Work Text:
Liverpool, 1959
Paul came back to his apartment, closing the door shut the moment his dark loafers set on his floor. It was a cold night, and Paul felt shivers down his spine. It was the coldest winter yet in Liverpool.
I should've asked John to come with me, Paul thought, shaking his head.
He quickly took his black vintage coat off, and set it on the side of his bed, he sighed, knowing that it would be even more difficult to fall asleep in this coldness.
He went to the kitchen, and set himself a warm cup of milk. He leaned on his counter, thinking of various ways to compete with the coldness.
Just as he had thought of an idea, there was a loud knock on the door. He raised his eyebrows, amused, who the heck even would be out here in this cold?
He opened the door slowly, and he saw a figure with thick dark side-parted hair, and a stern nose with a curl on each side. It was John, his John.
John’s eyes, often guarded and quick, looked softened, almost with a glint of amusement. Paul’s face must’ve looked funny.
“John?” Paul asked, tilting his head, just like a confused kitten would, “What are you doing here?”
“After you left, George told me to come after you, he said you had no firewood and that you were probably gonna get sick.”
Paul frowned, and then his expression softened, “Yeah, I’ve gotten nothing’.” He admitted.
“That’s alright.” John said softly, “I got you some, is it alright if i set it on your fireplace?”
“Yeah.” Paul smiled, his voice small. It was rather embarrassing that John had to help, but he was also rather grateful.
After a few minutes, John set up the firewood, and it was finally warm in that little apartment. Paul finally let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “S’thanks, so much, John.” He whispered, warming up his pale hands.
“Anytime, Paulie.” John nodded, smiling.
Paul’s face suddenly felt warm, when had it gotten so hot in here? Either way, it was better than being cold.
They spent a few minutes talking, and John stood up suddenly, straightening up his coat, “I ought I’ve gotten to leave, Paul.”
Paul felt the shiver of disappointment curl of him. He really didn’t want John to leave; his presence really was rather nice, but it also would’ve been unmanly to beg him to stay, so he just stayed quiet.
“I’ll see you and the others tomorrow, right?” Paul asked instead, what he really meant was, will I see you tomorrow? I really want to see you tomorrow.
“Yeah, if the cold isn’t as bad as today. George will probably skip, he hates the cold.” John snorted, nodding, he glanced sideways at the window, and then opened the door.
To his supposed surprise, the coldness had gotten even worse. The wind was strong, and he had to press down his flat cap.
“Oh, goodness.” John frowned, “Well, that’s odd.”
Paul glanced at John’s back from his bed, and an idea sparked his mind.
“John.” He said finally.
“Paul?”
“You should stay tonight.”
Paul was rather happy that John was staying; and he had a rather good excuse. He was glad that he had not pleaded, and yet he had still gotten what he wanted; John staying.
Hours passed, and Paul tried to make the bed comfortable for them. He added two sets of blankets; not because it was cold; but because every time he went over to John’s, John always had two blankets on his bed. Perhaps it was stupid that he noticed, maybe not.
“Paulie, I ought to tell you somethin’.” John whispered, both on Paul’s bed. It was dark, and the firewood had long ago died.
“Yes, John?” Paul whispered back, glancing at the roof.
“I might’ve lied a little bit, just a tiny bit, the truth is, George didn’t send me over, I did, and I wasn’t surprised about the weather, I'd heard it on the radio yesterday, I guess I just sorta wanted an excuse to stay over with you. Is that alright?”
"Yes." Paul whispered, did this mean John felt . . . whatever he felt as well?
"Just hold me and don't let go." Paul whispered at last.
For now, he just wanted to be held. All those unsaid feelings could wait.