Don't You Know, It's Gonna Be Alright (Part 3)
Title: Don’t You Know, It’s Gonna Be Alright (Part 3)
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: Erm… PG-13?
Warnings: Language, angst.
Summary: “It occurred to Paul that an afternoon doing absolutely nothing with John was better than one doing anything else with anyone else.”
Disclaimer: Still own nothing and no one. The song lyrics belong to the Everly Brothers. This is based on true events, but is by no means true. FICTION, people. A/N: Wow, that took longer than expected, sorry guys. I’ve become the kind of author I hate *facepalm* Also, I shamelessly stole a line from “A Hard Day’s Night.” The movie, not the song.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
A week had passed since Paul had seen or heard from John. They had parted on rather strange terms. They had spent the day nestled in Paul’s bed, warm in a safe cocoon that blocked out a pestering younger brother, an irate Jim McCartney, the bad weather, and their most dangerous enemy, reality. The two boys slipped in and out of a soft, dozing sleep, occasionally waking to have wordless conversations, make unenthusiastic attempts at eating, and, at least for John’s part, to start crying uncontrollably again. John had once again spent the night in Paul’s arms, head snuggled into his chest.
Then the morning came.
John seemed to have made a decision in his sleep - no more of this soft stuff. He’d have to man up eventually. He didn’t say this out loud, but he didn’t need to for Paul to understand. The awkward thank-you for letting him stay over, the uncomfortable nod where a goodbye hug really would have made more sense, and the obvious effort John was making to “pull himself together” told Paul that John wasn’t planning on accepting any more of Paul’s comfort for a while, if only for the sake of his pride.
Paul had felt a strange twist in his chest as John walked out the door and down the street, disappearing around the corner.
It had been a week. A whole week without seeing John felt like a goddamn eternity. He was really beginning to worry. No phone calls. No two a.m. visits heralded by pebbles on his bedroom window. No attempt to flag him down at the bus stop used by almost all of the Inny and Art College students. In fact, Paul hadn’t even seen John in passing at the College. Now, he knew that John was far from the perfect student, but he did normally drag himself into at least a few classes a week.
“… and then she ran off, like nothing happened. Weird, right?”
Paul suddenly awoke from his thoughts, confused. “Sorry, what was that, George?”
George frowned. “How much did you miss?”
“Uh…” Paul shrugged guiltily. “Well… all of it, I think.”
George rolled his eyes. “Never mind, you’re not listening at all today.”
“I… sorry. I’m just thinking about -“
“About John, I know.”
“Yeah. Not that I don’t like yeh or anything.”
George smiled good-naturedly. “No, I know. But fuckin’ hell, Paul, if I didn’t know better I’d think you fancy ‘im or somethin’.”
Paul knew George was teasing him, but the spot just above his stomach tensed with panic, apparently not getting the joke.
“Shuddup,” he mumbled. Christ, was he blushing? Shit. Stop blushing, you fucking fool.
George stared at him inquisitively for a moment. “Just a joke, Paul,” he commented carefully.
“I know.”
“Okay.”
~*~*~*~
John stared across the café at nothing in particular. He felt numb. Still. He’d felt like this ever since he’d left Paul’s house a week ago. He remembered feeling the urge to turn around and take a last glimpse of his friend as he walked down the street. He hadn’t done it. For some reason he now regretted it.
He hadn’t let himself shed a tear since that day. He figured, he’d done enough crying for ten people in the two nights and one day he’d spent with Paul, so now he should be done. He wasn’t some silly, overemotional bird. He wasn’t a child. He was fucking seventeen years old. He was practically a grown man; what was he going to do, cry for his mummy? No. Definitely not.
But God almighty, he missed her. The funeral was fucking miserable. John hated funerals. He hadn’t invited Paul. He had desperately wanted him there, but he knew that if Paul had been around, he would have just started crying again. Somehow having Paul with him made crying seem less shameful and pathetic than it actually was. Besides, Paul wasn’t so good at funerals either. It was better this way.
He had wanted him there, though.
He took a gulp of his tea, which had somehow already gone cold. It was awful. He drank it anyway.
He wished Paul was here.
He always wished Paul was here.
Fuck.
~*~*~*~
George gestured toward the bus that would take him back to Speke. “I’m gonna head home, okay?”
“Okay, George. See you later?”
“Yeah. Tell the middle-aged boy wonder I said hi, alright?”
Paul chuckled. “Who said I’d be seein’ ‘im?”
George smirked, stepping onto the bus. “Since when are you not?”
The doors closed before George could hear Paul’s petulant reply. Paul huffed and walked aimlessly down the uneven sidewalk. He wasn’t sure where he was going yet. He felt lonely today. He shouldn’t feel that way, right? He’d been with George all afternoon. George was a good kid. Hell, George was his second best friend. Better than second, actually. If there could be a first-and-a-half best, that’s where he would have been.
He had to admit it to himself, though, that no one else was John. He missed John terribly. It wasn’t just worry, although there was plenty of that too. He just outright missed being with him. He knew that Julia’s funeral had already happened, but that he hadn’t been invited. He wondered if John was angry or upset with him, but he couldn’t understand why. He worried that maybe he’d scared John off with too much affection last time they were together. But he wasn’t the one that had been crying in John’s arms. Not that it necessarily mattered… It was all so confusing.
He found himself a couple blocks away from the Inny, wandering into a café where art students tended to congregate. His eyes scanned the room as he walked toward an empty table.
Speak of the devil.
He glimpsed John out of the corner of his eye and looked twice to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Messy DA, Buddy Holly glasses, half-smoked ciggie, impossibly narrow dranies, and a dull, sad expression. Yep, it was John.
“John?”
John started in his seat at the sound of his own name. He turned to face the voice.
“Paul?”
Paul smiled awkwardly. “Hi.”
John couldn’t help himself; he smiled back tiredly. “Hi.”
John watched Paul sit down, studying him from across the small table. He felt a strange sense of relief that his friend was there, seemingly hearing his secret wish and appearing out of thin air.
“Whatcha doin’ here?” John asked.
Paul shrugged. “Dunno. Jus’ wandered over like. Didn’t know you’d be here.”
“You didn’t?”
“No, why would I?”
John paused. Why would he know? “Dunno.”
“I was with George…”
“Oh.” John stared at Paul for a moment. He had never been so glad to see a friendly face. He realized he should probably say something more substantial. “How’s he then? Graduated from nursery school yet?”
Paul rolled his eyes, but decided to ignore John’s dig. “He’s fine. He’s learned to play three new songs in the past week.”
“Christ. Course, iss’ not like he’s got anything else to do, bein’ twelve years old an’ all.”
“Come on, John, he’s fourteen and you know it.”
“Close enough.”
John liked giving Paul a hard time about George. He would never admit it, but he was actually quite fond of the kid, in a strange way. He was such a bloody weirdo, though.
Then again, John rather liked bloody weirdos.
A long stretch of silence passed. Neither boy felt compelled to fill it. There was no longer a fear of nothingness between them. Even in silence, there was a shared thought.
Paul studied John’s face. There were noticeable bags under the older boy’s eyes. His normally warm complexion seemed grayed with sadness. He could swear John had actually developed some wrinkles in the past week, although he was probably just imagining things.
John spoke suddenly. “You listen to the radio last night?” He was of course referring to Radio Luxembourg, the glorious source of any and all new music that was actually worth a damn.
Paul looked up, meeting John’s tired eyes. “No, Dad’s mad at me fer last week. Still won’t let me listen.”
“Last week?”
“Yeah, I gave ‘im an earful, remember?”
“You did?”
“Yeah, I was draggin’ yeh into the house and he was givin’ me a hard time about the noise, remember?”
“The noise?” John frowned. “Was I drunk?”
“A little, but… no, you remember, it was three in the morning and you were cryin’ yer head off, and he was bein’ stupid and yelled at me, and I got mad and told him to fuck off, ‘cause, you know…” Paul shrugged. “Figured you had a right to make a fuss.”
John felt a wave of embarrassment. His face felt hot. Crying his head off? Shit. Christ, he was a nerk.
“Oh…” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “That. So… what, he’s still mad over that?”
“Well, more than that, I guess.”
“What else?”
“Well… the next morning, when I went down to get us some tea an’ all, he got on my case about it, and I pretty much told him to fuck off all over again.” Paul huffed indignantly. “He didn’t even ask about you, it was just, ‘I won’t have you talking like that under my roof,’ blah blah blah.”
“Ask about me?”
“Well, yeah, I mean he knew what happened and all he cared about was givin’ me some shit about not talking back.”
“Oh.” John again felt embarrassed, but this time it was… different. Paul was normally the perfect child when it came to obeying his father. Hearing that Paul had blatantly disrespected him because he felt that he hadn’t been concerned enough about John’s problems was… unexpected.
Another stretch of silence passed before Paul seemed to remember something. “Why’d you ask about the radio?”
“Huh? Oh.” John snapped out of a daze and shrugged. “I heard this song… it was by that group, the Everly Brothers? Anyway… it reminded me of you.” John shifted in his seat awkwardly. “I mean… I dunno.”
Paul nodded absently. “What was it called?”
“Uh… ‘All I Have to Do Is Dream.’ I think. Something close to that, at least.”
“Never heard it.”
“I think it’s new." Paul nodded again. The two sat quietly for hours. John seemed to relax in Paul’s presence, slightly less anxious and sad. It occurred to Paul that an afternoon doing absolutely nothing with John was better than one doing anything else with anyone else.
He wondered if it was normal to feel that way.
~*~*~*~
Finally, finally, the McCartney household was no longer banned from listening to Radio Luxembourg. Paul was ready to get down on his knees and openly thank God, despite having his doubts that such a being even existed. Mike was ready to kill Paul for having created this horrible dry spell, but the first few notes of Elvis Presley’s voice coming through the speaker seemed to mollify him.
The two boys sat on the living room carpet, playing cards and constantly accusing one another of cheating until Jim threatened to disown them both. Paul had just dealt a new hand and Mike was already complaining that Paul wasn’t exactly playing like a gentleman when the announcer’s voice crackled over the radio.
“And now, here’s the latest from the Everly Brothers”
“Shush! Turn it up!” Paul gestured frantically to the radio.
“This is ‘All I Have to Do Is Dream.’”
Paul listened, enraptured. The harmonies were gorgeous! He loved it immediately. John definitely knew what Paul liked. The lyrics poured out, silky and soft over his ears.
When I want you in my arms
When I want you and all your charms
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is dream
Dream, dream, dream, dream
When I feel blue in the night
And I need you to hold me tight
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is dream
Paul followed the lyrics carefully. John had said that the song reminded him of Paul. Why would he say something like that that?
I can make you mine, taste you lips of wine
Anytime, night or day
Only trouble is, gee whiz I’m dreamin’ my life away
Maybe he was over thinking this. John probably just meant that Paul would like the melody, right?
I need you so that I could die
I love you so, and that is why
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is dream
Dream, dream, dream, dream
The song carried on for a while longer. Every moment was lovely, but Paul was left wondering, despite all his silent explanations and justifications, what it was about this song that made John think of him, and more importantly, why he so desperately wished that there was something in those words that reflected something in John’s heart.
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: Erm… PG-13?
Warnings: Language, angst.
Summary: “It occurred to Paul that an afternoon doing absolutely nothing with John was better than one doing anything else with anyone else.”
Disclaimer: Still own nothing and no one. The song lyrics belong to the Everly Brothers. This is based on true events, but is by no means true. FICTION, people. A/N: Wow, that took longer than expected, sorry guys. I’ve become the kind of author I hate *facepalm* Also, I shamelessly stole a line from “A Hard Day’s Night.” The movie, not the song.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
A week had passed since Paul had seen or heard from John. They had parted on rather strange terms. They had spent the day nestled in Paul’s bed, warm in a safe cocoon that blocked out a pestering younger brother, an irate Jim McCartney, the bad weather, and their most dangerous enemy, reality. The two boys slipped in and out of a soft, dozing sleep, occasionally waking to have wordless conversations, make unenthusiastic attempts at eating, and, at least for John’s part, to start crying uncontrollably again. John had once again spent the night in Paul’s arms, head snuggled into his chest.
Then the morning came.
John seemed to have made a decision in his sleep - no more of this soft stuff. He’d have to man up eventually. He didn’t say this out loud, but he didn’t need to for Paul to understand. The awkward thank-you for letting him stay over, the uncomfortable nod where a goodbye hug really would have made more sense, and the obvious effort John was making to “pull himself together” told Paul that John wasn’t planning on accepting any more of Paul’s comfort for a while, if only for the sake of his pride.
Paul had felt a strange twist in his chest as John walked out the door and down the street, disappearing around the corner.
It had been a week. A whole week without seeing John felt like a goddamn eternity. He was really beginning to worry. No phone calls. No two a.m. visits heralded by pebbles on his bedroom window. No attempt to flag him down at the bus stop used by almost all of the Inny and Art College students. In fact, Paul hadn’t even seen John in passing at the College. Now, he knew that John was far from the perfect student, but he did normally drag himself into at least a few classes a week.
“… and then she ran off, like nothing happened. Weird, right?”
Paul suddenly awoke from his thoughts, confused. “Sorry, what was that, George?”
George frowned. “How much did you miss?”
“Uh…” Paul shrugged guiltily. “Well… all of it, I think.”
George rolled his eyes. “Never mind, you’re not listening at all today.”
“I… sorry. I’m just thinking about -“
“About John, I know.”
“Yeah. Not that I don’t like yeh or anything.”
George smiled good-naturedly. “No, I know. But fuckin’ hell, Paul, if I didn’t know better I’d think you fancy ‘im or somethin’.”
Paul knew George was teasing him, but the spot just above his stomach tensed with panic, apparently not getting the joke.
“Shuddup,” he mumbled. Christ, was he blushing? Shit. Stop blushing, you fucking fool.
George stared at him inquisitively for a moment. “Just a joke, Paul,” he commented carefully.
“I know.”
“Okay.”
~*~*~*~
John stared across the café at nothing in particular. He felt numb. Still. He’d felt like this ever since he’d left Paul’s house a week ago. He remembered feeling the urge to turn around and take a last glimpse of his friend as he walked down the street. He hadn’t done it. For some reason he now regretted it.
He hadn’t let himself shed a tear since that day. He figured, he’d done enough crying for ten people in the two nights and one day he’d spent with Paul, so now he should be done. He wasn’t some silly, overemotional bird. He wasn’t a child. He was fucking seventeen years old. He was practically a grown man; what was he going to do, cry for his mummy? No. Definitely not.
But God almighty, he missed her. The funeral was fucking miserable. John hated funerals. He hadn’t invited Paul. He had desperately wanted him there, but he knew that if Paul had been around, he would have just started crying again. Somehow having Paul with him made crying seem less shameful and pathetic than it actually was. Besides, Paul wasn’t so good at funerals either. It was better this way.
He had wanted him there, though.
He took a gulp of his tea, which had somehow already gone cold. It was awful. He drank it anyway.
He wished Paul was here.
He always wished Paul was here.
Fuck.
~*~*~*~
George gestured toward the bus that would take him back to Speke. “I’m gonna head home, okay?”
“Okay, George. See you later?”
“Yeah. Tell the middle-aged boy wonder I said hi, alright?”
Paul chuckled. “Who said I’d be seein’ ‘im?”
George smirked, stepping onto the bus. “Since when are you not?”
The doors closed before George could hear Paul’s petulant reply. Paul huffed and walked aimlessly down the uneven sidewalk. He wasn’t sure where he was going yet. He felt lonely today. He shouldn’t feel that way, right? He’d been with George all afternoon. George was a good kid. Hell, George was his second best friend. Better than second, actually. If there could be a first-and-a-half best, that’s where he would have been.
He had to admit it to himself, though, that no one else was John. He missed John terribly. It wasn’t just worry, although there was plenty of that too. He just outright missed being with him. He knew that Julia’s funeral had already happened, but that he hadn’t been invited. He wondered if John was angry or upset with him, but he couldn’t understand why. He worried that maybe he’d scared John off with too much affection last time they were together. But he wasn’t the one that had been crying in John’s arms. Not that it necessarily mattered… It was all so confusing.
He found himself a couple blocks away from the Inny, wandering into a café where art students tended to congregate. His eyes scanned the room as he walked toward an empty table.
Speak of the devil.
He glimpsed John out of the corner of his eye and looked twice to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Messy DA, Buddy Holly glasses, half-smoked ciggie, impossibly narrow dranies, and a dull, sad expression. Yep, it was John.
“John?”
John started in his seat at the sound of his own name. He turned to face the voice.
“Paul?”
Paul smiled awkwardly. “Hi.”
John couldn’t help himself; he smiled back tiredly. “Hi.”
John watched Paul sit down, studying him from across the small table. He felt a strange sense of relief that his friend was there, seemingly hearing his secret wish and appearing out of thin air.
“Whatcha doin’ here?” John asked.
Paul shrugged. “Dunno. Jus’ wandered over like. Didn’t know you’d be here.”
“You didn’t?”
“No, why would I?”
John paused. Why would he know? “Dunno.”
“I was with George…”
“Oh.” John stared at Paul for a moment. He had never been so glad to see a friendly face. He realized he should probably say something more substantial. “How’s he then? Graduated from nursery school yet?”
Paul rolled his eyes, but decided to ignore John’s dig. “He’s fine. He’s learned to play three new songs in the past week.”
“Christ. Course, iss’ not like he’s got anything else to do, bein’ twelve years old an’ all.”
“Come on, John, he’s fourteen and you know it.”
“Close enough.”
John liked giving Paul a hard time about George. He would never admit it, but he was actually quite fond of the kid, in a strange way. He was such a bloody weirdo, though.
Then again, John rather liked bloody weirdos.
A long stretch of silence passed. Neither boy felt compelled to fill it. There was no longer a fear of nothingness between them. Even in silence, there was a shared thought.
Paul studied John’s face. There were noticeable bags under the older boy’s eyes. His normally warm complexion seemed grayed with sadness. He could swear John had actually developed some wrinkles in the past week, although he was probably just imagining things.
John spoke suddenly. “You listen to the radio last night?” He was of course referring to Radio Luxembourg, the glorious source of any and all new music that was actually worth a damn.
Paul looked up, meeting John’s tired eyes. “No, Dad’s mad at me fer last week. Still won’t let me listen.”
“Last week?”
“Yeah, I gave ‘im an earful, remember?”
“You did?”
“Yeah, I was draggin’ yeh into the house and he was givin’ me a hard time about the noise, remember?”
“The noise?” John frowned. “Was I drunk?”
“A little, but… no, you remember, it was three in the morning and you were cryin’ yer head off, and he was bein’ stupid and yelled at me, and I got mad and told him to fuck off, ‘cause, you know…” Paul shrugged. “Figured you had a right to make a fuss.”
John felt a wave of embarrassment. His face felt hot. Crying his head off? Shit. Christ, he was a nerk.
“Oh…” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “That. So… what, he’s still mad over that?”
“Well, more than that, I guess.”
“What else?”
“Well… the next morning, when I went down to get us some tea an’ all, he got on my case about it, and I pretty much told him to fuck off all over again.” Paul huffed indignantly. “He didn’t even ask about you, it was just, ‘I won’t have you talking like that under my roof,’ blah blah blah.”
“Ask about me?”
“Well, yeah, I mean he knew what happened and all he cared about was givin’ me some shit about not talking back.”
“Oh.” John again felt embarrassed, but this time it was… different. Paul was normally the perfect child when it came to obeying his father. Hearing that Paul had blatantly disrespected him because he felt that he hadn’t been concerned enough about John’s problems was… unexpected.
Another stretch of silence passed before Paul seemed to remember something. “Why’d you ask about the radio?”
“Huh? Oh.” John snapped out of a daze and shrugged. “I heard this song… it was by that group, the Everly Brothers? Anyway… it reminded me of you.” John shifted in his seat awkwardly. “I mean… I dunno.”
Paul nodded absently. “What was it called?”
“Uh… ‘All I Have to Do Is Dream.’ I think. Something close to that, at least.”
“Never heard it.”
“I think it’s new." Paul nodded again. The two sat quietly for hours. John seemed to relax in Paul’s presence, slightly less anxious and sad. It occurred to Paul that an afternoon doing absolutely nothing with John was better than one doing anything else with anyone else.
He wondered if it was normal to feel that way.
~*~*~*~
Finally, finally, the McCartney household was no longer banned from listening to Radio Luxembourg. Paul was ready to get down on his knees and openly thank God, despite having his doubts that such a being even existed. Mike was ready to kill Paul for having created this horrible dry spell, but the first few notes of Elvis Presley’s voice coming through the speaker seemed to mollify him.
The two boys sat on the living room carpet, playing cards and constantly accusing one another of cheating until Jim threatened to disown them both. Paul had just dealt a new hand and Mike was already complaining that Paul wasn’t exactly playing like a gentleman when the announcer’s voice crackled over the radio.
“And now, here’s the latest from the Everly Brothers”
“Shush! Turn it up!” Paul gestured frantically to the radio.
“This is ‘All I Have to Do Is Dream.’”
Paul listened, enraptured. The harmonies were gorgeous! He loved it immediately. John definitely knew what Paul liked. The lyrics poured out, silky and soft over his ears.
When I want you in my arms
When I want you and all your charms
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is dream
Dream, dream, dream, dream
When I feel blue in the night
And I need you to hold me tight
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is dream
Paul followed the lyrics carefully. John had said that the song reminded him of Paul. Why would he say something like that that?
I can make you mine, taste you lips of wine
Anytime, night or day
Only trouble is, gee whiz I’m dreamin’ my life away
Maybe he was over thinking this. John probably just meant that Paul would like the melody, right?
I need you so that I could die
I love you so, and that is why
Whenever I want you, all I have to do is dream
Dream, dream, dream, dream
The song carried on for a while longer. Every moment was lovely, but Paul was left wondering, despite all his silent explanations and justifications, what it was about this song that made John think of him, and more importantly, why he so desperately wished that there was something in those words that reflected something in John’s heart.