Hamburg

9. Second Thoughts

"I don't want to spoil the party," John said, exiting the building with a final glance at a discombobulated Paul and George. Peter turned to look at Paul.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"Paul," Pete said. "I realised something,"

"Really?" Paul shot with vivid sarcasm; although, he mused internally if Peter could truly have some kind of insightful thought regarding the band's... situation.

"If there's anyone who's not a queer like me," he said. "It's John."

Paul nearly choked in his own saliva.

George said, "'A queer like you'!"

"No," Pete said. "'Not a queer!' Like me!"

"'A queer like you'," George repeated, laughing. "You're a queer."

"No, no, no!" Pete stood up. "Not a queer. Like me. As in, I'm not a queer like John isn't either!"

"Good lord, Peter," sighed Paul. "Take a holiday." He stood up and walked off to the toilets. He was suddenly starting to feel so overwhelmingly exhausted. It was gonna be one of those days and he could see the dark place in his mind already. He needed to pull himself together and distract himself with something as soon as possible. He had to do something fast.

"John had just gotten here, Pete," George scowled. "He didn't even finish his bloody breakfast."

"I don't understand how I had anything to do with it," Pete licked his joint, rolling it up long and thin. He pulled out a stray piece of tobacco from his tongue and spat it out. He made each movement without a second thought and as leisurely as he could; nothing could stir Peter from this good humour today. The sun was out for once and he was willing to enjoy it. "I was just trying to make my point about how it's just silly when them blokes leave all these good birds and go for other-"

"Oh here we go again!" George snidely scoffed, pointing at Pete's light grey irises. "Come on, Pete. You're an alright lad, eh. Do yourself, and us, a favour and talk sommat else! Please?" George stood up and patted Pete on the shoulders. "I'm going out to the chemist for cough drops, you need something?"

"Yeah actually," Pete said, remembering how bad a hangover he had gone through just two nights ago. "Aspirins would serve me quite well. Just precautions, y'know."

George pushed a cigarette between his lips, lit it and winked at Pete on his way out. Pete hoped he would be back soon because they had a show from 7pm to 3am tonight. They couldn't afford to lose another slot. They needed the money.

Paul locked himself up in a stall, confused by why he was feeling so tired already. It was still nine in the morning. He remembered how he hardly slept last night, after that... incident with John. Why did he do it? He didn't know. He felt so embarrassed. At first, he was angry at John for not just letting Paul be with him but... later, it just turned to shame. Why did he go to John's bed anyway? A grown man! And especially considering the awkward series of events that took place between them that very same day. With the hand... Paul shuddered subconsciously at the reminder of the taste of John's fingers in his mouth.

He knew he had spoken too soon.

He closed the lid to the toilet and sat down on top of it. He closed his eyes and reimagined the whole situation in third person. He felt his breathing pick up pace and his hands searching for something in his jeans. But he froze when he found it. His eyes had shot wide open, slowly trailing up his legs.

There it was.

...For John Lennon?