Pretty Boy [j.l + p.m]

xii

Paul stared at the ceiling, trying to keep his nausea at the minimum, he couldn't sit up or look around and he definitely couldn't open his mouth to call for someone.

Paul didn't know what he was doing here, a stiff bed and bright lights didn't help his well-being, and could vaguely recall that George was supposed to be around.

Paul heard the door open, followed by the clack of shoes coming towards him.

"'ello, what's your name, lad?"

Paul swallowed thickly, and closed his eyes. He didn't even want to talk to this man. "Paul."

"Paul?" He repeated.

The man sounded a tad surprised and Paul realized that he didn't like the recognition in his voice, whoever is talking to him might actually know him, something he didn't need right now. "Yeah, Paul."

"Fuck," Paul heard him let out a dry laugh, "you're John's plaything, aren't you?"

Paul opened his eyes focusing in on the man dressed in a white coat, John's friend. "Oh, shite." He groaned. "John can't know I'm 'ere, alright?"

"You're going to keep gettin' nearly choked to death a fucking secret?!"

"Not a secret," Paul swallowed his spit, "a private affair. That I'd rather John not hear a word about."

The man came closer to Paul. "Y'know who did this to you? Is that why you don't want to tell him?"

"I can't remember anythin' past chugging down alcohol at the party. Speaking of what I remember, is me friend here? George?" Paul asked, hoping George didn't leave him here alone.

"I don't think so. No one was aloud to go with you in the ambulance because of your state, I'm sure."

"Tha' is just great." Paul sighed. George was still doing fun things without him.

"Well I hate to tell this to you, Paul, but I've got to call John."

"What? You don't have to," Paul squinted to read his name tag, "Richard Starkey."

"Yes. I do." Richard looked down at Paul's neck and frowned at the display of multiple hickeys. "I came in here to find someone to call for you. They've gotta sign some shite about liability."

"Do they really, though?" Paul whined, not keen on seeing John.

"Yeah." Richard backed away from Paul. "John will be 'ere soon, so I'd think of an explanation."

Paul chewed on his bottom lip. He was positively sure John wouldn't be happy coming to the hospital so early in the morning, especially after hearing why he was in the hospital.

    "He got fucking choked!?" John shouted, throwing Ringo's pen in another fit of anger.

John didn't see it really, getting choked by someone at a party just didn't happen like that.

"Yes, John."

John felt like he was going to cry, because Paul could've died and there was nothing that would have stopped it. "Paul is such a fucking dumb- why the fuck did 'e want to keep this a secret?"

"I dunno. But I can't bring you to him if you're going to act like this."

John clenched his fists. "Paul almost bloody kicks the bucket, and you want me to calm down!"

Ringo pinched the bridge of his nose, showing his slight regret of calling John. "I am not allowed to let you in if I think you're going to do something rash. So you need to calm down."

"Okay, okay." John exhaled deeply. "I'm calm, let's see him."

"Really, you're calm? Just like that then?" Ringo voiced his skepticism.

"Yes goddamn it!" John kicked a chair onto it's side next to his friend. "I'm calm! Calm, calm, calm! Jus' the calmest!" John kicked the chair a second time before he collapsed on the floor beside it. "I-I am a fucking mess."

"Did you get it out of your system or-"

"No, I haven't!" John cried out. It was too early in the morning for him to deal with this and his eyes were actually starting to get wet and Paul.

"Hey, hey. What's wrong?"

"Nothing I just.. Can we go?" John pleaded, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah," Ringo offered John his hand, "let's go see Paul."

John grabbed Ringo's hand and lifted himself off the floor. "Thanks, mate."

Ringo led John down the hall, stopping in front of a closed door. "You can let him know he's getting released soon."

John twisted the door knob and cracked it open. "Will do." He mumbled. Ringo patted John on the back before he left John in the hallway.

John pushed the fully door open, his knees going weak at the vomit soaking the thin blanket and the retching sounds Paul made.

John stumbled to Paul's bed and yanked the sheet stained with brown liquid off of him onto the floor. "Fuck, you alright darling?"

"No, I feel horrible."

John ran his fingers through Paul's hair. "I'm gonna take you home and make you feel better."

"I'm sorry you had to come." Paul clasped his hands together.

John sat beside Paul on the bed. "I'd rather come here than the bloody morgue, Paul. Why were you choked anyway?"

"I don't know, John." Paul sighed. "I just wanna leave."

"You're goin' to. But, shite, Paul you've got to be more careful."

"Careful?" Paul scoffed, regret gone from his voice. "Scolding me to be careful after something that I had no control over gets what accomplished, exactly?"

"Well I'm not the one who went to a party and got blasted! What were you planning on doing there? I bet there were a lot of cocks to suck." John sneered.

"There was, richer and sexier and nicer. Way better than your jealous-"

"At least I'm not a fuckin' bitch." John growled, grinding his teeth.

"Get out." Paul pointed to the door.

"No."

"Yes!" Paul hissed.

"I'm the one who's going to get you out of here, Paul. So hit me and forgive me."

"Oh so now I'm supposed to forgive you." Paul dropped his arm. "Why's that?"

"Because I'm tired and I was extremely worried about you." John held Paul's hand in between both of his. " Because I love you."