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Paul loved getting home at the end of a long day, pulling his bag off his shoulder, finding himself in the comfort of his own room. He went immediately to open his computer at his desk as he often did, still open to his tumblr page.
The last thing he had reblogged was a picture of a bass he’d been dreaming of. A Rickenbacker 4001, beautifully bodied, with a beautiful sound. Paul leaned back against his chair, reveling in it for a moment before he was reminded of why he was so excited to open tumblr.
He started a new post.
Diary entry… I can’t even remember anymore. One of em.
Well everybody, J did something peculiar today. Again. But not the normal kind of peculiar. Not like him suggesting we all go cliff diving to see if it brings us back to our past lives. Nothing like that. No… he was asking me about my favorite kind of cake, to start, as he’d had a slide of cake in a dream that reminded him of me…
Then when I said chocolate, but like a home cooked chocolate, you know, basic chocolate cake, he grabbed my hand and said that had been exactly it!
He held my hand. He’s never done that before, nevermind the fact that he was dreaming about me…
What’s happening to me? I’m becoming the kind of dolt who puts this rubbish on the internet instead of just kicking my feet like a normal person. But there’s no one else I can tell this to, “diary”!
Love you,
Thanks for reading,
P
Paul shut his computer and groaned through his hands, flopping down on his bed. John had held his hand! He could still feel it, his smooth skin, prickly fingertips where he had callouses. John brushed his shoulder all the time, and would punch his arm occasionally. It took Paul all too long to realize that the nervous fluttering in his stomach that he would get each time that occurred wasn’t simply nerves, but infatuation.
Paul groaned into his arms, the muscles in his body crying in happiness at finally laying down flat. He kicked at his made bed, images of John flashing through his mind. It wasn’t unnoticed to Paul that any dislikable thing about John was swamped by his love, his sympathy, and all the little things, like John’s adorable smile, the curl of his hair, how cool he looked on stage; they all flooded Paul’s mind and all he felt was admiration. It didn’t take long for Paul to fall asleep, tears smudged on his cheeks.
-
He woke up feeling cold, groaning again as he pushed himself up with his arms, his striped t-shirt clinging to him. He should have changed first. Hindsight, right?
He pulled off his socks, moving to change for bed when he realized he should probably check the time! It wasn’t time to go to bed yet. There was still dinner, and he had to help make it!
He flipped open his laptop to see the time, and couldn’t resist checking his post for comments. He couldn’t shake the need for interaction. He sat down swiftly.
Raccoonxcyborgy
I cants believe you still havent asked J out yet. What are you doing man
purplebat
Awwww so cute!!!
There were quite a few like that. So many wanted him to be with John… It at least told Paul he wasn’t reading into things. They thought he even had a chance!
dirtyrickenbacker
I have a similar problem with one of my bandmates…
Dirtyrickenbacker was a new one. Paul clicked his tongue. He wasn’t the only one pining for a bandmate?
He clicked on his profile and there was barely anything on it. No description, introduction. A few reblogs of memes that have circulated tumblr for years, and a dark profile picture. The banner was of the same guitar John had! What a coincidence.
He shrugged and leaned on his fist, scrolling up and down on rickenbacker’s profile, accidentally refreshing it.
There was a new text post at the top.
Fucking striped red shirts.
Paul’s jaw dropped a fraction, eyes lowering from his screen to his stomach. His red and white striped t-shirt.
It couldn’t be John. That was wishful thinking.
A bang at Paul’s door nearly had him falling out of his chair. “Paul, get down stairs! Da’ll be home soon and ye haven’t even started cookin’ yet!” His brother Mike shouted through the door.
Paul took a breath, hand caressing his chest over his heart. He slammed down his laptop screen again. “Be right there!” It came out choked.
That can’t be John… That can’t be John… Paul squeezed his eyes shut. It couldn’t be John.
His head swooped as he stood, pushing his desk chair in, steading himself.
Oh, no…
-
When he got back from dinner he opened Tumblr again, just to see if it was real; if he had been seeing things, and when he did, the post was gone. Paul refreshed fifteen times, scrolled down their profile. Nothing.
“Was I making that up?” Was he hoping for John?
Paul couldn’t resist investigating and messaged the account.
What about striped shirts?
Paul sent it before he could think hard enough about it. He’d been brewing over this all through dinner. Both his brother and father asked him what had happened today; if it had been rough. He’d momentarily forgotten about John holding his hand and could only get red and stumble through his words. His father looked unconvinced, and rather confused. Oh lord.
Paul waited anxiously for an answer, fingers tapping on the keyboard. Then they were between his teeth, pinching at his nails. His feet bounced on the floor, knees shaking.
Paul lunged forward, sitting up straight in his chair as the message was read, and the typing bubbles appeared. He was online! Paul was still imagining John on the other side, blushing up to his ears as well, coming on to Paul. He found his account, didn’t he?
What about striped shirts?
Who are you?
Paul’s jaw clenched. Was he serious?
You commented on my post just a few hours ago
…never mind about the shirts
You like to accuse random people… of shirts?
Forget about the shirts
You said you had a situation like mine…
Oh yeah
Well
I normally don’t speak on it but seeing as we’re strangers I
Well i like a bloke
Me too
And I’m a bloke
I am too
I was impressed you found a way to speak about it
I don’t ever
It’s hard to go about. Especially when you’re in a band and see each other every day
Paul had to pause.
This couldn’t be John. It could be. But it couldn’t be. That would be too unusual. That wouldn’t happen. John was strange, but John couldn’t believe in the possibility of this happening, could he? That meant it was impossible.
I get that
A lot of your stories remind me of mine.
You’ve read through my blog?
I like them, don’t you check?
I
I’m not really concerned about that right now
What are you concerned about then
Paul wanted to say that you might be J, but he couldn’t. This guy would laugh at him. It was silly.
Paul sighed. What was he supposed to say to him? Maybe it was better to say nothing at all.
Paul closed his laptop again, putting his thumb back between his lips to think. He should go to bed. He didn’t need to respond to him. He didn’t know him. He found himself overly nervous. It was better to stop now.
-
The next day, Paul went to college as usual, but with an additional little patter in his heart. Had John found him, or was this a stranger?
He let himself be distracted by his usual daydreaming: John wrapping him up in his arms as they watched a film on Paul’s bed; John leaning in close over their guitars like he did when they were writing, tipping his head close to kiss him.
Paul nearly fell asleep in his art class, he was so involved. John found him by the school gates shortly after, Paul still shaking the sleep and images from his head.
John was smirking today, fingers reaching out to adjust Paul’s collar, tugging it up. “You don’t have to keep dressing like a secondary student, you know.”
Paul huffed and smoothed it down again. “My father-”
“Your father still dresses you, makes you get a job while you’re in school and you have us, why do you listen to him anyway?”
Paul continued to smooth his collar where John had tugged. “I don’t mind dressing nice for school.” Paul’s eyes trailed down John’s black t-shirt, tasteful bootcut jeans, and fanciful shoes. He liked to have a little flair.
“I think he’s trying to split us up.”
Paul’s ears pricked up. “What?” But they weren’t together. Were they?
John huffed and smiled, shaking his head. “I mean the band,” he drawled, crossing his arms.
“Oh,” Paul’s face fell.
They both recognized the possibility, and sat with it for a moment as they walked.
“Well, I’d never leave the band. We’re too good.”
John huffed through his nose. “That’s what I like to hear.”
They walked their way to John’s house. John wanted his own place, to live apart from his aunt, but he spent a good sum of his savings on his Rickenbacker 325 and the band’s wages weren’t enough to support himself.
They spent an afternoon like most, sitting across from each other in John’s room. Paul had left his acoustic guitar here days before. He’d tucked it against John’s, nuzzling together like penguins.
The afternoon turned to evening, songs churning out faster than they had in a while. Paul, rather, chose to focus harder today. He didn’t want to come across as red and embarrassed today, not after yesterday. He couldn’t come back from that once he started. He would start stuttering, and even if John was dense, it would be hard to talk himself out of why he was flushed and stuttering without revealing some bit of the crush he was harbouring.
Paul had to leave, against his wishes. He couldn’t stay. He wanted to ask to stay over, but he had school again. And his father wouldn’t like it. His father hated John. Paul could understand why, but it didn’t feel great to have to hide John from him.
He walked the way home with his guitar. He was never as productive without John.
He climbed his way up the stairs to his room, thumping his bag and guitar down and pulling out his laptop.
Opening tumblr, dirtyrickenbacker’s name greeted Paul.
Dear diary,
I’ve been inspored to write here about my love who, unfortunately, doesn’t know of my love.
I spent the afternoon with him again today (it happens a lot) and we sat to write (we’re musicians) and he’s just so beautiful. The way his eyes… they’re soft like an old leather couch. I think he turns everyone with those eyes. He doesn’t think he’s got any potential but he’s goddamn beautiful and I want to be with him.
Sorry, I don’t want to get too intense about it. I just want him like… a petrol-powered car wants petrol. A car craves life, speed. It would be sad without a purpose. Imagine a petrolless car, sitting on the street, no means of being any kind of useful or having any kind of fun. Actually imagine the car in a trash heap. That’s how I feel. I want him.
Paul blinked tears out of his eyes.
If only it was John. They’d sat and played just like that today…
This guy really cared. He was a small bit creepy about it, but he cared.
He reminded Paul of John.
Paul opened his messages. Rickenbacker was still waiting for a response.
You really do have a crush
Was I too much?
I think it’s great!
A bit silly
You seem like you’d be great at love letters
You did say you write songs, I shouldn’t be surprised
I write great songs
I can tell you’re a bit full of yourself, too
Its a front
I’m very insecure
Confidence is my bffl
Not this crush?
Oh I would die for him
Man..
You’re in it deep
I get it
Yeah
Why can’t you tell him?
Many reasons
I don’t want to say
That’s fair…
I’m a bit scared of my dad
Paul bit his lip again. He couldn’t do this. Not directly.
This was becoming less anonymous. He was saying too much.
He exited out of their messages, and could see the red of rickenbacker’s messages coming through, but he opened a new post.
Dairy #?? I can’t bother to check it rn
I need to vent a bit.
Just today J told me my da is overbearing (again), and he is.
What if he doesn’t like J. What if why he doesn’t already like J is because he knows I like J?
Maybe this should stay in my head.
Oh, fuck it. I share everything on here.
I’m scared.
And J even seemed to think of the possibility of us together today. He said he thought my dad wanted to break up the band, and I thought he meant us two, as a couple, cause I keep thinking about it and I’m genuinely scared my da would… I’m just sad, and J even seemed to consider us together for a moment. He didn’t dismiss it.
I just don’t know what to do.
Do I tell him and risk, first, losing him as a friend? I don’t know how receptive he would be… then second, my father… either way I’m gonna get my heart broken.
P
Paul sniffled, throat tightening. He sent it off and stood up, blood rushing in his ears. He took deep breaths as he changed, throwing his phone down on his bed.
There was a knock at the door just as Paul tugged his duvet down. “Yes?” Paul called, clearing his throat.
Mike opened the door a sliver. “Are you going to join us for dinner?”
“I ate at John’s,” Paul sighed, waiting to get into bed until Mike left with a pinched, almost sorry look on his face.
Paul must have looked rough. His hair was all ruffled, face hot, eyes and throat nearly choked with tears.
His phone, which he’d forgotten about, started buzzing.
It was John calling.
Paul wiped his face, trying to pretend like he wasn’t crying. That wasn’t something he did.
He took a breath, clearing his throat, and accepted the call.
John’s voice was just what he wanted to hear right now.
“Hey, why’re you calling?” Paul said, almost too softly.
“Got a semi; thought I’d call.”
Paul’s face screwed up in disgust and a laugh punched out of him. He started coughing.
“Sod off, John,” Paul whispered. He laughed in short huffs, relief washing over him. Even John’s crude humor was welcome now.
“I was just calling ‘cause I had one of my funny feelings. You know, one of em’ thoughts.”
“Your little premonitions?" Paul smiled. John always said he could see their name in lights. That always made Paul feel whole, and just grateful to have a friend so confident in their work; in themselves.
“Yeah. Just thought you might need the company. I know family is rough, but you’ve got me, right? We’re going places, see?”
“Going places…” Paul turned his head into the pillow. It caught his silent tears. “We should go somewhere. I want to get away from here, John… Liverpool is getting boring.”
“I wish we didn’t have gigs this weekend,” John sighed.
Paul smiled. “There will be time for a bigger trip soon. We could go just… anywhere. How about that little pond I almost drowned Mike in?”
John hummed. “That bad, is it?”
Paul groaned. “Let’s just go to town tomorrow, okay?”
“Before the gig?”
“Yeah, let's go look at the guitars,” Paul let out a breath. That shop was his quiet place, his safe space. When he walked into the music shop all his complicated family thoughts stopped.
“I keep thinking about when we first met. When you took my guitar and played it upside down.”
“You learn both ways when you’re left handed.” Paul loved to show off, but he played at being humble too.
“You’re bloody talented, that’s what.”
Paul beamed before thoughts of what he’d posted crashed over him.
“You’re right about me da…”
“... You think he wants you to leave the band?”
Paul huffed through a self-assuring smile. “Yeah. That.”
John was quiet for a moment, only voicing a little hum of acknowledgement.
“Paul, don’t worry about it. I didn’t mean to stress you out about it. Just think, once we’re big and famous, will your dad care? No, he’ll be a rich man like us.”
“If you think about it like that, I haven’t got a worry in the world!” Paul said half-sarcastically. “There’s still this bit before then. To live through.”
“I know.” John clicked his tongue. “Let’s plan a trip, just us. We’ll free up a weekend and get out of here, Paul. Just forget about yer dad. Where do you want to go? Blackpool? London? Paris? Prague?”
Paul laughed softly. “Hmm… America.”
“Think smaller son, I don’t have the money for that.”
Paul sat up, laughing loudly. “You just suggested Prague!”
“One day we’ll go anywhere you want to. Think on it. We’ll do a bus trip.”
“That sounds lovely,” and Paul realized then he sounded a bit lovestruck and cleared his throat again. “I mean, yeah. Yeah, we should do that.”
“Oh, come on, Paul.”
“What, John?” Paul’s voice softened again.
“That’s better,” John sighed. “Is there anything else we should say? I might want to go now.”
“Semi need your attention?” Paul muttered playfully, laying back into his pillow.
“Gross, Paul, what are you on about?”
Paul rolled his eyes with a giant smile. “Good night, John.”
“Good night, Paul,” John’s voice soothed Paul’s ear, caressing him, full-bodied, and Paul wasn’t hardly thinking as he ended the call and drifted off to sleep.
-
Paul waved at John, waiting by the gate again. John was just a year older than him and had graduated from an art college not far from Paul’s own.
Paul sighed as greeting, and John clapped an awkward hand on Paul’s shoulder. They rarely ever consoled each other how they had the night before.
“You excited?” John asked.
Paul looked at him like he was dumb. “You kidding? Let’s find a place for me to change first, I’ve got me clothes in my bag.”
“Good lad.”
The band, depending on where they were working, had a dress code. Tonight was the Casbah club, and the suit wouldn’t do, not when the rest of them were in tight jeans and leather jackets. Paul couldn’t wait to get the suit off for another reason. His dad didn’t like the jeans. They were too uncouth, or provocative. He had so many reasons.
In the loo of the nearest cafe Paul changed his look, and his personality too. He felt less uptight, less inhibited, when he could dress like a kid.
He knew John liked it too.
Paul emerged from the cafe. John was waiting outside, probably longing for a cigarette. He knew how bad they were for the lungs, though.
John’s eyes raked Paul’s body immediately. “Look less like your da’s dressed you now. Which he did.”
“He doesn’t dress me.”
“He picks out your clothes.”
“Stop it, John.”
“Oh, alright, I’ll stop. We’re still getting a weekend away from him.” John pushed off the building, leading the way.
“Make it a week. You’re right about all that.” Paul sighed, following behind John, bag weighed down with his father-enforced uniform.
John turned around before Paul, stopping his walking. “Don’t worry, remember? It’ll be okay.” John slapped Paul on the shoulder and kept walking.
Paul shook his head and followed.
-
Paul rounded around the back of his house, ducking below the windows, John trailing behind him. He shivered, holding his bass against himself dearly as they waded through the grass.
They got to the drain pipe and Paul was able to stand fully. John took Paul's bag and pulled out Paul’s white button up.
Paul put it on quickly, doing it up as he kicked off his cowboy boots and pulled down his tight trousers. John traded them for his slacks. Paul blushed and shivered more.
It happened like this sometimes where Paul would forget to change before he got home, and John would come along to help. He’d carry Paul’s bass up the drainpipe for him, and Paul would go in through the front door, dressed for school like he hadn’t been out playing music all night.
Paul got it enough from his father. He didn’t like to shove his deviance in his face. He also got John for a few more hours, often enough. It didn’t hurt to have an excess of caution.
Paul’s chapped thighs slipped back into trousers, and his formal shoes went back on too, along with his tie.
“Okay, wait here. I’ll have the window open in a minute.”
John nodded. Paul smiled and crawled away with his bag.
It didn’t take long getting through the house. Paul’s father Jim hardly even noticed the mud on Paul’s loafers, or the red of exhilaration on his face. No, he just sat in his chair with his paper, giving his piano the old wistful glance.
“Alright, da?” Paul asked with a smile.
“Did you have fun today with that band a yer’s?”
“Great fun, da. I ate a bit at George’s.”
“Tha’s good, lad. Have a good night, then.”
“Good night, dad.”
It all felt so perfunctory.
Anyway, it would all be over soon. When his father realizes music will get him to a real job, real money. He’ll see.
Paul all but ran up the stairs. He threw open his door, and his window.
John looked up.
Paul smiled down at him. “Come up, Romeo.”
“You’ll let me up in your tower today?”
“That’s Rapunzel, John.”
John just laughed and climbed up the pipe one handed, the other clutching Paul’s precious bass. He could have taken it with him through the front door, but John seemed to like feeling helpful. And he looked cool doing it.
Paul pulled the bass in, and John after. John tried to land as lightly as possible.
Paul wanted to wrap John up in a hug. John was his prince. It was only natural.
Instead Paul fell down on his twin bed, his hands at his sides holding him up right.
John raised an eyebrow. He walked closer and slumped down beside Paul, nearly sitting on his fingers. “What do you have me here for?” John batted his eyelashes.
Paul fell back against the bed. “You can sit and watch me do me homework.”
“That sounds exciting,” John sighed and laid back as well, his body just inches from Paul’s. He put an arm behind his head, he took his phone out.
Paul groaned and sat up. Did he really have to suggest homework? “I have to work but I’m so tired.”
“Maybe get rid of that job of yours.” He was typing now, talking to someone.
“It’s only on the weekend!” Paul huffed, standing to get his bag.
“All that time you could be with me, though.”
“You have other friends to go off with while I’m working.”
“Do I?”
“Arty friends.” Paul sat down at his desk. He had an art project he was supposed to work on. He was still coming up with an idea for the project itself.
He opened his laptop, again open to Tumblr because he was addicted.
There was a new post from dirtyrickenbacker.
I love the way his eyes light up at the same silly, dreamed up guitars. How he has to play with every maraca and finger cymbal before he can get out of the music store. How he can play the right handed guitars even with his left-handed deformity. I love the way he can scream on stage. Just as good as Little Richard. Better, because it’s him. He wears these tight trousers even though his father don like em and they look delicious on him. He looks good in a suit too, even if I’ve left out that fact when commenting on them. He wears a lot of suits. He looks good on stage, all sweaty, but in his element. He goes somewhere then. We stand so close when we sing. I think about kissing him sometimes, then I go feel ashamed about it. But I think he wouldn’t mind if I did. He looks so cute when he’s flustered, flushed in the cold, and when he invites me over with no reason.
Paul felt frozen. He didn’t want to turn and look at John. But John knew. And he wanted to kiss him. And he was right there behind Paul.
Paul tried to take shallow breaths, pretending like he hadn’t seen it for a moment. He opened his messages with dirtyrickenbacker, still unread from last night.
I hope not too bad
Are you doing okay paul ?
Do i need to come over
Oh shit
Paul laughed. And laughed. “You broke your cover that easily?” Paul squeaked, not realizing tears were pooling in his eyes.
Paul’s bed squeaked as John sat up. “I was worried about you.”
“I got you that easy…”
Paul felt like heavy, dead weight. John had read through all his pining woes.
But he still loved him.
Paul cleared his throat. “Can you look away while I stand up?”
“Yeah, I can do that.” John didn’t question him for once as Paul took his time standing, taking off his blazer and putting it over the back of his desk chair. He took another deep breath. John was going to kiss him. John was going to kiss him. This was like one of his fantasies, in a twisted way. John knew all his fantasies.
Paul thought deliberately about how he would sit before he did.
John continued to look down as Paul sat down beside him, a leg coming to lay on John’s thighs as he curled his arms around John’s neck.
Finally John looked up. At him.
“I’ll be the petrol to your trash heap motor car any day,” Paul muttered.
The corner of John’s lip turned up wryly. “I know.”
John dipped forward, catching Paul’s lips, and Paul was ready, sighing into it, clutching John’s neckline, leaning into him as the chaste kiss broke. “John, you’re everything right with the world.”
John chuckled. “That’s sweet, but I wouldn’t say many would agree.”
“You’re everything right in my world.”
John blinked a little harsher and kissed Paul’s forehead, shifting them to fall down on the pillows of Paul’s neatly made bed.
“What if your dad finds us here?” John asked in a hush. “What would happen.”
Paul shrugged. “I’d hope he wouldn’t be mad, but he doesn’t like you much, nevermind that fact you’re a bloke. You know what would happen.”
“We’d run away?”
Paul dipped forward, kissing John’s chin and cheek. “Exactly. We’ll make it big. Just gotta get out of here first.”
“As long as you’re there, Paul.” John swallowed. “I’m sorry I stalked your blog.”
“How did you find it anyway?”
“You’re always writing on there, thought I’d look around. You’re quite popular. I didn’t know you wrote about me. And the others. Don’t let me forget the many times you called George cute.”
Paul huffed. “That’s different.” So it was that easy? “I’m glad you found me.”
“Or you wouldn’t have said anything?”
Paul nodded. “Maybe.”
John wrapped his hands around Paul’s back, squeezing him lightly. “I’m glad I did, then.”
Paul nodded again. “I’m glad. You mean so much to me,” he couldn’t help but say, “I’m so glad you let me into your band. You’re so beautiful and I admire you so much and-”
“Shh,” John grinned. “Don’t let your dad hear.” He hugged Paul a little tighter. “I meant everything I said too. But your eyes are prettier than an old sofa.”
“Just put it in a love song, John,” Paul said, flushed already.
John smiled, dipping down to Paul’s neck, pressing the smile into his skin. “Great idea.”
Dear diary #467,
I have great news. J found my account. And he loves me back. He wasn’t even scared off by my obsessiveness. He said it took a while to process, but you know, he’s also a bit obsessive. I hope that’s a good thing. We’re involved…not obsessed. Obsessed sounds bad… but he’s obsessed with me. Yeah.
I know at least a few of you have noticed the account @dirtyrickenbacker … that’s him, if you want to go look at his sappy sayings. I’m sure he’ll keep updating too…
I feel a lot better about my dad and him now too… nothing’s been fixed but we’re gonna make it work, however it turns out. I love my family, and I love J.
I love him so, so much.
But still, be careful on the internet, friends. You never know who might be reading.
P