Cheater || A Beatles Fanfic

part 1

Paul, and I were alone in the room of the hotel.

I had met Paul in 1957 when he had just turned 15, and I was almost 17.

We hadn't been more than friends till mid 1961, when he kept dropping subtle hints that he was gay. This lead to us both realizing we both felt the same, but due to the times, our relationship was completely (mostly) hidden.

As of now we are in the band you know as The Beatles "writing" in the hotel room as George and Ringo are in the other room. Of course we aren't doing much because we are on tour, so basically no privacy.  We still do little romantic things for eachother here and there.

Me, and Paul are sitting on the bed in that small room cuddling. I'm holding paper and a pen so that if someone barges in we have an excuse.

*Knock, knock, knock!!*

"John!" Paul whisper shouted at me while jumping away, and grabbing the pen and paper.

"Yes?" He said as if nothing was abnormal.

"You two have been writing more recently..." Ringo walked in, interrupting us.

He was right, though. Me and Paul have been closer lately.

"What are you doing? Practicing writing with your right hand?" Ringo laughed. Pointing out how Paul had grabbed the pen with the wrong hand.

"... Looks like it." Ringo said looking at the paper.

That's my fucking handwriting.

"Well, yeah..." Paul said nervously.

"It's like you're doing anything to get away from us!" Ringo laughed, but then looked right at Paul. Not even me. "I miss hanging out with you as much." Ringo looked less happy this time.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Paul said looking a bit embarrassed. "I'll be with you in a second."

One annoying thing is how me, and Paul can't be alone. Ringo complained about not seeing Paul as much, but it's blatantly not true. It's either Ringo or George who interrupts us constantly. They two are obsessed with Paul. Not me though, when the interrupt it's "Hang out with us, *Paul*!" Never me.

I love Paul, but it's never just me. Am I not important? He has Jane, but she's just a cover up right? God, I'm so jealous.

"Coming with?" He said staring at me while standing at the door.

"I'll pass." I may be jealous, but if George and Ringo don't want me there what is the point?

It's so odd how obsessed they are with Paul. I mean he's pretty, but they aren't gay? I miss Paris.

It's weirder when I think of how they've distanced themselves from me. Barely speaking to me when not necessary. That is bonkers.

He's my fucking boy, not yours!

I want Paul to myself. Alone so we can do more than an occasional peck on the lips, cause no one else is there fucking barging in! Writing is all we have! No privacy, unless alone in a crappy bed and bloody George and Ringo knock at the door going: "Paulie, my doll, come play with us, come play with us!!!" I wish I could tell them to shut up! Good news for them though, Paul does anything you want him to!

I want my own boyfriend.