Classic rock one shots and imagines [requests closed]

Paul McCartney #2

I apologise in advance for my bad French haha

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Gorgeous.

Mysterious.

Fake.

I could see through his act a mile away, but he didn't seem to be focused on me - or anyone for that matter.

The enigma sat alone in a smoke-filled corner of the room, singing under his breath while he gently plucked out a jazz song on his guitar. He had the instrument back to front, but he played it as though it were the right way round. His unlit cigarette bounced between his top and bottom lip, only staying at his mouth because of the small bit of moisture on his lips.

"Why do you keep looking at him?" My friend nudged me. "You like him or something?"

"What? No." I scoffed.

"Yeah, you do. You always complain about being the only French person in Liddypool, and now you're not!"

"He's not French." I laughed, and looked back at the boy. "He may look like a Frenchman, but he's not."

"And you don't sound French, but you are." She pointed out.

I rolled my eyes, and continued to watch the boy in the corner. He looked quite lonely by himself. Earlier in the party he had a friend with him, but he soon disappeared without a trace. Girls would pass him by and he would only give a nod, nothing else.

So there he sat. Alone behind his silver smoke screen.

"Go talk to him." She suddenly said, giving me another nudge.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you should."

"No way."

"C'mon, (Y/N)."

"Why don't you go talk to him if you're that keen on it."

"Because you should." She repeated.

"Molly, what do I even say?" I asked, feeling her give me a slight push. "Stop that!"

"Just say anything you want. You're good at talking to people."

I stared at the boy for another second more before finding the will to approach him. His large doe eyes slowly blinked at me, pearing up through his thick eyelashes. My tongue darted out to wet my lips as I prepared to talk to him. The slightest bit of confidence filled me once I stopped in front of him, and I could no longer hold back my curiosity:

"Tu as l'air assez français," I spoke, smirking as the enigma's cool, collected stare fell into one of panic. "Mais tu ne pouvez pas comprendre un mot que je dis, pouves-tu?"

He simply blinked at me again, only this time, he was silenced with embarrassment.

"You don't speak French, do you?" I finally said in English, a huff of laughter escaping me when he shook his head. "I didn't think so."

The boy smiled and shook his head.

"I knew this persona was silly."

"No, actually, it's quite good. You've fooled just about everyone here."

"Except for you."

"Except for me." I nodded.

Pulling a book of matches from his pocket, he proceeded to finally light his cigarette, and add to his tobacco haze.

"Where'd you learn to speak French?" He asked.

"My parents." I told him. "I was born in France."

"Bollocks." He chuckled.

"I'm serious. What, did you think I spent so long impersonating Sacha Distel that I one day suddenly started speaking fluent French?"

The boy's face flushed an adorable pink and he shook his head. I chuckled once more before saying, "I'm (Y/N)."

"Paul." He replied, holding his hand out for me to shake. He paused a moment, then added with a shake of his head, "I've seen you at several parties, y'know, and it's taken me this long to talk to you."

"What stopped you before?"

"The persona."

"Now that's your own fault."

"I know, I know."

The noise of the party filtered through our silence for a few beats, then he asked, "What stopped you from coming up and talking to me?"

"Nerves." I said immediately.

That took him off guard.

"Nerves..." He repeated thoughtfully. "You've got your own tough girl persona, you can play it as that."

I smirked a little and shook my head. "I'll be honest and blame it on the nerves."

He smirked and looked around.

"What is it?"

"Will you go out with me?"

"What?"

"Will you go out with me?"

I paused a moment and studied this boy's face. So innocent and handsome, yet behind it laid a personality so bold and kind. I knew almost immediately what my answer was to be:

"Yes."