Archive of Our Own

John was at the barber shop when he first got the idea.

Not that him getting his hair cut actually had any relevance, but it had come to him when he'd seen one of those little magazines you see plastered all over these types of shops.

See, John wasn't much a big fan of seeing new, flashy hairstyles everywhere - given that he had to stay stuck with his boring old mop, until Eppy said otherwise. But…Well, he'd seen this lady; she'd had a bob, she had. It was some new fad. Girls everywhere, and you couldn't tell whether they were birds or blokes from behind because of how short their hair was getting.

It wasn't actually the bob that caught his eye, no - he saw them all over, now. It was the fact that the girl sporting it was the spitting image of Paul.

Soon as he'd saw it, he'd burst out laughing, he couldn't help it. The guy who had been cutting his hair - some twinkly upshot, John didn't really know - had hit him over the head with the butt of the scissors. He'd kept on giggling, though, 'till he was booted out with his hair all botched.

Obviously, he'd gone and gotten it sorted in the very same hour; but, you know, the press always somehow caught wind of everything. And John was mildly hoping that he wouldn't see pictures of himself looking a fool - plastered all over the Telegram, a caricature of the friendly scarecrow.

He didn't much care, though.

What were the chances, he'd thought to himself - that some girl had looked like Paul's identical twin.

Then he'd thought some more.

Paul was quite girly looking, he'd supposed. Big, doe-like eyes, soft lips. The fans always called him the pretty one; John agreed. Some people said the only thing that saved Paul from girlishness was the light outline of stubble he had, right across his jaw. John didn't agree with that.

John had done some more thinking. Contrary to popular belief, he didn't actually need to think all that much. His ideas just came to him without much effort - just, well, materialising there. Of course, he thought all of the time - ideas were just one small part of that.

But, this time, he had to focus on the idea he wanted to grab. He knew he had it lurking, he just didn't know where.

He'd gone home, painted some pictures. All of them had ended up looking like Paul.

Then, he'd drawn Paul in some sort of necklace - just a rough sketch of his neck, and his head. Nothing more than that.

And that was when he had grasped the idea!

Paul looked like a girl. But people still knew he was a bloke. His deep voice, the suits; well, the fact his bloody name was Paul. What girl was called Paul?

The thing John wanted to find out was whether he could trick people into thinking Paul really was a girl, not that he just looked a bit like one.

That's exactly what John would find out. Maybe. 

He just didn't know how, yet.

'No, John - why would I wear that, now?'

John waved the necklace in the air. He'd stolen it from Cynthia - she had a load, and he doubted she'd miss it much. It'd looked the closest to the one he'd drawn on Paul in the painting, and he'd seen it, and gone - 'that's the one!'

Paul crossed his arms. 'When pigs fly, Johnny. Pigs fly.'

John rolled his eyes, then snorted playfully - flapping his arms around. -'See, Paulie? I'm flying! The pig's bloody flying! Happy now, ye git?'

'Get gone, you -' Paul stifled a giggle, still trying to appear annoyed - 'really, there's no chance.'

John pouted, lips curled downwards, 'please? It'd be for a -' John paused, plotting as to what would make Paul put it on. If ever he would.

'I'm makin' a song. 'Bout necklaces. Help me out, yeah?'

Paul rose an eyebrow, ever the sceptic. 'Get Cynthia to wear it, then. I'm not stupid, y'know? Where's Ringo? George? I know you're all waiting, to take the mick. Hiding, aren't ye, like the sorry sops you are.'

John shook his head. 'No, I promise, Paulie. I can't get Cynthia to do it, anyway. She's mad with me.'

'She oughta be, she deserves better.'

'Well, ye like me well enough, don't ye?'

Paul rolled his eyes, huffing - murmuring a little, 'that's besides the point', before he pushed past John, and picked up his bass to fiddle at the strings. - 'It's not tuned properly, I-'

'Paulie, don't be changing the subject! I beg, beg - wear it, c'mon.'

'Don't take the piss.'

'I'm not! I swear, honest, on the Queen.'

'You don't give two hoots about the Queen!'

John went down to his knees, putting his hands together as if in prayer - 'is this enough? Want me to slobber all over you, as well? Kiss your feet, ye toes?'

Paul put down his bass. Then shoved John away by the head, sending him sprawling onto his arse - but the look on Paul's face was worth it. A light pink hue, that flustered look he only got when John was around.

John folded his arms, 'just do it for me, Paulie. Best mates, right?'

Paul sighed. 'Best mates, but-'

'No buts, Macca. We're partners, isn't - arent…Uh, aren't we? Yeah?'

'…Yeah.'

Bingo! John had done it - 'Wear the necklace, then. Not only for me, though. For the song!'

'Fine. I'll get ye back though, so don't be too happy.'

John raised his hands, as if in placation, then found the necklace - he'd dropped it when Paul had kicked him over. 'Right, go on, then.'

Paul held it uncertainly. He'd helped a few girlfriends put on their necklaces over the years - but he'd always been clumsy with the finicky little clasp they all had. And John was stood right there, breathing down his neck. Which made his hands shake even more.

John's lip curled smugly as he watched Paul struggle around with it. Useless, he was.

'Hey - mate, you need some help, there?'

'Help me by going t' hell, won't ye?'

John stepped back, softly exhaling. 'Right, get on with it, then.'

Paul fiddled with it for another five minutes.

He'd tried putting it on front-way first. Then from the back. Then he'd clasped it together, and tried to fit it over his head - that definitely did not work. The entire time, John had stood with his arms crossed, waiting with anticipation for Paul to look over at him with that look in his eyes.

The one that he had when he was stuck - usually when they were making their songs.

When Paul couldn't figure out the right chord, or the right word to go next.

John always had an answer. Maybe because Paul always wanted him to give one. He did what Paul wanted - 'course he did. That's what mates do.

Just as he'd hoped, Paul gave him the look. John strode over immediately, but his confident movements became more subdued as he finally had himself pressed against Paul's chest, leaning over his shoulder. He tried to stop breathing, could see the way his breaths moved the little hairs on Paul's neck.

Just as quickly as he'd put the necklace on for Paul, he stepped back.

Ignoring the little butterflies swirling in his stomach that probably meant nothing.

...'Ta.'

Paul looked down to the floor, resisting the urge to whack John in the shin and then make a run for it. But, he stood where he was, staring stubbornly at the floor through his lashes. John didn't say anything at first, so Paul looked up.

John's eyes were fully blown.

Out, like he was some sort of cat in the dark. The room, though, was bright. Paul was also quite certain that John wasn't a cat - not entirely certain, of course. You'd never know with John.

'…John? You alright?'

John didn't say anything, just gulped. Eyes still blown. Paul gasped in indignation.

'What've you been takin', then? Without me? It better not of been the good stuff-'

John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Paul was saying something - he could tell, because of the way his Adam's apple moved. Moved the necklace.

John had never seen anything so - so devastatingly wonderful.

He tried to find a sight he'd seen that was better. Fans screaming his name. The spring - those greens coming out, after a long, cold winter. Julia. Ice lollies, the glare of the sun on the pavement; tree fractals. Kaleidoscopes. Statues of Mother Mary.

Nothing compared.

'Christ, Paulie…'

The word 'beautiful' stuck in his throat, unable to heave his heart to his tongue.

Paul just rose his eyebrow. 'That's why you're actin' so weird, gettin' me in this stupid necklace. You're high as a kite, ye idiot-'

'No, no I'm not! I-'

'Oh, shut it, Johnny. Let me take it off - c'mhere, gimme a hand.'

'Not a chance. Let me snap a picture, won't ye? C'mon-'

'No. No, that takes ages - and I don't see any camera close at hand. I'm not waitin' around, looking a fool, am I? Get it off, or I'll sock you.'

John sighed. He felt like he'd just lost his left arm. Or a loved one. His grief was tantamount.

'Whatever.'

John screwed up a piece of paper, threw it at the wall.

Blotted lines swirled in his head, twisted notes. He tried again. 'Saw her in a grand hall, lights, framing her like a necklace - yeah, naaa, like -…'

He trailed off. Started again. 'Woman, woman - look at me, pretty neck -'

John winced.

'He was getting his haircut, she came around, he said he liked her neck, she ran away screaming. Oooh, ooh, what's wrong with him? The village talks, they don't get it, she's beautiful - he's in love with the man with the cellophane neck -'

Man. Man. That probably meant nothing.

John kept going - 'and he went 'round, looking for her neck everywhere he went. She, uh -'

John coughed, picking his nose awkwardly. Something about the song just didn't feel right. 'He felt he was going to see him again - uh, her - her again - and the two would wear their necklaces, so…'

John shook his head, hopeless.

'Christ, John. That's shite.'

John flinched, then scowled when he saw George. 'Get outta here, won't ye?'

George shrugged. 'Nah.'

The other man sat down next to John, clever eyes appraising all of the discarded piles of paper. George was the youngest, yet he'd always seemed to be the wisest. Then, other times, he was back to being the goofball George most people knew. This wasn't other times.

'John, I heard some of that - well, whatever that…Mess was.'

John's face flushed, but he didn't lash out. It wasn't exactly George's fault he'd overheard his 'mess', so he kept his mouth shut. He'd already said - or sung, to be picky - far more than enough.

'Who is he, then?'

John froze. 'Dunno what you're talking about.'

'You do, and you're goin' to tell me. Get it?'

'Fine.' John pulled his knees up to his chest, like a scolded child, then looked away.

'Paul. It's... Paul. Maybe.'

George blinked slowly, then let out a little snicker. John went red.

'Right, laugh. I know what ye think - that I'm a queer, or sumthin' - and ye wanna poke fun, that's it, go on.'

'Oh, shut it, ye daft idiot. I'm laughing 'cos me and Ringo had a bet about who'd say sumthin' first, and I says you. And Ringo'd said Paul.'

'…What?'

'Oh, it's obvious as day between the two of ye. It's sickening, really - how obvious it is. It was just the question of who was finally going to do anythin' about it first.'

John sat there, silent. He wasn't sure whether to fume, or cry, or throw up, or laugh. 'That obvious, yeah?'

Looks like everyone had it figured all out but him and Paul.

'Yeah, Johnny. Yeah.'

John wasn't thick. He knew exactly how most people saw queers - even Paul. He knew something had been up with Paul for a long time. But he'd brushed it off as friendship. Partnership. Because, if it were anything more than that, then he'd be a freak. Then others would think of him as a freak. Paul would, too.

It felt weird, sat here. Hearing George talk about it so casually - when it'd been eating John up inside for so long.

'So, ye don't…Think it's weird?'

'Oh, no - no, you're weirdo. You're both weirdos. Our weirdos, though.'

John smiled, slight. Then, he felt his eyes water slightly. He sniffled, frowning.

Furious at himself. 

'Oh, Lenny…'

George inched closer, let John put his head on his shoulder.

And John cried. He cried, and cried - until he was practically smearing tears and snot all over George's blazer. 'Sorry, mate', he was muttering, between hiccups.

George just sat. His arm curled around John's back.

'You'll be just fine.'

'So, what ye gonna do about Paul, then?'

John shrugged.

He and George were lying down on the floor, now - John had some song lyrics curled up in his fist. His hand stained with ink.

'Dunno. Nothin', I suppose. We're only friends, like...'

'Well, what set ye off in the first place?'

'…Saw Paul in a necklace.'

George sat up, confused. 'Paul? Now, why, in God's name - why was he wearin' that?'

'I made him. I - funny story, really.'

'Tell me about it.'

'Well, I don't wanna be talkin' your ear off.'

George stretched, yawned. Didn't budge. Code for, 'get on with it.'

John cleared his throat - 'well, I went to get me a haircut. Gettin' a bit long on the edges, see. And I saw this - this bird in a mag. Looked just like Paul, took me right off me feet,' he shuffled, 'and I thought - well, y'know, that Paul looked like a girl. But y'could still tell he was a bloke. And I wanted…I wanted to see if he could really, really pass as a girl. Y'get me?'

'No, don't get ye at all. But, all to our own. Don't have all day, anyway. Continue.'

'Right - right. So, he got, uh - I mean, I made him put on a necklace. And he looked - well, not exactly like a girl. He was beautiful, though. More beautiful than any girl I'd ever seen, even if he didn't look-'

'What about Cynthia?'

John gulped, looked down. 'We're not talkin' much. I think she's finished with me. She said as much - I think she…Always, uh…Knew. Knew about me.'

George nodded his head. 'Right, 'cos I like her - she's beautiful - '

'Shut it, George!'

George shrugged, grinning. 'Right, so your tail wags for Paul in a necklace.'

John looked away.

'Yeah. So, get him to go the full way, then.'

'…'Scuse me?'

George grinned, scheming. Goofball back. 'Get him all dolled up. Necklace, you can do better. Dress, makeup, hair - even perfume. The whole lot.'

John laughed. A real laugh, throaty and hoarse.

'We're gonna have to get a fake Paul for that. I think I'd have to be on me deathbed for him to agree to even wearin' just the perfume.'

George leaned back. 'Well, you're creative. Figure somethin' out, ye can.'

He stood up, walked to the door - and just as John was about to go back to moping, he doubled back. 'Brian told me we're goin' to a fundraiser soon. Some sort of event, I dunno. We can bring partners. And if you won't be going with Cynthia…Think on it.'

George left.

Left John with a great, great epiphany.

Paul was lying down on his sofa, staring at the ceiling.

John had asked to talk to him. Called him over the telephone, and had spoken for about two hours. Eventually, Paul had just cut the line - he knew his monthly charge was going to get on Brian's nerves. Not like Paul should be spending the band's budget on a telephone call with a man he saw every single day.

John was coming around soon, apparently. He'd had some business to sort out earlier in the day, and said he'd be here for tea.

Paul hadn't made anything yet, though he was considering making mashed potatoes. They were easy enough.

Just as he was getting up, he heard rapid rapping on the door - that musical pattern evident in it, with a one-two step. Definitely John, then.

Paul yelled out, 'comin'!' Then he ran to the door, and opened it wide, smiling - until it dropped off, to be replaced with a cautious frown.

John was stood there, in the dark evening, panting under the weight of a bunch of boxes.

'John…?'

'Lemme in then - move it! C'mon, give me a hand!'

John shoved some boxes into Paul's hands, kicking off his shoes like he owned the place, then he made his way quickly to the living room.

'I've loads to show you!'

Paul sighed, 'never a quiet day with ye.'

'And you love me for it, yeah?'

Paul shrugged, tilting his head downwards slightly. 'Shut it…'

John huffed, then grabbed the boxes, unpacking them. A dress - multiple, actually. Heels, too. A bunch; all in different sizes. Some perfumes - vanilla, coconut. Some weird scent called 'grass natural.'

Paul stared in quiet amusement, unsure as to what John was up to. Not exactly confused, though. Never was confusion with John.

'What's all this for, then? New girl-?'

'Nah, nah - definitely not. I know there's a lot… But I didn't know what your favourite smell was, or what dress you'd like the most,' John paused, pointing at a red one - 'though I think you'd look best in this.'

'John, wait-'

'And the shoes. Didn't know what size ye feet were in heels - so, I just bought the lot.'

When John stopped talking, a brief silence engulfed the room.

Paul stared at John like he'd grown a third head, or something - which he might as well have, with all the nonsense he was spewing.

'Hey, John - mate, you alright?'

John ran his hands through his hair, letting out a nervous chuckle. He seemed to deflate. That's just what John was like, though. Hot one minute, cold the next - never thinking ahead, always planning everything. Paul bit his lip. 'Johnny?'

'Yeah - yeah, Macca. Sorry, I just thought - I, well…The…- Uh, I was wonderin'-'

'That's never a good thing.'

John grinned, cheesy. Paul felt a sudden wave of suspicion wash over him.

'Listen, Paulie. I was wonderin' if you'd want to - y'know, go with me.'

'…Go…With you?'

'Yeah, like - uh…That fundraiser thing. I was wonderin'.'

'Johnny, be a little less cryptic, won't you?' Paul had no idea what John was getting at here. Go with him? Where? To the fundraiser? They were already going together, anyway.

'Well, it's not hard to get - go with me to the fundraiser. Won't ye?'

'We're already going together, you daft log.'

John twirled one of his strands of hair between his fingers, like he was getting worked up. Paul hadn't the foggiest why.

'No, yeah - we're going. But, I mean, not together, not exactly- I -'

'Wha'ddya mean? John, you're not exactly makin' sense, here.'

'Right! Right, yeah - no, I know that. I mean - I mean, we'd be goin' together. You'd be my bird, like.'

Paul blinked. John blinked. They both blinked.

'Y'what?'

John huffed, pushing his glasses up his nose. 'Forget - forget it. Was stupid.'

'No, no - Johhny.' Paul inched closer. 'C'mon, tell me what you mean. By that, I mean…Yeah.'

'I just - I figured, uh…I figured it'd be funny.'

'If I went to the fundraiser…As your bird? Last I checked, I'm a bloke, ta.'

'I know that, I'm not a plonker - but ye look like one. A bird, I'm sayin'…'

Paul whacked him over the head. 'Take that back!'

'No! Y'know it's true.'

The two went quiet again. Paul folded his arms, looked at all of the stuff. Then, his eyes widened. Oh.

'Y'want me to dress as a bird?'

John's eyes dotted around, before landing on Paul's ceiling. Like that was the most interesting thing in the world, and not the fact that he'd just practically asked Paul to cross-dress. 'Yeah. Whatever…'

'Why'd you think I'd ever do that?'

'Didn't, not really. Thought y'could do it as a gag, though. See if anyone caught on.'

Paul considered. Considered some more.

'Then, you be the bird. I'd do that, just fine-'

'No, it's you. Has to be you.'

Paul shifted, uncertain. Then, a little bit curious. 'Aren't ye taking Cynthia?'

'Arent ye taking Jane?'

Well, the two couldn't say anything to either after that.

'Where'd ye come up with this idea? Who put you up to it? Ringo…? No, George. It was, weren't it?'

'No!' John said it too fast, thinking back to how George had put him up to it - mostly. 'I got the idea when you wore that necklace. I'm always getting ideas, right?'

'I suppose…You know, it could be…Sumthin'. The fundraisers are a bit of a drag.'

John perked up, like a dog offered a bone. 'Yeah, exactly. Knew you'd come 'round, see it my way.'

Though, John had never thought it'd be this easy. Paul hadn't been so happy to wear just a necklace, so it'd make sense for him to throw a fit at the prospect of fully dressing as a girl. But Paul was a fun guy, really. Full of surprises. Kept John nicely on his toes.

'Well, what'd be the plan, then? Have everyone thinkin' I'm some random girl, then reveal it at the end of the evening? It'd be a right laugh to see their faces. I can see George Martin havin' a tantrum.'

John jumped up. 'Exactly. Exactly! Ye keep me right, Paulie, we're the same - right, pick a dress! Any dress, roll right up!'

Paul laughed, tried to remember which one John had said was his favourite.

'The…Blue - no, no. Uhm, the red…Right?'

John felt his heart speed up, if it could be going any faster than it already was. He quickly scooped up the dress, and threw it clumsily at Paul.

'And the heels? What size are ye?'

'A nine, I think. Or an eight. Can't quite remember, I've had the same ones for a bit now.'

'Yeah,' John rooted through the boxes of shoes, until he found the right size - 'here we are. Not many size nines for heels.'

''Course, they're made for ladies.'

They were a dainty little - or, well, big - pair. Black, with a bow placed on the top of both. One was slightly off-center, but John supposed that was more of a design choice, rather than a mistake. And the dress - slightly above the knees, with full-length sleeves. John had purposely chosen it for its low neckline.

'So, go try 'em on.'

Paul shrugged. 'Fine, but don't be disappointed if I just look like a lad in a dress, will ye?'

'Nah, don't think I will be.'

Paul wasn't exactly sure what he was doing.

John was most definitely taking the piss - out of him, probably.

Alright, it'd be amusing to pretend to be someone he wasn't; but Paul was pretty sure it was less about that, and more about the idea that he'd get to be John's bird. It's a weird thing to want to be, but he assumed it was normal for best mates. They were close, after all. It'd make sense if sometimes things like this happened. Even if Paul had to put on a dress for it to happen.

Oh, well, it was just another one of those things.

The days had begun to blur into one for Paul, now. Maybe 'cos they spent half their time on tour, sweating and making noise to a bunch of screaming girls that couldn't hear what they were on about, anyway. Paul was sure the heat damage had gotten to his head, because there's no way he'd have agreed to this even three months ago.

Maybe he was just bored.

Paul fiddled with the dress, and tried shoving it haphazardly over his head. It didn't go over, and Paul finally figured out it was because it had some zip at the back. Paul rolled his eyes, and unzipped it. It was still a bit of a squeeze, but it eventually slid up his hips.

Paul tried to pull up the zipper, but he only got half-way until his arms cried out in pain. He'd deal with that, later.

Paul slipped on the heels, then tried walking around in them a bit. They hurt like a bastard, and he couldn't understand for the life of him how ladies managed to go and dance at concerts in these things - from hell, being as they were. He could barely even walk in them. 'Till he could. Paul tended to catch onto things quickly, and this was one of them.

After he'd figured out how to work the heels, he made his way down the stairs. Trying very hard to repress any embarrassment he felt. Surprisingly, he didn't feel all that much...He rather liked the outfit - not that he'd ever admit it.

'John, c'mhere - I need help with this bloody zip.'

John closed his eyes when he heard Paul's voice. He wanted to see him so much he could hardly stand it. Like waiting to see album sales, not knowing whether they were any good or not. Just wanting to know.

'I'm on me way, just be a mo!'

John stood, walked to where Paul's voice was coming from - the bottom of the stairs in the hallway.

As soon as he saw Paul standing there, he almost let out a soft whistle. If the necklace had been anything, then this was a world beyond that. The dress fit Paul surprisingly well. A little loose on the chest - but they'd just have to get it drawn in on the top. Everything below that was perfect.

John wanted to kneel at his feet, like he'd done for the necklace.

Paul - well, this was his world. God, he was leagues beyond any of them, alright. John remembered hearing Paul on that bass for the first time. Remembered the jealousy he'd had, mixed with the exhilaration. His other half. His better half. Far better. John had known it from the day he'd met Paul, that the man would shine far past him. He'd just never known how bright he'd really be able to shine - even on the sunniest day in the year, the sky still paled to his Paulie.

John wanted to tell all of this to Paul. Say everything that he hoped that they'd both left unsaid.

Instead, he'd settled on a suitable substitute.

'Y'need to shave ye legs.'

Paul rolled his eyes. Of course John would say that. 'Oh, quiet. You're a wanker, you know. C'mhere, do me zip for me. Can't reach.'

'Turn around, then.'

Paul twirled around, hand placed on one hip. If he was just a bit shorter, John'd think he was one of the groupies they sometimes got. His silhouette was similar enough.

John's hands began to sweat, as he reached out to the zip - which rested on a pretty expanse of pale skin.

Paul's back had soft hairs, leading up to his neck; and John almost ran his fingers through them.

Instead, he zipped up the dress as quickly as he could - which wasn't a great idea, because it got stuck in Paul's skin before it even reached the top.

Paul flinched, letting out a grunt of pain. 'Ye clod! Ouch!'

'Hold still! Wait-'

Paul shuffled, trying to move away - but John still had a tight grip on him, and with the heels, the struggle led to disaster. Paul stepped right on John's foot, sending him flying; and, Paul being Paul, tried to catch John before he tumbled over. Instead, the two ended up in a jumbled mess - fortunately landing on Paul's sofa.

Disoriented, John shifted - only to look up at Paul staring right down at him.

The dress had slipped a little bit, down his shoulder.

In this position, they really looked like -

John grunted. Shook his head. 'C'mon, get off, ye great lump.'

Paul rolled off clumsily, and John quickly sorted the dress for him- pulling the zip all the way up. The two looked at one another, before John clapped his hands together.

'Right, y'don't look like a bird, not fully. Not yet. But we've got a week.'

'More than enough.'

John smiled.

'Now, how about some tea? I fancy some sausages.'

Tonight was the night - they were really doing it.

Paul had curled his mop - made it slightly longer, more feminine. It stopped just short of being a perm, and John had taken the mick out of him when he'd first seen it. Trying to ignore the way his heart had been beating wildly.

John almost felt guilty.

Paul definitely only saw this whole thing as a lark - and here John was, getting his rocks off to it.

They'd gotten the dress drawn in on the top and loosened at the bottom sometime on a Tuesday, maybe the Wednesday. The tailor had been befuddled at the measurements John had given him. Then, he'd laughed it off, giving John a light-hearted pat on the back.

'Well, son - I've never seen a lass like this, so you'd better treat her special.'

'Oh, don't worry, mister. I treat her like she hung the stars.'

Paul had fully gotten in the swing of walking around in heels. If anything, he was better at it than most - walking around like Pattie Boyd, he was. If John didn't know better, he was actually enjoying it.

Well, Paul had always been made to show off - prancing about on a stage. If the wardrobe choices were up to him, John was sure Paul would have them wearing frilly gowns or something.

Paul was in front of the mirror, now. Trying - and failing - to put an earring in.

'Oh, how do birds bother with all of this? I got 'em pierced, I clean 'em every night - and they still clog up with all this shite.'

John laughed. 'Are ye ears so mucky that ye can't put your earrings through?'

'No! It's just-' Paul sighed, then jabbed angrily. 'Ouch!'

'Well, aren't you daft?'

Paul threw the earring at John - who dodged, then picked it up quickly off of the floor, blowing on it.

'You can still put it in, can't ye? Five second rule and all.'

'Probably', Paul shrugged, wiping at his ear furiously.

When they'd gotten his ears done, Paul had rubbed a few tears away. He'd claimed there was dust in his eyes.

'Right, give it back here, then. How long've we got 'till we've got to be there?'

'About two hours, y'know.'

'No, I didn't know. That's why I asked, John.'

'Smart arse.'

'Tosser.'

John walked over, kneeling down next to Paul where he was sat. 'You don't need a hand puttin' it in, by chance?'

Paul's shoulders slumped. 'Might as well give it a try, yeah?'

John poked one at Paul's ear for a bit, until it finally slid through. He then put that little stub thing over the end of it to keep it in. Naturally, he didn't know the name of it - but he'd tried to copy the lady at the store, who'd shown him how to do it.

'There we go. Not so difficult, then.'

'It was bloody difficult.'

'You're just hopeless, Paulie, is all.'

John dodged Paul's swipe, then quickly placed the other earring in. Paul had a robe on, over his dress - the 'grand reveal', he'd said - and John was practically drooling in anticipation.

'Go on, then. Take it off, won't ye? Don't leave me waitin'…'

Paul rolled his eyes.

'Patience, Johnny. I want a brew, first. We've got ages yet.'

'Oh, yes. I suppose we've got forever on our hands.'

'Forever and ever, Johnny.'

'Maybe.'

It had been an hour since the two of them had bundled into a car - some fancy limousine Brian had sent, ever organised - and John just couldn't take his eyes off of Paul.

John didn't think Paul had actually noticed yet.

He was too busy fussing, worrying about this and that - whether they could actually pull it off for the reveal to be on their own terms, or if someone would figure it out before they could.

John really doubted anybody would be able to tell.

Paul looked quite a bit like his mother had, John thought. Not that John had ever actually properly seen Paul's mother - she'd already been dead by the time John'd met him - but, of course, he'd looked at pictures. Made it his mission, really, to find pictures of Paul. Or things related to him, anyhow.

Soft eyes, kind and beautiful. And the dress, after it had been fitted, was like a glove - an extension of Paul. His large hands made dainty by gloves, his feet tucked away in the heels he walked so well in. Seemed to love, in fact.

'Y'know, Paul, ye look like the eighth wonder of the world, you do. Honest.'

Paul scoffed, eyes flicking to look at him. He felt his hands shiver at John's words, but he tried to ignore it - knew it was only a tease, anyhow. 'And you look like that butcher; y'know, that bloke what tried to kill us when he caught us stealin' one of his cuts of beef.'

John groaned. 'You've got such a way with words, Paulie.'

'Oh, I know. It's why I'm the best songwriter.'

John just crossed his arms, nudging over to him - 'so, what're you goin' to be callin' yourself?'

Paul blinked, like it hadn't occurred to him - like he had no clue what John was talking about.

'Y'what?'

'C'mon, you can hardly be called Paul - not lookin' like that. We'd give ourselves away before we even got onto our second drink.'

'Oh, ye right, 'suppose. How's Vera sound?'

'Bit of a granny name, don't ye think?'

Paul grinned.

Vera it was.

Just before they pulled up, Paul's doubts seemed to suddenly come to a head.

'What if they figure it out? I'm not entirely convinced meself, that I look like-'

'Trust me, Paulie. They won't be able to figure it out.'

John was pretty damned sure that nobody with eyes would think that Paul - after being pampered, as he was - was actually…Paul. Of course, there was an obvious resemblance there; but not so much so that people would actually think it was him. John knew he'd be teased about it, but what can you do?

'Right, fine-'

Just as Paul was about to finish his sentence, the loud click of a camera went off - then multiple, all at once - and the two instantly put on their well-practiced 'charm', both giving wide grins.

Paul went to force his way out of the car, but John stopped him - stepping onto the pavement, then holding out his hand.

Some of the press whistled, and Paul rose his eyebrow in irritation - before stepping out, remembering to act as lady-like as he possibly could. Which wasn't very, but was better than what most blokes could pull off - especially if they were from Liverpool.

John tried to hurry up the steps with Paul, but the other man was slowed down slightly by the dress and the jewellery and whatever else he had going on - so one of the vultures managed to catch up with them.

'Could you tell us the name of your young missus, here? Not Cynthia, is it?'

John opened his mouth in retort, only to be a cut off by a breathy voice next to him. 'Ooh, no, certainly not Cyn. I'm Vera, love.'

John smiled, then almost dragged Paul into the venue - the two immediately stepping off into a quiet corner.

They stared at one another, then stared some more.

Then began to laugh in unison, only stifled as they desperately tried to press their hands to their mouth.

'Oh, Paul, what on God's green Earth was that?'

Paul blinked. 'Who? Paul? Who's that? Whatever d'y mean, Johnny, darling?'

John almost howled, as his chest heaved with fits of repressed laughter. In stitches, in stitches! For some reason, caught up in how good Paul looked - he'd forgotten to appreciate the comedic aspect of all of this!

'How d'ya get your voice like that? So high? Y'sound like a bird, y'do - only, well, if she were a bit of a smoker.'

'Aren't all girls?'

'Yes, I suppose…' John trailed off, blinking. Paul should have become an actor, or something. Not that he was any good at it when they had to read lines off of a script - but that improvising stuff, like the comedians on the telly did. Paul would be good at that.

'Well, Vera, I-'

John was cut off by a firm hand clapping on his shoulder, and a jolly voice. 'John! Nice to see ye -…' The voice trailed off, clearly landing on Paul, who smiled slightly.

'Likewise, Rich,' John said, quickly. 'This is - uh, Vera. Vera meet Ringo - y'know, word-class drummer.'

Paul pretended to be starstruck, placing a hand to his chest in utmost earnest.

John almost pissed himself.

'Oh! Mister Ringo Starr - wow, I cannot hardly believe it! It's terribly nice to meet you! Wait until all of my girls hear about this!'

Ringo laughed, puffing out his chest - a show, that he always put on for the ladies. A show that both Paul and John knew about, and had seen many times before. Never directed at them, though.

John clapped his hand on Paul's shoulder, trying to steer him away.

'Well, meself and Vera must be off now - enjoy yeself, Richie!'

'Right, and if ye ever need anythin', Vera - that is, not you John - then don't hesitate to ring…'

Paul laughed, batting his eyelashes, then he ran off with John, the two of them nearly dying.

'Oh, he fell for it! Proper fell for it - good old Rich!' Paul wheezed, clutching his side.

John should have found it odd - a man's voice coming from such a feminine looking person - but he only found that it made his palms sweat more, his mouth dry up.

'Yeah, well, we both know what he's like.'

'John, I think tonight is gonna be - what's the word?'

'Fun?'

'Yeah, yeah - fun. That's it. Though, next time, you've gotta be the girl. Won't ye?'

John blinked. Put his hands in his pockets, casual. Hoped that Paul meant it - that there'd be a next time, even if he had to pretend to be a girl.

'Might as well try it. S'only fair.'

The entire night, people had seemed drawn to John and Paul - or, now, 'Vera' - like moths to a flame. It only really made the whole game more exciting; and Paul only got more confident as the night went on, with nobody realising who he really was.

Naturally, some people had done a few double-takes; but, then, upon looking again, had seemed to think better about it, and shook their heads in amusement.

Everyone was in good spirits - aside from Brian, who'd had a perpetual frown on his face, no matter how much small talk or wine was offered.

John assumed he was worrying again - considering George hadn't shown up (much to John's relief). And Brian also thought Paul hadn't shown up; which, of course, wasn't true. But Brian was none the wiser, so kept on busily biting his nails and wishing for the night to be over.

John didn't doubt that all of the lads - including himself - would be told off come the next morning, but he didn't mind it all that much.

It was worth it, seeing how effortlessly Paul had adopted the role of Vera. How effortlessly John held doors open for him, called him 'love' and 'darling', got jealous when someone lingered around for too long.

All of the things he'd wanted to do before, but never had.

He didn't know why he hadn't, now - it all seemed so easy. For the both of them.

The two of them.

At one point, John had looked at Paul - just as they'd passed by a soft yellow light, and the crimson of his dress had reflected in such beautiful kaleidoscopes that John had wondered if someone had slipped something into his drink. That's how beautiful Paul was - didn't even feel real.

'Y'know, you look so good. Really got me goin', John whispered into his ear, not even able to hear himself.

'What'd ye say? Didn't catch that-'

'Nothin'…'

Paul had bit back a smile that John hadn't noticed.

When the night was drawing to a close, they were sat at a table with George Martin, and some dodgy bloke that everybody had been told to be wary of. Their business being as it was, there were no shortages in the amount of lousy old men that couldn't keep themselves to themselves.

Paul had gone over, John presumed, because he'd taken pity on George Martin - the disdain clearly written all over the older man's face as he was engaged in conversation with a bloke he probably did not want to speak to at all. In hindsight, they should have stayed away. Only in hindsight, though; it'd seemed a pretty good idea at the time.

The man had immediately taken to 'Vera' - trying to engage in a conversation about turtles, of all things.

'Right, so they've got this shell, young lady. Did you know this?'

Paul shrugged. 'I dunno, yeah.'

'Oh, you did go to school, didn't you miss?' He'd asked, at one point, looking quite pleased with himself.

'Of course - thought not with many qualifications, y'know.'

John had snickered, sending Paul a little look across the table.

George Martin had cleared his throat. 'I'm sure young Vera here is quite the bright woman.'

John grinned, 'ooh, don't know about that' - to which he got a sharp kick to the shin from Paul.

Shrugging apologetically, he hardly noticed how the man had stood up, anger written all over his face.

'How dare you speak about Miss Vera like that - oh, poor girl! I am horrified at-'

John stared in blank confusion, as did Paul. The two of them looked up at him, then looked up some more.

George Martin stood, and walked away - 'too old for this nonsense' - and John had made sure to remember that one for later use.

Paul started up, frowning. Worried, now. 'He didn't mean anythin' by it, mister.'

The man scowled, then said, 'you tarts are all the same, letting yourself be treated like dirt just so you can have a quick - a - a…A bonk!'

The man hesitated, like he couldn't decide what to do with himself - before he picked up a wine glass, dumped its contents all over Paul's head, and then walked away like nothing had happened at all!

See, it had all happened so fast - the man going from affable, yet slightly off-putting, to losing his lid.

Paul sat there like a drowned rat, for a good minute before John finally sprung to life - standing up and ushering him out around the back, so they could get to their car unseen.

So much for the grand reveal. That wasn't happening, now.

They sat there in the car for a bit, not really talking.

That's how all these events went, really - the blur, some sudden excitement; then back home only to do it all over again the next morning.

At least Paul being Vera had added some variety - even if baffling.

'So…' John started, at the same time Paul began to speak.

'Oh - uh, go on.'

'No, you.'

'Nah-'

Paul nodded. 'Right, I'll go, then. If ye insist. What the bloody hell was wrong with him? What a knob.'

John shrugged, 'I could always go back in and teach him a lesson, can't I? May give Eppy a heart attack, but he won't be treatin' anyone like that again. 'Specially not a lady.'

Paul looked down, suddenly feeling sixteen again - watching as John punched a random stranger in the face for even daring to whistle at Paul. How it had suddenly turned into a massive bar fight, how he'd had to jump in - the two of them ending up with a few cracked ribs. Jim's angry face as he walked back home, tail between his legs.

'Best not, John. Y'remember what happened last time, don't ye?' '

…'Course I do. Let's get ye home, then. Wrapped up in a little blanky, so ye can cry your eyes out about how awful your night's been.'

'Oh, it's not been all that bad.'

'Did I manage to win ye over, did I, Paulie?'

'Nah, Ringo did.'

'Feels a bit anti-climatic, dunnit?'

Paul shifted, his face buried into John's neck. He'd had a quick wash - though the faint smell of champagne still lingered on him - and he'd gotten into his normal clothes, looking like nothing had even happened at all.

'What d'ymean?'

'Well, it feels like we spent more time plannin' for it than we did enjoyin' it!'

'Oh, I don't know about that - I certainly enjoyed it.'

Paul thumped him on his chest, before wrapping a leg around John's stomach like some sort of koala. 'That's because ye didn't have to dress up as the bird, did ye?'

'Oh, nobody gives a toss - c'mon, Paulie, we had some fun. Didn't we?'

'I…Suppose, yeah.'

'And that old man'll get his due one day, I promise ye that.'

Paul closed his eyes, tired.

Imagined all of the times they'd done this - Paul falling asleep beside John. John beside Paul. Forgetting they were two bodies, and not one.

Counted the amount of times John had crawled up his drainpipe, found it impossible to count the amount of times he'd realised he loved John more than anything in the world. And then didn't do anything about it.

Paul opened his eyes, slight, to see John's closed - already nodding off.

He wanted to kiss him, for a moment.

And Paul probably would've, if he hadn't of been John's best friend.

If he really had been a girl. If he'd still been Vera.

Paul made a note to keep the dress.

And he stopped thinking about wanting to kiss John - because that's not what friends do. Not two men, anyway - not two Beatles.

The night ended.

And John didn't say anything more to Paul, whatever he could have said left behind with George in that studio room.

And Paul didn't kiss John.

'Alright, boys,' Brian said, in his posh twang, 'I must applaud John and Richard for actually, well, bothering to attend the event last night. George and Paul, however…'

Paul began to whistle as innocent as he could, with George kicking his feet and looking up.

'You, the both of you, gave me your word that you would be at that event. So, why weren't you?'

Paul gulps. 'Me dog - y'know, she were sick.'

John snorted. Paul doesn't even have a dog, and he knows Brian knows that - so why even bother lying?

'And you, George?'

George made brief eye contact with John, a subtle glare, which made John shrug - then, 'oh, couldn't be bothered. Some things I didn't wanna see. And I was tired, carryin' the weight of this band upon me humble shoulders. And all.'

Brian rolled his eyes. 'You, all of you - are exhausting.'

John snorted. 'Oh, I can tell - eyes as black as ye shiny shoes.'

All four of them burst out into laughter, Ringo the only one sensible enough to hide it behind his hand.

'Right, then. It's all good and proper - because you'll all be attending a tea party tonight. A little girl's birthday party. She's very excited to see you all in costume.'

Ringo faltered…As did the rest.

'Costume…?'

'Oh, yes - mascots. All the jazz now, I hear!'

…

Paul groaned.

'I've had enough of dressin' up!'