Mclennon Drabbles

Fan boy

Which he probably wasn't.

A girl next to him gasped and he immediately turned his head, grinning widely as four young men walked onto the stage from behind the curtains, three of them carrying their instruments with them. Suddenly the sound in the room was deafening, a sea of people cheering and clapping and a couple of loud whistles sounding out over the chaos.

The one whose face had been imprinted into Paul's mind, the one with the bright smile and auburn hair, had stepped up to the center microphone. He adjusted his guitar so that the strap was comfortable across his front and you could hear him clear his throat briefly.

"Alrigh', you insane lot. The name's John, next to me are George an' Stuart," He gestured to the two at the right and left of him, who responded nonverbally, nodding their heads.

"And behind me is our drummer, I'm sure you all know Ringo." John laughed; Paul felt his heart skip a beat at the sound.

He figured it must be all the nerves from being in this place, finally putting a face to that voice. Nothing more.

"The first number we'd like to sing is Twist and Shou-"

Before John could finish his sentence the noise increased again, this time enough to make Paul cover his ears with his hands, though he still had a pleasant feeling about this. A moment later the song had started and everyone decided to hush and listen, some singing along and dancing. Paul saw a couple girls blush as they bit their lips and heard the melodious harmony of ahhs, ducking his head bashfully because he felt the same.

When his eyes flitted back up to the band he let them roam to each member, taking in the vibes they gave off and the features of each. George moved non-rhythmically despite his amazing guitar playing, always playing his awkward actions off with a grin at least.

The bassist - Paul was having a hard time remembering his name - was admittedly handsome but couldn't keep up with the others to save his life. Jim McCartney had taught his son to play many instruments, bass included, so it was hard to look past that.

The drummer was a funny guy, bopping his head and maintaining an open-mouth grin, incredibly good actually.

Finally Paul let his gaze settle on the singer, John. He'd been avoiding staring too long out of embarrassment and shame, but now he didn't quite care anymore. No one here would notice he had gone all heart eyes over the auburn man, because they were all in a similar predicament themselves.

It was hard not to notice the charismatic leader of the group, his bouncing knees and witty jokes and good natured digs at his band mates. This John fellow was like a magnet, and when he paused in between songs to reach for a glass of water, lips sliding against the smooth surface as he set it back down, Paul thought he might actually have to step outside.

He kept tugging at the collar of his shirt from all the heat that was gathering in his chest but it was of no use. He kept his eyes on John for the rest of the show, hoping his longing glances would be reciprocated.

Unsurprisingly, they never were.

-

After the show was hectic; a frenzy of young people all heading for the same exit door, probably on their way to ambush the band's vehicle or follow it to find out what hotel they were staying in. It was a jumbled mass of bodies, adrenaline pumping through their systems after one of the best nights in their lives, and Paul felt like he was drowning within the group.

After being pushed and shoved around so much that he was positive his ribs were bruised, he put in a effort to get out of that chaos, and soon he succeeded. It was a breath of fresh air, literally, as he could stand off to the side and watch them as a third party observer, shaking his head at the madness.