Hey You ⌲ Paul McCartney

6 // look after you

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June 25, 1961 // 12:45 am
{ Soundtrack; Look After You - The Fray }

"I'm John," the other mod had introduced himself. He raised one eyebrow slyly as he looked me up and down, a greeting these boys tend to do a lot. He had this dark hair gelled up into a quiff with a complicated arrangement of swirls. It was intriguing in my perspective. Paul's virtually lifeless hair was rather boring compared to John's.

"Penny Lane," I smirked. He nodded to himself and leaned back, squinting his eyes at me, as if he didn't believe me.

"Penny Lane huh? That's quite the name. Were you born on the street or something?" John teased.

"Don't mind Johnny, he's a bit of a grumpy scouse at this hour in the morning," Paul alerted from the front seat. He looked at me in the rear view mirror and gave me a cheeky wink.

"That's alright." I glanced over at John, who was suddenly only a few inches away from my face.

"Gear night gown."

"Swap?" I asked with a playful tilt to the head. I watched him throw his head back, emanating a loud chuckle and moving his hazy eyes out to the window whilst muttering under his breath.

"Cheeky."

"John! Leave the bird alone!" Paul yelled as we turned the corner. It seemed as if he had told that to John a lot.

"Oh, shut it will ya?" John sulked, "It's merely a harmless joke."

"Well, mate, your jokes are going to be in a film one of these damn days," Paul let out a defeated sigh.

"Hey, Penny," John whispered sternly, occasionally looking up at Paul to see if he was listening. When his eyes met mine I got this overwhelming emotion I couldn't put into words.

"Yeah?"

"Close your eyes and sit back," he explained in the most innocent sense of phrase and I submissively obeyed. I leaned back onto the leather seat and slowly closed my eyes. It was a soothing moment, but I wasn't too sure why John had wanted me to do this.

"You piss off!" Paul had indignantly yelled out to what I'm assuming was a drunk driver. But it didn't faze me. I had still left my eyes closed, being rather obedient to John's instructions.

"You see, living is easy with eyes closed- misunderstanding all you see," John spoke. I then hesitantly opened my eyes only to find John snoring. I don't know what is wrong with this lad, but I fancied it. He had this strikingly-odd mischievous demeanor to him, with this almost-traumatic story in the way he went about himself. And, well, I wanted to be the first one to read it.

"Alright, we've arrived. You've been to the cavern before, yeah?" Paul asked as he turned around, facing me. It looked like his eyes had turned into a night-shrouded sapphire from the lights bouncing off the dingy streets.

"Well, no. I don't go out a lot."

"John! Wake up! You persisted me continuously about coming here tonight, and you fell asleep!" John brought his weary hands up and rubbed his head

"I'm coming, don't get all worked up... your mascara will run," John teased as Paul laughed unhumorously.

The lamps cast a murky yellow, otherworldly glow down the mucky street, unfortunately being the only source of light for this dark and eerie night.

There were two men wearing dark-textured coats leaning on the wall, with the same sweat beading off their wrinkled foreheads, holding the buds of their cigarettes and oddly barefooted. They were both abnormally white, with ghastly eyes that stained my memory and seemed to scream hatred and agony with the acknowledgement of my presence. The smoke from their tiny, burned out cigarettes deliberately swirled, twisted, and writhed in front of my face but I ignored it.

We then entered the club but before I could take one more step, I felt claustrophobic. The whole club was immensely packed, with smoke dancing in intricate patterns around the room. Girls and boys were detaching themselves from each other, hoping to get closer to the source of the rowdy rock music. Some people were also surprisingly lashing out at each other, throwing thick glasses of scotch as well.

Paul apparently noticed as he followed me outside to the quiet, sleepy streets. I wasn't lying when I said I don't go out much.

"You alright, love?" Paul asked whilst leaning on the rough-edged wall, subsequently scowling as he examined the wall print on his calloused hands and fingers.

"I'm well... But I think it's best if I just go home now. Me father is all alone. Me house is just down a few blocks from here, I know it," I insisted, but he just shook his head.

"You're just frightened, that's all. I promised John I'd come with him tonight, but I'd much rather spend time with you," he reassured. "You know, we can just go to my house. It's a quiet, well-rounded place not too far from here. We could listen to some records, whatever you fancy, really."

"Flattering, but I'd have to respectfully decline," I said, but I knew I lacked self-assurance. He was gorgeous and I was gawky but he was also determined and persistent. He had made me have a change of thought within a matter of seconds.

"Oh, pretty baby. I'll look after you. I promise."

Everyone promises with a friendly, seemingly trustworthy gleam in their eyes. But we promise forever in a world where even life is temporary. How would I know he's being genuine when every single inch of his body reminds me of the enigmatic boy who left me treading on the pieces of my shattered heart?

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So when I first started liking the Beatles I fell in love with While My Guitar Gently Weeps so basically it will always have a place in my heart but... HOLD UP

I listen to Real Love ONE TImE and the tears just start flowing out like damn that's never happened before WUT??