No reply

Chapter 7

____________

Part seven

____________

As soon as practice was over Paul dashed out of the house, mumbling a quick goodbye and sneezing two or three times.

"Alright then, see you lot later." John said, running out of the door to see that Paul was already a couple feet ahead, walking rather fast. He wanted to say something...it had been a while since they even talked. But at the same time, he was nervous. Would they just end up having another argument? When did that become so common?

Oh yeah, when Paul kissed him.

"Hey McCartney, wait up!" John yelled, quickening his pace. Paul stopped abruptly and stood completely still, looking ahead. John caught up with him and put his hands in his pocket, just in case they were shaking or he had the ridiculous urge to touch Paul or something of the sorts. "What?" Paul asked bitterly, staring at the ground as they walked. John kicked a pebble on the sidewalk, watching it bounce ahead of them.

"What're you doing now that practice is over?" he asked casually, as if everything was perfectly normal between them. Paul shrugged and coughed. "Hopefully going home and getting some sleep, I feel like hell." He said, running a hand through his dark hair. His button-like nose was a reddish color, his hazel doe eyes were tired and had a lack of color. "You look like it too, mate." John sighed and looked away, fearing Paul would be uncomfortable if he were staring at him curiously.

"I'll probably go to the pub or something, anywhere that isn't Mimi's house." He said, half-hoping Paul would offer for him to come to his place. "You'll have to go back eventually." Paul said in his know-it-all way. "I'm not going back until she drags me by the ear. The woman's crazy." John replied. All of a sudden Paul stopped walking, and John didn't notice until he never heard his reply. He turned around and Paul was looking at him in a strange way, like he was trying to figure something out.

"What's with you?" John asked. Paul shook his head unbelievably, his lips pressed into a line. "I was going to ask you the same thing, John. Why aren't you insulting me? Why aren't you calling me names and making me feel awful about myself? You're such a moody bastard. You hate me one minute and suddenly we're friends again. You need to pick one." He said, shifting the entire mood of the conversation.

And to think he said John was the moody one. John opened his mouth to speak, but shut it quickly, not knowing what to say. "Are you going to answer me any time soon?" Paul asked, aggravated. John shrugged and looked at the ground, kicking another pebble so he would have sort of a distraction while he was talking.

He felt awful. He had acted horribly to Paul, but with good reason. Was he supposed to apologize, or hope Paul would understand and try to move on? Paul tapped his foot impatiently, coughing a couple times. It sure was cold outside, and John thought he should try to hurry this so Paul doesn't become sicker than he already his. "Listen Macca, I know I overreacted just a tad bit the other day, but wouldn't you do the exact same thing?" He said. That was the closest he get to an actual apology, so Paul should be grateful just to get that.

There was a very unnerving silence as an answer, so John spoke again, quieter this time. "I don't want to feel so awkward around someone who's supposed to be me best mate, can we just forget this?" He pleaded, looking back up at his younger friend.

Paul nodded slowly, bewildered by seeing this side of John once again. It seemed that he may have been permanently changed when John smiled and yelled. "Alright, let's go get piss drunk!"

-

___________

Paul's P.O.V

___________