Chapter Text
Chicago, 1977
Paul McCartney, freshly twenty-one years old, was very close to having a nervous breakdown.
At the sound of the nth giggle he gritted his teeth to stop himself from saying something he'd end up regretting.
Cynthia and her boyfriend, whose name Paul was still waiting to learn, had been at it long enough to make Paul seriously question the choices that had led him to this very moment: melting inside a car in the summer heat while waiting for his friend to separate her lips from her boyfriend's long enough to notice that he'd gotten there nearly two minutes ago. Which might not seem a lot, but only if you'd never had to sit beside two people snogging for that amount of time.
Paul mustered the strength to turn around and check on the situation. Despite his frustration, he had to admit that they made a very lovely couple. The man, quite a bit taller than Cynthia, had his hands wrapped around her waist, nearly encircling it completely. He let his eyes wander up and immediately regretted it when he saw his tongue slip inside Cynthia's mouth.
He whipped his head back around and nearly knocked his his forehead on the steering wheel.
More sweet nothings reached his ears.
"I love you."
"I love you more."
The sound of lips smacking.
"No, I love you more."
With his patience finally running out, he let out a loud, pointed cough and felt a not-insignificant amount of satisfaction in seeing the lovey-dovey couple jump apart.
He plastered a smile on his face as a weak attempt to look apologetic at having interrupted their moment.
Cynthia had the decency to look slightly embarrassed. "Oh, hi, Paul! Sorry for keeping you waiting." She put a hand on her boyfriend's chest, a shy smile on her face. "Paul, this is John Lennon. John, this is Paul McCartney."
Paul turned his attention to John and immediately met a pair of very intense brown, almost hazel eyes.
He felt a strange shift in his stomach but decided to pay it no mind. He reached his hand through the lowered window with a friendly smile. "Nice to meet you."
John took his hand in an easy handshake. Paul was surprised by the feeling of calluses rubbing against his hand. John raised his head, apparently noticing them too, before smiling curiously.
"Likewise."
"Would you like to drive the first shift?"
John's smile turned into a smirk, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "No, no, you're already seated there. I'd hate to take your spot away from you," he replied, turning to give Cynthia another big kiss.
Paul's smile grew a little more forced. He was regretting this trip already.
After detaching himself from Cynthia, John slowly moved all his bags into the back seat of the car while exchanging murmured goodbyes and promises of long calls as soon as he got to New York.
Paul let them exchange as many “I miss yous,” “I miss you mores,” and kisses as he could stand before honking the car horn, forcing an even faker smile than the one he had given them earlier in an attempt to look apologetic.
"Sorry, my hand slipped."
John met his gaze again and smiled knowingly, if a bit irritably, before turning back to Cynthia. After one final parting kiss he finally climbed into the car.
Cynthia walked over to Paul's side and gave him an earnest smile. "Thank you again for doing this, Paul. I know it was kind of short notice."
Paul felt a rush of affection for his friend. Despite the small bout of torture he was put through during the past ten minutes, he was quite happy to see her so in love. He gave her a reassuring smile. "It's no biggie, really. We're both going to the big city anyway."
Cynthia's smile stretched even wider. She then let her eyes shift between the two of them, looking a bit sad. "Bye, you two. Have a safe trip."
"Bye, Cyn."
"See you soon, luv."
*
Paul shifted uncomfortably.
The silence between them had stretched on for too long.
After saying their goodbyes to Cynthia, they had hit the road, but neither of them had attempted to break the ice yet, and it was starting to really weigh on Paul.
He subtly glanced at John, trying to figure out if he was the only one feeling increasingly awkward.
He found himself looking at John's profile. His eyes traced his messy auburn hair, the thick-rimmed glasses resting on his long aquiline nose. The thought that he was attractive had only just begun to form in his head when John's eyes suddenly shifted and met his own.
Startled, Paul snapped his gaze back to the road and let himself ramble about the first thing that came to his mind.
"I have this all figured out. It's an 18-hour trip, which breaks down to six shifts of three hours each. Or, alternatively, we could break it down by mileage. There's a map on the visor, I've marked it to show the locations where we change shifts. You can do three hours?"
"Fine by me."
While Paul was talking, John had reached for the backpack in the rear seats and had taken what looked like grapes out of a container. He was now extending the hand holding them in his direction.
"Grape?"
"No, thank you. I don't like to eat while I'm driving."
"Suit yourself."
He popped one into his mouth and proceeded to loudly munch on it. Paul was sure it was done with the sole purpose of pissing him off.
He felt John's gaze on the side of his face. A little ticked off, he asked, "What?"
John smiled. "Tell me the story of your life."
"The story of my life?"
"Mhm."
"We won't even get out of Chicago with it. My life's been pretty boring so far. That's why I'm going to New York, you know?"
John hummed. "Indulge me anyway."
Paul sighed. "Alright, if you care so much. But it's true that nothing has really happened to me. You already know I grew up in Liverpool."
"Yes, Cynthia told me. Said that was something we had in common, so the trip wasn't going to be too awkward."
Paul nodded, feeling that Cynthia was probably being a bit too positive. "That's right." He turned towards John and slightly squinted his eyes. "Actually, I think I might have seen you around before."
John shifted a bit in his seat. "You might have. I've been told I'm quite the loud sort."
Paul hummed. "Can't quite place it yet. Anyway, I've always been interested in English literature. My da loved reading me stories, and we always had a number of books lying around the house. I wanted to study abroad, so I applied to several universities here in the US, and I somehow managed to get into the University of Chicago and get all the way through graduation." He chuckled at this, not having fully realized that this chapter of his life had come to an end.
He could see John smiling out of the corner of his eye. "And why are you going to the big apple? What kind of adventure awaits you there?"
Paul bit his lip. "I'm going to begin graduate study in English literature at Columbia. The objective is to become an academic researcher or a university teacher. Or both."
John let out a low whistle. "That's quite impressive. Best of luck to you, mate."
Paul could tell from John's tone that he wasn't telling him everything. He stole another quick glance in his direction, only to find him looking irritatingly aloof, completely content as he munched on his grapes.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Paul huffed. "Come on, tell me."
John slowly shifted his gaze towards him, then looked away. "I just think that, while it's impressive, it also sounds quite boring. Holing yourself up all day long in a library, that is. Sad, too."
Paul stared at him. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, you're going to the biggest city in the world, aren't you? A million career prospects, all sorts of interesting jobs, and yet you choose the one that'll basically give you a bad back by forty from all the time you'll spend hunched over books."
Paul stared unseeing at the road ahead. "I—"
"Really, you should be careful. This way, you'll spend your whole life studying the past, never going out, greying while vicariously living through the works of others. And these works may be amazing, sure, but the people that wrote them are dead, you know?"
John paused for a beat.
"And you're going to die too, maybe one of those New York deaths where nobody even notices for two weeks until the smell drifts out into the hallway."
Paul stayed silent for a beat or two before slowly replying, "Cyn did tell me you had a dark side. But I think I may have underestimated you."
"It always happens."
"That was quite morbid, though. Listen, I want to keep this conversation civil, but I really have to ask: who the hell do you think you are?"
John smirked. "John Lennon, pleased to make your acquaintance." He said, popping another grape into his mouth.
Despite himself, Paul let out a startled laugh.
"Unbelievable," he whispered. Then, louder, "And, pray tell, what are you going to do in New York?"
John let out a low hum. "I'm going to become an author."
Paul turned his head towards him, surprised. "Really?"
"Yessir."
Still not quite believing him, he asked, "And what kind of books do you want to write?"
"Nonsense literature, surrealist humor, satirical prose, that sort of thing. I've already dabbled in that kind of writing during university, even though creative writing was my minor, not my major. I actually started out wanting to become an artist but, oh well. Art is in the words too, as I'm sure you know."
A smile tugged at the corners of Paul's lips. "So, before you went off on me for wanting to read and research books, but it turns out we're basically in the same field? Kindly explain yourself."
John turned fully towards him. "The difference is, dear Paulie—"
Paul frowned at the nickname.
"—that while you're going to spend your life poring over the works of others, I'm going to create my own. Make something new, something big. That's what I want to do."
Paul decided to ignore John's attempt to get under his skin and let out a thoughtful hum. "Something big, huh? Big enough to be remembered as one of the greats?"
John turned his gaze back to the road. "Perhaps."
Paul looked at him for a long beat.
"Interesting. I'll keep an eye out, should you ever succeed in your dream."
"That's very gracious of you. Very much obliged," John said before tossing the last grape into the air and expertly catching it in his mouth.
Paul failed to suppress his smile.
*
"I'm just saying that Ingrid Bergman did the smart thing when she got on that plane at the end of the movie."
"And said goodbye to the man she had the greatest sex of her life with, the one she loved most passionately, just to choose the duty of matrimony instead?"
John had just parked the car, and they were now heading inside a diner to finally put some food in their stomachs.
Paul huffed, animated. "it's not just the duty. She truly loved Paul Henreid too. And, anyway, she didn't have much in the way of prospects, had she chosen to stay with Humphrey Bogart. She was a very sensible woman, she was."
John gave him a long look, before turning around and making his way up the steps. "I see how it is."
The singsong quality of John's voice was making Paul's skin bristle. "What?"
"Nothing."
Paul reached out and tugged on John's sleeve. "John. What?"
As he opened the door John looked him dead in the eye.
"Obviously, you haven't experienced great sex yet."
He turned around and made his way inside, leaving Paul standing stock-still as the door swung shut in his face.
Paul immediately opened it with more force than was strictly necessary and followed hot on John's heels.
"You-"
"Me, yes." John gave him a quick, innocent smile.
Paul felt slightly homicidal.
He whisper-shouted, "I've had plenty of sex, thank you very much!"
Still smiling, John said, "Oh I don't doubt you did-" He gave Paul a quick once-over that left him feeling wrong-footed.
"-but what I think you didn't have is great sex. Wouldn't have said all that about Ingrid Bergman otherwise."
Red in the face, Paul replied, "I have had great sex!" Perhaps a bit too loudly. He saw an elderly couple turn towards him, eyebrows raised.
Paul felt as though the gates of hell could very well open beneath his feet, and he'd say thank you just because he'd finally be free from his big mouth. He silently sat across from John, who had already taken a seat at an empty table and was busy studying the menu.
"With who?"
Paul's head snapped up. John was still busy with the menu.
"With who, what?"
John, who looked like he'd already chosen his meal for the evening, pointed at him with the closed menu and met his eyes, his expression attempting to look serious behind his glasses, though Paul suspected a hint of mischief. "Who did you have this great sex with?"
Paul pressed his lips into a taut line. "I don't really feel like telling you, you know?"
John shrugged and looked away. "Fine. Don't tell me then."
Paul worried at his lower lip for one beat.
Two.
Three.
"Karen."
John returned his gaze to him.
"Karen?"
"Karen Graves."
John snorted. "No. I'm sorry. You did not have great sex with Karen."
Paul was getting more irritated and flustered by the minute. "Why the hell not? And why on earth do you sound so convinced? What are you, some kind of sex guru?"
John looked genuinely amused at his frustration. "I might be, you never know." He wagged his eyebrows in a comically suggestive expression that made Paul suppress a smile before looking away and shaking his head.
"But what I mean is that Karen just isn’t a very… suggestive name. Think about it. Try saying it in your head. It simply doesn’t work. The name ruins the whole thing.”
Paul stared at him.
"She'd be good at being your lawyer though."
Paul covered his face with his hands and let out a pained snort.
He stayed in that position until John inevitably opened his mouth once again.
"So, why did it end with Karen?"
Paul made enough space between his fingers for his eyes to peek through. "How do you know it ended?"
John smirked. "Well, otherwise you wouldn't be here with me."
Before Paul could protest what he was starting to suspect was an attempt at flirting, John continued.
"On an eighteen-hour trip, leaving your life behind on the prospect of a brilliant career in the Big Apple."
Paul let his forearms rest on the table and sighed. Before he could begin to answer, a waitress approached them and quickly took their orders. Paul used the time to think his reply through.
When she walked away with their orders in tow, Paul let a practiced smile stretch across his lips. "We were too different. She wanted things from me that I couldn't give her, and vice versa."
John looked at him from behind the thick lenses of his glasses. He let out a low hum. "I feel like you're not telling me everything."
Paul's expression twitched.
John stared at him for another beat before dropping his eyes to the table. "But I won't pry."
Paul exhaled tiredly. "Thank you." He then lowered his gaze to John's hands, noticing the faint roughness of his fingertips again. He rubbed his own fingers together, wondering briefly whether John played the guitar too. He lost that train of thought when he noticed that John was drawing something on the paper placemat with a pen that seemed to have appeared out of thin air. It looked like a cartoonish doodle of the couple sitting next to them.
"Hey, you're quite good!"
John smirked without looking up. "Thank God. It would've been worrying if, after six years spent at an art school, I'd been left without any artistic skills to speak of whatsoever."
Paul chuckled. "True that."
He glanced at the placemat once again and saw that John had started working on another doodle: a pair of big, droopy eyes framed by long, thick eyelashes.
He snapped his eyes away from the drawing, feeling the weird sensation from earlier in the day make its return. He had to actively fight to suppress it this time.
Letting his mouth run to avoid his creeping anxiety, Paul said, "And what about you?"
John, eyes still on the placemat, replied, "And what about me?"
"Any relationships to speak of? Besides Cynthia, I mean."
John hummed. "Yes, a couple, but they didn't really last long. I like to keep myself free, you see. Experiencing new stuff. New people." At that, he looked him dead in the eye.
Paul felt his collar grow hot. He was saved from having to reply by the waitress, who arrived just then with their food.
Paul gladly accepted the meal and smiled in thanks at her. As he was placing his plate and the cutlery in their rightful spots, he felt John's eyes on him.
He lifted his gaze and, meeting John's curious one, asked, "What?"
John gave him an amused smile before starting to cut up his food. "Nothing. Nothing at all."
*
Paul was busy muttering to himself as he figured out his portion of the bill when he noticed that John wasn't saying anything. It was strange, given his habit of constantly asking questions that got under Paul's skin.
He lifted his gaze, only to find John staring straight at him. He was leaning on one elbow, slightly bent forward as he watched Paul.
Paul blinked. "What? Is there something on my face?"
John gave him a slow smile. "You're a very attractive person, you know that?"
That stopped Paul in his tracks. Coughing a little, he said, "Oh. Thank you."
"Cynthia didn't tell me that. I wonder why that is."
"Maybe Cynthia doesn't find me attractive," Paul replied, almost pointedly.
John gave a hum of disagreement. "Don't think so. You're, like, empirically attractive. Bet you'll have both women and men falling at your feet in no time, if it hasn't happened already."
Paul, who was now becoming red in the face, hardened his voice a little. "John. You're Cynthia's boyfriend. And I'm a man."
"Yes. And?"
Paul sputtered. "And? Cynthia is my friend, you know? And while I perfectly understood that you've slept with a lot of people that doesn't mean that you can just flirt with me like— like—"
John raised his hands. "Jesus, calm down. Who said anything about flirting?"
Paul glared at him. "I'm not gay, John." He left his share of the bill on the table and gathered his things before getting up and making his way towards the car.
John left some money on the table as well before following him out. The door banged loudly as it closed behind them.
"Neither am I! And what? Is it illegal to say that someone is attractive without it being an attempt at flirting?"
As he yanked the car door open, Paul replied, "Oh, don't act so innocent, John. You know exactly what you're doing."
John bit his lip as his eyes briefly swept over Paul's tall figure. "Okay. Fine, let's say I was flirting with you. I take it back. There, now it's as if it never happened."
Paul frowned at him. "You can't do that."
"Why not?"
"It's already out. You can't just take it back."
John huffed and threw his hands in the air in frustration. "Then what are we supposed to do? Call the police?" He leaned over the car hood. "I'm sorry, alright?"
Paul closed his eyes and exhaled loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Let's just. Let it lie. Okay?"
They both got into the car as John nodded and muttered, "Let it lie. Yes, yes I can do that. It's my favorite thing, it is."
A beat passed as Paul drove onto the road.
John turned towards him. "Would you like to spend the night at the motel?" He quickly turned back around. "See what I did? I didn't let it lie."
"John—"
"I said that I would and then I didn't."
"John—"
"But you've really never slept with a man? Not even considered it? You went to an arts school, for Christ's sake. Same one as I did, matter of fact. I know what kind of guys walked around campus, there surely were plenty of them ready to throw themselves at you."
John gave Paul a quick glance and, noticing his quickly reddening face, relented.
"Sorry, sorry, gonna shut meself up. But it's hard not to wonder, you know?"
Paul exhaled through his nose. "It's never happened, no. And even if it did happen, it would be none of your business. You're Cynthia's boyfriend, in case you've forgotten."
Seeing John's mouth opening in the corner of his eye, probably ready to fire off another question Paul didn't want to answer, Paul stopped him in his tracks.
"Leave it be, Jesus! We're not going to spend the night at the motel. We're going to ignore this entire conversation and be friends. Just friends."
John gave him a look. "You know that we'll never be able to be 'just friends', right?"
"What? Why not?"
"I've made it clear that I find you attractive and that I'd gladly sleep with you. You can't be friends with someone you want to sleep with. The sexual desire is always going to come between you and, because of that, the friendship is compromised." John explained, almost as if he were reading from an instruction manual, while lighting himself a cigarette.
"Huh. I guess we're not going to be friends, then."
John lowered the car window and took a long drag. Exhaling, he replied, "Guess not."
Paul sighed, feeling somewhat disappointed. "That's too bad. You were the only person I knew in New York."
*
They arrived at the apartment John would be staying at for the foreseeable future in the wee hours of the morning.
Paul glanced at the aforementioned person, who had been peacefully sleeping for the past two hours or so.
After their tense conversation the previous night, they hadn't made many more attempts at starting a new one, partly because of the awkwardness it had left behind, and partly because of the exhaustion that had fallen upon them after such a long day.
Paul worried at his lip for a moment, still feeling a bit awkward, before steeling himself and reaching out to gently shake John awake.
"John?"
John let out a tired grunt and slowly opened his eyes.
"We're here."
Another grunt. "Already?"
"Mhm."
John sat up properly, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He stared at Paul for a beat. There was something in his eyes that Paul couldn't quite identify, but it was gone with the next blink.
"Oh. Alright."
He got out of the car and walked around to the back. Paul followed him as he took his bags out.
Paul shifted a little on his feet. "So. This is where we part ways."
John smiled. "Looks like it. Well, It was nice knowing you."
"Yeah. It was interesting."
A beat passed in which they simply stared at each other.
Paul smiled awkwardly before extending his hand. John hesitated for a moment before taking it, their handshake brief and almost too formal.
As John turned around, his bags in tow, Paul called out, "Have a nice life!"
John glanced back and smiled. "You too."
Paul watched him walk off for a beat before turning around and getting back into his car, a weird sense of foreboding creeping over him.