Mclennon Drabbles

Fan boy

(AU thingy in which paul and john didn't meet at the fete and paul is a huge obsessive fan(girl?)boy of the beatles..... why did I write this)

1963 was the greatest year of Paul McCartney's life, he was sure of it. As he lay in his bedroom floor and smiled up at his ceiling, clutching onto a small slip of paper, the paper that made this the best day he'd ever experienced, he was sure of it. His chest thudded and his cheeks hurt from the muscles being used so often, grinning like it was as necessary as breathing.

To say he felt a tad excited was an absolute understatement. In between his fingertips he held a ticket to a concert, his favorite band. They weren't exactly the most popular yet, but Paul knew they could be, because hell they were talented.

He'd first heard their song Love Me Do at a local record shop and immediately went to the front, asking the lady at the register if she knew who was being played. When she grinned at him and said they called themselves The Beatles, he had only laughed at the silly name.

But the song stuck. He found himself humming it in the shower and hearing the harmonica bits in his head at the oddest times, and eventually he went back and bought their record.

He listened to the entirety of it that night; curled up on his couch and sipping tea quietly. He was enraptured by the voice of the singer, so capable of mastering different types of songs and pitches and it just.. it made him feel nice. He had heard good singers before, - Elvis comes to mind - but he'd never been knocked into complete stillness and silence by someone's voice.

The woo's made him smile and the words sung lower and more slowly made shivers tumble down his spine.

Not only that; the way the band looked, presented themselves. It was smart and dressy but the hair was a funny coincidence, as Paul had his in a similar style, longer and moptop-ish.

He didn't know which bloke on the album cover was the lead singer, but spent many evenings listening to the record spin as he tried to guess, needing a face to go with the lovely sounds in his head. The mystery was part of the allure though, he supposed. But soon he would know.

The ticket was for the third row back, he was going to be so bloody close and God, he could not wait. It would be nice to say that it had been fate that was responsible for him winning the radio raffle, but in all honesty, he probably entered so many times it would be impossible to lose. He was that determined.

In the end it paid off, though. Clutching the ticket to his chest, he let out a disbelieving chuckle and squeezed his eyes shut.

-

The Blackpool theatre gave off a sense of formality with a dark wooden stage and blood red curtains coming from the ceiling, swooping down and cinched midway, the material thick yet flowing. The lighting was dim and yellowish, falling mostly on the drumming equipment in the center of the stage. The name on the front was black and bold, standing out and catching Paul's eye more often than not.

Excitement was bubbling inside of him and his knee was bouncing up and down as he reclined a bit further back into his seat, trying to calm himself before he looked like an idiot around so many people.

It was expected from the girls to squeal and be unable to sit still, giggling like they had no sense at all; it would be odd if they didn't. But Paul felt he should be doing those things too, felt the blood rising to his cheeks at the thought of being in the same predicament as these girls, here to fawn over the men they probably dreamed about at night.

Paul would never admit to the fleeting thoughts that crossed his mind when he saw a certain face on that record sleeve, smiling and squinting down at the camera with his quirky features. Almost handsome, almost charming. If Paul was allowed to say as much as that without being deemed a freak.