Paul & John

[Chapter Three - Beautiful]

-- P A U L --

"You little shit," Paul's father growled, taking his cigarette and placing it onto Paul's arm, putting the nicotine object out as if his body were an ashtray. Paul bit his lip, trying not to show he was hurt. "you hog all of the food and yer brother is up there, starving while you sit on yer fat arse and continue to eat."

He burned it against his skin once more, snickering at Paul's wince. "You should be ashamed. Yer mother wouldn't like ye eatin' all of the food now would she?" he smirked at the doe-eyed boy.
"She isn't 'ere now is she?" Paul wanted to punch his father in the face, he knew damn well that his mother became a touchy subject for him.
Before he could get smacked for not answering his rhetorical questions, the doorbell rang, and for once Paul was saved.

Paul moved his body to right of his chair, taking a better view of who was at the door. His lips curved into a smile, the first smile he made in months. It was John Lennon standing at his doorstep dressed in his leather jacket.

"Paul, son!" Jim called in his 'fatherly' voice. Paul grabbed his things, already knowing that he was about to take off. He took his things and walked towards the front entrance. He was about to walk out to where John was when his father stopped him.

"If you say anything you little shite," Jim mumbled in his ear, "I'll make sure you won't 'ave anythin' to eat. Understand?" he pressed his strength onto Paul's pulsing wrist, making the fifteen-year-old boy nod.
"Have a good time son!" Jim waved to his son with a fake smile. The two lads began to walk briskly, hearing the front door shut.

"What the fuck is wrong with yer old man?" John asked, knowing Jim's true colors just by that fake smile.
"John, please. I don't want to talk about it," Paul looked to the left, his breath heaving. John stopped in his tracks and grabbed his friend by the shoulder; making Paul face his chocolate-brown orbs.

"Tell me what he did to ye, Paul." John was close to his companion that the younger lad could feel John's hot breath flutter against his nose and cheek.
Instead of telling him, Paul rolled up his plaid-shirted sleeve. John saw the cigarette burns, and almost instantly he had wished he had never asked.
"That's what he did to me," Paul said harshly. "And it was because I ate a fuckin' chicken leg." he walked past his concerned friend, who quickly followed behind him.

John was now next to his friend, and for the rest of the walk it was silent.
And all Paul could think about was what John's house would be like.

--- J O H N ---

John opened the door to his bedroom, the previous mess that lingered was cleaned up due to Mimi's constant badgering about how messy it was. He turned on his light, then sat on his bed; bouncing on it slightly due to his landing technique.

"Come on in, mate!" John exclaimed happily. "Make yourself at home!" he fell back against the bed, his head hitting the wall.
Paul stepped into John's room carefully, timidly. As he neared closer to John's bed, he caught a glimpse of John closing his eyes and smiling.

For a brief moment, it was as if the entire world stopped once the older lad smiled. Paul sat on his bed, hearing the bed make a noise once he sat down. He immediately began to feel insecure.

John opened his eyes and smiled up at the young boy. He then sat up, and looked around the room to find something to do.
"You want to play a couple of songs?" John grabbed his harmonica that his uncle George gave him before he passed away. "I got me a harmonica," he leaned over to see Paul's guitar case.

Paul took the case in his hand and swung it over to his legs; unzipping it and he began to strum, making sure it was in tune.
"You're left-handed?"
Paul rolled his eyes. Why did people find left-handed individuals exciting?
"Yes." he began to strum a C chord; the sound of it being beautiful to John.

"How about we play Buddy Holly?" Paul nodded in agreement; and so he began to strum, John on the harmonica.

Well that'll be the day,
When you say goodbye, yes.
You say you goin' to leave,
You know it's a lie 'cause,
That'll be the day,
When I die.

John kept on singing his heart and soul out, and all he could do was watch his friend play his instrument in perfect harmony as he occasionally blew his harmonica.
He took the much smaller object and blew the last few notes.

"You 'ave a good voice, John." Paul said momentarily. John smiled back at him, carrying a hopeful gleam to his eye. Paul, for some odd reason, wanted to look closer to see those specks of gold hidden between his brown orbs.
John scooted closer to Paul, and wrapped his arm around his shoulder.
"Ye know what we should do?" John asked. Paul turned to him, asking him what.

"We should start a band."
Paul nodded in agreement.
"And ye know what else we should do?" This time John had a mischievous smirk on his face.

"We should go downstairs and eat some cookies. The special kind if ye know what I mean." John winked at Paul, giving the younger lad butterflies.
"No, John. Yer aunt will kick me out." Paul didn't know where the older lad got the weed from, but he didn't want to risk the idea of getting high in front of his aunt.

"Fine." John got off the bed, headed towards the door. "but we should still go and eat some me Auntie made, I'm fuckin' starving!"

And so Paul followed John like a lost puppy, feeling quite insecure about the entire thing. The thought of eating something delicious made him sick, he pictured himself as a fat hog; eating cabinets and other things.
...

John walked into the kitchen to see Mimi cleaning the countertop of the kitchen. He headed towards the plate of sweets and motioned Paul to get one.
Just as he proceeded to get a cookie, Mimi passed by him and placed her hand on his shoulder. She gave him a sarcastic grin, then said, "You're quite heavy, aren't you?"

John tossed the plate to the floor, acting like a five-year old even though he was sixteen. The plate broke into pieces. John's jaw was clenched, and so were his fists.
"He may be so, but at least he isn't a posh, anorexic bitch like you!"

"Don't talk to me like that, ye understand?!"
"Well I won't ever if you keep picking on me friend!"
With that Mimi left the room in a huff, leaving the two boys alone.

John exhaled an angered breath, then turned to Paul.
"Don't fuckin' listen to her," John bitched. "you aren't fat to me. Now, I'm not a fuckin' unicorn, but I think you are beautiful Paul." he took a hold of Paul's cute, chubby face and felt his lips curve into a smile at the sight of him.

"You are beautiful."