Hamburg

6. Voices in the Night

"John?" a little voice whispered from the darkened room. "John, are you asleep?"

"No," mumbled John. "I'm dead."

"Sod off," it was Paul. His torso was hanging off his bed, trying to reach John.

Ordinarily, today, Pete would be sleeping on the floor, George with Paul and Stuart with John; they rotated the positions around each day so that all of them could take turns to sleep on the beds. However, Ringo and George had still not returned and Stuart was sleeping with Astrid, the German photographer girl. Pete was still on the floor, lying on a mattress, snoring his head off, John was on the bed against the wall and Paul was on the bed opposite, closest to the door. John turned his body until his face was almost glued against the wall's surface.

"John!" Paul hissed. "I can't sleep."

John rolled his eyes; he was still frustrated with Paul and still could not understand how he could be so blatant. John was not a homosexual either, but he didn't mind getting touchy every now and then. What was the big deal? That's what mates are for, aren't they?

"Then go and fuck yourself."

"John!" gasped Paul. "That's not very nice."

"Oh, then you're probably not doing it right."

John expected Paul to curse at him or at least turn away and give up but, much to his amazement, Paul laughed. John frowned but his heart failed him once again and his lips curled into a lopsided smile; that warm fuzzy feeling returned to his stomach. Paul sighed in some kind of contentment and said, "You always were very funny, you know John?" John heard Paul's bed creak. "You always somehow made me feel better, you know. I don't know how."

"Good," John said. "Now go to sleep."

He heard Paul's clothes shuffle and his bed squeak again. A weight settled on the edge of his own bed. John held his breath. He knew Paul was now right next to him- he could feel the heat coming from him- but something held him from turning around. He didn't notice how stiff his shoulders were until he felt Paul's cold, clammy hand touch his elbow from behind him. His heart stopped.

"Hello!" Paul giggled, trying to keep his voice down.

John couldn't laugh with him. They had lay next to each other in the past, even on top of each other and even half naked, but something wasn't right anymore. It wasn't funny. Something about being away from home, like real grownups, capable of loving whomever one desired, something about being in a vibrant city like Hamburg with Paul. It was not the same anymore. It could never be the same with Paul ever again.

John turned around, as Paul scooted closer to John. He frowned; Paul was in his briefs. He sat up and startled Paul, whose smile disappeared in an instant. "What are you doing?"

"Wha-"

"Why're you in me bed?" said John. "You're in your bloody pants, Paul."

"John, calm down," said Paul. "I'm only messin'..." He slid out of the covers, panic stricken, and retired back to his own place. He frowned at John in confusion as he hid himself up to his chin under the covers.

John was going to say something else, maybe apologise, when suddenly they jumped up at a loud crash outside their bedroom. They heard George's laugh, erupting from his lungs in fits of cough, and someone else, also giggling, and telling him to be quiet.

"You'll wake everyone up, George," a man said. "Go to bed, I'll see you tomorrow, eh?"

"I bet you can't wait," George said.

The man laughed nervously.

John looked at Paul through the darkness, expecting to find him giggling at George's drunkenness, but Paul was turned the other way and he saw nothing but the back of his head. He knew he was still awake. He knew, in simple words, that he had fucked everything up.

"Hey," they heard George say. "It was nice, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," the other voice was a mere muffle by now.

"But never again, okay?"

There was a brief silence until the other voice spoke.

"Okay."