Alright

Alive

John awoke in his own bedroom, gasping for air.
His head was pounding and his heart racing. It was now nighttime.
He rubbed at his head, which wasn't actually assisting him in any actual way.
His limbs felt weak and shaky, almost numb. John thought that it was the strangest he'd ever truly felt. He noticed that he was in a weird position, too, but didn't feel like adjusting himself—part of the numb feeling. John decided to simply stare up at the ceiling, which seemed like it was almost swirling. The entire sensation was almost dream-like. His body felt light, nearly floating as he drifted back off into a warm sleep.

A few hours had passed before he finally woke up, dazed. He had somehow managed to flip himself onto his stomach—and was fully brought back to his senses. John's eyes were very sensitive to the light in his room, which was still on. There was an overpowering sense of warmth brought onto his body, quite different to the sensation he had felt earlier. An uncomfortable warmth.
John looked up at his clock—it was twelve in the morning. Four hours had passed.
The strong headache had gone, it was now simply a dull feeling.
John climbed out of the bed, nearly losing his footing as he did so.
His goal was to get downstairs, but knew that he probably couldn't do so with his poor physical state. John sighed, tapping his fingers on his leg. One thing he remembered was an urgency to get to Paul. His memories slowly came back to him—the memories of the events that had just happened.
John walked back into his room, where a phone sat, right by his bed. He was going to call George.
That was not a good idea at all.
John's memory had skipped over one tiny detail—he wasn't supposed to contact anyone. Sure, it would be unlikely for Billy to directly be next to John, but there were definitely other ways for him to listen in.
For example, wiretapping.
John dialed in George's number obliviously, waiting for his band-mate to answer.
George finally picked up, "Hello?"
"Hey, this is John. You've got to come to my house," he spoke drowsily
"You're actually alive?" George sounded shocked, yet relieved.
"Yeah, of course I am, what makes you think not?"
"A man came up to me earlier and said that Paul and you had died. Where's Paul, then?" George explained.
"Did that person look a bit like him?"
"Like Paul?"
"Yes," John confirmed simply.
"A bit too much like him, really," George murmured. "Ringo's with me. Would you like him to come, too?"
"If he wants to, yeah."
John heard George say something out of earshot, presumably to Ringo.
"He's coming," George said quickly.
"Good, see you soon, then."
"Goodbye, John."
John dropped the phone onto its dial, now awaiting George and Ringo's arrival. For the sake of doing so, he looked at himself at the mirror. His throat was slightly red and his nose even more—irritated by the chloroform. John rubbed at his neck carefully before he decided to go downstairs in a gingerly manner.
John reclined on his couch, the whole experience he just had took out a good amount of his energy. His legs were extremely weakened.
George and Ringo arrived seemingly hurriedly, which confused John.