On Loving Paul [McLennon]

Uner the Mistletoe

It was Christmas Day. Mike was at a friend's house and Paul was pulling his shoes in at ten in the morning while his father was passed out on the couch, already drunk. He quickly threw on his coat and grabbed the bag of wrapped gifts and ran out the door.

The snow was coming down at what seemed to be a mile a minute, whipping Paul in the face and sticking to his hair.

At long last, he arrived on John's doorstep and rang the doorbell. Within seconds, the door swung open to reveal Mimi.

"Paul!" She grinned. "So glad you could make it!" She grabbed Paul's gloved hands and pulled him inside, quickly slamming the door. "John is in the sitting room. We've got a few others over for the holiday."

It was quite obvious to Paul that Mimi had already had several glasses of wine, so he just smiled and nodded, heading for the living room where he set the bag he was holding down on a chair and looked around at everyone who was there. John, Pete, Stuart, and George were all sitting and standing around the room along with a few older women who Paul assumed to be Mimi's friends.

When John spotted Paul, he grinned and ran over as Paul pulled off his gloves and his coat. "Merry Christmas, Paulie." John put a hand on Paul's shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, Johnny Boy." Paul returned the grin and laughed and he patted John's shoulder.

"Come on," John grabbed Paul's hand. "I've got something to show you." He dragged his younger band mate out of the room and the two clambered up the stairs into John's room.

The curtains were drawn shut and there was only a candle to light the room. John pulled Paul to the center of the room and motioned for him to look up. There was mistletoe taped to the ceiling.

Paul looked at John and rolled his eyes, but leaned in and kissed John, wrapping his arms around the slightly taller boy's neck.

When they pulled away, John pressed his lips against Paul's forehead and hummed against his skin with a smile. But soon Paul felt his smile fade into a deep frown. "Paul?"

"Hmm?"

"I know you too well," John said. "You would have been late for class without a good reason, and - "

"Not this again," Paul sighed. "John, that was in October. Let it go, already."

"I can't," John pulled away from Paul completely and just looked at him. "I'm worried about you, alright? I - I just want to make sure you're safe and with your dad - "

"Don't worry about my dad, okay?" Paul offered a small, reassuring smile. "That's my job. You just worry about yourself."

John sighed heavily. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Paul smiled a bit wider. "Of course I do," he nodded. "I just don't have anything to tell you."

Paul walked through the door that night just a few minutes before his curfew. His dad was sitting at the kitchen table with a beer bottle. Paul hurried toward the stairs, desperate to avoid his father, but it was no use.

"Hold it right there, not!" Mr. McCartney snapped. "Where have you been all day?!"

"At a friend's house," Paul said, gripping the staircase railing tightly.

"On Christmas Day?"

"Mike was at a friend's house,"

"He was given permission,"

"I was under the impression that you didn't care," and without another word, Paul raced up the stairs and off to his room. He collapsed onto his bed in a fit of sobs. His father didn't care. Perhaps he had never cared and it had always been his mother. But his father didn't care, he only wanted to make Paul and Mike's lives miserable.