly that tears were forming behind his reddened eyelids.
It’s just like Mum used to do.
John’s hands pulled away from the flower- and, before Paul could open his eyes, John placed his lips against the corner of Paul’s mouth- kissing him, softly.Paul breathed deeply, again. He knew, now- beyond a shadow of a doubt- that last night really had happened, exactly as he’d remembered it.“John.” Paul muttered, his eyes still tightly closed, shaking his head. Feeling John’s body pull away from his, Paul finally opened his eyes.Glancing once, back at the bungalow- and ensuring that they really were alone, John gave a little nod in the opposite direction, ushering Paul to follow.Paul, though practically tongue-tied, followed John further into the garden- taking slow steps, perfectly in time with John’s.“John, listen-”“I know what you’re going to say, Paul.” John muttered, running a hand through his hair, with a little laughing sigh. “Ever since I woke up this mornin’ to you, gone- I knew.”“John, listen.” Paul replied, “I… I’m sorry that I left like that. But I…” He shook his head, coming to a halt on the dirt path and staring at John, “God, John- after last night, I’ve felt so fuckin’ guilty.”John stopped, too- several paces ahead of Paul, on the dirt path. “Why?” He asked, his eyebrows scrunched together, “You’ve never felt guilty abou’ any other affair you’ve ever had.”“What?” Paul muttered incredulously, “Because, John- it doesn’t take a genius to understand that this- we- aren’t like ‘any other affair.’”“But… why?” John asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “What’s so different about what we have, Paul?” He pauses, looking almost insulted. “Is it the fact that we’ve been best friends since we were fifteen? Is that it?”Paul opened his mouth- finding himself unable to speak- only able to give an exasperated shrug.No, John- we both know that that isn’t it.“Or,” John gave him a little nod, “Is it… is it because we’re both men?”Paul, feeling as though he might burst into tears, gave another shrug.John’s eyes widened. “Oh.” He nodded, going quiet- speaking much softer than before, “So… that’s why, isn’t it.”Paul swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to reply with the simple, yes, that had formulated on the tip of his tongue.“I… I don’t understand you, Paul.” John muttered, shaking his head, “Why would you… I mean, you and I slept together.” He takes another step back, running a hand through his hair, “Why… why did you?”“Because… I wanted to, John.” Paul replied, finally finding his voice, “I felt… I felt that it was the right thing to do, in the moment. I didn’t consider that… y’know, that it might ‘ave these sorts of ramifications, like this.”“You didn’t consider that, huh.” John replied, breathing out an incredulous breath, “Well, perhaps you should’ve, Paul- because-”John turned away for a moment, composing himself. When he turned back to face Paul, his eyes were alight. “Because, goddamnit, Paul- I’ve been in love with you ever since I first saw you.”
Oh.
The entire world seemed to have stopped spinning, and Paul could barely process what John had just said.
“I’ve been in love with you ever since I first saw you.”
Paul shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed; he took a small step back. “No.”
No. He can’t possibly be saying this.
“No.” Paul muttered, again, his head lowered as he pushed past John, walking further down the path- away from him."Paul, please.” John yelled after him, with hurried strides, following Paul down the path. “Please- there’s no sense in hiding it, anymore, Paul!”“No.” Paul kept repeating, squeezing his eyes tightly closed, as he kept walking- only for John to keep following him.“C’mon, Paul- you need to hear me out-”“No, John-”“I have loved you ever since I first saw you, at Woolton!” John cried out, having finally come to a halt on the path beside Paul. “And I’ve kept my love hidden away, for all these years- and I waited. I was patient, hoping that perhaps my feelings for you would die out, eventually-”“John, stop it-”“And I thought, maybe, that I would get over it- with you, finally gettin’ engaged- but you kept right along, returning my advances, and then- you slept with me.”“I know that I shouldn’t have, John, and I’m sorry-”“And… well, I’ve accepted it, now, Paul.” John’s hurried speech grew slow and quiet. “I’ve accepted that I’m in love with a man- I’m in love with someone that the world has forbidden me from loving, but fuck- I’m in love with him, anyway.“I’ve accepted that I’m in love with you.”“John.” Paul lowered his head, feeling embarrassed- ashamed- for ever allowing their affair to happen. “You… you know that we can’t.”“All that I want from you, Paul-” John said, taking a cautious step, closer- “-is to know if you feel the same way about me.” Paul met John’s eyes- that dark, intense gaze. “Or if all tha' we’ve done has just been… for nothing.”Paul stared into John’s eyes for several long, silent moments.And, in those moments, Paul finally admitted to himself what he’d been denying for all these years.
Yes.
“I do,” Paul whispered, his eyes glittering, “I do love you, John.”John stared at him, then- having probably not been expecting to hear such a thing.“You know that I do.” Paul continued, in a soft, small voice, “That’s why we had sex. Because I reached that same breaking point as you- and I simply couldn’t control myself, any longer.”John’s face lit up, slightly. “So… let’s be together, Paul.”“It isn’t that simple,” Paul replied, shaking his head, “We can’t simply… be together, John- you know that we can’t.”“But we can.” John insisted, pleading with his eyes, reaching out to hold Paul’s hand, “We can, if we try.”“No, John.” Paul pulled his hand away, “Don’t you understand?! We can’t be doing this, John- and I know, I was wrong for sleeping with you- I gave you false hope that, perhaps, we really could be together.”“Well, can’t we?”“You know as well as I do that being who we are- with our great… reputations- we could never be together.” Paul’s speech grew hurried, desperate- pleading with John to understand him. “And I’m sorry if I… y’know, if I’ve led you on-”“But you don’t have to, if you say yes!” John replied, shaking his head, adamantly- trying everything to make this work. “Say yes- and we could be happy together, Paul!”“No, we can’t, John!” Paul retorted, as those tears clinging to the ducts of his eyes began falling down his cheeks. “Not in this lifetime. Not in a world, like this one, where our love is strictly forbidden-”“Oh, I see.” John took a step away, looking completely hurt. “You’re just going to… to let the world tell you what’s right and wrong?” He stared at Paul for several seconds- his own tears beginning to slip gently down his porcelain face.Paul opened his mouth- letting out an empty, incredulous breath- with an exasperated shrug, as if to say, yes. Yes, I am.Several moments had passed of John simply staring at Paul- with his eyebrows furrowing, as John came to the realization, “And you believe them- don’t you.”You believe that our love is wrong. That was what John was insinuating: to which Paul was utterly defenseless.
Because John was right.
“John.” Paul muttered, as more and more tears began falling from his face. “I- just…” He shook his head, using his sleeve to wipe the wetness from his cheeks. “John, please don’t tell anyone about what we did.”John’s mouth fell open, his bottom lip quivering, “Oh, my god.” His eyes narrowed, almost accusingly, as he mumbled, “You really are just like the rest of them.” He shook his head, chuckling sarcastically, “And here I was, thinking that, perhaps, we had something- when you can’t even accept yourself.”“Stop this. Stop it, right now, John!” Paul yelled, feeling himself growing impatient, and more furious with every moment. “Stop acting like you know everythin' abou’ me. You don’t have any fucking clue.”“Oh, right.” John nodded, clearly patronizing him, “‘Cause, y’know- after spending our entire lives being best friends with each other- you’re right. I don’t know anything about you.” John’s voice grew softer as he took a careful step forward. “I only know that one day, Paul- you’ll realize that you can’t hide from who you truly are, anymore. You’ll realize that I was right.”Paul shook his head, “No. No, I’m not the one who’s wrong about this. And… and don’t…” He jabs his finger at his own chest, “Don’t blame me for being the one who wants to preserve the lives tha’ we’ve built for ourselves- for being the realistic one- who won’t allow us to throw away our careers for some… affair.”“Okay.” John blew out the breath he’d been holding, nodding, as he finally accepted his fate. “So, then… that’s it?”“Yes,” Paul mumbled, wiping at his eyes, “Yes, John- that’s it.” He blows out a breath, and then says: “I think… the two of us could use some time apart.”John lowered his head in a hopeless little sigh. “... and, may I ask why?”Paul’s shoulders rose in a great, dramatic shrug. “Well…” He sighed, almost smilingly. “Clearly, we can’t be trusted around each other, given what ‘appened last night.” He paused thoughtfully, gathering his thoughts as he stared down at the dirt path below their feet, “... and, frankly- I don’t doubt that we’d only fall more in love with each other, given more time.”The corners of John’s lips raised in an agreeing grin, “Yes, you’re… right abou’ tha’, I s’pose.”Paul nodded, “And… that can’t happen.” He sucked in a breath, meeting John’s eyes again, in order to say: “I’ll be leaving first thing tomorrow morning.”John’s eyes were like pools- deep and glistening, with an undeniable sadness about them that tugged on Paul’s heartstrings. “Fine,” John muttered, shaking his head, “Then, go.”Paul stared at him for a moment- drinking in the sight of him, for one last time. “I will.” He nodded, reaching up behind his ear- holding the red hibiscus flower between his fingertips as he gave John one last look. “I’ll… see you in a few weeks, John.”John said nothing in return- only looking more heartbroken than Paul had ever seen him, before.Nevertheless, he watched in silence as Paul turned on his heel- leaving him out there, alone, in the garden- honestly expecting Paul to throw that fucking flower into the dirt and stomp on it.
But, no.
Paul walked away, with slow, painfully heavy footfalls- staring down at that red blossom in his hand all the while, his vision blurring with tears.
Come on, John- stop me.
Paul twisted the flower between his fingers, as he walked on- as his tears started falling.
Don’t let me leave like this, John.

Tell me that you want me to stay.
Paul pressed the fabric of his shirt sleeve against his mouth to stifle his sob.
Tell me to stay.

I would turn around, right now- and I would stay, if you asked me to.

For you, John Lennon.

Please.

Make me stay.
But John said not a word, and Paul walked on- out of the garden, out of that horrible, beautiful garden- without turning back.Paul walked on- with that flower John had given him, still clutched tightly in his palm.And John watched him walk- watched him walk further and further away, until Paul was but a spec on the horizon.
I only know that one day, Paul- you’ll realize that you can’t hide from who you truly are, anymore.
Both hearts had grown indescribably heavy: knowing that everything, everything had changed- that nothing would ever be the same, again.One day, Paul- you’ll realize that I was right.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“... the very next day, Jane and I flew out of Delhi- to go home.” Paul shakes his head solemnly. “I just knew tha’... y’know, tha’ John and I needed some time apart.” He lowers his head in an embarrassed chuckle, “And I thought tha’ given enough time- perhaps things might return to normal.“Obviously… my prospects weren’t lookin’ good. But I held out hope, nonetheless- hope tha’ John an' I might move past our affair and simply be… friends, again.”“Right,” Michael replies with a soft nod of his head, “So… what exactly was going through your mind, at the moment?”“Well,” Paul cocks his head to the side, smiling slightly, “I didn’t get the chance to say everythin’ tha’ I’d wanted to say to John. But, ehm…” He bites down on his lip thoughtfully. “I s’pose it was all to do with my own apprehension, because, y'know… yes- I really did love him- but I worried too much abou’ what my reputation might become, if news got around that… y’know, tha’ I was in a gay relationship.“An’ I s'pose it goes without sayin' tha' I had this- this internalized homophobia, I s’pose.” Paul adds, quietly, with another nod- “... I couldn’t admit to myself tha’ perhaps- I was in love with a man. I jus’ couldn’t accept that.”“I see,” Michael mumbles, leaning back against his chair, and saying: “So. You… you went home.”“Heh- tha’s right.” Paul mutters smilingly. “The next mornin’- I claimed to leave for… what was it…? Oh, yes- ‘business concerns’.” Paul adds air-quotes, for emphasis. “Obviously- there were no such business concerns to speak of. But tha’ was what I told Maharishi an’ everyone else- except for John. By the time I left the ashram, he hadn’t yet woken up.”“Oh,” Michael’s expression falls slightly. “I s’pose that was quite a shame- wasn’t it? No chance to give John a last goodbye…”“Well, I mean- y’know- I really jus’ wanted to get away from him, if I’m bein’ frank.” Paul says, sitting himself up against the arm of the couch, “An’ it wasn’t as if I suddenly… hated him. No." Paul shakes his head adamantly. “No, I didn’t hate him- in fact, quite the opposite- I was simply so… in love with him tha’ it was hard to be near 'im, while I couldn’t even act on my feelings, y’know.”“Right.” Michael nods, “So- you went home. With Jane, I’m presuming-”Paul lowers his head into another chuckle. “Well, ehm- you see, after we left India, all hell seemed to break loose, y’know- an’ we all started goin’... crazy.“Jane immediately got into acting, again- and while she was away, I had a dozen or so affairs tha’ I thought would be kept under wraps.” Paul waves an airy hand, “Y’know- all with various actresses- none of whom I fancied very much, at all- but I felt, after what ‘ad ‘appened with John, y’know- I felt tha’ I needed an escape.”
“Hm,” Michael hums, nodding.
“And, y’know- it was only three weeks after I left tha’ George and John came home, too- after those rumors abou’ Maharishi bein’... perverted came abou’.” Paul shrugs. “And from what I gathered, George didn’t really want to leave- but John ‘ad wanted to get out of there for a while.” Paul tilted his head, chuckling slightly, “And, y’know- I couldn't help but wonder if my leaving had been the reason tha’ John became so eager abou’ leavin’, too.”“Right, right-” Michael lifts his pen from his notepad, asking, “So, then- upon the entire band havin’ returned to London- was there any… tension between you all, so to speak?”“Well, y’know,” Paul chuckles lightly, “I didn’ actually see John after ‘e got back. We didn’t… we didn’t reach out to each other, or anythin’. I did see George and Rich, though- and we talked, y’know- but I think we could all tell tha’ our dynamics ‘ad slightly changed, since India.”“I see,” Michael mutters, “And where was John in the middle of this ordeal?”“Well-” Paul smiles, slightly. “It was the middle o’ April- an’ I though’ that perhaps John would ‘ave gotten over our affair, by then.” He tilts his head, his eyes wide with amusement, “But… of course, I couldn’t ‘ave been more wrong.”___________________________________________The middle of April, 1968: during which, Paul spent most of his time home alone at Cavendish, with Jane away- acting.The all-too-familiar ringing of the phone down the hallway startled Paul from where he had perched on a stool in the kitchen, and he scrambled to answer it- despite the last five calls being for drawling, agitating (though legitimate, this time) business concerns.“H’llo?” He asked, after picking up the mouth piece, and listening intently for a reply. His breathing hitched, because, though he’d never admit such a thing, he’d almost hoped that it was John on the other end of the line. He hoped that John was calling: offering, perhaps, an apology- for what, Paul didn’t quite know- but at the very least, reconciliation.Reassurance that, yes: after all that’s happened between us, we’re still best friends.Or, even, just friends.The particulars of it didn’t matter much in Paul’s mind, anymore.Unfortunately, though, the voice on the other end of the line wasn’t that of John’s.“Hey, McCartney- it’s Pete. Pete Shotton.”The voice of his and John’s childhood friend brought a truly pleased smile to Paul’s face- for the first time in weeks. “Oh- Pete!” Paul replied, sitting up on the table beside the answering machine, “How’ve you been, mate?”“I’ve been a’right!” Pete replied brightly, with a little laugh in-between words. “Busy, y’know- sorry I ‘aven’t called since before you all left for India. We’ve been bogged down with the shit at Apple Boutique- but we can talk abou’ that later.”“Oh, sure.” Paul replied, knowing full-well that the accessory shop opened by the band had proven to be far more work than it was worth. “Yeah, we’ll- ehm, I’ll ‘ave Mr. Aspinall over, later, an’ talk abou’ gettin’ a board meeting set up for the Boutique, Pete. It’s a hell of a lot more difficult ownin’ another business than we thought, y’know.” Paul chuckled lightly, crossing one of his legs over the other, and taking a quick drag from his cigarette. “There’s somethin’ else, then, too?”“I’m afraid there is,” Pete replied with a sigh, “An’ I hate to… y’know, I hate to talk abou’ him behind his back, but… ‘ave you talked to John, recently?”Paul sat up straight on the dresser, swiftly putting out his cigarette and tossing it into the ashtray. “Ehm… John?” He muttered, standing up- as he, and his heart- began quickly pacing. “No, I, ehm… no, I ‘aven’t, Pete. I actually ‘aven’t talked to ‘im since Jane an’ I returned home.”“Huh.” Pete mumbled, at which Paul’s curiosity only heightened.“Why d’ye ask?”“Oh, it’s just… well, I saw ‘im, just a few days ago, in-passing.” Pete replied lightly.“Did you?” Paul asked, his eyes going wide, mumbling, “How… how was ‘e?”“Well, that’s just it, y’know.” Pete replied, through another tired sigh, “He was… awful, quite frankly. We only talked for a moment, but- Christ, I’ve never seen ‘im so humiliated and fucked-up in my life. An’ I’ve known him to be quite fucked-up.”Paul blew out an exasperated breath- running his hand through his hair, as he only continued to pace.
Jesus Christ.
This is my fault- isn’t it.“Oh, shit.” Paul mumbled softly. “Ehm… well, that’s… that’s something.”“I have absolutely no idea what the fuck’s wrong with ‘im.” Pete said, “He jus’ seemed so… I dunno, even- mortified. I only wondered if you knew what was wrong- ‘cause I know tha’ you two are practically inseparable.”“Hm.” Paul mumbled, preparing his most convincing, clueless voice he could possibly muster, “No, ehm- no, Pete, like I said- I ‘avent seen ‘im since I came back to London. ‘aven’t even talked to ‘im, for that matter.” Paul said. “He didn’t… he didn’t tell you abou’ why he’s feelin' so terrible?”“No. He was actually quite dodgy when I asked- got almost angry with me.” Pete sighed again. “He told me tha’ it wasn’t any o’ my business- which is fair enough, I s’pose. But now ‘e’s gone off with Taylor, Aspinall, and that Ono woman to help ‘im rebuild his ego.”Paul took a moment to shake his head, simply seething- knowing full-well that John was likely seeing Yoko, now- since the affair he’d had with Paul had so miserably failed. “God, isn’t that terrific.”“My thoughts, exactly- he’s gotten into drugs an’ alcohol, again, too. He mentioned havin’ an acid trip with the other three, y’know- an’ I jus’ told ‘im, y’know- ‘you have fun with that.’”“My lord.” Paul muttered, practically grinding his teeth. “An’ how’s Cynthia holdin’ up wi’ all o’ his shit?”“She’s… actually, she’s better than you’d expect.” Pete replied, almost chuckling. “After John’s trip, he told ‘er somethin’ abou’ wanting a big family, all o’ the sudden: said, ‘e wants to ‘ave loads of children with her, or some shit.”“Did he really?” Paul replied, barely able to contain his sarcastic laughter. “What a fuckin’ liar.”“Yeah.” Pete mumbled, “I dunno. It’s all rather strange, an’- well, I’ve got no skin in the game, so I figured I might reach out an’ ask. Good to know tha’ you’re as clueless as I am abou’ his whole ordeal.”Paul, smiling sheepishly, replied with a bright, “Yeah! It’s… good to know, Pete.” He took a deep breath, bidding Pete a final goodbye, before placing the phone back into the cradle.
Oh my god.
Paul thought to himself, completely and utterly pissed- pissed that John couldn’t simply accept that his and Paul’s sexual relationship just wasn’t meant to work out.And now- John was completely humiliated and fucked-up, and Paul only had himself to blame for it.I suppose I can’t only blame John.
Because deep down, I know- I’m to blame for this, too.
Paul shook his head, frustrated- almost as humiliated as John.I’m to blame- and this is going to ruin absolutely everything.I need to try and fix this- fix it before somebody else finds out, before the whole world sees the kind of men that John and I truly are.
I need to fix this, before it’s too late.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“So.” Paul says, taking a deep breath, “Upon hearin’ abou’ how John ‘ad gotten back into alcohol, drugs, and ‘ad basically become an addict- I did feel rather sorry for him.” He says. “Despite still bein’ upset with him, abou’ India- I felt really bad, y’know. An’ I wanted to at least get on talkin’ terms again- ‘cause, at that point, we were outright ignorin' each other.”
“Right,” says Michael with a nod, “So… what did you do abou’ that?”
“Well.” Paul sighs, shaking his head, “Before I could worry abou’ tha’- I had another thing to contend to... that’d been a long time comin’, I s’pose.”“Oh,” Michael muses, his eyebrows raised, “And, what was this?”
Paul shifts in his seat, smiling embarrassedly- looking quite honestly regretful of what he’d done. “Jane.” He nods. “She came home early, one day, while I was in bed with another girl- an’ finally, she’d had enough. An’ I can’t say tha’ I blame her.”
___________________________________________“Jane- fuckin’ ‘ell, let me explain-!”“Don’t!” Jane screamed over her shoulder, stomping out of the bedroom, and down the hall. “I don’t want another fuckin’ word out of you, McCartney!”Paul, still halfway in bed, gave his undressed mistress an apologetic glance. “Fuck, I’m… give me a moment, Franny.”Francie’s dark eyes were wide as she pulled the blanket up over herself, “I thought you told me that Jane wouldn’t be home for another three hours.”“Yeah, well-” Paul muttered, pulling his clothes on as quickly as he could, “Clearly, I was wrong abou’ that.”Still scrambling to pull his shirt down over his head, Paul flew out the door, down the hall, after Jane.Truly, Paul had been having this affair with Francie Schwartz for several months, now- on-and-off- and had been narrowly escaping the notice of Jane all the while. And while he did feel quite bad that this was the way things were going, he realized that this might be the key to ending his relationship with Jane.His relationship with Jane: which had, especially since his engagement- been weighing quite uncomfortably on him, among every other thing that required his attention- and he needed an easy way out.
This was his way out.
“Jane,” Paul called after her, finding Jane in the living room- pulling her lacy stockings up her legs and buckling her shoes by the door. “Christ- talk to me!”Jane’s head snapped up to look at him. Her gaze was sharp- completely cold, maliceful, with not one shred of love or care for Paul in the slightest.“I’ve had it with you.” She mumbled, as she finished doing up her shoe buckles, and standing to face Paul full-on. “Do you hear me? I’ve fucking had it with you, Paul McCartney.”“I know.” Paul mumbled, running a hand through his hair, “I know, Jane- I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this.”Jane’s mouth dropped open, “You think tha’ I don’t know that?” Her voice was soft- barely more than a whisper- but Paul knew that she was absolutely furious. “I know very well what I deserve- and it isn’t you.”Jane turned away, taking her jacket off the coat hook by the door. “I’ve given you everything, Paul. I’ve been nothing but patient with you.” She threw her jacket around her shoulders, doing up her buttons, “And I’ve always known you to be a cheater. I’m not stupid. But I thought, perhaps…”She sighed, shaking her head. “Perhaps, after being engaged to you-maybe you’d change. But, no.” Her eyes began welling up, her lips trembling as she spoke, “No- I’ve never been enough for you, Paul. I’ve never been your first priority, like you’ve always been, mine: I’ve been second to your work, your career- second to all these other girls tha’ you’re bedding, apparently- Christ, even second to John, ‘cause you’re probably bedding him, too.”Paul couldn’t quite tell if Jane was joking or not, but nonetheless- he ground his teeth, completely pissed. “Don’t fuckin’ say that, Jane.”“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Jane hissed, her eyes alight with a flame Paul had never once seen before. “No- no. You… you are just as awful as all the other liars and cheaters of the world. The only difference is your terrific reputation.”She looked down at her hand, at the diamond on her ring finger. She slipped the jewelry off, and held it out in her palm to Paul. “Take this. I don’t want it, anymore.”Paul stared down at the ring, feeling more guilty, now, at seeing just how much distress he’d caused Jane.She really does deserve better.“I don’t want to take that from you.” Paul mumbled, shaking his head. “You… you can keep it, if you’d like.”Jane, looking completely taken aback by what Paul had said, took the ring in her right hand and threw it as hard as she could at one of the glass cabinets not ten feet away- leaving a crack in the antique.“Fine.” Paul mumbled, his eyes widened at Jane’s outburst. “Fine- but I don’t want the fuckin’ ring, either- it’s got no meaning to me-”Jane’s hand met the side of Paul’s face- slapping him across the cheek- as tears began rolling down her face.“No meaning to you.” She muttered, turning to the door, her hand the knob, “Of course. I should’ve known that from the start. You’ve never believed in marriage- and somehow, I thought that I could change you.”“I’m sorry that I’m not what you want, Jane.” Paul mumbled, watching her as she opened the door, his hand upon his still-stinging face, “I’m sorry for everything.”Jane looked him in the eye, again- halfway out the door. “That isn’t it at all.” Her voice was soft, dripping with a sweetness of both honey and poison, all in the same breath. “You are all that I’ve ever wanted, Paul. But I’ve never been enough for you. And I was foolish to think that I’ll ever be.”
“Jane-”
“Nothing is ever enough for you, Paul McCartney.” She said, with a final, cold look in her eye, “I hope one day you wake up and realize how just how much you had. Because at this rate, one day... you'll be left alone." The coldness in Jane’s eyes had melted away, now: melted into tears, falling softly down her cheeks. “And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not even on you.”With that, Jane slammed the door in Paul’s face. From the window, Paul watched her run down the driveway, get into her car- and drove away.He never saw her again.___________________________________________
“... I felt terrible. I truly did.” Paul mumbles. “But I’d been hoping for some way to get out of my relationship with Jane- and there it was. And then, she was gone.”
“Oh, my.” Michael blinks, his eyes wide. “And what about you and Francie? Did anything come of your relationship with her?”“Well, no.” Paul shifts in his seat, “Y’know, she was- she was a friend o’ mine for a while. And, uh… as awful as it is, I sort o’ used her, in order to have Jane break up with me.” Paul takes a deep breath. "As soon as Jane left... I told Franny to leave, too- I told her that I couldn't see her, anymore: that I needed some time... alone."“Oh… I see.” Michael nods, “I’m assuming that you didn’t want to be the one to break it off with Jane, then?”“No- that’s exactly why I got with Franny, y’know- if I could have Jane break up with me, then I wouldn’ ‘ave to break it off with her.”
“Ah- got it.” Michael says. “So… you and Jane had broken up.”
“Not… not yet, y’know.” Paul replies, “‘Cause we hadn’t actually said, y’know: ‘we’re breaking up.’ It wasn’t until a few months later when Jane was on live television, y’know- when she told the woman takin’ her interview tha’ her and I were, in fact, as she put it: ‘over’.”“I do remember that.” Says Michael with a nod, “Did you ever try an’ reach out to Jane, y’know- after she drove away tha’ day?”“Oh, I tried.” Paul says, shaking his head, “Tried callin’ her, y’know- but she’d never speak to me. I s’pose I deserve it, y’know.” He lifts his shoulders in a sighing shrug. “But, ehm… I believe that day ‘ad been in early May o’ 1968- an’ I still hadn’t spoken to John since India.”“Wow-” Michael muses with a little whistle, “So, did you… try reachin’ out to him, too, or…?”“Well.” Paul sighs. “I sort o’ had no choice in the matter, y’know- ‘cause a meetin’ with our staff and managers an’ all that was long overdue.“... we had so much to discuss. So much ‘ad happened in the recent months, and- well, we needed to ‘ave everyone in the same room. So, o’ course…” Paul shifts in his seat again, smiling slightly, “I saw John. It’d been two months since we’d seen each other: it was the longest amount o’ time we spent apart since we met. And… well.”Paul chuckles, brushing his bangs from his eyes as he says, “Well… I saw him.” He shakes his head, his face brightening slightly as he smiles. “Oh, I… saw him, all right.”___________________________________________The meeting was held at the studio on Abbey Road, in quite typical Beatles-meeting fashion.Paul was the first to arrive, of course- as he normally was, and found himself alone in the empty studio, to spend another hour by himself before anyone else arrived.Next, came Neil Aspinall, George Martin, and Derek Taylor, who remained close with the band, still after the death of Brian. Then came several managers, Mal Evans and a few other roadies- then George, Ringo, and their wives- who seemed to have arrived in the same car.Paul greeted each of them with a pretty, plasticky smile- bracing himself for the moment when John would walk through that door, and for the moment they’d presumably lock eyes with each other- after nearly two months of a silent standoff.Paul was pacing on the opposite side of the room from the door. He’d taken off his suit jacket and was left in his plain white dress shirt and blue slacks- the studio had gotten far too warm, and he: too nervous.The meeting’s starting in ten minutes- where the hell are you, John?As if on cue, Paul’s thoughts were interrupted by the door swinging open- and in walked Cynthia.“Sorry we’re late.” She breathed, smiling more pleasantly than Paul had seen her in a long while as she unbuttoned her blue suede jacket. She nodded over at Derek Taylor, “We only just got your telegram, an hour ago- came as quite the surprise.”Footsteps from behind Cynthia made Paul’s heart pound quickly in his ears- louder, drowning out the sound of everyone’s voices as he zeroed-in on the man walking through the doorway after his wife.Though it’d barely been two months, John looked different- perhaps, Paul considered sulkily, he’d simply forgotten what John had looked like in his absence.But, no: John really had changed.His hair was longer, now: falling in soft, dark blond waves, framing his face. His face- that had hollowed handsomely, with those sharply distinctive features of his- had a new sort of brightness to it.Yes. Nearly everything about John had changed. Paul thought to himself- before looking up into the eyes of John, locking eyes with him.
He’s all changed- except for those eyes.
The two looked at each other for several moments- exchanging glances worth more than a thousand words- with John’s gaze piercing right through his body, twisting Paul’s stomach into knots.Yes. His eyes are the same. Paul added onto his previous thought, dragging his gaze away from John, his fist propped against his chin- hiding the charmed smile that had formed onto his pink lips.“Yes… ehm.” John spoke, clearing his throat after catching himself looking at Paul for, quite honestly, much longer than he’d meant to. “Yes- sorry to arrive, nearly late. But I’ll be giving out autographs now, if tha’ makes up for it.”Little chuckles echoed the studio, and Paul couldn’t help but smile at the joke- it was so simple, so stupid- that it was almost endearing.“Yes, yes- we’re all absolutely enthralled by your presence, today, John.” Neil spoke, with a sarcastic lack of enthusiasm, smiling nonetheless. John and Cynthia found seats in the circle of chairs that had formed, right beside Ringo and Maureen- as Neil continued, “We’ve got much to discuss, today, as I’m sure you’re all aware.”“So long as we’re home in time for dinner.” George mumbled, taking a grinning drag from his cigarette, then passing it along to Pattie.“So long as you keep interrupting, you won’t be.” Ringo replied, nudging his arm against George.“Quite right.” Neil mumbled, glancing down at the notepad in his lap and sniffling before he continued, “Right, so- first order of business. I s’pose I’ll start with the most pressing matter: the most upcoming opportunity for you lot.”“Oh, god, Neil-” John mumbled, grinning, “Tell ‘em tha’ we’re not joinin’ any circuses, now- I’ve played the clown for so long tha’ I’ve forgotten how else to act- even without the red nose.”Paul lowered his head in a silent little giggle- noticing, upon lowering his head, the way that John was running his thumb along Cynthia’s hand. Paul pursed his lips together- wondering why on earth such a thing would bother him in the way that it was.“No, no circuses.” Neil replied, shaking his head, “No- it’ll be a rather more refined type of performance- but a performative act, nonetheless.”“Oh- what’s this?” Paul asked, his gaze shifting up to Neil.Neil smiled slightly as he replied, “Well… I’m pleased to inform you about a personal invitation to The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson, in New York City.” Upon the boys’ mouths falling open surprisedly, Neil raised a hand, adding: “But they’ve asked, specifically, for Lennon and McCartney.”
Oh.

What?
Paul turned in an instant to look at John, who met his gaze, too- with an incredulous look plastered across both faces. Of course, such a situation seemed so arbitrary to everyone else at the meeting- everyone else: who had no idea of what had happened between the two men, nor that they’d spent the past two months without so much as speaking to each other.“Sorry, Neil-” John muttered, shaking his head, and turning away from Paul, “They only want… Paul and I?”Paul pursed his lips, feeling quite offended by John’s tone in speaking his name.“Yes,” Neil nodded, pointing the cap of his ballpoint pen back and forth between the two, “He’d like to ‘ave you two, seein’ as you’re the primary songwriters, y’know- and I thought it’d be wise, too- because you both ‘ave been quite involved in the early stages of Apple Corps, and with a platform like The Tonight Show, you can do a bit of basic advertising for the business.”“Ehm… when is this?” Paul asked, shaking his head, still incredulous- “‘Cause, you said that this was our most upcoming event, y’know-”“Yes- well, ehm- you have six days ‘til they ‘ave you on the show- that’ll be the fourteenth of May.” Neil spoke, giving another glance down at his notes, “I apologize for the short notice, boys- but these plans were made rather last-minute.”“I’m… I’m still fuckin’ lost, Neil.” John chuckled, his eyebrows scrunching together thoughtfully, “Where are we meant to stay in the city, where we won’t get absolutely mobbed by fans?”Neil waved an airy hand, “I’ve got it all figured out. Our American manager, Neil Weiss, has an apartment that you two can use- he’ll be out of town, while you’re there.”Great- just fucking great.“So… onto other things…” Neil mumbled, flipping through his notepad, completely oblivious of the tension buzzing in the air, as John and Paul stared at each other from across the room.They still hadn’t spoken a single word to each other- and now, they were meant to travel to New York City, alone- in order to represent their band and business on one of the biggest talk shows in the world.John looked at Paul with a completely blank stare- and Paul realized that he’d been completely wrong about feeling sorry for John.He doesn’t deserve my pity- not one bit of it.Paul’s eyes narrowed as he stared John down, as those feelings of fondness melted away into utter annoyance. 
So- John is going to be difficult about this, isn’t he?
One final, pointed glare was exchanged between the two- for reasons Paul couldn’t even quite explain. He only knew that John was doing this, on purpose- being ornery, being completely standoffish- all in order to get back at Paul.It was sad, really, that John- who'd been Paul's best friend for nearly their entire lives- was now actively antagonizing him- presumably, still, over what happened in India- which was something that Paul had apologized for, time and time again. It seemed that nothing more could be done other than to match John's spitefulness.If this is how you’re going to be, John Lennon- then, fine: I’ll do the same.Two of us can play this game; let's see which one breaks first.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"... so, you and John were going to New York City, to appear on The Tonight Show- alone."Paul chuckles, shifting in his spot. "Right. An' I was absolutely mortified- 'cause, y'know- what were the odds tha' they'd only want John and I?" He shakes his head amusedly. "It seemed so... intentional, really. But it couldn't 'ave been, y'know- 'cause no one knew abou' what John and I had done, still. We were the only ones who knew."Michael grins. "It does seem... almost intentional, doesn't it?""And it was so frustrating," Paul replies, looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling, "'Cause, y'know- I couldn't exactly tell anyone tha' John an' I weren't on speaking terms- 'cause, y'know, the two of us had always been... best friends. So, naturally, people would begin to wonder why we had a falling out, y'know-" Paul's gaze lowers to the ground, and he shrugs. "And I couldn't leave people wondering, like that- 'cause then, I'd have to explain why: and I could never do that. An' I suppose tha' John felt the same way- 'cause neither of us mentioned to anyone else that we were... at odds."
"'Course," Michael nods, "So... you and John went along with these plans, and went to New York- in order to avoid the suspicion of everyone else."
"Exactly." Paul says with a nod. "Even if neither of us wanted to go, in the slightest- we still had an obligation to. Not only to promote our business- but also, in order to 'ave the world believe that nothing had changed between us- no matter how true that statement really was."
"Right, right." Michael replies, "So... you left for New York."
Paul smiles. "Yes." He nods, and his smile lines deepen into his weathered skin as he speaks, "Yes, ehm- John an' I left by plane, four days before we were featured on Johnny Carson." He shakes his head, stifling a little laugh. "And by then, John an' I still hadn't spoke to each other- we sat separately on the plane, and completely ignored each other on the cab-ride to the apartment.""So, when did you finally speak to each other?" Michael asks with a teasing grin."Hm..." Paul hums thoughtfully, tilting his head as he jogs his memory, "... well, I s'pose the first time we really spoke to each other was when we got out of the cab, in front of the apartment building."___________________________________________Please, lord- get me out of here.That was Paul's internal monologue as he sat in the back of the cab, pressing his body against the window, his corduroy-clad knees knocking together- sitting as far away as physically possible from John.John seemed to have the same idea- he was pressed against the opposite window- having placed his suitcase purposefully between himself and Paul, in order to leave adequate separation between the two.Paul glanced over at John, quickly, glaring at the back of his head, seeing as John had turned his entire body away, facing out the window.This is going to be the entire trip- isn't it. Paul thought, blowing out an agitated breath. We still haven't said a word to each other- and I'm already fucking sick of him."Here we are, lads." Said the cab driver, whose name Paul had missed, turning around in his seat to address Paul and John, "Your apartment building is the one on the left."Paul looked out of John's window, up at the building- a beautiful, romantic, stone building- that would typically be Paul's ideal holiday. But, frankly- he couldn't be less excited for his stay.John, turning away from the window, unbuckled himself and took up his suitcase. "Thanks, sir- have a pleasant evening, then."Paul nearly rolled his eyes at John's attempt at chivalry to the taxi driver. He waited for John to exit the cab, then took ahold of his own suitcase, and got up.The taxi driver had opened the door for John, and was waiting, still, for Paul to exit after him."Thank you, sir." Paul spoke earnestly to the man as he hopped out onto the sidewalk, offering his hand out, to shake. "Couldn't thank you enough. Do have a nice evening, now."Paul couldn't help but try and one-up John's obnoxious politeness- and found himself biting his lip to keep from smiling as the clueless cab driver offered him a charmed smile, returning Paul's firm handshake. "Oh, thank you, Mr. McCartney! You, as well."Paul dipped his head into an overtly gallant nod, still stifling his grin as he continued down the sidewalk to the apartment building, suitcase in hand.John's going to try and say something to me- I know it- in three, two, one..."What the hell're you tryin' to do?" Came the voice of John, scrambling up beside Paul, "Tryin' to one-up me like that."Paul didn't give John the satisfaction of even looking at him as he replied, "Oh, y'know." He was grinning, giving a casual little shrug. He turned to John, then, as they'd fallen so naturally into step beside each other, "Hello, by the way- good to see tha' you've finally started speaking to me, again.""Flirting with the taxi driver-" John mumbled, with a shake of his head- completely disregarding Paul's passive-aggressive greeting, "- that's a new low, Paul- even for you."Paul's mouth dropped open into an amused little grin. "Aw." Paul muttered, almost patronizingly, as he brushed so intentionally against John's shoulder with a sharp left turn to enter the apartment building. "Jealous, are you, John?"Paul walked on, into the building- leaving John to stand there in the entryway for another moment or two, mouth agape and completely pissed about Paul's witty comeback.They were like this for a while- completely and utterly at odds, barely speaking, but when they did speak- it was only in short, witty quips and sarcastic remarks.Let's see who can go the longest without apologizing- because whoever does so first is clearly the one that was in the wrong.That was the game that they were playing: and, frankly, they were rather good at it.Luckily, the apartment was much bigger than Paul assumed it would be: a luxury, open-floor plan with high ceilings, a balcony, a full kitchen and living room- and, thank god- two separate bedrooms."This'll be my room." John mumbled before slipping into the smaller of the two bedrooms, carrying his suitcase- closing the door behind him, and disappearing for the rest of the night.Paul stared after him, blinking incredulously at just how cold John really was, now."Okayyyy..." Paul mumbled, his shoulders heaving in a great sigh. He shook his head at the door, willing to give John the space that he knew he needed.I can't be the one to break first- to apologize. Paul thought to himself, making his way to his own bedroom, closing the door softly.
I can't. No matter how much I wish things could simply... go back to normal.
Eventually it will- everything will be normal, again- as it always does. It will simply take time.___________________________________________Paul woke the next morning to the sun casting its first rays onto his face. For a moment, he didn't remember who he was, or where he was- and everything was perfect.And then, he remembered: he was in New York City, sharing an apartment with his best friend, with whom he was at all odds because of the affair they'd had. At odds, because Paul wasn't nearly as bold or willing as John was to simply risk everything in order to have a real romantic relationship with each other.Paul groaned, flipping over onto his side as everything came rushing back to him. Right- that's it.After much dragging his feet, Paul forced himself out of bed, walking groggily out into the hallway, staring with tired eyes at John's bedroom door.
I wonder if he's awake, yet.
Well, it doesn't matter. Paul told himself, shaking his head as he found his way to the main room- staring down at the marble island in the kitchen, his eyes catching on a paper napkin placed just on the center of the surface.Paul leaned closer, squinting- reading the crudely scrawled cursive on the napkin.
Gone out. Won't be back for a while. John.
Paul leaned back, blowing out a sigh, his hand running through his hair. Great- no need to walk on eggshells, constantly- because John won't even be here.Half of Paul was relieved at this, frankly. But the other half of him had been hoping that this forced proximity might bring the two of them to actually make up- might help mend their bond, and make things normal, again.Whatever. He'll be back, eventually- and maybe, then, we might talk things over.But John didn't return until seven hours later. Paul had been waiting, pacing around the apartment for nearly the entire day- and then, the door unlatched, at five o'clock in the evening.Paul sprang up from where he'd been laying on the couch, in the same cotton t-shirt and trousers he'd been wearing since the morning.John walked in, looking admittedly sharp in his denim jacket and those round sunglasses he always wore. He looked so completely casual, so unbothered: as if he hadn't left Paul alone for the entire day without any explanation other than the one he'd scribbled onto that napkin."Where've you been?" Paul demanded, coming up to lean against the counter.John was taking off his brown leather loafers, and quickly looked up at Paul- completely unfazed. "Well, didn't you get my note?""Yes." Paul replied, his eyes going wide with incredulity, folding his arms. "But you didn't say you'd be gone for the entire fuckin' day."John kicked his loafers onto the floor mat, standing up. "Well." He replied, lifting his glasses from his face, giving Paul that stupidly charming grin with that gleam in his dark eyes as he said, "S'pose it's nice to know that you've been missing me, Paul."With that, John walked past Paul- grinning- knowing he'd struck a nerve, and headed to sit on the couch."What...?" Paul mumbled, shaking his head, turning to follow after John and replying, "Now, don't you..." He stared down at him, completely and utterly pissed. "Don't you think for one moment that I was missin' you."John looked up at him, having collapsed onto the couch. "Sorry." He replied, his lips slightly upturned- without sounding sorry in the slightest. "I didn't realize tha' you might get so defensive abou' me sayin' that.""I'm not." Paul insisted, his brows furrowed. "I'm not bein' defensive, Christ- I jus' didn't know tha' you'd be gone the whole day."John stared up at him, still with that faint grin upon his lips. "I'm sorry. I certainly didn't mean to make you upset, either."As John spoke, Paul couldn't help but notice the way that John's legs were spread as he sat, leaning back lazily against the cushions of the couch.Paul couldn't help but let his eyes slide down to where John's hands were undoing the buckle of his belt- fixating on the way that his hands so skillfully slipped the leather from his beltloops."Ehm..." Paul mumbled, feeling his face flame up, eyes still fixed on John's belt- and his hands.
Fucking hell.
"What?" John chuckled lightly, having finally taken off his belt, laying it neatly on the couch beside him. In his eyes was that mischievous glimmer, as he asked: "What is it, Paul?"He knows exactly what he's doing."Nothing, god." Paul muttered, at last tearing his eyes away from John, shaking his head- taking a step back. "Ehm... I'm going out.""You, now?" John asked, sitting up straightly against the cushions. "Thought you wanted to... I dunno- talk, or something.""Yeah, well-" Paul replied, swiftly pulling on his white ankle boots, "I've changed my mind."I need to get out of here. Paul thought, as he zipped up his boots and stood, offering not one more glance nor word to John before he escaped through the front door.He walked hurriedly down the hall, in case John had wanted to follow him out. As he walked, Paul silently cursed himself, completely appalled and ashamed at where his mind had wandered, back in the apartment.Goddamnit, Paul- damn you, for still finding John attractive, even after everything that's happened.He paced his breathing, trying to console himself- to alleviate the unavoidable feeling of warmth that had formed in the pit of his stomach. All it took was John taking off his belt- and that was it- Paul was desperate.No, no, no- he chided himself, flying down the staircase and walking as fast as his legs would take him, you can't possibly be so easy to arouse- especially not by someone you've already turned down. Especially not by John Lennon.Our affair was simply a one-time occurrence: a thing like that won't ever happen again- because I'm not gay.I won't come back until he's already to bed. Paul promised himself, turning the corner and heading down the sidewalk, I'll go to a bar, and meet some girls- I'll forget all about John by nightfall.
I won't ever be so willing to have him, ever again.

I swear it to myself. I swear.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"... I was... quite upset with myself." Paul says, his voice rather low. "Y'know- for still findin' John as attractive as I did. And you can't really change who you're attracted to, I s'pose- so, I was basically trapped. Trapped bein' so completely obsessed with this... man." Paul shakes his head, looking almost disappointed in himself. "And I couldn't even do anythin' abou' it.""I see," Michael nods, staring at Paul, understandingly. "So I suppose, for you... you must not believe that a person's sexuality is whatever they choose. 'Cause you've experienced firsthand, y'know- that you really didn't want to be attracted to John- but you were, anyway- and you simply couldn't change that.""Exactly." Paul replies with a nod, mumbling, "Ehm... y'know, I wasn't- I wasn't homophobic, as I've said before. I never have been." He shakes his head, running a hand across the bangs that had fallen slightly into his eyes, "But I jus' couldn't... y'know, I couldn't be gay. It was all... internalized.""Right." Michael says, glancing down at his notes, "Ehm... you and John did go out together, at least once, in New York City, didn't you?""Yeah, yeah." Paul replies, smiling slightly, his head cocked to the side. "Y'know, it was- well, we still didn't talk much." He lowers his head, chuckling. "But, ehm, yes- John and I went out a few times, in hats and sunglasses as to not be easily recognized. We went for dinner, went to Central Park together- all those places.""... but you still didn't talk?""... no." Paul gives a smiling shake of his head. "No. We really didn't say much of anythin' to each other, other than the occasional, 'let's go out,' 'I'm going to bed', or, the even more occasional, 'you look nice, today.'"
"Hm." Michael hums, smiling amusedly. "It sounds... very unusual."
"I think we were finally starting to come 'round to each other." Paul replies, leaning against the arm of the couch, "Y'know- stayin' alone in the apartment together was oddly resemblant of the early days, and, I s'pose-" he lowers his head in another little chuckle. "Well, I suppose that we were beginning to... miss each other. Miss the way that things... used to be.""Naturally, of course." Michael nods. "So, then... you had your appearance on The Tonight Show.""Ah... yes." Paul sighs, propping himself up to sit straightly. "Y'know- John an' I had our first real conversation that day. Just before we went out, onto stage- we spoke to each other." Paul glances up at the ceiling, shaking his head, and smiling with reminisce. "And, I dunno. It was... quite the significant exchange."___________________________________________The day of May fourteenth, 1968, was full of giving interviews, attending a press conference for Apple, and things of the like.And then, in the evening, came Lennon and McCartney's guest appearance on The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson.After running about for nearly the entire day, the two spent a significant amount of time with a team of wardrobe and stylist managers- insisting on ironing out their suits, doing their makeup, fixing their hair- the works.Paul had even changed his suit for the occasion- swapping his all-white suit for a black-and-white set that fit him nearly perfectly.John, contrastingly, wore all-white: a three-piece suit of soft luxury cotton, with his hair falling into waves just above his shoulders- and wearing his glasses.Paul watched, most interested, as the stylists prepared John for the event.
He does look... rather nice.
Probably sensing Paul's eyes on him, John turned in his chair to look over at Paul. He met Paul's gaze, quizzically- probably wondering why Paul was staring at him like that, but smiling softly, nonetheless.Paul gave him an embarrassed little grin in return, turning away after a moment, in order to spare himself any more awkwardness.
Yes. He does look nice.
Even though they weren't speaking much, anymore- those looks they exchanged were what kept Paul's spirits from dulling.Those looks- they were the same as before. Really, they were the only thing that hadn't changed.Paul couldn't help but fixate on those looks- and was even distracted when he felt a gentle tap upon his left shoulder, having been busy, watching John."Who...?" Paul mumbled, turning slowly to face whoever it was that stood behind him.That was when Paul's hazel eyes went wide: realizing, in an instant, that he was in trouble."Linda." Paul breathed, unable to keep from smiling from ear-to-ear, his cheeks turning a million shades of red.Linda didn't look much different than she had, almost exactly a year ago, when he'd met her. Her makeup was done in that same popular, modish way- her blue eyes only accentuated further by the use of long, false lashes and kohl.She wore a beige skirt, checked with dark gingham, in the same black-cherry color as her turtleneck top, and as the rouge on her lips. Her hair had grown down to her shoulders, again: that same golden-blonde, that was curled at the ends- and it caught the light in the same way Paul remembered it to.She also held her camera."Hello." She said, in that voice, so beautifully distinctive that Paul had almost forgotten what it'd sounded like. And though she was American, she didn't speak like the rest of the people from the country- she sounded so confident, intelligent."Hello," Paul replied, his voice nearly cracking from the unbridled nerves radiating through his body at this chance encounter. "Ehm... it's great to finally see you, again.""And you, as well." She replied, finally cracking the smile that Paul had been so anxious to finally see, again. "I found out that you'd be here, today, and I forced them to book me as an extra photographer.""Oh- did you, now?" Paul muttered, cocking his head, as his own grin widened at this confession. "You really wanted to see me again, then?""'Course, I did." She replied, tilting her head, too, as she came only nearer to him. "I mean, this is all anyone's been talkin' about, recently: the Lennon-McCartney special."Paul shook his head, sighing lightly. "Oh, I wouldn't exactly call it a special."Linda lowered her head in a chuckle. "Ah- you're too modest. That's what I like about you, though, Paul." She nodded up at him, those blue eyes of hers shining like mad. "'t's why I missed you, as much as I did.""You missed me, now?" Paul repeated, eyebrows raised, relishing in this completely juvenile, flirtatious exchange. "Well, you should've called.""Oh, well, I..." Linda waved him off, giving a careless shake of her head, "I didn't want to be a bother. The point is, you're here now." She reached down, gingerly taking Paul's hand into her own. Looking back up into his eyes, she smiled, "... and so am I."Paul bit down on his lip, wondering, for a moment, what he was meant to say next. Then, the words came in a flash- in so quick a moment that he had no chance to stop himself."Wanna go out with me, after this?" He asked, suddenly emboldened. "I've got nothin' else to do, afterward, other than goin' back to the apartment with John."Linda took a quiet moment to simply smile up at him. "Yes." She said, her smile widening with each passing moment. "Yes, I... I think I will go out with you tonight, Paul.""Five minutes 'til you're on, boys!" Came the booming voice of one of the stage managers- an unpleasant interruption to Paul's and Linda's beautiful moment."Well." Paul muttered smilingly, looking off at the stage manager briefly. He then turned back to Linda, and said, leaning close, "I'll see you after this, all right?"Linda's lips twisted up into another charmed grin as she replied, "I'll be waiting backstage after you're done.""Okay." Paul breathed, giving Linda's hand a little squeeze, and her, one last lingering look before he made his way over to the curtain, and she, further backstage, as to not be seen.Paul was breathing deeply- trying to calm the nerves that, though slight as they were, came about every time he appeared on live television. Nerves that, most likely, weren't even a result of his television appearance at all- but rather, the woman he'd just had the pleasure of meeting, again.He wandered over to the curtain in the wings, peeking through at the set- the desk, the couch, the backdrop that everyone was accustomed to. Seated at the desk was a guest host: Joe Garagiola, taking the place of Johnny Carson as he and several others sometimes did."Are you ready?" Came a soft voice just beside him, startling Paul slightly.He hadn't been expecting John to approach him, like that- at least, not after being practically ignored by John for the entire trip, thus far."Think so," Paul replied, in that same hushed tone. He gave John a little once-over- he hadn't been so close to him in ages- and realized that John smelled vaguely of fabric softener. He nudged him gently, asking, "And, you?"John gave a little dip of his chin in a nod, glancing past Paul, through the parting of the curtain. "Think so." He chuckled softly, his eyes falling back onto Paul as he asked, "Do you... have any plans, for after this?"Paul gave him a slightly amused smile, wondering if, perhaps, John had seen him speaking to Linda a moment earlier.Paul realized, too, about himself and John: we are speaking, right now. This is incredible."... actually, yes." Said Paul, stifling a grin that remained on his lips since having spoke to Linda. John gave him a quizzical little stare, so Paul added, "Ehm... I met Linda, again. And, she... well, she an' I are goin' out after this.""Oh." John replied, his eyebrows raised- a look on his face that Paul found it quite hard to read. Miffed? Jealous?"Why?" Paul asked, quite honestly curious about John's motive in asking. "Did you... want to do somethin', afterward?"John shrugged, "Dunno, was just... curious." He peered through the curtains, again- chuckling softly. "I thought you might've arranged somethin' with the Eastman girl, but I... y'know, I jus' wanted to know.""Oh." Paul chuckled, nodding his head. "Oh, yeah. I mean... apparently, she'd been wantin' to meet back up with me for a while, and... y'know." He shrugged, "We jus'... happened to meet up, again, tonight.""Right, right." John muttered, drawing away from the curtain, as to not have their voices picked up by the microphones. He folded his arms as he asked, quite softly, "I didn't know if... you and Jane were still a thing or not. 'Cause she wasn't at the meeting, and I just... I wondered, y'know.""Oh, no." Paul replied, moving closer to John, further away from the wings. "No, ehm... no. Jane an' I broke up, earlier this month."John's dark eyes widened. "Really?" He asked, moving closer, still- not wanting to miss a single word of what Paul said next, "What happened? If you don't mind me askin', that is."Paul lowered his head in a slight chuckle, wondering where on earth to begin. Wondering, too, how much he should even tell John."It just... wasn't working." Paul replied after a moment of silence, his eyes averted from John's, and sighing. "That's the short version of it. It wasn't working- an' I should've seen it coming since the start. I shouldn't 'ave proposed, either, really."John stared at Paul in silence, nodding, as he took a slow step back. Paul wondered what might be going on in that mind of John's."Well." John replied after another long moment of pause, clearing his throat, with one quick glance up at Paul again. "Well, I s'pose... we should know that not every fleeting love affair will end happily, now, will it?"John's tone was suddenly slightly colder. Paul hadn't been expecting such a thing- nor had he been expecting for John to walk right past him, to walk out onto stage, just after he'd spoken."John." Paul called out, his voice as desperate as possible, while still maintaining adequate quietness. He turned on his heel and grabbed John by the hand- a gesture that neither one of them had been anticipating. John's eyes flicked down to their interlaced fingers, looking utterly impatient- despite that, though, he didn't pull away.He was willing, at least, to hear Paul out."John, listen to me, right now." Paul spoke frantically, hoping to god that they wouldn't miss their cue to walk out onto stage. "I want to make good of this interview. For the sake of our public image, for the band, our business- we need to make good of it, all right?"John's eyebrows furrowed, slightly, his eyes having now met Paul's. "What'dye...?""I mean that... we need to put all of that other stuff off, for now." Paul answered, moving closer to him, hoping that John might sense the earnesty with which he was speaking. "We'll put off what happened, before... and put up a front. Not to say that our affair didn't happen, but to say..." He glanced down at their hands, intertwined, still: searching for the words. His eyes finally found John's, again, as he spoke, "To say that... we'll talk about it later."John stared into Paul's eyes for another long moment, and then, again, to their hands."Believe me, Paul." John muttered, pulling his hand gently from Paul's grasp, "... I've already moved on."Paul stared after John, as he moved back toward the curtain.Paul could hardly believe that John had spoken those words- and even more so about the sincerity with which he'd said them.With that, the boys were given their cue to take the stage. Not one more word was exchanged, behind that curtain- and both walked out into the spotlight, donning very convincing fronts.But all the while, Paul could only think of John's final words to him: "I've already moved on."Those words had struck Paul right through the heart. He hadn't expected words, as insignificant as they might seem, to carry such weight.He didn't quite know why he felt this way.But he was afraid, more than anything, of what these feelings might mean.
That I might still be in love with him.
And, what's worse: that he might not love me, anymore.
That he'd already moved on.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“... reuniting with Linda was, really, the highlight of that trip.” Paul says, a fond little smile upon his face. “It had completely taken me by surprise, but… I ended up taking her out, just like I said I would. And, ehm… she even accompanied John and I back to the airport, for our flight home- and she promised to keep in touch.”
“Right.” Michael nods, his brows furrowed slightly, “And… how did John handle this reunion?”“Well, I, y’know…” Paul grins, cocking his head to the side. “He didn’t care much for it, y’know. He was pissed when Linda came with us to the airport, too. And, ehm… the rest of our trip, leadin’ up to that point, was relatively the same as before: we’d basically ignored each other, with the occasional glance and word or two. By the last night, though, we ended up having a drink together, in our hotel room: John and I.”“Oh.” Michael raises his eyebrows, “And… how was that?”Paul shakes his head slightly, smiling still. “Well, y’know…” He blows out a sigh, “It was odd. So many mixed signals; so many things abou’ John tha’ I jus’ couldn’t get a proper read on. Which, I s’pose, is to be expected, ‘cause… y’know, I didn’t even know what I was feeling, then. Everythin’- even my own feelings- had become so completely… complicated.”___________________________________________The night before the two would return back to London, John had offered to make drinks for himself and Paul- probably in order to break the ice.He’d made nice, mixed Margaritas- knowing quite well that this was Paul’s drink of choice- despite Paul not even having mentioned the drink he’d been craving. John just knew him.“How is it?” John asked, from where he stood by the balcony, pushing open the glass doors and stepping out onto the terrace.Paul took a moment, sipping his drink carefully, before replying, “It’s very good, John.” He called out to John, softly, from his spot on a stool at the kitchen island.“Good.” John replied with a nod, leaving the glass doors wide open as he leaned against the balcony railing. It was nearing ten, PM- the night was dark and cool. The sounds of maddened traffic and bustling people came from down below, and John, as he observed them, let the evening wind run its fingers through his hair.Paul watched him for a while. Simply, watched him: not admiringly, nor with any trace of disdain. He only looked John over, registering each component of him: that hair, overgrown, flowing in the wind in a stupidly cinematic fashion. The clothes that hung perfectly on his body- moving, too, with the gentle breeze. The side profile of his face- so handsomely distinctive that Paul could simply stare at it forever.“I think tha’ I could live here, y’know.” John spoke suddenly, looking up from the busy streets below, and up at Paul. “In the city.”“Could you?” Paul asked with a nod, meeting his eyes, as he laid against the pillows on the plush brown couch.“I think so.” John replied, turning back to the balcony railing, “The people, the culture, it’s all so… colorful, and lively here.” He glanced back at Paul, adding, “I feel like I’d find inspiration here, everywhere I look.”“That… makes sense.” Paul replied. After a moment of contemplation, after a sip of his Margarita, he said, “I don’t think I ever could. Live here, I mean.”“Why don’t you?”“Well, I mean,” Paul began, gathering his thoughts, “It’s beautiful, surely- but I’d much prefer to visit, than to have a permanent stay. I think it’s much too… loud, for my taste.”“And where would you like to live, then?” John asked, running a hand through the hair that had fallen into his eyes.Paul thought for a while. He stared up, at the high ceiling- considering for the first time where he truly might want to live. To settle down.Is it even possible for someone like me to ever settle down?
Oh, how I hope so.
“... I see myself in the English countryside.” Paul replied after that bout of silence, staring still, up at the ceiling. “I see… a quaint little home, made of wood or stone, surrounded by beautiful rolling hills. I’d like to have a small farm, maybe- with a horse, or two. I’d like to have… children.” He concluded, speaking aloud what he’d only ever been capable of saying in his head.That he really would like to settle down. To have kids.“Children?” John asked, breathing out a great sigh. He turned his entire body to face Paul, as he leaned, still, against the balcony railing. “Then, I suppose… you’d like to have a wife.”Paul sat up against the arm of the couch, meeting John’s eyes.Truthfully, Paul still hadn’t quite decided whether or not he was ever going to be married. He’d quite like to, perhaps, if it was with someone he was really in love with. Perhaps, he’d marry Linda- as little as their time together had been, and despite the fact that apparently, she’d gotten around just as much as Paul had.But, still- even then, something didn’t seem quite right in Paul’s mind in regards to him, marrying.
But that wasn't anything that John needed to know.
“I suppose so. I dunno.” Paul replied shortly, with a light shrug of his shoulders. “Maybe… maybe I will have a wife.” He shrugged again, hoping that John might take this cue of his discomfort and drop the subject. “At the current moment… I’m not sure.”John gave a slight dip of his chin in reply. “I have a wife, y’know.” He turned back, slightly, to look out over the city. “And a son.”Paul raised his eyebrows, wondering where John might be going with this.“... and that still didn’t stop me from doing what I did, with you.” John mumbled against the breeze, barely even audible from where Paul laid, on the couch. He turned his head, saying lightly over his shoulder, “In fact, I don’t think I've ever loved her as much as I did, you.”“John, don’t say that…”“My own damn wife.” John said, a slight smile forming across his lips as he shook his head. “Not even she could compare to the way that I felt about you.”Paul stared at the back of John’s head, completely and utterly speechless.“I’m… sorry.” Paul muttered, unable to come up with anything more intelligent than that. He didn’t quite know what John even expected him to say.John turned away from the railing, shaking his head still.“Well.” Said John, stepping back into the apartment, shutting the glass doors of the balcony closed. He gave another shrug, as if he were indifferent to the situation. “Well… I suppose it’s a good thing that the two of us aren’t together.”Paul sat up, staring John in the eyes. “Why’s that?”“Because,” John replied with a slight chuckle, wandering over to the island, having a sip of his drink, “... we’d disagree on where we’d have our home.” He leaned against the island, tilting his head as he added, “You’d like to live in the country, and I- in the city.”Paul couldn’t help but grin. “Come on, now, John…”“It’s true.” John nodded again, staring off into space for a moment. Then, he spoke softly: “A bird might very well love a fish.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “...but where would they live?”Paul stared at John from across the threshold, simply wishing that John might make eye-contact with him.“... then, I need only make myself wings.” Paul answered, his voice as soft as John’s had been.John looked up from the ground, meeting Paul’s gaze, having not been expecting such an answer. It’d practically been a hypothetical, and even so, Paul had readily given such a simple answer.
That he needs only wings.
John looked at Paul for several moments longer. Paul wondered, in that time, what might be going on within John’s mind.With that, John nodded slightly. Then, stepping out from behind the island, he said, “Goodnight, Paul.” And started down the hallway to his bedroom, without another look nor word to the other.Paul leaned against the couch, his chest rising with a great sigh.What am I doing?Why on earth am I still entertaining these thoughts of what could be, between John and I?He looked over, at the lamp on the nearby end table. His fingers reached beneath the lampshade, he turned the knob- switching the light off.“Goodnight,” Paul mumbled to no one but himself, standing and starting down the hallway to his own room.I’ll stop now. Paul told himself, as he slipped into the darkness of his room, relishing in the solitude of these four, unfamiliar walls.
I’ll stop now, with all of this back-and-forth nonsense between John and I. It’s time to move on.
It's become clear that he’s moved on, already- he's even told me so.
It’s time for me to do the same.
___________________________________________
“... the following day, John and I were driven to the airport, to return to London.” Paul says, “And, o' course, Linda accompanied us- as I've said, previously- much to John’s chagrin, y’know.”

“Ah, I see.” Michael replies, “And why do you think it bothered John so much, that Linda was accompanying the two of you?”
“Oh, well… y’know.” Paul gives a slight shrug. “At that point in time… John and I’s relationship ‘ad never been so complicated before. We didn’t… act upon our feelin’s. But I think we both knew, quite well, that there was still… something there.” Paul pulls his legs closer to his body. “Something strong. And, ehm… I’m sure it was painful for him, watchin’ me become so close with Linda- her, seein’ us off at the airport, and promising that this time, she would keep in touch with me.”“Oh, wow.” Michael smiles. “I bet… I bet that the prospect of Linda keeping in touch was rather exciting to you, though, wasn’t it?”“Oh, ‘f course.” Paul returns his smile and nods. “I was… I was quite excited. But, again- it didn’t register so well with John, y’know.” He takes a breath before continuing, “We arrived home… an’ a day later, John convened a board meeting at Apple.“He’d, ehm… he’d tripped on LSD earlier that morning- and a fairly large dose, at that.” Paul swallows. “Ehm… he called the meeting. And, he… well, he was really out-of-sorts.” Paul looks up at Michael, his eyebrows furrowed, as he searched for the words to say. “Y’know, he announced, then, that he had this great revelation that he was the second coming of Christ, an’ all that.”“And… how did the rest of you handle that?” Michael asks, his eyes wide.“Oh, we just humored him. It seemed almost in high-John-fashion- though he’d never announced something so… blasphemous, before.” Paul touches his chin, gingerly- thoughtfully. “And then… we went to dinner, y’know- the band, as well as several people from the Apple staff.”“... I take it… something happened at that dinner?”
“Well.” Paul mumbles, barring his teeth in a nervous little smile. “At the time, Cynthia had gone away. She was in… Greece, I believe- on holiday with her girlfriends. So, after dinner that night, and in the absence of his wife…” Paul pauses, breathing deeply. “John invited Yoko into his home.”
“Oh, my.” Michael’s eyes widen again. “And… I’m assuming that his intentions were… sexual?”Paul nods. “The two of them apparently created a bunch of avant-garde tape loops, for their future collaborative album, Two Virgins. And, of course… they made love at dawn.” He shrugs. “I didn’t get the full story, at the time. But I gathered bits-and-pieces from when I paid a visit to Cynthia and Julian, several days later.”Paul shakes his head, propping his hand beneath his chin. “It was one thing to… to have an affair, y’know. ‘Cause, that’s… that’s what people did, back then.” Paul’s voice breaks, slightly- and his eyes begin to shine with what might very well be tears.“But… he wanted a divorce. He gave Cynthia a stipend.” He lowers his gaze to the floor, still giving a slow shake of his head. “I still feel awfully about it, to this day. I can’t help but… blame myself, y’know.“‘Cause I’d… I’d been the one who’d bruised John’s ego like that- which led him to seek comfort from a woman who… wasn’t his wife.” He looks up at Michael, finally: his great, sad eyes alight. “I blame myself.“... and I’d give absolutely anything to undo what I’d done.”___________________________________________“... he left me.”Cynthia Lennon cried into the shoulder of Paul McCartney, who’d appeared swiftly at the doorstep of her home, after hearing the news.“Shh, shh…” Paul mumbled, his hand against the back of Cynthia’s head, running his fingers soothingly along her blonde tresses. “Cyn, I’m so, so sorry. You… you have no idea.”“But Julian.” Cynthia breathed, pulling back. From her dark, downturned eyes, streaks of mascara stained down her face. “He’s… he’s going to grow up, practically without a father.”“No, no.” Paul muttered, wiping his thumb against her dark undereye. “No. John will still be there for Jules- he wouldn’t just leave him.”Cynthia’s eyes crinkled as she stared up at Paul. “He left me.”She began to sob, then- practically uncontrollably, and understandingly so. Paul pulled her in, again, into a tight embrace, as he stared up into the gray London sky.“I’ve got some choice words for him, whenever I see him next.” Paul muttered, his cheek pressed against the side of Cynthia’s face. “An’ I promise, Cyn- I promise tha’ I’ll always be here for you and Jules.”Cynthia shook her head, tears still streaming down her face, “You know that I appreciate you, more than I could ever say.” She wiped her finger over the stream of tears, muttering, “I just can’t help but… think about all those years I’ve lost-”She began to sob, again, and Paul pulled her closer, “Hey, hey, Cyn…”“- all those years I’ve spent, simply waiting for John to come around and love me.”“He did love you. I know that he did.” Paul mumbled in reply, his mouth against Cynthia’s hair, as his heart shattered in a million pieces for this woman.“He might've,” she muttered, as she choked out another light sob, “... but we both know that I was never the one that he loved most.”Paul pulled away, looking down into her eyes, wondering what she might mean in saying that. “What…?”“Oh, Paul.” Cynthia’s brows furrowed as she placed her hand on the side of his face. She was crying, still, as she softly said, “Haven’t you seen it, by now?”“Seen… what?” Paul asked, his voice quiet- his mouth, gone dry.Cynthia shook her head, overcome by another wave of sadness. “John’s never once looked at me the way he looks at you.” She looked down at the floor, completely ashamed. “And, I… I don’t know if there’s anything more to it, but… god, I couldn’t help but notice.”Paul’s heart nearly dropped down to his shoes.“Cyn.” Paul mumbled in reply, tipping her chin up, in order to meet her gaze. “I…”He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He had absolutely to defense for this claim about there being more to his and John’s relationship than what meets the eye.Because Cynthia was right.“... I’m sorry.” Was all Paul could say, pulling her in, again, and pressing his lips against the side of her head in a nearly apologetic kiss. “I’m sorry.”Still wrapped-up in his embrace, Cynthia nodded- seeming, at least in Paul’s mind, to have understood.Understood Paul’s confession: that he knew of John's feelings for him- and was apologizing on behalf of both John and himself for allowing such a thing to nearly come to light.“... well.” Cynthia mumbled, wrapping her arms tighter around Paul, sniffling. “I don’t suppose it matters, now.”Paul’s shoulders heaved in a sigh. Mere words couldn’t express how terribly he felt for Cynthia- so he said nothing.
Nothing I can say is going to bring John back. So I’m not going to say anything at all.
He pressed another kiss against the side of Cynthia’s face, kissing her until her sobs seemed to have died down, pulling away only to find Julian peeking timidly at them through the half-opened door.“Jules,” Paul breathed, giving his best attempt at a smile, and kneeling down with open arms.For a moment, little Julian Lennon simply stared at Paul: his dark eyes shining with the glimmer of tears.Paul cursed himself, then: because in those eyes, he saw only John.Julian ran into Paul’s arms, then, mumbling, “Uncle Paul.” His little head was nestled into Paul’s neck, and for once, his speech was so quiet. “Why did mum and I have to leave home?”Paul shook his head as a lump welled in the back of his throat. “Jules, Jules… god, Jules.” He kissed the top of Julian’s scruffy head, feeling his own eyes begin to tear up.Paul cried, then. He couldn’t contain his emotions any longer, and simply held Julian close to his chest as he sat on the floor of the porch and sobbed.Cynthia stood just beside them, watching: with dark, glazed-over eyes, as she, too, softly cried.“Oh, Julian.” Paul mumbled, finally- feeling the boy begin to shake in his arms, his chest heaving in time with his sobs.“Julian.” Paul breathed, closing his eyes, as he allowed everything else to fade away. “I’m so sorry, Julian.
"I’m sorry.

"For everything."
___________________________________________
Hey Jude, don’t make it bad.

Take a sad song and make it better.

Remember to let her into your heart.

Then, you can start

To make it better.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"... I was absolutely heartbroken." Paul shakes his head, wiping his thumb beneath his eye, giving a sad little chuckle. "Y'know, I couldn't... I could hardly believe what John had done. And, again... it wasn't even really the cheating." He looks up from the ground, "It was the fact that he asked for a divorce from Cyn, and was creating a divide between himself and his only son.""I can't even imagine what might've been going on in your mind at the time. Let alone, Cynthia and Julian's minds." Said Michael, propping his fist beneath his chin, watching Paul intently."Yes. It was..." Paul takes a deep breath. "It was a strange time. And it was only two weeks after John an' Yoko's affair that we were scheduled to return to the studio, in order to record our self-tilted album.""The White Album." Michael mutters, "And I'm sure that the tension during those sessions was... palpable.""Oh, extremely." Paul replies, managing to give half a smile. "We had, ehm... guests, y'know, comin' in an' surveyin' our writin' an' recordin' processes." He leans forward, after a thoughtful pause, and continues, "There was, ehm... our engineer came in: Geoff Emerick, among others, y'know- but they'd all come in with those same questions. And, well... it was very awkward, to tell you the truth."___________________________________________"... a little softer on that one, now, George." Paul mumbled, leaning against George's shoulder, and characteristically correcting George's guitar-playing technique."Well, 'ow much softer do you need me to go?" George asked, slightly miffed, as he picked up his cigarette from where he'd laid it in the ashtray. "If I go any softer than this, mate, I might as well not bloody play anythin' at all.""Okay," Paul replied softly, realizing, to his annoyance, that George was quite right. "Sorry, just... go on, as you were."Paul was huddled with George, sat by the piano- with his bass and George's guitar in hands. Ringo was nearby, at his drum set- practicing a crescendo-ing drum solo that must be an idea of John's, because Paul had never heard the line, before.John, then, was across the room, leaning over a notepad as he scribbled away, madly. He hadn't talked much to the others, during the session- and when he had, he seemed to be in a bad mood.George Martin, too, was there- attempting to draw a conversation out of John, and rather unsuccessfully so, it seemed. Geoff Emerick, the engineer, had made a rare appearance, too, and remained fixed at George Martin's side all the while."What comes after that?""Pardon?" Paul asked, turning back to George, after getting completely lost in thought."What comes after my openin' line?" George asked, pointedly, "I mean, I begin my bit when John does his, 'I wonder, should I get up, and fix myself a drink,' but I don't know if he wants me on the chorus, or if he'd rather just 'ave your bass, like he does at the very beginnin' of the song.""Oh, ehm," Paul muttered, glancing up at John, across the room- who appeared to be having a light conversation with Mr. Martin and Mr. Emerick. "I... I dunno, really. I can... I can ask 'im, if you want."George raised his eyebrows slightly. "I mean, I can ask him. I just wondered if you knew, off the top o' your head.""No, I don't." Paul replied, setting his bass against the piano and standing. "I don't mind askin' for you, though.""Thanks." George replied, his voice lowering slightly as he said, "I didn't know if... well, I know that you an' John have your rows, and I wasn't sure if you two were exactly on speakin' terms, at the moment."Paul's heart broke slightly when he heard George say that: it was a terrible thing to hear someone say about another who'd always been your best friend."No." Paul shook his head, assuring George, "Of course we're on speakin' terms- and John an' I don't have rows, really.""Really." George said, looking thoroughly unconvinced. He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, anyway, and replied, "All right. Perhaps I don't know what I'm talkin' about.""That's the spirit, George." Paul mumbled, giving George a quick pat on the shoulder and striding across the room, over to where John and the others were gathered- bracing himself. Bracing himself: despite having just assured George that nothing about his and John's relationship was tense.
What a lie.
"John, ehm." Paul mumbled as he approached them, trying desperately to keep his nerves at bay. He nodded slightly at the other two, "Mr. Martin; Mr. Emerick. Hello. Ehm, I'd just like to have a quick work, y'know... with John.""Oh, it's great to see you, Paul." Said Mr. Emerick, reaching out to shake Paul's hand, quite genially. "Sorry I've not been around recently, y'know- haven't seen you lot since... January, I s'pose.""Oh, yeah. It's been... it's been a while." Paul said in reply, smiling at this almost humorously good-natured man."I was just talking to John, here, about all the things you've already managed to do, this year." Geoff said, nodding swiftly at John. Paul noticed, then, that John seemed so incredibly awkward. "I was about to ask, too- how was you lads' trip to India?"Paul's heart started to pound a little quicker upon receiving such a question.What on earth was he meant to say?"India? Oh, ehm, well... y'know." Paul replied, crossing his arms, touching his chin thoughtfully, "I mean... what's there to say, really? Y'know." He chuckled, hoping to alleviate some of the tension that had arisen (though, quite unsuccessfully)."Well, I don't know." John mumbled, giving a great, dramatic shrug of his shoulders, avoiding eye contact with Paul at all costs, "Half the time, I couldn't even fall asleep- the whole thing was quite miserable for me, really.""Oh," Mr. Emerick mumbled, his face falling slightly, "Sorry abou' that- I didn't realize that it'd been an unpleasant trip.""Oh, no, it really wasn't that unpleasant." Paul assured him with a nod, "I just... I dunno. It was a very personal experience to me, and..." He waved his hand airily, hoping that he might be able to end this conversation. "Well, y'know- I'd rather not get into all o' that, now."Unfortunately, both Mr. Martin and Mr. Emerick seemed to notice just how evasive Paul had become about the subject- but, fortunately, took it as their cue to change topics."Ehm," Mr. Martin cleared his throat, then, giving a slight nod at Paul, "Well, then, Paul- you had some business with John to attend to, so, we'll, ehm..." He ushered Mr. Emerick to follow him, then- over to where George and Ringo had congregated around the drum set. "We'll leave you to it.""Oh," Paul mumbled, softly- feeling as though they'd probably misinterpreted what his "business" with John might be- when, really, it was only one simple question.A question on the behalf of George, no less.John was sat on his chair, still- guitar in hand, strumming, knowing damn well that Paul was there to speak with him, yet pointedly ignoring him."John." Paul said, softly, kneeling down beside the chair, hoping to conceal not only his nervousness, but also his anger with John, for leaving his wife and son for another woman. "I 'ad somethin' to ask abou' a track of yours.""All right." John muttered, barely audible, as he nodded across the room, "Go grab your bass, then.""No, it's for George, actually." Paul replied, realizing presently that he, too, had several questions for John in regards to the bassline. "... actually, no- you're right. Gimme a mo'."He stood, swiftly, and strode across the room to take up his bass, slinging the strap around his neck and returning to John's corner of the room. This time, he pulled up a chair beside John, in order to properly play."Ehm." Paul muttered, unsure of where to begin. His gaze was fixed onto his Hofner, finding himself nearly unable to meet John's eyes for any length of time. "I just... wanted you to hear how this sounds. For, ehm... what's it called...? Oh, I'm So Tired."Paul began to play the opening bassline he'd come up with, offering glances up at John whenever he began to softly sing in time with Paul's bass."I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink. I'm so tired, my mind is on the brink." John sang, softly, as he leaned closer to Paul, watching intently as Paul's fingers plucked at the strings. "I wonder, should I get up and fix myself a drink? No, no, no..."Paul's fingers slowed, and he looked up at John. "I've only done that section, so far." He leaned back against his chair, away from John. He looked away, too, as he continued, "Ehm, y'know- I just wondered if you thought my bit it was all right."John took a silent moment to stare at the floor, replying, "Yes. Yes, I do... I quite like it." He shifted in his seat, as if he were keeping himself from saying something that he desperately wanted to.A slow smile tugged Paul's lips upwards as he murmured, "What.""Don't you hate me, Paul?" John asked, suddenly, leaning closer to him. John's eyes were alight with concern- nervousness, even- as he asked such an unprompted question.Paul blinked, "John... what?""For leaving Cyn. You must think I'm insane, at least." John replied, speaking so swiftly that it seemed he had no control over his own tongue. "I'm crazy, you know."Paul stared at John, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, wondering what the hell was going on behind those eyes.Paul's first instinct was to reply, yes. Yes, I do hate you- I hate you for leaving your wife and your son. I hate you for how irrationally you've acted- for how fucking crazy you are. Because, yes- you are crazy.But the coldness in Paul's gaze melted after mere moments.I very well could hate every decision you make- I could hate absolutely everything that you've ever done.But I could never, never hate you.Even though I know that I should. 
Damn you, John Lennon- for leaving me so completely captivated by you, and by everything that you do.
Paul looked down, several moments later, and replied in a mumble: "No." He shook his head, busying himself with his bass, "No- I don't hate you."John breathed deeply, leaning closer to Paul as he asked, "Aren't you pissed at me now, Paul?" He stared up into Paul's face, who was still busy with his instrument. "... not even a little bit?"Paul shook his head, pursing his lips, as he wondered what to say. "I'm... very proud of you." He replied presently, finally meeting John's eyes, forcing a nod- feeling that familiar lump well up in his throat."I'm proud of you." Paul repeated, softly- gently taking John's hand in his own, squeezing his fingers, before allowing his hand to slip away as he stood.Paul couldn't quite think of anything else to say. So, he said nothing more: he allowed the subject to drop.Once again, Paul found himself so disappointed: disappointed that despite everything that had transpired, after everything that he'd done- he couldn't find it within himself to hate John Lennon.And he doubted, very strongly, that he'd ever do so.And that thought terrified Paul to no end.___________________________________________"... when John left Cynthia," said Paul, his voice soft, "and when he... got with Yoko, it brought a new sort-of tension to the group- as if we needed any more tension, considerin' all that 'ad already happened between us, y'know.""I see." Michael nods. "I'm sure you found it difficult, y'know- to find a balance between trying to mend your damaged relationship with John, while also unapproving of his new relationship with Yoko.""Right, and not only that-" says Paul with a nod, "I had every intention of standin' up to John, for the sake of Cynthia, y'know." He shakes his head, smiling disappointedly. "And, o' course... I couldn't even do that.""So... what did you do?"
"I... I took a little break." Paul says, "Over that summer- the summer of '68, I took a trip to America, without the others. I wound up in LA with Tony Bramwell, even with Ivan Vaughan, y'know- went to a few parties, to clear my mind, an' all that. And... I saw her again."

Michael's face lights up. "Is it... who I'm thinking it is?"
Paul nods, a cheeky little grin spreading across his face, "Linda." He takes a moment to sigh: to remember. "We were at this... this party. And she was across the room, and apparently... she was waiting... for me."He pauses, chuckling. "I looked at her for a good, long while. And she looked at me, with that great, beautiful smile of hers.
"I took her back to my room, and I spent the rest of my holiday with her. It was as if everything else had faded away, out of existence- as if it was only us: Linda and I.
"My stay was much too short for both of our likings. But... this time, there was something different. Something... had irrevocably changed between us.
"During that holiday," Paul smiles: a sad, charged smile, remembering each detail of his stay in vivid detail, "I fell in love with Linda Eastman.
"...and she fell in love with me."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“... still, back in London, at Cavendish, I kept in contact with Linda.” Says Paul, smiling slightly. “For the rest of the summer, we called nearly every day. We’d just gotten so… wrapped-up with each other. But she ‘ad a life in America, and I had mine, in England.”
“Of course,” says Michael with a slight nod of his head. “And… what exactly did you do, without Jane, without Linda, for the rest of the summer of ‘68?”“Well.” Paul’s smile deepens, and he lets out a little chuckle. “What’s interestin’ abou’ that summer is tha’... John and Yoko actually ended up moving in with me, for a month or so- at Cavendish.”Michael’s eyes widen. “Oh my god- did he?”“He did.” Paul replies, nodding. “They did- both him, and Yoko.” He pauses, thoughtfully crossing one leg over the other. “I don’t quite remember how it happened, really: we were simply at a session one day and John mentioned somethin’ abou’ moving out of his old house. Completely off-hand, y’know.” He tilts his head as he continues, “And, I jus’... I didn’t even really mean to offer, but I did- I told ‘im that he an’ Yoko were welcome to stay in my downstairs guest bedroom.”
“Oh, wow.” Michael chuckles, lowering his head as he does so. “So… they moved in with you.”
“Yes, ehm.” Paul replies. “Heh, it was sort o’ awkward, to be frank- naturally, I s’pose- seein’ as John was livin’ with Yoko, his girlfriend- and with me, who I’m sure he thought of as… well, as an ex-girlfriend, or something.” He waves an airy hand. “The dynamics were odd. But… it could’ve very well been worse.“The two of them were high on heroin for nearly every waking moment. So… I didn’t have to deal with them, sober.” He gives a slight shrug of his shoulders. “And, ‘cause o’ that, we never really had any serious conversations.” He pauses. His voice goes slightly quiet and introspective as he muses, “I dunno what we would’ve even talked abou’ if we had.” He props the heel of his hand beneath his chin, giving a soft shake of his head. “Not for a lack of things to say, but… I s’pose, there was simply so much.”“Hm.” Michael nods slightly. “Did you and John talk… at all, while he was staying at Cavendish?”“Very seldom, but… yeah.” Paul replies, cocking his head to the side. “None of us were home, very often- with bein’ in the studio, an’ all that. And, of course- I was rather preoccupied with phoning Linda, for every moment I possibly could.” He chuckles, “So there weren’t many days where John and I simply… sat off. But… some days, we did.” He pauses, remembering. “Some days… we did.”___________________________________________Surprisingly, nothing happened between Paul and John during the summer of ‘68.Nothing, at least, that was noticeable to Yoko or to the others, with whom they spent nearly every sunlit moment.But there were those little things: those things that were completely typical for the two of them, even while barely speaking to each other.Those little things: such as Paul noticing a pattern in John’s waking-schedule, and that every morning at 7:15, John would wake, and five minutes after that, the sound of the sliding glass door from the downstairs terrace would alert Paul that John had gone out onto the balcony, to watch the sunrise.What’s more: Paul began to wake at seven o’clock, simply in order to listen to the pattering of John’s feet on the wooden floorboards below his bedroom. And then, when John would go out onto the terrace at twenty-past-seven, Paul would creep quietly down the stairs (in order to not wake Yoko), and join him.What was interesting about this was that neither of them ever spoke much. Sometimes, they wouldn’t even say anything at all.It’s simply nice to be in each other’s presence, like this. Paul thought, glancing fondly over at John, whose face and hair were aglow with the light of the rising sun. We don’t even need to say anything. It’s nice enough to just… be.This thing kept happening, day after day- John’s smile growing wider with each time Paul would step out onto the terrace, realizing after a week or so of Paul waking at just the same time as he did that Paul must be doing so, deliberately.After that week, Paul heard John wake earlier than usual. He was confused, slightly, by what John might be doing downstairs- wondering, quite irritably, if John and Yoko were simply having sex.Nonetheless, Paul joined John out on the terrace at the same time as he did, every morning- at 7:20.John turned his head when Paul slid open the sliding glass door: a secretive, nearly smug smile plastered across John’s lips as he said, “Morning.”The corners of Paul’s lips turned upward as he mumbled, “Hello.” Down the step, he walked- over to his place on the patio chair, just beside John. He scratched mindlessly at his fitted white t-shirt, wondering, against his better judgement, if John noticed the way that the fabric clung to his arms. Not as if John’s perception of him mattered, much- in fact, not at all.
Of course it didn’t.
As he approached his seat, Paul stopped, short- smiling wider, as he said, “Oh, you.”He saw the tray that was set at John’s feet- a tray of two teacups and some biscuits, too.“What…?” John spoke, glancing all around him, as if he had no clue of the tray at his feet. Finally, his gaze upon it, he gasped. “Oh! How’d this get here…?”“Son of a bitch.” Paul mumbled, shaking his head- though still grinning radiantly as he sat. “Is that for us?”“Oh, no.” John replied, reaching down for the tray as he chuckled. “It’s all for me.”“John. Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Paul muttered, feeling his cheeks flame up, slightly, when he picked up the teacup that John was offering him. “... thank you.” He said softly, glancing up into John’s eyes for no more than a moment.Still, in that moment, John’s eyes met Paul’s, too- though, he quickly looked away, giving a gallic shrug. "Well. It's only breakfast."Paul lowered his head into a nod, unable to come up with anything intelligent to say.The two went silent for a moment, sipping their tea, as they sat out there on the deck- mere moments before the sun would rise.Paul couldn’t help but notice how close his and John’s hands were- resting on the arms of each of their chairs. I could simply reach out, and touch him- his hand.“D’ye know what today is?” John asked in a low mumble, raising his teacup to his lips, probably concealing another smile.“No,” Paul replied, crossing one leg over the other, as he began bouncing his knee up and down, completely overcome with anticipation- nearly smiling, when he realized that their conversation seemed to be flowing almost naturally- as if it were years ago, as if everything was... normal, again.  “What’s today?”John took a moment to simply smile, “Today… is July-the-sixth.” He leaned back in his chair, taking another slow sip of his tea, leaving Paul simply clueless.“Oh, hold on, now.” Paul chuckled, on the edge of his seat, racking his brain and wondering what the hell was so significant about the day. “July sixth.” He mumbled, “It sounds familiar, but… I simply can’t place it.”John shook his head, trying desperately not to smile. “Today, Paul,” he said, leaning closer, propping his fist beneath his chin, “Is July sixth: the day when the two of us first met at Woolton.”Paul’s mouth dropped into a smile.“Christ, John- that’s right.” He murmured, shaking his head, nearly smitten at the fact that John had not only remembered the anniversary of the day they’d met, but had also prepared tea and biscuits for the occasion. “That’s… that’s right.”“Mhm.” John mumbled, smilingly raising his cup to his lips, “I jus’ thought that… y’know, that it made for a good excuse, to have a nice breakfast together.” He pointed at the teacup in Paul’s hands, “You might recognize the taste o' that, too- it’s Typhoo.”“Fuckin’ hell- Typhoo tea.” Paul replied, feeling his cheeks flame up, as all of those memories came flooding back to him.
Memories of sitting out on the porch swing at home, with John- smoking Typhoo tea through a pipe, with the ashes staining the pages of their shared notebook. Paul’s head dropping against John’s shoulder as he giggled- pressing his mouth against the fabric on John’s sleeve to keep from laughing too loud.

All those years ago.
Paul looked away from John, unable to keep eye contact as he began to remember everything.“That was eleven years ago.” Paul whispered, his stomach flipping when he realized just how long it had been since then.“... it was.” John replied, his voice soft, as he leaned back in his chair, sipping contemplatively on his tea. “We’ve done… so much, since then.”Paul glanced up at him, his eyebrows furrowed- wondering what exactly John was speaking of: whether it was the fact that they’d grown up together, risen to fame together, became such legendary musicians together, became richer than either of them could’ve possibly imagined, together…
That they’d… slept, together.
Do you regret it, John? Paul wondered, staring pointedly at him, his eyebrows still pressed together, his head tilted quizzically.Don’t you regret it, even a little bit?John returned his stare, his chest rising softly as he breathed.The faintest smile upon John’s lips, the slightest shake of his head- and Paul knew that John had understood.Paul’s lips parted, ready to speak- until the voice of Yoko from inside the house startled him. A soft call: “John? John…?”“Ehm,” John muttered, standing, looking nearly embarrassed of himself- for having set this entire thing up, only to have their time together cut short by his girlfriend, calling him back to bed. “Yoko wants me, so…”“Oh.” Paul muttered, glancing up at him with those wide eyes of his, “Yeah, ehm- go ahead, John. It’s fine.”“I wanted to be able to enjoy the sunrise with you, Paul- to put it frankly.” John said with a shrug, heaving a sigh. “I truly am sorry.”“No, it’s… it’s fine, John.” Paul assured him, again, though the lump welling in his throat was a clear indication that he was lying through his teeth. “I’ll… see you later.”“Right, right.” John mumbled, stopping by the glass door, his hands in his pockets- so obviously stalling, in order to prolong his stay out on the terrace. After another moment, though, he softly said: “Enjoy the sunrise, for me.”Paul glanced back at him once, managing a half-smile, “I will.” He mumbled, turning back to the horizon- staring out over the silhouettes of the dark trees, his chin propped beneath his fist.The glass door shut behind him, and just like that- John had left.Paul glanced back one more time, simply to ensure that John really had left: and, unfortunately, he had.He looked down at the tray of plates- the untouched biscuits that John had prepared for them. John’s half-drunk cup of tea.He shook his head, swallowing that lump in his throat as he mumbled, “Fuck,” completely and utterly pissed at the fact that they’d nearly had a nice moment, together.Back to the horizon, he looked: out over the world, as the sun began to shine, suddenly, up over the hills and onto the face of the earth.To his chagrin, the sunrise was one of the most beautiful he’d seen in a long while: a watercolor painting, of colors swirling into the dawn sky as the sun began its steady climb.All this, and Paul still couldn’t quite seem to think of anything else but John.
I only wish he were here.
___________________________________________“... again, I had to reel myself in.” Paul mumbles, heaving a great sigh. “Because even a moment as simple and innocent as watching a sunrise… y’know, could’ve easily escalated into something more.” He breathes deeply, almost smilingly, as he scratches at his chin. “So, I became slightly closed-off, again- in order to remind myself that it was John… and Yoko, now. And I had Linda- despite the fact tha’ she was, y’know… all the way across the sea.”“Right.” Says Michael, nodding. He glances down at his notes, saying, “So, I’m assuming that John and Yoko moved out of your house, then?”“Yes, ehm- the two moved into a flat in Marylebone, for the time bein’.” Paul says, slowly. “I almost wished that they wouldn’t move out, ‘cause I felt almost as if I was losin’ John even more- losin’ him to Yoko.” He pushes his bangs from his eyes as he says, “Y’know- ‘cause even though John an’ I had cut off our affair since India, I still felt this… sort o’ possessiveness towards him. Especially now, with this new woman in his life.”“How did Yoko feel about you, then?” Michael asks, his eyebrows furrowed, “I mean… surely, there must be some sort o’ resentment there, or something…”“Well… nothing much, at the time.” Paul replies, glancing thoughtfully up at the ceiling, “‘Cause, y’know- Yoko had originally set her sights on me, before John. So, I guess, she still felt a sort o’ embarrassment, in wake o’ that. Y’know, she was very polite to me- probably only for John’s sake, though- ‘cause she’d do whatever he did, y’know. And he’d do whatever she did- they got really close, within a short span o’ time. It was… honestly, quite concerning, watching John latch so quickly onto this new love of his. It was almost as if… we was trying to forget.”
“Trying to forget?” Michael asks, tilting his head.
“Forget about… y’know, what he and I had done.” Paul sighs, shrugging again. “I dunno. That’s what I always assumed- probably a self-centered assumption, lookin' back, though.”“No, it makes complete sense.” Michael mumbles, glancing down again at his pad of paper. “Okay. So, by that time, it was late August, 1968. What was on the agenda for you all, during that time?”Paul pauses for a moment. "Well." He blinks, tilting his head, as he speaks slowly. "Late August... was truly a blur. Loads of writing, loads of... heroin. Didn't see much of John, then- especially not sober." Paul pauses again, with his hand on the side of his face, "An', o' course... Ringo left the band for a week or so at the end o' the month. It worried us, too, y'know- 'cause we really 'ad no idea whether 'e was gonna come back or not."Luckily for us, ehm... 'e returned after he took a brief holiday with his family. He'd jus' gotten in a sort o' rut, y'know. I can't say tha' I particularly blame 'im, either. So... y'know, we'd gotten over that little hurdle, too, now, y'know."But, that next month, in September-" Paul says, sitting up straightly, "That was another pinnacle point of our history: the start of the recording sessions for The White Album."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

September first marked the first day of recording The White Album.Ever since John and Yoko had moved in with Paul that summer, there seemed to be less tension between the group, overall. Still, there was something completely awkward crackling in the air among the bandmates: of course, more evident between Paul and John than between anyone else.Despite the fact that it had been nearly five months since their affair, such a thing as that, of course, could affect even the closest of friends. And with a soul tie like the one Paul and John seemed to have, the fact that they were still work partners, still everything to each other: an affair between the two of them couldn’t simply be forgotten about.Perhaps, it’s because there’s something still there. Paul found himself wondering as John arrived to the studio that morning: September first, carrying his guitar case and a notebook, wearing an espresso-colored suede jacket that Paul recognized from somewhere, though he couldn’t quite place it.Is that my jacket? Paul wondered, still: raising his eyebrows, his gaze fixed on John, watching as he walked across the room.Oh. Paul’s brows furrowed, realizing: that’s Yoko’s jacket.Paul’s brows raised yet again when he thought: John can fit into Yoko’s clothes? God, he’s gotten skinny.Just then, John caught Paul’s eye from across the room- probably having felt Paul’s gaze burning a hole through that damn jacket of his.Paul looked up at the ceiling, busying himself with running his hands through his hair.I really should stop thinking about such a thing.
You know- about John.
“Promotional film on Wednesday, boys- remember.” Said Mal Evans, entering the room with George Martin, carrying his comically large leather suitcase. “We’ll be doing Jude and Revolution, over at Twickenham at half-past-one.”“Will we be singing live, Mal?” George asked from across the room, sitting lazily against a folding-chair, smoking a cigarette. “And what’s to say abou’ our instrumentals? Will those be live?”“You’ll all be singing, live.” George Martin replied with a nod, setting his notebook down atop the piano where Paul sat. “But we’ll be settin’ up instrumentals and amplifiers for you lot- to make it a little easier.”“I think the Union banned miming, recently, didn’t they?” John asked, taking his guitar from its case and beginning to tune.“They did. But they’ve got no say, as far as instrumentals and amps go.” George Martin replied, pulling a chair up beside the piano. “And, anyway, we’ve got a thirty-plus piece orchestra booked, too- along with all those extras for the end o’ Jude.”“And, your live instruments won’t be muted, anyway. They’ll just be much softer than the pre-recording.” Mal added, handing out papers of the agenda for the forth of September to all four of them.Paul glanced down at the paper, unsure of how he should be feeling about Hey Jude being the first song on the queue.He hadn’t really explained it to any of the others. He’d never felt compelled to do so.But Hey Jude was a song that he felt was much more personal to him- and much less suitable for a live performance- compared to some of their other recent works.This was namely due to the fact that this song was the one he’d written for Julian, about a situation that John and Cynthia, alike, seemed to want to keep private. And, what’s worse: that it’d still been only a few months since John had left her.
It seemed almost too soon.
Paul felt as though he’d nearly made a mistake in showing the song to the others, and should’ve probably waited at least a few more months before revealing it.Yet, here he was, anyway: on the fourth of September, about to perform the song live.The band arrived at Twickenham as instructed: at 1:30 in the afternoon, ready to rehearse before the rest of the crew arrived.In the meanwhile, they busied themselves with doing vocal warm-ups, admiring the set, and becoming familiar with the most important people involved with the film.Among their number, of course, was the director- who, though the boys had worked with in the past, certainly- though he was now much more involved than he ever was, before.
The director.
___________________________________________“... I know you’d helped with, ehm- what were they…? Paperback Writer and Rain.” Paul says, smiling, as he crosses one leg over the other. “But this was the first thing that you’d gotten really involved with, and, y’know- it was great to be reunited for such an important project.“I remember seein’ your name on the call card, and I thought: ‘My god, it’s Michael Lindsay-Hogg!’ I know him!”Michael smiles, almost embarrassedly. He shakes his head, “No, y’know, I- I was just so excited to be working with you all, again. ‘Cause it’d been, say… two years or more since we’d really worked together.”“Oh, trust me- the feeling was mutual.” Paul assures him with a smile. “We’d always quite admired your directing style, and, ehm… it was jus’ nice to know that we were already quite familiar with you.”“Well, thank you!” Michael chuckles, gesturing for Paul to continue, “But enough about me, now. Let’s get back to the film.”“Oh, o’ course.” Paul nods, propping his fist beneath his chin. “Well, y’know- it was a great deal of fun, performing live again. ‘Cause we hadn’t done so in a while, right.” He nods, pausing. “Ehm… and, o’ course, we did Jude first- three takes or so, I believe- an’ then we did Revolution, with a slight break, in-between the two.”“I’ve actually… wondered.” Michael interjects, seeming to be stifling a smile. “In-between those performances, during your break, I never quite knew where you lads went off to.”Paul bites briefly onto his lip, now stifling his own grin. “You mean… where John and I went off to?”“Yes- you two!” Michael chuckles, leaning forward in his chair. “I remember… I asked George Martin, I believe, where you two had gone off to- and no one ‘ad any idea. Not even George or Ringo knew, and… well, I thought I might as well ask, y’know!”Paul lowers his head, laughing lightly. “Oh, god.” He tilts his chin up, “Honest-to-god, Michael- we weren’t doin’ anythin’ together.” He leans back in his chair, almost contemplatively. “I s’pose that we could’ve, though, y’know.”“... yeah, I didn’t want to assume anythin’, but… y’know.” Michael shrugs, “‘Cause, at the time, I had no idea that there was anythin’ goin’ on between you two at all.”Paul cracks a slight smile as he asks, “Did you have any suspicion, though? Truthfully?”“Well, I…” Michael laughs, “Y’know, I hadn’t seen you lot for a while, so I didn’t ‘ave much to go off o’. So, at that time, in September, I’d say, no: I didn’t have any real suspicion of you and John, getting together.”Paul, hearing the inflection in Michael’s voice, adds with a point at him, “... yet.”Michael’s lips curve into a cheeky smile, and he shrugs again. “We’ll get there, eventually. But as for now, Paul- we’re still on September forth, 1968.”Paul is still chuckling, slightly, as he replies, “Right, right- o’ course. September forth.” He leans back against the couch as he goes on, “In-between takes of Jude and Revolution: an odd encounter between John and I. When the two of us went off… alone.”___________________________________________“... I’m in here!” Came a voice from behind the door, to which Paul huffed impatiently.“Who’s in there?” Paul asked in reply, pressing his ear against the door.“It’s John.” Came the disembodied voice, who, after a moment added, “Is that Paul?”Paul grinned slightly before pushing the door open and slipping inside, closing the door before anyone could look in.“Course it’s me. Don’t you know my voice?” Paul muttered, striding across the dressing room to the chair where he’d left his duffle bag. “I was just comin’ in to get changed.”John was just across the room from him: a small room, really, so it was only ten feet or so between the two of them. “I’m getting changed, too.” He replied, looking up briefly from the suitcase he was rummaging through. “What’re you changin’ into?”Paul paused, glancing down into his bag, crossing his arms. “I’ve got no fuckin’ clue, actually.” He replied, trying to seem as casual as possible, despite feeling the blood rush into his cheeks at the realization that he and John hadn’t been alone, together much since the affair. And now, they were changing together.I don’t suppose it matters, much. Paul thought, and in a simple attempt to make conversation and ease his own nerves, he nodded up at John, mumbling, “I like your shirt.”John glanced down at the shirt he was wearing: a simple button-down, short-sleeved, periwinkle colored. He looked up at Paul, again, smiling almost quizzically at the thought that Paul liked such a plain, simple shirt. “Do you, now?”“Ehm… yeah.” Paul replied in a mutter, having turned back to his duffel bag, looked up at John briefly to say, “Y’know, it’s… very… periwinkle-y.”Paul could’ve nearly died of embarrassment when he realized what he’d said: and how stupid he’d sounded.You simply can’t seem to keep your mouth shut, can you, Paul?At that, John lowered his head, chuckling. He met Paul’s eyes again, finally, to say, “You think so?”Paul was relieved that John was humoring him, at least- and went right along with the bit. “I do think so.” Paul replied, feeling his confidence begin to return, “I think that it’s a very nice shirt.”Paul had John’s undivided attention, now, it seemed, as John tilted his head to the side slightly and said, “I’d let you borrow it, if you want.”Paul’s interest was piqued, now, as he met John’s eyes from across the dressing room, with his eyebrows raised. “What?”“I mean, y’know- you said ye didn’t know what to wear.” John replied, shrugging, as he continued to rummage through his things, “So, y’know… you’re welcome to wear my shirt, if you’d like.”Paul stared at him, almost incredulously, without really having meant to. Then, he realized: why the hell am I making such a big deal of this? John and I have been sharing clothes since we were teenagers. It’s no different than before.“... y’know what? I think I’ll take it.” Paul replied after several moments, after emboldening himself to even speak. “... I’ll take it.”“Cool, ehm…” John muttered, having found a in his suitcase to wear, and spontaneously pulling that periwinkle, collarless button-down up over his head. He took a moment to flip it, outside-in, and then tossed it over to Paul, “Here you are, then.”Paul couldn’t help but notice just how little John seemed to care about sharing clothes, now, after everything, whereas Paul felt that it was so, so much more important than simply sharing clothes.This is proof. Paul thought to himself, allowing his eyes to linger for merely one second longer on John’s almost worryingly slender torso before beginning to unbutton his own shirt. Proof that things, now, are no different than they were, before.John slipped his new black shirt over his head, buttoning it more swiftly than Paul had ever before seen him do. Then, from his suitcase, John produced a light-blue-polka-dotted tie, looping it around his neck, and tying it himself.Catching Paul watching him as he did so, John smiled slightly. “What?”A lump formed in Paul’s throat when, against all of his better judgement, he began remembering.I was the one who always used to do-up John’s tie. I was the one to button him up, before each and every show.It wasn’t even really the fact that John was finally doing such a mundane thing for himself, finally.“... nothing.” Paul mumbled, shaking his head, as he tried to swallow- to which John gave a simple, slight nod of his head and excused himself from the room. He closed the door behind him, leaving Paul very much alone.Alone: with that periwinkle shirt clutched tightly in his hands- the scent of John’s cologne and of John’s very essence folded-up in the cloth. The smell of the woody, citrus Sauvage fragrance that John had been using for years, now: not unlike the one that Paul, himself, used. The smell of John’s skin: of Old Spice, of that soap he’d used, again, unchanging since childhood.
But those years were long gone.
It was the fact that now, Paul had to accept that everything, everything had changed.___________________________________________“... we did those recordings, y’know.” Paul says, sitting up, slightly, “Of Jude an’ Revolution. An’ I had that encounter wi’ John, an’ it sort o’ made me realize… that he really had moved on.” He heaves a great sigh. “An’, y’know- I was tryin’ to move on, too. I jus’ hadn’t expected John to do so, so… soon. Especially with how willing he’d been to drop everythin’ in order to have a relationship with me, before I’d left India. It almost made me wonder, y’know- how much did he really want me? Did he ever even love me, at all? Y’know, those sorts o’ questions.”“Naturally,” Michael nods. “But afterward, I’m assuming that things went on as usual: with your recording sessions for The White Album, an’ all that.”“... well.” Paul mumbles, a slight smile forming upon his lips. “Not exactly the same.” He runs a hand through his hair, “‘Cause, now… there was a new presence in the studio. Unexpected; uninvited. And, in my opinion, at the time… highly unwanted.”
“Oh.” Michael says, returning Paul’s grin, “And, I’m assuming that most people already know who you’re speaking of…”

“Mhm.” Paul hums, giving a little nod. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ll ever quite forget the first day that John invited Yoko into the studio. It was a feeling that I’d never quite felt before.” He pauses, cocking his head to the side, speaking slightly slower, now. “... ‘cause even with Cynthia, I’d never felt threatened, when it came to… y’know, who John loved the most.

“But… the first day tha’ Yoko came to the studio… I felt almost as if I was bein’ replaced. And, god-” Paul shakes his head, pursing his lips. He gives a halfhearted, hopeless looking smile as he says softly, “I’d never felt that way before. And, it… hurt. It really hurt.”

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“... you didn’ tell Yoko she could be here, did you, Paul?”It was the second rehearsal of September: a recording session for The White Album.Huddled around the piano were Paul and George, isolating themselves from the others, across the room: most specifically, John and Yoko, who were speaking to Ringo, Mr. Martin, and Mal.“Fuckin’ hell, George- ‘course I didn’t.” Paul replied, shaking his head incredulously. He gave a shifty glance over at the couple at the other side of the room. “It was all John’s doing. If he’d have asked me, I would’ve told ‘im that she isn’t allowed in here.”“Right.” George replied lowly, taking a drag from his cigarette, “I mean, we’ve ‘ad our rule of ‘no girls allowed in the studio’ since the very beginnin’. I dunno why John’s suddenly gotten so bold.”“... I do.” Paul muttered distractedly, staring again at the group of people who’d congregated over by the amps.It’s because John and Yoko are practically one being, now.
Because he’d ran to her, after being so horribly humiliated in India.
All because of what I had done.But Paul couldn’t possibly articulate that, let alone to George, who, though he most definitely had at least some suspicion about the nature of Paul and John’s relationship, still didn’t know for certain what had transpired between the pair.And Paul intended to keep it that way: at least, for as long as he possibly could.George interrupted Paul’s train of thought with a shake of his head. “Well.” He mumbled, heaving a great sigh, “What’re we meant to do about it?”Paul weighed the situation for a moment, before speaking slowly, “I can… talk to him.”“I mean… if it isn’t too much trouble.” George added, with an almost sarcastic smirk.“Yeah. I will.” Paul replied decidedly, emboldening himself to tell John exactly what he thought about Yoko’s presence at the studio.___________________________________________“... I don’t know what you quite expect me to say, Paul. We’ve never explicitly said that we aren’t allowed to have our girls at the studio. It’s only ever been an unspoken rule. So I believe that I’m allowed to have Yoko here, if I want to. Unless, of course, her presence offends you in some way, Paul- in which case, I’d love for you to enlighten me.”That had been John’s response when Paul had rang him up, later that evening.Paul’s response to John’s monologue had been a simple, “... fine. Whatever,” with which Paul hung up, and immediately had a new number on the line.“Fine, John. If that’s how you’re going to be…” Paul mumbled, dialing a number that he’d memorized now by heart, “Two of us can play at that game.”He waited, several moments, with bated breath to hear that voice on the other end of the line.And, after what seemed like an eternity, the voice came through.“... hello?”Paul couldn’t help but lower his head in a cheeky smile as he muttered, “Hi, Linda.”“Oh-” came the beautiful voice of her, laughing softly as she parroted Paul, “Hi.”“Look, Linda-” Paul said, running a hand through his hair as he haphazardly gathered his words, “I’m just gonna be frank with you. I need you in London. I need you here, badly.”There was a slight pause before Linda asked, sounding rather surprised, “God, Paul- what’s goin’ on?”“Oh, nothing, really, I just… I don’t like this space between us. An’ I know tha’ you have your life in New York, your job, and your daughter, but…” Paul shook his head, unable to come up with anything more convincing than all that he’d already said. “I’d fly you out. You could come an’ live with me, at Cavendish: you, and Heather.”Linda’s young daughter, Heather, wasn’t a frequent topic of conversation for Paul. Especially considering that Heather spent much of her time with her father, Linda’s ex-husband, Paul had only seen Heather in person once.Still, he felt that it was necessary to mention that in flying Linda out to London in order to live with him, she was more than welcome to bring her only daughter along with her.“... I mean, are you sure, Paul?” Linda asked after a moment’s thought, “I mean, I could very well relocate, as far as my photography goes. But to… y’know, to uproot everything, all in order to stay in London for what’ll probably only amount to several months…?”“No,” Paul replied, shaking his head, allowing his voice to soften as he spoke carefully into the mouthpiece, “No, Linda- I can assure you. I’ll have you here for longer than several mere months. Because…”He paused, wondering for an instant if this was the correct course of action.Then Paul’s mind wandered back to John: on his insistence about Yoko being present at the studio.Yes: yes, this is exactly how it’s meant to be.“... I’d like for you and Heather to come and live with me.” Paul said, after sucking in a nervous breath, “Because I’d like, very much, to marry you, one day, Linda- so long as you’d have me.”“O-oh, my god…” came Linda’s voice in a soft mutter, turning simply hysterical as she replied, “Yes, Paul McCartney- I’d like that, very much indeed.”Paul giggled slightly at her reply, “Okay,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he registered his proposition. “And, y’know- we don’t have to be married right away. We can take our time- decide if this is the right thing for the two of us. Y’know, it’s a great commitment.”Still, Paul didn’t find the idea of being married all-that enthusing. But he figured that if he’d marry anyone, it might as well be the girl he loved more than all the others.“Ha, believe me- I know a thing or two about that.” Linda joked, laughing faintly.“Right, right.” Paul replied, smilingly, having momentarily forgotten about Linda’s previous marriage. “We’ll take things slow. But even then, remember: I want nothing more than to make you my wife, one day, Linda Eastman.”“... that’ll be Linda McCartney, once the time is right.” Linda replied, sighing lightly. After a moment, she added, “Well… I guess I’ll begin packing for London, then.”“Take your time. Well, don’t take too long, now-” Paul corrected himself with a chuckle, “I’ve spent too many nights alone to not want you right this moment.”“The feeling is entirely mutual.” Linda assured him, “I’ll hurry, y’know- I can’t wait to see you again, Paul.”“I can barely wait, either. Call me whenever you leave New York.”“I will, Paul- I love you. I’ll be home with you, shortly.”“Goodbye, my love.” Paul replied, his heart all aflutter as he placed the phone down into its cradle.A faint smile still plastered across his lips, Paul sighed- lovestruck, and successfully distracted from that arbitrary tension that had arisen, yet again, among himself and his bandmates.Staring dazedly down at the phone set, Paul cuffed the sleeves of his white button-up.When Paul’s fingers grazed across the metal adorning his left wrist, he froze.Snapping immediately out of his daze, Paul glanced down at his wrist: at the identity bracelet, on which his first name was engraved.The identity bracelet: the one he’d forgotten he still wore, in the first place- the one that John had given him for his birthday, all those years ago.Have I truly been wearing it, all this time?
Was I wearing it while bedding John in India?
Have I been wearing it every day, since then?I suppose that I have. Paul realized, running his index finger along the letters of his name, across the face of the bracelet.For the first time in a long while, Paul acknowledged the existence of this incredibly, undeniably significant silver bracelet.The silver that was now cold to the touch.Staring down at his name, at the gift that John had so thoughtfully given to him, back when everything had been so simple and perfect- Paul thought to himself, no more.
I cannot allow myself to go on, holding out hope for this man, any longer.
Unclasping the bracelet, Paul concluded: even such a thing as small as this: I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, anymore.Beside the phone, on the table, was a small ash tray.Paul laid the bracelet in the tray, to lay among the ash of many a cigarette he’d smoked in the front hall, by the door.I will marry Linda Eastman. Paul thought, giving one last glance at the gleam of silver, lying abandoned in that tray.
I will marry the woman who I’ve fallen madly in love with, and leave behind the remnants of that forbidden love between John and I.

Perhaps in doing this, we can start anew. John and I can begin a new chapter: now, with Linda and Yoko, and simply be… friends.

Yes. That’s exactly what we’ll be.

Friends.
___________________________________________“... so, in early September, Linda came out to London.” Says Paul, “She and Heather came to stay at my home at Cavendish, and it was a great feeling: almost as if we were our own little family.”“It sounds very nice,” Michael replies smilingly. “And did you begin bringing her along to the White Album recording sessions, like John was doing with Yoko?”“Occasionally,” Paul nodded, “Yeah. Not nearly as often as John brought Yoko in, but- yeah. I did.” He props his fist beneath his chin, saying thoughtfully, “And, y’know- I couldn’t help but analyze John’s relationship with Yoko, whenever he’d bring her in. I spent so much time simply watching them, y’know… wondering, why?“... why, y’know, after years of Yoko pining for John, essentially stalking him, an’ after he’d turned her down countless times, would he become so attached an’ obsessed with her, all o’ the sudden?” Paul pauses, weighing his next words carefully, “An’, y’know, it sounds rather rude of me to say, I’m sure… but I began to wonder why John Lennon, as… incredible as ‘e was, who could’ve very well had any woman- or man, I s’pose- that he’d wanted, chose a girl like Yoko. ‘Cause, y’know- she wasn’t the stereotype. She wasn’t a blonde, she didn’t wear makeup- she was exotic. She was off-putting- not the typical kind of girl that most men would go for- especially not for someone of John’s caliber, y’know.”“I see,” Michael nods, “Did you come to any conclusion about… why John might’ve gotten with her?”“... the only thing tha’ I could possibly come up with, again, was that John had gotten with Yoko in order to replace the relationship with me that he’d lost.” Paul replies. “An’, o’ course, I hated assumin’ that John would go through that whole ordeal, all in order to spite me. But it seemed that it was the most logical assumption- especially considerin’ how John started actin’, once he’d gotten more bold.”“Oh, god.” Michael smiled, “How did John start acting?”“Well, when Yoko first came ‘round to the studio, it wasn’t nearly as bad.” Paul replies, his head cocked slightly to the side, “But, like I said… John got only bolder as the time went on. Especially after I brought Linda into the studio… he became bolder, still.”___________________________________________“... thought she was the bird who lived all the way in New York.” John mumbled, giving a quick nod up at Linda, who stood across the room, speaking politely to Mal Evans and Yoko.“She does,” Paul replied, raising his cup of tea to his lips, then corrected himself, “Ehm, she did- that is, until just recently, when I asked to fly ‘er out here, to come an’ live with me.”“Live with you?” John repeated, his gaze on Paul in an instant. “As in… long-term?”“I mean, y’know.” Paul said with a shrug, his eyes unwavering from where Linda stood, denying John the satisfaction of meeting his eyes. “We’d like to be married, eventually, I think- Linda an’ I.”“You, married?” John asked, smiling incredulously, “Huh. Thought you said tha’ you didn’ like marriage.”“Well, we… we haven’t really set it in stone, yet. It’s just a possibility, y’know.” Paul replied, feeling his face begin to blush when John so quickly remembered all of Paul’s previous statements about being married.John hummed lightly, shrugging his shoulders, as if he was rather indifferent about the entire situation. (Paul, however, knew better: that John cared more deeply about the topic than he’d ever likely say.) “All right, then.” He wandered over to where he’d left his acoustic guitar, propped-up against the piano, “I mean, y’know- I don’t really care abou’ if you want to get married, or if you don’t, or… whatever. I was just curious.”“Sure, sure- just curious.” Paul repeated, averting his gaze in order to smile, smugly, knowing damn well that he’d probably gotten under John’s skin, in telling him that he might like to marry Linda one day.
Perhaps John’s jealous of her.
It doesn’t matter whether he is, or isn’t. Paul reminded himself, sitting down at the piano and starting again on the melody he’d been finishing up over the past several days.But the prospect of John being jealous of Linda is rather funny to think about.This sort of thing happened, over and over, all throughout the middle of September.Yoko remained at the studio, throughout each and every recording session: and now, per the request of Paul, so too was Linda present at nearly every session.If John can have Yoko here, then who the hell is he to say that I can’t bring Linda? Paul wondered, justifying to himself what he’d began doing.Even if I am simply bringing Linda in order to spite John- it doesn’t matter. There’s no law against it.Days and days wore on- and though there weren’t any rows to speak of, the tension between Paul and John was growing stronger by the minute. The tension that had amassed due to the fact that they’d both decided to start bringing their women into the studio: their women, with whom they were romantically involved.At least for Paul, it was so incredibly awkward to perform under the watchful gaze of not only John, but of his and John’s women, as well as George, and Ringo- and, well, of everyone else in the studio.It had all become so completely complicated.But there was one day- the day before John's birthday, on October eighth- when the tension became worse than it ever had, yet.It had been a decent few days, leading up to the incident. In Paul’s mind, John was putting in an adequate amount of effort, in order to alleviate some of the awkwardness about the studio. John had seemed more patient, more diligent than he had in a long while. Paul assumed, based upon this, that perhaps they’d reached a turning point. A new beginning.Oh, but how wrong he was.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“... what’s on the agenda for today, boys?” Asked Geoff Emerick, who’d been more present than usual at the Beatles’ recording sessions, sitting down near Ringo’s drum set with his steaming hot cup of tea.“Well, I believe tha’ we were gonna do one of John’s.” George replied as he tuned his guitar.“Two, actually, George.” John replied as he took his seat near the piano in a metal folding-chair, “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to bang out both I’m So Tired and Bungalow Bill today.”“I like that one, John.” Yoko said, softly, from her seat just beside John. Paul watched her as she spoke, from the piano bench: the way her hand was propped beneath her chin, with the tips of her fingers pressed flirtily against her mouth, as if biting her nails, as she smiled so charmingly at John.“Which one?” John asked, returning her smile, one eyebrow cocked with curiosity.Yoko gave a careless little shrug as she replied, “Both. Any song of yours is good.”Feeling rather left-out of the conversation, Paul inserted himself in saying, “Yes, you’re quite right about that, Yoko.”Paul’s remark could’ve easily been interpreted as sarcasm, but deep down, he truly did mean it: at least, most of John’s songs were rather good.In reply, John merely gave Paul a glance: a long, lingering glance, at that- his eyebrows furrowed together, slightly, as he probably wondered about the nature of Paul’s comment. Whether Paul was being sarcastic or not, it was unclear to John.“Ehm, well, then.” John mumbled after a moment or so, pushing his outgrown bangs from his eyes as he said, “I s’pose we can start with I’m So Tired, ‘cause I’m sure it won’t take nearly as many overdubs as Bungalow Bill might.”“We’re doin’ the chorus thing in Bungalow Bill, aren’t we?” George asked, putting out his cigarette, “Wi’ all the extra voices from the girls and crew, right?”“Maureen’s comin’ in later to sing that chorus bit, I believe.” Ringo replied.“Yeah, I’ve got… a few extra people to sing at those parts. Just to make our sound a bit rounder, y’know.” John added, standing to speak briefly with Mr. Martin before the recording.“I’m So Tired.” Paul mumbled to himself amongst the noise of everyone chattering around him. George had told him, several months prior, that the song had been written back in India, sometime after Paul and Jane had left.Oddly enough, John, himself hadn’t ever spoken to Paul about the inspiration behind the track, and had almost seemed rather elusive about the topic.Paul didn’t take much offense to that: after all, John had simply become more elusive altogether since Rishikesh.And, though he’d never quite admit it, Paul had sneaking suspicion that he might’ve been a source of inspiration for the lyrics- at least, himself and Yoko.But here Paul was, again- just going on, assuming that John still had some sort of unrequited love for him. That John had gone so far as to write a song about his feelings, too.Yeah. Paul thought to himself, completely sarcastic, chiding his own line of thought, Right.The preparation for the take took nearly a half an hour, and then, finally, the official recording began.They began with recording the instruments: with the band and crew bustling about the studio, putting off for one moment any tension between them and collaborating as they’d learned to do through every slight and row. Paul, rather vainly, quite enjoyed this process- it was the one time where he felt as if it were the early days, again.What’s more: Paul felt as though that while doing these recordings, the tension between himself and John could be ignored, almost surpassed: if not for good, then simply for a moment.And, at that point, in regards to John, Paul would take whatever he could get.Even a mere moment would have to suffice.Of course, George played his lead guitar, and Ringo, his drum kit. And, too, John did his acoustic guitar and Paul had his bass.Recently, though, they’d begun experimenting more heavily with new sorts of instruments: John, in that vein, played the Hammond organ, and Paul played all the while on the electric piano.Recording the instrumentals took slightly longer than expected: two hours of playing, consecutively, before they’d even begun to touch on the vocals.“It’s only John and you on the vocals, isn’t it, Paul?” George asked, lighting a cigarette when he’d finished his guitar bit.
Oh. I’d forgotten that.
“Yeah, ehm- I s’pose it is.” Paul replied, remembering when John had told him several weeks prior that he’d wanted the song to be a duet, of-sorts- between the two of them.“I thought Paul’s voice might sound nice wi’ it. Y’know- it’s kind o’ screamy.” John interjected, walking past with a cup of tea that he’d spontaneously brewed, in-between recordings. “And he’s rather good with that, aren’t you, Paul?”Paul looked up from his bass, his eyebrows raised nearly up to his hairline, wondering what the hell John meant in saying that.
Most likely, it was some sort of innuendo about Paul’s screaming during the sex they’d once had.
“I mean… I dunno, y’know.” Paul mumbled, keeping his voice low, returning his gaze to the strings of his bass guitar. “S’pose I am. I’ve done it a lot over the years, y’know- in tons o’ various songs.”Praying that he’d successfully diverted the topic back to music, and away from the topic so completely personal and unprofessional for their workplace, Paul continued, “Anyway. Might as well get these takes over with so tha’ we can finish up the second track before the day’s up.”John, smiling slightly (probably having sensed Paul’s knowingness and discomfort), replied, “... yes. Let’s.”The vocals for the song were… quite impressive, in Paul’s opinion- though he’d likely never admit that he thought so. John’s voice, with that crescendo near the end, probably gave the entire studio goosebumps as it rang out for all to hear.There were some lines of it, in particular, when Paul would catch John looking at him, and couldn’t help but feel some sort of pointedness with the way John sang.Pointedness, borderline desperation- especially in that final chorus, when Paul joined him in singing.
“You’d say, ‘I’m putting you on.’ But it’s no joke, it’s doin’ me harm.”
John’s gaze, partially fixed on his sheet music, partially fixed on Yoko, had now come to fix on Paul: almost unwaveringly, with that dark, piercing gaze of his that made Paul’s insides ache.
“You know I can’t sleep, I can’t stop my brain. You know, it’s three weeks- I’m going insane!”

Three weeks.
Suddenly, it clicked in Paul’s mind: it had been three weeks that John remained in India after Paul had left.Three weeks: John spent three weeks there, without him, and apparently, going insane.
Holy shit.
“I’d give you everything I’ve got for a little peace of mind.” Paul joined in with John, then- singing his characteristically higher harmony.He even dared to return John’s stare, as if singing these lyrics for each other.“I’d give you everything I’ve got for a little peace of mind.” They sang: Paul, even louder than before, his eyes narrowing just as John’s were, gaze still fixed upon him.John took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for the final repetition, as they sung in harmony, in-sync, eyes locked.
“I’d give you everything I’ve got for a little peace of mind.”
And just like that, it was over.Paul breathed a sigh, collapsing into his chair, as he took it all in.What the hell just happened? He wondered, staring up at the ceiling, as various murmurings of praise and chatter erupted all around him. He tuned it all out, running a hand through his hair, registering this sudden animosity that had returned in John, towards him.Everything seemed to be going just fine. Paul thought, giving a quick glance at the other microphone where John stood, still, now speaking to Yoko as she ran her fingers through his hair.In fact, I thought that things might finally be going back to normal. He added, quickly averting his gaze, and going back to wondering, worrying about why John might suddenly be upset with him, again.Perhaps he’s trying to make some sort of statement. Perhaps he’s trying to say that this song was written about his frustration with me.Whatever it is: I know one thing, for certain. Paul thought, standing, and retreating to the breakroom in order to have a cigarette in peace.John is still, even after all this time, angry with me.And I have absolutely no clue how to proceed, after this.___________________________________________“... the recording for I’m So Tired was so… so completely tense.” Paul says, his head tilted slightly to the side. “Ehm… y’know, I hadn’t really been expectin’ tha’. I mean, things had seemed to be pretty neutral between John an’ I, especially when he’d moved in wi’ me, over the summer.” Paul shrugs. “But… all o’ the sudden, there was a sort o’ animosity in his looks at me, again.”“And you though that tha’ was a result of John writing that song about you, perhaps?” Michael asks, an eyebrow lifted.“Honestly, yeah.” Paul nods, crossing one leg over the other. “I mean… I didn’ quite know what else to think, really. ‘Cause, now, I realized tha’ I could connect the lyrics to experiences tha’ John an’ I had gone through, and it seemed so clear that, yes, these words were, in fact, about me.”“Right.” Michael replies, nodding, glancing down at his notes. “Ehm… but the session wasn’t quite over, yet, was it? You lot were still goin’ on to do Bungalow Bill.”Paul chuckles, leaning back against the cushions. “Heh, right. Yeah, we still had a whole other song to do, before the day was up.” He pauses, slightly. “An’, y’know- I was ready an’ willing to jus’ forget about John’s sudden coldness to me, and simply move on.“But… my god, if only you’d been there, Michael.” Paul shakes his head. “After recordin’ Bungalow Bill, I don’t think I’d ever been so angry at John, before- let alone, angry, at all.“I could’ve quit, right then an’ there. That’s how badly it stung.”___________________________________________“... time to head back in.” George sighed, taking the remaining drops of his hot tea in a swift sip.George had come into the breakroom with Paul, in-between the recordings of the tracks. The two hadn’t spoken, much- merely enjoyed the peace and quiet and the presence of each other, away from the loud conversating in the main room.“Y’all right, by the way?” George asked, giving Paul a quick pat on the shoulder as he walked past him, to the door. “You’re much quieter than usual.”“What d’ye mean?” Paul muttered, glancing up from the floor, from the chair where he sat. “I was jus’ out there, yellin’ my fuckin’ face off for the song.”“No, ehm… you know what I mean. Since then: you’ve been very quiet.”Paul gave a shrug, still refusing to look up at George. “I dunno. I’m all right.”George nodded, “All right.” He grabbed ahold of Paul’s hand, then: a gesture that Paul hadn’t been expecting, as George wasn’t typically as physically doting as John or Ringo could be.George pulled Paul up, by the hand, so that he was on his feet.“Thanks, man.” Paul mumbled, giving George a quick nod.“‘s long as you really are all right.” George replied as they walked out into the main room, comforting Paul more than he’d ever likely know.I feel awful for putting George on the backburner for all these years: I truly do. Paul thought to himself, taking a seat on his metal folding-chair, taking up his bass. But the fact that John and I simply bonded tighter than I ever have with George- it wasn’t really as though I had a choice in the matter. It all just sort of… happened that way.
At least I’ll always have George in my corner. Despite everything that’s happened, I know that he’ll always be there for me.
That optimistic thought was somewhat of a refresher for Paul: a noticeable difference from his typically dismal inner monologue.The positivity was enough to make Paul sit a little straighter, raising his shoulders as he took a great deep breath.He even managed a smile, trying desperately forget about the strange, acrimonious tension between himself and John, and vowed to start anew.Perhaps John wasn’t even upset with him, at all: perhaps Paul had misinterpreted the entire situation.Not even having realized, Paul was staring directly at John, from where he stood with Yoko and Geoff Emerick across the room.John caught Paul’s eye after several moments- snapping Paul right out of his daze- and smiling softly.John smiled at him.Huh. Paul thought, turning away, a fond little grin of his own forming onto his lips. Perhaps I did read into that whole situation wrongly.Maybe I was wrong.“All right!” Paul called out, feeling a sudden rush of adrenaline, “Let’s start with Bungalow Bill!”“Let’s, Paul!” Ringo replied with a smile, as everyone took their places, took up their instruments, and prepared for the take.The instrumentals for the track were quite easy- most of the Mellotron had been previously recorded, and the rest of it was relatively simple. The vocals were the bit that truly carried the song.Recording the music took slightly less than an hour. By the time the band decided that the recordings they’d gotten were sufficient, it was around four o’ clock in the afternoon, and Ringo’s wife had arrived in order to record the vocal overdub in the chorus.Maureen looked beautiful- stunningly exotic, hair done-up as if she were simply stopping by, on the way to another event. The dress she wore was different than the ones that Paul had ever seen her in. The neckline was low, the skirt flared out and the sleeves billowed as she walked- in flying, swirling flower patterns of all different hues, like some of the new, hip, Indian-inspired style that had seemed to crop up, recently. Put, simply: she looked different than before.“Mo!” Ringo said with a genial smile, looking up from his drums, “We’ve almost finished with the instrumentals.”Maureen gave him a smile in return, saying softly, “All right. Just let me know when you’ll need me, love.”She placed a kiss on Ringo’s forehead as she walked past, over towards where Yoko was sat in the corner.George turned in his seat to watch her walk by. “No Pattie, today, hm? Thought surely that she’d tag along with you.”Maureen’s steps slowed, slightly, as she walked behind George’s chair, replying, “No, ehm… I thought she might’ve come with you and be here, already.”George paused for a moment. “No, no… she didn’t.” He turned, slightly, in his chair, to look back again at Maureen as he mumbled, “Your dress is nice, by the way.”“Oh, this?” She stopped walking, completely, in order to turn and look back at George. Smiling at him, she replied, “I’m glad you think so,” with which she continued her walk over to Yoko, embracing her, and speaking to her in giddily hush tones.Paul watched the entire interaction from his chair: not knowing what exactly to make of George’s compliment to Maureen, and figuring that it probably carried no significance whatsoever, Paul stood, ready to begin with the vocal overdubs.“Ehm… which bit should we start with, ‘en?” Paul asked, hooking his thumbs through his beltloops as he stood, waiting for Mr. Emerick and the rest of the engineers to finish setting up the microphones.John heaved a sigh, “I dunno. Eh… we could jus’ start with the beginning, I s’pose- work our way in, from there.” He shrugged, glancing up at Paul from his seat, “We’ve got everybody tha’ we need to do the chorus bit, so… might as well start there.”Feeling triumphant even in having such a simple interaction with John, Paul smiled slightly. “All right.” He said, taking his place at the microphone that Mr. Emerick had just adjusted for him.For the first time, guests had been welcomed into the studio to record vocals. In order to achieve that fuller sound that John wanted, the chorus was sung by all four of the boys, Yoko, and Maureen.Paul wasn’t quite sure how John had come up with that combination, exactly: John had never approached Paul to ask if Linda’s voice could be used, but perhaps John’s reasoning for it wasn’t anything personal.Or, perhaps John simply disliked Linda.Unfortunately, that makes a whole lot of sense. Paul thought, chuckling as they’d finally finished up the chorus of vocals. Well, it doesn’t quite matter, I suppose. There’s nothing I can do about that, now.“Wow.” George Martin mumbled from across the room, hand propped thoughtfully beneath his chin. “My lord- that sounded phenomenal, truly.”“Ah, thank you, Mr. Martin!” John replied with a laugh, removing his headphone set from one ear, “I s’pose you’d like us to go on with the verses, then?”“Yes, ehm, that’d be perfect.” George answered, nodding: giving the boys a go-ahead to do whatever they needed to do for the rest of the track.“Right,” Ringo smiled, setting his headphones down onto their stand, “And the verses, then, John- they’re only you and Paul, aren’t they?”“Well, who else?” John replied, to which Paul was nearly shocked. John only continued, too: with a half-smiling look over at Paul, he nodded, “‘s that all right with you?”“Oh, yeah- yeah.” Paul assured him, his mind whirling a mile a minute: interpreting, out of selfish hopefulness, that John’s tone had not a hint of malice, and that he was not upset with Paul in the slightest. “Ehm, I’m ready whenever you are.”“‘Right- me, too.” John said, stepping back behind his microphone, as Paul mirrored him, doing the same with his.Off to the side, George and Ringo sat with Yoko and Maureen- speaking to each other, genially, their gazes flicking occasionally up towards John and Paul with an admiring, discreet sort of interest.Paul and John sung: led by John, telling a story about a man they'd met in Rishikesh: tiger hunting with an elephant and gun, and of a cautionary tale told by the hunter’s mother. Really, it wasn’t as serious as some of their other current projects- rather, a humorous little narrative, leaving the two of them to glance at each other as they sung, lips curved up into slight grins.Yes. This is what I’ve been hoping for. Paul thought, glancing down at his microphone as he laughed under his breath, before singing his solo line: “‘Not when he looked so fierce…’”“... his mummy butted in.” John sang in reply, nodding his head up at Paul, “‘If looks could kill, it would’ve been us instead of him.’ All the children sing…!”It’s not quite the same as before. Said the voice in the forefront of Paul’s mind, somehow drowning out his and John’s raucous harmonies, there’s a new sort of tension between us.
But I suppose it was unrealistic to think we’d ever go back to that same innocence that we’d once had.

We’ve grown up together, John, haven’t we?
We’re grown, now.It was mere moments later when the take was over, and John took off his headphones in order to say, “Can we try that last bit again? I don’t quite like ‘ow it sounded.”“Oh, ehm… yeah. All right.” Paul replied, slightly humiliated by that: considering that the “last bit” was his line of the song.“Right,” George Martin replied, starting the instrumental track, again: “I’ll run it back. Try it from, ‘the children asked him…’”Nodding, Paul turned back to his microphone, eyes glued onto the fabric of the equipment, now feeling too self-conscious to look anyone (namely, John) in the eye. He ran it back, as George Martin had instructed him to do: feeling eyes on him from every angle, of his bandmates, of Yoko and Maureen, of the entire crew who’d accumulated all in order to listen to the take.
“The children asked him if to kill was not a sin…”

“‘... not when he looked so fierce…’”
“... his mummy butted in.” John finished the line, his gaze glued onto his own microphone, as he went on: “‘If looks could kill, it would’ve been us instead of him…’”That’s when John shook his head, stepping away from his microphone, and mumbling, “Sorry, Martin- stop, right there, please.”“What’s that?” Paul asked, pulling the headphones from his ears, wondering what on earth John had stopped the take for.After taking his own headphones off, John folded his arms, pondering. “I dunno what it is. There’s jus’ somethin’ about it all tha’ feels rather off- you know what I mean?” He asked, with a glance over at the engineers and the others, who all stared at him, as if waiting for a verdict.I think that my bit sounded all right, Paul thought, feeling his face flush with embarrassment at the possibility that John was unhappy with the line that he had done. I mean, I don’t know how we could possibly change it, now-“Yoko.” Said John, his face lighting up, suddenly: ambling over to his girlfriend as everyone around him simply stared on in shock.Paul’s mouth dropped open, then, as he thought to himself: there’s no fucking way.“Yoko!” John repeated, grinning faintly down at her as she sat beside Maureen, “I think I’d like you to sing Paul’s line, y’know- I think it’d suit your voice, an’ all that.”
Oh my fucking god.
Paul simply couldn’t believe what he’d heard: and neither could George or Ringo, it seemed, judging by the completely bewildered looks upon their faces.“You’re not serious?” George Martin asked, butting in, looking equally shocked and displeased by this sudden change of plan.John turned his head to look at Mr. Martin, replying coolly, “Oh, I am.”Yoko, smilingly, gave that sickeningly sweet chuckle of hers before saying, “Yes, I’ll do that, John. I think that’d be rather lovely.”“Fuck it,” Paul mumbled under his breath: so quietly that no one else had understood that furious utterance of his, taking it only for an incoherent mutter. With those words, Paul slammed his headphones down onto the stand, shaking his head in pure disbelief.“Wait, Paul-” came the quivering call of Mr. Emerick, probably too hesitant to say anything more.“I’m fuckin’ leavin’. I’m gone.” Paul muttered, again barely audible, as he snatched up his jacket from the chair beside George, hopeful that perhaps someone- George, Ringo, Mr. Martin, one of the engineers, perhaps- even John, for Christ’s sake- might try and stop him on his way out.But not another word was uttered by anyone: they allowed Paul to go, without a fight, to go and blow off some steam as they knew he desperately needed to.And here I was: thinking that perhaps things were starting to get better between John and I.Fucking hell- he’d even started smiling at me, again.Paul buttoned his jacket, his fingers flying a mile a minute: he was desperate to leave the studio, almost to the point where he never wanted to ever return.But, no: apparently, I couldn’t have been more wrong.He’s replaced me with Yoko- it’s as plain and simple as that. I’ve been replaced.Driving away, driving back home, Paul took the longer, winding road, allowing himself ample time to stare off as he drove. It wasn’t too long until all of his anger had melted away into the tears streaming softly down his face, leaving delicate lines in their wake: a sign of Paul’s weakness.He couldn’t possibly allow Linda to see such a thing. So: he took the long road home.He allowed his mind to go: to places he hadn’t visited for years upon years, remembering things that he’d frankly rather forget.“For what it’s worth, I doubt tha’ any woman could ever ever replace what we ‘ave, y’know?”Paul had asked John, one day in the summer- the day he’d written a great ballad of love. The day he’d spent waiting for John to simply come down from his bedroom and join him, out under the sun.“I’ve figured tha’ for a long time, Paul.” John had said, in reply. “It does seem rather tragic, doesn’t it?”Paul placed his fist beneath his chin, to keep his lip from quivering as he answered, “Yes, John.”Clearly, though: John hadn't truly meant what he'd said. Because, here he was, now: having replaced Paul as silently and swiftly as a slight-of-hand trick.“It was all a lie.” Paul whispered, to no one but himself- his voice nearly breaking, longing desperately for the bliss of those early days. For everything to return to the way that it was.But Paul knew, deep in his heart, that it never would.Those days are long gone, now. Paul reminded himself, as he drove on and on.And I’d give anything to go back: it would be just like starting over.
Over.

Starting over.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“... I couldn’t believe what John had done.” Says Paul, giving a slight, bemused shake of his head. “His replacin’ me with Yoko had just been so… pointed, targeted. As if he was purposefully tryin’ to hurt me.”“I can’t even imagine how you must’ve felt at the time.” Michael replies, his brows all furrowed.“It was…” Paul gave an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair as he says, “It was just awful. Y’know, I didn’ even know how to proceed after such a thing.”“And wasn’t the day after that ordeal… wasn’t that John’s birthday?” Michael asks, his eyes going wide as he makes the connection.“Yeah, it was.” Paul replies, nodding his head, giving Michael an uneasy sort of smile. “October ninth: John’s birthday.“I said to him not a word, paid him no mind whatsoever- not even so much as a ‘happy birthday’. That was how pissed off I was at him.” Leaning back against the couch, after a moment’s pause, Paul goes on: “Ehm… I came to the studio that day, all to spend every second alone, in the other room- recordin’ a track, completely by myself- called Why Don’t We Do It in the Road.”“Heh- that’s an interestin’ one.” Michael says, fist propped beneath his chin, smiling amusedly.“Isn’t it?” Paul agrees, chuckling lightly, itching the corner of his mouth before continuing, “Yeah, so… I did that one, all on my own- as a sort of statement, y’know- tellin’ the others that I was perfectly contented, workin’ alone- and that I didn’t really need anyone else. Not… not even John.” Paul shifts in his seat, sitting up, slightly, “Y’know, it’s interestin’ just how suddenly someone’s tune can change on such a thing- ‘cause a year prior, I’d wanted nothin’ to do with the outside world. Y’know: I’d wanted it to be John and I. And that was it.“Now… things had changed so drastically.” Paul sighs. “I ‘ad Ringo help me, just a bit, on Why Don’t We Do It in the Road- with some of the drums an’ handclaps, y’know. An’ then, ehm…” Paul mumbles, pausing, remembering: “I believe tha’ it was only a week or so after that when we wrapped up recordin’ the album.“On the final day of recordin’, Denis O’Dell joined us in the studio. Y’know- he’d been a producer for us, prior- on films like Hard Day’s Night an’ Magical Mystery Tour, so we already knew him rather well.”Paul lifts up his hand, gesturing to Michael, “An’ o’ course you came in, again, too, Michael- in order to announce the next up-an’-comin’ project for us, following The White Album.”“Oh, god- I remember.” Michael mumbles, his eyes going wide, with a smile full of reminisce. “I remember comin’ in, that day… thinkin’ about how much tension there had seemed to be, between you all. O’ course, I had no idea about everythin’ that had gone on, between you- especially John an’ you. I was… quite confused, to say the least.”Chuckling, Paul replies, “Well, ehm… very sorry tha’ you ‘ad to get wrapped up, in the middle o’ our drama.”“I mean, I didn’t mind it, particularly.” Michael replies, giving a nod of his head, “I was just so very lost. Things had seemed to change, like you said, in such a small amount of time. ‘Cause now, we had… well, there was Yoko the studio- an’ you had this new girl, Linda- an’ I didn’t even know you’d been going steady until that day.”“No, I mean- to be fair, I was always careful about bein’ rather private about my personal life. I’ve never quite liked havin’ the entire world know each detail abou’ my personal affairs, y’know.” He shrugs, “But that day, my god… I remember hearin’ about you an’ O’Dell’s plan…”“... none of you were particularly enthused.” Michael remembers with a smile.Paul lowers his head in a bashful grin. “Were we that obvious?”“Believe me, Paul-” Michael replies, “Though I had absolutely no clue about what was happenin’ between you all- it was so painfully clear that you’d about had enough of Denis and I’s idea.” He chuckles. “But knowing what I do, now… I can’t say that I particularly blame you.”___________________________________________October seventeenth, 1968: the final, unofficial recording session for The White Album.Paul arrived at the studio early: to be expected, arm linked with Linda’s as he strutted in through the front door, quite honestly eager to put a pin in the album and to finally have a break from all of this.Because though Paul hadn’t quit the Beatles after his storming out of the Bungalow Bill recording session, he’d certainly become less patient since the incident had occurred. Less patient, especially, having to do with John, and John's new, strange obsession with that odd style of artistry that he’d once called “avant-garde bullshit” (most definitely having changed his tune under the influence of Yoko).“Good morning, Paul.” Said Mr. Martin, coming around the corner with his teacup, tailed by two men in business suits that Paul recognized as Michael Lindsay-Hogg and Denis O’Dell- the director and producer.“Oh, ehm- yes, morning, Mr. Martin!” Paul replied, stopping in his tracks when he realized that the presence of the other two definitely meant that something new was in the works.
Great.
“Morning, Paul,” Michael and Denis both gave Paul a polite little greeting as they passed- with almost surreptitious grins upon their mouths.All three turned their heads to acknowledge Linda, too- who stood at Paul’s side, still on his arm, with a smiling, “Good morning, Miss Eastman.”“Morning, gentlemen,” Linda nodded in reply, pulling Paul along, who had seemed to stop in his tracks while bidding the three men a good day.Now coming into the breakroom for tea, flipping the light switch, Paul couldn’t help but wonder why the director and producer were visiting: and couldn’t help but notice the pit forming in his stomach at the idea of a new project, especially one beginning so soon after finishing their current album.“Y’all right?” Linda asked, undoing the top buttons of her powder blue cardigan with a slightly worried glance up at Paul, “You seemed to have seen a ghost when we ran into the three o’ them, back there.”“What?” Paul mumbled, waving her off as he started with his tea, “Oh, no, no- I just thought that since Michael an’ Denis are here, it probably means we’ll be startin’ somethin’ new, already.” He shrugged, turning back to the stove, “An’, y’know… I really was hoping for a break.”“Mhm,” Linda hummed, coming up behind Paul and wrapping her arms around his waist, lying her head against his shoulder. She sighed, softly, “I can’t help but worry that they’re overworking you.”Leaning his head to the side, against Linda’s, Paul sighed, too. “Oh, I… I dunno.”Smiling, Linda muttered, “That’s a yes if I’ve ever heard one.” She pressed a kiss against the side of Paul's face, and finally, stepped away- allowing him to go on, making his tea.Paul chuckled, “No. No, Linda- they aren’t overworkin’ me. I’m just… tired, y’know.”Unconvinced, Linda shook her head, “All right.” Nonetheless, she allowed the subject to drop- allowed Paul to make tea, allowed him to then report to the main room for the commence of the final recording session.___________________________________________The session had turned into a day of mixing: no more recordings were needed, really, so the tasks for the day remained relatively easy.In fact, by three o’clock in the afternoon, everything had practically been done, leaving the boys and crew enough time to simply sit off and talk: something they hadn’t often had the time to do, for the past several months.Sat in a circle, in the main recording room, Paul was sat at the piano: as usual, with, of course, Linda at his side. Beside her was Ringo, with Maureen, yet again in an outfit much more fit for India’s weather than for even the sunniest day here in London.Beside Maureen, sat George: alone, again, with no wife present. Paul had paid close attention to this, recently: the fact that Pattie hardly ever made her appearance at rehearsals or band meetings, anymore, despite having been very involved with the band for longer than any of the other girls had.Perhaps the intuition I had about George and Pattie’s marital problems actually had some truth in it. Paul thought to himself, his gaze slipping from George, to the chair just beside George’s: where John sat, his legs stretched out in front of him, his hands behind his head as he reclined in that folding chair of his, the front legs of the chair up in the air.Truly, Paul wanted nothing more than to push that chair over, to knock John’s ego down a few pegs- still, out of spite for what had happened at the Bungalow Bill recording session.No- I’ve got to hold it together. For the sake of the band. Paul reminded himself, his gaze finally coming to the chair beside John’s: where Yoko sat, one leg crossed over the other, her frizzy black hair pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck.Her hand was in John’s lap, Paul noticed: and, instinctively, without even having meant to, at all- Paul took ahold of Linda’s, intertwining their fingers, as if to match John and Yoko.Linda turned her head, giving a loving look up at Paul, clearly appreciating the gesture- unaware, though, that Paul’s ambition in doing so had simply been to mirror what John had done with his wife.I don’t suppose that my intention matters, really- it’s the gesture that counts. Paul assured himself, glancing away from Linda and looking to Yoko’s right, to where George Martin, Mal Evans, Neil Aspinall, and Geoff Emerick were sat, along with the rare appearances of Michael Lindsay-Hogg and Denis O’Dell.“Well,” George Martin began, sighing quite loudly, “I s’pose you all ‘ave been wondering why I’ve brought Mr O’Dell and Mr. Lindsay-Hogg into the studio, today.”“Yeah- what the hell are they doin’ in ‘ere?” John asked, loudly- clearly joking, his tone laced with sarcasm.“Yeah, come on!” George joined in, chuckling, “We’ve only been waitin’ all day to hear what they’re in for.”Paul couldn’t quite bring himself to smile, despite the typical, joking antics of his bandmates that usually brought at least a grin to his face.Smiling, Michael Lindsay-Hogg raised his hands, issuing the others to hear him out. “Now, I don’t want any of you to worry abou’ this- but Denis an’ I ‘ave been talking quite often, recently, and… well, we’ve got somethin’ in store for you boys that we’re extremely excited about.” He gave Denis a quick glance, and they both nodded.“What’s that, then?” Paul spoke up, having genuinely become quite curious about this elusive project of theirs.“Well,” Denis began, after a moment: after taking in a breath, emboldening himself, “Michael an’ I’ve come together, like he’s already said- and we’ve already gotten all the clearances and detailing tha’ we need, in order to start this…” He blows out the breath he’d been holding, smiling all the while, “... this admittedly ambitious idea, come the new year.”“A new project on new year’s day?” Ringo asked, a halfhearted smile plastered across his lips.“The second of January- not to worry, we wouldn’t want any of you spending the first day of 1969 in the studio.” Michael assured them with a chuckle.“It’s a studio project?” John spoke up, glancing around at the others, even briefly catching Paul’s eye- looking so completely skeptical.“Well, yes- what else?” George Martin asked, his arms crossed, having probably sensed the lack of enthusiasm from the band, already.“What is it, though?” George piped up, leaning back in his chair, “You ‘aven’t quite said what it is that we’re doin’, yet.”“D’ye want a new album?” Paul asked, draping an arm around Linda’s shoulder after taking a drag from his cigarette, “Is that it? ‘Cause we’ve got the material, surely- but it’s hardly developed enough to release, any time soon.”A hesitant glance was exchanged between Denis, Michael, and George Martin- leaving Paul with the confirmation that, yes. They do want another album- already, when we haven’t even put out our current record, yet.“... like we’ve said,” Denis said, leaning forward on his chair, “It’s a highly ambitious idea that we’ve got- but after much consideration, it’s come to be our best bet. It’s sure to create a stir, y’know.”“... because we know that you all haven’t done live performances in, well… a long time.” Michael went on, piquing the interest of everyone in the room, “And we’ve come up with a plan, in order to record and release footage from this very studio, all leading up to your final live performance, as a band-”“-final, that is, if you don’t decide to have another live performance after this one.” George Martin cut in, with a nod.“Right, right.” Said Michael, glancing around at the bandmembers, now slightly more enthused than before, as he concluded: “So, that’s the plan: roughly, y’know. To film a bit of a documentary, and to hold a live performance after the fact.”Silence rang out in the studio: so quiet, in fact, that the ticking of the clock in the breakroom could even be heard.“Wow.” Paul mumbled, shaking his head, unable to keep a slight grin from forming onto his lips, “That… doesn’t sound too bad, really.”“Yeah,” George agreed, too, smiling slightly, “I mean- hell, we might as well give it one last go.”
One last go.
Those words cut through Paul’s heart, deeper than he’d expected them too.In Paul’s mind, he didn’t consider this to be their last live show: not until it was absolutely guaranteed to be their final one.This won’t be our last. I promise it to myself.“... I think that sounds like a plan,” John said, giving an expectant glance over at Ringo, waiting for that final opinion: a confirmation, that they were really going to do this.With all eyes on him, Ringo broke out into that cartoonish grin of his, saying, “Let’s do it, then, lads.”A surprised grin upon his lips, Michael Lindsay-Hogg announced, “Ehm, all right!” He clapped his hands, having been satisfied with the meeting, and eager as ever to begin, “Then, it’s settled: come New Year’s, we’ll begin a new project.“And I promise you, boys- the results will be nothing short of revolutionary. On that, I give you my word.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“... I really hope you don’t mind tha’ we’re havin’ the launch party here.” Paul mumbled to Linda, watching, admiringly, as she did her makeup at the vanity beside their bed. “I could call ‘em, y’know- tell ‘em that there’s been a change o’ plans, an’ we could have it at the studio or at John’s place, instead.”Giving an amused glance back at Paul as she applied her eyeliner, Linda said, “Of course I don’t mind hosting, Paul- what’d’ye take me for- a prude?” She asked, teasingly, as she turned back to the mirror to continue her application, “And, anyway- it’s not gonna be too many people- what did you say- twenty-five?”Swallowing, Paul nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, around twenty, or so.”She waved him off, tsking softly, “It’s nothing compared to the Pepper launch party- remember that?”Chuckling, Paul replied, “Oh, I remember.” As he leaned back against the pillows, smiling fondly as the memories of the Sergeant Pepper launch party came flooding back to him: the day when Linda had arrived, locking eyes with Paul through the crowd, and taking photos of him in that armchair beside the fireplace.“... what a time, what a time.” Linda sighed, continuing on with her makeup: doing her eyelashes with a jet-black mascara from a golden tube. “Well, what time did you say we could expect them by? It’s half-past-three, now, so…”“Ehm… I told ‘em, around five thirty or so.” Paul replied, glancing out of their open door and into the hallway, having heard the soft pattering of feet nearby. “Oh, who’s that, now?” He called out, putting on a slightly gruff character voice as the pattering came nearer and nearer.“It’s me!” Came the shrill voice of Heather, appearing in the doorway in that sweet little outfit of hers: white and baby blue, with her blonde hair stuck up every which way.“Oh, it’s you, is it?” Paul replied, opening his arms wide, from where he laid, still, against the pillows. “Come on up, now, little one!”Laughing hysterically, Heather jumped up onto the bed, practically jumping onto Paul’s stomach, knocking the wind right out of him, and eliciting a giggle from Linda, who watched them from her vanity seat.“Agh! You’ve killed me, Heather!” Paul gasped, laughing still, as Heather wrapped her little arms around Paul’s neck in an apologetic hug. “Oh, don’t think you can just get away with it- you’re gettin’ it, now!”“AH! No!” Heather giggled as Paul began tickling her, as he’d come to do after realizing just how much such a thing made her laugh. “Dad, stop it, stop it!”Giving a quick glance up at Linda when Heather called him “dad”, Paul grinned, “Fine, fine.” He allowed her to wiggle free, allowed her to collapse onto the bed beside him, huffing and puffing all the while.“You’re ready for the party, Heather?” Linda asked, as she put on her pair of pearl earrings.“Yes!” Heather replied, sitting up sharply, and giving Paul a pointed look as she asked, “Is your brother going to be there?”“My… what?” Paul asked, cluelessly, giving Linda a quizzical glance, “My brother?”Chuckling, Linda shook her head, “I don’t know why she keeps saying that.” She made her way over to the bed, sitting down beside Paul and Heather, “Ever since she was young, we’ve listened to your music, and I’d show her photographs of you all. And she’s always called John your brother.”“John?” Even saying his name made Paul feel slightly uneasy. Putting on his most amused smile, Paul replied, “Oh, well- why’d you say that, Heather?”“I dunno,” Heather replied thoughtfully, twisting a lock of hair around her finger as she stared up at the ceiling, “You were always next to each other, in the pictures. And Mom said that most of the Beatle songs were by you and him.”“Oh…” Paul mumbled, leaning back against the pillows, again- staring, too, up at the ceiling.He didn’t know how to take such a thing as that: something said, so innocently, by his girlfriend’s five-year-old-daughter, proving that even she had noticed the bond between himself and John.“... well.” Paul went on, ruffling up Heather’s hair and wrapping an arm around Linda, who’d now come to lay down beside him, “John an’ I have always been very close. We’re… we’re not brothers, though.” He chuckled, leaning his head against Linda’s.“You’re best friends, right?” Heather asked, popping up from in-between him and Linda’s legs, staring at Paul, waiting so earnestly for his answer.“Who, me and John?” Paul asked, hoping, perhaps, that Heather might change the topic and save him from giving an answer that was less-than-truthful.But Heather nodded, fervently, crawling up to lay between Paul and her mother, looking up at him, still.Linda looked up at Paul, too: almost as curious about his answer as Heather.How on earth am I meant to say no?Paul thought to himself, taking a moment of silence to choose his words, carefully.“... yes, Heather.” Paul replied, wrapping one arm around her, as he went on: “We’re best friends.”Linda was still looking up at Paul, her gaze deep and quizzical. But Paul didn’t meet her eye: not after having said such a thing that both of them knew wasn’t entirely truthful.… I don’t suppose that there’s a right way to answer such a question. Paul’s head was tipped up toward the ceiling, his eyes closing softly.Even I don’t quite know anymore what John and I are.Are we… are we even friends?Paul’s thoughts stilled when he felt Linda’s mouth on his, kissing him softly: deliverance from his daydream. Calling him back to the present: the blissful moment of simply laying in bed with his love and her daughter.Smiling, pushing out that bittersweet thought of John from his mind, Paul chuckled against Linda’s lips, wrapping his arms tighter around both her and Heather, as both girls broke out into fits of bright, beautiful laughter.All of this uncertainty about John- what does it even matter?I’ve got everything I could ever possibly want, here. And I need to let him go.___________________________________________“... I saw your album, John.”Said George with a chuckle, just after the dinner had been served in the hall of Cavendish.Seated around the table, passing clinking crystal of roast beef and salads and pasta and all different kinds of cuisine, just around twenty people sat. There was Paul, Linda, and Heather, John and Yoko, George and Pattie, Ringo and Maureen, George Martin and a few other selected members of the crew.There was, too, an empty seat at the head of the table, across from Paul: a chair reserved, as tradition at every meal they hosted, for Brian Epstein.Paul’s eyes went wide, staring down at his plate, unable to make eye-contact with anyone: not when George had brought up such a topic as that.George was speaking of the album that John and Yoko had released together, not two weeks prior: a mix of avant-garde tape loops from that first night they’d spent together at Kenwood in Cynthia’s absence.What had shocked Paul more than anything else about that project had been the sleeve of the vinyl: featuring John and Yoko, fully nude, on the front-and-back covers with the words “Two Virgins” stamped across the top.It had shocked Paul so greatly that he’d practically collapsed into bed after seeing such a thing as that. It was so completely bold: making such a clear statement in support of normalizing the nude human body. To Paul, the sentiment wasn’t particularly something he disagreed with: he only disliked that it was John and Yoko to do it.Most specifically, Paul disliked that it had been John on that cover: forcing Paul to see the naked body that he’d not seen in so long.In some odd, twisted way, Paul felt physically upset at the idea that John had put his body out in the media for any or all to see.Almost as if Paul was possessive of such an intimate form of the man he loved.Once, loved.“Oh… did you, George?” John asked with a grin, stabbing placidly at his food, breaking Paul from his thoughts.“Yes- most people I’ve asked have seen it, by now.” Yoko cut in, though on this particular evening, she’d been oddly quieter than she normally was.“I can’t imagine what I’d feel like,” Linda replied, “Are you two simply… void of any embarrassment, whatsoever?”“I dunno- just a bit o’ apprehension, I s’pose.” John replied, shrugging, after bringing his cup of water to his lips, “But not because… y’know, not even ‘cause we were naked; apprehension only about how people might perceive it.”He glanced over at Yoko, who sat beside him, as if wanting her to say something on the matter. It took Yoko several moments to take the hint, and when she did finally speak, she spoke so very softly.“We had a very specific message that we wanted to send out, y’know.” Yoko said, folding her hands neatly in her lap, “We just hoped that the people of the world might understand the statement that we were aiming for.”Paul nodded slowly, his eyes still glued to his plate. Still, he was internally torn as to how he felt about the Two Virgins cover.He gave a quick glance, too, down at Heather: who was sat on the last chair on the row, in-between where Paul and Linda sat. There's really no need to be cautious: I doubt that she even understands such a word as "virgins".“Well… more power to you- both of you. It was very bold.” Pattie said, dabbing politely at her lips with her handkerchief, “No doubt that you’ve created quite a stir- in the best possible way.”“Thank you, thank you.” John and Yoko mumbled in reply, smiling slightly over at each other- a sickening sight, sending Paul’s stomach spiraling in circles.My god- get a fucking room. Paul couldn’t help but say, in his mind- rolling his eyes up to the ceiling as he brought his glass to his lips.“Well.” Said George Martin, chuckling lightly, “Though I don’t mind discussing the, ehm, Two Virgins at our table,” a small round of laughter rang out, “What we’re most here to discuss is, of course, the album: The Beatles.”“‘Course, ‘course.” Paul said, daring to speak, as he’d seldom done for the entire evening thus far, “Well, I for one enjoyed most o’ the tracks we made, but, ehm… y’know, I can’t possibly be the only one of us who noticed a kind o’ shift in this album, compared to our past works.”“What kind of shift is that, Paul?” John asked softly, staring at Paul from across the table- with an undertone of knowingness to his voice that made Paul slightly wary of continuing.Nonetheless, Paul went on: “Well, ehm, y’know- we all seemed sort o’ separate for this album. There was a… a sort o’ lack of unity among us all, and I think it’s incredibly evident when you go back and listen to the tracks, all the way through.”“I can see that,” Ringo muttered, nodding in agreement up at Paul, “Like, you mean- that we all began composing as individual artists, and not as one unified band.”“Exactly.” Paul said, pointing over at Ringo, snapping his fingers sharply. “That’s exactly it, Rich- an’, you know, the album wasn’t bad, in any sense of the word. It just felt like a collection of songs that didn’t have much to do with each other. And, well… I s’pose that I think we could’ve done a bit better.”There was silence, for a moment: while everyone at the table registered Paul’s admittedly well-spoken analyzation of their White Album.“... you know, I completely see that.” Said Geoff Emerick, who’d been quiet for nearly the entire dinner.“Yeah.” George said, his arms folded, almost as if he hadn’t wanted to admit it, “No, you’re… you’re very right, Paul.”While everyone else in the table nodded quietly to Paul’s sentiment, Paul noticed that John had grown quiet. His eyes had barely left John since having said all that, and though he’d never quite admit it, he was anxiously awaiting John’s opinion on the matter.“John?” Paul spoke, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “What do you think?”Still, even while barely being on talking terms with one another, John’s opinions mattered more to Paul than anyone else’s at the table. Really, more than all of theirs, combined.How completely pathetic of Paul, truly.John looked up from his plate, meeting Paul’s expectant gaze. “Oh, well.” He said, allowing his eyes to linger for just a moment longer before looking away and going on, “Well, I dunno. I thought that this album is our best work, by far, really- an’ I don’t much mind the ‘lack of unity’ that you all seem to dislike.“I thought it was nice: that we were all finally coming into our own, y’know. Becoming more independent as artists and musicians.”Of course he fucking thinks that. Paul couldn’t possibly contain his eye-roll, shaking his head, unsure of what else he could’ve been expecting.
John Lennon: forever, the contrarian.
“Well,” Linda said, propping her fist beneath her chin, with an amused glance shifting between the two men, “Differing opinions are bound to happen- even between the two of you.”Taking up the joke, George chuckled, “Yeah- even between the famed Lennon and McCartney.”Giving one last glance at John, Paul sighed exasperatedly, raising his cup to his lips, trying not to take to heart the remarks made by the others about his and John’s relationship. Because, really: no one else had any fucking clue about anything.The dinner went on, then. Slightly tense, though it was, Paul hadn’t expected much less.John hadn’t said much directly to Paul for the entire night. He’d looked at him, as he always did, from across the table, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t possibly get the words out. At the end of the night, he’d bid Paul goodbye with a simple, firm handshake and a nod of his head, mumbling, “Goodnight, Paul.”Pattie was always sweet and shy. Maureen was practically silent- and, still to Paul’s surprise, so was Yoko.Yoko spent nearly the entire dinner staring off into space, only speaking when either John or Linda (who sat to her left; and, Paul had noticed, had become decently acquainted with her) would speak to her.Despite all that distastefulness Paul felt towards Yoko, he couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong. And, too, he couldn’t help but feel so incredibly proud of Linda for befriending someone who he, himself, found so off-putting. That was simply the nature of Linda Eastman: she didn’t really mind who you were, where you came from, what you looked like. She was so unbelievably kind to everyone.So, that night, after everyone had left, after Heather had gone to bed, Paul decided to ask.“... thank you for all your help, tonight.” Paul said from the bed, laying back against the pillows, eagerly awaiting for Linda to come and lay beside him.“Oh, please.” Linda smiled, meeting his eyes as she turned off the floor lamp in the corner of the bedroom, striding over to the bed with those ballerina legs of hers, “It wasn’t much of anything. For being as renowned as you lot are, you’re so incredibly low-maintenance.”“Either way: thank you.” He replied, lifting the bedding just enough for Linda to slip beneath the sheets, kissing her as soon as she laid down. “I love you.” He mumbled against her lips.“I love you.” She replied, moving her lips up to Paul’s forehead- comforting him with that godlike kiss of hers.Remembering suddenly, Paul muttered, “Before I forget- was everything all right with Yoko, today? She did seem rather quiet.”Pulling away, propping herself up on her elbow, Linda replied, “Well… I thought the same thing, actually. An’ I asked her, too- after the dinner was over, because she was looking vaguely ill the entire time.”“Uh-huh.” Paul said, turning over to look at her, “And… is she all right?”Linda gave a soft sigh, pausing thoughtfully, before she answered, “Yoko had a miscarriage yesterday, in the early morning.” She glanced down at the fabric of the quilt pulled up all around them, tracing a finger across the stitching as she went on, “She… she told me not to tell anyone. She didn’ want the news getting out.”“Oh.” Paul mumbled, his eyes going wide. “Why… why wouldn’t she say anything about it to us? I mean… it’s not like we would’ve judged her.”“Maybe you wouldn’t have.” Linda replied, her chest rising softly as she breathed, bathed in pale blue moonlight, “But truly, Paul- you have no idea what it’s like to be a woman. Even something as chance as a miscarriage can be turned around, and used against her.” She paused, giving a slow shake of her head, “Especially someone who’s got the recognition that Yoko does- and while being romantically involved with one of the most famous people in the world. Her reputation… she’s already quite unliked by a fair few people. The last thing she needs is for the world getting ahold of her miscarriage.”Paul turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, a sinking feeling in his heart and stomach that maybe he’d been unfair to Yoko.Despite how much he felt she’d stolen John from him, from how much she’d influenced John, too- and turned him into a person that Paul practically didn’t even know, anymore, he felt awfully for her.“And I’m not stupid, Paul-” Linda continued, kissing Paul’s forehead again, before laying down on her back, beside him, “I know, very well, how you feel about Yoko. I know that you don’t care much for her, but-”“That doesn’t matter.” Paul said, decidedly. “It doesn’t matter whether I like her or not- it’s still a tragic thing that happened.” He stilled, staring upward- realizing, in that moment, that he knew what he must do. “I’ll try to start treading more carefully around her and John. As much as… as much as I don’t want to- they need kindness right now. Don’t they?”Paul turned his head, glancing over at Linda, who was already looking over at him.She was smiling, softly- with a sparkle in her eyes, despite the room being as dark as it was.“Yes, Paul. They do.” She answered with a slight nod of her head, proudness laced into her voice at Paul’s willingness to change.Cupping his hand around her face, Paul thought to himself, what could I possibly do without this woman? She makes me a better person- and she doesn’t even need to try.Pulling her in, kissing her lips, Paul whispered, “I love you.”Smiling, probably at the sensation of Paul’s slightly outgrown stubble on his chin and above his lips, Linda replied, “I love you,” as she wrapped her legs around Paul’s body, pulling him closer in-between the sheets, and kissing him.Quickly, the kiss grew more intense: it was only half a minute before Linda had pulled Paul on top of her. By now, it was a nightly ritual: for Paul's hands to reach around her arched back in order to unclasp her bra, to make love into the still hours of midnight.Tonight, there was something slightly different about them: a feeling deep within their hearts that this would be the night."You're going to be a terrific father, Paul McCartney." Linda whispered against his ear, running her hand though his hair as he pushed himself against her.At that, Paul couldn't possibly contain his smile: happier at this than he'd nearly ever been, before; as their bodies and souls intertwined with one another’s, still as the dawn came upon them, and as the sun rose again on the horizon.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“... with that, the year of 1968 had nearly reached its end.” Says Paul, glancing up at the ceiling, racking his mind as to anything he might’ve forgotten.
“Oh-” Paul’s eyes light up, when he remembers: “There was that final performance, y’know- in early December. It was a whole ordeal- this BBC documentary with The Rolling Stones, featuring John an’ Yoko. They didn’t ask any o’ the rest of us to be in it.”“I remember that!” Michael nods, crossing one leg over the other, “And how did you feel about… about not being asked to be involved with the documentary?”“Oh, y’know.” Paul chuckles, lightly, as he shrugs his shoulders. “It pissed me off, slightly- ‘cause there was John, again, goin’ off and becoming his own independent artist. And… really, I wanted nothin’ more than to become a harmonious unit again, as a band- and, most specifically, to rekindle what once was of Lennon-McCartney.“So, though I knew that the others were slightly wary of the proposition… I began to grow excited for that upcoming project with you and Denis O’Dell.” Paul flicks his bangs out of his eyes as he goes on, “I thought that, perhaps… in doin’ that new album- maybe we’d all become closer, again.”“Wow,” Michael says, lowering his head in a chuckle, “Well, it’s great to hear that you really were looking forward to the documentary.”“I really was.” Paul replied, smiling, “So I spent all of December, anxious for it to begin- occupying myself, meanwhile, with my new, domestic lifestyle with Linda and Heather.”
Paul pauses.
“... Christmas was quiet.” He says, his voice slightly lower than usual, “We spent it inside: no guests here or there to speak of. We took the others some gifts- but what was most memorable of that particular holiday was Christmas Eve.”
Paul pauses, again: taking a breath, his smile returning, faintly. “I’d spent a good part o’ the day home alone with Heather, decorating biscuits, singing songs- those sorts of Christmas things, y’know.” He chuckles, leaning forward in his seat, “And… and Linda had gone out by herself, doing some last-minute shopping.

“She came home, then, late in the afternoon.”

Paul looks down, shaking his head: as if he was nearly on the verge of tears.

“I don’t believe I’ll ever forget that day. Not for as long as I live.”
___________________________________________
“... it’s the best time of the year!”
Paul and Heather sang smilingly, in unison, as they stood at the kitchen island with the holiday radio station on maximum volume, decorating their freshly-baked biscuits with icing. (Heather, of course, at her astounding height of three-foot-five, stood up on a chair, in order to reach other counter.)The house was all decked with Christmas decorations: garlands, strings of lights- three stockings, hung in a row above the fireplace. On the refrigerator hung a drawing that Paul and Heather had done together, earlier that morning: crudely-drawn snowmen, each with some distinguishable characteristics, with the names “Daddy”, “Mum”, and “Heather” scrawled over each of their heads.Three Santa hats had been put out on the countertop, and Heather and Paul donned theirs while baking. In wake of Paul’s newly-grown beard, Heather had taken to calling him “Santa Claus”, especially while wearing that white-cuffed red hat.“Say hel-lo, to friends, you know-” Paul sang over Heather’s voice, touching his icing-covered index finger to the tip of Heather’s nose, “And have a cup of cheer!”Giggling, Heather screamed, “Did you put icing on my nose?”Cocking his head, and stooping down to her height, Paul grinned, “Would you like to do mine, then?”Heather nodded fervently, reaching into the bowl to collect a dollop of red buttercream frosting on her fingertip, and dotting it onto Paul’s nose.Paul was giggling, now, too, “How do I look?” He asked, scrunching his nose at her as she went on laughing and laughing and laughing.“You look so beautiful!” Heather said, in-between her laughs.It was amusing to hear such a little girl say such a big word. Grinning, Paul took ahold of Heather and spun her around, once, standing her back onto her chair and saying, “Oh, you really think so? Thank you, love.”“Mhm!” Heather giggled, going back to frosting her vaguely-snowflake-shaped-cookie with bright blue icing, glancing up out the window above the sink and smiling, “The car’s pulled in!”It didn’t quite matter how long Linda had been moved into Cavendish. Every time that silver gleam would catch Paul’s eye from out that front window, when the car pulled into the driveway- Paul could feel a fluttery sensation in his stomach at the thought that his love was home, again.“Who’s home, Martha?” Paul asked, with that pet voice of his, to Martha, who was sprawled out on the cool wood floor of the kitchen beside a curled-up Thisbe, “Go get Mum, Martha! Go get ‘er!”Paul returned to assisting Heather, adding white detailing to the otherwise solid-blue snowflake cookie that she was still working on. He heard the door open in the hallway, heard the skittish scrambling of Martha’s paws against the floor as she greeted her mother.“Hey, love.” Paul heard Linda say to Martha, along with the crinkling of brown paper bags that presumably carried the things she’d found, out at the shops.“Hey, love!” Paul called out, down the hallway- hearing each little movement of Linda’s without even needing to look at her: heard her putting her keychain back on the hook, leaving her shoes on the mat by the door, stooping down to kiss the top of Martha’s scruffy head.But Paul was met with no reply: the first indication that something was going on.Vaguely curious, but knowing very well that he could simply be paranoid, Paul glanced down the hallway to watch as Linda walked their way.“Hey,” Paul called, again, when Linda had come into the kitchen, carrying her bags. As normal, classily dressed: in a rather festive outfit of a red sweater dress and boots.Linda’s face was completely unreadable. There was an unfamiliar stoicism about her: where she’d typically have run to Paul and kissed him on the mouth as soon as she’d stepped through the door, she had kept her mouth closed, biting gently on her bottom lip.“We’re making cookies, Mum!” Heather announced, smilingly- clearly not having sensed this strange new mood that Linda had developed, though Paul was beginning to realize that something had, indeed, happened.Truly, the suspense was making him sick.“What’s goin’ on?” Paul asked, his eyes wide as he took a cautious step near his girlfriend, hesitant to even reach out and touch her, with how shell-shocked she looked, at the present moment.Linda’s gaze was glued onto Heather, at first. That expression of uncertainty melted away, slowly- as her gaze lifted to Paul. She was now nearly smiling- but those great eyes of hers were still shining madly, as if she were about to cry.“Linda,” Paul breathed, feeling faint, unable to spend one more second in this suspense.Dipping her chin into a slightly nod, Linda approached Paul, walking up to him and wrapping her arms around his neck.He felt her breathing: felt her heart beating against his own.
And in that moment, he knew.
“Linda.” Paul whispered, his voice nearly breaking with that one simple word, as his own eyes began to well up. “Linda, oh…”“Paul McCartney.” Linda mumbled, pulling Paul in, closer, and pressing the side of her face against his, unable to look in his eye while her voice was trembling as it was, “You… you are going to be a dad.”Squeezing his eyes shut, Paul let out a nearly uncontrollable sob, sinking to his knees on the floor of the kitchen, covering his face with his hands as the tears began streaming down his face. “Oh, oh my god… Linda, oh, Linda…”He gasped out, unable to speak coherently, overcome with this great, over joyous emotional wave.It wasn’t an instant before Linda had sat on the floor beside him, laughing, in-between her own choked sobs. “Paul, Paul…” She laughed, pulling him into another embrace, right there on the floor.I’ve waited nearly my entire life for this.I’m going to be a dad.Looking up, from tearstained eye to tearstained eye, Paul managed a smile, even while still crying. “I… I had a feeling.” He chuckled, glancing down at Linda’s stomach- still, unable to tell that she was expecting, yet, but could tell solely by his intuition that she was. “Oh my god,” he breathed, bending closer, in order to place a light kiss onto her stomach.He looked up into her eyes again, only to whisper, “How far along are you?”Returning his smile as she raked a hand through his hair, Linda replied, softly, “I had the test done, around two weeks ago.” She looked down at Paul, fondly, for a moment. “I just… y’know, I had a feeling about it. And then, today, I went and got my results while I was out, and… well, I’d say that I’m around four weeks along, by now.”“Mum,” said Heather, who was standing, still, on her chair at the island, her eyebrows all furrowed, having not understood what was going on. “What’s wrong?”“Oh, my darling, nothing’s wrong!” Linda called out, opening her arms wide for Heather to come join her and Paul’s embrace on the floor. She laughed, “Nothing’s wrong,” as Heather crawled in-between Paul and Linda’s bodies, placing herself in the midst of their hug, “Oh, my sweet, sweet girl…”Paul couldn’t watch, without allowing a few steadily-falling tears to slip down his cheeks, as Linda tilted Heather’s chin up to look at her, whispering shakily, “You are going to be a big sister.”Heather’s great big, blue eyes went even wider, and she gasped. “I am?!” She smiled from ear-to-ear, glancing back and forth between Paul and Linda with that girlish, innocent gleam. “Am I going to have a little sister?!”“We don’t know that, yet, darling.” Linda mumbled through a smile, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind Heather’s ear, “The baby very well could be a boy.”Paul smiled, softly, with his arms wrapped around both of his girls, with one hand tracing softly across Linda’s brow, as he gently kissed her temple, “I don’t know, love.” He mumbled against her skin, staring off with still tear-filled eyes, “I’ve got a feeling that it’ll be a girl, too.”Linda looked up at him, her eyes crinkling up, “I thought the same thing, the first time I stepped into that hospital clinic.” She whispered, lowering her head to chuckle before tilting her chin up at Paul, again, and kissing his lips, slowly, “Perhaps we should trust in our intuition, more often.”Kissing her, once more, Paul nodded in agreement.After all, it was our intuition that had told us that Linda was pregnant, to begin with.“Yes.” Paul mumbled, his hand beneath Linda’s chin, kissing her once more, with his other arm pulling a giggling Heather closer to the two of them. “Perhaps we should.”___________________________________________
Paul is quiet for several moments. A soft smile traces across his lips at the thought of these memories.
“It very well could’ve been the happiest moment of my life.” He mumbles, as he vividly remembers each detail. “I was just… I felt as though my life, at that moment, upon havin' conceived with the woman of my most wonderful dreams, was now… complete. Everythin' felt… so completely steady. So domestic.“I almost began to dread the day that I’d return to the studio: y’know, I’d jus’ gotten so fond of this new lifestyle I’d developed with… with Linda.”
“Were the two of you yet engaged to be married?” Michael asks, tilting his head with curiosity, “I don’t quite remember ever hearing about it.”
“Well,” Paul sighs, crossing one leg over the other as he tilts his head, “Y’know, I didn’ quite ever propose. I gave her a ring in December- but, y’know, it wasn’t much of a big deal to us, whether we were married or not. We’d already built this sort o’ family together- so it wasn’t very different from the 'real thing,' y’know.”
“Of course,” Michael nods, “So, then… you had Christmas and New Year’s to enjoy the company of your loved ones, and then…” He sighs, comically. “... back to work!”

“Right, right.” Paul chuckles with a nod. “I didn’t keep much in-contact with the band during the holidays- like I said, I delivered some gifts to ‘em, but… other than that, we kept to ourselves.
“But in all the excitement of Linda havin’ become pregnant, and the anticipation of our baby,” Paul continues, more quietly than before, “... I remembered about John and Yoko’s miscarriage, the month earlier. I began to realize… y’know, that could’ve, very well, been Linda and I instead. We could’ve been the ones to lose the baby- but we didn’t.“We had conceived: but it felt completely wrong to me, now, to be so celebratory without having given John an’ Yoko any condolences, whatsoever. ‘Cause, y’know- I still hadn’t ever brought the matter up to them.”
“So what did you do?” Michael asks, his voice, too, having gone rather soft.
“Well, what else?” Paul replies, a slight smile upon his lips, “As soon as I woke on New Year’s Day, 1969- I called him. I called John. It had been the first time in ages, I’ll tell you that.”___________________________________________“... Happy New Year.” Paul whispered, pressing a quick kiss against Linda’s cheek before lifting the covers up, and slipping out of them.“Hm?” Linda mumbled, eyes still half-closed as she glanced up at Paul, “What time is it? Come back to bed; it’s far too early.”“I’ll be back in just one moment.” Paul assured her, pulling the blankets back up around Linda’s bare shoulders as he added, “I’ve just realized that there’s a call I’ve been meaning to make.”“Oh, can’t it wait?” Linda sighed, turning over to try and get more comfortable.“It can’t wait.” Paul shook his head, stepping softly through the room, trying his best to not wake Heather, “Try and go back to sleep- I won’t be gone long. I promise.”“I love you,” was all Linda said in reply, blowing Paul a quick, barely-awake kiss before Paul gently closed the door behind him, making his way down the hall, downstairs.He didn’t want to wake Heather, or to disturb Linda- and, frankly, he wasn’t quite sure that John wouldn’t mention anything incriminating about their past… affair.Oh, god- if only I could forget about that.He’d stopped by the wash stand at the door: the one with his ashtray, a China plate of keyrings, and the telephone.Paul lifted the phone from its base: dialing the number that, like Linda’s, he’d memorized by heart.Before he entered the last number, he paused.“Jesus.” He mumbled, staring off into space, wondering if he truly was doing the right thing, by calling.Then, he remembered their upcoming project: about how, for the foreseeable future, he and John would be back to working in close-quarters with each other, again.I have to try and mend our relationship now, to spare us from all the awkwardness we might endure in the future.So, Paul dialed that final number: a zero, as he held his breath and put the phone up to his ear, nearly giddy with nerves.Perhaps he won’t even answer me. Paul considered, after one single second of awaiting John’s voice on the other end of the line.Perhaps he’ll know that it’s me, calling- and he doesn’t want to talk.But it was on the second ring that Paul heard the phone click.John picked up on the second ring. Paul gasped, slightly. I almost wonder if he’d been waiting for my call.“Hello?” Came John’s voice: full of sleep, having probably not yet had his morning smoke or tea.His voice: all gruff, familiar, filling Paul with a sense of blissful, nostalgic warmth, despite suppressing each and every instinctual feeling he felt rising up from the depths of his soul.“Hi.” Paul replied, softly: his voice as sweet as anything. “Hi, John. It’s… it’s me.”
Pause.
In the following silence, Paul breathed heavily- his chest rising and falling as his mind went.Please, John. Say something.It was several moments before John voiced his reply.“It’s you, is it?” He parroted Paul; surprisingly, with not a single hint of malice in his tone, only smiling amusement. Paul could picture John, right then and there: holding the mouth piece up to his hollowed face, smiling. “... I’ve missed you, y’know.”John’s voice had gone soft. Paul could barely even believe what he’d heard- could hardly believe that in the twenty seconds they’d been on the phone together, things were already seeming to go well.“John, fuckin’ hell.” Paul mumbled, shifting his weight onto his other leg, glancing up out the window, a faint smile upon his own mouth. “Jesus- I’ve missed you, too. Missed you like hell.”John was quiet for another moment, before replying, “It was odd, havin’ Christmas without you. We haven’t… we haven’t been apart at Christmas since we’ve met.” He let out a soft sigh. “I can’t say I quite blame us for stayin’ apart, though- considerin’ all that’s happened, y’know, between us. Everything’s much different than it was, before.”“That’s one of the reasons why I called you, actually.” Paul said, his legs going stiff as he began to ramble off, his mouth going faster than his mind, now: “John, I’m just goin’ to put it frankly with you. I want for us to stop bein’ so awkward around each other. Let’s just forget about all that, all right?“For the sake of the band, for this upcomin’ project- for Yoko and Linda.” Paul went on, pacing as far as the phone cord would possibly allow him to, “I jus’ want things between us to be back to the way that they were.”Silence. Then: “So, you’d like for us to… have a new start in this new year, is what you’re saying?”“Exactly.” Paul replied, nodding at the wall, as if staring presently into that charged, dark gaze of John’s. “I’d like that, more than anythin’. It would be…” Paul thought back, conjuring in his mind the phrase that he’d come up with several weeks ago after a session: “It would be just like staring over.”
More silence.
“... over?” John asked, sounding almost skeptical at such a proposition, or perhaps he was simply registering the phrase that Paul had utilized.“Yes,” Paul said, nodding again, saying quietly: “Starting over.”
… nothing.

More complete, and utter silence.
Finally, after moments and moments of waiting with bated breath, John replied in a humorous little mumble: “I’ve told you, Paul- I’ve already put all that in the past.” There was pacing in the background: John was nervous, too. “And I would gladly move on, if you’d stop bein’ such a self-righteous prick about it.”“All right.” Paul’s head dropped in a light chuckle, shaking his head slowly, “I’ll… I’ll do that.”
And, again: back into silence.

But at least they’d made a resolution, now, hadn’t they?
After lightly clearing his throat, John asked, “Your holiday was nice, then?”Smiling at the fact that John was even prolonging their conversation to any extent, Paul answered, “Yes, very. Aside from not havin’ seen you… or the others, too, y’know.” He cocked his head to the side, speaking softly, delicately, “We’ve also just found out that Linda and I are expecting, so…”“You son of a bitch,” John chuckled, “Christ- congratulations, Paul. I know ‘ow much you’ve always wanted kids of your own, an’ I… I’m sure Heather will like havin’ someone to play with.”Paul gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, as if John could see him. “Thank you, thank you.” He took in a breath, selecting his next words so extremely carefully, “And, well… I also meant to tell you that… Linda told me about you two, losing a baby. She told it to me in complete confidence; so don’t worry about me tellin’ anyone about it.“I’ve jus’ been thinkin’ about you two, recently, and… well, I’m so, so sorry about your loss, John. I really can’t even imagine how you must’ve felt.”John’s response was quiet: albeit, clearly so sincere: “Thank you,” he mumbled, “... thank you.Paul allowed for him to have another few moments of quiet. But John went on, after a while: “To be quite honest with you, Paul- we didn’ even know that she was pregnant, at the time.” He took in a breath. “We’d just done the Two Virgins shoot, an’ nothin’ seemed out-of-the-ordinary.“... I don’t suppose that makes our loss any less important, but… y’know.” John gave another sigh. “I jus’... well, thank you for sayin’ somethin’, Paul. I really do appreciate it.”“Well, it’s the very least I could do.” Paul’s voice softened; he brought the phone closer to his mouth, to add, “Because I really do want the two of us to go back to normal, John. More than anything.”“... we’ll do all that we possibly can, Paul.” John replied, sounding slightly hesitant to make any promises just yet, “I don’t s’pose that things’ll ever be perfect, again, but… we can damn well try.”Oh, how unfortunately right John was.“Yeah,” Paul mumbled, glancing all around, searching for something to fix his eyes on, as he spoke. And then, he found it: laying there in the ashtray, having been neglected for months, was the gleam of silver that Paul knew, all too well.
That silver identity bracelet.
Paul’s vision clouded, slightly, as he muttered, “I think about them all the time, John: the early days, y’know.”John let out a faint little chuckle, “I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t, as well.”“I remember… goin’ off, on our own, together.” Paul mumbled; his voice as soft and slow as the clouds rolling in from the west. “We’d always been… together. It was always the two of us.”His eyes still glued onto that dulled silver, half-covered in ash: remembering their trip.
Paris: 1962.
“D’you remember Paris, John?” He dared to ask, to whisper: to allow the nostalgia of his past with John to carry him away.Paul’s heart weighed heavily against his ribs: upset with himself, at the fact that he’d once again become so consumed with the past that he hardly acknowledged his present.I have a girlfriend. I have a daughter; I have a child on the way.
Still.
Still, Paul blinked back the tears that had now formed in his eyes, I yearn for the past.
Before everything changed.
“... yes, Paul. I remember Paris.” Came John’s soft reply.Shaking his head, cursing himself for what he was about to say, Paul allowed his mouth to open before he could stop himself.“Frankly, John,” he said, bringing the phone an inch closer to his lips, “I miss Paris.”God; you really shouldn’t be saying things like that, Paul. No matter how truthful they are- no matter how much you needed to get such a thing off of your chest.
Sometimes the truth is simply better-off left unsaid.
John was silent for a long, long while. Truly, Paul didn’t quite know whether or not he would say anything, at all.“... well. I… think I best be going, now, Paul.”His tone was an indication that John wasn’t upset: he’d just gotten so incredibly awkward in remembering those early days. He really was trying to move on.“All right, then.” Paul conceded, his shoulders heaving, in a great sigh. Part of him was hoping that John didn’t really mean that: that John would stay on the other end of the line for hours and hours and hours.But John simply replied with, “Ehm… Happy New Year, Paul. An’, ehm… I s’pose that I’ll see you at the studio, later.”“Yeah, yeah.” Paul replied with a nod; becoming choked-up for reasons he could barely even comprehend. “I’ll… I’ll see you.”And, just like that, the line went dead.But before turning his back on the phone, on the bracelet he’d left to lie in the ashes; before returning to bed with Linda, Paul held the phone to his ear.He held the receiver up to his ear, listening to the faint, empty buzzing- hoping, praying (against all of his better judgment), that John might call him back and pour out his heart like he’d done on that night in India.
But John didn’t call him back.
And Paul was increasingly frustrated: with John’s reluctance about their reconciliation, with himself, with how much he cared about such a thing as thing.Why couldn’t he simply be indifferent; why couldn’t he seem to move on?It seemed that, now more than ever, the past haunted Paul far more than it did, John. He couldn’t quite keep these thoughts from returning to the forefront of his mind; despite being happier and more fulfilled with his life than he’d ever been before.He was going to be married.He was going to have a child.
… still.

Still.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“... it seemed as though things might be finally lookin’ up for John an’ I.” Says Paul, sighing lightly. “Our call on New Year’s Day… well, it gave me a little bit of hope, really.”“And then…” Michael glances down at his notes, his eyes going comically wide, “Oh, god- d’ye remember what happened, then, Paul? On New Year’s Day, 1969?” He shook his head at the paper, chuckling, as if he truly didn’t want to voice whatever was written on his notepad.“Oh, I remember, all right.” Paul mumbles, nodding, “The day we’d gone into the studio to prepare for our upcoming sessions and documentary.“You were there, Michael- and I quite appreciated that, truly.” Paul nods, sitting up straightly, and saying, “‘Cause, my god… what a fuckin’ fever dream, am I right?”Michael laughs. “I still can’t quite process what happened.”
Paul leans forward, on the edge of the couch, and explains to the camera, “We spent the first of January preparin’, as I said, before.” Paul glances off to the side, once, and smiles, before going on: “And afterwards, we all sat off for a while. And, ehm… John pulled out this tape audio that he wanted us all to hear.”
Paul purses his lips, as if to keep himself from bursting out in laughter, “The audio… it was an audio recording of him an’ Yoko havin’ sex. I don’t think any of us had been expectin’ it, and… my god. It was so awkward.”Michael lowers his head in another laugh. “I kept on lookin’ over at you, Paul- tryin’ to get your take on it, y’know.”“It was traumatizing. That is my take on it.” Paul replies, leaning back against the couch.“Oh, I completely agree.” Michael says with a nod, “But I also noticed that while the tape was playin’, y’know- John kept on lookin’ over at you. As if he was waitin’ for your reaction, too.”“Oh, well… y’know.” Paul looks off into the distance, sweeping his hand across his bangs once, “He could’ve, very well, simply been tryin’ to get a rise out of me. He was always doin’ shit like that.” He shrugs, “I thought that perhaps, after havin’ that talk with him, over the phone- perhaps he was tryin’ to prove to me the extent of which he’d moved on from our fleeting little affair.“‘Cause, y’know- playin’ an audio tape recording of his new lover in front of everyone was… well, it felt quite invasive to listen to. But it was also proof of their very passionate… ehm, very erotic sex life.” Paul gave another shrug. “I dunno. But it made me quite uncomfortable, that’s for certain.”“... truthfully, Paul- that was the first time I ever considered that there was, perhaps, somethin’ goin’ on between you and John.” Michael says, slowly; hesitantly.Paul chuckles amusedly. “Let me get this straight: you considered the possibility of an affair between John and I, after havin’ heard the audio tape of John an’ Yoko goin’ at it?”“It sounds a bit silly, I know.” Michael shakes his head, “I s’pose, well… I dunno. Perhaps you hadn’t noticed it as much as I did, but… when John played that tape, and was making eyes over at you for the entire time… it just seemed targeted. As if to say, ‘listen to this, Paul- it could’ve been us on this tape, y’know.’”Paul lowers his head, smiling, almost embarrassedly. “Well, I…” He shrugs lightly. “Perhaps he did mean to say that. But… well, I don’t suppose it matters, much, now.”He gives an airy wave of his hand, going on: “What mattered to me at that moment was that after that meeting on January first, John came over to me, and gave me a hug.” He smiles, biting the inside of his cheek. “He didn’t even say anything. He just came over, and… hugged me.”“... you two hadn’t done that for a long while, had you?” Michael asks, his head tilted, watching Paul with a softly amused expression.“No; no, we hadn’t.” Paul reaches up to flick his bangs from his eyes, “For a long time, we’d been avoiding all kinds of physical contact with each other. And whenever we did… well, it had always just been a cordial handshake.” He leans forward in his seat, chuckling, “But now, y’know- I could barely even contain my delight in the fact that John had come over, to me, and… hugged me. It probably seemed so inconsequential to everyone else, but… really, it felt a bit like a turning point.“As if, perhaps, we really were going to start over.” Paul looks wistfully into the distance. “And, ehm… in a way, I s’pose that I was right abou’ that: we didn’t have nearly the amount of animosity between us, when we began our sessions the next mornin’, on January the second.”“... but there was still something between the two of you, though, wasn’t there?” Michael guesses, raising his eyebrows knowingly.Paul sighs. He looks down, then, at his hands folded neatly in his lap and smiles. “Well, yes. There was somethin’... there, still.”He shrugs, straightening his shoulders to look up at Michael, “But I s’pose there’d had to be, y’know- after all that John an’ I ‘ad been through. There was never a particular period of time where… where there wasn’t some sort o’ tension between John an’ I.” He leans back in his seat, trying to skillfully articulate his thoughts, “... whether it's been good tension or bad, whether it was motivated by our sexual desires for one another, or motivated, then, in wake of our previous affair with each other- y’know. There jus’ was a constant tension.
“That was just… the Lennon-McCartney way, I s’pose.” He shrugs again.

“... right.” Michael chuckles. “So, the very next day- January second- the first day of the sessions.” He gestures up to Paul, “Give us some of your thoughts.”
“Hm…” Paul crosses one leg over the other. “Well, remembering the context is extremely important, for this point of our history.“Obviously, we’d just finished The White Album: quite a polarizing one, among both the band and critics, alike.” He pauses. “That album had been proven to be much different than all o’ our other ones, in that we all were beginnin’ to separate, and to fall into our own little genres of music.“I was, y’know… the upbeat, ‘pop song’ writer, with tracks like Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da and I Will: the sort of song that John, in particular, wasn’t very akin to.” Paul props his fist beneath his chin, thinking. “George ‘ad become sort o’ a middle-ground between John and I- stylistically, I mean. George wrote as if he were doin’ what I was doin’: a sort of pop song. But his always had a slightly darker undertone, just as all o’ John’s were startin’ to.“John, during that album, especially, had branched off an’ begun to get more avant-garde with the choices he made. ‘e started writin’ songs like Yer Blues an’ I’m So Tired; really, I didn’t mind those songs as much as I did… well, Revolution 9. That was somethin’, y’know.” Paul chuckles. “He’d been so clearly influenced by Yoko, an’ then began doin’ tracks like Happiness Is a Warm Gun.” Paul rakes a hand through his hair, letting out a half-smiling sigh. “... truly, I’ve always rather liked that song: I think, like most of John’s works, it was incredibly brilliant.“... it was only the fact that it was a song about her that made me nearly sick to my stomach, whenever I’d hear it. ‘Cause even still, it felt as if Yoko had stolen him from me: and that she'd stolen somethin’ that couldn’t really ever be replaced.”Paul pauses again, glancing down at the ground, as he shakes his head. “And, of course.” He continues after a moment, “And there was Ringo: bless ‘is soul. I think… I think that he simply liked bein’ in the band, at all.” Paul chuckles faintly. “He wrote an odd song, here or there- but I believe that he truly did just like the company. Writing songs or even being heard weren’t the top priorities of his.”“I’ve always admired that about Ringo.” Michael says with a smile. “Usually more down-to-earth than the other three of you- especially more so than you an’ John.”“Oh, believe me: I know.” Paul chuckles in agreement. “I always quite liked tha’, too- you always need someone in the group that’s not as overly-ambitious at the rest. It balances out, y’know.”“Exactly right.” Michael muses, with another look down at his notepad, “And, now, Paul- I really must ask.”Paul’s eyebrows shoot up, slightly, as Michael goes on: “At the time when we began filmin’- that is, the second o’ January- how exactly did you feel about the whole situation between John, yourself, Yoko, and Linda?”“Whew- well, ehm.” Paul mumbles, glancing with a thoughtfully furrowed brow up to the ceiling, “I s’pose that… that at the moment, Michael, I was still tryin’ to move on from what what John an’ I ‘ad once had, y’know.” He speaks incredibly slowly: trying to carefully piece together his words. “Because here he was, now, goin’ off with Yoko- and even though it was like a stab in the heart, I realized that I needed to move on, too.
“... especially with, y’know, Linda bein’ pregnant, now.”
“... and how well did that go for you, Paul?” Michael asks, his lips slightly upturned in a smile.Paul returns his grin, chuckling, “I think that you know, very well, Michael- how that all went over for us.”“... well.” Michael replies, his voice low and knowing, “We’ve got a live audience who doesn’t.”
Paul lowers his head in another chuckle. “You’re right abou’ that, I s’pose.”

Paul leans back against the couch. He stretches for a moment or two, sighing as he crosses one ankle over the other.
“Well, I’m sure that most people ‘ave seen our Get Back documentary, already. So, I won’t… I won’t go into too much detail abou’ the footage that’s already publicly available.“... but I don’t suppose that this’d be a proper documentary without a good run-down of what was really happenin’, behind the scenes of it all.”Michael raises his eyebrows, “Did somethin’ happen, again, between you and John, Paul?”
Paul looks off to the side, sighing, again- another slight grin upon his lips.
“That’s just the thing about it, Michael.” He says, his gaze returning to Michael as he goes on, “... when we began filmin’- the day we returned to the studio- I had every intention of movin’ on. Of jus’... putting everything that John and I once had in the past.”Paul looks off to the side, again- as if the subject was almost uncomfortable for him to speak about.“But when I walked into that studio at Twickenham-” Paul shakes his head, his gaze glued to the floor, as he speaks quietly: “I realized, Michael…“I realized that no matter how much we’d tried to go back to the way things were, John an’ I…” he breathes out. “... there was still… something there.“... I didn’t know what more I could’ve done.” Paul says, his voice hardly louder than a whisper, “I felt as if I’d done everythin’ in my power to forget abou’ the things that I’d done with him- but here I was, again.”He smiles, remembering. Remembering how, against all of his better judgement, he remained so taken with that man.“Here I was:” Paul repeats, through that soft smile of his, “One of the last to arrive at the studio, seein’ him from across the room, and thinkin’ to myself: yes.“Yes: I can clearly see in him why, for all of these years, we’d been the closest of friends. I can understand exactly why I’d always been so fixated on him; why from him I’d needed constant validation.“... and, yes.” Paul dips his chin in a slight, almost guilty nod, “I could sympathize with my past self, in how I’d slept with him, in India.”Michael’s mouth drops open, and he softly muses, “Oh, my,” as he straightens himself in his seat, and asks, “So, it’s safe to say, then, that you were still somewhat… attracted to John?”Paul chuckles again, sighing, “I s’pose you could very well say that, Michael.” He nods, his eyes wide, “Oh, yes, indeed…”
Michael chuckles, “All right, Paul.
“... now, since, like you said, the footage from these sessions is publicly available in our Get Back documentary, you won’t need to recount every detail.“... we’d simply like to hear your thoughts, from the time- and, perhaps, anythin’ that might’ve been goin’ on behind the scenes that the general audience- myself, included- would be unaware of.”
Paul gives another little smiling sigh, “Right, right.”

He sits back, against the stark-white cushions of the couch. He readies himself: taking a deep breath, and calming what nerves might remain in him, still.

“I’ll start at the beginnin’ of the documentary.” He says, after he’d taken that last final breath to prepare himself.

“... at the beginnin’ of the sessions that… well, really- that determined the fate of the band itself.
“On January the second, 1969- I arrived at the studio, later than the others. And, that, I suppose, is where our next chapter begins.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

January the second marked the first day of not only the filming for the Get Back documentary, but also the first day in which rehearsal would take place at this new location: the Twickenham Studios.As if morale could’ve been any lower among the band (save for, of course, Paul: who’d now come to terms with this ambitious project and whose aspirations for the band had only grown into Shakespearean-esq grandeur), being away from Abbey Road and relocated to this cold, empty, and dully-lit studios only worsened their moods.But Paul was determined, now: determined to see this project through to the end, to make every single second count.He refused to admit to himself that he knew, in the depths of his soul, that the band wouldn’t likely last much longer at the rate they were headed.
No.
No, of course not.Paul assured himself as he stepped into the studio at Twickenham; bass slung over his shoulder, lazily smoking through his third cigarette of the day.We’re the fucking Beatles. We won’t simply… break up. We can’t possibly.Breathing deeply, he entered into the main studio room.George was already there, cigarette between his teeth- sipping on a drink that was either heavily alcoholic or heavily herbal, eyes glued to the notebook laying in his lap, and scribbling madly.Michael Lindsay-Hogg was there: standing with his arms folded, finger tapping against his chin as he surveyed the room. Mal Evans stood, nearby- wiping the lenses of his thickly-rimmed glasses against his cotton overcoat.There was Glyn Johns and George Martin- speaking over near some of the engineers, the cameramen, the microphone crew.Holy shit, Paul’s eyebrows raised as he approached the set, adjusting the strap of his bass as he walked, this really is quite the production, then, isn’t it?Sitting with her hands folded neatly in her lap was none other than the woman, herself: Yoko Ono, with her sweet little mouth pressed into a tight line as she, too, surveyed them all. Truly, if Paul didn’t know any better, he’d take her for any other polite, quiet, Japanese woman. But, oh, no…Remember: be kind to her. Paul took a deep breath, tearing his eyes away from her and onto him.John Lennon sat there, just beside her. Paul had begun taking great notice to John’s appearance, again: for reasons he couldn’t quite name.But, nonetheless, here he was: surveying the clover-green short sleeve beneath a black buttoned vest, those distinctly-circular glasses of his- the mouse-brown hair that swooped into his eyes whenever he’d lean forward to play his guitar.And then, John looked up.Head tilted, slightly, he offered Paul a charmed little grin. Paul couldn’t do much more than manage a tired smile in reply: he was far too preoccupied with the fact that his stomach had practically dropped to his shoes, the way it had done whenever he’d had a crush on a pretty girl back in primary school, or like something to that effect.Looking away barely an instant later, Paul took another deep breath.Well. That happened.He glanced around, then- glanced back at the rest of the people in the studio, praying that they hadn’t just seen that silent, yet so significant exchange between himself and John.Please, god.Paul thought, striding wordlessly over to his seat by the amps- just beside John, so coincidentally.Please don’t allow for those feelings to return- those completely ridiculous, unrealistic feelings- as soon as John and I have just begun to mend our relationship.
We can’t afford to mess up, now.

Not again.
“... morning,” said John, with another quick glance up at Paul as the latter took his seat beside him.Finding John’s gaze, again, Paul allowed himself to give a true smile in response to John’s greeting.“Hello,” Paul replied: his voice soft, “It’s good to be back, y’know. Even if it’s not at Abbey Road.”“S’pose so,” John shrugged his shoulders slightly in agreement, glancing around at the others. He leaned slightly closer to Paul, in order to mumble: “Between me and you, though: I’m already sick of their shit.”Giggling slightly, Paul mumbled, “What?” Even being in close proximity to John was cause for elation, in Paul’s mind. Even the simple scent of his Old Spice soap and witch hazel were enough to lift Paul’s spirits. “Why’s that?”Leaning in, even closer, closer to Paul’s ear, John answered: “They’ve got about a hundred cameras and microphones in this place. Word is, they’re gonna try an’ record every little thing that we say or do.”Leaning back to meet John’s gaze, Paul’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t be serious.”“Oh, I’m very fuckin’ serious.” John replied, nodding sincerely. “I don’t know for sure whether or not they can hear us now, while we speakin’ this quietly- that’d be a nightmare, wouldn’t it?”Paul cocked his head in agreement, “Very much so.” He took a drag of his cigarette, contemplating what all this could mean for the band’s public image.“I s’pose that means tha’ we should start bein’ quite careful with what we say, y’know.” Paul muttered, his eyes shifting slightly back to John, “Especially the two of us.” He turned in his seat to face John, full-on: “I don’t mean to sound paranoid, but… one wrong word, an’...”“... and we’re done for.” John finished Paul’s thought, his voice low, giving a slight nod as he stared off into the distance. “I know.”If either of us so much as even alludes to our affair, then…“... that was the first thing I thought about.” John continued in a mumble, bringing to his lips that teacup he’d been drinking out of.“What is it?” Came the voice of Yoko, peeking around John to glance between him and Paul, “What is it you’re thinking of, John?”“Ehm.” John coughed, slightly, leaning back in order for Yoko to be able to see Paul, full-on. “Nothing of any real importance, love. Just speakin’ with Paul, here.”Realizing that he hadn’t actually addressed Yoko, yet, Paul smiled embarrassedly. “Hey, Yoko.” He mumbled, offering a slight wave, while John raised that cup to his lips again, probably stifling the amused grin that’d plastered itself across his face at this awkward interaction.“Oh, hello, Paul.” Yoko nodded at him in reply, looking less-than-satisfied with John’s answer to her question, but nonetheless, dropped the subject.
Thank the lord.
Before things got any more awkward, in walked Ringo, smiling and waving at his bandmates and crew as if walking into a Sunday school service.“Good!” Exclaimed Michael Lindsay-Hogg, upon having seen Ringo make his entrance, “We can now begin.”Giving a slight glance over at John before being summoned by Michael over to do a mic-check, Paul felt the heaviness in his heart draining with each second.We’re looking at each other, again.Together, he walked with John over to the soundboard: as if reliant on each other, as they’d once been, all those years ago.Christ- perhaps we’ve become a unit, again: John and I.Even while staring, unamused, at the stupid microphones, stupid cameras, stupid equipment thrown haphazardly all around, cluttering the studio- Paul couldn’t help but smile.
It’s good to be back.
Giving another quick glance up at John before directing his full attention to Michael, Paul smiled into the palm of his hand.
This is all I’ve been hoping for.
John met his eyes: giving him a look of unbridled disinterest in whatever Michael and Mr. Martin were rambling on about- and matched his grin with a stupidly charming one of his own.Paul looked away.
I only hope that we don’t fuck it all up, again.
___________________________________________The first day, in essence, had been hours upon hours of technical work.Setting up those dozens of cameras and microphones, ensuring that the amps were all in-place- ensuring that group morale had heightened since their previous album, and that the studio never ran out of cigarettes or hard liquor (which, unsurprisingly, linked quite closely to the overall morale of the group).Though it was becoming painfully clear that Paul was the bandmember with the most ambition for the project, the others weren’t too far behind him, either: and had, as day wore on, fallen back into their old rhythm of laughing, singing, shouting with one another.In fact, Paul had become so absorbed with their work, so preoccupied from the fun of being in the studio, again, at last, that he’d even somehow forgotten about all those cameras and microphones all around him. He’d forgotten them, until he was reminded later that afternoon as he sat off in the expansive studio room, speaking about possible tracks for the album.“... I quite like that one, John.” Paul mumbled, staring off into the distance as he imagined what the setlist for this live performance might look like.“Which one?” John asked, tilting his head to look up at him, “Don’t Let Me Down, you mean?”Paul nodded. John had just shown the band a song he’d been working on, over their holiday: a song called Don’t Let Me Down.A love song, truly- though these days, Paul couldn’t quite ever place who they were written about.I don’t suppose that it matters, much, anymore.“Yeah.” Paul replied, still staring off in thought. “I’ve been compilin’ a list in my head, y’know- tryin’ to prepare a setlist for the show.”“An’ you want that song on it?” John asked, raising his eyebrows, as if he simply couldn’t believe that Paul would want a song of his to go on the setlist.“Yeah.” Paul replied, simply, with a slight nod up at John as he lowered his gaze back to his notebook, in his lap.John, looking rather pleased about Paul’s praise, stood up from his spot beside Yoko and strode across the circle to Paul, taking the open seat beside him, and pulling it slightly closer.A slight grin formed across Paul’s lips at what John had done; unable to stop his lips from upturning as he felt John’s presence looming over his shoulder, staring at the notebook in his lap.“This one, too.” John said, softly: pointing his finger at one of the track titles scrawled across the page, among all their other ideas. “I think I remember you doin’ this one, a few months ago. I thought it was rather good.”I’ve Got A Feeling: a song written by Paul; during that tumultuous time in his and John’s relationship when nothing seemed to have been going well. About back when, despite all that- Paul had realized that his feelings for John had never even really gone away.What a coincidence that John would enjoy that track, among all the countless others.… perhaps, he knew.“... do you, now?” Paul asked; his voice having become equally low, without remembering that all the while, they were meant to perform for some documentary.“Yes.” John nodded, glancing up at Paul, catching his eye. “Can you play that one for me? I can’t quite remember.”It was then when the two were interrupted so rudely by none other than Michael, whose voice rang out loud and clear in those echoey expanses of Twickenham Studios: “Can you turn down the amps, a bit?”Paul turned in his chair to see exactly who Michael was speaking to. His eyes landed on George, who’d been doing some experimenting with the slide-guitar and had the amps turned up, nearly all the way.“What’s that?” John called back, in reply, sitting up straightly in his chair.“I said, ‘turn the amps down!’ It’s drowning out your conversation.” Michael replied, even louder than before.“Hang on, a minute, now.” George froze, stopping his guitar-playing at once, and turning to stare at Michael. “Are you recordin’ our conversations?”Giving a smiling wave-off to the nearby cameramen, Michael stepped closer to the boys. “We’d like to try and get as much audio footage as we possibly can.“That’s not to say as if it’s all going into the final cut of the documentary-” Michael went on, as Paul’s gaze flicked from John to George to Ringo, and back to John again, all of whom were hardly able to contain their frustration, “But we’d be better off havin’ more footage than we need than less.”“Great!” Paul chuckled with the others, completely sarcastically, “There goes all of our previous, nonexistent privacy!”“Ah, well… what can you do.” John mumbled with a shrug, taking a drag of the cigarette he’d just lit for himself, “A raw-and-real documentary is what they want, an’ so a raw-an’-real documentary is what they’re goin’ to get.”“Is swearing allowed in this documentary, Michael?” Ringo chimed in, to which laughter rang out, yet again: and to which Michael breathed out a sigh of relief, grateful that the boys hadn’t taken his overzealous filming style too offensively.“... I s’pose so, yeah.” Michael mumbled with a nod, stifling his half-amused smile.At that, the boys laughingly went about their work: spending the majority of the time stalling, truthfully- though Paul, John, and George introduced several new tracks of their own.Most notably among them was a track of Paul’s, called Two Of Us- a song he’d written, meticulously, one night- after having a dream about one of his and John’s great road trips.And although, surely, the lyrics could’ve been taken romantically, there was no true way for the others to know.Really, even Paul didn’t quite know, for certain.They closed the evening with that number. Simply grateful that the band’s spirit hadn’t dulled, much, during that hours-long session of theirs, Paul bid each one of them a goodbye- saving that handshake with John for the very last, as usual.“See you, John.” Paul had said, offering his hand while Yoko stood off to the side, gathering all of her belongings.John took his hand, then- without even shaking it, really- and merely looked up, meeting Paul’s gaze, a smile upon his lips as if holding Paul’s hand was something amusing to him.“What?” Paul asked with a chuckle, grasp of John’s hand, unwavering.John took another moment to reply: “Oh, nothing.” As if his smiling at holding Paul’s hand held no significance at all.John merely stepped slightly closer, then said: “See you tomorrow, then, Paul.”Finally giving Paul’s hand a slight shake, John then stepped away, offering to carry Yoko’s bags, and took his leave, on her arm.Without even having realized, Paul’s eyes followed them until they’d disappeared behind the door. His gaze had become almost fixated on Yoko, and all the while, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered: that could’ve been you, y’know.___________________________________________“... the first day was… good.” Paul says, leaning back in his seat, thoughtfully. “Nothing too important; nothing to write home about… yet, y’know.” He chuckled.“The first day really had been just a sort of tone-setter, I s’pose, for the rest of the documentary as a whole, yeah.” Michael agreed, dipping his chin in a slight nod.“Exactly, exactly.” Paul replies, propping his fist beneath his chin. “Though, the fact that John an’ I were seemin’ly gettin’ back to our old rhythm…” he shakes his head, grinning. “That, in it of itself, was a victory for me.”“Oh, I can only imagine.” Michael agrees, “After months and months of bein’ at odds- it must’ve been incredible to ‘ave finally gotten back into the swing of things.”“It really was.” Paul smiles. “It was really only the deadline- the thirtieth of January- that put me slightly on edge.“‘Cause, y’know- we wanted to make an album out of this. And to do so in less than a month…” Paul cocks his head, “Well… what a feat ahead of us, y’know.”“A great one, indeed.” Michael says with a nod, glancing once at his notes before he goes on: “Now, Paul- the second day of the project: Friday, January the third.”“Day two.” Paul says, leaning back against the couch cushions to stare thoughtfully at the ceiling, “Day two…“... I believe it was on this day when the band an’ I truly realized ‘ow much work we had, layin’ ahead of us.” Paul says. “We weren’t nervous- not yet, anyway- but the blissfulness of that simple first day back at the studio ‘ad worn off of us, then.“That bewitching spell ‘ad worn off: an’ we realized. We realized, then, that we needed new material- and that we needed tha’ new material fast.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“... on the second day back in the studio,” says Paul, his head tilted thoughtfully up at the ceiling, “... we began with a bit of an impromptu tap-dancing session with Ritch and I.  Personally, I believe that it was a great way to begin our morning."___________________________________________On the second day of the sessions- January third, 1969- the colored lights turned on at Twickenham Studios. A beautiful array of color now shone across the floor-to-ceiling scrim behind the band’s set: the Aurora Borealis of Britain.Speaking to each other over the distant hum of amps and in-between clouds of cigarette smoke, the boys found themselves sitting off, again. Sitting all in a circle, they delegated which songs should be used for this project: growing increasingly frustrated with their evident lack of the same train-of-thought.And frustrated, though they were, they couldn’t quite knock those ongoing fits of laughter and jokes they exchanged, amidst all the professionalism. Ever since returning to the studio, several things had become abundantly clear to Paul: most evidently that in his opinion, being in a band with his best mates was still the greatest fun he’d ever had.By the time that George, John (and Yoko) had arrived, they’d become preoccupied yet again. This time, they were huddled together, laughing still as they thumbed through the pages of magazines written all about them, all humorously narrated.“‘The True Story of The Beatles.” George mused, giving that fangish grin of his, as he mused: “You can still get it, direct.”He flipped the page, reading in his dullest voice an article about Paul: “‘Accompanied by his current steady: American photographer, Linda Eastman, Paul spent a December week in Portugal, visiting The Beatles’ biographer, Hunter Davies.’”Eyebrows raised, slightly, at the blatantly evasive paragraphs written about each detail of their private life, Paul mumbled, “It’s jus’ so sort of… daft.”Paul went on, flipping through the pages of that mag: narrowing his eyes at each new conspiracy, grinning softly at all the photos plastered across the pages from their Mad Day Out photoshoot, from the previous summer.“... I’ve been thinkin’ of all the tunes I’ve got.” George offered, several minutes later, leaning back in his chair as he said, “And they’re all, eh… they’re all slowish.”Paul cocked his head, taking a deep breath as he replied, “Yeah, most of mine are, too.”But the clock was ticking. They didn’t have much time to be so particular about the songs for the project.“... I’ve got Takin’ a Trip To Carolina.” Ringo offered presently, offering a slight grin up at the other two.He played a bit of the song for the two of them, all while George tried matching his chords on his guitar. To no avail, really: not as if it wasn’t a catchy tune. But Paul knew (and knew John well enough to know that he’d back his opinion) that the song didn’t exactly fit the image that they were trying to put out for themselves, at the present time.Finding, again, that they seemed to have run out of options, they began to consider releasing songs that they’d written, years ago: back in the early days.“... there’s abou’ a hundred songs from then, that we never reckoned.” Paul replied to Michael’s query, nodding slightly, “‘Cause they were all very… unsophisticated songs.”“We said that our love was just fun.” John piped up: singing softly as he stared off into the distance, giving a slightly smiling glance up at Paul as he went on: “The day that our friendship begun…”Paul caught his eye: unable to keep himself from smiling.Just Fun: a song that he and John had wrote, an odd number of years ago. Years before they’d become popular; years, even, since they’d become the Beatles.
When it had just been the two of them.
“They said our love was just fun!” Ringo joined in, having recognized the tune, too.“... oh, oh oh!” Paul joined in, staring off, as the lyrics began to come back to him in this great wave of nostalgia. “Well, there’s no blue moon that I can see. There’s ever been, in history.“... because our love was just fun!” Came the unison voices of Paul, John, Ringo and George; laughing as they closed the verse in a botched harmony.Smiling, slightly, George and Ringo watched the two of them. Ringo, more so glad that the two of them were getting on at all, these days.George, on the other hand, watched them with an air of cynicism that he could hardly hide behind that smiling mask of his.“Well, I… I dunno, John.” Paul said after a moment, “We never really finished that song, and I’m not sure where we could take the verse, from there-”“We don’t ‘ave to use that one, Paul.” John replied, flicking a lock of hair from his eyes, “We’ve got about a million other options: remember?”John strummed a chord on his acoustic, beginning again with a new song: “... because I know you love me so.”Smiling again from the memories as they flooded back into his mind, Paul mumbled, “Christ, John.” He shook his head as John and him only went on: song after song, from their youth.
Thinking of Linking; Won’t You Please Say Goodbye.
“... won’t you please…” John began, in his sing-song way, clearly hoping for a higher harmony to be sung by Paul, as he shifted his gaze over to him.“... say goodbye?” Paul joined in with him, and the two of them went off with their bass and guitar, singing in that ritualistic harmony of theirs, leaving the land to practically twirl their thumbs while they sung to each other.
“This love has long since, grown cold. Yeah, won’t you please… say goodbye?”
What perfect lyrics to describe that ever-changing feeling between the two of us. Paul thought, as he looked up from his bass, singing the next line in his higher harmony all while looking at John, “... how many times must you be told?”And, of course, rounding the entire thing off with their One After 909, as prompted by none other than John Lennon.“... pick up my bags.” John began, smilingly: waiting eagerly for Paul to find the bass notes of another track they’d written, an eternity ago, “Run to the station. Railman said, ‘You’ve got the wrong location!’”
I remember sitting in my room, all those years ago.

I was slagging of with George; I suppose I was having a smoke, sitting in the open window of my childhood bedroom.
Paul didn’t quite know why- or how- but upon hearing that song, again, he began to vividly remember.
"What was that one tha' you and John were writin' a few days ago? The one abou' the mailman or some shit." George had asked him.
And he’d replied: “Ehm… that’s One After 909.”
And then, he’d went on: "I'm quite proud of it, as it was a success in itself to pry John away from Stuart in order to write the damn track."
George had turned to face him, full-on, saying, "What's all that about? All your drama happenin' with John and Stu."Paul looked up from the strings of his bass, singing mindlessly. He watched John: watched the way his eyes were narrowed at his blistered fingers,  as they moved swiftly from chord to chord."It's not drama," he’d replied; blowing a dismissive smoke ring from his mouth."Then, what is it?" George had gone on, as he continued to fiddle with that old acoustic of his, "I thought tha’ maybe you were jealous o' Stu because of your fervent obsession with John, or whatever."
Oh, my god.
Even all those years ago. Paul thought to himself, as his own reply, as it had been, over ten years ago, came flooding back to him."Don't say it like that." He’d shaken his head, face all heated up with embarrassment. "See, it's not-"And that was when the phone in the hallway rang: a call that Paul knew in an instant was from John. He’d leapt up to answer it: eager, so eager, to hear the voice that he adored more than any other in the world.He’d gotten lost in thought: all while staring off at John, unaware that he’d even begun staring off, in the first place.“Paul,” John called out to him, nodding his head, slightly, “You all right, son?”Snapping instantly from his daze, Paul nodded back to him. “Yeah, yeah.” He ran his hands through his hair, sitting back as he joined the others’ laughs, talking fondly about the track.“... you’re only foolin’ round-” John began to sing, again, grinning wildly.“- you’re only foolin’ round with me!” Paul joined his harmony, laughing, as he returned seamlessly from his thoughts of the past. “I mean, I never sort o’ knew what it was about, before. I mean, so she’s on a train…”“... yes.” John prompted him, nodding.“And he sort of-”“-goes to the station, and misses it.”Paul ran his hand again, through his hair, giggling, “But he goes back and finds it was the wrong number, so…”And off they went, again: completely off-track, singing Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da with Paul’s fluttery falsetto voice, John’s staccato vocals and ad-libbing more than any of the real lyrics. They went on, playing every ditty under the sun. And, after a small altercation with George’s microphone, back to work, they went: beginning with I’ve Got A Feeling.“... the bit that I find the weakest, now, is…” said Paul, singing: “All these years, I’ve been wandering around-”“Yeah,” John replied, turning to look at him, “That’s jus’ power, y’know.”“- wonderin’, how come nobody told me?” Paul finished the line in his high signing voice, and spoke, meeting John’s gaze: “Maybe harmonies.”“Just sing your one.” Said John, watching Paul, expectantly, as if he were hanging onto every word that came from him.Plucking a string on his bass, Paul began, again: “All these years, I’ve been wanderin’ around, wonderin’ how come nobody told me?”Though Paul’s eyes were glued to his notebook, John watched him, still: his gaze flicking slightly down to Paul’s mouth at that very moment. All while Paul was still looking away.
“All that I’ve been lookin’ for was somebody who looked like you.”
After the guitars had quieted, John told him: “You’re singing B.”Paul crossed one leg over the other. “Yeah. Just sing the next harmony down, so it’s not too low for you.”So, John did. “All these years…” With much difficulty; as even the octave below Paul’s was a bit too high for him.Paul nodded him on, “All these years I’ve been…”“All-” John’s voice nearly cracked at the strain, and he managed a half-smile as he explained, “It’s very high for me.”“Don’t shout, it’s power.” Paul urged him, again.John tried to match the pitch that Paul had given: albeit, to no avail, with the entire band giggling over John’s shouting attempt at singing in B.Borrowing pens from Mal Evans, they began to write and correct their clipboards: John, beginning with the work of his that’d received the most praise, recently: Don’t Let Me Down.“I wonder ‘ow long it is,” John mumbled, glancing up at the roadie, “D’you want to time it, Mal? ‘Cause it’s probably only about half a minute long.“... one, two, three.
“Don’t let me down.”
In came Paul, then, with his harmony.
“Don’t let me down.”
Eyes glued to the clipboard full of lyrics that John had laid in front of them, Paul sang in harmony, still: almost having become an automatic, knee-jerk reaction to sing that higher line whenever John would sing anything.
“Don’t let me down.”
Somewhere behind John sat Yoko. Every once in a while, she’d allow that dark gaze of hers to fall upon one of the others (most pointedly, Paul) but at any given moment, her eyes were most likely fastened onto John: eternally captivated by him.Believe me, Yoko. Paul allowed his mind to go; all while singing that mindless harmony whenever the chorus came about.
I understand that feeling all too well.
“Don’t let me down.” The last repetition of the song’s chorus came in, with nervous glances exchanged all around until Mal Evans clicked his stopwatch, smilingly.
“Three minutes, forty seconds.”
Smiling, too, and altogether pleased with how the song was coming about, now, John said, “That’s fine.”“This is incredible,” Paul chuckled, unable to stifle his own grin: for the first time during these sessions, he’d begun to feel satisfaction with something they’d accomplished. “It’s long. It sounded just like…”“... half a minute.” John nodded in agreement.“Half a minute, yeah.” Paul parroted him; making eye-contact with John amidst all the equipment and buzz of amps, and finding in John’s eyes what just might’ve been a smile.A true smile.They did a bit more work with a song that John had been trying to write with Paul, over the last year or so (obviously, without much success in doing so) called Gimme Some Truth.George threw his hat in the ring, also: introducing a song he’d written called All Things Must Pass.A good song, in Paul’s opinion: though quite negatively-minded, when he’d really listened to the lyrics. Paul tried his best to ignore the song’s nihilistic undertones; especially considering that George had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t believe that the band would last for much longer.George went on and on about releasing an “oldie but goldie” on this new album, in order to have a way for the audience to feel connected to the influx of new material. He’d brought up a track from Beatles For Sale, Every Little Thing, though none of the others were particularly on board with the idea.Smoking his cigar, drinking a pale ale, Paul stared down at his clipboard: unsure, again, of just how to proceed.“... at least we know that we’ve got Don’t Let Me Down.” Paul mumbled, handing John his fur coat from the rack by the door.Stifling a pleased little grin, John replied, “You really like that one, then?”Paul dipped his chin in a nod. “I really do.” He took a moment of silence: standing by, while watching John drape his coat around his shoulders. “In fact, I think it’s one of your best.”John’s head snapped up: Paul had caught his attention.He fastened the last button of his coat, silently. He picked up his guitar case and bag.Then, with a slight grin upon his lips, he brushed against Paul’s shoulder, mumbling, “You shameless flirt, you.”At that, Paul's mouth dropped open, slightly. Without giving Paul any time to respond, John nodded over to Yoko: starting for the door. With one last glance over his shoulder at Paul, John called out to him: “See you on Monday, Paul. A nice weekend to you and yours!” As if he’d never even spoken those last words of his.Watching him go, Paul replied, “Monday. Bright and early.” As his mind whirled still with John’s comment about his supposed flirting.Paul turned away from the door, running a hand through his hair. I wasn’t flirting with him.But as he propped his fist beneath his chin, staring off at the color-washed wall behind the drum kit, Paul smiled at the prospect.“... shameless flirt, you.” He repeated to himself, under his breath, his mind all aflutter as he returned in a daze to his seat, collecting his things, and heading home, too.___________________________________________“Work went well, today, I assume?”Asked Linda from where she stood, at the kitchen sink. Still, her pregnancy was unrecognizable: but in Paul’s opinion, she looked even more attractive than ever. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but nevertheless, felt completely tenable in his mind.She’d seen the slight grin upon Paul’s lips from the moment he’d walked in the door, instantly telling that his mood had improved since the day before. Though, of course, she had no idea about the reasoning behind Paul's lifted spirits: that it wasn't his work, exactly, that made those long days at the studio worthwhile.That, instead, it was the man he was working with that had such an incredible affect on his mood.
But who was Paul to correct her?
Whistling as he approached her, Paul replied, “Much better than yesterday. I believe tha’ we’re finally gettin’ on the same wavelength again, as a band- and it feels nice, y’know.”Smiling at him, over her shoulder, Linda said, “I’m very glad to hear that, my love.”Coming up behind her, with his head propped up on her shoulder, Paul mumbled, “Oh, Linda- you don’ ‘ave to do those dishes. I can take care of ‘em, for you.”“Ah, well.” Linda replied, her shoulders heaving in a sigh, “I don’t mind doin’ ‘em, myself. I needed this dish for the dinner I’m making tonight, and-”Reaching around her and flipping the faucet off, Paul took Linda by the hand and spun her around.Giggling, Linda scolded him, “Paul, what-”“Where’s Heather, now?” Paul asked, suddenly: overcome completely by this great mood; nearly unable to keep his mouth from rambling a mile a minute.“She’s, ehm… she’s down for a nap.” She raised an eyebrow, “Why’s that?”His smile returning in full-force, Paul spun her again, pulling her along: down the hall, up the stairs.“Because, my dear, if it’s all right with you…” he said, as they climbed the stairs together at a staggering speed, “I thought we might have a little bit of fun before she wakes up.”Laughing in hushed tones as they danced past the door to Heather’s bedroom, they’d made it, at last, to theirs.“Paul McCartney.” Linda shook her head, arms wrapped around his neck after she’d fallen back onto the mattress, “I’ll love you ‘til the day I die.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“... so.” Michael begins; an eyebrow raised at Paul, “After a long, tired day of all that teasing and joking with John… you came home to Linda, without telling her a word about it?”
Sitting with one leg crossed over the other, smiling prettily, Paul nods. “Yes, that’s right.” He replies, instantly. “Aren’t I such a perfect person, Michael?”
Michael lowers his head in a laugh. “It’s just… a new perspective for me.” He leans back in his chair, elaborating: “I mean, you ‘ave to remember, Paul: I was there for each and every session. I watched all that was going on: I noticed those little nuances between you and your bandmates. And I witnessed it all, firsthand.“Still, I was under the impression that you’d be goin’ home at night, explainin’ to Linda about how you and John were finally on good terms with each other.” Michael gestures to Paul, “But, I suppose, I was wrong…?”Paul gives a slight nod of his head. “Most days, when I’d come home- I wouldn’t want to talk abou’ the band. ‘Cause, y’know- that was work stuff.“Some days, we wouldn’t even do much talking at all.” Paul chuckles. “We’d jus’... ‘ave sex: Linda an’ I. Though, I suppose we’d become slightly more cautious since findin’ out tha’ she was expectin’.”“Right. So, ehm-” Michael chuckles again, interrupting himself. “Jus’ to reiterate: during this time- that is, early January of 1969- did you… have feelings, of any kind… for John?”Paul has a laugh, himself. “Well, you see, Michael, ehm…” he glances around, searching earnestly for the words. “It was a very confusing point of our history, to start with. I mean, we ‘ad an entire album to come up with and perform live, in less than a month’s time.“An’ now, on top o’ all that,” he goes on, his eyes wide. “My relationship wi’ John was jus’ so…” he shrugs his shoulders, sighing. “Complicated.”He leans back against the plush white couch: remembering. “He’d flirt with me.”
He takes another moment: another moment to simply smile.
“... an’, I s’pose that I’d flirt with him, back.”
He drops his head, chuckling lightly- shaking his head.
“... but whether our advances on each other meant anythin’ at that time-” Paul blew out a breath. “- it truly was ambiguous.“Perhaps John knew what he was doin’, the entire time.” He looks down, running his finger along the stitching of his pants as he collects himself. “But… I really don’t think ‘e did.“All o’ that: the looks, the jokes… it was jus’... what we did, he an’ I.“... but I think that he knew, as well as I did, that no matter how much time had passed…” he breathes deeply.“... there would always be somethin’ there, between us. Even if we didn’t really understand it.”___________________________________________The third day at Twickenham began with Glyn Johns voicing his opinion about the live show.Frankly, even though it still only was the third day, Paul had heard quite enough from everyone stressing deadlines and beating a dead horse in order to get new material.“... I haven’t even thought of it like a record, yet.” Came Paul’s reply to one of Glyn’s quips: quite honestly hoping that the subject might drop, and that they might go on to do something a bit more productive.“I think the idea of the record should be a live performance.” Glyn replied, “The fact tha’ it’s bein’ recorded is somethin’...”“It’s like when I heard Sgt. Pepper, last night.” Paul said, after taking a short drag from his cigarette, “I thought: ‘oh, that’s what live performances could be like.’”“There are dynamics you’ll get from a live performance that you wouldn’t ‘ave gotten, otherwise.” Michael interjected, as the studio door swung open behind them. “It’s also about how we film such a thing, and the location…”Ringo approached them, now, from the door: carrying his suitcase, his eyes completely bloodshot.Paul chuckled at the sight: Ringo, hammered or hungover or high. What a thing to see.“I won’t lie,” Ringo admitted, lowly, once he’d joined the rest of the group by the drum kit, “I’m not too good.”A collective chuckle came from the group at the blatantness of his tone. It wasn’t a minute later before the door swung open, yet again: and in strode John with that fur of his, guitar case in hand, and with Yoko trailing behind him.Murmurs of “morning” and “how are you”s echoed among them, upon John’s arrival.Paul, however, watched him: waiting for John to catch his eye before saying a word.He watched all the while as John set his guitar down, handed his other bag to Yoko, and fixed his seat. He caught Paul’s eye, then: probably having sensed his watchful gaze that he’d garnered ever since he’d stepped foot into the studio.“Hiya,” Paul muttered softly, head tilted up at him.“Hello.” John replied, stopping in his tracks in order to bid Paul a good day. He was smiling, slightly- as if Paul’s presence was eternally amusing to him.“Good morning.” Paul chuckled. He only allowed his eyes to remain on John for a moment longer- then, he turned away- smile still upon his lips.“... we ought to think- this week, sometime- about the show.” Came the dissatisfied tone of Michael from over the boys’ shoulders. He’d been rather pissed all day, it seemed- though Paul truly hadn’t expected anything less.“But we are thinkin’ about the show.” Paul replied, glancing up at Michael, almost irritated with his looming presence.“We never stop thinking about it.” John added, with not so much as a glance in Michael’s direction, smoking through a cigarette as if his life depended on it.Giving a perfect interruption to such an awkward moment, George walked in.Clearing his throat, John called out to him: “Morning, George.”“Morning, all!” George replied: seeming more cheery than usual as he set down his cases beside his seat. “It’s just a… funny day, again.”“Again?” Paul asked, eyebrows raised, quite curious about what George was speaking of.“... wouldn’t it be nice if we did this show with a big audience?” Michael butted in- yet again stressing the logistics of this live show that wasn’t even meant to happen until the end of the month.I can understand where he’s coming from. Paul thought to himself, staring off, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He really does have our best interests in mind. It’s just a bit irritating to be so rushed with a thing like this. “Yes.”“I think we should forget the whole idea of this show.” George muttered: smiling sarcastically as he raised a joint to his lips.“Yeah, that’s it. Okay.” Paul gave him a nod, smiling slightly.“I’ll go along with that.”With a tired glance up at the ceiling, Michael mumbled: “We’re back…”“We’re back to square one.” Paul finished his thought with a nod.Taking a bit of a (much needed) break from the tense discussion, a van pulled into the lot just outside the door. In came George’s 8-track recording studio: the one he’d been kind enough to loan for the production of the album.While George went over to sign off on all of his equipment, the others stayed behind, back at the band set.Paul stood, leaning against the drum riser, arms folded. He’d nearly gotten lost in thought again, until John came up and stood just beside him.“... ‘re you nervous?” John asked, glancing quickly over at him, as he too crossed his arms and leaned against the riser.Turning his head slightly, Paul replied, “Abou’ the deadline?” He blew out a breath, cocking his head, “Yeah… a bit.”He turned to face John, full-on, nudging his shoulder against the latter as he chuckled, “Why? Could you tell?”“Mhm.” John replied, smiling off into the distance. “You ‘ad this look on your face, y’know. An’ I could jus’ tell.”Grinning, Paul looked away again. John always knows, doesn’t he?“How're you feelin’?” Paul asked, his voice soft. “Have you got… any nerves, or anythin’ like that?”John blew out a long sigh. “I suppose I do.” He shrugged. He turned to look at Paul, giving him a smile. “I don’t want to worry abou’ it, though- that won’t do us any good, at all.”“Yeah, yeah. You’re right.” Paul muttered in agreement.Silence fell upon the two of them. Not particularly uncomfortable silence, really: merely a shared understanding that they had seemed to reach a dead-end, without any direction as to how they were meant to proceed.“I dunno how we’re meant to get this done on time, John.” Paul mumbled, his heavily-lidded gaze upon the concrete floor. “Truly- I think we might need to spend a bit of extra time in the studio, in order to get this done by the end o’ the month.”When he was met with no reply from John, Paul breathed in deeply. He dared, then, to add: “Particularly, the two of us: it’s no secret that we’re still the primary songwriters in this whole ordeal.”Silence, still. John stared off into the distance, cup raised halfway to his mouth. After a long while of Paul simply waiting for any response, at all, John mumbled, “I dunno ‘ow Yoko would feel about that.”He can’t be fucking serious.Paul’s eyebrows shot up, slightly, upon John replying to him in such a dismissive way.“... I mean, we’re already booked to be in the studio for far longer than we’d care to be.” John added, taking a small sip of his tea. “An’ I just… I’d prefer for her and I to not be here for any longer than we need be.”Perhaps I had misread John’s intentions, entirely. Paul thought to himself, feeling that weight fall again into his spirit.Here I was: thinking that, perhaps, John and I had begun anew. That we’d renewed our old flame of writing together- that we’d gone back to the way we’d used to be.“She doesn’t have to be here, y’know.” Paul muttered, after giving a quick glance up at Yoko, who stood across the room from them, speaking with one of the Hare Krishna men. “If she doesn’t want to be here, she doesn’t have to be. You can come alone.”“Oh, no, Paul- I believe you misunderstand me.” John mumbled, standing up from his seat, “I share her sentiments, entirely. And I’ve got to put her first, now, y'know.”With that, John gave a conclusive pat to Paul’s shoulder as he walked right by him, across the room, over to Yoko.Paul turned in his spot, watching him walk. He couldn’t believe John: couldn’t believe the nerve of him to tell Paul off like that, after giving him all of those mixed signals since New Year’s Day.Perhaps I had read into it all completely wrong.Still turned around, leaning against the riser, eyes locked onto John from across the room, Paul couldn’t help but allow himself to stare.I don’t suppose he owes me anything, anyway. Not after what happened.But I’d at least like to think that there’s some sort of loyalty there, between us- after all of these years.Then again, I can’t quite imagine what on earth we are to each other, after all of this.
Friends?
Even that seems a bit unlikely, nowadays.Sometime while Paul had been staring at him, John had turned his head, catching Paul’s gaze. Paul was slightly embarrassed at this, but nonetheless, maintained eye contact with him.It was only a few mere moments later when John shook his head, as if regretful, perhaps, and strode back over to Paul, where he’d stood, himself, moments earlier. He approached Paul, speaking softly to him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t really mean all that.”Paul stared at him, his gaze sparkling, slightly. “Really?”“Really.” John replied with a nod, offering his hand to Paul, probably in order to shake. “Come on, now, you. Let’s go rehearse some shit.”Taking ahold of John’s outstretched hand, Paul nodded. In doing so, he tried to get a read on what could possibly be going on behind John’s eyes. But John didn’t look at him, for long: he turned away after only a moment, dropping Paul’s hand, and waving him on, to follow him across the room to their equipment.As they walked, Paul couldn’t help but get lost in thought, yet again.I wonder if he truly didn’t mean what he’d said to me, back there, about Yoko.Certainly, at least part of it was true- I could sense his slight reluctance from the moment we first walked into Twickenham.Slinging the strap of his bass around his shoulder, Paul watched as John did the same with his guitar (with, of course, assistance from Yoko). They really are inseparable, aren’t they?Paul wondered, as he stared over at them, eyes practically glossed over.I wonder if that’s how I used to look, with John.But now, Paul looked down at the ground, running a hand through his hair, now, I’m not even sure what John and I are.I feel as if I should ask myself, yet again: are John and I even still friends?Looking up at him, Paul caught his eye: as he’d done nearly a thousand times, merely in these past few days at the studio. A soft smile curved itself onto John’s lips: a smile for Paul.His eyebrows furrowed, a slight grin curved upon his own mouth, Paul wondered, still.
Are we still friends?

Can we be friends?
There was something so undeniably charged in John’s gaze: Paul couldn’t even dispel his own intuition for vain hopefulness. There was, without a doubt… something, there.
Are we still friends?
Are we still… just friends?Can we be friends?I’ve got to know, John.I’ve got to know.___________________________________________“... that’s how the third session at Twickenham began.” Says Paul, leaning back in his seat as he recalls the memories flooding back to him. “With John: making odd comments about his devotion to Yoko, and me… not knowing how the hell to interpret it.”“Did you think, perhaps, that John had simply been tryin’ to get a rise out o’ you?” Michael offered, his head tilted slightly. “In order to see how you’d respond to such a thing?”“I had no idea what ‘e was tryin’ to do.” Paul admits, shaking his head. “Frankly, it was enough to renew my spirits- and I wanted then, more than ever, to proceed with him as if nothin’ ‘ad ever happened, in the first place.“Perhaps, even to play up my interactions with him, in order to see how Yoko would react.” Paul says, a grin upon his lips. “‘Cause, like I said, Michael- there was still so much uncertainty around my relationship wi’ him.”“... but there was still something there.” Michael finishes Paul’s thought with a nod.“Exactly.”“So, Paul… what did you do about it?” Michael asks, his brows furrowed with curiosity, “How on earth did you proceed with such a complicated relationship?”
“... well, Michael.” Paul begins, a faint smile upon his lips. “I s’pose, in all honesty, that I didn’t handle it in the way that I should’ve done.
“I entertained those little moments between John an’ I. I allowed myself to look at him, talk with him, banter with him, for far longer than I should’ve: an’ I did it even more so when Yoko was around.”Chuckling, Michael asks: “What was your motive behind doing such a thing, Paul, really?”Paul runs a hand through his hair, contemplatively. “The first answer that comes to mind is that… well, I felt as though it was gettin’ back at Yoko. An’ in the same vein: it was teasin’ John, which he rightfully deserved every bit of.”
Paul looks away, grinning, still.
“But really,” he goes on, his eyes twinkling madly, “I s’pose that I simply enjoyed the chase. The back-an’-forth nature between John an’ I- it was a thrill for both of us, really.“As if it were- I dunno- some sort of unspoken game.“An’ the honest truth abou’ both myself an’ John was that we were so competitive in nature. Neither of us could stand to lose.”He shrugs lightly, his smile deepening. “And it was a rather fun game to play, wasn’t it?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“... one, two, three.
“I’m in love for the first time-”

“Love for the first time in my life.”

“Don’t you know it’s gonna last?-”

“Don’t you know it’s gonna last?”

“It’s a love that lasts forever-”

“It’s a love that lasts forever.”

“It’s a love that has no past-”

“It’s a love that has no past.”
During the afternoon of that third session, and after much delegation, the band had put together the first draft of John’s Don’t Let Me Down: featuring his own lead vocals, and with Paul and George coming in for the line repetition.“Don’t let me down.” John mumbled, hands still moving across the strings of his rhythm guitar.“Okay,” Paul tapped his chin thoughtfully, “Okay, that’s… that’s all right.”“Yes, I can’t hear you.” John added, with a slight nod over in George’s direction.“Right.” George blew out a breath, looking slightly exasperated as he admitted: “I think it’s awful, actually.”Paul raised his eyebrows. Feeling that George was being a bit unfair, he offered: “Well, we’re gonna improve on that…”“If we had a tape recorder now, and then just taped that and played it back…” George replied, unwavering from his opinion: “You’d throw that out, straightaway.”
Well, damn.
Paul couldn't quite look over at John: not while feeling, as it seemed that John did, too, that the song was still good (even with the slightly shoddy harmonies). “Yeah, right, but…”“No, really.” George insisted, glancing back at Glyn and the other engineers, all chuckling amusedly, over in the corner: “You’d throw it out, right? I mean…”“Yeah, sure. Okay.” Paul mumbled, glancing down at his clipboard, almost embarrassed at the fact that his and John’s work wasn’t met with nearly the amount of praise that it typically garnered. Especially, from their own crew.“Okay.” Paul repeated, running a hand through his hair, eyes piercing right through George, “You’ve gotta come up with somethin’ better, then.”“Well, for a start…” George began, sitting straightly in his seat, though Paul truly hadn’t wanted him to suggest anything at all. “It would be better to sing…” He played a little riff on his guitar: only a few notes different from John’s original melody.“Yeah, see, but in a way…” Paul replied, “That’s even cornier, I think.” Glancing over at John, Paul elaborated, “That little harmony bit: it’s just too pretty.”For a minute or so, the three talked over that harmony: finding themselves, essentially, back at square one.“What’s the date today, by the way?” George asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly.“Today’s the sixth.” Came the off-screen reply of Michael.George’s eyes went wide. “It’s the sixth…?”“It’s twelve days until we do it.” Paul mumbled, eyes glued to the ground. He could hardly stomach that fact: that in only twelve studio days, they were expected to give some sort of spectacular performance.“We… we ‘aven’t done many, yet.” George added, with a nod down at their clipboards full of unfinished song after unfinished song. “We’ve only run through about four. We haven’t really learned any, at all.”John’s strumming rhythm kick-started the next song: Ringo counted in on his drums, playing to a beat that Paul immediately recognized as one of his own.“Two of us, riding nowhere.” He looked over, again, at John: realizing that his mouth hadn’t moved in the slightest. “Okay, now-”“Am I singing this, or what?” John interrupted him, his head snapping up to meet Paul’s eyes.Eyebrows raised at John’s slightly-sharp tone, Paul mumbled, “I don’t know, really.”Not if you’re going to act like that about it.“Two of Us…” Paul went on, nodding up at John, “You ‘ave to remember the words, too.”“Yes. I’ve got ‘em, here.” John mumbled dully, lowering the cigarette from his lips and glancing down at the clipboard beside him.“But learn ‘em.” Paul replied, with which he turned back to his bass, busying himself with playing the line he’d come up with for the song.
I could kill him.
Why the hell is he being so difficult?After a moment, John began to play softly on his guitar: perfectly in-time to Paul’s bass playing. “I almost know ‘em.” John assured him, his voice slightly more earnest than before.At John’s playing (and with Ringo’s counting in on the drums), Paul leaned back in his seat, hands behind his head, singing: “On our way back… on our way home.”Paul took that moment, reclining in his seat, to really survey the group.He saw the three men he’d grown up with: the ones he’d written and performed with for nearly all his life. Still, in this moment, they seemed almost dull: without any motivation, faces all blank and shifty eyes all red and restless.I don’t believe that we’ve ever been in a worse position before. Paul thought, because here we are: with not two weeks of studio days left, and we’ve still yet to produce even one concrete song.“See, look.” Paul interrupted their playing: finding his voice, somehow, even with the lump welling up in his throat at the frustration of it all. “Listen, now.”He glanced over his shoulder, quickly, before he said anything more: checking for that camera that he’d already known would be there.He looked directly into the camera lens.Even in our time of direst disunity, they still won’t take those fucking cameras off of us for one moment.Laying his bass in his lap, Paul gestured for the others to do the same with their instruments.Then, he spoke: “See, we’re gonna have to sort o’ bring it together, ‘cause we’re all at odds. We’re doin’ that thing that we did, on The Beatles.”Nearly to the point of rambling, already, Paul jabbed his finger impatiently at the sheet of notes on the clipboard beside him. “Like, in this verse, it’s two harmonies singing; trying to say some words, right…?”“I’m not that bothered. I’m just tryin’ to sing it.” John interjected, his pick in hand, still hovering over the strings of his guitar, as if not fully registering that Paul was trying to have an intervention.“It’s not sounding together.” Paul explained, his hands waving in every which way as he spoke.He took a moment to mumble with George and John: not seeming to get much of anywhere, truly. It seemed, again, that the three of them were on entirely different pages.“You know, like…” Paul began again, running a hand through the swoop of his dark hair, “It’s like… it’s complicated, now, so it-”He shook his head, beginning anew: “See, if we can get it simpler, and then complicate it where it needs complications. But it’s complicated in the bit…”“It’s not complicated.” George replied airily, his eyes practically unseen behind the curtain of dark fringe. Even so, Paul could tell by his inflection alone that he was royally pissed. “I’ll play just the chords, if you like.”“... no, no, come on.” Paul’s voice had become lighter, now, too, as he softly spoke: “You always get annoyed when I say that.” He leaned forward in his seat: closer to George, his voice laced with nothing but utmost sincerity as he said, “I’m trying to help, you know. But I always hear myself annoying you, and I’m tryin’ to-”“You don’t annoy me, anymore.” George replied: though that same tone issued Paul to believe that he most certainly did.“But you know what I mean?” Paul replied, “Well, you know, we do this, then.” He fumbled around with his guitar. “Then, we…”He tried moving his mouth.No sound came out.“And then, I don’t know.” He concluded, after accepting defeat to his failing vocal chords, to the swelling of the lump in his throat.Looking the least bit sympathetic, George mumbled in reply, “... yeah.”John said not a word, however: sat on his chair, wordlessly, almost unmoving as his dark gaze flicked all about Paul, without even trying to hide that typically discreet interest of his.“... I can’t do it on film, either.” Paul muttered at long last, running both hands through his hair, glancing helplessly around at the others.Is there truly no one here to speak on my behalf; in my defense?Can’t they see, by now, that I am this band? I’m the one who’s solely responsible for keeping this entire fucking ordeal together.“... can’t frickin’ do it on camera.” Paul added, standing.Lifting the strap of his bass around his neck, he set that bloody instrument down on the empty chair just beside him.I’m not quitting. I just need a moment. Paul assured himself as he took a deep breath, beginning his walk past the others’ chairs, all staring in petrified horror as he went.“Forget about the Candid Camera.” John remarked, as soon as Paul had passed him by.Paul turned to face him. He looked down at John: observed the guitar still propped up in his lap, the fingers still strumming mindlessly, even while John’s eyes had fixed upon him.His resolve melting, slightly, Paul halted his exit to the breakroom and instead, took up a piece of gum from John’s bag.“I’m scared of me bein’ the boss.” Paul mumbled, standing just in front of John as he unwrapped his gum, “And I have been, for, like… a couple o’ years.”Throwing his wrapper onto the nearby chair, he went on: “It’s like I always sound… I always feel as though I’m tryin’ to put you down and stop you playin’.“But, I’m not.” Paul continued: his hands beginning to swing in his orator-like way. “I’m tryin’ to stop us all from playin’ until we know what we’re playin’.”George cocked his head up at Paul, taking the cigarette from his mouth in order to weigh in. “But you’ve got to play in the order to find which fits and which doesn’t.” Paul mumbled a slight, “hm” in response, and George went on, with a shrug, “You see, that’s all we can do.”Paul paced past John. “I don’t wanna say it, ‘cause I really just hear myself as bein’ the only one sayin’ it, always.” He took up his bass, again, as he spoke. “And, like, the three of you jus’ sort of sit there, like… ‘Oh, he’s sayin’ that one again, is ‘e?’” He stiffened his body and mouth, miming the way that the other three were, at least to him, incredibly placid and almost uninterested.“... and I never get any support, or anything.” He added, taking his seat, “So, I just think, ‘Oh, well. Fuck it.’” He looped the strap of his bass around his neck. “And I know it’s right, and you know it’s right.“Yes, all right,” John nodded, speaking up after what seemed like ages of silence, “I jus’ don’t know what to do about it.”Paul turned his head to look at John.Five years ago- fuck, maybe even two- John would’ve never been saying things like that.At least in Paul’s mind, he’d always considered the band to be an equal partnership- but John had always been the boss.Perhaps it was the fact that John had been the founder of the band, way back when. Or, perhaps it was Paul’s sheer reverence for John doing the talking.Even so, Paul had always felt it reasonable to assume that John was the group’s front man: and neither he nor any of the others had ever seemed to have any problem with that.It had never been about power, really: it had only ever been about fitting into those roles that had come so naturally to the four of them. And that just so happened to place John at the head of it all, and to have Paul as his right-hand man: his partner.When the hell did John become so dispassionate?
Had it been a gradual change; so slight that the unaided eye might not have even seen it coming?

Or had it been a sort of stealthy move- one of John’s carefully crafted slight-of-hand tricks, that had only come about recently?
Really, it seemed that John’s new attachment to Yoko had kick-started this shift.It always seemed to come back to her, didn’t it? A full-circle moment; always spiraling back to the one thing that Paul could never stand to think about without feeling a stab of guilt inside him.John would’ve never gotten with Yoko, had it not been for me.Remembering, suddenly, that he was in the middle of an important conversation with his bandmates, Paul shook himself from his introspection. “But doesn’t everyone agree that it’s… confused, at the moment?”He glanced around: somehow, he still managed to have the attention of his bandmates.“... so, all I’m trying to say is,” Paul went on, “We’ve only got twelve more days. So, like, y’know… we’ve really got to do this methodically, this one.”“Well, it’s annoyin’, y’know.” John mumbled, nodding up at him.“I mean, I’ll wait until you get all your bits, an’ then…” George offered, once again, assuming (quite rightfully) his role as the Beatle who most often worked alone. “... work my part out, if you like.”Paul opened his mouth, ready to speak: to assure George that he wanted to include him, more, in the songwriting process.But George cut him off, “It’s like a matter of working it out with you while you’re working your bit out.” He gestured to Paul’s instrument, “You know, have you got your bass bit?”Paul shook his head, “Look, y’know, you…” he glanced away, trying to find the best way to word his sentiment. “You’re doin’ it again, as though I’m tryin’ to say that. And what we said the other day, y’know, I’m not tryin’ to get you.“What I really am tryin’ to just say, is,” Paul’s eyes darted around, “‘Look, lads- the band- shall we try it like this, y’know?’”It was almost as if George was deliberately misunderstanding Paul’s attempt to break up the power struggle and disunity among them. He replied, sounding miffed: “It’s funny, though, how it only occurs when the…”Without allowing George to misinterpret his own ambitions, Paul interrupted: “It’s like: ‘Shall we play guitar all through Hey Jude?’, ‘-well, I don’t think we should.’...”“Yeah. Okay, well, I don’t mind.” George cut in, leaning closer to him, his voice lilting, testily. “I’ll… I’ll play, y’know, whatever you want me to play.” He shook his head, glancing around at the others: “Or, I won’t play at all, if you don’t want me to play.”Paul’s head snapped up, sharply. He stared George dead in the eyes: not quite believing that George had, essentially, stopped caring.After years and years of George's power struggle- which, despite whatever he might think, did not go unnoticed by Paul, and certainly not by John, either. As terrible as it sounded, the truth was that they'd simply learned to tune George out: to ignore George's constant interjections; his offering to write more, or play more, or sing more.In the minds of both Paul and John, it had been a thing that was already settled: that George simply wasn't cut out for the business in the way that the two of them were.But now, George had seemed to come to that realization on his own: that he was, essentially, expendable. He was the guitar player, the backup singer, and nothing more.And that he'd had about enough of it.“... now, whatever it is that will please you,” George went on, looking back at Paul. “I’ll do it.”Silently, Paul looked away: down at his bass, at his fingers sliding down the fretboard as he played some random bassline. He couldn’t reply: he didn’t quite know how, not when anything me might say would be matched with George’s heated indifference.“... but I don’t think you really know what that one is.” George said, after a moment: nodding to the bass, as he began to play something on the guitar that had been laying silently in his lap for the entire altercation.It was a wonder, really, just how quickly the band could return from such a fretful discussion to playing something in perfect harmony, together. Almost as if it was a knee-jerk reaction: and they had, after all, had quite a bit of practice with this sort of thing.“But d’you wanna take the gallop?” George asked, suddenly, looking up from his guitar, again at Paul.“No, okay, but don’t…” Paul raised his head: he couldn’t, in his right mind, go on with playing as if nothing had ever happened.For what seemed like the first time in his life, it seemed that Paul was the one who wished to sort things out. What an occurrence.“We’ve gotta do this.” Paul said, decidedly. “We’ve really gotta sort out this. ‘Cause we’re rehearsing, and we’re trying to, like, get it together for the TV show. So, we really- like you said- we’ve only been through four numbers.”Twisting the microphone stand in his hands, George lightly shrugs, “Well.”“So, we probably gotta get some system to get through, like, twenty or thirty… and know ‘em all, and have learned ‘em.” Paul breathed deeply. “So that we get all the chords, so we can all vamp them all…”“Yeah.” George mumbled, though it was unclear to Paul whether he was simply patronizing him or not (which seemed, at the present time, highly likely).“Then we can, like, all play every solo we need.” Paul explained. “But, like, it’s gotta sound as though it’s improvin’.”“I start finding that what I’m doing… is starting to have something, have some sculpture to it.” George replied: casually slipping in another mention of all the songs he'd been working on, alone.“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Paul mumbled, “It’s just that… that way of doin’ it puts me off the way I’m tryin’ to do it.”“I can only do me.” George replied: to which Paul couldn’t quite argue. “... that one way, however I do it.”The differences between them all were becoming so stark: contrasting, now, and leaving Paul to wonder how the hell they’d ever achieved anything at all.“Yeah.” Paul shrugged, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and giving a final offer: “Let’s do another song.”To his immense surprise, George was the one to correct him: “No, come on, we still have to learn this.”A slight spark of hope had been lit within Paul, at that: at hearing that George was willing to stick it out, even on a track that he felt was a real drag.But still, Paul was worried. Not even particularly about this current project: but that the lingering affects after it would burn them all out, leaving the band to dissipate.I’ll do everything in my power to keep us together. Paul vowed to himself: even while beside him, Yoko had pulled up a chair, severing that gap (once again) between himself and John. Only widening that ever-expanding void between the two of them: it was as if she had been doing it on purpose.I’ll do everything in my power to keep us together. Paul repeated, gaze flicking between the man he’d once loved and his lover: swapping secret jokes with their eyes, in the same way that he and John used to do.Deciding that he shouldn’t put himself through any more pain, Paul looked away.“... two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight!”
“On our way back home. On our way back…”
I’ll do everything in my power to keep us together.That’s all I can do.