The lazy lights are pretty.
Title: The lazy lights are pretty. Part 6
Author: Me
Rating: PG-13 - language, kisses
Warning: A bit of violence between the brothers. I'm not advocating it at all, I just think I needed it to move the story on.
Author's note: This is the penultimate part, methinks. I spend quite a bit of time in this one on Mike and Paul but I promise John is in it too. Still, we might have to rename the comm lol. paulheartmike? That works, right? :)
Previous parts: 1)http://community.livejournal.com/johnheartpaul/1423087.html#cutid1
2)http://community.livejournal.com/johnheartpaul/1425828.html#cutid1
3)http://community.livejournal.com/johnheartpaul/1428137.html#cutid1
4)http://community.livejournal.com/johnheartpaul/1428631.html#cutid1
5)http://community.livejournal.com/johnheartpaul/1431113.html#cutid1
Paul spent the whole day at school in a tetchy mood, snapping at anyone who so much as breathed a word to him. When the teacher asked questions, he ususally responded brightly and enthusiastically, and now he sat sulking at the back of the class, refusing to join in discussion.
When the bell finally rang to signal the end of the day, Paul ran with his bag to the gates, pulled Mike from the throng of boys beginning the journey home and dragged him down the street with him, much to the younger boy's protests. Paul ignored him, and it was only once they were back at Forthlin Road that he took in any of what Mike was saying.
"What the hell's wrong with you, Paul? Stop being such a prick!"
"Mike! Don't use words like that in this house! You know what Dad would say."
"Like you care! I heard the two of you this morning, arguing! What's happened to precious little Paul, eh? Staying out late and ignoring Dad! Looks like you're out of his favour now, doesn't it?"
Mike ended his tirade, a self satisfied smirk on his lips. Without warning, Paul raised his hand and smacked him across the jaw. Mike staggered backwards, clutching at his nose, which was now bleeding copiously, his eyes widened in shock at the pain and his brother's actions.
Paul stared blankly, not taking in what he had just done. Then all of a sudden he was running to the bathroom, grabbing a towel, running to the fridge for some ice, and holding the pack to his brother's face.
"Shit, shit, shit. Oh God, Mikey, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
Paul could feel the tears starting to spill down his cheeks as he held the back of Mike's head and sat with him on the kitchen counter, waiting for the bleeding to stop. Mike was crying too, loud pain filled sobs escaping from underneath the towel and all the blood. Paul looked into his eyes, and asides from the hurt that was obvious, all Paul could see was disappointment. He had let his little brother down in such a big way. He felt so guilty.
"Mike, I really am sorry. It's not your fault I've been behaving this way, and I didn't mean to hit you, it just - happened. You've got every right to be angry with me. I'll tell Dad what happened when he comes in, you don't have to worry about that."
Mike didn't answer, but his sobs grew quieter and he let Paul take the blood soaked towel from his face and look at the damage. Paul brushed his hand over Mike's nose tenderly, feeling the swelling and where there would no doubt be a large bruise in the morning. There was also a sore looking red mark that ran the length of Mike's right jaw which made Paul feel sick with guilt and disgust at himself. A steady stream of blood still trickled from Mike's right nostril, and Paul retrieved the tissue box from the living room, handing Mike one whenever required and once again holding the back of his head, sitting it out until the bleeding stopped.
They sat in silence on the counter, the only sound the odd sniffle from Mike, whose crying had stopped but whose eyes remained watery and sad. Paul mulled things over; he knew he had about a million people to say sorry to.
"That's it." Mike said in a small voice. He held the last tissue out to Paul, who took it and placed it in the bin with the rest. The bloody towel went in the basket to be washed. Paul hopped off the worktop and got a facecloth, wet it at the corners and gingerly wiped away the dried blood from his brother's nose and above his lips. Placing his hand on Mike's chin, he tilted his head back and inspected the alignment of his nose; it seemed straight enough.
"There. Good as new." He smiled sadly at Mike.
Mike managed a brave smile back. He elicited such a cute image with his fair hair and his big eyes sitting on the counter like that, that Paul pulled him down and wrapped him in a hug. He tried to put as much of an unspoken apology into the hug as he could, and only let go when Mike giggled.
"Let's not get soft now eh? You're still my big brother, and big brothers need to be tough. Else how will I learn?"
Paul laughed, the first laugh he'd had since the night before which seemed like a million years ago now. It was such a relief.
He rumpled Mike's hair affectionately and the younger boy danced away, sticking his tongue out at Paul.
Paul smiled. "I'll make dinner for us now, right? Your favourite - toast soldiers, pie and beans."
"Yeah!" Mike answered with enthusiasm, before running from the room.
Paul was sure he'd play up the injured baby in front of his father later, but for now, things seemed quite alright.
***
After they had eaten, Paul cleared up all the dishes and made sure the kitchen was spotless. It was Thursday, so Jim worked late. They were expecting him soon, though.
Paul was sitting in the living room with the radio on, humming along to the big dance hall music that emitted from the speakers. He had it all worked out for what to say to his father. He knew he couldn't escape his father's anger or even punishment, but he had a plan to lessen the blow.
Mike sat in the corner, writing in his excercise book. Every so often, he'd ask Paul to check a word or a sum, and tonight Paul would gladly help, where usually he told his brother in no uncertain terms to get lost.
Paul checked the clock, ten to seven. Jim was due home in ten minutes. Suddenly, the phone rang. Paul wondered if it might be his Aunty Jin, and he felt some nerves rising in the pit of his stomach. He walked to the phone, and picked up the receiever.
"Hello?" he said, trying to make his voice as confident as possible.
"Hullo, Paul there?" came the voice on the other end, a voice he would recognise anywhere.
"John?" Paul breathed into the phone.
"Oh, it's you. Alright, wanker?"
"John! What are you phoning for?"
Paul couldn't believe John was phoning him. He was sure, after this morning, he would never want to speak to him again. It had taken Paul all day to realise that he was angry with himself, and not John for getting him into trouble.
"George rang and said you were in a right mood at school today. I figured you would be after this morning, and I told him so. Feeling better now?" He drawled this last part sarcastically, and Paul screwed his face up, knowing John was more angry with him than he was letting on.
"Better, yeah. John, I have to talk to you, but I can't do it here on the phone. Can we meet tomorrow lunchtime?"
"Ooohh. You want to talk to me. You want me to meet you? Really? And why should I, John Lennon, agree to meet you? Pathetic excuse for a young boy, can't even stand up to his father."
Paul knew John was only half joking.
"John, I -"
"I'll come over tonight. But you better make it worth my while."
"No, not tonight -" He was gone. Paul sat, twirling the phone wire in his fingers before placing the receiver down. He sighed. He was tired now, and he just wished he didn't have so much to try and sort out with everyone.
He had no further time to suffer the woes of a sixteen year old; the front door opened, and in walked his father, removing his coat and boots in the hallway.
"Paul?" he called out. Paul got up from the settee, placed a finger to his lips, asking Mike to be quiet about things for now, and walked out into the hall.
"Dinner's on the stove, Da."
"I'll get that in a minute." Jim McCartney looked down at his eldest son. "Are you going to tell me what happened last night then? And I want the truth this time, Paul."
Paul steeled himself and began.
"I'm sorry, Dad. Me and John were going on a double date, see, to the cinema. With Susie from school, " he paused, waiting for his Dad's nod of recognition, which came almost immediately. "And John had some girl from art college. Well we were meeting them at six, and I knew I'd be late if I stayed for dinner. That's why I left, but I know it was rude."
Jim scrutinised his son, evidently deciding whether to believe this or not. He apparently decided yes, for his eyes grew less suspicious.
"And why didn't you tell me this before? Why that story about band practice? And, it still doesn't explain why you were out so late." He eyed Paul expectantly.
"I thought you'd be angry, Dad. Remember the other day when you asked me what was on my mind? And I said it wasn't a girl? Well, I was lying. I really care about..her. About Susie. And it's been making me nervous, not eating, things like that. You know how it is." Here, Paul inserted a cheeky grin, which worked the way he wanted it to. His father smiled, a knowing twinkle in his eye.
"Well, anyway, we went to the cinema, and the film finished about 8, and well, we, we went to the park after. And we talked, the four of us in a group, and then one thing led to another, and we forgot the time and..." Paul trailed off, acting sheepish as he waited for a reaction.
"You made it with her? Well, why didn't you say so boy! Oh, I'm so proud of you!" Paul's father grabbed him in a hug, suddenly, which he hadn't fully expected. He kissed him on the forehead, and after letting him go, beamed down at him. "That's my Paul!"
Paul rubbed at his head, and smiled.
"Well, after that, me and John, we had to walk the girls home cos they'd missed the last bus, see? And that's why it took so long, cos that bird of John's, she lives way out in Hoylake. I knew you'd be mad, so I panicked this morning and that's what the band story was all about."
Paul prayed the story had worked, he thought it had. Jim just chuckled.
"That's my boy, eh? A chip off the old block, after all." He leaned down to Paul suddenly, and whispered:
"Let me tell you a little secret. I done the exact same thing once. And spun my father the same story. He was angry too, but he got over it once he knew what had really happened." Jim winked. Paul smiled, but felt a pool of guilt wash around his stomach, even more so than before.
"Right, time for tea. And where's your brother? Tell him his old dad wants to see him."
"Mike!" Paul called, hearing his brother's footsteps already come running from the living room.
"Uhh, Dad, there's something else you should know. Me and Mike, we had a punch-up earlier. I hit him. I burst his nose. I'm sorry."
Paul looked down at the ground.
"What? Why would you do that?" His father stared at him in disbelief, and turned to face the young boy running towards him. Mike leaped into his father's arms and hugged him tightly. Jim held him slightly up off the ground and after a few seconds placed him back down.
"Getting too heavy for that son," he laughed.
"Let me see you." He took Mike's face into his hands and looked at his nose, and jaw, running his thumb along the red welt Paul's punch had left. Mike winced.
"I'm sorry, boy. That looks like a right sore one. Paul? What was this about?"
Paul came round to stand beside Mike in front of his father.
"Sorry, dad." That's all he seemed to be saying these days, Paul thought bitterly. "Mike was having a right go at me for getting into trouble with you, and I just lost my temper, and hit him. It's no excuse, I know."
Jim frowned. "That's not like you, Paul. But emotions are running high at the moment, I can understand that. I'm going to ground for you two days, and there'll be no pudding for you tomorrow night. Understood?"
Paul nodded gravely, glad to have actually told some part of the truth tonight at least.
"Besides, " Jim said, "he'll live, won't he?" He gave Mike a playful little shove on the back. Mike smiled, glancing over in Paul's direction as he did so. Paul had seen that smile before, the one Mike used to get whatever he wanted when relatives were round. The sickly sweet one. But he couldn't even feel any of the usual contempt he felt towards his brother for it, cos he had been terrible towards him this evening.
"Think I've got something for you in my pocket, Mikey, m'lad. Follow me." Paul watched as his father led his brother off to receive his 'prize'. He started to head upstairs, when Jim called after him.
"Paul? You go to your room now, son. Grounding starts now, ok?"
"Right, dad." Paul shouted back and trudged his way upstairs.
***
He was just drifting off to sleep, when there was a sharp rap at the window. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, unsure if he was dreaming or not. There was a shadow at the window, of a young boy, perched on the ledge, wearing some Buddy Holly lookalike glasses. Paul could just see their outline in the dark.
He hopped out of bed, wearing only a tshirt and boxers despite the chill of the night, and pushed the window open.
"John! What time do you call this for coming round?" He glanced over at his bedside clock. Well, it was only 9:15pm.
"What the bloody hell are you doing in bed at this time, Paul?" John retorted, climbing into the room, and adjusting himself.
"I like the get-up, mind." he said, looking Paul up and down approvingly.
"Oh, shut up John. Sit down, we've got to talk." He motioned to the bed.
John gave him a pointed look, and sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing it up and down.
"Stop it, John, the whole house'll hear you. Look, I'm sorry about this morning, alright? I was confused about everything and angry cos my dad was angry with me and, well, I didn't mean to be so short with you. I think I've worked things out now."
John sat silent for a few moments.
"Well, I can't say it didn't hurt. But, I've decided to forgive you Paul. Know why? Cos you look so darn good in that black tshirt!" John laughed, and pulled Paul close to him at the edge of the bed.
"Hmm, c'mon Paul, I know you want it as well." He wrapped his arms around Paul's waist but Paul pushed him off.
"No, John, wait! I need to know things are really alright again between us." Paul's anguished eyes bore into John's and he sighed.
"Right, Macca, son, tell me how you've worked things out."
"Well, I thought about it, and I know that I want to be..with you. And I think it's gonna be ok, as long as we can keep it secret from anyone that's not in the band. We can see each other every night, either at Mendips or here, and I just have to work hard at school so my teachers and Dad don't get suspicious or worried. But most of all, I know that I want you. Really, I do."
"Christ Paul, you're like a gushing bird. Stop it with all that soppy rubbish already. Although..I'm intrigued. You say you want me, son, eh?"
He grinned and Paul could see that glint in his eyes again. He blushed and stood back a bit warily.
"So we're okay then? I mean, you're not mad at me?"
"No I'm not mad at you. Now stop worrying, and c'mere, you little rascal."
John got up from the bed, and chased Paul round the room, arms stretched out to tickle him upon contact. Paul tried hard to stifle his giggles and squeals of sheer delight as John caught him and they rolled around on the floor.
"Sssh, John. My dad." Paul managed to get out between snorts of laughter.
John sat up, tidying his hair and fixing his glasses up the right way.
"You two are alright now then?" he asked.
Paul sat thoughtfully for a moment.
"Yeah, I think we will be. I hit Mike earlier though." Paul looked down suddenly, embarrassed.
"What? What the fuck happened?"
"Well I was mad cos I didn't know how I was gonna work it out with you! And he said something, and I just turned and hit him, poor thing." Paul's eyes glazed over for a minute, but at John's next words they lit up again mischievously.
"So what about that favour you owe me then?" John winked in his direction.
"Oh yeah that." Paul leaned over and kissed him wetly once on the lips.
"Get on the bed, Johnny, and lie down."
John looked surprised and aroused, and did as he was told, staring hungrily at Paul's lips.
"I'm gonna give you a massage."