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The frigid afternoon air frosted nearly every window over, leaving the glass cloudy and useless to attempt to peer through. It even seeped through the crannies beneath the doors, creating cold spots that refused to leave, not even with the persistance of a warm fire in the fireplace and the heater running at its highest setting that wasn't burn-your-house-down hot. Nothing seemed to completely remove the chill. Well, except for a few blankets, a couple cups of steaming tea and a seat placed precisely in front of the fire, that is.
And that was where Brian stayed, wrapped up in thick blankets up to his nose, curled into his plush recliner, mug of tea firmly clasped in his slowly-thawing hands. He stared thoughtfully into the crackling flames in front of him, brain going a mile a minute with worries or lists of tasks that needed to be finished by the end of the week.
There was so much to do, but so little time to do it. This coupled with the fact that Brian really didn't want to leave his house. The world had been horribly chaotic lately, with tour dates, recording sessions and press conferences that seemed never-ending. In some ways, it was. He just needed a break. And if that break was freezing to death whilst worrying, then so be it.
With a wistful sigh, Brian lifted the cup to his lips and took a slow sip of the tea, feeling the warmth travel through his limbs. This wasn't so bad, he decided. It was surely better than getting a migraine over some documents or being forced to put on a happy face for the nosy reporters.
Brian got to enjoy about five more minutes of this peaceful calmness when the door to the sitting room burst open quite abruptly and startled him out of his reverie.
His houseman, Lonnie, came stumbling in with a small package in his arms. He'd obviously been outside recently, for flakes of delicate white snow had accumulated on the shoulders of his jacket. Brian went to chastise him for entering without knocking, but held his tongue in favor of examining the parcel Lonnie was carrying over to him.
"What's that?" He murmured, voice muffled from the blankets wrapped around him.
"My apologies, sir. This was dropped off by Mr. Lennon earlier. He told me to give this to you the first chance I got." Lonnie explained, passing over the rectangular-shaped box.
Brian set his mug down, using both hands to take the package from him, his curiosity beyond piqued. John had... given him something? That was odd and almost completely out of character.
He mentally went through the list of possible holidays today was. Usually John would give him something on his birthday or Christmas. Today was neither of those days. Nor was it April Fools Day, so he could cross off this being something grotesque just waiting to jump out at him at the last second.
"Sir?"
Brian reluctantly pulled his gaze away from the present, meeting the concerned eyes of Lonnie.
"May I be dismissed, sir? Or is there something else you needed?" He questioned tentatively.
Brian shook his head. "Nothing else. You may leave. Thank you for delivering this to me." He added the last bit as a second thought, feeling a tad guilty that his houseman had to go in the blizzard outside.
Once the door clicked shut, and Lonnie was out of the room, Brian began frantically tearing open the box. It was like he was five again, getting presents on his birthday and wanting desperately to know what they were. Granted, this might not be a gift he'd want or need, but it was nonetheless exciting. Especially since it was from John.
Brian ripped the flaps of the cardboard open, reaching inside and retrieving... a book.
It was John's newest book of poems published: A Spaniard In The Works. It was definitely safe to say that Brian was somewhat confused. He'd already read this book once or twice despite not having it, and John knew this.
"Why did he..." Brian whispered to himself, carefully flipping through the pages. After skimming the book for some time, he reached one of the title pages, shocked to find a handwritten message.
Over top of one of John's doodles, namely a man's head with a horse's body and bird-like feet, was the guitarist's sloppy cursive scrawl, all done in blue pen. Brian blinked, worried that this was his imagination. Maybe from lack of sleep or too many uppers. But it was real.
The message was short, though it conveyed quite enough.
Brian
I hope yur ok?
PS Make sure you bloody read it!
Love
John
Now convinced that this may be some sick joke, some way for John to mock him more, Brian slammed the book shut, angrily tossing it across the room. It landed onto the floor with an untidy thud, away from the dark-haired man's line of vision.
But what if it wasn't a joke?
Brian sent the book a wary glance, unsure of what exactly to believe. He had been living like a recluse during the days that he usually spent his hours with the boys; it would make sense for anyone to worry. But not John. Never John.
John didn't do worry. Most of all, he didn't worry about his manager. That sort of thing was too uncharacteristic of him. It just made Brian want to ring the younger man and ask him what he did with the real John Lennon, because the John he knew would not be concerned over him.
There was that tiny part of Brian that wished John meant it, but he knew that he didn't. He didn't... right? That was incredibly hard to believe, with his heart and his head disagreeing very strongly over the situation. His head knew John didn't care, but his heart wanted to believe that he did. Why else would John send him a handwritten letter?
Brian thought sincerely about calling him, his gaze drifting towards the telephone sitting on a table near the door. Then doubt made its third or fourth appearance that night. John wouldn't actually want to speak with him. He usually never did. Well, not unless it was a discussion about money or information about their place on the music charts that month. But the book...
Tossing the blankets off of him, Brian shuffled over to the carelessly pitched item that wasn't too far away. The fall hadn't folded any pages or dented anything thankfully, he mused whilst flipping through the pages once again. When he reached the spot with John's message, he stopped. The words hadn't changed since the last time Brian had read them over, and it was almost pointless to over-analyze them. This was just John.
John whose rough, rugged exterior sometimes gave way to a much softer, loveable interior that had hardly been witnessed five or six times by Brian himself, each were indeed blessings in and of themselves.
John who was worried about him for some unexplicable reason, and went through the trouble of writing him and delivering a package. All were especially for Brian, and how could he not feel important? His eyes darted back to the phone, thoughtfully fiddling with the book in his hands as he attempted to make up his mind.
What would he even say? 'Hello, John, I got your message and I'm doing well, thank you'? It was just too uncomfortable.
Brian was about to abandon the book on a shelf somewhere when the phone rang, a shrill, high pitched noise that echoed about the room. He dropped the book anyways, leaving it on the nearest flat surface and scurried over to the telephone in sock-clad feet that slid precariously over the hardwood flooring beneath him. Picking up the receiver, Brian tentatively put it to his ear.
"Hello?" His voice sounded overly loud in the quiet room, making him flinch slightly.
"Bri?" It was hard to mistake that rough, gravelly tone of John's as it rattled over the phone. "Did you get the book?" He rasped without letting Brian get a word in. Typical. But today he sounded almost... nervous?
"Yes, John, I - " Once again, he was interrupted.
"Good, good," John seemed to be talking to himself. "Are you, then? Are you fine?"
Brian hesitated slightly, this was a new emotion he hadn't particularly experienced from the younger man. John was concerned. Seemingly sensing the pause, John spoke again, tone even rougher, as if it was hard to get the words out properly.
"You weren't in the studio today, you know." He added quietly.
"I know, John. If you wanted me there you could've told me, I –" Brian trailed off, staring down at the wood floors beneath him, feeling something of a blush creep up onto his face at the thought of being wanted in some way. It was all too overwhelming.
"We always want you there, Eppy. You just got me so fuckin' worried, you bastard! After what happened last time..." It was John's turn to let his words hang in the air without ending. They both knew what he was talking about.
The last time Brian didn't show up at the studio, he'd been lying in his bed, unconscious, overdosed on pills. Not only did that stunt earn him a trip to the hospital for weeks, John had also came close to crying in front of Brian as he lay there in his spotted hospital gown looking so weak and frail. In fact, Brian was sure he saw one or two tears slip without John's notice.
"I'm sorry, John, I hadn't realized... I – I will call next time," he said softly, soothingly, even though he wasn't sure he would actually remember to call the boys if he wanted a day by himself.
"You better!" John huffed. "Or I'll come down there and cripple ye myself! Fuck, Bri, don't do that!"
Brian nodded, even though John couldn't see it, and leant a hip against the table nearest to him for a more comfortable angle.
"I won't, John, I won't ever again. I'm not any of your concern, anyways." Brian pointed out, being as gentle as he possibly could so that he wouldn't anger John anymore.
It was like he had just poured gasoline onto an already burning fire, because John exploded.
"Don't you ever say that, you fuckin' – fuckin' – fuck. Bri you've always been me 'concern' and that ain't gonna change anytime soon." The sheer emotion in John's words was stultifying, nearly bringing Brian to his knees.
"Brian you know I love you! Why would you ever – I worry about you, you're all of my concern, bloody always!" John spluttered, and Brian's eyes went wider than they'd ever had before. Never, in all the years of knowing each other, had John expressed so much love.
"John," Brian breathed, pleasantly surprised to the core. His fingers now squeezed the receiver of the phone tight as he felt around for somewhere to sit, feeling all too dizzy to stand much longer.
"Christ, Eppy, do I need to come over there? Are you alright?" John asked firmly, voice strained.
Brian found his chair again, falling back into it rather gracelessly and letting his eyes flutter closed, trying his hardest to hold onto this moment for as long as he could. A weak laugh escaped his lips without much warning, and it was as cracked as the window adjacent that was frozen over with frost.
"Oh, John," he sighed. "John, I adore you. Please will you visit? It's far too lonely and cold by myself over here."
Not even a minute passed before John replied, "Of course, Bri, of course. Do you want me to bring anything?"
"No, no, I just need you. Only you."
The moment was so strangely intimate for both men, and it only made things better. It was as if they had been having these discussions for years. That they had always been this close. Perhaps they would have been if not for their worried indecision.
"I'll be right over, yeah?" John murmured before hanging up.
Brian exhaled a breath of air he hadn't known he'd been holding and put the phone back on its cradle, tugging the blankets back over him to warm back up. He returned his gaze to the crackling fire and waited for John.
FIN.