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1am, Cavendish Ave.
Paul had expected John's visit, he had phoned him earlier in the day to tell him of the accident that had occurred the previous day. Even through the phone Paul could tell that John was worried; his voice shaking subtly, words rushed out before he could think of what to say, resulting in a sequence of stutters. John didn't have to tell him that he would come over, but Paul knew he would.
John arrived alone. Frantic knocks on the front door indicated his eagerness to enter the residence. It was dark outside, being winter, and John seemed to feel the cold bite his frozen skin harder while accompanied by his heightened nerveousness.
Cautiously, Paul opened the door slowly in order not to scare John away completely. He caught a glimpse of John's face before John could see his, and saw how his pupils were blown in anticipation and worry. For a split second, Paul could feel his heart seem to flutter at his friend's endearing concern.
When John realised that the door was ajar, he hurried closer to Paul.
"Let me in, Paul." John pleaded.
His urgency, Paul thought, was due to the fact that he was not wearing his glasses and wanted to get a look at Paul's completely pulverised face in a better light. Taking a step back, he allowed John in and waited for him to remove his woolen winter coat and leather boots. Both men walked into the living room and sat down on the low-down sofa.
"Jane isn't in. Off with her mates I suppose." Paul remarked. He thought that John would like to know where Jane was. Truthfully, he didn't know why he told him that.
"Why does that not surprise me?" John huffed, staring the younger man directly in the (unbeknownst to John) black-and-blue eyes. "She never did take kindly to those songs on Rubber Soul. If she wants a peaceful relationship, she knows she shouldn't be involved with you."
Paul's unscathed eyebrows furrowed. "I don't appreciate you talking about Jane like that when she isn't here. And for your information, our relationship is doing just fine." He spoke quickly and forcefully, not wanting John to see into the issues that Jane and Paul were having. His guard was up, but he knew that John could reach him any time he wants.
John smirked silently — he knew that he had nailed Paul's current problem.
"Do you want something to drink?" Paul changed the subject, disliking being read so well.
"Just get me whatever booze you're having." John remained smug until he recalled why he was even visiting Paul. While he was on the phone, the story that he had told John angered him from the beginning. Tara Browne. John had come to dislike that name, as Paul and Tara had begun to be in each other's company more frequently, as of recent. John didn't give the reasoning for his seething negativity towards the man a second thought, he would like to stay oblivious to the underlying cause.
Before his thoughts began to spiral into a pool of hatred, Paul had returned to the living room with two large glasses of whiskey. He placed them down on painted wooden coasters and sat back down. John picked his glass up, the cold condensation shocked his warm fingertips. Pressing his lips to the rim, he let the firey liquid run down his throat.
"Why were you with Tara?" John asked forcefully. His tone was not harsh, but more hurt than anything. Paul had put up with questions like this for a long time, John's jealousy was unshakeable.
"I'd like you to know that Tara is my mate and he visited me. You aren't the only person that I spend time with, you know?" Paul replied with annoyance.
However, he couldn't help but let out a giggle at the situation at hand — John was yet again livid because of Paul's social life, and was completely unaware of the absolute state of Paul's face because of John's blindness when he was without his glasses. He had become used to John's poor vision — ever since they had met, John had to be almost centimeters away from the person he was talking to in order for him to even make out the basic shapes of their face.
"This may be funny to you, but I can tell when something weird has gone on." John reached for his whiskey again, and downed the whole thing. Drunkeness would obviously not help John win this argument, but it took away the remaining nerves that he had been experiencing the whole night.
"If you are that desperate to know, then I'll tell you. We dropped acid." Paul regained his seriousness. "What's that to you?" He reached for his whiskey, and echoed John by downing the whole glass as well.
John's cheeks were now glowing slightly pink, and his rage combined with embarassment were very visable. "Well... you can't..."
He paused, trying to think of some way to dispute Paul. The whiskey must've been strong because it felt like john had drank a whole bottle already.
"Well look what he's done to your face!" He raised his voice defensively, but it had a tinge of confusion to it. He licked his lips drunkly, and spread his legs further out on the sofa.
Paul laughed again, the liquor obviously hitting him quickly too. "You can't even see my face you daft sod!" He almost folded in half in laughter, knowing that he had just caught John out. Paul's mouth was wide open and his eyes were screwed shut but his lengthy eyelashes still peaked out.
That was when John saw it.
The amber glow of the light hit Paul's teeth unevenly, making them out to show the chip that he had gained during the crash. Lunging forward, John broke out of his slovenly drunkeness and focus flickered into his brain at once.
Paul felt his wrists being grabbed by a large pair of hands. Before he was pulled up from his sitting position, he saw John's eyebrows narrowed in focus with his eyes squinting for a better view of Paul's face. Paul was then stood under the ceiling lamp having his face inspected.
"Oh my god..." John's fingers were gripping Paul's chin — not enough to be painful, but just to allow John to move his face to the right angle in the light. They were so close that Paul could see John's pupils dilating and contracting when he looked at each cut and bruise. He stared back into the depths of dark mahogany as he thought about how long it had been since the two had stared at each other deeply. John's eyelashes were straight but long, and their lightness matched the slight red in his hair—
"Open your mouth."
Paul's trance was interrupted by the deep-voiced command. Without hesitation, he obliged and lowered his bottom lip, revealing his chipped tooth. John's thumb moved to Paul's pink lower lip, holding it open with the slightest touch.
He could hear John mutter small curses in sympathy, which made the rosiness of Paul's cheeks grow more vibrant very rapidly. Without knowing it, John's unoccupied hand had travelled to the back of Paul's head and he had threaded his fingers in Paul's dark locks. John's lips shone, ready, as he tilted Paul's head back.
Paul now had placed one of his hands on the other's neck and the other on his shoulder. They were both intertwined beneath the soft shine of the light, their bodies warm with exhilaration and liquor. John had finally pressed his lips against Paul's, and both of them sighed softly into the kiss. It started off as light but later became more passionate. Their lips pressed deeper and John caught his lip on Paul's tooth, a (not unpleasant) metallic tinge lingered in both of their mouths.
After a few seconds, John broke the kiss.
"Don't go out with Tara again. I need you to stay with me." John uttered urgently, just above a whisper.
Paul laughed, his lips red from the kiss, "You don't need to be jealous of anyone else, you will always be the one that I'm with the most."
"I hate to see your pretty face all bruised up. You need to take care of yourself." John scolded light-heartedly, "Also, if you want to drop acid, you are doing it in the presence of me from now on."
Returning to the sofa, they slouched back down and talked lazily until the sun peered through the curtains. John wasn't going hone any time soon.