(18+) 𝐀/𝐍: New style bc i'm getting bored of the previous one 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Smut 𝐒𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 1964
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
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Touring - the busy schedule, the regular interviews and the stolen moments spent with you in-between it all, meant that Paul's thoughts were constantly preoccupied. Meaning, he'd all but forgotten his own birthday, until three days beforehand, an American interviewer questioned what a world-famous, deep-pocketed man could possibly want for. He hadn't actually been able to answer, his bandmates quicker to speech - John leant forward and muttered dryly, "World peace."
Moments later, George snickered and murmured, "Peace and quiet."
Then, the interview rolled-on and nothing more was said on the matter, at least until Paul commented to John that he'd almost overlooked gaining another year, but the musician didn't seem to have any response to offer, so Paul dropped it. He knew you weren't fond of celebrating your own birthday, you didn't enjoy all the attention being on you and you often complained about the uncomfortableness of unwrapping presents beneath the watchful-eye of the gift-giver - that no matter how wide you beamed, never mind how many times you vocalised your gratitude, you felt as though it were an insufficient display of your appreciation. That's not to say you didn't take delight in other people's birthdays - he'd been hauled to enough of your friend's celebrations to be quite certain of that. Besides, that party you'd hosted at your house for your cousin's eighteenth was an evening he wouldn't ever misplace in his memories.
Even the previous year, you were pestering him two months before his birthday, clarifying what he desired, whether he wanted a bash organised. He hadn't, so the pair of you had ventured to Scotland for a weekend to unwind. This year, he supposed the day must have merely slipped from your thoughts and he couldn't hold it against you - you were distracted by regular phone-calls as your novel went through to print and it was barely a week before it took to the shelves and despite your hectic schedule, knowing that you had only a few days before you would have to fly home, you'd chosen to visit him in the States. So what if you overlooked his birthday, he thought, it wasn't a big one and he was just pleased to see you, that was gift enough. Though, when Paul slipped beside you in bed that evening, he wondered whether anyone would recall the fact he would be another year older when he woke.
It was a cloudy Californian morning when you stirred - a local resident had explained the phenomenon of June Gloom to you, something about the marine climate caused it to be overcast on the coast even at the start of summer. Paul was seemingly still snoozing beside you - he'd mumbled to you, half-asleep, the previous evening about the peculiarity of having three evenings booked in California for a single show. You'd placated, spoken softly as he slipped to sleep and as you lay beside him, you wondered whether he'd overlooked his own birthdate - it was Capitol Records who'd arranged for the prolonged stay in LA. You'd been astonished when a series of letters, addressed to you, arrived at your house and it was several days before you opened one, certain that a mistake had been made and they were meant for Paul. You intended to await his return then, to leave them for him to open, but when your curiosity reared its head, you were glad. The letters outlined Capitol's intention to host Paul a birthday bash as they were touring in LA at the time - you'd been forced to postpone the release of your writing, but for Paul, you didn't mind.
