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Chapter 11

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Part eleven

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John sat in a cushioned chair by the door, waiting for the moment Paul would arrive. He had gone over every possible outcome in his head and could only hope that they could still be mates, despite everything that's happened recently.

He wanted to just put everything behind them and pretend it wasn't real. He was alone with his thoughts, nearly going insane for twenty minutes when Paul finally showed up, his knock on the door causing John to jump and feel nervous all over again.

He opened the door and let his smiling, bright eyed friend in, wondering why exactly he looked so excited just to come over, why he seemed to not have a care in the world, strolling over to the sofa and sitting down. Meanwhile, John was standing, putting on his best everything's-perfectly-fine face and taking deep breaths to prepare himself for what was about to happen.

Paul gestured for him to come sit down, patting the empty space next to him with a smile. John complied, making sure to keep a good distance in between them.

"So, what's all this about?" McCartney asked, leaning back on the sofa, completely relaxed.

John licked his thin lips out of nervousness and cleared his throat. "Just thought I'd invite ye over, see if you had any new songs to work on." He lied, looking down at his lap and then glancing up at Paul.

The younger lad could read John's expressions easily, even if he hid them behind a pathetic lie. It was obvious that he had something more important to say, something was eating at him. "Anything else?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at the older boy, silently letting him know that he was smarter than to fall for that.

John sighed and shrugged, for once in his life he wasn't feeling bold or reckless, his usually bluntness about things fading miserably. That never seemed to occur unless he was around the dark haired boy that was now close enough to touch.

"I-I just wanted to say that...um, about what I did a few days ago, I don't know why I did it. It was stupid and I'm sorry." He said, his cheeks feeling warmer as he ducked his head, ashamed of sounding like such a bloody queer.

Paul stared at him for a moment, trying to think of what to say. It wasn't often that you heard the words 'I'm sorry' out of John Lennon's mouth, and when he does apologize, most likely it's not sincere.

The doe eyed boy chewed on his nails unsurely, every bone in his body telling him to just let it go, that it would be wrong to tell John that he secretly didn't mind the kiss. But as soon as he made up his mind to be reasonable about this, the wrong words slipped out anyways. "You don't have to apologize." He murmured, wishing John would at least look at him. He bit his bottom lip, cursing himself for not being able to even control his own actions or urges when he was around Lennon.

"What do you mean?" John asked, pretty sure that he didn't want to know the answer, but felt he had to see if he was right. He sat up a little straighter, eyeing Paul carefully, looking at his flushed cheeks, his barely noticeable half smile. He was even bloody batting his eyelashes in such an embarrassed way that he didn't have to say anything, John already knew. Paul had wanted him to kiss him, he had enjoyed it.

The thought caused a knot to form in John's stomach, feeling as if he couldn't process the fact that Paul had wanted it. He wasn't pushing him away because if it, and now John had to push Paul away, after leading him on so foolishly.

"Paul, what I did was really wrong, okay? It should have never happened. I just wanted to get even after what happened after me mum died. Just forget about it, alright?" He pleaded with him, hoping he would snap out of his little unrealistic dream where this was acceptable at all and see that it was just some sick game John was playing with his head.

Apparently, the thought did dawn on Paul and he nodded solemnly, his lips pulled down in what looked like a frown. There goes the illusion, he thought, the illusion that maybe John felt the same way. It was never anything more than just something to mess with his mind, John thought of it as some sort of joke. He covered his face with his hands, feeling humiliated.

"Hey, you okay?" John asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Paul couldn't possibly be so upset, could he? This shouldn't effect him this way at all! He should be relieved that he didn't have to worry about John anymore. Paul nodded again.

"Yeah, I'm fine, it's just...this is bleedin' weird." He lied, standing up, ready to get out of there as soon as possible before he had time to think about what just happened too long. He straightened out his blazer, upset with both himself and the auburn haired lad in front of him. "Later, John." He said, feeling dejected but determined not to show it. He left quickly, leaving John alone again.

Once the door slammed and Paul was long gone, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh. Why had Paul reacted like that? They were mates, for Christ's sakes, not bloody queer for each other. Whatever made Macca so touchy about it, John was sure it was his fault.

He thought things would get better now, since they had hopefully been through the worst already. But deep down, he knew it wasn't true.