«You're two of a bloody kind…»
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Two schooboys, Paul and John, are drowning in their sincere feelings, which either harm them or make them feel better. It's all scary, incomprehensible, and enjoyable… George Harrison acts as a psychologist and guardian who feels like a third wheel, but he can't just leave his Paul.
Tags: fluff, angst, psyhology, sexual confusion, teen romance, shool drama, family drama, fear, guilt, jealousy.
AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81047611
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They shake hands. John smiles.
The sun is shining, it's warm outside, and they both squint at the rays that hit their eyes.
“Can we have a drink, maybe? I know a nice bar nearby. At the same time, we'll chat and get to know each other.” John takes off his guitar and puts it on the floor.
They walk down the street in the warm wind and have to lie to get a beer. It was strange that only the bartenders believed their cute faces.
“I've been playing for about a year now. I know everyone in the group well. And you, why haven't I seen you anywhere before?”
“I'm new around here, and I don't know many people. But my friend and I are also playing, although we don't have a band yet.”
John looks at his new acquaintance with interest as he speaks. He likes the movement of his eyebrows.
“Interesting. What kind of music do you listen to?”
“Well... I like Elvis. And Buddy Holly.”
John smiles a little out of the corner of his mouth. A big grin spreads across Paul's face.
“Me too. I also listen to Bob Dylan.”
“You're a cool guy.” Paul finishes his beer and immediately starts the second one. “I'm glad to meet you. Do you want to play together sometime?”
“I was just about to suggest it. I have a big room and a lot of instruments. My friends and I often get together. This is already our unspoken place. You're invited.” John mutters, taking a sip from his mug.
“Oh, can I bring Dot?” Paul had already finished half his second mug.
“Yes. Well... It's not that serious yet... She just likes to listen to live music.”
“Bring her. But, you know, she's not going to be happy in a man's company.” John looks down at his beer, which won't go down his throat.
“Just tell you don't want her to come.” Paul looks him straight in the eye, questioning
“If Dot is very pretty, she'll distract us a lot from our work.” John grins
“She really is.” Paul points to John's mug, which is still only half full. “Why aren't you drinking?"
“I've already had a drink today. Before the concert. I don't want anymore. Want to drink?” John pushes the mug toward him.
“Sure.” Paul puts down his second drink.
“You're funny. We've only just met, and you're already drinking and having fun so openly in front of me.”
“I think we have a connection. I can feel it.” His voice is slightly drunk.
Then, unexpectedly, Paul hugs John as tightly as he would ever hug anyone.
“You smell good.” John mutters faintly into Paul's jacket.
Paul pulls back, a smile spreading across his face.
“And that's enough for you.” John pushes the mug away from him and puts the bills on the table.
“Shall we go to your place? We’ll play. Just the two of us. No Dot.
“Let's go. I even feel like I’m inspired right now.”
And they walk down the street in the late afternoon, the sun setting beautifully on the horizon, and everything seems so nice and fun, and a drunken Paul mumbles Elvis’ songs under his breath while John snaps his fingers to the rhythm. When they get home, Paul stumbles several times on the stairs and finally sees Lennon's abode: guitars, records, sheets of poetry, even a harmonica and banjo. He opens his mouth in surprise like a child.
“This... Damn, is this all yours? And you know how to play on all this?”
“Yes. Do you want to?” John nods his head at the guitar. “This one sounds the best, I think.”
Paul picks up his guitar and plays a light tune. John listens intently, not taking his eyes off the thin, delicate fingers moving across the strings. He sings along very quietly: “Wise men say, only fools rush in…”
“This is my favorite…” Paul whispers when he's finished playing, setting his guitar down on the bed next to him.
He sighs drunkenly, and his head falls onto the pillow. His eyes close, and then he's sniffing softly, sprawled out on John's small bed.
John looks at him and gives him an exasperated grin. Or maybe he's having fun with it all. Then he sits down to play his guitar, which Paul has dropped beside him.
“Drunkard…” he whispers to himself and shakes his head merrily to the music.
After a couple of hours, Paul wakes up abruptly.
“Oh, my God... God, I'm so sorry... I just fell asleep drunk in here, right?.. God... I'm so ashamed…”
John nods at the glass of fresh water that's already on the nightstand next to the bed.
“It'll help you. And it’s nothing. It's a good thing you didn't fall asleep in the street or in a ditch. It's better in someone else's cozy bed, isn't it?” he laughs, holding out a glass.
Paul drinks it down greedily.
“Yeah, I feel better. I'll... probably go home... I'm sorry again.”
Without saying goodbye, he runs out of the house, forgetting his jacket.
John, still in shock, looks at the open door, then at the jacket.
“Damn you…” his fingers move slowly towards the jacket by themselves.
Just as he's about to pick it up, Paul bursts into the room again.
“Relax. Where are you going in such a hurry?”
Paul's cheeks are faintly flushed. He grabs his jacket and runs out of the house. John shakes his head after him.
On the morning of school, Paul is sitting at lunch with his friend George. They're deep in conversation until John materializes next to them.
“Interesting last name. Lennon. Are you playing? Paul only hangs out with musicians.” He looks Lennon up and down.
“I have a band. What about you, George?”
“Yes, we play together.” Paul interrupts, eyes glued to the floor.
“McCartney's talking, huh? You were more talkative yesterday.” John takes Paul's milk and drinks it, squelching the leftovers and clutching the box.
“Ah ... okay…” Paul doesn't even have time to stop him.
“I'm sorry?” George raises one eyebrow questioningly at John's inappropriate behavior.
“It's alright.” Paul mutters in confusion, still not looking up.
“Lennon, don't start anything. Get out of here.” George pushes him away a little.
“Would you like to play with me today?”
“Of course.” Paul mumbles.
George looks at him with an “Are you serious right now?” expression.
However, in the evening, Paul shows up at John's house with George.
“You should thank me forever for agreeing.” George is the first to enter the house when John's aunt opens the door for him.
Paul rolls his eyes playfully.
“I feel like this is the beginning of something new. You've always wanted to move from the point of simple songs for no one, haven't you? Consider this your opportunity. Lennon has a band, and he's a good guy, he’s just... Complicated.” Paul put a friendly hand on Harrison's shoulder.
“I believe you... But have you seen how he behaves? The hooligan from the street.”
“Maybe he's just getting used to you, or pissing you off just for a reaction?”
“Come on. How long has he been getting used to you?”
“Well... We met yesterday. I've seen him play. He definitely has talent.”
A soft female voice comes from the kitchen.
“Boys, eat first, then play!”
Paul flinches in surprise, but automatically goes to the kitchen. George follows him. After a while, Lennon sits down at the table. They all look at each other awkwardly. John accidentally hits Paul's foot with his shoe.
“For what we are about to receive, may God make us truly grateful. Bless us, O Lord, and Your gifts, which we are about to receive from Your bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.” Aunt Mimi concludes.
John runs his thumb over the back of Paul's hand for a moment.
“Amen.” - the guys say in unison and start a delicious and flavorful dinner.
Paul doesn't finish his meal, his eyes flickering back and forth between his plate and John, who is eating his stew and fries with gusto.
“You can go now.” Aunt collects the plates from the table and gives permission for the rehearsal.
“Thank you!” Paul brushes crumbs from his jacket and pulls up a chair.
George lies on the bed, swaying his legs to the music. John plays the guitar, Paul sings songs that John composed from a piece of paper. They exchange glances.
“You have beautiful songs. Very. Truly.”
“Thank you. Why don't you play and I'll sing?”
John passes the guitar to Paul, touching his wrist. They're going home late tonight.
“Thank you... For the guitar, for everything. For dinner.” Paul mutters
George stares blankly at the wall. Paul walks over to John and gives him a big hug for a few seconds, then leaves the house without saying anything.
“So you’re going to go to him like this every day?”
“Paul, I'm not stupid. Don't you notice the way he looks? I just…” he stops in the middle of the street, rubs his forehead before coming up with an answer, and looks him straight in the eye... “I feel like he wants to take you away from me.”
“George... No... I won't leave you…”
“You said how talented he was, and…” His voice starts to tremble and tears start to come to his eyes “And... I felt unnecessary, and how you looked at each other all evening... And how you played together, and you sang his songs…”
Paul gives George a silent hug. He cries into his shoulder.
“I'm not leaving you. We just make music together.”
“What if?..What if he... Fell in love?..” George stutters with tears
Paul allows himself a grin for the first time.
“He's a guy. How can he fall in love with me if I'm also a guy? Are you saying he's ... gay?” No, he's just like that. He has a keen sense of people.”
George wipes his eyes on his sleeve.
“To hell with you. Let's go home.”
Over the weekend, Paul and John meet at a record store. Paul is always like a small child running between the rows of records. He never buys them, because he has no money. He only listens. John walks back and forth, feeling in his pocket for the money left over from school lunches or buying new clothes.
“This one's good.” Lennon points to «Pet Sounds».
“Oh, no, I... I don't have any money. I'll save up and then buy it for sure. Did you listen to the album?”
“No, just a couple of singles. But I really liked it. Therefore, I think this record can be taken. I have some money left.”
“I have…” Paul takes the coins out of his jacket and starts counting them “Only ten... Damn it…”
“I have fifteen. Sod the Beach Boys!”
They walk out of the store into the warm wind.
“Listen... We're only a ten short. I have an idea.”
“I hope it’s not stealing." Paul squints
“Let's sing." Right here. By the time the police notice us, we will have time to save up. What do you say?”
“Well... What if we have problems later?”
“We'll have a record later, Paul!”
Paul thinks for a minute, but then he looks after John, who is heading home to get his guitar. He returns with it and a small box with the inscription: "For young musicians’ dream". Paul chuckles.
They play at first crookedly, out of place, not feeling each other, but eventually they get a taste, some people stop to watch the guys who perform songs with lively enthusiasm. Late in the afternoon, they finally collect the coveted ten shillings. John walks into the store like a hero, guitar with him, Paul trailing behind him, looking around to see if the police are following them. Lennon proudly pulls out the record.
“Dot left me, by the way. She said I spent too much time on music. Maybe she's right.” Paul says out of blue.
“You know, sometimes things go wrong. If she left you, then she doesn’t understand. But you wouldn't earn a ten with her, would you?” John chuckles softly. He puts his arm around Paul’s shoulders like a mentor.
“Let's go listen to a record before it gets dark. Then your aunt will kick me out again.”
They go out into the street, a record under John's arm, and they smile at something that doesn't exist in front of them. Entering the room, Paul picks up a piece of paper from the table and writes something on it. John observes this precision and grace.
“Poems? How long have you been writing them?” He peeks over his shoulder
“While we were walking... Something occurred to me. Here.”
The following words are written on the sheet in fresh ink:
«One day you'll look to see I've gone,
For tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun.
Some day you'll know I was the one,
But tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun...»
“Beautiful. It's beautiful, damn it. Let's make up some music. You're a bloody genius.” John pulls Paul close, nuzzling his shoulder. Then he pulls away and shoves the guitar into his hand. “Let's do it right now.”
As the sun sinks below the horizon, Paul stands happily in the doorway.
“Still haven't listened to the record,” he grins. “See you tomorrow.”
Paul hugs John a little too long.
He's walking down the cool street, staring up at the jutting stars, already half asleep, humming to himself the tune they've just composed...
Lennon runs up to him, out of breath.
“Did I forget something again?” he smiles innocently.
And he presses his whole body against Paul’s. It catches Paul off guard, but he puts his hands on John and presses him a little harder. As they pull away from each other, John looks at Paul.
“Thank you.” John mumbles.
He kisses Paul softly on the lips, barely touching them for a second. Paul smiles awkwardly.
“I, uh, well... “ McCartney is retiring in the truest sense of the word.
He just turns around and hurries away, hands in his pockets, looking around, leaving John staring after him with lost eyes.
At school, George notices Paul's strange behavior.
“What's on your mind, pal? You're not yourself today, and... We've only been seeing each other at school for a few days now. I stopped by your place, do you know what your dad said? That you're at John's. Again. You're there every day. And I'm pretty sure your behavior is directly related to Lennon. You've forgotten all about me. I understand. He's a new person, you're interested in him.”
“God, George... I have a headache…”
“No wonder. You smell of beer. I'm surprised none of the teachers caught you. You know, I already take it for granted. Before and after Dot, you did it every day. Why don't you at least eat? You look pale. So what happened between the two of you? Although, I suspect. He told you he loved you, didn't he? And you didn't know what to say. And ran away. Just like you always do. You like to run away. I told you back then. You don't like listening.”
George instinctively pulls a package out of his briefcase and hands it to Paul. He pukes.
“I'm sorry... I'm so disgusting…”
“It’s fine. So... What happened?”
At that moment, Lennon appears out of nowhere.
“You look pale. And you smell of booze.”
“You've got a spot here.” John takes a napkin out of his pants pocket and gently wipes Paul's face.
“Lennon. You again. Can't you see we're talking? And Paul’s sick.”
“I noticed that he's sitting here, disheveled and twisted. It looks like he just got out of the grave.” He pats Paul's back reassuringly.
“Don't touch him, okay? Leave us alone.”
“George, I understand your indignation. You were abandoned for me. Probably because I'm more interesting. But that doesn't mean Paul can't be my friend now, and I care about him just as much as you do, mind you.”
“Yes, but I'm not a nance, unlike you.”
John glared at Harrison and slammed his head down on the table, grabbing his hair. And then they were fighting, rolling on the floor to the sound of Paul puking and the stares of the other people in the cafeteria. The teachers separate them and take them to the principal. Suspension and all that. John, with a bloody nose, walks out into the hallway like a winner.
“False accusations, Harrison.” Lennon says, and looks away. “Libel is punishable by law!”
“Easy, Paul…” John hisses as he rubs the wound with alcohol in Lennon's sacred room at home. “Now they won't let me go to school all week... And most likely, your aunt will forbid you to come.”
“You'll have to learn how to make knots out of sheets.” McCartney chuckles. “George and I had a little fight, too. But it’s nothing. Maybe we should put on a record after all?”
They lie on the floor and listen to the music playing softly by the window.
“At least you're not pale and puking in the bag anymore.”
“I had too much yesterday, that's all. Sometimes it happens.”
“Paul, I know why it was yesterday. Tell me, did it mean anything to you?”
“I ... I still don't know what it was... I... don't know…”
“I know. John turns to face Paul, and so does Paul, and now their faces are inches apart and their breath is hot, “I kissed you because I love you.”
Paul doesn't answer, but grabs John's face and sinks his lips into his, pressing his lips to his, kissing him harder and sweeter. He slides his hands under John's shirt, stroking him, biting his neck, leaving bruises. When John is now sitting in front of him in his trousers, half-naked, aroused, happy, boldly spreading his legs, Paul stops abruptly.
“Oh, my God…” He's moving away. “What am I doing?..”
His eyes flick around the room in concern, and he opens his mouth to say something, but just runs out of the house.
John puts on a T-shirt. The bruises still hurt his neck. There's nothing to do but cry all alone.
Paul bursts into his home, scared and crying, and throws himself into his father's arms. He picks it up and holds it close.
“I'm an idiot, dad... I'm an idiot…”
He pats him on the head and promises that everything will be fine.
“I... hate… myself…” Paul sobs.
When Paul falls asleep after a tantrum, his father carries his fragile, thin, pale body to bed, covers it with a blanket, strokes his hair, kisses his forehead.
John is crying in his room, hugging his pillow.
A week later, Paul is back in the cafeteria with George at recess, picking at his food blankly.
“You look worse and worse. Lennon didn't show up this week. Had a fight?”
Paul flinches, glancing at George on the word «Lennon», then looks down at the tray again.
“What did he do to you? Talk to me.”
“I may forget about this Lennon guy, but I won't forget your terrible black circles. Something had definitely happened. Perhaps I can guess that. And yes, of course I know that you ran to see him after our fight. Tell me, did you fall in love with him?”
“I don't know what happened. Nothing. And everything at the same time. I'm confused. I'm very confused. I don't understand anything at all. I think about it all the time, but I can't put the whole picture together. Did I like it? I didn't like it? George, I cried in my father's arms after that. What do you think all this means?”
“Do you feel heartbroken?”
Paul paused for a few seconds, then said almost in a whisper:
“Kissing him. And... undressing him. In a way… Well, just a shirt.”
“I don't know… When he was sitting in front of me... Damn... He was so happy, and I ruined everything... But I just realized that... I don't want that. Not with him. Not with any other guy. I’m just… Not into it…”
“And you kissed him first? Paul, I need you to answer honestly now. You kissed him first. Why did you do that?”
Paul sighs and looks away.
“It was so good with him... So good I thought... I thought, maybe I love him. He's beautiful, talented, and funny... I like it when he smiles... But it doesn't give me any beautiful feeling inside.”
“People like you always have to make things difficult.”
“You have a delicate soul. You feel everything deeper. You know, you might even be together, because you know how to care, you're a good person. But without love, alas...
“He started it first.” George crossed his arms over his chest, “However, I was also wrong. I called him a nance. But it's true, isn't it?” He looks Paul in the eye, but doesn't allow himself to grin.
“That's an offensive word.”
“I don't support anyone but you. Because everyone else is just people. And you're a miracle. I'd love you too if I was gay. But I love you just because I have you. See, I'm not afraid to say I love you. Because I truly feel it. You never once told Lennon that you love him. Because you don't love him.”
“Paul, this is all complicated, but look. You go to see Lennon, he's probably out there somewhere watching you…”
Paul looks around. He's not there.
“...I said it figuratively. I won't talk you out of talking to him, because I can see that you feel bad without him. But you have to tell him that you don't love him in a way he loves you. You love him like a friend. You adore him. You adore his like a friend. And look him in the eye. You really don't want to lose him, do you?”
“Then talk to him. The main thing here is the truth, Paul. Truth. And you have…” George glances at his wristwatch. “Twenty more minutes. I'm sure he's somewhere here. Look for him in the yard. Remember that you always have me. I know it's complicated. But I'm right here.”
Paul looks around, searching for John. Outside, he fidgets with his fingers, tripping over every rock.
John is sitting on a bench, drawing something in the sand with a stick. The floor sits on the other side.
“Hi, Paul.” Lennon smiles, squinting against the sun
“Hey, John.” he doesn't look up yet.
“I haven't seen you in a week.”
“Tell me, why did you do that?”
“I…” Paul looks up, eyes already brimming with tears, “I thought I love you… That I also want what you want…”
“But you understood you don't want to? Understood it when I was almost undressed and kissed so hard that the bruises are still there.” John turns back his shirt. There are two faint pink tooth marks on the neck. “When you kissed me back in a way even I didn't? Yeah? Understood only then?”
“I'm sorry, John, please... Sorry…”
“Tell me you don't love me.”
Paul is sobbing, covering his face with his hands.
“You can't even tell me. I forgive you, Paul. I’ll forgive you under any circumstances, because I love you. I can't live without you. Just please... Don't leave me.”
Paul snuggles up to him, still sobbing.
“I'll never leave you... Never…”
“Alright, Paul, I believe you. Let's go get you cleaned up.”
They walk across the courtyard, catching strange glances from other students. Some even whisper to each other. Although, anyone would have noticed Paul's cute face, swollen with tears. John bumps into a guy's shoulder as he passes.
“What are you looking at? Don't you see, he is upset. Maybe someone died, I don't know!”
“You're like a pair of poofs, Lennon.”
John pushes the guy up against the wall by the collar.
“If you don't know how to take care of your friends, I'm sorry to hear that. If you don't like them, I'm sorry too. It makes you an emotionless asshole. Go tell your mom that you're being bullied by boys at school.”
The guy obediently retreats. Paul drags John to the bathroom by the sleeve of his jacket.
“Come on, wash your face. Lennon is facing the door like a Cerberus, ready to tear anyone apart.
Paul splashes water on himself with trembling hands, drenching his uniform.
“You look funny. Let's go. Now the recess is over. You... Have you eaten?”
“I know. Here.” He holds out a chocolate bar and a carton of milk. “Not much, but still.”
They come out of the bathroom. Some students look at them, but Lennon, ready to attack at any moment, scares anyone away.
After school, they go to John's house to jam.
“There will be a school disco soon. We need to go. Find you some cute girl. And me... I have you.” John loosens his tie, facing the mirror with his back to Paul.
“Well... Probably... but... I can't do that... I can't stand your sad eyes. I always want to cry when I see them. You know.”
John picks up his guitar and starts playing a tune. Paul immediately picks up a familiar tune and starts singing. His voice is slightly shaky, and he can't quite hide the intense nervousness.
“You have a beautiful voice. I wrote a song here. Let me sing.” John grabs a piece of paper from the table, which was lying there as if waiting for him.
«My baby says she's trav'ling on the one after 909
I said move over honey I'm travelling on that line
I said move over once, move over twice
Come on baby don't be cold as ice
Said she's trav'ling on the one after 909...»
Paul watches John’s lips move as he sings.
“I could replace "she" with "he", but I'm afraid they wouldn't understand me.” Lennon chuckles sadly.
“It's very beautiful. John, you're really a genius. The way the music gently sounds from under your fingers…”
“Stop before it sounds really gay.” John smiles slyly.
Late at night, Paul lets himself melt into John's arms as he strokes his soft hair. They just lie in silence on the small bed, tired but happy. The floor slumbers in his arms. John sighs. When Paul falls asleep, he kisses him lightly, almost weightlessly, on the forehead.
When his aunt comes into the room, he doesn't move away from Paul.
“What the hell?” she says when she sees the two guys hugging on the bed.
“He's just upset and tired. He's sleeping so soundly, I can't wake him up.” John whispers, still stroking Paul's hair.
“The hell with both of you. For the first and last time, Lennon. The first and last time.” Aunt mutters irritably, but closes the door anyway.
In the morning, Paul wakes up to women's screams.
“You're dragging this boy into our house like he doesn't have one of his own! What will people say? What if someone else saw you making out in bed? I'm afraid to even talk about it out loud, John! Someone else would have killed you! I don't want to see him at my house again! Do you hear? I don't want to see him! This is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord!”
“Oh, God…” McCartney whispers to himself.
He grabs his briefcase and jacket and goes down to the first floor.
“You don't understand what true friendship is! You don't have anyone to take care of! You don't know what love is! I'll do anything for him!” John shouts, and his voice doesn't even flinch, “It's not an abomination, it's a care!”
When she sees Paul standing in the hallway, she throws a cup at him, which he safely dodges. Shrapnel is flying everywhere.
“Get out! An abomination!”
Paul glances at John and slips out of the house. John looks first at his aunt, then at the slamming door, and hesitates for a couple of seconds, but still runs after him. When they are far enough away from home, Lennon is the first to start a dialogue.
“I'm sorry. She's not herself today.”
“It’s fine. She just almost killed me.” Paul sighs, quickening his pace, “Anyway, can't be late for school.”
“I guess you really shouldn't come to my place for a while. But never mind, I'll win back your right, okay? For now, I can bring my guitars to your place.”
“Sounds great. I'll ask my parents. I think they’ll allow it.”
At recess, in the cafeteria, the three of them are sitting very awkwardly.
“Well, at least Paul isn't pale now. He also eats lunch. You have a magical effect on him, Lennon. I'm glad you... reconciled.
“We didn't fight. They just were... small misunderstandings.” Paul mutters, his mouth’s full.
“Chew it first.” George replies in as neutral a tone as possible.
“Don't say anything unnecessary,” Paul thinks. And George knows more about John than he knows.
“Yes. We talked, now... we're friends again.”
“For the record... I noticed... that you’re... talking... with pauses…” George mimics. “So... There’s something... You're not telling... Lennon…”
“Well... George is my friend, so what was I supposed to hide? He's going to find me out anyway. Such a trait of his.”
“That's for sure.” George chimes in.
“And what did you tell him?”
Paul looks at Harrison. He looks back and says “You can't lie in front of me, McCartney.” with his eyes.
“I told you everything as it happened. How we kissed... And how I undressed you and left bites on your neck…”
“I don't blame you. Just so you know.” George mumbles again
“As if you could.” Lennon teases.”
“And that I didn't know what I feel.”
John and George both fall silent and turn their heads to Paul.
“So you didn't tell John you didn't love him, did you?”
“Was he supposed to tell me that?” Lennon asks, puzzled.
“It was just my friendly advice. If he didn't say it, then something made him not say it. Paul, tell me, do you love John?”
“George, not here. Someone could hear…”
“Do you love John, Paul?” Harrison says with his usual coolness, crossing his arms over his chest like a detective in an interrogation.
“I don't want him to leave me…”
“Paul McCartney, do you love John Lennon romantically?” George says firmly.
John looks for a glimmer of a positive response in Paul's eyes.
“I can't answer right away…”
“George, I don't think we should push him too hard. He's not feeling well.” John pats Paul lightly on the back.
“Okay. Self-examination can take forever. The truth to your best friend George Harrison may take a minute. Because I will never judge, never lie, and always accept. You don't have to tell me, Paul. We won't love you any less because you're afraid.”
“I'm not afraid, just... Everything is so complicated…” Paul mutters softly, “I don't know what to do, I don't know how to feel. I'm confused. I'm terribly confused.”
Paul abruptly runs out of the dining room. John is left alone with George.
“Oh, my God. I feel like a mother with you two. Although it's probably okay to question his position. Especially when the situation is so fragile and vulnerable.”
“Tell me, am I ruining everything? Maybe he's better off without me. And I need to run away from here, move, go to another school…”
“This mess is difficult for him. You didn't see how much he cried. You didn't see how bad it was for him. I was with him the whole time. Now, that's not exactly usual for him. You mean a lot to him. He can't do it without you. So you'll have to stay. And... don't go after him now. He needs space. Stay with me for now. Paul says I'm a good influence on people.”
“I'd kill myself with you.” John grumbles softly.
“You'd better eat. I don't want to catch another one fainting.”
“What you said... About the fact that Paul cried a lot... It's true?”
“What did he say about me?”
“He says the same thing every single day. That it's difficult for him, that he doesn't understand himself. Scary, incomprehensible, painful. It's all the same…” George sighs. “He just doesn't have a good girlfriend. Or you don’t.” George looks up.
“Maybe you think so. I read that your... differentnessity... can be fixed. I would like to help you, but you reject me. And I'm already helping Paul. I feel like he can't survive without me.”
“George, I appreciate your bluntness.” Lennon mutters timidly, “But I like my ‘differentnessity’. I'm not like all of them.” He waves his hands in the direction of people, “So maybe I love..” He lowers his voice to a whisper “Paul. And… This can't be fixed.”
“I'm not judging you, you know. I judged ‘it’ until you showed up, and Paul was like a caged tiger trying to escape, but not strong enough. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it can't be cured. But… Paul likes girls.”
“You didn't see the way we kissed, the way he held me, let me stroke my head, kiss a forehead, the way we slept in each other's arms... We're almost... He even saw me without my shirt on…”
“I understand. You're the first person he's trusted so completely. I'm not saying that Paul absolutely loves only girls. Maybe there are some people who love both boys and girls, and just… anyone. It’s important to listen to his every word. Honestly, I'll give up soon enough. I don't understand what's up with him.”
At this moment, Paul sits down at the table, face red of tears, and lays his head wearily on George's shoulder. His hair covers his face. Harrison pats him on the head. His eyes flicker toward the exit, indicating to Lennon that Paul needs to be alone with George right now. John slips out from behind the desk and disappears.
“My love, Paul McCartney... Why are you torturing yourself so much?” George says, in a low voice, with motherly tenderness, putting an arm round his shoulders.
“I can't do this anymore... I need to leave… Somewhere…”
“Funny, because that's what Lennon said to me ten minutes ago. You all like to run away from problems. How about solving them?”
“So. I understand that love and physical attraction are different things, but you have to understand that physical attraction is also a form of love. And without it, nonphysical love is only half of love. You made love to Dot. Because you loved her with everything you had. As hard as you could. And you were very attracted to her. Right?”
“You know what I mean. If you can't physically show love to John, then there is no love at all.”
“These experiments will break his heart…”
“This is a fifty-fifty success experiment. Maybe you can do it. And you'll both be happy at last, instead of taking turns whining at me in the cafeteria, where probably half the school has already heard our conversation. Paul, I know one thing. It's either you or him. And as your friend, I will choose you. You need to know. To try. To feel it. And to John... John is destined to be heartbroken. Because of his... differencenessity. I think we should go smoke and find this poor guy. He probably needs to calm his nerves, too. I have excellent tobacco.”
They walk behind the school when the bell rings for class. For the first time, Paul doesn't mention that he hates it when they smoke during school. Lennon trails behind.
“Now you need to put your thoughts together. So.” George takes a drag on his cigarette. “You're two of a bloody kind. So. Paul, I want you to turn to John, look him in the eye, and tell him what you want from him.”
Paul turns to John, slowly looking up at him. When their eyes meet, they can't tear themselves away from each other. Unexpectedly for himself, Paul breaks out:
“I want you to never leave my side, because I appreciate everything about you, your intelligence, your humor, your talent, your beauty, your everything, I want to be there for you forever, because that's how I feel.”
George grins in surprise, but doesn't say anything.
“And I really wanted to kiss you back then, because I feel like we have a deep connection that I only had with George, but on a more mundane level, and it's all my fault for not being able to figure it out! It's all my fault, John! I'm sorry, I don't want any misunderstandings between us!”
“Paul... I love you. In all possible and impossible ways.”
He hugs McCartney and buries his face in his neck. George smokes, watching intently, and nods approvingly to himself.
“Now we can go back to class.” George says, finishing his cigarette. “Next class.”
Lennon smiles cautiously at Paul, then sets his jacket down on the dead grass and the three of them smoke in silence until the next bell rings.
In the evening, John comes home to Paul. His father opens the door, still wearing his apron, and the house smells delicious.
“John, hello, come in! You can stay in Paul's room for a while, and I'll make dinner and call you.”
“Alright, Mr. McCartney.”
Paul is already waiting in the room.
“Hi.” Paul moves on the bed, freeing up space.
“Hi. Here. I brought it with me.” John puts the guitar against the wall.
“I made something up. And music, too. Do you want to play?”
“Go ahead. Show me what you've got there.”
Paul starts humming softly.
«Well I woke up late this morning
I lost my little girl...»
His eyes turn sad and he lowers his gaze. John pats him knowingly on the back.
“I miss her terribly... I'm having a hard time dealing with this... Everything was piling up on me…”
“I understand you. I'm with you. I'm here. I always will.”
Paul puts down his guitar.
“John... Can I ask you something?”
“Of course. Of course, ask away.”
“Have you ever done... well... it… with guys?..”
John is silent for a few seconds, staring at the wall.
“I... Uh.. I didn't do it... If we talk... you know... about sex…You're sure this is a good time to discuss it?… Because I'm actually here to comfort you.” Lennon grins bitterly, still stroking Paul's back.
“And you... Did you want to? Would you like to...?”
“I... I don't know.” John swallows.
“Would you do… it... uhm... With me?”
John's hand stops somewhere on the spine.
“I... yes... Yes, I'd like to do it with you, Paul.”
“Maybe… We should try to understand everything…”
“This is… a very unexpected offer... Are you sure? Are you sure you want it, and you know you're ready?”
“I think... yes... Yes, I'm ready…”
“Then here's what. If you feel uncomfortable, awkward, scared, hurt, anything, you say it, okay? You'll say, ‘John, that's enough, I don't want to.’ Alright?”
He stands up, his legs stiff and his hands shaking, and finally turns the latch on the door for the second time. Then he sits back down on the bed.
“Relax. I'm shaking right now too, see?” John holds up his hands, which shake slightly. “Remember that you can refuse. Any second now.”
John slowly lowers himself in front of Paul, unbuttoning his shirt, and it falls to the bed, revealing a young, naked, smooth body. Paul is watching John's every move intently. Lennon strokes him, then reaches up to kiss him, puts him on the bed, and lies on top of him. Paul pulls him closer, his hot body rubbing against John's shirt.
“We don't have long before dinner.” Lennon gasps.
Without a word, John unbuckles the belt of Paul's trousers and pulls them off completely. McCartney remains in his socks. He looks away, embarrassed.
“You have... You have a perfect body…” John babbles.
“And you got hard... so fast.” John looks down at Paul's groin.
John settles between his legs. Paul puts his hand over his mouth. He doesn't understand if he feels good, uncomfortable, scared, or hurt.
Suddenly, Paul comes, and his seed is all over John's shirt and face.
“Oh God, I got you dirty... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... It's horrible... Sorry…”
John wipes his face with his hand.
“It's alright. I just need some napkins.” Lennon grins.
“Yes, of course, here…” Paul rummages in the desk. “Here you go... Sorry…”
“Get dressed. I think we can go down for dinner. And... Did you like it?..”
Paul pretends not to hear. He just pulls on his clothes and they go down to the table.
“How's it going with your band, guys? Are you playing?” Father asks, putting dinner on plates.
“Yes, we hope that we will be invited somewhere soon. We already have enough repertoire.” John gibbers.
“You're doing great. Eat up. Don’t forget to remove the dishes from the table later.”
“Mr. McCartney, I think you forgot to take off your apron.”
“Oh, right. Thank you, John.”
The boys exchange glances, but Paul quickly looks down at his plate. He picks at his food again. After dinner, Paul forgets to put away his plate. In the room, he sits silently on the bed, John on the floor, and they don't look at each other.
“You should probably go home.” Paul says in an undertone.
“Why? We're having a good time.”
“It's late, I'm tired... and it's evening... Feels wrong…”
“Wrong? Did I do something bad?”
“No... Everything is fine... It’s just... Really, you'd better go home.”
“Alright… But…” he points to a fresh smudge that's clearly visible on his gray jacket.
Paul idly goes to the closet and pulls out a clean T-shirt.
“Here. You don't have to return it if you want.”
At recess, Paul smokes behind the school with George.
“That was your dumbest piece of advice.”
“So you... Just like that?..”
“Yes, and me... Accidentally... It lasted about two bloody minutes, and I did... Right on the face…”
“Ooh. Filth.” George grins with fake pathos.
“And I feel that between us... Something cracked.”
“You can be honest with me, Paul.”
“I liked the adrenaline rush... The fact that I thought my dad was about to come in…”
“My God, he was home then, too... Horrible.”
“He said that if I was embarrassed or scared, then I would have to stop him, but I couldn't, I just froze... Let it happen... I should have told you right away, shouldn't I?”
“I can't blame you. This is a new experience for you. You were interested. But I still recommend that you find a girlfriend and stop beating around the bush. You have to admit to yourself that you don't love him, and that you don't want him. This is the main thing. I can tell you this forever, because I see and analyze everything, but I can't make you believe my words at the snap of your fingers. Simply... stop torturing him. Stop torturing yourself.”
“I'm just a fool... An idiot... What should I do, what should I say?”
“Paul, I'm just your adviser. Not the builder of your personal life. Tell him all like it is.”
“I'm afraid of hurting him…”
“I'm already confused about your feelings myself.”
“I wish he didn't exist at all…”
“Yes, sometimes things are so complicated.” George pats him on the shoulder. “You can go to my place for another week and complain about yourself and Lennon. I'm already used to it.”
“We have to do something, don't we?”
George sighs, stomping on his cigarette with his boot.
“You're starting again. Grow a pair, already. Every time you're almost there, you turn around and see me, your sob vest. I'm always there. Do you want me gone?”
“I'll go mad without you.”
“I'll have to. I'll disappear. Not forever, of course.”
George leaves. Paul wants to turn around and yell at him not to leave, that he's going to go to John right now and tell him everything, but he knows perfectly well that he won't.
Paul thinks, and kicks the butt of George's cigarette.
As he returns home, he thinks about everything that has happened. They met, and on the first day, Paul got drunk at his house and fell asleep. John gave him a glass of water. That is, he already cared then. That is, even then he knew that he would fall in love. So Paul might have noticed all the signs earlier and stopped John. By his reckoning, it was all his own fault.
“If I tell him, he won't be in my life anymore, which means we won't be able to play together, make music and just be together. If I don't tell him, will it be even worse for both of us?” Paul is lying on the bed, looking at the wall, going over all the possible options in his head. “Maybe I love him? Then I would have enjoyed doing… it… with him... But if I don't love him, then why do I want him in my life? Then I love him. But I don't like guys. Then I don't like him But he's more than just the guy next to me. But he's a guy. What would George say to me? He'd say I was... Too categorical... Or that I think a lot... To hell with him. No, he's saying the right thing. Sometimes he's just too much... truthful."
Paul doesn't eat anything at school again. He's sitting alone at the table, poking mashed potatoes with his fork. His head is already spinning with hunger, but he still can't get the food down his throat. Just as he's about to faint from hunger, George appears and grabs him by the elbow.
“Not a day without your faithful George Harrison, is it?”
“I don't see anything…” Paul says.
“Because you're losing consciousness.” He sets him down on a chair and waves the textbook at his face. He hands him a glass of water.
Paul gulps down the cold liquid. Spills on his shirt because his hands are shaking. George disappears just as quickly when Paul wakes up.
“Was I imagining it or not?” Paul thinks . Sweat breaks out on his forehead.
Late at night, he's standing under John's house.
“I'll be right down! Hide before she notices!” Lennon shouts in a whisper.
After a while, he goes down to the street.
“Look, I was going to say... I'm sorry... Then... It was awkward…” John shifts from one foot to the other, both nervous and cold.
“John... We must disappear from each other's lives. Forever.”
“We don't have to see each other anymore.”
“But... Everything was fine, Paul…”
“I don't love you. I don't want you. It only makes me feel worse with you. I don't want to see you in my life anymore.”
“I'm sure.” Paul cuts off, eyes glued to the asphalt.
“Is it because of last night? I… I liked it…”
McCartney walks off into the night. Again. Just like then.
“Damn ‘ordinary’people. They're making it worse”, Lennon thinks as he walks into the house. Bloody Paul McCartney. To hell with him.”
At recess, Paul sits down at John's table.
“I can't live without you.”
“Tell me, Paul, are you kidding me?”
Paul falls unconscious on top of Lennon. He scoops him up in his arms.
“You should keep an eye on him if you love him. It's from hunger.” Harrison's voice comes from over John's shoulder. “The water revives him well.” He holds out the bottle.
“Yeah…” John says in confusion, gently running a wet hand over Paul's cheeks.
“Stop appearing and disappearing. It's scary.” John mutters to George, but his words hit the floor.
Paul opens his eyes and sees John standing in front of him. He looks around ─ the cafeteria is still the same, only now the students are looking at him askance as he lies in Lennon's arms. Paul gives John a silent hug. Then he stands up on his still weak legs.
“Want some?” He holds out a candy bar. “At least something. So that you don't fall again.”
“Yes.” He takes it with a trembling hand.
“So... Is it true? What you told me.”
“I'm not kidding you. Let's talk somewhere... In private.”
They go to the back of the school. Paul lights a cigarette.
“Listen... I... I want you in my life. Until I die. Or until you die. I'll never leave you. Do whatever you want with me. Kiss, do what you like... I'll love it too, because you're doing it. And I'll never stop you. I can't. See your eyes when you're sad... It's killing me. Please be with me. Forever. I'm afraid I won't have a life without you.”
“I love you, Paul…” he's clinging desperately to his last hope. Hugs Paul.
“Stay with me, John. I beg.”
“I will. I promise I will.” John mumbles into Paul's shoulder.
In the evening, John is sitting in Paul's room. Bites his earlobe. Paul sighs with pleasure.
Lennon bites his neck, kisses it, unbuttons his shirt, kisses his collarbone, chest, stomach. Stroking his torso, the soft skin seems to melt under the warmth of his palms and fingers. Paul shudders.
John takes him by the throat. He bites his lip, but doesn't kiss him. Gently presses him to the bed. Paul groans softly. He puts his hand on his throat. Pushes it harder.
Paul doesn't have enough air. John pushes anyway. Then he hovers over his face, stares for a few seconds, and sinks his lips into Paul’s.
“You're going to kill me like this…” Lennon whispers.
“Please continue…” McCartney croaks.
John takes off his trousers and underwear.
“I want to make love to you, Paul... Can I?..”
Paul undresses and gives away his body to John completely.
Fingers glide slowly, gently, with a fear of harm.
“I'll do it carefully... Remember?.. You can refuse at any time…”
His hands do filigree work for a man who has never done it before. Paul disintegrates into small particles beneath him, arching his back and yielding to gentle movements.
Paul clings to John's back with his hands.
His cum stains the sheet and Paul's stomach. It's still hovering over him.
“How are you feeling?” He lies down next to him.
“F-fine…” Paul reaches for his napkins and wipes what's on him. “It was a little painful, but then it went away.”
John silently brushes his hair back from Paul's forehead. When Lennon falls asleep, Paul stares at the ceiling.
Then he doesn't hold back. He cries softly, trying not to wake John.
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