Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Five men walked down a moonlit street, joking around and laughing.

"So where should we go tonight?" One of them asked.

"How 'bout Martha's?" Another replied all too quickly.

"You just want to flirt with the new singer, eh Mike?"

"Shut up Benmont." Mike grumbled.

"You know she made it pretty clear she wasn't interested." Benmont continued.

"What new singer?" Another man asked.

"You see, that's what happens when you're late to practice Tom. You miss important announcements." the fourth one joked.

"Will you knock it off Randall?" Tom replied, "I came 10 minutes late. It's not the end of the world."

Randall just laughed.

"So, Martha's?" The fifth one asked.

The others agreed and headed towards the bar.

Time skip

(Tom P.O.V.)

All five of them walked into Martha's Bar, a small but homey place where there was live music and alcohol all night. As they went in, he noticed a (y/h/c) haired woman strumming her guitar and singing. Another woman, a blonde one, sat by the drums behind her.

The five of them took a small table near the bar, ordered drinks and watched the two performers. Tom gazed at the singer, who was supposedly Mike's latest flame. She looked eerily similar to a distant memory that he had locked away years ago. A memory that still hurt to think about. Then it hit him.

(Y/n).

That soft (y/h/c) hair, those mischievous dark eyes he had last seen four long years ago, and that voice. That sweet and gentle voice that carried so much emotion, yet could still belt out Joplin's Greatest Hits at any given time. How could he have forgotten that?

(Y/n) hadn't changed much. Her hair had grown a bit longer, and her skin was paler after so long in cold, grey England, but she still looked just as beautiful as she did that summer afternoon when they had said their final goodbyes. How had he not known that she was back? Wouldn't she have called him? Yes, they had lost contact over the years, mainly due to expensive phone calls and not being able to afford plane tickets, but surely she would have called him if she was coming home, wouldn't she? Maybe she had moved on, even if he hadn't.

But now Mike was after her. A knot of jealousy twisted in his stomach as he saw his friend ogling (y/n).

"So, is that the singer you were talking about." Tom asked nonchalantly.

"Yeah." Mike replied, still not taking his eyes off (y/n).

"Do you even know anything about her?" Randall asked.

"Yes, in fact I do." Mike said indignantly, "I know that her name is (y/n) (y/l/n) and she recently moved back here from England, where she studied... something to do with music, I think. Now she works at the radio station and plays at this dive twice a week."

"You got all that from the two minute conversation you had last time?" Benmont questioned.

"Nah, I asked Martha about her."

"Stalker." Benmont muttered into his glass and the others laughed.

(Y/n) finished her song in a round of applause. The microphone buzzed as she adjusted it.

"Thank you. The next song is one of my own. It was originally performed during my time with the Professor Milks Band" (y/n) said, before jokingly adding, "Don't judge the name, we were completely wasted when we came up with that."

The crowd laughed and (y/n) started plucking the strings of her guitar with a wry smile on her face. After so long in the UK, he noticed that she had picked up a slight accent. Then (y/n) started singing again. She sang a bittersweet tune of love and loss, of fights and reconciliation, of leaving and returning. And as she was singing, her eyes wandered across the room, finally meeting his and lingering there. A look of confusion spread across her face before changing to recognition. She immediately lowered her gaze, a sad look in her eye, but she kept on singing. When the song ended, she looked around the bar again, a small smile playing in her lips.

"And that's a wrap." (y/n) said, taking her guitar off, "Thank you all for coming and I'll be back on Tuesday."

She climbed off the stage, stowed away her instrument and started chatting with the drummer, who seemed to be a friend of hers. After a while, (y/n) broke off from her friend and headed to the bar.

"A radler please." They heard her say.

"And that my cue." Mike said with a smirk, and headed towards the bar.

"Good luck." One of his friends laughed.

The knot of jealousy in Tom's stomach tightened.

"I need some fresh air," he said, not wanting to witness his friend flirting with his ex.

The others barely paid attention to his leaving. They were too busy eavesdropping on the conversation between Mike and (y/n). With a sigh, Tom headed outside into the cool night air. Ten minutes and a couple of cigarettes later, he decided to go back into the bar. He was sure that (y/n) had recognized him, and knowing her, she would want to talk. A part of him had been looking forward to seeing her again after such a long time, but another part wanted desperately to go home and avoid an awkward conversation. Then again, he couldn't just ditch his friends without giving them an explanation, so he chose to head back inside. 'If she really isn't interested in Mike like Benmont said, the conversation would be over by now' he thought to himself. But as he headed back to their table, he saw Mike still at the bar, talking to (y/n) who was lazily sipping her beer.

"...so what do you think?" Mike was saying.

"I think that's a sweet offer, but as I said before, I'm not interested." (y/n) replied, "And to be completely honest, you're not really my type."

The knot in his gut unclenched when he heard her turn him down. Mike started to say something else but (y/n) set down her beer, turned around and began heading back to the small stage.

"Tough luck." Benmont said as Mike sat down again.

"Shut up"

With a suppressed grin on his face, Tom headed back through the crowd to their table. He had almost arrived when someone walked right into him, causing them both to stumble backwards.

"Oh, sorry about that" The young woman said before looking up. It was her.

"Tom?" (y/n) asked incredulously.

"(y/n)" he replied. As usual when speaking with (y/n), it seemed that all thoughts left his brain.

"Oh wow. Long time no see." She said and went to hug him. He wrapped his arms around her awkwardly.

"Yeah, what's it been? Four years?"

"I'm sorry for not calling more often." (y/n) said with guilt written all over her face.

"Don't be sorry, I should have called more too."

"Wait up... you two know each other?" Mike cut in.

"Umm, yeah, we used to go out." (y/n) said.

"Damn it Tom. You get all the cute girls, don't you?" Mike said and turned sulkily to the bar.

"Sorry about him" he apologized to (y/n).

She just laughed. "Don't worry about it. My friend acts the same way sometimes."

"Maybe we could set them up." He joked and they both laughed. He had forgotten how easy it was to talk to (y/n).

"Hey, do you think I could buy you a drink? For old times sake" he asked

"Yeah, I'd like that." she replied with a small smile.

They took a small table in a corner and talked for hours on end. She told him about college in England and he caught her up on how things were going with Mudcrutch. They reminisced about they're high school days and talked about how much Gainesville had changed. After a while (y/n)'s friend came over and said she was leaving. Shortly after, his friends announced they were going home as well. Mike shot (y/n) another look of longing and they walked out of the bar.

"It's getting late, isn't it?" (y/n) said.

"Yep, it's already after midnight." He told her, glancing at his watch.

"Time flies when you're having fun." she said, "But I do think I should be getting home. I've got work at 7 tomorrow."

"Let me walk you home." He offered.

"Thanks" she replied with a smile.

After paying for their drinks, they walked through the moonlight streets in silence, taking in their surroundings. It was a beautiful night. The sky was cloudless and in this small town you could see millions of stars. A cool summer breeze blew down the road as they walked and (y/n)'s hand slipped into his. Tom glanced down at her, but her eyes were focused on the sky, a smile playing on her lips. It seemed so natural, just walking through the night, hand in hand, with (y/n).

"Remember in high school, you used to sneak out of the window almost every night so we could go see a movie or go to the arcade?" he asked.

(y/n) smiled at the memory. "Yeah, my parents never found out. The next morning they would always wonder why I was so tired."

He laughed.

"I forgot how beautiful it was here" (y/n) said after a while.

"Here? Really? Four years ago you were dying to get out of here."

"I'm still dying to get out of here, but I'm not going to deny that it's beautiful."

"Yeah, it really is a lovely night" he agreed and they fell into a comfortable silence again.

"Oh, this is me." She said pointing to an apartment building on the right.

"I had a great time tonight, you know." (y/n) said.

"Yeah, me too. Do you think we could do it again? Maybe with dinner next time?"

"Are you asking me out on a date?" She asked, raising her eyebrows playfully and he took his chance.

"If you accept, then yes."

"Yes, I accept."

As they stood facing each other on the doorstep, he couldn't help noticing how beautiful she was. Her (y/h/c) hair was silver in the moonlight and her eyes sparkled with the light of a million stars. He suddenly found himself leaning in and (y/n) met him halfway. It was a sweet kiss, but it left them both breathless.

"Are you still dying to get out of here?" he whispered.

"I guess I could stick around a bit." (y/n) replied softly.

Chapter Text

"I just realized something." (y/n) said one night as they were sitting on her porch just like had many years ago.

"Mhm?"

She took another drag from her cigarette and blew smoke into the air.

"You're my soulmate." she said, turning to face him.

"What?" he replied, forcing a laugh. She had to be kidding. Right?

"I mean it. Life keeps throwing us together again," she said with a shrug, "I move to Berlin, I end up back here. In highschool, my dad forces me to transfer schools, I get expelled-"

"To be fair, you used a fire extinguisher as a motor for a chair race. I doubt that it was fate."

"Are you trying to argue against fate?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Well..."

"You can't fight destiny, Tommy. You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not."

He couldn't help but smile at that. (y/n) had a nice way of looking at things, even if they didn't seem particularly magical, she sure could make them sound so.

"Well, I guess you're not the worst person to be soulmates with."

(y/n) laughed, "You're not so bad either."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, looking out into the empty street. He gently kissed her forehead, before tensing up, remembering they werent dating and this probably wasn't part of the 'best friend' protocol.

But (y/n) just smiled and turned her head to look up at him. He could never get tired of looking into her eyes. The lights from the street were reflected in the (y/e/c) irises as they stared into his blue ones.

"Hello?" a hand was waving in front of his face, "Earth to Tom, anybody there?"

"Sorry."

"What were you thinking of?"

"You," he said, without stopping to think.

She looked down, and Tom could swear she was blushing.

"Sorry, I-"

"You're cute when you say things like that." (y/n) said when she looked up.

His eyes unwillingly flitted down to her lips and she smirked and started leaning in. He met her halfway, his lips fitting hers perfectly to hers, moving together in perfect synchrony.

Chapter Text

Two years ago, a new family moved into the house next door. A mother, a father and two daughters now lived in the small whitewashed building right next to him.

He had never formally met any of them, his mother had invited them over once, but they were forced to decline when the youngest sister caught a cold. Now, two years later, he still knew just about nothing about the family. The only thing he was absolutely sure about was that their gorgeous daughter, (y/n), went to his school.

George didn't know a lot about (y/n), but he probably knew more than the people at school, seeing as he could look right into her room from his window. And (y/n) never closed her shades.

She liked rock n' roll music. He could hear her play records late into the night.

She liked to read. A gigantic shelf overflowing with books lined her wall.

She played guitar. Two guitars leaned against the wall in the corner of her room and he could hear her playing once in a while.

She never wore pajamas, instead opting for an oversized shirt and shorts... okay, maybe he did know a little too much about her.

But now it was summer, and all of his friends were on holiday somewhere, probably having the time of their lives, and he was stuck in Liverpool. So on one fateful day, George picked up his guitar and started plucking random strings. He had just finished a rather good riff, if he did say so himself, when he heard an echo. George frowned and looked around, he wasn't playing with an amplifier, so there were no malfunctions. He played the riff again, thinking that he must have been hearing things. But there it was again, the exact same melody he had just played. He pulled back the curtain that hung in front of the open window ever so slightly to see what's outside. His gaze naturally fell onto (y/n)'s window and he realized what the echo had been. Her window was open, as usual, and (y/n) sat on the windowsill, legs dangling haphazardly over the edge, and an acoustic guitar lay on her lap. George carefully took a seat behind the curtain, so he was completely hidden from view. Carefully, he plucked the tune again and he turned back to the window. (y/n) gave a small smile and copied the tune again.

This back and forth went on for a while. Occasionally (y/n) would come up with a new melody and he would copy it. As they progressed, the songs grew longer and more complex, each trying to challenge the other until (y/n) ceased to answer. George tried again but still no echo returned. Carefully he peered out from behind the curtain, to see (y/n) gone. Her guitar lay deserted on her bed and the window was shut.

"George, dinner!" his mother called from downstairs and finally, he too abandoned his seat by the window.

༺ ༻

(y/n) P.OV.

Two years, and she still didn't know her next door neighbor. Well, she knew what everyone else knew, since they went to the same school. She knew that his name was George Harrison, and that he was in her math class. And that he was mates with two other boys, John Lennon, the schools main troublemaker, and the pretty-boy Paul McCartney, and they were in a band together. (y/n) knew he played guitar, since she heard him play ever so often.

She felt a bit guilty for ditching him like that the night before, but her father had promised to take the whole family out to dinner, and there was no way she was going to miss out on that.

The next day, at the same time as before, (y/n) picked up her guitar again and sat in the window. She played the same riff that George had played the day before and, lo and behold, she heard an echo.

Over the course of the next few weeks it became a tradition. An hour before dinner one of them would play the riff from the first day and the other would answer.

༺ ༻

One day, George started playing one of his favorite songs, Elvis's Heartbreak Hotel. He wasn't sure if (y/n) knew it, but to his surprise, she began to sing along to the song. (y/n) started to play along when the rhythm guitar was supposed to come in. When the chorus arrived, he couldn't help but sing along, their voices blending into a perfect harmony.

༺ ༻

(y/n) P.O.V.

It was the last day of summer when (y/n) finally met the boy who she had been playing guitar with. She was just returning from her friend's house, when she bumped into him on the sidewalk.

"Oh, sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going." (y/n) apologized and took a step back.

"No, it's okay. I wasn't paying attention either." he said.

He looked very handsome with his teddy boy hair and leather jacket. His eyes were the color of rich dark chocolate and he had a smile that showed off two adorable fangs. She suddenly felt the need to continue the conversation, desperately hoping it wouldn't be their last.

"You're George, right?"

"Yes, and you're (y/n), right?"

"Yeah," she said with a smile.

Only then did (y/n) notice that she had knocked something of his hands. Laying on the pavement was a simple paper bag out of which a familiar record sleeve had fallen.

"This is a great album," she said, picking it up and handing it back, "Where did you find it?"

"Um... I found this at the new record shop, Ed's Records. They have a huge selection. I could show you, if you'd like?" George offered.

"That sounds amazing. I've been searching for a specific record for a while and I can't seem to find it."

"When could I take you there?"

"I'm not doing anything right now, if you'd like to go." (y/n) said, maybe a bit too eagerly.

"Alright."

༺ ༻

George P.O.V.

"Elvis?" he asked, glancing over (y/n)'s shoulder.

"Yes, I've been looking for this record for ages. It's the only one I don't have yet."

"I didn't know you liked Elvis. I usually hear you playing Chuck Berry or Little Richard." George said before realizing what he said sounded mildly creepy, "I mean, not in a 'i am a creep who's been spying on you' way, I just sometimes hear it through your window at night, not every night, just on weekends and some weekdays I mean... I swear I'm not some creep."

She gave a small laugh as he stumbled over his words. "It's okay, I can play my music a bit too loudly sometimes. And yes, they are my favorites, but who couldn't love The King?"

"My mother." he said and (y/n) laughed.

"What's your favorite song?" she asked, going through another stack of records.

"Heartbreak Hotel, what's yours?"

"Probably Jailhouse Rock."

"I like that one too. It's great to dance to."

"You dance?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Of course!" he said, imitating Elvis's signature dancing and (y/n) burst out laughing.

"Hey, I'm not that bad!" he protested, but couldn't help smiling along.

"Yes, yes you are." she managed to gasp out between laughs.

Her (y/h/c) hair fell into her face as she giggled and George felt the urge to reach out and brush it back behind her ear.

He liked making her smile, or better, laugh. (y/n) had a beautiful smile, the kind that made everyone else smile too, and George wanted to see that smile as often as possible. That smile would appear every time he made a joke, no matter how stupid it was. Oh how he wished that he could kiss that smile.

He wished that he could -what?

Oh.

Oh no.

༺ ༻

The end of summer became evident as school began again. The weather seemed to mirror the students' feelings and the sky was grey and covered in clouds. The pleasantly cool breeze that gently brushed through the trees had turned into a biting wind, ripping the leaves off and swirling them through the air.

It had been only a few days since he had last seen (y/n) but he already missed her. He was waiting for her after school, hoping that they would be able to head over to the record store again. Naturally his friends showed up at the exact moment he caught a glimpse of (y/n) talking to a teacher in the hall.

"You have got to ask her out mate." John said, following his gaze.

"How am I supposed do that now? We were just becoming friends and I don't want to screw that up."

"Georgie, dearest, that is exactly how you screw things up." John said wisely, "You don't want to be put in the friendzone. If you are at all interested in this bird, ask her out before it's too late."

"Look, there's your chance. She's right over there." Paul said excitedly, pointing to the school building which (y/n) was just exiting.

"No. Not now. Not here." He hissed, but John had already made up his mind.

"Yes, here. You need to ask her now or you'll never do it."

"John no-" but he was cut off by his friend.

"Hey, birdie!" John called out and waved to her.

"Don't call me that." (y/n) said as she walked up to the boys.

"Sorry darling. But I had to get your attention somehow. George here has a question to ask you."

"Okay." She said, confused.

"I umm, I was wondering if you'd care to... if you want to.. umm."

"It's okay. Just spit it out." She encouraged him with a sweet smile.

"I was wondering if you'd come to the Cavern Club tonight? We're playing a show there." He said quickly. And although he didn't see them, he could practically feel his friends facepalming.

"Sure. I'd love to." (y/n) replied, although she seemed slightly downhearted.

"Great. I'll see you tonight then."

"Yeah. See you. Bye." She said quickly and then began her walk back home.

"Nice going Hazza." John said, shaking his head.

George just sighed and ignored his friend. He watched (y/n) walking down the street, muttering to herself.

༺ ༻

(y/n) P.O.V.

"I can't believe that for a minute there I actually thought he was going to ask me out." (y/n) cursed under my breath, "A stupid idea really. I mean, he's the gorgeous and talented boy next door and what am I? A friendless weirdo who randomly copies guitar solos with people she doesn't know. Wow. Look at that. I'm talking to myself too. Just great."

By the time she had finished her monologue, (y/n) had reached home. She dumped her school bag in the hall and stomped up the stairs. (y/n) put on her favorite record and threw open the window to let the cool afternoon air in.

As the evening progressed, her frustration slowly began to disappear. He did sing along when we were playing guitar, she thought to herself, and he did ask me to come to the club tonight. Maybe he does like me after all. No, I can't afford to think like that.

These thoughts all rushed through her head as she got ready for the concert.

(y/n) put on some black heels that matched the black and white dress she had gotten for her birthday, but never worn before. When she was done putting her hair in a simple updo and applying a bit of makeup, she snuck downstairs as quietly as she could, hoping that her father wouldn't notice.

To (y/n)'s chargrain he did. "Where are you going, dressed like that?"

"Some friends of mine are getting together and I promised I'd come." (y/n) replied, being as vague as possible without having to lie.

There was no way her father was going to let her go to the Cavern Club to see a rock band. He already disapproved of the records she played and the posters that lined her wall.

"Alright. Have fun, but be careful and don't be home too late."

"Thanks dad. Bye!"

༺ ༻

The bar was completely packed. (y/n) noticed that a lot of girls from her school were there, every single one of them doing her best to look like a supermodel. She shook her head at their stupidity before remembering that she too had put a little more effort into her looks that she usually would. How embarrassing.

Soon after (y/n) arrived, it was time for the band to perform. They were all dressed up in suits and ties and she no longer felt too overdressed. One of George's friends, John, introduced them as The Quarrymen and they began to play. Unlike most bands formed by a group of teenagers, they sounded pretty decent. Very decent actually. They soon had the whole club dancing and singing along to their songs, and in no time, The Quarrymen had reached the end of their set list.

"This one was written by George." John said into the mic when he introduced their last song.

"Well I can't take all the credit. Someone very special helped me write it. This ones for you, (y/n)." the teddy boy said with a wink.

George then began to play a familiar riff. In fact, it was the very same riff that they had written together that summer.

༺ ༻

George P.O.V.

After the show, they went to find (y/n). Well, George went to find her and John as Paul trailed behind him to make sure he didn't chicken out this time.

"Hey, there are the rockstars!" She said cheerfully as we approached.

"(y/n), hi" George greeted her. He didn't know why, but whenever she was around him, his words muddled together and his mind drew a blank.

"You were amazing out there. Absolutely amazing. Especially you George. I mean, I knew you were an amazing guitarist but I never knew you could sing that well too."

He could feel his face heating up at the compliment, and was thankful for the dim lighting.

"I'm really glad you came, (y/n)."

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

"I think that's our queue to leave, right John?" Paul piped up.

"It sure is, Macca. Have a lovely night you two."

"Yes, have fun. But not too much." Paul said warningly.

George buried his face in his hands and cursed under his breath, "Idiots"

"What did they mean by that George?" (y/n) asked. She sounded slightly amused.

This is your chance, his brain told him, just tell her already.

"Nothing. Nothing at all." he said quickly, but (y/n) didn't seem convinced.

"If you say so." she relented.

"Actually, they did mean something by that."

As he looked at (y/n)'s big (y/e/c) eyes the words spilled out before he could think about them.

"I really like you, (y/n). And I have been too scared to tell you because we were just becoming friends. "

She didn't reply. Instead (y/n) cupped his face in her hands and kissed him.

Her lips were soft against his and tasted of that cherry gum she was always chewing.

She smiled when they broke apart, "I really like you too George."

Chapter Text

Three bloody months and Paul still hadn't heard anything from (y/n). It was as if she had disappeared into thin air. He had come knocking at her front door every day for the past few weeks just to be told by the maid that (y/n) was out. It was getting ridiculous. He knew that the last time they had seen each other, he had hurt her. He had hurt all of his friends. John, Ringo, George hadn't spoken to him either, but at least he knew that they were still alive. (y/n) on the other hand had vanished.

"Please Louise, just tell her I want to apologize." he begged the maid for the 35th time.

"I am sorry, Mr. McCartney, but she is not at home." Louise replied calmly.

"Is she even in the bloody country?" he asked exasperatedly.

"No, she went back home. She told me she's making her own album. I am not sure when she will be back." Louise said, surprised that he didn't know.

"Wait, she's in Germany?"

"Why yes. Didn't she say so?"

"No, no she didn't." he said quietly.

He couldn't believe that he had hurt (y/n) so badly that she had left the country. She had gone right back to the place she had left a decade ago.

He had to make this right again. He had to apologize.

༺ ༻

He walked into the tiny studio. Paul hadn't even made it to the reception area, when he already heard her voice.

"We only said goodby with words, I died a hundred times"

He stood still, to listen to (y/n)'s voice a little more

"Ohmeingott, Paul McCartney." the receptionist squeaked when she noticed him come in. (you probably already got the gist of this but it means 'ohmygod Paul McCartney')

"Umm... could you please tell (y/n)(y/l/n) that I'm here?" he asked tentatively, knowing that in such a small town the receptionist would not know english.

"Wie bitte?" she asked, confirming his suspicions. (pardon me)

"Who ist (y/f/n)" he asked again, trying to remember some German she had taught him many years ago. (Where is (y/f/n)

"Sie ist oben. Gehen sie die Treppen hoch un dann die erste Tür rechts." the receptionist said, pointing to the stairs in the back of the room. (she is upstairs. go up the stairs and then the first door right)

"Danke," Paul thanked her, and made his way upstairs, following the sound of (y/n)'s voice.

He quietly opened the door and entered the small room. (y/n) stood in the booth, a group of session musicians behind her. There was only one other person on his side of the glass. The bearded man who seemed to be the one recording turned and looked at him, but didn't say anything. After a few seconds he turned back to (y/n).

Hesitantly, Paul walked inside the studio, moving to stand in front of the window, so (y/n) could know that he was there. But the woman he wanted to be seen by didn't notice him for the whole time she was singing. Her eyes were closed, and she was focusing on the song with her whole being. After a few bars, the music died down and (y/n) opened her eyes. She had a big smile on her face, proud of herself for singing the last song. She jumped when she saw him standing there. The producer saw her reaction and gave her a look that asked 'you know this guy?'. She quickly composed herself and smiled. Giving Paul a small wave, (y/n) turned to the microphone.

"Sind wir hier fertig, Max?" she asked.

(are we done here, max?)

"Lass uns noch ein Lied heute machen, ok?" the producer said.

(lets do one more song, ok)

(y/n) snapped her fingers for a few beats and then began to sing again, the musicians following her lead with a bluesy tune.

"All I can ever be to you

Is a darkness that we know

And this regret I got accustomed to

Once it was so right

When we were at our high

Waiting for you in the hotel at night"

Paul watched her closely, not in the way a stalker stares at the object of their obsession, but in the way someone stares in wonder as the friend they have known all their life turns into something more.

It was as if he had never seen her before. Here, (y/n) performed with such confidence that she had never had in the studios the Beatles had recorded in. Her voice was different too. It was louder, fuller and more confident. It would now be impossible to just brush her off as someone who sang backing harmonies with George and Ringo.

"I cannot play myself again

I should just be my own best friend

Not fuck myself in the head with stupid men

He walks away

The sun goes down

He takes the day, but I'm grown

And in your way

In this blue shade

My tears dry on their own"

She even looked different. Time away from England had done her well. (y/n) no longer carried the sad, weary look in her eyes. Her (y/h/c) hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, but her stubborn bags still fell around her face. She wore nothing fancy, just a simple black dress and boots, but to Paul, (y/n) looked as beautiful as ever.

༺ ༻

"(y/n)"

"Hi Paul." she said, giving him a small smile, "what brings you here?"

"I wanted to apologize for-" he began, but (y/n) interrupted him.

"Let's talk over lunch. I know a place."

He nodded in agreement and (y/n) led the way out of the studio. They walked around town a bit, it turned out to be even smaller than it seemed last night, when he was driving to the hotel. In the end, they stopped at a small pub that Paul immediately recognized. The Blues Cafe.

"I remember this place. We played our first show with you in the band here."


(y/n) grinned, "Yeah, we did."

"Does your grandfather still own this place?" he asked.

"Yeah, he still does. I'm working there again."

"You're joking."

"Nope."

"You're a bartender?"

"I prefer the term bistro manager, but on Tuesdays, Fridays and Saturdays, yeah I'm a bartender." she joked. Her (y/e/c) eyes sparkled mischievously, just like they always did when she was making a joke or saying something sarcastic.

Paul laughed at her statement. It felt good to be around her again. He had missed (y/n) more than he realized.

"You went from world famous musician to bartender?"

"Yep." she said cheerfully, popping the p.

"You are a strange woman (y/f/n)"

"Thank you darling. Now come in," she said, and went inside.

The pub hadn't changed much. Maybe there were a few more tables here and there, but that was it. The bar still ran along the right wall, and the same stage the Beatles had performed on in the early days stood to the right. A ragtag bunch of musicians that had taken residence upon that very stage, and they were softly doing Roy Orbison covers or something like that.

Paul followed (y/n) to a free table in the back and they ordered food and drinks.

"What did you want to talk about?" (y/n) asked him when the waiter went away.

"I wanted to apologize for what I said the last time we saw each other..."

*Flashback*

"Leave him alone Paul. He has written better songs than you and John combined." (y/n) said when Paul made an offhand comment on George's latest composition.

"That's just like you, (y/n), sticking up for George. It's not like you can write a good song for your life." John butted in before Paul could reply.

"I CAN write a song. And I have written multiple songs. You all just won't record them." (y/n) spat back.

"Darling, I don't know if it's you or your guitar that is out of tune, but the reason we never record your songs is because they're bollocks." Paul said without thinking.

(y/n) was silent for a moment. "Fuck you Paul," she said softly.

Then she abruptly got up, dropped the guitar that had been resting on her knees and ran out of the studio as fast as she could.

*End of Flashback*

"...I was an arse. A complete idiot. and I wanted to apologize for that. I'm sorry for never supporting you when you wanted us to record your songs. It was unfair. I should have actually listened to what you wrote. From what I heard in the studio, your songs are amazing. I know that this doesn't make what I said okay again, but I had to apologize. You're still one of my best friends, and I shouldn't have hurt you like that."

Paul stopped his rambling to look up at (y/n), who was grinning at him.

"I'm sorry." he repeated one last time.

"I heard. And it's okay." (y/n) said, "I forgive you."

He couldn't help but smile in relief. "Thank goodness."

"So how did you find me?" (y/n) asked, resting her head on her hand and looking up at him.

"I pestered Louise until she told me where you are." he said jokingly, trying to make it sound like he wasn't desperate to see her.

"You did not."

"Everyday, for 35 days." he admitted.

"Damn Macca, you're persistent." she laughed.

Paul smiled at her use of his old nickname. It had been a while since one of them had said it.

"Why did you come back here?" he asked.

(y/n) laughed sadly, "I just had to get away from everything. All the cameras, all the fans," she gestured around the half empty pub, "these people still see me as little (y/n/n) who used to run around playing waitress or putting on shows after school, not as (y/f/n) the fifth Beatle. I just needed the feeling of anonymity, if that's what you can call it, again."

He smiled, "I get that. It's hard sometimes."

"How are the others?" (y/n) asked, "I haven't spoken to them since I left."

"They're okay. We all miss you, you know?."

(y/n) was about to say something when an older man casually strolled up to where they were sitting, he gave Paul a polite nod and turned to (y/n).

"Komm und sing uns was, (y/n/n)." (come and sing us something )

"Jetzt nicht, Onkel Peter. Ich red doch gerade." (Not now, uncle Peter. im talking now.)

"Ach komm, nur ein par lieder."(come on, only a few songs)

She gave Paul an apologetic look.

"They want me to sing a bit." she explained, "I can always tell them no, if you want."

"No, no, no. Go on. Don't let me be a bother." he said encouragingly and (y/n) grinned.

She walked over to the stage and borrowed the microphone from the current singer.

"Guten tag alle miteinander. Wie geht es euch?" (Good day everyone. How are you?)

The crowd cheered.

"Dieses lied sorted ihr kennen, also singt mit." (You should know this song, so sing along)

(y/n) started singing one of her favorite songs, Blue Moon.

After the song was done the crowd gave a small cheer, and (y/n) took a small bow before she made a little speech.

"Ich freue mich euch mitzuteilen das einer guter freund von mir mich heute besucht. Und ich glaube das er sich freuen würde, ein lied mit mir zu singen." then she finished in english, "Paul, get your ass up here." (I am happy to tell you all that one of my good friends is visiting me today. And I'm sure he would love to sing a song with me.)

He looked around in surprise, but (y/n) gestured for him to come on stage.

"You know this one." she said to him as the band began to play a familiar song. (y/n) nodded at him, signaling him to start the song.

I saw her today, I saw her face

It was the face I loved and I knew

I had to run away and get down on my knees

And pray that they'd go away

But still they begin

The chorus began and (y/n) joined in

Needles and pins

Because of all my pride

The tears I gotta hide

Hey, I thought I was smart

I'd win her heart

Didn't think I'd do, but now I see

She's worse to him than me

Let her go ahead

Take his love instead

And one day she will see

Just how to say please

And get down on her knees

Hey, that's how it begins

She'll feel those needles and pins

Hurtin' her, hurtin' her

Why can't I stop and tell myself

I'm wrong, I'm wrong, so wrong

Why can't I stand up

And tell myself I'm strong

Because I saw her today, I saw her face

It was the face I loved and I knew

I had to run away and get down on my knees

And pray that they'd go away

But still they begin

Needles and pins

Because of all my pride

The tears I gotta hide

Oh, needles and pins

Needles and pins

Needles and pins

༺ ༻

They spent the rest of the day together. (y/n) showed him around town, visiting all the places they used to go when they were in Germany with the band. When it began getting dark, she walked him back to his hotel.

"So how long are you staying here?" (y/n) asked, and Paul detected a hint of hopefulness in her voice.

"I'm flying back home tomorrow." Paul replied sheepishly.

"Why?" she asked, this time disappointment clearly written on her face.

"I was worried you would still be angry at me, and not accept my apology and I didn't want to stick around if that was the case."

"Oh, who said I wasn't still angry with you?" (y/n) said.

"You are?" he asked worriedly.

"Oh I'm furious." (y/n) said, but only now did Paul catch the joking tone she was using.

By then, they had arrived at the door to the hotel he was staying at.

"I had fun tonight," he admitted.

"Yeah. It was nice singing with you again Macca."

Maybe it was the way she was looking at him, maybe it was because they were back in Germany, or maybe it was the simple fact that he was in love with her, but Paul leaned down and kissed her.

(y/n) was the first to pull away. He opened his eyes to look at her. Her (y/e/c) eyes were still shut, her lips pressed tightly together, as if to stop herself from crying.

"No," (y/n) whispered, "I'm sorry. I can't do this again. I can't bear to be another one night stand again. I want to be with you for more than one night every few years."

Tears were forming quickly in (y/n)'s eyes, but she continued, her voice shaking.

"If that's all you'll ever want from me, tell me now, so I can still walk away with my heart intact. It took me four years to heal since you broke it that last time. I don't know if I could do it again. So what will it be, Paul?"

He was so shocked at her statement that he couldn't make himself utter a single word. (y/n) seemed to accept this as his answer. Her eyes filled with tears and she turned away.

"Goodbye Paul." she said and began walking back down the dark road.

"(y/n) wait!" he called after her.

Either she didn't hear him, or chose to ignore him, but (y/n) didn't turn back. He cursed under his breath and took off after her.

"(y/n)! Don't go."

She spun around

"I want you, (y/n). I want to be with you."

"Are you sure?"

"I have never been more sure of anything in my life."

The songs used in order are:

- Back to black (Amy Winehouse)

- Tears dry on their own (Amy Winehouse)

- Needles and Pins (The Searchers)

Chapter Text

"And look here," the elderly woman shoved another picture in (y/n)'s face, "Brian's cousin just had a little daughter."

"Ah, congratulations."

"Isn't she sweet?"

"Very." (y/n) shot him a desperate look.

"So, Dad," Brian tried to change the topic, "How's work?"

"Work is good." he replied curtly, "(y/n), do you know how great children are?"

"I- uh, I wouldn't know" she said, and took a long drink of wine.

"Well, they are. You get to watch them grow up, growing to become such amazing people. And you have the satisfaction of knowing you helped shape them to be like that."

(y/n) nodded and gave a polite smile. "The meal was delicious Mrs. May."

"Thank you dear." She smiled, "Oh, Brian, did you hear? Jeff Robinson had a son last week."

"Who?"

"You remember Jeff. He was in your year in school."

"Oh, Jeff. Right."

"(y/n)?" His father asked.

"Yes?"

"You and Brian have been together for quite some time now."

"Three years." She replied, shooting him a quick smile.

"Have you two ever thought of starting a family? Or at least getting married?"

"Um, we're both too busy with work right now to think of children..." she trailed off.

"(y/n)? Are you alright dear? You look a little queasy." his mother asked when her eyes fell on (y/n), who indeed looked like she was going to be sick.

"I- yeah, I'm fine." she said absentmindedly. "Do you mind if I grab some fresh air?"

"Of course darling."

"Thanks."

(y/n) got up and quietly headed out the side door. A beat passed and Brian turned to look at his parents.

His expression must have been pretty sour, because his mother raised her eyebrows and asked, "What?"

"Why are you trying to pressure (y/n) and me into having children?"

"We're not doing anything of that sort."

"Yes you are. (y/n)'s been under a lot of pressure about having kids lately. Her family, the media and now you two. It's clear that she doesn't want children. And neither do I."

His parents were quiet.

"I'm going to go and see if she's alright. And when we come back, please refrain from all the family talk."

༺ ༻

(y/n) stood in the shadows, leaning her back against the wall. The warm red glow of a cigarette was the only thing lighting her face. Smoke curled upwards into the air as she exhaled.

"Sorry," she chuckled, catching him staring at the cigarette between her fingers, "Bad habit."

"Are you alright darling?"

She gave a weak smile, "I'm fine. Just needed to calm down a bit."

Brian walked over to her, leaning his back against the wall. A sigh escaped him.

(y/n) glances over to him, "You want a drag?"

Suddenly Brian felt tempted. Why? He didn't know, but he accepted the offer, inhaling the smoke from the cigarette being held to his lips.

His throat burned as the smoke tried to fight its way out and Brian doubled over coughing. He must have looked pretty ridiculous because (y/n) started to giggle.

"You do this for fun?" he managed to gasp out.

That only made her laugh harder. It took a few moments before all the smoke had been expelled from his lungs.

"Are you okay?" (y/n) asked when his coughing had subsided.

Brian nodded, watching her take a final drag before throwing the cigarette onto the pavement and crushing it with the tip of her shoe.

"I'm sorry they were asking all those questions." He said.

"It's not your fault," (y/n) sighed, "Besides, you'll have to endure the same thing next week. My mom invited us to dinner on Sunday."

"Lovely," he deadpanned and (y/n) smiled sympathetically.

"Should we go back inside?" She suggested, "Your parents might get suspicious."

Brian nodded and took (y/n)'s hand.

"After you," he held open to the door and he followed (y/n) as she walked back inside.

"Ah, there you too are." Brian's mom exclaimed, "Are you feeling better, (y/n)?"

"Yeah, I think it was just a little vertigo. I'm fine."

"How's the album coming along, son?" His father asked after a short pause.

And for the rest of the evening, there were no more mentions of children.

༺ ༻

"You told them I didn't want children, didn't you?"

Brian glanced down at her, "Yes, I did. They were a bit disappointed, but they'll accept it. I promise."

"Are you sure?"

"I think that they believe that if there's a chance we'll get married then there's a chance that they will get grandchildren"

(y/n) laughed, "Do you think there's a chance that we'll get married?"

"I'm hoping there is." He looked at her, "Is there?"

(y/n) smiled, "Yes there is. A very good one in fact."

Chapter Text

August 18th. That day had been circled on my calendar for about a week. I wanted to tell him how I feel. I had to tell him. And August 18th was going to be that day. I called him a day before and asked him to go to one of my favorite pubs, a place I was sure he'd like too. He'd happily agreed to come, which I took as a good sign. Now I was sitting at a small table in the back in an overcrowded bar on August 18th

Just then, Ian came in. I stood up and waved him over to my table in the crowded bar, but he didn't notice. He was too focused on the brunette that came in behind him.

"So, who's this?" I asked, trying not to sound too degrading.

"This is my girlfriend, Jenny." Ian said, "Jenny, that's my friend, (y/n)."

Girlfriend. That word hit me like a ton of bricks. Girlfriend. Why did he not mention that on the phone? I felt sick to my stomach and I just wanted to lock myself in the bathroom and cry, but I couldn't leave them now. Not when I was the one who invited them out.

"Nice to meet you." Jenny said curtly.

"Likewise." I replied in the same tone.

With perfect timing, the waitress arrived to take our order, saving the three of us from the quickly forming awkward silence. Plus, this meant that there would be drinks, and drinks meant that this night would not continue to be so earth shatteringly painful as it is now.

"So, what'll it be?"

"Vodka." I immediately said.

"Since when do you drink vodka?" Ian asked, raising his eyebrow.

"There's a first for everything."

He shrugged, "I'll just have a beer, please."

"Could I have a glass of pinot noir?" Jenny asked.

"Wine?" the waitress looked lost, "We have red, white and pink."

"Red." she sighed, and I repressed a snicker.

"So, how do you like the bar Jenny?" I asked when the waitress had left.

"It's... charming." she replied slowly.

Ian laughed, "Well, I love it. Definitely the kind of place you would go to, (y/n)."

I smiled into my glass as I took a drink, the alcohol burning my throat. I grimaced, remembering exactly why I didn't drink this stuff. This was going to be a fun night.

༺ ༻

A week later, Ian finally called. I had been avoiding him as best as I could since that night he introduced me to his girlfriend.

"Hey, (y/n), you wanna come hang out tonight?"

"I can't tonight."

"Why on earth not?"

"I have to walk my... uhhh..." my eyes fell on the fishbowl in the corner, "fish. I have to walk my fish. Gotta go."

I slammed the receiver down. 'I have to walk my fish.' I shook my head, I really was losing my touch. A few seconds later the phone rang again and Ian's voice came through the receiver.

"Are you high?"

"What? No. I'm not, I swear."

"Well then, 'Walking your fish'? Seriously?" he mocked.

I stayed silent.

"No more excuses, (y/n). You're coming with us tonight."

"But-"

"9pm at the Red Door. I'll see you tonight."

"Fine."

"Don't sound so happy, (y/n/n).We'll have fun, I promise."

The Red Door was one of the bigger clubs downtown. Bright lights, loud obnoxious music and even a VIP lounge. Not my kind of place, really. Not Ian's either. Jenny must've picked it.

It took a few minutes to find them, and when I finally spotted them sitting next to the dancefloor, Jenny's arms draped around Ian, I wanted to turn right around and leave. But Ian saw me, and excitedly called me over.

'Too late now,' I thought to myself as I sat down opposite.

Conversation was sparse, the music too loud and the lights too flashy. On top of my increasingly bad mood, the pounding bass made my head ache, which was not helping.

"Dance with me?" Jenny shouted over the music.

Ian glanced at me as if to ask 'do you mind?'. Of course I minded. But instead, I just smiled and he followed Jenny onto the dance floor. I watched them dance together. Ian occasionally catching my eye and smiling. I always tried to smile back. Finally a slow song came on and I watched as the two of them got closer and closer until Jenny started to kiss him. A knot clenched in my stomach and I averted my eyes onto the table. I stared at my glass, still filled halfway with a blue liquid whose flavor I was still questioning. When I looked up again, the two of them were practically making out.

I set my glass down a little harder than necessary, "For fucks sake."

"Excuse me." I muttered as I pushed past them and disappeared into the crowd.

It was a warm night, but the air still seemed cold after the stuffiness of the club. I leaned against the brick wall of the building opposite. It was a full moon, and if you looked hard enough, you could even see the stars through the city lights. The club door opened momentarily, loud music disturbing the quiet night. When I glanced over to see who had decided to leave, I was surprised to see a familiar face.

"(y/n)? Are you okay?" Ian asked.

"I'm fine. Why don't you go back to your girlfriend, Ian?" I snapped.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, the 'why don't you' part is a subtle order to go somewhere, and 'back to your girlfriend' implies that you should return to the woman who just had her tongue in your mouth two minutes ago."

"Geez, (y/n)! I know what that means. I was referring to your tone."

"Well, if you couldn't figure it out, the harsh tone was illustrating anger."

"(y/n/n)-"

"Don't you dare '(y/n/n)' me right now." I snarled, "Don't you fucking dare. Just go back to you little friend and leave me the fuck alone!"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled, "Why are you acting like this?"

"Because I like you okay?" By then the anger had turned into hot tears streaming down my cheeks, "Because I think that you're the kindest, handsomest, most amazing person there is and it hurts. It hurts that I'm not the one you were kissing back there. It hurts that you look at her with those blue eyes of yours that are filled with so much love. It hurts because I wish I was the one you were looking at, and I wish you felt those things for me."

"(y/n)," Ian said, softly this time.

"What?" my voice shook.

He took a step closer, gently reaching up and brushing the tears off my cheeks. And then, ever so slowly his lips met mine. I wasn't even sure if this was a dream or not. It felt dreamlike, but there was something wonderfully real in the way his hands gently cupped my face, pulling me as close to him as possible. Slowly I melted into the kiss, my hands tangling themselves into his long brown locks, my knees shaking so badly I thought I would collapse. Finally we broke apart, out of breath and smiling like idiots.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear you say that." he breathed.

"Really?"

"Really." he assured me.

My heart was doing cartwheels in my chest, but I forced myself to think straight, "What- what about Jenny."

The smile on his lips struck a little and he glanced down, "I was only dating her to make you jealous."

Chapter Text

Today, my parents had summoned me all the way to Birmingham to sort through boxes of old stuff I had left there when I moved to London.

"You did not wear this." Brian said, holding up an embarrassingly frilly blue dress.

"Oh. My. God." I gasped, "That still exists?"

"You're telling me that you actually wore this? It looks like cotton candy."

"Every single day. I used to love this thing." I laughed, "As you can see, my fashion sense has gotten better since I was 8."

Brian smiled his adorable little smile and set the dress aside. I turned back to the box I was inspecting. Definitely one of the more boring ones, it was filled with old papers, drawings and a dusty folder bound in leather. That intrigued me more than my rather unprofessional drawings of Kermit and Elmo. I carefully opened it, inside were official looking documents, yellowed with age but still perfectly intact. One in particular caught my eye.

BIRTH CERTIFICATE

I always wondered at exactly what time I was born. With a small smile I studied the paper, the print still dark against the white background. Before I could find the 'time of birth' category, something else distracted me.

MOTHERS NAME: Alicia Ferry

Alicia Ferry? That can't be right. Susanna White was my mom's name. Then I looked at the supposed name of my father, Victor Ferry. My dad's name was Jackson White. There must've been a printing mishap, or the certificates got swapped accidentally. But my name fit.

"Everything alright there, love?" Brian asked, seeing my expression as I read those words over and over again.

I could feel my lungs closing up and my vision tunneled. This couldn't be true. No. No no no no no. I started flipping through the other papers in the folder. Finally I found it. The thing that was both the answer to my questions, and the confirmation that my whole life had been a lie.

ADOPTION CERTIFICATE

Adopted. The two people who have raised me weren't my parents. The woman who had fed me, bathed me, and eventually taught me to walk in heels wasn't my mother. The man who read me bedtime stories, taught me to play the piano and scolded me for my short skirts wasn't my father. These...These... strangers were my parents. Could I call them strangers? They knew me almost better than I knew myself and it felt wrong to dismiss them as strangers, even though that was essentially what they were.

I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder, "Geez, Brian, you scared me."

"(y/n)? Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale."

"I...umm..." I couldn't find the words to explain exactly what was going around in my head, so I handed him the documents, "Here."

His concerned gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before turning to the papers.

"Adopted?" he asked incredulously.

I nodded.

"When did you find out?"

"About two minutes before you did." I sighed and ran a hand through my hair,

"Are you alright love?"

"How could they have hidden this from me?"

"(y/n)-"

I didn't wait for him to finish before heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Brian called after me.

"I need to ask them why the hell they hid this from me." And with that, I disappeared through the attic trapdoor.

"(y/n)-"

I ran down the stairs, almost tripping and breaking my neck on the last few steps. My parents were sitting in the living room, my father reading the evening paper and my mom reading one of those cheesy romance novels that teenagers and people in a midlife crisis enjoy so much.

"Mom, Dad?"

"Yes darling?" my dad said, looking up from his paper.

I handed them the birth certificate, "I just found this."

"I knew this day would come," my mother sighed.

"(y/n)-" my dad began.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I yelled.

"It was never the right time..." my father trailed off.

I didn't speak the entire way home. Brian didn't try to force a conversation, which I was unspeakably grateful for. I didn't even know what to think. What on earth was I supposed to say, anyway?

"(y/n), are you okay?" Brian asked again when we were about to go to bed.

"This is like the thousandth time you've asked me this today darling." I laughed.

"Sorry, love." Brian said, "I promise not to ask again."

He turned off the light and pulled me close.

"Goodnight, (y/n)." he whispered and pecked my cheek.

I was so lost in my thoughts, that I completely missed what said next.

"Hmm?"

"I know them." Brian repeated.

"You what?"

"I know them. Mr. and Mrs. Ferry. They lived down the road from my parents."

"What were they like?" I asked quietly.

"Your parents?" Brian asked.

"Yeah"

Brian pondered for a moment, "They were nice people. Mrs. Ferry used to make cookies every weekend and give them to the neighborhood kids."

"Do they still live there?"

"I'm not sure," he said, "I could ask my mum and dad, if you want?"

Now it was my turn to stop and think. Did I really want to see these people again? They were the ones who gave me up for adoption when I was just a kid. Did I really want to know these people?

"Yeah," I finally said, "Could you do that for me?"

༺ ༻

"You don't have to do this now, love." Brian said as my hand hovered above the doorbell.

"No, no. I'm fine." I said, but my voice shook, "I need to do this now, or I'll never do it. And I want to meet them. I think."

And finally I rang. It took a few moments, but then a woman in her late forties opened the door. She seemed to. recognize Brian.

"Brian? Is that you?"

"Mrs. Ferry. How have you been?"

"I've been well, darling. Last time I saw you, you were still in college."

"And who are you?" she asked me. She didn't seem unfriendly, just curious.

"I'm (y/n) White. Your daughter."

The woman froze. That clearly had not been answer she had been expecting.

"I... umm, found the birth certificate a few weeks ago." I began, "And I wanted to meet you."

"Come...come in, darlings."

I tried to recognize myself in her, but it wasn't easy. We had the same eyes, maybe, but that's where the similarities ended. Mrs. Ferry... mom, no that sounded wrong. Mrs. Ferry led us through the long hallway into a parlor. An old fashioned parlor. With crisp white couches and a low coffee table and fireplace covered with photos.

She asked us to sit, and then left the room, returning shortly with a tea tray in her hands. A man timidly followed her, carrying an assortment of sweets. After introductions had been made and cups of tea had been poured, we finally got down to business.

"We were young when we had you. Victor and I, we were barely 17. There was no other options that made sense." Mrs. Ferry began.

Mr. Ferry... my father... the man whose genes I had, continued, "We wanted to meet you, but we signed some papers that forbid us contact with you until you were 18."

Mrs. Ferry continued, "And by then you were in college, and we didn't want to reveal any information that might throw you off course. Your parents told me about what a bright future you had. We could never have offered you what they could. It was the best for all of us."

All those things I had been feeling. Then sadness, the betrayal, the strange sense of relief that made no sense whatsoever, all blended into one. Anger. I had never felt more angry at two people in my entire life.

"That's what everyone keeps telling me." I snarled, "That it was 'the best decision for everyone.' But was it really such a good decision to separate a child from her rightful family? Was it really such a good decision to keep it hidden from said child, only for her to find out twenty five years later when she's cleaning up the attic?"

They were silent.

"Look, I understand that you two couldn't raise a kid at 17, and I even understand why you didn't want to contact me when I was in school, but why didn't you do anything when I graduated?"

"(y/n)-"

"You know what? I need to leave." I picked up my coat and stormed out.

I heard Brian apologizing or something, but I didn't care. I ran out of the house, to our car and dug through my bag for the keys. Naturally, Brian had them. I was forced to stand in the cold air until he came out. Neither of us spoke on the way home, but unlike last time, it felt uncomfortable. I knew I had messed up, I knew I shouldn't have shouted, I knew I probably shouldn't have screamed. It was too confusing, much too confusing.

"They're good people, you know." Brian said, briefly taking his eyes off the road.

"Yeah, I know. I think I let out all my anger on them. It wasn't fair."

Brian nodded in agreement.

"I think," I started, "I think that one day, I don't know when, but one day I'm going to go back there."

Chapter Text

He found her exactly where he had thought he would. She sat on the railing of the bridge they usually sat under, staring at the swirling water of the Wishkah below.

"Hey." (y/n) said as she heard him approach.

"Hey."

"Looks like you found me."

"(y/n), is everything okay?" he asked, leaning onto the railing.

"No it's not." she said bitterly.

"Then tell me what's wrong."

She shook her head silently.

"Please?"

"Fine. I'm scared." (y/n) admitted.

In all the years he had known her, he never once heard her say those words. (y/n) was the kind of person who seemed immune to fear. Even now she dangled her legs over the edge of a bridge that rose 13 feet into the air, unafraid of falling.

"Of what?" he asked.

(y/n) swung her legs around and climbed off the railing, turning to face him. "Of the future. I don't want to go to college and get a mediocre job and marry a mediocre guy and live life as a sad suburban soccer mom who gets her jollies by yelling at waiters."

"That's not going to happen."

"Oh really? And how would you know?" she snapped.

"Because I know you. And I'm not going to let that happen."

She didn't know how it happened, but suddenly he was kissing her. After months of longing for him to see her as more than a friend, she was finally feeling his lips against hers. The suddenness of the kiss left her completely immobilized in shock.

"Sorry," he mumbled when he pulled away and saw her expression.

"No-"

(y/n) gently grabbed his face and pulled him in for another kiss. Their lips fit together perfectly as he wrapped his arms around her waist and her hands became entangled in his long blonde hair.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that." (y/n) whispered against his lips.

"Really?"

"Yeah," she said, looking down to hide the blush that coated her cheeks, "I've had a crush on you for ages."

Chapter Text

"Are you sure you don't want to stay for a few more days?" He asked, "I could get you a hotel in the city or-"

"No," (y/n) shook her head sadly. "Tours over, and it's time to move on. Plus you've got a whole other life here."

"Then where are you going to stay?"

"I've got some friends in Blackpool. I'll stay with them for a few nights, then I'll go back to Hamburg. Or I'll stay in the UK. I don't know yet."

"Friends like me?" He asked, trying to be subtle.

"Jealous?" She smirked.

Keith opened his mouth to say something in his defense, but stopped when he realized she was joking.

"He was my best friend in college" (y/n) laughed.

Keith laughed too, but it sounded much more forced than he hoped.

"Well, then at least let me walk you to the station," He offered.

(y/n) pondered this for a moment, "Fine."

༺ ༻

No one recognized them as they walked arm in arm into the station. Everyone was too busy with their own troubles to notice much. It gave them the air of privacy (y/n) had felt they lacked when they were out and about on tour. It didn't take long to buy the ticket, and soon she was standing on the platform with the train already waiting. Over the intercom, a voice ordered everyone to board. Hesitantly, she turned to Keith to say goodbye.

"One last kiss?" He smirked.

"Keith-"

His tone softened, "Please?"

How could she say no?

The kiss was rough and desperate, neither wanted to be the one to break it. Keith's arms were wrapped tightly around her waist, holding as close as possible. (y/n) tangled her hands in his dark hair. Her surroundings turned into a blur of light and shadow, of whispers and muffled footsteps, but everything else was as sharp as glass. She could feel Keith's lips on hers, his warm breath fanning across her face. Every nerve in her body tingled as he held her tighter.

"EVERYONE ABOARD THE 484 TO BLACKPOOL. DEPARTURE IN TWO MINUTES," The intercom boomed.

Finally they broke apart. (y/n) kept her arms draped around his neck, not wanting the moment to end. Keith pressed a chaste kiss to her lips and bent down to pick up her bag.

"I've got it," She said, taking the suitcase from him.

"So this is it?"

"I guess so."

"Thank you for coming along," He said.

"I should be the one thanking you," (y/n) smiled, "I'll never forget it."

"Me neither."

A silence fell between them, broken only when the conductor tapped (y/n) on the shoulder and asked if she was boarding.

(y/n) climbed on board, stowing away her suitcase and sliding into the seat by the window. As she looked out onto the platform, she could still see Keith standing there. They stayed like that for a long time, just watching each other. Separated only by a window, they were worlds apart already.

The train whistled and conductors had shooed everyone on board, but the doors were still open. Keith suddenly felt the urge to board the train and leave with her. It took an insane amount of control to stay rooted to the spot. She wouldn't want you to come, he told himself, She made it clear that it ends now.

(y/n) was still smiling at him through the window and the train doors slid close with a hiss, destroying the option to follow her. The train pulled out of the station and Keith let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

She was gone.

For good.

Probably never to return. When the lights finally disappeared in the dark tunnel, he turned around and melted into the crowd that shuffled through the station.

Tunnel lights flashed rhythmically past the window, lighting the train in a sharp white light for a second and then plunging it into darkness again. The lights were too dim for reading, so (y/n) was left alone with her thoughts. Sadly, instead of anticipating her arrival in Blackpool, or feeling the soft adrenaline rush of traveling at night, her mind was fixated on one thing only. Keith.

(y/n) cursed herself. She knew it would end like this, she had prepared herself for this very moment. Why did it still hurt so fucking much? Maybe because (y/n) had been lying to herself the whole time. They both had. Keith made jokes about her staying in London with him. Or about her joining the Stones just so they could keep going on tours together. It was funny at the time. How could those ideas not seem ridiculous when you're sitting on a balcony in Barcelona looking out onto the ocean? But even then there had been a little voice in the back of her mind telling her that maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he was serious. In the end, all things must pass. And pass they did, the days of concerts and clubs and buses and strange cities just begging to be explored.

(y/n) had expected no less. But what was she to do? Every time she came close to ending things, she would look into his soft brown eyes, hear his voice, and she would melt. (y/n) couldn't help it, she loved him. Is that what you could call it? There had been an instant connection between the two. Every time (y/n) looked at him, or felt his arms around her, her stomach would explode with a million butterflies and when he kissed her, nothing else mattered. His presence intoxicated her. All that mattered was him and he was there, with her.

But now their chapter, no matter how brief, was over. It had happened, and now it was done, and (y/n) was left with only the memory. And that memory would fade and one day become no more than a brief flash of recognition she would get when she heard the Stones play. It was over, for better or for worse, and she had to accept that. But how could she if she could still taste his kiss on the tip of her tongue?

Chapter Text

An icy wind blew down the street, rattling the windows above them. (y/n) pulled her coat tighter around her body, wishing she had worn a thicker one. Noticing her change in demeanor, the man walking next to her put his arm around her, pulling her close. She leaned into his warmth, resting her head on his shoulder as they walked.

"Thanks Pete," she said.

"(y/n), I need to tell you something." Pete said in a low voice, barely a whisper.

"Yeah?"

He paused and started rummaging in his pockets for his keys. "I'll tell you when we're inside."

"Pete, is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah." he said absentmindedly, fiddling with his keys, trying to find the right one. When he had finally fished it out of his pocket he turned to her with a mischievous grin.

"Do you want to come in?" Pete asked innocently, as if she hadn't spent the last week at his place.

(y/n) gave a short laugh, "Well, it's better than walking home at this hour."

"I hope that's not the only reason you want to come up."

༺ ༻

"What did you want to talk about, love?" (y/n) asked once they were upstairs.

"The band is going to America next month," Pete confessed.

America.

It was as if a cold fist was tightening around her heart. This was it, wasn't it? Her rose tinted lenses shattered at the harsh reality that came with dating a musician. If The Who ever regained their previous popularity, Pete would be whisked away constantly for tours, or interviews, or some other reason. (y/n) refused to admit it, but she was terrified of Pete leaving. He might meet some american girl and decide that she's his new world, more than (y/n) ever was.

"That's—that's great Pete." She managed.

Petes face fell, "What's wrong, love?"

"Nothing, nothing," she said, "Just caught me off guard a bit."

(y/n) had never been a great actress, so it was no wonder that Pete could see right through her.

"You're not telling me something."

"I said it's nothing. I'm happy for you. Really," she said, in what was meant to be a reassuring tone, but it came off as rather snappy.

"You definitely don't sound it," he shot back.

"Nevermind then," (y/n) tried to change the subject.

"For fucks sake just tell me, (y/n)!"

"Fine!," she yelled, "I don't want you to go, okay? Because if you go, that'll be the end of us. There, I said it. Horrible isn't it? That's exactly why I kept my mouth shut. Happy now?"

Pete couldn't get out another word before the door slammed. (y/n) stopped down the stairs and slammed the door to the apartment building shut. She decided to take the subway, even though her place was only a few blocks away. It was safer traveling that way, without Pete there to walk her home. (y/n) had almost reached her apartment building, when raindrops slowly started falling. Just great.

Her apartment was cold and a thin sheet of dust had settled on most flat surfaces. It had been a while since she had been back here. Spending the night at Pete's was a lot nicer, not to mention much more practical seeing as she pretty much lived there. (y/n) put on the kettle and turned on the radiator before collapsing onto the couch, suddenly overcome with weariness.

She smacked herself in the face with a pillow. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why did she have to go ahead and say those things? She knew that ever since their last flopped, the whole band had been struggling. America was their last resort, and she knew how much it meant to Pete. She had to apologize.

(y/n) picked up the phone and dialed his number. She had dialed it so often in the past months that it had become almost a habit. It rang once. Twice. The phone kept ringing, until it cut off. She hit redial, but again, no one answered.

(y/n) had left his place only 20 minutes ago. Could he have gone somewhere in that short time? Probably not. He was probably ignoring her calls. She would have done the same, if he had acted the same way to her. (y/n) sighed, absentmindedly tapping out a rhythm on the coffee table.

"UGH!" she snarled at no one, slamming her hands on the table.

She dialed Pete's number one more time, but the result was the same. It was obvious he didn't want to talk to her. What more could (y/n) do?

By now, the drizzle that had started falling on her way home had turned into heavy rain. (y/n) got up, stretched, and went to pour herself a cup of tea. Slowly sipping the steaming liquid, she stared out the window, trying to make out the blurry shapes below. The streetlights shone dimly through the rain, barely managing to illuminate the empty road. (y/n) briefly contemplated walking back to his place. A flash of lightning illuminated the sky and thunder followed soon after. Maybe it was best for her to stay home tonight. It gave them both time to cool off.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. (y/n) nearly dropped the cup she was holding. She slowly walked to the door. Who on earth could be knocking on her door at this hour? Whoever was on the other side, pounded against the wood again.

"(y/n)?" a familiar voice called, "(y/n). It's me."

A wave of relief washed over her, her hands flying to open the locks. She immediately rushed into the hall and flung her arms around him, not bothering with the fact that he was drenched by the rain.

"I'm sorry." he whispered.

"You shouldn't be," (y/n) said, "It was my fault. I shouldn't have been so selfish. I just didn't want to lose you."

"I'll stay, if you want me to?" Pete offered.

"No, you shouldn't have to compromise your dreams for me." She argued.

"Then come with me.".

(y/n) smiled and nodded. They would find a way to make it work. Everything was going to be just fine.

Chapter Text

At one point in life, every person has that someone where you never quite know where you stand. Are you just really good friends, or are you the object of their desire? And, since everyone has that person, I of course had them too. My someone was Matthias.

༺ ༻

It was a bright sunny day at the beginning of summer. But unlike other people, who would be spending the day outside in the sun, I was cooped up in my apartment, staring at the piece of paper sticking out of the top of my typewriter. I had been surprisingly productive today, compared to most others when all I could do was stare out the window and daydream. I had already finished two chapters of my book and now I was halfway through the third. I was in the zone, as they say, nothing could disturb me. And nothing would disturb me, until Matthias came bursting through my front door. In the past few months this had become such a regular occurrence that I was beginning to regret giving him a key to my apartment in the first place.

"(y/n)?" I heard his voice call from the hallway.

"Office," I shouted back.

He poked his head through the door, coming in once he saw me. Matthias strode across the room, ruffling my hair as he passed (much to my annoyance), and threw himself into the armchair in the corner.

"Everything okay Matt?" I asked, once I had fixed the mess he made of my hairstyle.

Matthias ran his hand through his hair and sighed, "I can't think of what to write."

Looks like I wasn't going to be getting any further with my book. Not with Matthias in the same room. I already had enough trouble trying to concentrate without him being there.

"Okay, why don't I help you?" I asked.

"You want to help me write a song," he said, somewhat disbelievingly.

"Yeah, why not? I write books, don't I? it can't be too different."

"I guess," he shrugged.

I tossed him paper and a pencil and moved to sit on the arm of his chair. He stiffened slightly at our sudden closeness, as if he too felt fireworks go off in his stomach every time we touched. Maybe he did. Hopefully he did. Maybe it was time to figure out where I stood with him. It was always hard to tell with Matthias. One moment he would be flirting nonstop, and the next he'd go back to treating me like one of the guys. It was infuriating. Especially because I didn't mind the flirting.

"We should start with a theme," I suggested, "You guys have a name for the album yet?"

"We were playing around with 'Love At First Sting', but we haven't decided yet."

"Okay, so why not do a song about love?"

"A love song," Mathias pondered.

"Yeah, is there anyone that you like?"

"There's this amazing woman I know, and I've been madly in love with her for some time now..." Matthias confessed after a moment's pause.

We were sitting so close I could feel his warm breath fan across my face as he spoke. I could see the way his brown curls moved when he spoke. I was close enough to tuck one of the stray strands of hair back behind his ear. I was close enough to kiss him as soon as he was done talking. But I also had self control. And I needed confirmation that he felt the same way before I kissed. I couldn't just screw up our entire friendship because of some harmless flirting.

"...Sometimes when she's close to me, I want to kiss her so badly it hurts," he added quietly.

My throat was dry when I spoke, "Why haven't you?"

"Hmm?"

"Why haven't you kissed her?"

He paused for a moment, "Because I don't think she thinks of me that way."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," I breathed, "She's probably just waiting for you to make the first move."

And finally, after months of pining and the excruciatingly metaphor filled conversation we just had, he finally kissed me.

Chapter Text

It was extremely late when you came home. Or rather, extremely early. The house was dark and silent, Tom had probably gone to bed long ago.

After changing into pajamas as silently as possible, you tried to get into bed without waking your sleeping husband. The floorboards creaked a bit under your feet, but Tom didn't wake.

Through the window the faint glow of street lights provided little light, yet you could still see him perfectly. He looked so peaceful, with his eyes gently shut and his long blond hair falling into his face. Slowly, you brushed a stray strand out of his eyes and leaned over to kiss his forehead gently.

"Hey," Tom mumbled tiredly, and you cursed yourself for waking him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to wake you."

"You didn't wake me," he lied, his blue eyes blinking though the darkness.

"I'm sorry," you said again.

"It's okay, I love waking up to you anyways. No harm done," Tom smiled, "Now give me a proper kiss."

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as you leaned in to kiss him. Properly, this time. Although you knew that you would curse yourself for staying up in the morning, moments like these were too nice to give up.

You smiled to yourself as you started to drift off a little later. God, how you loved this man.

Chapter Text

It was already half past two when Tom finally pulled up in the driveway in front of Mudcrutch Farm. Loud guitars could be heard from all the way outside. It appeared as if the band had started without him. He rushed inside as quickly as possible and tried to set up his bass as inconspicuously as he could.

"Jesus, Tom," Ben immediately started once they finished, "You're over an hour late."

"Sorry," he shrugged, not having an excuse prepared.

Benmont rolled his eyes but thankfully didn't argue further.

"What are we doing today?"

"Up in Mississippi," Mike informed him, "You said you had the bass figured out?"

"Yeah I think I got it," he nodded.

Tom turned around to the rest of the band to see if they were ready, and then, "One, two, three, four."

They played without vocals, not having set up a microphone beforehand, nevertheless Tom still mumbled the lyrics to himself quietly. He'd have to sing them at some point anyway. Tom tried to stay focused on the bass, the recently written notes were still somewhat unfamiliar.

When the solo finally arrived he allowed his eyes to wander around the room a bit until they came to rest on Mike. It was fascinating to watch him play. His fingers flew across the fretboard of his guitar with such precision and ease, it seemed as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him. Suddenly Tom became painfully aware of his own playing when he started losing track of the bassline. First one wrong note, then two more, and he had lost it completely.

"Fuck," he hissed and quickly tried to pick it up again.

When he glanced up again he saw Mike staring at him. The guitarist raised an eyebrow as if to ask, 'What was that?' and for the second time that day Tom didn't have an answer, so he shrugged. Mike held his gaze for a few more seconds, before realizing he was staring and turning back to the guitar.

They ran through the song a few more times, but they never managed a rendition where everyone was perfect. Much to Tom's dismay, most of the screw ups were his, but how was it possible to focus on playing bass when he could feel a pair of dark brown eyes on him while he played. He had caught Mike looking in his direction a few times, but every time Tom tried to meet his gaze, the guitarist happened to become very interested in his own guitar.

Frankly it pissed him off. The whole 'trying to catch the other staring' thing was something high schoolers did. Not grown men. Especially not grown men. Tom knew how he felt, he was sure of it, and it didn't make sense. But feelings like that barely ever made sense, did they? But that wasn't exactly what frustrated him. It was the way Mike would blatantly stare at him, but bashfully look away if he ever caught him looking. It was the way he would seem like he wanted to say something, but then he'd catch himself at the last second and pull back. Maybe Tom was reading too much into these small actions. On other days they would act just like any two friends would. It was probably nothing. Mike definitely didn't feel the way he did, and it would be much better for both of them if Tom just forgot about everything before he did something stupid that could mess up their friendship, the band, and a thousand other things.

Despite the odds, and despite trying to ignore it, he hoped that maybe, just maybe, he had a chance. It was a pathetic thing to hope for, but not all things you hope for you get, and this probably was one of those things.

"Tom?"

"Huh?" he spun around coming face to face with a certain curly haired guitarist.

"You seemed out of it today," Mike noticed.

"Yeah, umm..." Tom looked down at his feet, not wanting to look up into Mike's dark eyes, "Didn't sleep well I guess. Dunno."

"We could run though it a couple of times, just you and me," Mike suggested, before he considered how that might sound.

"Because, um, Randall's got a date and Ben-", he tried to explain himself but Tom cut in before he could finish.

"Yeah that'd be good. Thank you."

He smiled in relief and sat down on the coffee table. Tom plugged in his guitar and moved to sit opposite of him. They were far apart enough that their guitars wouldn't knock against each other, yet he could feel Tom's knee brushing against his.

"Where'd the others go?" Tom asked suddenly.

"Hm?" Mike looked up, "They went to Dub's. Didn't you notice?"

His brow furrowed comically, "No. I- I guess I spaced out."

"You 'spaced out'?" Mike laughed, he couldn't help himself, "Ben and Charlie had a whole ass argument about where they wanted to go. You didn't notice?"

Tom didn't look hurt at his laughter, in fact a genuine smile was spreading across his face as well, not the one he used for pictures, but the one that graced his lips whenever he was really happy. 'Why do I know that?' Mike asked himself. It was true, Tom did have different smiles, but it surprised him that he knew that. He had never noticed such a small detail about any of the other guys. Then again, the other guys didn't make him nervous when they were sitting only inches apart. For a second he wondered if he made Tom nervous too, but he dismissed the thought as soon as it came. Why would Tom feel like that too? Other men might, but not Tom.

"Hey, Mike?" Tom asked, drawing his attention away from the thoughts beginning to invade his brain.

"Mi-ike?" he repeated in a singsong voice, "I think this time you're the one that spaced out."

"Yeah, sorry. What did you say?"

"I was asking what song we should do?" he said, grinning as he added, "Since I'm not too good at Up In Mississippi I thought we could do that one again."

"Mhm, yeah. Sure," he said, maybe too quickly.

"You okay?"

Tom was watching him closely, now those blue eyes were completely focused on him instead of staring into the distance at nothing. It seemed as if Tom could stare into his soul, seeing every thought that was currently racing though his mind.

"I'm fine," he assured him, "Let's go."

Tom didn't look entirely convinced at his statement. He opened his mouth to say something but seemed to think the better of it. Instead he started tapping his foot to the beat and began the count off.

"One, two, three, four."

Mike wondered what he wanted to say. What stopped him? Was it the same thing that stopped him whenever he wanted to confess? Or was it the opposite? Whatever it was that Tom wanted to say was going to plague him, he knew that already. Tom rarely decided to remain silent once he felt the need to speak, so whatever it was must've been important. Most times the words left unsaid were left that way to make life easier. And other times, they just made everything a thousand times more difficult. Maybe he'd never know which applied here, or maybe he would find out soon. Only time would tell.

Chapter Text

With a small jerk, the airplane slowly started rolling towards the end of the runway.

"Everything's going to be alright," I told myself. "You're not going to die falling through the air in a flaming wreck."

Desperately trying to distract myself from the fact that I was probably going to die in a tin can thousands of feet above the ground, I started singing my favorite song in my head. But not even that worked. I couldn't even remember the lyrics or the tune, or anything for that matter. At that moment, all I could visualize was the airplane crashing to the ground and taking all of us with it.

"Cabin crew, take your seats." The pilot's voice crackled over the intercom.

The flight attendants made their way back down the aisle and disappeared. My mind started to wander, thinking about where they went after the captain announced that. Sadly the few blissful seconds of distraction were cut off as the engine started to roar a few moments later. Despite my best efforts to keep my mouth shut and suffer in silence, I let out an involuntary squeak.

Next to me, Kurt noticed how stiff I had gotten and how my nails were digging into the seat cushions. He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into an awkward hug. The arm rest between us prevented me from completely melting into his embrace, as I usually did.

"It's okay," he whispered in my ear, pulling me closer.

My breath hitched as we were pushed back into our seats as the airplane began rolling down the runaway, preparing to take off. Over the deafening roar of the engine I heard Kurt start to sing.

"If I had to lose a mile

If I had to touch feelings

I would lose my soul

The way I do."

He was singing 'Oh me', my favorite Meat Puppets song. Whenever I had a bad day, I would put on this song. It was sweet of him to remember that. For a moment, I forgot my fears, all my attention on Kurt now.

"I don't have to think

I only have to do it

The results are always perfect

And that's old news."

Instead of zeroing in on my fears, I tried to instead focus on Kurt. The way his voice was soft and steady, lovingly singing into my ear. His hand, calloused from constantly playing guitar, was softly tracing circles onto my arm. When I buried my head into his shoulder, I could still smell the cigarette he had before we entered the airport on his flannel.

"Would you like to hear my voice

Sprinkled with emotion

Invented at your birth?"

I felt the wheels of the airplane leave the ground. My ears popped as the pressure in the cabin changed. I made the mistake of glancing out the window, seeing the tall buildings below. One wrong move by the pilot could make us crash into the city below.

"I can't see the end of me

My whole expanse I cannot see

I formulate infinity

Stored deep inside me"

The airplane shuddered as it passed through the clouds, and finally we started to level out. My shoulders relaxed and it felt as if I could breathe properly again. Kurt stopped singing as I straightened up.

"You okay?" he asked, gently taking my hand.

I nodded, "Yeah, um... flyings not exactly my favorite form of travel."

He cracked a teasing smile at my response. "Oh, really? I hadn't noticed."

"Shut up," I said playfully, "You're the one that's scared of spiders. At least mine makes sense."

"Spiders are dangerous," he said defensively.

"Tarantulas maybe. Not the penny-sized ones in our bathroom."

"You're mean on airplanes," he pouted.

I just laughed, resting my head back on his shoulder, "I love you.".