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( a/n sorry if my french is a little shit btw i used google translate for some of it, if anyone who reads this speaks french feel free to lmk what i got wrong in this hlfhdkjf ALSO i couldnt find any way to convert 1800s euro currency to current day to figure anything out so i just used pounds instead sorry)
november 1859
Wind howled strangely in John's ears, pealing through the streets and causing his clothes to be swept up pathetically in its clutches. In order to keep his top hat from flying off, he clutched onto it with a gloved hand as he went, turning back to wave to his carriage driver as he slowly pulled out of the street, leaving the prince alone on the footpath - he rummaged through his pocket and revealed a piece of paper, opening it up to reveal an address; "Onze Rue Clairaut", he muttered under his breath before scanning his surroundings. Yes, he was in fact where he was supposed to be, thank Christ. Clutching onto the paper as if it was his last life support, he trekked up the front steps of the flat and knocked firmly on the burgundy door, keeping his hands behind his back to hide the way he was fidgeting.
Being in Paris again was a little strange. The people, the buildings, the shops.. everything about it was so different, foreign - obviously - but also inspiring, feeling as if he could write a thousand stories and paint a thousand pictures in the beautiful city. The people were so much more open to newer ideas and things of that sort than in London or Liverpool and it was so refreshing to John, making his trips there all the more enjoyable and it being so much easier to make actual friends. He figured he should pay a visit to his friend Jacques before he went back home.
He almost jumped in shock when the door opened, revealing a petite middle-aged lady that he recognised as the landlady he'd met the last time he was in Paris, adorned in a puffy cotton dress, sallow blonde hair done up in a large bun; she beamed when she spotted it was him and moved aside to let him in.
"Mr. Lennon! Bonjour, entrez, entrez!"
[Hello, come in, come in!]
"Merci, Mrs Cartier. Vous êtes belle." He bowed his head as he slipped past her with a warm smile, gazing around at the house with wonder in his eyes, shutting the door after him. He was glad he kept his French up to scratch.
[Thank you. You look beautiful.]
"Oh, arrête ça toi!" She whacked him lightly on the arm with a giggle before leading him further into the house. "Je viens de faire bouillir du thé. Vous voulez un peu?"
[Oh, stop that, you!] [I just boiled some tea. Want a little?]
"S'il vous plaît." The thought of a nice cup of steaming tea was very appealing to him after having to experience the outside cold.
[Please.]
He settled on the plush couch in the sitting room, crossing one leg over the other with a content sigh. The lady was exceptionally nice to him the last time, and he was glad that she had agreed to discuss his purchasing of the house. Paul, George and Ringo had been so excited when he told them his plan to take a secret trip to Paris by himself and purchase the house in which they would live in when they ran away. And it was a beautiful one, too.. he knew it was perfect for them. The fact that the wedding was two months away barely even crossed his mind that day.
"Alors ... vous êtes ici pour discuter de l'achat de la maison, oui?" Mrs. Cartier made her way to him, placing down the tray with a pot of tea and teacups she'd been carrying on the small table between the two chairs. Settling down on the chair opposite him, she smiled at him expectantly with raised eyebrows.
[So... you are here to discuss buying the house, yes?]
"Oui, oui .. tout cela est.. uhm- confidentiel, n'est-ce pas?" He chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds. He always had to be careful when he was doing things like making secret purchases. Make sure no one blabbers to the press so Mimi or anyone who would put a stop to it will find out.
[Yes, yes.. all of this is.. uhm- confidential, isn't it?]
"Of course. Is not my business." Mrs. Cartier surprised him when she spoke English, though with a very thick French accent; she smiled at him as if she knew what he was thinking and patted his arm. "Don't worry, I will speak English to make easier on you."
"Oh, thank you, miss." He sighed in relief, chuckling a little. "It's still hard to remember it sometimes."
"I understand," she nodded before beginning to pour the sweet-smelling brew into each cup, making his mouth water slightly. "sugar or no?"
"Oh- none, thanks."
Once he had the teacup firmly in his grip and was taking tentative sips, they decided to get into the business side of things. She asked questions like 'how many are going to stay here?' and 'do you plan on bringing any pets?' before they finally settled on a price; 970 pounds. (a/n: worth 122,677 pounds nowadays) It was pretty reasonable and he agreed to it, shaking her hand vigorously.
"Thank you so, so, much, Mrs. Cartier. You've really helped me out, here." He grinned. They actually had the house now! "I can pay for it with cash in hand now, if you'd like."
"Oh, yes! Wonderful!" She grinned back and he began to fish out the money needed. After he'd paid and they said their goodbyes, he left the apartment feeling like he could run a thousand kilometres and never get tired. He'd actually done it! He couldn't believe that they'd come this far; he knew that it was going to be fun to show his friends around Paris, sight-seeing and learning the native tongue. Especially Paul.. a fond smile grew on his face at the thought. They could go visit museums - he knew his partner would love to see art exhibitions too - visit cafés, take walks; just the two of them, together. George and Ringo, too, of course. It was a new beginning in their lives, no longer bound by social statures and outside expectations. Just the four of them.
His stomach rumbled impatiently, pulling him from his reverie. It seemed a good time to get something to eat; set in his new resolve, he continued to make his way through the streets, eventually finding a small café in the nook of an alleyway a few blocks away from the apartment. Making his way inside, he took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of fresh bread and sweet, sugary cakes, making his stomach growl even more in anticipation. It was a fairly modest shop, tables and chairs cramped around the edges, filled with people all speaking French, eating away at their meals. A content smile ran across his face and he took off his top hat; this was definitely a good place to eat, and he couldn't wait to take Paul there - it was the closest one to their new house, after all.
It seemed no one took notice of him either as he squeezed past all the other people to get to the counter - it was a welcome change from Liverpool, after all, since he had to walk around with disguises when he was there to hide his true face, and he was glad to be rid of most people's attention.
"Bonjour, que puis-je vous offrir, monsieur?" The young man at the cashier (he looks a bit like George, John thought faintly) greeted him with a smile.
[Hello, what can I offer you, sir?]
He wracked his brain for a moment, scanning the menu displayed and trying to remember what they were. "Um- Bisque et thé Earl Grey, merci." He thumbed through his money.
[Bisque and Earl Grey tea, thanks.]
"Dix shillings, s'il vous plaît."
[Ten shillings, please.]
He handed over the money before raking his eyes across the room to find a spot to sit, eventually taking one by the window, settling down comfortably and reaching for the newspaper resting on the table. Skimming through the pages, he despaired when he suddenly remembered it was in French, and put it down again, not really feeling up to trying to read it. Instead he just rested his elbow on the table and his head in his hand, gazing out the window to watch the people rushing past. He liked these kinds of streets - a small laneway in which only people could walk, shops crammed up against each other, passersby pausing to peer through the windows and occasionally walking inside. It felt more.. cosy, one could say. Like it was a secret area that only people willing to search would find.
Eventually his food arrived and he accepted it with a quick merci and dug into the soup, dipping the buttered bread provided into it. It was certainly a good meal, and he was finished in a matter of minutes, feeling comfortably full. He couldn't wait to show Paul types of French soups and how delicious they were, always so creamy and fulfilling. He could imagine it now - introducing the doe-eyed boy to foreign foods, those eyes in particular lighting up with a new infantile wonder before devouring it within a few minutes. There was so much of the world yet to see, and he wanted Paul to experience every last bit of it for himself. It's what he deserved. And things that John hadn't seen yet they could do as well.. like hitchhike to Spain, even! It suddenly felt as if there was every possibility imaginable at his fingertips with this newfound freedom by their sides.
Standing up, he thanked the waiter that took his bowl and made his way out of the warm, sleepy café, stepping back out into the unwelcome cold. Emerging back out into the main street, he waved down a carriage and quickly clambered inside to escape the wind, telling the driver the address of his hotel before they were on their merry way. He leant his head against the window, myopic eyes gazing out at the scenery that crawled by, listening to the sound of horses' hooves clopping against stone and the whack of the drivers' whip to speed up the process. Those sounds brought the memory of riding a horse for the first time with Paul swimming to the surface of his mind;
"Oh god, we're gonna die, aren't we?" John muttered, clutching onto the edges of the saddle in terror as he stared at the ground below.
Paul stood up from his kneeling position, gaze sparking with amusement as he let a fond smile play on his lips.
"C'mon! You'll be fine. Ye got me to protect ya!"
He chuckled fondly at the memory, fingers tingling as if he could almost feel Paul's waist in his hands again and the wind tearing at his skin. His heart ached longingly for it again, and a swell of emotion caused his throat to close up and tears to spring behind his eyes. It had been nearly two weeks since they last saw each other, and he was longing for his partner's touch... and to tell him he loved him. How do I do it? He fretted, taking to biting at his nails. I have to eventually- I can't keep these feelings bottled up anymore. He.. he means too much to me. I just hope it doesn't cause him to be deterred from the plan. He must feel at least pretty strongly for me if he was willing to leave his family to be with me.. right?
He was again brought back to reality when the carriage came to a halt; he quickly scooted to the door and climbed out, paying the driver and stepping onto the street just outside his hotel with a sigh. For now, he was just going to rest and read a book before he would leave for Liverpool at dawn. Checking back in at the reception, he climbed up the stairs with exhausted limbs and fumbled with his keys to open the front door. He sighed in relief when he got inside, shutting the door after him and beginning to kick off his shoes and take off his coat. The hotel room was admirable, creamy peach walls with a slightly darker pink flower pattern and dark velvet couches. Instead he veered to the left to his quarters, making his way inside and sinking onto the bed, relishing the ease that washed over his body.
Flipping onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling through half-lidded eyes, glasses askew, though he was too tired to really bother to fix them. John let his head roll to the side, fingers grazing across the deep red, almost black, sheets of the bed, exhaling sharply through his nose. He could almost picture Paul lying there with him, those alluring eyes gazing back at him, curled lashes dark against his skin - that small, affectionate smile he always sent in his direction playing on his plump lips. Soon. He promised himself, letting his eyelids fall shut.
Soon.
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"Hurry up, Paul! 's about to start pourin'!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know!"
Paul directed the sleek brown horse to the left absentmindedly, continuing to round up the last of the sheep into sheltered pens as quickly as he could; the sky above, was in fact, laden with murky, ominous clouds that were swarming ever near, the threatening crack of thunder causing the horse - Arthur, Mike had named him - to startle and let out a whinny, frightening the sheep a little as well, letting out pathetic bleats as they all clustered closer together to try and get inside the pens at once. He quickly patted Arthurs' neck and uttered some comforting words, extremely relieved when the last of the sheep bundled inside and the horse seemed to calm down. He turned to look at his brother, who had been the one to inform him of the obvious weather change, standing by the fence of the paddock, looking somewhat like a vaguely human-shaped speck in the distance.
He sent a gesture the other's way to convey he was finished with the sheep and hopped off Arthur, quickly closing up the gates so as to not let the sheep escape before jumping back on again; he ushered the horse to be quick as they raced back across the field to get to the stables. They made it there within a minute and he rushed to take off his saddle and equipment, pulling an apple from his pocket as a treat before jogging to the front doors of the stables, peering out to see if it had begun raining.
It had, of course, but he darted out and made a run for it to get to the house, seeing Mike gesturing for him to hurry up from the back door. The sky was lit up with a blinding light for a split second, lightning winking out as quickly as it came, thunder rolling across the land only a few seconds later. Rapidly cascading rain slicked his hair back and swiftly began to soak his clothes.
"Made it!" Paul puffed when he barged into the house, thankfully not completely sodden - he leant against his knees for a moment to catch his breath.
"Congrats." Mike joked. "Anyways, yer friend Ringo got here not twenty minutes ago. He said he didn't mind waitin' until you were done rounding up the animals."
"Thanks, Mikey." He smiled at his brother, running a hand through his wet hair before shaking his head vigorously to expel some of the droplets, making the younger boy cringe and leap away.
"Hey! Arsehole."
He chuckled, whacking him lightly on the arm before making his way to the lounge room. There Ringo was, chatting amicably with his father, sitting on the couch. He was sipping tentatively at a cup of tea, and he noticed there was another one untouched next to him.
"Oi, Rings. Da'." He greeted with a grin, flopping down next to him with a relieved sigh as he reached for the tea that had been left for him.
"Hey, Paulie!" Ringo nudged him with a lopsided grin of his own. "Thought I'd come pay you a visit. Stormy out there, eh?" Paul nodded vigorously in response.
"Rounded up the sheep?" Jim turned to his son, patting his shoulder.
"Yeah, da'."
"Alright. Good lad - soup's nearly ready for you both." He smiled approvingly before leaving them alone.
"Jeez, yer all wet." His best friend chuckled.
"Yeah, I know. Out of nowhere it just started pourin'!" Paul exclaimed. "Though it was obvious it was coming soon, I guess." He wondered what John was doing at that moment. He hadn't seen him for a while; the last they'd talked, he'd told them all about his plan to take a secret trip to Paris to buy the house that he'd found. It was so thrilling. Their own apartment, all together! He wondered whether he'd bought it yet. "How're you?"
"'m alright. Just felt a bit bored after I helped out at me parent's shop again." Ringo shrugged, sipping his tea.
"Mmm." Paul nodded non-committedly. His gaze fixed on the ground for a moment before he glanced to the doorway to make sure no one was listening; dropping his voice to a whisper, he spoke to him. "You, um.. heard anything from John? About the plan?"
"Oh- yeah, George told me he saw 'im leave a few days ago really early in the mornin', I'm figurin' to go ta Paris. They're a bit curious at the manor about where he went, but he'd made up somethin' about visitin' a friend to get away from all the hectic wedding plans for a bit." Ringo answered.
"Ah- okay." Paul had almost forgotten about the wedding. It still made his gut twist in a sickening way, no matter how many times he told himself that it didn't matter and that John didn't like Cynthia in that way, nor did she him. He instead focussed on the better part of that. He turned to Ringo. "Isn't that mad?"
"What is?" He furrowed his brows, leaning back in his seat.
"That we're- y'know.." Paul gestured, quickly looking to the doorway again to make sure no one was there before shrugging. "runnin' away. Like.. it's so close to happenin' now, and John must've bought the house and everythin' if he went to Paris."
His friend's expression darkened for a moment, eyes clouding over with emotion. "Yeah. It's.. it was a tough decision, but it'll be worth it in the end."
Paul nodded, gaze training on the floor again as a sudden wave of melancholy coursed through him; but at the thought of making so many new memories and being able to be with John, joy overtook it and he grinned. "It really will be. 've never been to Paris. God, it'll be so amazin' to finally see it and eat the food and see the shops and everythin'-" He gushed. "free of .. what is it? Expectation."
Ringo grinned. "It will be. I've been to Paris a few times, but it's been years. I'm excited too. And showing George what it's like will be great, too. It's gonna be hard to teach him French, though."
Paul laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, yeah! His Scouse accent is thicker than the snow in winter! If he tried to speak French to someone, they'd just look at him funny, not even able to understand 'im."
The older boy burst into laughter himself. "Can you imagine? 'Bon joor, mate. Can I 'ave a crohsaunt, sil vouse plate?'" His imitation of George's bizarre, drawling accent was surprisingly accurate, and Paul couldn't help but laugh harder.
He'd been about to reply when his father came back into the room.
"Pea soup is ready, boys."
They leapt up eagerly, Paul itching to have a nice bowl as they bustled into the kitchen, sitting at the table and thanking Jim as he divided up the soup with a ladle into their bowls. The pair eagerly dug into it, grateful for the warm substance to warm them up from the cold; Paul's thoughts again wandered to John as he ate. What was he doing on that rainy evening? Was he on his way home yet? Or had he not bought the house yet?
"Hey, you 'right, mate? You seem pretty lost in thought today." Ringo's voice brought him to the present and he smiled half-heartedly.
"'s nothin'. Just wonderin' about John, I guess." He was comfortable to say that since his dad had left the room after handing them their food.
The other smiled at him encouragingly, resting his hand on his wrist for a moment. "It'll be okay. You'll see." He turned back to finishing the last of his soup.
It'll be okay. Paul thought to himself affirmingly, taking a bite of his stale bread, staring into his empty bowl. John lingered on his mind for the rest of the night. It will be.
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author's note.
_______________
shit this has literally 2 chapters
left then its over !! hehe also i
purposely made them both eat
soup for parallels lolol. anyways
the fact that this is actually so
close to being done is a little scary
to me hjhjdkf ngl,, well hope u
guys enjoyed this chapter !! byee