Paul & John

[Chapter Five - Confessions Of A Teddy Boy]

-- J O H N --

He watched as the younger lad left his home, carrying his duffle bag and guitar case. John admired that boy for his cheery attitude, and for some reason, he found himself becoming a child just by the thought of Paul.

Something about Paul drove the older lad over the edge. Maybe it was because he had a cute smile, or whenever he got scared he would cuddle to John; almost as if he absentmindedly chose him as his protector.

John laid in his bed, smoking a spliff and watched the tendrils dance up towards the ceiling; falling down to greet his broad, pale face. It has been three days since he had seen Paul McCartney last, and a pang at his chest made his heart feel heavy; his absence made him feel empty.

He contemplated whether to phone him, ring him up and ask if he were able to hang out today. Maybe they would go to the Picadeli Circus, smoke cigarettes until their lungs weren't able to breathe. Maybe they would kiss underneath the stars.

He sat up abruptly; the realization of his thought process hitting him like a ton of bricks.

Kiss?! John Lennon wasn't a fruit!

Or maybe he was, but maybe he was only queer for Paul. His sweet, adorable friend, Paul.

John couldn't fight it any longer! He put on his slacks and leather jacket, frizzled his hair a bit then left without Mimi's acknowledgement.

...

-- P A U L --

Sunrays seeped through Paul's heavy eyelids as he opened them to see his window open while the curtains rested on opposite sides of the window. He sat up, stretching his chubby body like a cat.

He looked down at his wrist, seeing a purple circle stain his pale skin. The memory was such a blur; all that came to his mind was his father staggering over to his son, pulling him by his hair and was then thrown to the bedpost of the bed; his forehead slapping against the object and the rest was a blurry visual.

Quietly, he stepped off of his bed, tip toeing into his living room to see neither his father or brother were to be seen. All that was left was an empty dish on the dining table, making Paul roll his hazel eyes into the back of his head.

He stalked towards the kitchen sink, turning on the faucet with the dish in his hand. Rinsing it off, he began his own breakfast. Just as he was about to open the fridge, a note was pasted on the right hand side of the refrigerator door.

Paul,

Mike and I went to Ireland for the weekend. It would be an inconvenience if we took you. Keep the house clean, and don't eat the entire fridge! You'll explode with the food you had consumed the night before.

Goodbye for now.

-- Dad.

He could have cried, he could have run up to his room and began to cut himself. He could have done all these things, but instead he took the note and tore it to shreds.

Just as he was about to grab the milk jug, he heard the doorbell ring. Opening it, his heart fluttered at the sight of him, John Winston Lennon.

John stood in front of his companion, getting a good view of his morning look. Paul wore plaid pajama bottoms, and he wore a white long-sleeve. His hair was everywhere, making him look he'd just been shagged.

Paul stepped inside and scanned at John, his heartbeat racing. He wore a leather jacket and jeans; his hair in a messy quiff but he still looked sexy.

At some point in time, Paul stopped caring for birds. He found himself finding a pure lust for them, but at every failed attempt, he had gaven up on aspiring a girlfriend of his own. He knew he liked women, but when it came to John, he was head over heels for him. Maybe in his mindset, John was a woman.

Or maybe his masculinity turned the younger lad on.

Whatever it was, Paul was hypnotized.

He offered John the couch to sit down on, and so that's how their day began. With a simple visit.

...

-- J O H N --

He sat back in his chair and watched as Paul scrubbed the leftover food from the plate, his cheeks puffing as he grumbled over the mess his brother and father made. John could only smile at the sight, he wanted to just cup the young lad's cheeks and kiss them both repeatedly.

"Paul?" John called as he took a bite of his blueberry scone. Paul rose his head from looking down at the sink.

"Yeah, John?"

John gulped, his hands trembling. He was going to say it. He was going to confess his admiration for the chubby lad.

"I--" he turned to the wall of photos, trying to muster up the damn words to leave his lips. Paul stepped toward him, placing his hand on the leather-bound boy.

"Is there something wrong, John?" Paul asked gently.

John looked up to see Paul's puppy-dog eyes. He bit his lip, and sighed.

"I like you, Paul." he was getting more nervous by the second.

Paul smiled, his heart fluttering.

"I like you too, John. You're a great friend," once that sentence left his lips, John's heart sank.

"in fact, I have a gift for ye."

"You do?" John asked. Before he could say anything else, Paul had already turned to the staircase and made his way to his room.

Paul came back a moment later and had a red guitar in hand. It had silver strings on the bottom, and the top ones carried a golden color to them. The rosette was designed in an Indian-type pattern; while the rest of the guitar carried red with a hint of black to smear the edges.

"I got this after me dad went to bed," Paul said as he handed him the gorgeous-looking instrument. "I know you mentioned to me that ye wanted to learn 'ow to play."

John held the instrument in his hand as if it were a baby. He smiled down at it, thinking to himself that he could finally be somebody with this beautiful guitar.

He then bit his lip, feeling guilty about Paul buying it.

He handed Paul back the guitar.

"I can't take this mate."

"Sure you can, it's for you. Take it. That way I can teach you," he smiled, his chubby cheeks rising once his lips curved into a grin.

"Maybe we can do that band thing you talked about the other night."

"Yeah," John replied. "maybe."

"So," Paul clapped his hands together. "Shall we start now?"

John nodded, "Sure."

"Let's go up to my room then."

Paul raced up the stairs with John trailing behind. John smiled to himself, considering that he was very lucky to have a guitar. He could finally show the world what John Lennon was made of.

But more importantly, he considered himself lucky because he had James Paul McCartney as his best friend.