#john-paul

rules: answer the questions in a new post and tag 20 blogs you would like to get to know better. a - age: 20 b - birthplace: Boston, MA (usa) c- current time: 11:42 pm d - drink you last had: water e - easiest person to talk to: ...probably my mom f - favorite song: nrghh, ok a longtime favorite is “Alone in Kyoto” by Air, but also rn i’m listening to “Trip and Glide” by Love and Rockets and remembering how much i love it. 100% recommend both artists g- grossest memory: i think a lot of things are gross so idk h - horror yes or horror no: nah, or, it depends i - in love?: yes and no? I tend to fall in and out of love with friends :/ j - jealous of people?: fer sure k - killed someone?: not that i’m aware :[ l - love at first sight or should I walk by again: i don’t really understand this q but one time i met someone for the first time and we hugged and it was like i was drunk off of her/each other, like whoa. Wish i got to know her m - middle name: v common + i dislike it :/ n - number of siblings: 0! o - one wish: ability to easily grow muscle i am an aching noodle w/a bad back p - person you called last: my friend cooper, a beautiful human q - question you’re always asked: well lately it’s “how is your semester going” and “what is your major” to which i am <.<....x.x r - reason to smile: good music, beautiful anything s - song you sang last: “Saturnz Barz” by Gorillaz  t - time you woke up: idk 9 something am u - underwear color: white with various polka dots v - vacation destination: New Zealand to see the shire, sheep and other things w - worst habit: procrastinating? that’s what’s up rn x - x-rays: teeth checkups and scoliosis y - your favorite food: :( ...kale? z - zodiac sign: pisces

-

Having a crush on Paul McCartney, John thought, was the most exhilarating, infuriating feeling in the entire universe.

Because that’s what it was, John knew. He couldn’t kid himself. He had fallen head over fucking heels for this baby-faced boy with the voice of an angel and musical talent to match. He liked everything about Paul. He liked his confidence, the way his fingers looked when he played piano, the way he smiled with his whole face and laughed with his whole body. He liked his dark hair, his pretty eyes, his skinny bird legs. Every song that Paul wrote felt like a revelation to John, and late at night he would huddle in bed, imagining those songs were for him.

Eventually, without intending to do it at all, John found himself flirting with Paul.

The first time it happened, it happened at Forthlin Road, and John nearly died of embarrassment. They sat at the piano together, squeezed close on the small bench like they always did, just plunking out any tune they knew and could remember well enough. Paul sat on the right, closer to the upper octaves, but suddenly he quirked a smile and reached his left hand down toward the lower octaves. As John watched, confused, he began to play an upbeat line. John recognized it but couldn’t place it until Paul looked up at him, his face very close from stretching so far down the piano, and the song came to John in a flash. He gasped and grinned and reached around Paul to play the melody of the song, “Heart and Soul.”

Plink plink plink, went John’s part, and he giggled in satisfaction. Paul looked at him, still playing out the repeating bassline, and that was when John realized they were practically intertwined, leaning across each other, John’s arm snaked around Paul’s waist to reach the keys. John’s face hovered near Paul’s right ear, close enough that John could have turned his head less than an inch and kissed right underneath it, where Paul’s jawline started. And he wanted to, god did he want to.

Then his fingers faltered, hitting a jarringly wrong note, and snapped him out of it. “Uh, sorry, that’s all I remember,” he mumbled, then said something about it being late and needing to get home and wouldn’t Jim be home soon, Paul didn’t want to get in trouble for not having dinner ready, did he? He left Paul sitting at the piano, his face bewildered and a little flushed, with barely even a goodbye.

-

The next time, John was at least a little prepared. It was just that he chickened out at the last moment.

He’d been walking around Allerton with his glasses on for once, marveling at all the flowers he had never been able to see before. The front gardens of the council houses were full to bursting with color; red roses climbing the walls, daisies sprinkled in the yard, daffodils and tulips and others he couldn’t name crowding the walkways. Presently, he came upon one garden that was literally overflowing with daffodils; they had grown so tall that they peeked out over the fence that lined the sidewalk, like little puppies looking for attention. John smiled and leaned in to smell them. They smelled clean and lovely, and the thought entered his head, entirely unbidden, that he should pick one and give it to Paul.

Before he could second guess himself, he glanced around to make sure no one was watching and broke the stem of one of the yellow ones, then two of the white ones as well, just for good measure. He gathered them up into a tiny bouquet and took off toward Paul’s house.

But about halfway there, he began to doubt himself. What if Paul thought he was daft? What if Paul looked at him funny, or called him a queer, or, worst of all, laughed at him? His smile faded, turned into a sour grimace, and he was just about to throw the flowers on the ground when he heard his name being called from across the street. It was Paul.

“Ey, John!” Paul said enthusiastically. “I’ve got a new chord, I thought we could use it for a song, wanna see?” He noticed the flowers in John’s hand. “Who’re those for, then?” John later thought he must have imagined it, but he thought he saw a glimmer of hope in Paul’s eyes.

“They, uh,” John said, “they’re for Mimi.”

“Oh,” Paul said, looking slightly crushed, and John wanted to smack himself.

-

They got drunk together one night, just the two of them. It was a muggy summer evening, and Paul was lying perpendicular to John, his head on John’s stomach, idly fiddling around with John’s old guitar. Paul’s guitar lay near John’s outstretched hand, and he plucked a few of the strings, trying to pick out the song he’d been working on earlier in the day. Paul stopped and listened as John picked out the chords one by one.

“Tha’s beautiful,” Paul slurred, his Scouse accent heavier than ever. “You write that?”

“Mmm,” John hummed. “Not finished yet.”

“Let’s hear it anyway.”

John tsked. “So impatient, young one.” But he dragged Paul’s guitar up to his chest, careful not to hit Paul in the head with it, and played what he had, something slow and pretty and melancholy.

When he finished, he looked down and was absolutely floored to see Paul’s eyes shining with tears. “Wha’s the matter, son?” he asked, instantly concerned. He ran his fingers through Paul’s hair.

Paul shook his head, unable to speak for a moment. Then he said thickly, “Who’s it for, then? Cyn?”

John was astonished. Did Paul not know? How could he not have seen? His mouth hung open in shock, and at his silence, Paul sat up and wiped his eyes. He muttered something about going to bed, but John grabbed his hand before he could flee.

“Macca,” he said softly. “Don’t you know?” Paul looked at him, blushing, embarrassed, but this time John truly saw the hope hidden behind his eyes. He tightened his fingers around Paul’s and Paul squeezed back. “It’s for you. They’re all for you.”

When Paul smiled, he lit up the room.

-