I'm Just Sitting Here Watching The Wheels Go Round

Hogwarts Legacy: The Curse of The Ravenclaw House:

Index

Beatles: Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da:

Index

Spider-Man: The Connors Problem:

Index

Penny Lane's Getting Better:

Index

George Harrison: Who Can See It?:

Index

The History of Aeromerica:

This was a story for my English class that I'm turning into a real thing I fear

Clive felt every flap of his feathers against his frail and withered frame. Smoke rose above the trees, small insignificant to any two-legged creature. The suburban streets shimmering in moonlight reflect onto the unsuspecting seagull. Closer and closer, the smoke puffs and twists into the darkness.

Days like these ones rip and tear at the very being of feather culture. Pulling and crushing like weighted stones tumbling through the brush.

            Clive soars against the breeze, the light of a fire glowing in his white wings. The brush of the branches makes him jittery as his claws extended to land next to his brother, Stephan.

            “My fellow Aeromericans,” the President Bird, Jay FritzFeather Kennedy, says. “Times are hard, but we must persevere. My brother, Robin Kennedy, will be overseeing a task force, to find a new source of food.” Murmurs break out amongst the birds. Squawks ring out through the hollow. “I know there are few squawks that can justify these hardships, but we are out of time,” Jay continues.

            “Please, all birds interested, follow me,” the Vice President, Lyndon Birds Johnson caws. Johnson’s massive body shadows Kennedy, and Johnson acts like his form. Clive takes off from his perch, Stephan right on his tail.

            “Vice president-” Clive starts, nearly flying into another tree.

“Speak,” Johnson glares with a little snort. Clive gulps and shrinks slightly more into his feathers.

            “We want to help!” Stephan speaks first, feathers ruffling.

            “You’re barely older than birdlings,” Johnson murmurs, eyes piercing their own.

            “Johnson!” a familiar accent wafts through the air.

            “They want to help,” Kennedy nods, a cool smile spreading across his beak. “They are doing what they can for our country.” Johnson huffs, bolstering his large form over Kennedy’s, but the other bird continues to smirk.

            “Fine,” Johnson hisses, nodding to the other two. “Let’s go.” Clive and Stephan jump up; wings spread with joy. Kennedy smiles at them as they drop back down, shrinking once more in his presence.

            “You best listen to Johnson,” Kennedy warns.

*

            Robin knew his way around a crisis. His feathers may be a strew, but he leads the flock just as good as his brother could. Their mission revolves around the parking lot. It brings all kinds of wonders, and plentiful food. The two leg creatures left many treasures in their little lot. Their mission continues for many months with no food in sight.

            Clive’s group consists of many different species, each excited for the different scraps they could acquire. There is Squawker (she liked lucky rabbits), Khootsen (and her love for writing multi-cultural bird stories), Owlivia (who searched for her last name), Jeraflya (a lover of tier listing his meals), and above all there is Bethany. She could have been a dove, though she was actually a bluetail, cascading Clive in glorious light—

            “Clive,” Robin’s harsh voice breaks him out of his trance.

            “Sorry, sir—”

            “We have to go to the White Tree,” he cuts in, shaking a little. Clive nods as they take off from the small lot.

            The others soon join along. Khootsen and Owlivia keep doing the Kennedy accent as Squawker reminisces about her stinky yellow stuffed animal. Jeraflya simply ranks the bird presidents in a tier list next to Clive.

            Robin etches forward, quicker than usual. Clive gulps as Robin dismisses Jeraflya’s attempts to talk. The White Tree came into the light, shining brightly against the morning sun. The security birds’ feathers stand up as Robin flies past them into the hole. The others follow, exchanging fearful looks. Coughs rang out from the back of the tunnel. President Kennedy shivers in a pile of leaves. He looks thinner than Clive remembers.

            “Why can’t you be a little selfish sometimes?” Robin mutters, lying next to his brother. Quacky, the first lady, seemed to roll her eyes at the comment. Clive heard the president has been eating less, insisting it be given to the birdlings. He had also heard of the many scandals of the president since the famine started, which Quacky steams at currently.

            “We need something…and we need it fast,” Robin mutters, lying next to his brother. Quacky directs Clive away, frowning at the state of her husband.

            “How could no one have found anything?” she whispers, head bowing in despair.

            “We’ll go ma’am. We’ll find food…for everyone,” Clive nods, heading towards the entrance of the White Tree. The others follow behind with Bethany coming up beside him.

            “What exactly is your plan? Robin—” Bethany begins.

            “Robin’s not coming,” Clive says, wings spread to take off. “He handled the Chicken Missile Crisis with Jay, but none of them have found food. Our ability to survive basic hunger…we must take it.”

            Bethany nods, solemnly. Clive looks away as he takes off into the sky. The others follow suit, spinning and diving amongst the canopies of leaves.

            Clive watches the other birds as they weakly get to their homes. The familiar size of Johnson as he glares at him from the ground, irks the seagull.

            He’d prove Johnson wrong in the end, he just knew it. Bethany’s wing brushes against his own. She nods to him before diving ahead to a small clearing. One by one, the other birds dove off from his group.

            Clive focuses on one place where there must be something.

The parking lot.

            Without warning, he swallows it whole. The two leg creatures laugh louder. A whole meal must be in here. The two leg creatures were feeding them?

            Clive picks up the package in his beak and takes off towards home. The heavy bag felt heavier than anything he had carried before. Clive’s side began to sting as he forces his neck up, but then he glances at his side. A hawk? The hawk dove for him, causing Clive to veer to the right, nearly hitting another tree. He pushes forward, determined to get the food to the President. The trees are closing in, choking his wings closer to his body.

            The hawk felt this too, risking spraining a wing to get to him. Clive could lose him. The trees continue reaching for them, closer until Clive can only see a small opening. He tosses the package into the opening and flies through. The hawk rams into the gap, screeching and squalling at him. His wings catch on the branches as his screeches turn into cries.

            Clive watches the hawk break free and fly off in the other direction. He sighs, picking up the package between his claws and taking off towards the White Tree. The wind carries him lower than before, protecting him from greater evil. The closer he got, the more he spotted the familiar outlines of the haven, and soon also his friends. Bethany flies past him, carrying a lighter package. They all found food. They knew what to do now.

            Clive lands in the center of the haven, dropping the food with the rest that his friends had found. Emerging from the White Tree, Kennedy floats down weakly to the young birds.

            “There’s enough for you to eat too sir,” Clive nods, stepping aside. Kennedy trudges forward, smile growing on his face. A gasp rings out from the other birds as a large form lands in front of Kennedy. Johnson stands tall above his President.

            “This food is poison. The food here is no good, we must migrate!” Johnson growls, spreading his large wings. Kennedy glares, pushing himself taller to compare to Johnson.

            “I suggest you start migration early,” Kennedy says as the birds get closer to Johnson. Clive and the group float in the air, making sure Johnson takes off from the area.

            Once he’s gone, they all gather around Kennedy as he passes out the food to everyone.

            “Good job Robin,” Kennedy says, “your team did well.” Robin nods and smirks at the group. Bethany leans against Clive as everyone begins to celebrate.

            “I guess it just takes a little bit of the Aeromerican spirit,” Clive mutters.

            “To 250 years,” Bethany says.

Chapter 1: Got My Mind Set On You

Chapter 2: The Art Of Dying

Chapter 3: Taxman

Chapter 4: I Me Mine

Chapter 5: All Those Years Ago

Chapter 6: Something

Chapter 7: Who Can See It?

Chapter 1: Got My Mind Set On You

"George! Come on! You're gonna miss it! It's the Quarrymen!" You yell from atop the brick walls surrounding the small church. George's fingers grasp the edges of the brown and red brick, hoisting himself up onto the top. They did this a lot, watching different bands, and sitting on the wall. They always sat together. 

You sit next to him with a smile, watching him pull twigs out of his greased hair from all the times he fell down. You reach over and take a small twig out from behind his ear. 

"You never get better at this," you laugh. He rolls his eyes and punches you in the arm.

"At least the calluses in my fingers came from playing my guitar and not climbing walls all day," he retorts. You show him your hands that had splinters and scrapes from climbing trees comparing them to his. His own were similar with blister scars from playing his guitar.

"Climbing walls is more fun," you say. He shakes his head, searching the crowd for his friend Paul. He wanted to join Paul's band, but he'd heard nothing of Paul talking to his bandmates. 

"This isn't the crowd to say that to," he replies. The cute brown, almost black haired teddy boy walks towards where the band is setting up. He turns back and waves at George.

"Paul gets all the ladies," George mutters. You can't help but snort at his comment.

"That's because he flaunts himself around." You reply, holding back a laugh. "You shouldn't idolize someone like that anyway."

"I never said I idolized him." He rolls his eyes at your comment. They both knew it was a lie. You and him were younger than the others. They were seen as kids compared to the older band members. George treated Paul and John like role models. 

You look across the crowd, noting the band's teddy boy looks. George had told you about the different boys. There was John, Paul, Stuart, and Pete.

"So, are any of them available?" You say with a smirk.

George punches your arm. "Yes, but you certainly don't need to get involved with any of them. You're too prissy."

You scoff, punching him right back. "You take that back."

"It's true--"

"It is not!" You snap back at him playfully.

"OH, look at me, my parents came from money and so do I," George mocks you.

"You're lucky my mom likes you, or my dad would definitely have never let you come to the house again if he heard that comment." you reply. A loud pluck echoes through the small church garden. The sharp nosed, John Lennon tunes his favored guitar. George admires him as you fall into a comfortable silence. 

You've known George for longer than you care to remember. Liverpool was a perfect place to mess around and enjoy the prospects of youth. George taught you that. Now all he wanted was to be a part of a band. 

You've heard him play his guitar a few times. He was extraordinarily good. He taught you a few strings and a few simple songs, but nothing like what he could truly do. 

All he had to do was get an in with Paul and he would be in the Quarry Men. 

"Has Paul talked to them yet? Of getting you in the band and stuff?" you ask. He shrugs, not quite meeting your gaze. 

"No, at least I haven't heard anything...I think he's content with where the band is right now," George mutters, messing with his hands. 

"Why not talk to John?" you press once more. You wanted him to feel confident, to put himself out there and actually get into the band he dreamed of being in. 

"I don't know him," George says. 

"Well, you're about to," you say, jumping down from the wall into the garden. The small garden next to the church was grown by the community. You liked coming here with George to plant flowers and check on the ever growing vegetables. 

"Where are you going!" he calls out at you. You walk through the small crowd over to the almond eyed, John Lennon. 

"Hey, John," you say with a perfect smile. A little flattering could go a long way in your mind. You knew that John was older than both George and Paul. He certainly was charming, but he had a certain smugness about him that became a turn off. 

"Ah, it's the girl Paul's friend hangs out with," John chuckles. "Want an autograph or something?"

"No, I want you to hear George's skills. He's a really good guitarist," you explain, pointing at George who was running through the crowd towards you. John raises an eyebrow, but chuckles at your blunt response. 

"We don't exactly need any new members right now, but if he wants to play back up--"

"He'll do anything."

"Brilliant," John says as George catches up. He is panting really hard like a dog, but he forces himself to meet John's gaze. 

"I'm so sorry about her--"

"Would you like to try out?" John asks, handing him his guitar. George's eyes widen and he looks over at you before he takes the guitar.

"Are you serious?" he asks. 

"Why wouldn't I be?" John replies. George glances at you once more, before throwing the strap over his head. He racks his brain for the perfect song, one that could really show off his skill. He'd come up with his own melodies before, but none of them would do. Instead he went with a classic: "Raunchy" by Bill Justis. 

You can't help put smile as he plucked at the instrument with such grace that even John seemed impressed. You turn towards John, plastering a smile on your face to try and encourage him about George's playing. John only glances over once, his eyes draw to George's playing. 

The melody drifted all around the small church and over into the courtyard. Birds whistled a long, wanting to emulate his playing. George left one last strum before forcing his gaze to meet John's. Everyone stood in silence for a moment. John contorts his face in every direction as he tries to figure out what to say. 

The sounds of some other men come down the steps. Paul, Stuart, and Pete are laughing and joking around as boys their age do. John turns to them with a big smirk. 

"We got our back up boys!" John shouts. Paul notices George and runs over to him. 

"Ha! I knew you had it in you!" he cheers, scuffling George's hair. George immediately turns to you and hugs you. 

"Thank you!" he says, giving you a big squeeze. This was new. He didn't hug very often, but something told you that you had done something huge for him. 

"You know I always got your back," you say. He releases you from the hug, his hands resting on your shoulders. 

"I don't know what I would do without you," he replies. 

"Well you wouldn't be playing back up for the Quarrymen, that's for sure."

He doesn't give you his usual playful punch, but rather a considerate nod. George is soon swept away by the other boys to explore the venue. You stay behind, knowing you will be seeing less of him from now on. 

That be me.

So, guess who's actually working on it this time!!

Time for some George Harrison x reader guys, it's finally time!! New year, new fics!!!

For me, I was always a Paul and George fan, but then I started liking John, what about you?

(Also have some photos from London and Liverpool)

Epilogue: The End

Date: 2/9/78

Dear John, 

I wish I could have told you how much I loved you. From the first moment our eyes met, to the last shaky breath. I don't know if you remember me anymore, it's been so long since you went off with Paul, George, and Ringo on your grand adventure. I hope everything is going well for you. 

It's been, what, 20 years? More than that at this point, I know...

I tried reaching out a few years ago, but I couldn't get ahold of you because you had stepped away from the public eye. I hope you're happy with your family, and that you release some new music soon. 

Imagine has to be one of my new favorites, keep working away! I miss you, I'll be sure to reach out again soon. 

Love, 

the girl you showed around Liverpool over 20 years ago

Date: 4/16/78

Dear my best friend, 

It's been awhile since our last talk. Nearly 7 years now...how's your family? I hope they're doing well...

John, I, don't know what to say, how we can come together again. I know we are split apart, really and even our music is starting to reflect that. 

But you'll always be my best friend, you'll always be the person who inspired me the most. I love you, John. 

Highest regards, 

the boy you found in Liverpool 

Date 6/26/78 

Dear friend, 

I find your boldness endearing. The words you speak to the world are strong and noble like those of my own. I sometimes wonder how things could have been different, if we hadn't disbanded, but even you know that I wanted out of there more than anyone...more than you. 

Things have been fine over here. I've been soul searching, figuring out myself...especially in these times. I hope you and your family are well. I wish my own was. 

Notify me when you drop that next album will you? I'd appreciate a chance to listen to something that reminds me of better times. 

Signed, 

who they considered quiet 

8/30/78

Dearest friend of friends, 

Recording with you has been the best thing I've done in awhile. The albums aren't doing very well right now. I'm just glad for your contributions. If you need anything, I'm always here so just send a word. 

I haven't seen either George or Paul for awhile, the pretty girl from Liverpool reached out to me and she said she sent you a message a few months back. 

We've been wondering about you John...

Peace and Love, 

Your Drummer

20 years earlier 

"We won't be gone too long," John says, adjusting his cap. You raise your eyebrow as you fluff up his hairs that sticks out. 

"I know, but when you make it big, don't feel compelled to come back too soon, alright?" You reply, stepping away from him.

The train was nearing the station, your heart swelled, seeing your beloved friends going off into the world.

"I'm going to miss you," John whispers to you. He kisses your hand with a slight smirk. You chuckle to yourself, this feeling that he's going to forge his own path...you know that he will have bigger things to think about than you.

At least that's what you thought...

10/9/80

Dear Y/N,

I know it's been a long time since I've written you. My life has changed in so many ways, I can't even explain it. I admit that I wanted to reach out in the past and didn't have the courage too. I really missed you, but I felt I left you behind...

I see that now that I should have just written you. 

I still love you, and always will...

I really do miss you, maybe we can meet up again sometime. It would be nice to meet up again after all these years. I heard you're getting a name for yourself in England. 

Thank you for the birthday card, by the way, you've sent me one every year. 

I hope to see another one next year, 

I love you, 

John Lennon

Guys!!!!!

Chapter 7: Two of Us

John's legs ached by the time he made it back to Pete's. He brushes his hair out of his face, the sweat on his forehead not helping him any bit. He bangs on the door, swearing he'll get a splinter from the rough wood.

Pete opens the door, looking confused.

"John?"

He brushes past Pete into the house. Pete's parents jolt off the couch, startled. He glances at them, but continues to the basement door, quickly descending the stairs.

"John!" Pete calls out again, but no answer is returned. John reaches the bottom step, grabbing some of his lyric sheets and his guitar. He had left his aunt alone on the sidewalk in his haste. He hopes she doesn't wait for him because he needed some time to himself...to think.

Pete made it down the stairs with worry.

"Sorry," is all John is able to mutter before he pushes past him back up the stairs. Pete just blinks and watches him go.

"Pete! What is your friend doing?" Pete's mother calls.

"Sorry, Mrs. Best," John says loudly. The front door stayed open as he ran through it. He didn't look back as his legs carried him down the street. This was important, more important than anything else in the entire world currently.

John didn't care about who got in the way as long as he was able to get to Paul...to get to you. It was time to explain everything, time to stop pushing you away.

Acceptance.

"Hey John," the barber calls from his shop.

"Can't talk, but hi!" he shouts back. The lyric sheets were glued to his chest by his arm. The guitar case creaked and screeched as he ran. People stopped and stared, watching him go by with mild disgust.

"Oh, get a life!" He called at some of his classmates. The girls gasped and the boys looked embarrassed. John didn't care.

He ran past his house, past your house...

Your sister was playing out front and she waves at him. He waves back with a kind smile which was quickly replaced by a scowl once he saw his aunt.

"John!" she yells.

"Nope!" he shouts, continuing his sprint to the hospital. Cars avoided him as he crossed the streets, his heartbeat rapidly against his chest.

Finally, the hospital came into view, he let out a breath of relief. He ran to the front doors, nearly hitting a couple.

"Where is Paul McCartney?" he says, breathlessly to the front desk worker.

"Who are you?" the lady asks.

"John, John Lennon," he replies, wiping away some more sweat.

"I don't know if I can let you in-"

"He's with me," a voice calls down the hallway. He looks up to see you at the end of the hallway. You look tired and the scowl on your face didn't make it any better.

"Y/N," he says, practically running to meet you. You glare at him, but he immediately goes in for a hug which catches you off guard.

"I don't think Paul wants to see you,"

"Yeah, well he'll have to," John pushes you away, slightly running into the hospital room. George and Ringo stand up from their seats, surprised by his presence. Paul sits in his hospital bed surrounded by his family. He stares at John for a moment before sitting up slightly.

"John?" he whispers.

"Paul." He rushes over to his bedside. He wanted so badly to hug him and just spill his guts about everything. His words still sat in his mouth while he reached out for Paul's hand.

"Thank you for being here," Paul says. John shakes his head.

"I'm sorry, for everything. I really messed up, Paul," John mutters.

"John..."

"They need to know Paul, I need to tell them," he stammers.

"I need to tell them," Paul says firmly. John pauses, but nods to him. Everyone gathered around Paul's bed, including you who finds yourself at the end of his bed. He looks up at you and then to John.

A year earlier

Paul sat on the brick wall guarding Strawberry Fields. His legs dangled over the edge as he looked out at the rising sun. School was due to start soon, but he always loved watching the sun rise in the morning.

"There you are," a familiar voice says. Paul looks behind him to see John walking towards the wall. His hands grasp the edge and Paul helps him get up.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Paul says, enamored by the morning light. John nods slightly as the birds sing their joyful tune.

"You're always out here,"

"Where else would I want to be?"

"I don't know everything about you, Paul," John chuckles. There was a slight breeze in the air as John's cap almost came off. He removes the cap, whisking his hair back. He gives Paul a smirk before placing the cap on Paul's head.

Paul blushes slightly and then laugh. They sit in silence for a few moments, watching the trees dance with the wind.

"John?" Paul asks, his hands clasped in his lap.

"Yeah?"

"I wrote a song," Paul jumps off the wall for a moment to grab his guitar. John waits expectantly of what Paul has created. Paul takes a deep breath before sitting down in the dirt. He softly starts to play.

"The two of us riding nowhere..." he softly sings. John smiles at the softness of the song. It felt personal and important to their relationship. Paul kept singing, his face becoming a little flushed as he went along.

"You and I have memories, longer than the road that stretches out ahead...." That line felt super special. John wanted to keep making memories with Paul and for them to continue the friendship they had built together.

The band was special. That was no lie, everyone in the group loved playing music and sharing that music with the world. They just needed to love each other for it all to come true.

"That's it," Paul stops suddenly. He blushes slightly once he is done.

"That was amazing!" John cheered. He got off the wall and approached Paul with a smile.

"Thank you and John I..." Paul trails off, unsure if he wants to say what he is thinking.

"Come on, Paul, go ahead," John eggs him on.

"I like you John," Paul whispers. John raises an eyebrow.

"Everybody likes me, is that so hard to say?" John laughs.

"No, I mean I like you, John," Paul reiterates. John stops for a second to think to himself.

"What? You can't be serious," he plays it off as a joke.

"I am though,"

"No," John says, turning around, heading back towards the wall.

"John-"

"I can't believe you right now."

"Just listen to me!" Paul snaps, grabbing John's arm. His hand gripped his arm tightly, not wanting to let go, not even for a moment. John turns back to look at him with a scowl.

"I don't want to listen to you." John hisses. Paul let go of his arm, his face painted in frustration.

"You're not worth my time anyway," he mutters, storming past him to get over the wall.

"Paul," John calls.

"Class starts in 10 minutes, you best get a move on," Paul shouts back. Then he went over the wall. John stood there for a moment, wanting to put distance between him and his friend as best as possible. This changed a lot of things, more things than he wanted to admit it did.

Present.

Paul's parents looked the most surprised. You simply stared at the two of them, feeling that finally some answers were stored upon you. This whole time now made a lot more sense: why they fought, why they fought about you. You thought Paul liked you, but now you see it was part of something a lot bigger than that between Paul and John.

George and Ringo shared an expression of "I knew it" which almost made you laugh. John turns to everyone else in the room and then to you.

"I'm sorry," he whispers to you, "I should have told you; we should have told George and Ringo too. Instead, we probably drove you crazy with our fighting."

"You can say that again," you reply, "I had no idea..." Paul smiles, looking relieved to have this all off his chest.

"I'm sorry too, for not explaining it sooner, it drove a divide between John and I," Paul says, "we should have worked it out sooner especially since you've come into our lives."

“It’s alright, really. It’s hard to accept these things sometimes, and this is something that truly is between you two, depending on how you feel about one another,” you explain.

Everyone is silent for a few moments. The air is heavy with emotion, Paul's family mutters to him. All of them seem to be in shock from what he has told them. George and Ringo listen with amused expressions.

John leads you to the other side of the room. His hand grips your arm firmly, but not painfully.

"Listen, Y/N," he begins with a whisper, "I really am sorry that I hid this from you and how I acted towards Paul. I didn't know how to take his feelings, so I just...didn't face them." You rest your hand on his cheek and smile up at him. His eyes trace over your face and admire your beauty.

"It's alright, John. Just make sure to tell Paul what you just told me,” You explain, "you two need to rebuild your relationship, you know?" John nods with a little chuckle. He grabs his guitar case and sits down in one of the chairs near the bed. Everyone's chatter stops so they can watch what he does next.

"I'm working on a song, it's not quite ready and sounds better on piano honestly, but I have something else to play first," John says. His hands begin strumming the familiar chords that Paul remembers writing himself. The music drifted through the room, carrying the drab feeling of the hospital away.

"Two of us riding nowhere..." John sings.

"Spending someone's hard earned pay," Paul continues with a smile. They sing the song together, with Paul taking the lead on some parts.

"You and I have memories, longer than the road that stretches out ahead," he burst with joy filled lyrics. The two really seem like friends again as they laugh. Ringo and George whoop and holler along with the music.

You glance at Paul's family who all look like they witnessed a beheading of some kind. You couldn't help but laugh yourself.

Paul and John were interesting fellows, who deserved a chance to really explore the relationship that they have. Whether that be their friendship...or something else of that kind.

You can't help but feel grateful for getting to know the people that lived on Penny Lane and everything that they did for you.

You wonder, of course, what the future holds for the band and for yourself. You see great things to come from the future and you can't wait to be by their sides as you grow older.

Who knows what the future may bring, of course. 

Should I end it here? I have one more chapter planned, but this also feels like an ending too lol. I don't know, but I would love some feedback.

"I was so young when I was born" -George Harrison

The blog turned 2 today! Just wanted to say thank you to all my followers and supporters. I never imagined my writing would get as much attention as it did. I love you all and thank you for everything you've done to support the blog these past two years!

Also a new chapter of Penny Lane's Getting Better might be coming out soon.

Chapter 6: Now and Then

15 minutes earlier...

Paul adjusts his shirt vigorously, muttering to himself. He couldn't believe how John acted. He couldn't understand the gall he had. He had to talk to him. John should be there soon. Anytime. Paul would wait.

"Sir, can you help me?" Paul forgot where he was for a moment. He stood outside the train station, eyes glossing over the brick walls and decrepit structure.

Paul finally looked over at the woman who spoke to him. Her outward appearance was aged, sullen eyes, and a sunken face. Her hair, which once was dark, is now gray in the light.

"Yes, of course, ma'am. What do you need?" Paul asks, meeting the woman's gaze.

"I can't get my luggage out of my car," she says, pointing to the open trunk. Paul walks over, reaching for some of the luggage. He pulls out a couple of bags for the woman. She smiles brightly like a sweet grandmother.

"Is this all ma'am?" He asks, setting them by her and closing the trunk.

"OH, thank you, dear. Any girl would be lucky to have such a sweet boy helping them." The woman says. He thinks about you and then John.

"Yes, any girl..." Paul mutters. The woman raises her eyebrow.

"What's on your mind, dear?" she asks. Paul feels bad that the woman saw he was feeling conflicted. He didn't want to project his issues onto her.

"It's complicated. My friend group is having issues..." he explains, leaning against her car.

"Well, spill it, dear. I don't have all day," the woman croaks. She reminds him of the women who would spread gossip while their kids played. He scratches his neck, brushing his brown hair out of his face.

"I like someone and I think they know I like them...I think everybody knows I like them. Well, except for one person." He shakes his head, picking up the luggage. The woman starts walking closer to the station as he carries the luggage for her.

"Why don't you ask them out?" she asks, waddling along.

"They're dating someone," he replies, nearing the closest platform. He hoped the poor woman didn't have to walk too far.

"Don't let that stop you from telling them how you feel, dear." she smiles at him. Paul can't help but crack a smile at her.

"That’s a little bold for my taste," he says.

"If it's not bold for me, then it's not bold for you," she replies, chuckling to herself. Paul laughs with her as they pass a couple of platforms. Finally, the two stopped. He helped the woman with her luggage onto the train.

"Thank you for the lovely chat." Paul smiles at her.

"Have a lovely day, dear." The woman sits down on the train as Paul gets off. He waves her off and continues looking for John.

He knew John was heading out with the band today. He would be on his way by now. He walks back towards the woman's car, which sits on the side of the road like the rest.

Paul sits on a bench, searching the crowds of people for his friend-he thinks they're still friends-appears.

He thinks about you and John. He thinks about George and Ringo. He thinks of everything he's done wrong. Everything he feels the guilt and embarrassment for.

Paul closes his eyes for a minute, his hands drum on his legs. He blinks a couple of times before noticing something is off. Then, he felt the hollow feeling in his pocket.

"Hey!" he shouts, watching someone run off with some money he had in his pocket. He jumps off the bench and runs after the person into the street. He heard a loud sound, someone yelling, what was it?

In only a few seconds, Paul felt something hit him.

A couple of hours later...

You see Ringo first. He's coughing and looks sickly, but he's the first to make it to the hospital. He's standing outside, seemingly lost in thought as he admires the large building. You walk over to him, hugging him tightly. He hesitantly hugs you back.

"I'm sorry," he whispers in your ear.

"What are you apologizing for?" She looks up (or down, I mean he's 5'8) at him.

"Everything, I've been away for so long..." he shakes his head.

"Your sickness is at fault, not you." You reply. He nods, looking at the hospital's doors. You both walk in, heading to the reception desk. The inside is sleek and dull, unwelcoming. A woman looks up at both of you.

"Are you here for the boy?" she asks, a look of sorrow in her eyes. She knew, you didn't know how, but she knew. It made your stomach churn and Ringo pats your shoulder.

"Yes, ma'am," you reply, holding on to Ringo's arm. George walks in while you wait for the receptionist to fill out some paperwork. He hugs you and greets Ringo, who he hasn't seen in probably forever.

"Where's John?" you ask, clutching Ringo's arm tighter. George shakes his head and shrugs.

"I haven't talked to him in a few days. Did you not see him on the way here?" George asks, fidgeting from his nerves.

"I went to his house when I found out, but he wasn't there."

"What a coincidence," Ringo mutters and you punch him in the arm.

"John had nothing to do with the accident," you say.

"We were supposed to go to the train station, just not today," George says, "our plan was to head out tomorrow."

"Paul didn't know that," you whisper, mostly to yourself. The receptionist lets them in. The boys guide you through the hospital to see Paul.

The whole story had startled you from the inside out. You felt so bad about leaving him now, about John leaving him too. All it took was for them to actually talk to each other instead of just ignoring each other. Wise words that ultimately meant nothing right now, at least not for how Paul and John were acting.

You wished that you knew what kept them fighting. Maybe you could have solved this by now if you knew.

Inside, Paul's family gathered around a hospital bed. Paul is snuggled up in the bed with bandages over one of his eyes and the rest of his body. He isn't talking much, but he looked alright (by car collision standards).

His face instantly perked up when he saw his friends. He even sat up in bed much to his family's dismay. Even though he looked like a total wreck, his smile shone brightly at the prospect of seeing the people he loved the most.

"I'm so happy to see you guys," he cheers. He looks to be in pain as he speaks. His parents lean him back onto the bed. You rush over to his side, gripping one of his hands. He smiles up at you, seeing the fear struck in your eyes.

Ringo and George stand on the other side of the bed, muttering to one another. Paul's good eye jumps between the two sides of the bed, looking at your sorrowed face and his dismayed friends.

"Where's John?" he asks. His eyes fill with hope as you look away. You truly didn't know where he was.

"He's on his way...I believe..."

Meanwhile, across town...

"Do you ever learn how to shut up?" John asks Pete. Pete glares at him, returning to playing his drum set.

The boys sat in Pete's basement, where his parents could tolerate their playing. John came to Pete whenever he didn't have any of the other guys to talk to. His head pounded with thoughts that he wished he could erase.

John strummed his guitar in the corner, thinking about how quickly he dipped after you left his side. He immediately left, not wanting to be anywhere near you or anybody for that matter. How could he be so stupid? If only you knew how he felt, how Paul felt...

"You know, every now and then you have to actually be the bigger man," Pete says, silencing the symbol. "Your girl’s not going to take you back unless you actually tell her what the bloody hell is going on."

"I miss her," John whispers, "I miss him. I miss all of them! I wish I could find the words to tell them I'm sorry for all of this..."

"Don't tell them then," Pete replies, "do what you do best. I'll leave you be for a minute." he gets up and heads back upstairs. John stands alone with his guitar, the guitar didn't feel right though. He set it down, examining Pete's very old grand piano that sat in the corner. He said it was out of tune, but John was drawn to it.

He sat down, messing around with a few chords.

"Now and then...I miss you..." he begins, the notes dancing along his fingers with out of tune keys that clash and dissonant with each other. It felt like his friends, it felt like his family.

It felt like home.

"If we have to start again..." John stops playing.

He frowns for a second, seeing something edged into the piano. His smile quickly returns once he sees the words.

"Paul, John, George, and Ringo...forever,"

John knows what he has to do now. He's going to win you back, he's going to fix everything with Paul. They're going to be a band again, they're going to be friends again. Everything will be perfect, he just knows it. It's going to take a little time, a little sweat, but all the glory of music writing that he loves.

"I know it's true, it's all because of you..." he gets up from the piano and grabs a sheet of paper. He frantically searches for a pen to scribble down the words jumbling in his head.

Pete always hid his pens in a compartment in his desk so his brothers wouldn't take them. John practically rips the compartment door off, takes out a pen and begins to write. The words float off the page and surround him in musical bliss that nearly makes him cry.

It was perfect, they would love it.

You would love it.

Paul would too.

"John!" Pete calls from upstairs.

"One second!"

"Get up here now!" Pete shouts back, causing John to roll his eyes. He folds the paper and puts it into his pocket before he makes his way up the old stairs.

"Mimi?" Is the first thing he says. He was surprised she even knew where Pete lived.

"We need to go now, John," she says, ushering him towards the door. John is confused, he's never seen Mimi so in a hurry.

"What's going on?" he asks, looking at Pete for any answers. He shrugs, walking out of the room. Mimi successfully kicks John out of the house, huffing as she does so.

"We need to get to the hospital," she continues, marching her way down the street. Jeez, that woman could move.

"What happened!?" John burst. Did something happen to you? He couldn't bear the thought of you getting hurt.

"Paul got in an accident, a car hit him," Mimi finally answers. John stops suddenly once he hears the truth. It's not what he expected at all.

"Paul's at the hospital?" he whispers. All the fighting and all the hatred that stewed from something he couldn't control now ate at him differently. How could he be so stupid? How could he not protect his best friend? Was this his fault? It sure felt like it. He could scream at the thought.

All he knew is that he had to get to Paul, no matter what it took. He had to explain...he had to fix all of this, but first he needed his guitar which he left at Pete's a block back. 

No, seriously, all the support I've gotten on my fanfiction is truly astonishing. I love each and every one of you who reads my stuff and supports me!

It looks like George has the overwhelming majority of you with Ringo at a close second. John is 3rd, and Paul is 4th so far, but that could change! (There’s like 4 days left, lol).

I do want to write some more George and Ringo stuff since I've focused on Paul and John a lot more. I think I'll write some short stories for all of them, but my next big fic will be George. I can't wait to write more!

BTW, the next chapter of Penny Lane is Getting Better is coming out....

Tomorrow! Maybe today! It's like 11 pm for me, lol.

Can't wait to see what the future holds and new stories to tell!

I GOT BLISTERS ON MY FINGERS!!

Chapter 5: All My Loving

You hate school. You hate it a lot more than you expected you would. Now it wasn't because of your classes, but rather the absolute trash fire that John and Paul's relationship was.

They fought at every hour of every day and you couldn't avoid it. It didn't help that you had recently become John's girlfriend, which made you an easy target for Paul to vent his frustrations. You wanted to rip out his vocal chords, but decided not to as he was a good singer.

"..and then he just walked away!" Paul was blabbering about some sort of argument he had with John earlier that day. It was lunch time, but none of the other guys were around except for Paul. You silently play with your fork, pretending to listen to Paul's lengthy story. When did he become so annoying?

"Are you even listening to me?" Paul suddenly asks. You snap out of your daze and stare at him. He sighs, already knowing the answer. You rub your eyes, hoping Ringo or George would show up already.

"Where are the rest of the guys?" You finally ask Paul. He raises and eyebrow, chomping down on some salad he stole off some girls tray.

"Ringo is sick, remember? George and John dipped today," Paul explains. You groan at the fact you're stuck with Paul for the rest of the day.

"Are you serious? Why'd they dip?" You question, slamming your tray on the table next to him.

You both sat outside in the gray weather. The white lillies bloomed in bushes near the small outdoor area. Usually you and the guys ate lunch together under the nearby oak tree, but recently the group had become pretty divided.

"I heard that John got a solo gig at a local place and he invited George to play bass instead of me," Paul mutters. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette.

"I'm sure that's not true, Paul," you say with a frown. He shakes his head, muttering under his breath. The cigarette hangs from his mouth as he searches for his lighter.

"I wish you were right." He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag. You cough which makes him snort.

"So what now? Are you just going to follow me around all the time now?" You ask, almost jokingly.

"Pretty much," he replies instantly. You frown. Of course he was serious about it.

"I have a life outside of you and the boys, you know."

"I don't see you doing anything else besides hanging out with us,"

"At this point, I'd rather be on my own than with you guys,"

"Is it that bad?"

"It's worse," you say, poking around your food.

Paul sits on the table, looking down at you. He takes another drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke surround him like a darkening fog.

"You really like John, huh?" he asks, looking up into the distance where the school sits. The gray building is bustling with students heading in from lunch. Class must be starting soon.

"I do," you reply. You're not sure what Paul is getting at, but you can tell he's holding something in.

"I get that." His comment is confusing, but he doesn't look at you. He mutters something to himself and then shakes his head, standing up from the table. He extends his hand to take you back to the school. You roll your eyes and take his hand.

John hasn't walked you home from school in days. You feel a little disappointed, like he didn't want to be around you anymore. Of course, since he hasn't been around, Paul's been following you everywhere.

"If you could be any musical instrument, what would you be?" Paul asks, following behind you. You're passing the fire station which is where Paul throws his cigarette on the ground.

"That's a stupid question," you reply. You were growing tired of Paul, and you honestly wanted nothing more to do with John or the others. Ringo might be the only one who had a pass from her because he was sick.

"It's not stupid, it's a question," he says. He's humming some song that he was writing. The band hadn't met up in awhile though.

"I would want to be any instrument you can't play," you mutter. Paul hears this and smirks a little.

"Than you must be pretty obscure." He grabs your arm, pulling you towards him. His hand lets you go almost immediately as he points at a small bakery across the street. He gives you a quick smile before pulling you towards the bakery.

"Paul, I need to get home," you say, fighting his every move. He doesn't seem to care as you enter the shop. The smell of freshly baked bread wafts through the air, making your mouth water. You try to hide how much you love the smell, so Paul didn't notice.

He stares at rolls, croissants, donuts, and more. It's like a paradise of bread and sweets that you could devour within an instant. Except you didn't have money and you did actually need to get home.

"I'll take two croissants please," Paul tells the clerk.

"Paul, I don't need one--"

"Yes, you do," he cuts in. You roll your eyes, sifting through your pockets for some cash of any kind to give him. You know he would refuse it anyhow, but you couldn't help it. He hands the clerk some money and in return he gains croissants. He walks back over to you with a dorky smile, handing you one of them. You reluctantly take it from him.

"Thank you," you whisper, admiring the golden bread in your hand. He smiles at you, taking a big bite of his own. You can't help but notice the way he is staring at you.

Originally you may have thought he liked you, but this stare feels different. It feels more genuine, more friendly than it ever had been. He almost seems to be holding something back, but you can't quite place what that is. 

"Y/N," Paul whispers, staring at the floor. He looks like he's on the verge of tears. Her heart begins to swell with sadness, what happened between him and John? What happened...

"Paul--"

"There's my girlfriend," John walks into the bakery. He grabs her shoulders and leans in for a kiss. She reluctantly kisses him back. "Hanging out with Paul I see," he mutters. Paul looks up at his once best friend and quickly backs away.

"He was just walking me home since you've wanted nothing to do with me for the last few days!" you snap at him. He glares at you and steps away to the counter. He orders something for himself, while you recollect yourself.

"I'm sorry," Paul says.

"It's not your fault," you reply.

"It might actually be," he replies before John ushers you out of the bakery. You look back at Paul one more time before following John down the street towards your houses.

You both don't say anything, the air is tense and prickly. You want nothing more than to leave his side. You hadn't expected him to act so cruel after you started dating.

"I want to take you out tomorrow," he says. You frown, stopping your pace. He keeps walking but stops to look behind at you.

"I'm not going out with you until you tell me what's going on between you and Paul," you hissed. You were done with all this nonsense.

"What is there to say? Me and Paul aren't that close right now okay!?" he shouts back at you.

"Why?" you ask, quietly. He pauses unsure what to tell you, the truth or the partial truth.

"He likes you," he replies.

"Like you do?"

"Not exactly," John shakes his head, muttering to himself.

"Then what does he feel, John?" You urge. What could they possibly be beating around the bush so much? What was so important?

"I don't know if I can tell you, if I can trust you," John replies. He looks defeated as he collapses onto the street. He sits cross legged with his head in his hands.

"Trust me?" You say, kneeling beside him. You look into his eyes which look back at you with more love than you could imagine.

"It will come with time," he whispers back.

"Then you will go out with me another time," you reply back. Standing up, you walk back to your house without John. You can feel his eyes watching you leave.

"I'm sorry, John," you whisper to yourself before you walk into your house where your family is waiting.

"Where's John?" Your mother asks, but she sounds more urgent than usual.

"He's down the street, what's going on?" you ask, suddenly feeling your heart drop in your chest. Something happened. What happened? WHAT HAPPENED?

"Mimi found Paul a couple miles from here," she says, her hands shaking.

"What the hell's going on, mom?"

"He was trying to catch a train out of the city..."

You feel your heart return. You thought the worst had happened, but it looks like everything is alright.

"Thank god," you whisper.

"John was supposed to take him and the band to a city nearby, but I heard about the fighting...I guess Paul was going to talk to John," Your mother explains.

You glance at your father whose face is stoic, he rubs your sister's back trying to reassure her. She's crying into his side which makes you want to rush over and hug her.

Your mother still seems worried which you don't quite understand. Paul was okay, right?

Paul was okay.

"Honey, he got hit by a car."