mclennon oneshots ~ <3

Red Roses in Strawberry Fields

Words ~ 877

Paul sat down at John's grave with flowers. They were roses, his favourite. They always had been. Back when they were younger, in the early sixties, Paul had watched the way John would admire the delicate red roses visible in Strawberry Fields. He'd never forgotten about that.

He set the roses down next to his name, where it laid bolded and italicised in a prominent font. Just like it should be. He deserved to be remembered and held of importance like that, and Paul knew that. But what he didn't know, was that John was aware he knew.

John had never been religious or superstitious, and he also hadn't believed in the paranormal as much as some people did. Yet here he was, sat next to his best friend, who — for obvious reasons, couldn't see him.

It was torture. Through all of the years he'd been sat there, which was coming on what — 43, now? He'd had to watch his best friend cry, with the incapability of doing anything. When he was still there with Paul, he'd always been there for him with a smile, even if he didn't know what was going wrong. And Paul returned the favour, like he always had done. But now he couldn't do anything.

Paul was sat in front of his headstone, reading the letters over and over again that had been the same for 43 years, through glassy eyes. And John couldn't do anything. He sat next to Paul, and though he couldn't see him, he had a feeling he knew he was there.

Paul spoke up.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't save you. I'm so sorry things hadn't been better for us. I'm so sorry I put us through those six miserable years, when maybe, just maybe, if I hadn't — you'd still be here today."

John's tense muscles relaxed at the sound of his shaking voice, and he rested his head on Paul's shoulder just like he'd done all those years ago.

"It wasn't your fault, Macca. You know it wasn't."

John's reply was pointless, but still he spoke in that same soothing tone he'd always used for Paul.

"If we'd never separated, maybe you would have never moved to that awful city. If only I hadn't let you go like the fool I was, John Lennon." Paul spoke through the inevitable tears, the tears he always cried.

"It wasn't your fault, Macca." John spoke, his voice now slightly breaking at the sight and sound of his best friend— and his inability to do anything about it.

"I'm so sorry."

"It was not your fault, Paul McCartney."

"I'm so sorry."

"Paul."

"I'm so so sorry."

Paul's voice finally broke, and John wrapped his arms around his best friend's torso. Paul's body shook with desperate sobs and more threatening to spill, and John held him as tightly as he could in hopes that maybe, just maybe, he would feel it.

"Do you remember the day we met?"

"Of course I do."

"You thought I was cool for playing left-handed." Paul said, chuckling quietly while sniffling and wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his sweater. His nose and cheeks were painted red. Whichever parts of it were from the cold blow of the wind or crying— he couldn't tell.

"When you asked for that divorce, you know— from our contract, I think that was when my life ended."

"I'm sorry, Paul."

"Nothing's been the same after that. We were on bad terms for six years, John. Six whole years."

"I'm sorry, Paul. I really am."

"I didn't know what to do with myself. Linda didn't know how to help me. I thought I'd lost you."

"Paul, you know better—"

"And then we reconciled. I think that was the best day of my life, John. Like the biggest weight had been lifted from my shoulders."

"Paul, please."

"And now here I am. I don't have a way to get you back, do I? I've lost you, John."

"I'm right here."

"It's been forty-three years. Forty-three years, John. I need you. You were only alive for forty years."

"I know."

"I'm so sorry I couldn't save you."

John stayed silent.

Paul stood up, and looked at his headstone again. John was sitting right in front of it, and he held Paul's disoriented gaze.

"I promise I will always be here, Macca. I have been for forty-three years. I promised to not leave your side, and I meant it. You know I did. Please, stop crying."

"I love you, John. I'm so sorry I never had the chance to say that to you before your life was so selfishly taken."

"I love you too, McCartney. Please don't leave me like I left you. I didn't mean to."

"I'm sorry, John."

"Stop apologising."

"To rob a life is the ultimate robbery in life. You never deserved to have yours taken from you."

"I'm sorry, Paul."

"I wish I could've hugged you one last time."

"I'm here, I promise."

"Goodbye, John."

"Don't you dare leave me, McCartney."

John stood up quickly and grabbed Paul's forearm with a sense of desperation, hoping for an effect. Paul shivered.

"I'll be back, I promise."

"Don't be gone too long."

Paul's breath hitched.

"I won't."