Fic: Why Wallpaper Peels and Fades Over Time
He shoved at his chest hard, pushing him away even farther, physically this time, his voice cracking with emotion, his eyes betraying hurt the other man hadn’t seen before.
“Don’t-fucking-touch me!”
But he can’t stop his hands from reaching for him, wanting to punch him for his broken voice and for those fucking hurt doe eyes and for thinking it was his fault-wanting to touch his face and take his shoulders and tell him to shut the fuck up, it’s going to be fine, it’s going to be…it’s is, it is, shut up, shut up shut up shut up don’t fucking say it…
Just let me touch you.
He doesn’t say it. He never does.
His hands take the round face, cupping it gently and then the younger one is fighting him again with all his might, struggling and shoving the older man, cursing and swearing and bruising him with punches, scratching at him violently, his voice breaking with hate and fear and the older man fights back like he always does, pushing forward when the younger pushes back and punching him just as hard, fighting for control, dominance, desperation…
They scrabble until they slam into the wall.
And he has the doe-eyed boy pinned and furious and hurt beyond any physical pain, and he’s smirking because that’s what he does when he’s lost like this, and there’s a split in the wall where the wallpaper’s cracked from time and that crack is just the fuck like this...
But that’s when they lock eyes like so many times before, hateful and fierce and challenging and angry and hurt and scared, so fucking scared and hopeless and loving and don’t leave, they both say, and then the pinned boy has the upper hand because he can see clearly into his eyes, is the only one who can, and he can see his own in them, reflected in the infinitely deep, shallow pools and he realizes he’s not alone in this, it’s exactly the same for him, but it’s the end, no matter how much they don’t want it to be, because there’s the wall, and they’re pinned, and the crack is splitting open.
It couldn’t last forever.
And then he realizes it too, still holding the doe-eyed man pinned to the wall. It’s like this always for him. Blundering too hard into things he wants but can’t quite understand and then they all leave and for once can’t he be the one to? No, it can’t, he’s always wanted to be the quitter he never allowed himself to be.
And then he says quietly, “Macca…no.”
~~~
“My name is John Lennon.”
Paul remembers that day when they were so young and tough and John was the most intimidating, ridiculous person he’d ever seen, with his hair and guitar and raw voice-with his cigarettes and tight trousers and wrong lyrics and fuck-all, rock star attitude toward everyone.
Paul instantly wanted nothing more than to impress him.
And John was dripping sweat and booze and smoke and rock and roll when Paul played for him, when John draped his hand over Paul’s shoulders and leaned in too close to tell him he was fucking good, and his hot breath hit Paul’s neck and his lips grazed his ear and he smelt awful, alcohol and fags and did Paul want to join his band? And John’s psyche oozed over him and Paul thought, we’re going to be stars, and now John smelled alluring and new and Paul nodded and then the cosmos lined up.
And later a piece of wallpaper peeled off John’s bedroom wall.
~~~
They wrote and sang at Paul’s because Mimi was disgusted, and their knees knocked together a lot and their voices were fucking perfect together, and they went to Julia’s and sometimes they wanked off together and they made a band with these boys they knew and they played records of music they liked for each other and then Julia got hit by a fucking cop and died in the street and John went to Paul’s, laughing hysterically and grinning until they got to Paul’s room, with the patterned wallpaper, and his laughter became sobs and Paul had sat beside him and put his arm around him and John had shoved him off because he wasn’t crying-don’t fucking touch me-and they’d scrabbled together, pushing and fighting and shoving-Get OFF!!-and John wailed on Paul through his sobs and they landed on the floor all bruised and bleeding a little and John was just so tired and so he let Paul hold him but he didn’t fucking need to be held because no one had held him until now and he actually cried but he supposed it was ok because Paul cried too.
~~~
Paul remembers how he was thinking how his mum died and got all depressed one day and went to see John, but he didn’t cry in front of him. John was glad-he couldn’t have handled that, Paul’s devastated wet eyes, but he gets it, so he and Paul get drunk instead and that night John hugs him.
~~~
Paul remembers flopping back onto the hotel suite bed and grinning up at John, both of them smug to be the biggest, best thing on the fucking planet when they were actually just these four scouse boys from Liverpool and no one seemed to know it but them.
And John smirks and thinks My name is John Lennon. My name is John Fucking Lennon. with a giddy excitement that only his grin and his eyes show, and Paul sees it because they’re his eyes too now.
Paul doesn’t really like the wallpaper at this hotel.
~~~
“They’re out of their fucking minds, you know,” John slurs to him as they lay on the floor of the hotel room years later, and they know they’re not going to tour again if humanity keeps up with this fucking lot of madness.
Bigger than Jesus Christ??
Paul spills his drink and the carpet and the wallpaper get stained.
And suddenly John’s breath is hitching and Paul looks over and John’s crying, really crying and Paul crawls to him and he smells like he did that day that Paul met him and when he looks at Paul and Paul looks at him and they see each other’s eyes Paul starts crying too because there’s not any reason not to tonight, and they cry for a long time before John starts laughing slowly while he cries and pulls Paul down next to him-Come here, Macca-for some contact because Paul’s the first one not to leave, you see, and so they laid there, shoulder to shoulder, sobbing into a laughing hysteria, and that night Paul hugs John.
~~~
John breathes the smoke into Paul’s mouth and Paul feels lightheaded already.
He coughs. There’s no wallpaper here.
They look into each other’s eyes for hours and Paul sees himself melting into John and John into him and fucking Christ, it’s scary and when their knees knock together Paul thinks the world hears the noise and he jumps and John catches him, but really Paul catches John.
It’s only me, Paul.
Hug? Embrace.
Just let me touch you.
Aren’t you already? Thought you always were.
John Lennon. Paul McCartney. John and Paul. Lennon McCartney. MaccaLennon. MacLen. McLennon.
My name is John Lennon.
My name is Paul McCartney.
It’s slow and easy and soft and right. Something they’ve always known.
Boys aren’t supposed to touch like this.
They wake up with eyes and a moan and a shudder of pleasure.
John thinks that he’ll remember Paul like this when he dies.
It’s years, and somehow Paul doesn’t leave him.
~~~
They scrabble and fight and hit the wall and the tear in the wallpaper opens farther and John says softly Macca…no because Paul’s not supposed to be the one to leave, it’s not his, it’s not his band, it’s not his fault, it’s going to be ok because it’s not, they both clearly see that this is the end and it’s their fucking fault, and how can he leave, how can he be the one to hurt the most when he leaves, how can he fucking leave when he knows everyone else did, even Julia, and how can he leave after this?
Because everyone already left. They shouldn’t be surprised.
And they yank each other’s hair and taste each other one more time, saying goodbye, because the world is ending like it did so many years ago and John cries and Paul does too, so they figure it’s ok.
~~~
He’s hurting so bad and bleeding all over, and he’s choking on blood and a laugh, surprised that he does remember Paul like that, just like he thought he would, and he gurgles out, “My name is John Lennon,” and it’s really Paul who dies.
~~~
Paul dreams of him, sometimes.
Smirks and grins and tears and his voice, his rough hands on his guitar, the smell of him that first day, touches and laughs and tours and wanking sessions and lyrics and songs and madness and fights, the way he said Paul’s name, the way his eyes looked, the nicknames, the bad names, the cursing, the leaving, the breaking, the reconciliation, the hope, the hopelessness, his smile, his touch, his death, his smile, his eyes…
His name was John Lennon.
Paul takes down all the wallpaper in his house.
~~~
Fin