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Night had long fallen by the time the band filed out of the club where they had played that night, staying behind to drink a couple of pints as the crowds slowly drained to a minimum.
George had left early, wanting to get back home before it was too late, not wanting to disturb his sleeping family. They’d dropped Colin off at a bus stop too, having seen one of the last buses running his route making its way up the road, it made sense that he should just get on there instead of walking further and waiting longer at the central bus terminal. Colin’s departure had left just John and Paul, warm from the beer they had been drinking previously, wandering the streets of Liverpool as they trailed their way to the terminal where their buses, some of the last of the night, would pick them up from.
Paul made his way to his stop, checking the timetable against his watch. “Fuck”, he muttered, loud enough for John to hear. “When’s yer bus John?”
“You check, I can’t see, can I? Left me specs at home” he replied, leaning against one of the stands.
Rolling his eyes, Paul made his way over and checked the time. John’s bus was in 7 minutes, which would leave him waiting alone, in the cold, windy, early Spring air.
“Go on then, when does me bus get here?”
“Seven minutes, not long really...”
“And yours?”
“Half an hour or so, think I just missed the one before.”
“Come ‘round mine then” John asked coolly, not a tone of bother in his voice about the lack of permission from Mimi.
“Ah John, I’ll be fine out here. ‘S only twenty minutes or so after yours”
“Jus’ come mine, walk home in the mornin - yer da and Mike’ll be asleep now anyway…”
“If you insist , Johnny.” he replied with a light, breathy laugh in his voice, flashing a quick smile towards his friend.
Before long, they had arrived at Mendips, and had successfully snuck into John’s room without alerting Mimi. John had searched around his drawers for some pyjamas for Paul to wear, conscious of both the cold temperature outside and Paul’s own comfort. In the dim light of his bedroom, he could tell Paul was still tipsy. The cold air and walk from the bus stop had done little to sober him up - he’d probably had the most to drink out of the two of them anyway. Something in John was extremely relieved that he’d taken Paul home, not wanting to leave the lad drunk and alone and trying to get home - he’d probably have dozed off at the stop and spent the night sleeping there, freezing to death with only his thin leather jacket for warmth. Paul had placed himself in the middle of John’s bed, legs crossed and arms to either side, but with enough room for John to join him, a perfect space directly opposite him. It was a Friday night and it hadn’t even gone midnight, of course Paul wouldn’t want to sleep (and neither did John). Placing himself in the space Paul had made for him, he followed in crossing his legs and made himself comfortable. God, Paul looked good in his pyjamas. Cute, maybe, with his hair messed up from their walk home. Like a smaller Elvis - that’s what had drawn him to Paul in the first place; even without his glasses, he looked like Elvis, the man who graced his bedroom walls and record collection.
“How.. How d’ye think we played tonight then?” asked Paul, desperately wanting to converse with John, hating the settled silence.
Gently motioning at him to hush a little, as to not wake Mimi, he was drawn out of his thoughts. “Good, I guess, crowd seemed to like us anyway.”
“Mmm, yeah… Think they liked you most… all you do on stage, you’re like a variety show… Music, comedy, ‘dancing’, the whole works.”
“Hardly, Paul… They were all pissed anyway, coulda put one of yer little grammar school mates up there and they’d think he was better than Elvis, Fred Astaire n’ Benny Hill all in one.”
Stifling a laugh, Paul placed his hands behind him so he could lean back, allowing him to gaze at John without being too suspicious. “No, ye really are good.”
“Couldn’t play guitar ‘til I met you though, could I?”
“I jus’ helped… Wouldn’t have met if you couldn't play at all.”
“Hm…” John replied, thinking about the possibilities of them never meeting. “We’d have met eventually, Ivan or Pete or someone woulda introduced us along the line.” His eyes refusing to meet Paul’s after bringing up such a deep idea, his vision darting around the room, everything… practically everything could connect back to Paul. His records, guitar and posters were obvious, music brought them together. His sketchbooks? Meeting around the back of the inny and art college at lunch breaks. The stacks of books on his shelf? Well… Paul was studious… The growing collection of Wilde’s work? The small, well loved copy of Giovanni’s Room? Something John was too afraid to address.
Paul was unsure of what to do, berating himself for bringing up such a topic. They had become fast friends, spending so much time together, in and out of school, outside of practicing, just the two of them, playing music, writing songs, listening to John’s stolen record collection, sneaking out of classes to drink coffee at the Jac, or beer at one of John’s many regular haunts. They had instantly connected, in constant awe of each other. As soft as it sounded, and he’d never tell John this, he couldn’t picture his life without him, even after barely a year of knowing each other.
“Yeah. I think the same, ‘s like fate…” Paul noted, wanting to draw their minds elsewhere, albeit unsuccessfully. John’s gaze was still flitting around the room, like a stunned moth, not wanting to stick to such a sensitive topic. On the other hand, Paul was still gazing towards John, alcohol running through his system still, just taking in all that John was.
Something deep inside Paul was urging him to give in to that feeling that was born soon after they’d first met, something he couldn’t get rid of despite all he tried. There was a strain of confidence pulsing through him, persuading him to just give in to his desires and kiss the other man.
“John…” Paul softly spoke, allowing the word to hang in the air, simply saying it to recapture his attention. John drew his gaze from his bedroom floor to Paul, looking at him inquisitively.
“Yer never gonna get rid of me now, Macca, ‘m here forever.” joked John, masking his fears and breaking his own silence, causing Paul to laugh.
Throwing all his anxieties to the wind, Paul pushed himself forward, stabilising his arms beside John, and with little hesitation, he gently pressed a kiss to the very end of John’s mouth. The contact of lips upon skin was immediately sobering. Before John could even process the chaste kiss, Paul had recoiled at his sudden boldness, preparing to make a swift exit and run back home.
“I dunno what came over me John, I- It wasn’t meant like that, I’m not a- a-”. Paul stuttered out, heart pounding in his chest.
“Kiss me again Paul” replied John, cool as ice.
“N-no!! What for? It wasn’t like that… I’m not like... that …”
“Paul. Kiss me again.” He insisted.
Something in Paul’s mind clicked. This wasn’t joking, cruel, outside John. This was sensitive, loving, real John. The man Paul had crushed on ever since he laid eyes on him last summer. He wasn’t upset, wasn’t freaked out. He was inviting him to kiss him again. And like a flame to gas, the boldness he had felt before was re-ignited. He was going to reach out and grab this opportunity.
“No John… You kiss me .”
Paul’s boldness was shared by John now; his guards were let down. To him, Paul was a better Elvis. This kinder, better Elvis had just invited him to kiss him, and all the nerves in his body couldn’t stop him. A smile gracing his lips, he pulled Paul closer and kissed him. Shy at first, unsure of where to put his hands. He’d kissed birds before, but only dreamed of kissing another lad, dreams he pushed down and out of his mind for as long as possible. With every kiss, John grew more self-assured, more confident in what he was doing. More sure that this was natural - bar the obvious, how was this any different to kissing a girl? He wrapped his arms around Paul’s waist, holding him closer, letting the night take its own course. If this moment could last forever, he’d be the happiest man ever. Just he and Paul, that’s all that mattered.
The sun was rising; Paul was awake, reliving last night in his mind. He knew he’d have to depart soon, before Mimi saw him, or his dad and Mike realised he wasn’t home. To his side was John, arms draped loosely around him, caught in a deep slumber. The light that shone through the curtains danced upon his face, and he wanted to do nothing more than just kiss him again. Propping himself up on his elbows, he watched John sleep, everything was peaceful. It was as if the only other beings awake were the birds outside, gently making music to fill the air. John was stirring, slowly awakening, having prepared himself to wake up earlier than normal to see Paul off. As his eyes slowly opened, he was greeted by Paul’s gentle smile, happiness surrounding him.
“Hiya Johnny…” Paul simply said, voice still tired, interrupting himself with a yawn.
Something inside John’s stomach dropped. He’d been mulling over his own sexuality for months, supported by his books and knowledge about artists and the secret gay scene of the city. Panic rang through his body as he recalled the events of the previous night. Everything had happened too fast. This had cemented the fact that John knew he wasn’t just straight, and for his mind at something-past-six in the morning, it was too much to handle.
“You’ve gotta go now Paul… You… y’ need to just go” he spat out, watching Paul’s expression twist with confusion
“But last night, John? I won’t need to leave for a while yet… Do you wanna…?”
“It.. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right for me… It didn’t work.” He quickly responded, anxiety flooding his body and mind once again. “There’s clean clothes in the middle drawer… Grab a shirt and just… just go home. Please”
“Oh. I’ll- I’ll go and change in the bathroom then… I’ll leave the pyjamas…” he replied, hopping out of the small bed and grabbing his guitar, jeans, shoes and a t-shirt, before silently making his way to the bathroom.
John sunk back into bed, his heart and mind split into two, completely and utterly overwhelmed. Paul made his way out of the house as quietly as possible, with John watching him leave the street and make his way home.
“Well done John Lennon…” John said to himself, bitter in tone. “You’ve lost everything yet again.”
Paul slowly made his way across their shortcut - the golf course - between his and John’s house. Tears streamed down his face, anger and sadness residing in him. He blamed himself. What came over him to be so stupid as to kiss John? At least it was a Saturday. He didn’t have to see anyone but Jim and Mike for practically two whole days, and even then he could hole himself away in his room under the excuse of doing homework. On a normal weekend, he’d be practicing with the band or just spending countless hours with John, but clearly John wanted nothing to do with him and neither of them were in the mood to be practicing their music. George would probably call around, and Paul supposed he could compose himself to try and enjoy time with him for a few hours, but apart from that, he wanted to disappear forever.
John felt much the same, cursing himself for being so blunt to Paul. Paul had initiated their kisses, invited him for more. Nothing could be clearer than the fact that Paul wanted John, and yet John’s early morning crisis had completely ruined everything. There was no more hiding from it now. It wasn’t just him thinking Elvis was hotter than hell itself, or his longing for Gene Vincent, James Dean and Marlon Brando. He had kissed another bloke, and enjoyed it. He didn’t want to leave his room, he just wanted to cry about the stupid mistake he’d made by pushing Paul away. At least he only had to see Mimi and nobody else. He could skip college, cancel meeting up with the band, anything to isolate himself from the world outside.
Monday soon rolled around, Paul had pretended to be ill to avoid school, just in case he saw John loitering by the gates, or if George wanted to ask him about why he was so sullen the day before. Admittedly, he’d been rotten to George, but it’s not like he could explain himself, even if they were best mates. He’d have to see him the next day anyway, but at least he had time to come up with a cover story. John had decided days ago he was definitely not going to go to College. He couldn’t even bring himself to listen to any records or watch TV; barely touching his food when Mimi called him down for dinner and tea each day.
Paul had left his jacket on the back of the chair in his room, something John was so grateful for. Such a small thing brought him stupid amounts of comfort, something to hold at night, as if it were Paul himself, and the tiny amount of hope that Paul would call around to pick it up, and John could try to explain himself and apologise.
“Oh. It’s Monday ” John thought to himself. “That means Jim and Mike are out and... I could just go over and build up the courage to apologise to him myself”. Paul would definitely be in, he just knew that he'd also stayed home. Forcing himself from his bed, he made his way to the bathroom to freshen up a bit, just for Paul. He didn’t even know what to say, but god, he hoped Paul would forgive him. Had times been different, maybe he would have serenaded him, sang a love song for all of Allerton to hear. All he knew is that he’d climb up that drainpipe, and refuse to get down until Paul let him in. He knew full well that the window was always left on a latch, but suddenly appearing in Paul’s house was a recipe for disaster. With Paul’s jacket in hand, he set off.
Getting up the drainpipe wasn’t the issue, as much as he wished that was all he had to worry about, it was Paul’s reaction he cared about. Realistically, he could just knock at the door, but was he going to? Definitely not, just in case Jim was in. The secrecy that sneaking in and waiting for Paul held was much more favourable, and at least if he got rejected then it wouldn’t add to the humiliation he already felt. As he walked up to Paul’s house, he desperately tried to gather all the courage he could. He was going to sort this out and make amends. The bond he and Paul had couldn’t be ruined forever. Inching his way up the pipe, he could hear Paul moving around in his room. Hopefully that meant he’d hear his knocks on the window, and much to his luck, he did. After a few knocks, he could see the bathroom door opening, and Paul moving closer to the window.
“Oh, Hi John…” He started, somewhat monotonous, unsure of what to do. His usual cheerful expression was gone, replaced with a sad tinge, John noted.
“I’ve come to explain and.. And apologise… Will you let me in, please?” He replied, before adding “You left your jacket too, I’ve, uh, got it with me now.”.
“Fine. Pull yourself in. Jim n’ Mike are out.” Paul stated, and John could tell how upset and humiliated he still was. He followed Paul into his bedroom, sitting on the bed as Paul took the chair, neither of them saying a word.
Paul refused to break the silence, leaving it all up to John, who still held Paul’s jacket, unsure of what to do with it now they were together.
“Uh… Paul…” John began, trying to mask the frustration in his voice. “Remember when y- Remember when you kissed me?” He spoke out, the final two words said in an almost whisper.
John’s question was met with no answer, Paul was visibly on the brink of tears, becoming flushed with humiliation once again.
“Paul….”
“Yes, John. I do.” He bluntly responded, to which John’s heart broke a little more. He just didn’t know how to phrase what he wanted to say, and was trying to kill time but clearly was just making Paul more upset. “It makes me feel so fuckin’ bad, John. Really bad.”
John could’ve leapt over and held him at that, deeply needing to comfort him for the rest of time, but knew Paul needed his space at a time like this, knew that Paul needed room to talk.
“You said it didn’t work for you. I understand, John. We were drunk, You’re not a… You’re not a queer.”
“Paul… Paul that’s why I’m here!” John replied, allowing the truth to spill from his lips. “I lied, that morning. I woke up and saw you there and I didn’t know what to do. It’s all so new and you’re...you’re you. I didn’t want you to get hurt… I didn’t want you to stress yourself, but I guess I did that anyway…” He explained, everything coming straight from his heart.
Paul remained silent, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves, completely unsure of what to do or what to say. He was so sure that John wouldn’t want anything to do with him, that he’d be forgotten and have to try to explain to everybody about what happened with a believable story.
“Could- Could I just kiss you? Please?” John delicately asked.
Paul nodded a response, moving away from the window and making room for John, a small smile forming. John slowly, cautiously cupped Paul’s face with his hands, pressing a tender kiss against his lips. Relief flooded them both. The past few days had seemed to last an eternity, yet here they were, kissing once again. Gently pulling away, Paul wrapped his arms around John, pulling him in for another kiss, more confident this time. Once they had broken apart, one of the most genuine smiles John had ever seen was gracing Paul’s lips.
As he sat back on Paul’s bed, he noticed the t-shirt Paul had borrowed lying by his pillow. He let out a small laugh, mixed with a sigh of relief, as he reached out to hold Paul’s hand. Paul graciously accepted John’s advance, and lightly squeezed his hand, to which he responded with the same, as if to say: ‘We’ll be okay.’ ‘We’ll get through this.’ ‘This is the very start of an I Love You.’