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Title: Dust in the Wind: Part II, Dream a Little Dream
Author: Lucy and Ramona
Rating: PG-13.
Pairing: John/Paul.
Genre: Slash.
Warnings: Language.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Beatles and make no aspersions toward their sexualities.
Summary: Part two of three. In which dreams are nightmares, and so is real life.
Author's Note: Sorry to all of you who thought this was going to be a Hamburg story! Although we love that time period, and there will probably be later stories in the series based then, the three main parts take place several years apart. Sorry for the confusion! This part is set in 1967.
John strums absently at his guitar, no definite tune in mind. Paul stares at him from across the room, watching his fingers moving across the neck of the guitar.
He had missed moments like these. Just the two of them.
John winces as a botched note comes out.
"Fuck..." he mutters, adjusting his fingers.
Paul blinks at him, not saying anything. Just looking.
John doesn't notice Paul's gaze on him. His eyes narrow in concentration, tongue poking slightly out as he tries to work out the chord.
"You feelin' alright, love?" Paul finally asks, his curiosity getting the better of him. John's been acting... different lately, and Paul is still adjusting.
"Wha?" John looks up, a surprised look on his face. "Yeah, fine. Why?"
"Jus' making sure, love," Paul gives him a lame answer.
John sees right through it, but lets it go, simply frowning slightly and then turning back to his guitar.
Paul fakes a smile and tries to concentrate on his own playing.
What's going on with John?
The rest of the recording session goes smoothly, though George and Ringo exchange glances at John and Paul's lack of interaction with each other.
After the other two leave, an awkward silence takes over the room. Yeah, something is definitely wrong.
John taps his foot in a random rhythm, wondering absentl what more they have to do on this song. It seems done to him...
"So..." Paul breaks the silence in the room. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"
"'Ey?" John asks, honestly surprised as he looks up. "What you mean?"
"You've just... Are you okay? Everything is... Alright?" Paul tries again.
"Everything's dandy, Macca." John's face and tone are exceedingly cheerful.
"But... Well, okay. I was just worrying over nothin'." Paul smiles at him.
"You shouldn't do that, Paul. Bad for your health."
The manic smile remains on John's face.
"I'll keep that in mind, John-luv." Paul laughs.
"Cause y'know, you shouldn't worry about things that'll never happen anyway. You should just get over them and move on. Right?" John is rambling now.
"Well... I wouldn't say that. It's a lovely thing to dream, John." Paul grins at him.
John's grin fades into a spiteful glare. "That's a load of shit," he hisses.
"What? No it's not. Dreams are a great thing to have. They let you imagine things the way they should be." Paul continues to smile.
"They give you false hope of things that'll never happen," John corrects.
"Why is it such a big thing with you all of a sudden?"
"It's not." John suddenly leans back in his chair, apparent disinterest on his face.
"John?" Paul questions.
"Paul," John returns calmly.
"What's going on, love?" Paul asks, a worried expression on his face.
"Nothin'." Now John's tone is nothing but bitter. "Said that already, didn't I?"
"You're not actin' like it's nothin'..."
"Well it is."
"Just forget I even asked..." Paul says, feeling defeated.
"I will." John nods firmly, turning back to his guitar.
Paul just stares at him, seemingly deep in thought.
John can feel Paul's eyes on him, but tries to ignore it, playing the first few notes of Ticket to Ride absently.
Paul continues to stare, going back to watching John's fingers.
Although his mind is filled with turmoil, John's fingers move smoothly on the strings, plucking out one nameless melody after another.
Paul just continues blinking at him, trying to figure out what he said wrong.
John's hand slams down on the strings.
"What, Paul? What?" he asks, eyes still trained anywhere but on him.
"I'm just... confused. And worried about you. I just want to understand what's going on with you..." Paul answers quietly.
"I told you. Nothing's going on with me. Can we finish this?"
"It seems finished to me, Johnny..."
Paul looks down at the guitar in his lap, purposefully not looking at John.
"It seems finished to me, too, but there's still something missing..." he mutters.
"Well, what do you think's missin'? I'm sure we can figure it out..."
"I dunno. I dunno, I dunno, I dunno..." John groans, resting his head in his hands and gently rubbing his temples.
Paul walks over to his side, resting a hand on his shoulder and massaging it gently.
"We can always figure it out some other time, Johnny..."
Without realizing it, John leans into Paul's hand, letting out a sigh and continuing to rub his head.
"We can just stop for tonight and finish up tomorrow, yeah? I know you're tired, I am too..." Paul keeps his rubbing motion constant.
"I am, Macca... I'm so tired..." John mumbles, blinking slowly. "I haven't gotten a proper night's sleep in... I can't remember."
Paul leans over and hugs him from behind.
"Come on, Johnny... Tell Paulie what's wrong..." he whispers.
John's eyes fly open even as his body automatically relaxes into Paul's arms.
"So what is it? What's keeping you away from sleep? Away from dreaming?" Paul prods gently.
"I sleep... And then I dream... About things that couldn't ever happen..."
John vaguely wonders why he's saying this, but he's distracted by Paul's scent.
Paul hums understandingly in John's ear.
"Why..." he hesitates. "Why could they never happen?"
John shivers. "Because... Because they just wouldn't, Paul..."
"Do they make you happy?"
John remains quiet for a moment.
"Yes..." he breathes. "They make me so happy I could fly..."
"Then why are they a bad thing?" Paul keeps his voice quiet.
"Because it doesn't matter if they make me happy. Because every time, I wake up, and it's not real. None of it's real. Nothing is real."
"But sometimes, you have to make your dreams a reality. If you want it badly enough, it'll happen."
"Or it'll just make my life miserable," John counters.
"How do you know unless you try, John-luv?" Paul asks.
"I... I just do." John's voice is suddenly unsure as his eyes stare without focus at the wall.
"You don't sound so sure... Why not give it a shot? What is it, are you dreaming you can fly to the moon? To Mars?" Paul laughs tenderly.
"I'm scared, Paul..." John admits quietly, head leaning back onto Paul's shoulder. "I'm fucking scared out of my mind..."
"It can't be that bad, John..." He smiles, breathing in the scent of John's hair.
"It can." John's eyes fall closed as he tries to think.
"Well... What is it? Have you been dreaming about... Stu?" Paul asks, a mixture of sadness with a pool of jealousy.
"What?" John frowns, slightly confused. "No..."
"Then... What?" he asks again.
"..." John breathes deeply, mind whirring with thoughts.
"It's okay, Johnny..."
"Is it?" John asks softly, turning his head to look at Paul.
"Yes," Paul confirms.
John licks his lips, nodding slightly. "Okay."
"Now, what is it?"
John moves his head forward a little, glamcing into Paul's eyes, bright and doe-like in comparison to his own dark ones. He lightly presses his lips to Paul's, then backs away almost immediately.
Paul blinks at him. He doesn't say anything. Just blinks.
John bites his lip, staring desperately into Paul's eyes in earnest hope for some sort of reaction.
"W-What was that?" Paul asks, confused.
John winces. "I... I kissed you?"
"Why?" Paul asks, clarifying the question.
"Because... I..."
"You what?"
"Because I've been in love with you since 1959," John says quietly, looking down.
Paul freezes for a moment.
"You... You what?" he asks finally, unwrapping his arms from around John's neck and moving away.
John feels cold and alone now.
"You... You heard me." He wavers uncertainly.
Paul paces around the room, no real emotion showing on his face.
"Since... 1959? Christ, John..."
"Yeah." John watches Paul walk, heart sinking lower with each step.
"Eight years, John? Eight fucking years?" Paul asks, a hint of blazing anger now in his voice.
"... It's been eight years..." John's tone is one of amazement. "Shit..." He starts counting on his fingers. "Holy shit..."
"And you... You didn't think this was something I should have known? Something you shouldn't tell your best mate, that you're in bloody love with him?"
"I... I didn't... You didn't feel the same... I..." John is at a loss for words, something that doesn't happen very often.
"How would you know how I felt? So, all this time, I'm thinking you're hung up on Stu, or, God forbid, interested in Cyn, your wife, and you were in love with me? Me?"
Paul grabs a glass of water. He looks at it with a contemplative expression, and then, on a sudden impulse, throws it against the wall. Pieces of it shatter onto the floor and John flinches, thinking that glass might as well have been his heart.
"You," he confirms quietly, mentally shooting himself.
"This is so... Why, John? What is so great about me?" Paul doesn't understand the bitterness in his tone but can't make it go away.
"I dunno," John murmurs. "You're... You. That's all."
Paul closes his eyes, rubbing them with his thumbs and sighing loudly.
"You would do this."
John frowns. "What's that s'posed to mean?"
"Nothing, John. Nothing at all," Paul states plainly.
"You obviously meant something, Paul. As long as we're being honest, you might as well tell me."
"I mean, you would start something you were never planning on finishing."
"Me!" John lets out a startled, bitter laugh. "You're the one who wouldn't even leave me alone in my bloody dreams!"
Even though he's angry, Paul can't help the blush that spreads across his face.
"Don't turn this on me! You're the one who's been in love with me for bloody forever!"
"Not forever! Just most of forever!"
Paul laughs angrily. "I don't fucking get you sometimes."
John cringes back from Paul's anger silently, not daring to further defend himself. It wouldn't do any good, anyway.
Paul looks to the ground, unsure of what to do or say now. Why is he so angry?
John's breathing is fast and uneven, and he attempts to calm down.
"You were never planning on telling me, were you? You were just going to keep it some big secret that you... Are in... Love with me." He can barely say the words.
"Christ, I should have!" John stares at Paul with something like hurt. "I don't... You told me to." His voice is suddenly very small.
"I didn't tell you to do anything! I said to go after what you... want... Oh... Fuck, look, John-"
"No, you look, Paul!" John's voice is now loud and pleading. "You don't know what it's like, alright? You said it yourself. Eight fucking years."
"You lied to me. You've been lying to me! For eight years! I think I understand!"
"I haven't lied to you! I just... didn't tell you! That's different, Paul!" Defensive now, defensive and petulant.
"That's bullshit. That is such bullshit. Why couldn't you tell me, Johnny? If I mean so much to you, why?"
"Because I was afraid, Paul! Can't you try to understand? That's all well and good, say I lied to you forever. But I'm the one who's had to live with this!"
"I lived with it too, John! Even if it was unknowingly! All this fucking time wasted. Gone, like dust in the wind. Well, you know what, fuck you!"
"What are you talking about, time wasted? The only time's been wasted is what I've spent fucking listening to you!"
"Okay, John. You just want me to shut up, then? Pretend this didn't happen? Is that it? Because I can't fucking do that!"
"Then what exactly are we gonna do, Paul? You never gonna speak to me again? Is that it?" 'Because I'll die, Paul, I'll die please just don't leave...'
"You're the one who doesn't want to hear me anymore. If you want me to stop talking to you, I will." 'I would have done anything you asked me to... Why did you have to wait so long...'
John slams his fist down on a music stand, causing it to fall over and scatter sheet music everywhere.
"Fuck, Paul, can't you see that's the last thing I'd ever want?"
"Well, apparently there are a lot of things I don't see!" Paul shouts.
"At least we can agree on that!"
"Fuck..." Paul spins around, kicking his chair out of the way.
John leans back in his own chair, unable to sit upright, and buries his face in his hands as Paul turns away, looking at the door.
'I can't do this, Johnny... I'm sorry, it's too late for us to get what we want... I don't want to hurt you, but I have to...'
John takes a shuddering breath, lifting his head.
"Well? Go ahead, Paul. Leave me. Everyone else has, why should you be any different?"
"No," Paul states bluntly. "You go. Go home and sleep, you don't have anything to worry about anymore. I'm not leaving you."
John lets out another bitter laugh.
"Sleep? After this?"
"Yes..."
'This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you...'
"You don't have anything to dream about anymore," he states plainly.
John's breath hitches and his face drains of color as he looks up at Paul, face stricken.
"N-no... I guess I don't... Do I..."
"Go, please."
John stands, blindly finding his way out of the room just before angry tears begin falling down his face.
Paul listens for the door before kicking over his music stand and sitting back in his chair. He folds into himself, crying harder than he can ever remember.
"I love you too, John..."