Break Me One More Time [McLennon]

in which paul is adjusting

      Paul laughed.

     "Want a beer?" John said.

     "I'd love a tea," Paul said.

      John rolled his eyes. "Typical," But he went to the sink and filled the kettle then placed it on the stove, and even though he'd had every intention of having a beer, he got out two teacups and two tea bags. "So, Paulie, how's flat hunting looking?"

      Paul smiled... He remembered this conversation in vivid detail.

    "So, Paulie, how's flat hunting looking?" John asked, one eyebrow raised.

     "Not great," Paul sighed. "I just don't think I can afford my own place right now."

     "Well, you can't keep living with your dad," John rolled his eyes.

      "I don't know, it's not that bad, I suppose," Paul had shrugged his shoulders. "Besides, if I can't afford it then what am I to do? Until your name is in lights, a musician isn't exactly the best paying profession in the world."

     "Well, one day your name is going to be in lights. Yours and mine." John said. Little did he knew at the time how right he really was.

      And that had been the end of it. So Paul said, "Not great," and sighed. "I just don't think I can afford my own place right now."

      "Well, you can't keep living with your dad," John said and Paul could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

     "It's not that bad," Paul said, not bothering to follow his mental script. "I mean, he's my dad. It's not the worst thing in the world to be able to see him every morning and every evening."

     "Sounds like hell to me," John said.

     "Well, my father and your father are very different people, you know what I mean, John?" Paul said. "Anyway, like I said, I can't afford it right now and if I can't afford it then what I am to do about that? I love music, I really do, and I wouldn't give it up for the world, but until your name is in lights, a musician isn't exactly the best paying profession in the world."

      "Your name is going to be in lights," John said. "One day. Yours and mine and George's and Pete's. Everyone will know the band called The Beatles, I promise you that. And then we'll be rich and we'll never have to worry about any of this."

      He was almost totally right. Paul wanted to make a comment about Pete, but he decided that that would be a very very very bad idea.

      John and Paul were both very silent then. John finished making the tea and carried the cups into the room, handing one to Paul. They both sat there, sipping their tea, until John spoke again. "You could move in with me," John said.

      Paul nearly spit out his tea. He swallowed hard and painfully and looked at John with wide eyes, because that had certainly never happened. "Wha-what?!"

      "Oh, come on," John said. "It could work! I've just got a mattress in my bedroom, you know, but you could move your bed here! It's not like we've never shared a room before - hell, this'll be easy. We had to fit you, me, George, Pete, and Stuart into a room in Hamburg!"

      Paul thought it over. Was it such a bad idea?

      "It's a good idea, Paul," John said, sipping his tea. "We'd be together all the time and we could just write whenever we want. You'd be able to get out of your dad's house and I wouldn't be all on my own."

      There was a voice in the back of his head telling him to decline. This hadn't happened the first time around, so it shouldn't be happening now. God knows why John was suggesting it!