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A celebratory night for the Beatles. After their newest record climbed the charts and knocked over every song in its way, the band faced a staggering amount of success. For its members, it was all the more reason to celebrate, especially to John and Paul. Each time they heard their songs on the nearby radio, they would feel a surge of pride and excitement, their hearts singing “that’s us!” in a gleeful beat.
Thus, John and Paul snuck out of their party in the dead of the night to head into some nondescript pub with little to no notable décor other than a strange garden gnome sat atop the sign. After a few pints of Guinness that unfortunately sloshed and spilt onto the scratched wooden floor, John could say he was totally inebriated, Paul less so as he felt as though he needed to be the one sober enough to call them a cab if the need arose. Their legs wobbled like gelatin each time they went to the bar counter to ask more.
“Oi, bartender! Another pint!” said John, unknowingly bumping into a man twice his size. He crookedly glared at him. “Watch where you’re fucking going, mate.”
“Excuse me?” The hairy man asked, his bulky form towering over John. He must’ve been seven feet tall, or maybe that was John’s drunk mind playing tricks on his already shit eyesight. “You’re the one who bumped into me.”
“I wouldn’t have bumped into you if you weren’t stood there, sasquatch.” John drunkenly puffed his chest up and jabbed a finger into the man’s chest. Only then did Paul notice the commotion and started to look with a tight grip on his glass. What the hell was John getting himself into?
“Are you asking for a beating, lad?” The man asked, threatened even.
John barked with laughter. “As if you can fucking beat me, you pansy.”
In one swift movement, the man suddenly grabbed him by the collar of his dress shirt. John felt his heels rise from the ground as he was lifted up a bit and the man glared with a stone-cold, murderous look. John, ever the idiot rowdy drunk, didn’t feel threatened and only felt hot blood and alcohol in his veins, fists clenching and ready to collide with bone if ever a fight broke out.
By then, Paul was at full alert. He had long abandoned his glass and walked up to both men with a sense of urgency and worry. Fucking hell, John. Can’t stop getting into fights when he’s blotto, but what did he expect? It’s John, after all. Wilder and more aggressive than a bull seeing red. “Hey now, calm down. Don’t want to cause any commotion now, right chaps?”
The man sneered and shook John by the collar. “Dunno, if your friend right here would stop acting like a right nonce then maybe I wouldn’t bash a bloody table to his head.”
“Says you, baldy!” John rebutted. Paul pulled John away from the man, trying to hold him back as much as he could. He laughed when the man lunged for him but missed in his drunken stupor, landing on a table and breaking it in half instead. John howled with laughter and pointed at the man in mockery, hurling nonsensical insults that only aggravated the man more.
It felt as though all the alcohol-induced buzz in Paul’s body left him as he tried to steer the men apart from each other, only resulting in an exchange of bottles thrown in each other’s way. Glass crashed and beer spilt everywhere as bottles flew in the air like missiles ready to strike. “John, for fuck’s sake!” Paul grabs the bottle from John’s hand and tries to muster all the strength he had to carry him away from the commotion.
By then, the bartender had enough of all the ruckus and grabs John by his abused collar again and drags him across the floor. Paul frantically follows after him before both of them get shoved out of the door and hit the street ass first.
“That’s enough for you lot!” The bartender yelled angrily, face turning comically red. “And stay out!”
“You fucking dickhead, you just kicked out Britain’s rising superstars!” John grabbed a stone and pelted it at the pub’s window, causing it to crack. The bartender glared at the crack before John flipped him the finger and stuck his tongue out like a child. ”God, can you believe him? He kicked us out, of all people!”
“Christ, it’s alright, Johnny. Calm down, yeah?” Paul sighed, knowing that John was beyond reason when drunk. He took a long swig from the bottle he took from John’s hands and shook his head. “I think it’s getting late anyway, so we might as well head back. We still got work tomorrow and all that.”
John shrugged and seemed to have surprisingly calmed down a bit.
“Your place or my place?”
“Mine,” Paul replied.
“To home, then.”
“Home, huh? What makes you think it’s home?”
“You’re there,” John admitted. “Anywhere you are is home for me.”
The bassist blushed and bumped John in the elbow. So he was home to John. Home is where the heart is, he heard him say several times. “I don’t understand you. One minute you’ve got lose screws, the next minute you’re sappy.”
“You’ve got to get used to it if you wanna love me, Paulie.” John cooed, drunkenly blowing kisses in his direction. “I’m the complete package. You’d have to be daft not to want me, the illustrious John Lennon.”
“Luckily I’m not daft then.” Paul snickered and kissed him on the cheek.
They continued walking down the street, kicking pebbles and idly talking about whatever comes to mind. If it wasn’t for the alcohol warming him up, then he would’ve complained about the nippy October air by then. Paul emptied the drink in his hand and tossed the bottle into a nearby bin with a loud rattle. They walked farther until Paul stopped in his tracks. He heard something, but he didn’t know what.
“Do you hear something?” asked Paul, brows knitted as he tried to make out the sound. “Got a better pair of ears than me?”
John squinted in an attempt to focus on the music. He heard slow violins, pianos, and a lovely voice that sounded like Doris Day. Hold on, it was Doris Day and Buddy Clark! John gestured for Paul to follow him as they moved closer to the source of music until they stopped in front of a house. “Must be one of those old souls listening to music from their time.” John tugged Paul’s sleeve excitedly. “Anyway, wanna dance?”
Paul pulled a face. “Wait, here?”
“Yeah, here. I’m feeling drunk and a bit romantic tonight.”
“Hold on, let’s be careful.” Dancing intimately in public with a man was dangerous, especially around these areas. Paul looked around and checked if any houses had their lights turned on or if anyone was still walking around in this ungodly hour. “What if someone sees?”
“It’s the middle of the night. Not like anyone’s—” John cupped his hands to his mouth and exclaimed— “AWAKE!”
Paul frantically smacked his palm against John’s lips. He brings a finger to his lips and shushes him several times. “Shut your gob! Are you trying to wake everyone!?”
John smiled and kissed the palm before removing it from his face. “I’m trying to prove a point, lovey.” He grinned. “Nobody’s up and about to see us dance around, so take my hand, will ya? I’ll make you feel like the prettiest boy in prom.”
Paul shook his head in laughter, grinning at the stupidity of everything. He took John’s hand and slung an arm around his neck. John’s hand slithered to Paul’s flank, resting at the very bottom of his back. “You’d make a horrible prom king,” He muttered under his breath.
John pouted in mock-hurt. “Hey now, I’m handsome, charming, and one hell of a dancer.”
The bassist rolled his eyes. “You step on my feet, even when you’re sober.”
“Touche.” They laughed and started to slowly sway to the music. The street was silent, save for the gramophone working in one of the homes. Paul’s head rested on John’s shoulder as he hummed softly to the tune of the familiar song. John hummed along of course, slightly out of tune as he was drunk.
He looked up to see a dim light illuminating their path as they danced around it and John can’t help but feel the sappy romantic in him sigh dreamily as the whole setting was perfect. Dancing in the street to one love song after another until their feet get tired with the moon shining above them. Mr. Moonlight was truly beaming on them after all.
“Look at us, we’re dancing alone under the moonlight. Isn’t this romantic?”
Paul raised his head and looked up to the sky, seeing no moon as it was a cloudy night. “Sky’s cloudy, love. What moonlight are you talking about?”
“Well, what the fuck is that then?”
John pointed up and Paul looked in its direction before he saw what John meant. He snorted loudly before almost collapsing in peals of laughter, John trying to hold onto him in confusion. “That’s a streetlamp!”
John squinted at the light, trying to determine whether it was a celestial body or some fucking metal pole with fluorescent lights. “Agh, there’s no difference.” Can’t see shit without his glasses as usual. “Just imagine we’re dancing by the river Seine under a starry sky and not a puddle and a streetlamp. Imagine Paris. Sounds good enough?”
Paul chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, sounds lovely, that.”
Boots clicked on cobble once more as they resumed dancing. The music fittingly changed to Edith Piaf to fit their mood as they reminisced of Paris, their first little honeymoon together. John knew it wasn’t too long ago, but it already felt like they needed to come back again. “One day, we’ll be so rich that we could fly off to Paris and live like kings.”
“Oh, y’know what the French do to the monarchy, love.”
“I know. Off with their heads.” John sighed dramatically. He placed his hand on Paul’s cheek and affectionately rubbed it with his thumb. “Shame if you lose that pretty head of yours. I’ll miss it.”
Pul hummed. “I’ll miss my head too.”
“I’ll miss your lips the most.”
“Mhm, why is that?” Paul grinned.
John’s hand lost its hold on Paul’s as he used it to cup the other cheek before moving in for a kiss. No matter how many times they’ve kissed before, a million fireworks still explode in his stomach and the sparks light him on fire. It’s thrilling, it’s powerful, it’s what you’re supposed to find in a kiss. Paul reciprocated by kissing back, smiling into it as he does. It takes a while before they look at each other, eyes glimmering like stars against the dark sky. Hazel meets honey and they look at each other with such love and adoration that it feels wrong to break away.
They felt as though the world was their stage and they could dance wherever and whenever they pleased. Tonight was their night, a special night meant for them and only them to enjoy in each other’s company.
“That an answer enough?” John smirked.
“I got your answer loud and clear.”
John buried his nose into Paul’s neck and gently kissed it. Paul ran his fingers through John’s auburn hair as they continued to sway. They shared a comfortable silence as they closed their eyes and lived in the moment. This could be the only time they could be this affectionate in public. John hoped for a positive future with Paul in it, a future where he could shower him with love even if a million eyes are dead set on them.
For now, they’ll settle for slow dancing in the dark.
“I swear, Paul. We’ll climb the charts together and the music industry would eat up anything we make,” John promised. “Nothing’s impossible if I have you by my side.”
“Never gonna leave you, Johnny. Just two of us forever, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The bassist tilted his head and inched closer for a kiss. John smiled inwardly before pulling away to pepper his faces with kisses. A kiss on the cheek, a kiss on the nose, a kiss on the forehead, a kiss again and again until Paul reciprocated with his own shower of kisses. Kisses everywhere! This was silly, but Paul loved it and John was enjoying it.
“Where to, Johnny?”
“To the toppermost of the poppermost!”
They giggled like mad, drunkenly running their way home hand in hand, grins plastered on their plastered faces. They might’ve almost tripped a few times as they ran through the cobbled streets, but they clung onto each other as they wildly howled and cheered for the success of their partnership. If their partnership proved to be a smash hit then, who knows what the future had in store?
Neither men knew, but this was only the beginning of the cementing of their names in history. As time would pass, it would become harder to separate the two from each other. The greatest duo in the world will forever be known as…
Lennon-McCartney.