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June 25, 1961 // 12:28 am
{ Soundtrack; Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy - Queen }
I woke up to the cold, frigid wind and two boys who threw merciless slurs at each other.
"Alright, Johnny? Would ya get ya arse in the car already?" It was the angelic voice of that mysteriously melancholy boy I had met earlier.
"Don't fucking push me, mate," Another, very annoyed voice said. I got up quickly from the rusty bench and aimlessly wandered around. Maybe I should've just went home with Jean and Keith - my mind pestered ruthlessly. The giant, lustrous moon shined an achromatic radiance as I finally came to a sudden jolt and noticed the two bickering boys down the bleak pier.
"Someone's rather drunk?" The bright hazel-eyed boy teased. The other one just scoffed and averted his eyes away from him as he climbed into the car.
"Wait!" I yelled out abruptly, suddenly regretting my decision with a passion. I mentally slapped myself as the two mod-dressed boys simultaneously brought their attention to me.
"Yes, love?" The doe-eyed boy who I fancied, yelled out. The other one leaned back onto the car seat with a sense of agitation and lit a cigarette.
"I- well, never got your name!" He just watched me for what seemed like hours. He examined every inch of my body as he finally decided to move his legs and walk over to me.
"I'm James Paul McCartney. Fancy meeting you here," he purred seductively as he stretched his arm out. His tousled mop for hair blew around as he flattened it out with his hand, subsequently lighting a cigarette and dragging it. "But, you can call me Paul."
"You should quit smoking," I told him as I gazed into his impenetrable eyes, watching as the clouds of smoke tumbled quietly through his open lips, a silent killer.
"Why?" He didn't look me in the eye.
"Because it will kill you." He shrugged and blew the smoke up to the twinkling stars.
"I'm gonna die sooner or later anyways." I just crossed my arms and huffed. This young boy, who had to have been just a tad younger than 20, had an obvious aptitude for slick-talk.
"Me father's a scientist," I added as he took a long drag, eyes closed, and huffed the smoke out. "He knows ciggys cause bad problems."
"You ought to stop looking so scornful, it's twisting your face," he ignored me and sneered contemptuously. He then briefly glanced back at his mate and shot his mossy eyes up at mine.
"I'm... Not scornful. And I'm certainly not a pushover!" I yelled but he just raised his eyebrows.
"When did I call you a pushover?" He curled his lip and squinted his eyes in a distasteful, disapproving way.
"Back there - you said 'hey you, out there on the road always doing what you're told' you think I let people walk all over me. Maybe I do have an open mind!" I recoiled with no hesitation.
"Oh love, the trouble with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it." I stood there motionless and dumbfounded.
"Well, if you're gonna get technical about it..." I muttered sheepishly as he stomped on his cigarette bud.
"Look, darling, me buddy John and I are going to this club down the street, about 5 minutes away, we would fancy if you'd come with us," he smiled. It was hard for me to answer, being torn between having fun with him and the fact that my father is home alone.
"That's not too hot of an idea," I rebuffed, but he just placed his tender fingers on my shoulder and smirked coyly.
"I could dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things," he suggested but I shook my head. "We could do the tango just for two," he insisted and I felt my cheeks go tense. "I'd like for you and I to go romancing, say the word: your wish is my command-" I had to give in.
"Alright, I'll go. No tango though, because I can't dance." He then nodded shyly and grinned to himself, slowly caressing my back and walking with me to his car.
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Hey so I'm sad again bc I miss Liverpool. I just recently visited it and I fell in love *-* it was so beautiful like penny lane and the cavern club (hahahahag actually there was a guy singing beatles songs there who LOOKED and sANG EXACTly like 1965 JOHn fUcking WiNston LENNON)
Ughghhhgggg I could've married him but nooo he has to live in England whatthefAK
Welp sorry for the mini rant have a good day
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Hey You ⌲ Paul McCartney
Fanfiction❝I can't love you,❞ he spoke lightly. How I had yearned for him - how I had begged and pleaded for him, how my strength had fallen at the foot of my door when he walked away, how at the last I could only whimper, ❝I knew it.❞ - in which one fateful...
