Pretty Boy [j.l + p.m]

iii

John was glad that Paul had ignored his comment. Both of them were laying on the hood of John's car- Paul had asked him to- and he was pointing out random constellations to Paul, who had pressed himself against John for warmth, or that's what he thought at least, given the fact that what Paul was wearing barely covered him. John didn't complain though, because he needed the extra warmth too since Paul was wearing his jacket.

"I see a turtle, Mr. Lennon, not a duck." Paul mumbled tiredly before yawning.

"A turtle? Are you that tired?" John asked furrowing his eyebrows.

"I am not tired."

"Well it is late. Are you sure ya don't want me to take you home?" He asked, voice full of concern for Paul.

"I don't get to spend my weekends doing what I want to do. This is the first time in a long time that I don't have to worry about anything. I want to relish this."

John frowned as he looked up at the stars. "What would you do if you could then?"

He felt Paul shiver beside him before answering. "I would visit an animal shelter, I guess."

John sighed. He was exhausted because of the energy he had to put into finding where Paul was earlier, and really craved his warm bed. But he didn't want to leave if this was giving Paul joy. Paul deserved to be happy.

God, he was daft for Paul.

"Hey Paul..." John trailed off noticing how still he was. He turned his head to the side ignoring the sharp dig in his scalp the his glasses have him, and pressed his lips into a thin line. Of course he had fallen asleep.

"What do you mean he's your student?" Cynthia barked at John.

"Well-" He stopped himself when he felt Paul nuzzle the crook of his neck. "Can you just help me? Please Cynthia?" He pleaded struggling to keep the eighteen year old in his grip.

Cynthia sighed and let John in, the both of them hurrying to place Paul into the spare room.

"Y'know Ringo called me earlier. He was worried about you." She said standing at the foot of the bed watching John carefully get the student situated.

"The lad always worries."

"Where did you find this student of yours?" She asked, noticing the little clothing he had on him, which was strange attire in February.

"Are you accusing me of something?" John asked as he pulled the covers over the boy.

"Well yeah! I mean you show up with one of your so called students passed out in your arms, and earlier Ringo telling me he was worried, yet he wouldn't tell me where you two were. And what about his parents? Jesus John! What if they are calling the police-"

"Trust me Cynthia, Paul is better here than where he was." John said quietly.

"He's going to be sick in the morning, John. Especially with what he is wearing. I hope you are ready to take care of him." She warned as she left the room.

     "Of course Ringo-"

"Mr. Lennon!"

"Told ya he'll be a handful." Cynthia snickered shaking her head as she buttered a slice of bread.

John rolled his eyes and hastily stood up to see what Paul needed. When he entered the room Paul wasn't on the bed, and he heard muffled water splashes behind the closed bathroom door. "Oi Paul. Whatcha need?" He asked as he approached the bathroom door.

"Attention."

"Attention?" John repeated dumbfounded.

"Yeah. The thing you give sick people like me." Paul's voice was scratchy, and it was most likely because he wasn't feeling well.

"Well I don't know how I can give it to you if you're in the bathtub... You have the clothes Cynthia gave you right?"

"Yeah. Once I get out can you be with me? You don't have to if you don't-"

"Y'know for a sick person you sure do talk a lot." John teased smiling like a lunatic at the door. It was cute that Paul was suggesting to spend time with him. Even though it was only because he was sick, John still found it endearing. "Yes, I'll be with you. Gain an appetite so we can feed you once you're out." With that John turned around and left the room. He went into the hallway and straight to the kitchen where Cynthia was hastily pulling food out of the fridge.

"John, last time I checked we lived in the year nineteen seventy-six. I don't think I belong in the kitchen making food for you and Pete." She mumbled angrily ripping open a bag of chips.

John smirked and shook his head. "Paul. His name is Paul. And last time I checked you were the one who just started to make food." To his amusement Cynthia glanced up at him, stopping momentarily, and let out an exhausted sigh. "I don't care if his name was Jesus Christ for crying out loud. I just know that you are the one who should be doing this." She gestured to the little she had made, which was only one slice of buttered bread.

"But the poor lad is sick. And someone needs to be ready to help him-"

"You can't bullshite me." The blonde scoffed.

John narrowed his eyes playfully. "Well I'll have you know-"

"John?" Came the quiet and scratchy voice behind him. Paul. John turned around and when he looked at Paul almost moaned his name.

He looked absolutely beautiful wearing John's clothes- a plain white shirt that hung loosely around his body, being one size too big, and gray sweat pants that John didn't even know he owned. His hair was damp and clung to his chubby cheeks, and his cheeks, oh god, were light pink from the heat of the bath he had taken.

"That's your name?" Paul asked.

"Y-Yeah." John cleared his throat, "Yeah my first name is John."