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blackkudos · 6 years

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Lorraine Hansberry

Lorraine Vivian Hansberry (May 19, 1930 – January 12, 1965) was an African-American playwright and writer.

She was the first black woman to write a play performed on Broadway. Her best known work, the play A Raisin in the Sun, highlights the lives of Black Americans living under racial segregation in Chicago. Hansberry's family had struggled against segregation, challenging a restrictive covenant and eventually provoking the Supreme Court case Hansberry v. Lee. The title of the play was taken from the poem "Harlem" by Langston Hughes: "What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?"

At the young age of 29, she won the New York's Drama Critic's Circle Award — making her the first black dramatist, the fifth woman, and the youngest playwright to do so.

After she moved to New York City, Hansberry worked at the Pan-Africanist newspaper Freedom, where she dealt with intellectuals such as Paul Robeson and W. E. B. Du Bois. Much of her work during this time concerned the African struggle for liberation and their impact on the world. Hansberry has been identified as a lesbian, and sexual freedom is an important topic in several of her works. She died of cancer at the age of 34. Hansberry inspired Nina Simone's song "To Be Young, Gifted and Black".

Family

Lorraine Hansberry was the youngest of four children born to Carl Augustus Hansberry, a successful real-estate broker, and Nannie Louise (born Perry) a driving school teacher and ward commiteewoman. In 1938, her father bought a house in the Washington Park Subdivision of the South Side of Chicago, incurring the wrath of their white neighbors. The latter's legal efforts to force the Hansberry family out culminated in the U.S. Supreme Court's decision in Hansberry v. Lee. The restrictive covenant was ruled contestable, though not inherently invalid. Carl Hansberry was also a supporter of the Urban League and NAACP in Chicago. Both Hansberrys were active in the Chicago Republican Party. Carl died in 1946, when Lorraine was fifteen years old; "American racism helped kill him," she later said.

The Hansberrys were routinely visited by prominent Black intellectuals, including W.E.B. Du Bois and Paul Robeson. Carl Hansberry's brother, William Leo Hansberry, founded the African Civilization section of the history department at Howard University. Lorraine was taught: ‘‘Above all, there were two things which were never to be betrayed: the family and the race.’’

Lorraine Hansberry has many notable relatives including director and playwright Shauneille Perry, whose eldest child is named after her. Her grandniece is actress Taye Hansberry. Her cousin is the flutist, percussionist, and composer Aldridge Hansberry.

Hansberry became the godmother to Nina Simone's daughter Lisa—now Simone.

Education

Hansberry graduated from Betsy Ross Elementary in 1944 and from Englewood High School in 1948. She attended the University of Wisconsin–Madison, where she immediately became politically active and integrated a dormitory. Hansberry's classmate Bob Teague remembered her as "...the only girl I knew who could whip together a fresh picket sign with her own hands, at a moment's notice, for any cause or occasion".

She worked on Henry A. Wallace's presidential campaign in 1948, despite her mother's disapproval. She spent the summer of 1949 in Mexico, studying painting at the University of Guadalajara.

Move to New York City

She decided in 1950 to leave Madison and pursue her career as a writer in New York City, where she attended The New School. She moved to Harlem in 1951 and became involved in activist struggles such as the fight against evictions.

Freedom

newspaper

In 1951, she joined the staff of the black newspaper Freedom, edited by Louis E. Burnham and published by Paul Robeson. At Freedom, she worked with W. E. B. Du Bois, whose office was in the same building, and other Black Pan-Africanists. At the newspaper, she worked as "subscription clerk, receptionist, typist and editorial assistant" in addition to writing news articles and editorials.

One of her first reports covered the Sojourners for Truth and Justice convened in Washington, D.C., by Mary Church Terrell. She traveled to Georgia to cover the case of Willie McGee, and was inspired to write the poem "Lynchsong" about his case.

She worked not only on the US civil rights movement, but also on global struggles against colonialism and imperialism. Hansberry wrote in support of the Mau Mau Uprising in Kenya, criticizing the mainstream press for its biased coverage.

Hansberry often clarified these global struggles by explaining them in terms of female participants. She was particularly interested in the situation of Egypt, "the traditional Islamic 'cradle of civilization,' where women had led one of the most important fights anywhere for the equality of their sex."

In 1952, Hansberry attended a peace conference in Montevideo, Uruguay, in place of Paul Robeson, who had been denied travel rights by the State Department.

Marriage

On June 20, 1953, she married Robert Nemiroff, a Jewish publisher, songwriter and political activist. Hansberry and Nemiroff moved to Greenwich Village, the setting of The Sign in Sidney Brustein's Window. Success of the song "Cindy, Oh Cindy", co-authored by Nemiroff, enabled Hansberry to start writing full-time. On the night before their wedding in 1953, Nemiroff and Hansberry protested the execution of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg in NYC.

It is widely believed that Hansberry was a closeted lesbian, a theory supported by her secret writings in letters and personal notebooks. She was an activist for gay rights and wrote about feminism and homophobia, joining the Daughters of Bilitis and contributing two letters to their magazine, The Ladder, in 1957 under her initials "LHN." She separated from her husband at this time, but they continued to work together.

A Raisin in the Sun was written at this time and completed in 1957.

Success as playwright

Opening on March 11, 1959, A Raisin in the Sun became the first play written by an African American woman to be produced on Broadway. The 29-year-old author became the youngest American playwright and only the fifth woman to receive the New York Drama Critics Circle Award for Best Play. Over the next two years, Raisin was translated into 35 languages and was being performed all over the world.

Hansberry wrote two screenplays of Raisin, both of which were rejected as controversial by Columbia Pictures. Commissioned by NBC in 1960 to create a television program about slavery, Hansberry wrote The Drinking Gourd. This script was called "superb" but also rejected.

In 1960, during Delta Sigma Theta's 26th national convention in Chicago, Hansberry was made an honorary member.

In 1961, Hansberry was set to replace Vinnette Carroll as the director of the musical Kicks and Co, after its try-out at Chicago's McCormick Place. It was written by Oscar Brown, Jr. and featured an interracial cast including Lonnie Sattin, Nichelle Nichols, Vi Velasco, Al Freeman, Jr., Zabeth Wilde and Burgess Meredith in the title role of Mr. Kicks. A satire involving miscegenation, the $400,000 production was co-produced by her husband Robert Nemiroff; despite a warm reception in Chicago, the show never made it to Broadway.

In 1963, Hansberry participated in a meeting with Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy, set up by James Baldwin.

Also in 1963, Hansberry was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. She underwent two operations, on June 24 and August 2. Neither was successful in removing the cancer.

On March 10, 1964, Hansberry and Nemiroff divorced but continued to work together.

While many of her other writings were published in her lifetime—essays, articles, and the text for the SNCC book The Movement—the only other play given a contemporary production was The Sign in Sidney Brustein's Window. The Sign in Sidney Brustein's Window ran for 101 performances on Broadway and closed the night she died.

Beliefs

Hansberry was an atheist.

According to historian Fanon Che Wilkins, "Hansberry believed that gaining civil rights in the United States and obtaining independence in colonial Africa were two sides of the same coin that presented similar challenges for Africans on both sides of the Atlantic." In response to the independence of Ghana, led by Kwame Nkrumah, Hansberry wrote: "The promise of the future of Ghana is that of all the colored peoples of the world; it is the promise of freedom."

Regarding tactics, Hansberry said Blacks "must concern themselves with every single means of struggle: legal, illegal, passive, active, violent and non-violent.... They must harass, debate, petition, give money to court struggles, sit-in, lie-down, strike, boycott, sing hymns, pray on steps—and shoot from their windows when the racists come cruising through their communities."

In a Town Hall debate on June 15, 1964, Hansberry criticized white liberals who couldn't accept civil disobedience, expressing a need "to encourage the white liberal to stop being a liberal and become an American radical." At the same time, she said, "some of the first people who have died so far in this struggle have been white men."

Hansberry was a critic of existentialism, which she considered too distant from the world's economic and geopolitical realities. Along these lines, she wrote a critical review of Richard Wright's The Outsider and went on to style her final play Les Blancs as a foil to Jean Genet's absurdist Les Nègres. However, Hansberry admired Simone de Beauvoir's The Second Sex.

In 1959, Hansberry commented that women who are "twice oppressed" may become "twice militant". She held out some hope for male allies of women, writing in an unpublished essay: "If by some miracle women should not ever utter a single protest against their condition there would still exist among men those who could not endure in peace until her liberation had been achieved."

Hansberry was appalled by the nuclear bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki which took place while she was in high school, and expressed desire for a future in which: "Nobody fights. We get rid of all the little bombs—and the big bombs." She did believe in the right of people to defend themselves with force against their oppressors.

The Federal Bureau of Investigation began surveillance of Hansberry when she prepared to go to the Montevideo peace conference. The Washington, D.C. office searched her passport files "in an effort to obtain all available background material on the subject, any derogatory information contained therein, and a photograph and complete description," while officers in Milwaukee and Chicago examined her life history. Later, an FBI reviewer of Raisin in the Sun highlighted its Pan-Africanist themes as dangerous.

Death

Hansberry, a heavy smoker her whole life, died of pancreatic cancer on January 12, 1965, aged 34. James Baldwin believed "it is not at all farfetched to suspect that what she saw contributed to the strain which killed her, for the effort to which Lorraine was dedicated is more than enough to kill a man."

Hansberry's funeral was held in Harlem on January 15, 1965. Paul Robeson and SNCC organizer James Forman gave eulogies. The presiding minister, Eugene Callender, recited messages from Baldwin and the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. which read: "Her creative ability and her profound grasp of the deep social issues confronting the world today will remain an inspiration to generations yet unborn." The 15th was also Dr. King's birthday. She is buried at Asbury United Methodist Church Cemetery in Croton-on-Hudson, New York.

Posthumous works

Hansberry's ex-husband, Robert Nemiroff, became the executor for several unfinished manuscripts. He added minor changes to complete the play Les Blancs, which Julius Lester termed her best work, and he adapted many of her writings into the play To Be Young, Gifted and Black, which was the longest-running Off Broadway play of the 1968–69 season. It appeared in book form the following year under the title To Be Young, Gifted and Black: Lorraine Hansberry in Her Own Words. She left behind an unfinished novel and several other plays, including The Drinking Gourd and What Use Are Flowers?, with a range of content, from slavery to a post-apocalyptic future.

Legacy

Raisin, a musical based on A Raisin in the Sun, opened in New York in 1973, winning the Tony Award for Best Musical, with the book by Nemiroff, music by Judd Woldin, and lyrics by Robert Britten. A Raisin in the Sun was revived on Broadway in 2004 and received a Tony Award nomination for Best Revival of a Play. The cast included Sean Combs ("P Diddy") as Walter Lee Younger Jr., Phylicia Rashad (Tony Award-winner for Best Actress) and Audra McDonald (Tony Award-winner for Best Featured Actress). It was produced for television in 2008 with the same cast, garnering two NAACP Image Awards.

Nina Simone first released a song about Hansberry in 1969 called "To Be Young, Gifted and Black." The title of the song refers to the title of Hansberry's autobiography, which Hansberry first coined when speaking to the winners of a creative writing conference on May 1, 1964, "t]hough it be a thrilling and marvellous thing to be merely young and gifted in such times, it is doubly so, doubly dynamic — to be young, gifted and black." Simone wrote the song with a poet named Weldon Irvine and told him that she wanted lyrics that would "make black children all over the world feel good about themselves forever." When Irvine read the lyrics after it was finished, he thought, "I didn't write this. God wrote it through me." In a recorded to the introduction of the song, Simone explained the difficulty of losing a close friend and talented artist.

Patricia and Fredrick McKissack wrote a children's biography of Hansberry, Young, Black, and Determined, in 1998.

In 1999 Hansberry was posthumously inducted into the Chicago Gay and Lesbian Hall of Fame.

In 2002, scholar Molefi Kete Asante listed Hansberry as one of his 100 Greatest African Americans.

The Lorraine Hansberry Theatre of San Francisco, which specializes in original stagings and revivals of African-American theatre, is named in her honor. Singer and pianist Nina Simone, who was a close friend of Hansberry, used the title of her unfinished play to write a civil rights-themed song "To Be Young, Gifted and Black" together with Weldon Irvine. The single reached the top 10 of the R&B charts. A studio recording by Simone was released as a single and the first live recording on October 26, 1969, was captured on Black Gold(1970).

Lincoln University's first-year female dormitory is named Lorraine Hansberry Hall. There is a school in the Bronx called Lorraine Hansberry Academy, and an elementary school in St. Albans, Queens, New York, named after Hansberry as well.

On the eightieth anniversary of Hansberry's birth, Adjoa Andoh presented a BBC Radio 4 programme entitled "Young, Gifted and Black" in tribute to her life.

In 2010, Hansberry was inducted into the Chicago Literary Hall of Fame.

In 2013, Hansberry was inducted into the Legacy Walk, an outdoor public display which celebrates LGBT history and people. This makes her the first Chicago-native honored along the North Halsted corridor.

Also in 2013, Lorraine Hansberry was inducted into the American Theatre Hall of Fame.

Lorraine Hansberry Elementary School was located in the 9th Ward of New Orleans. It was heavily damaged by Hurricane Katrina in 2005. It has since closed.

In 2017, she was inducted into the National Women's Hall of Fame.

Works

A Raisin in the Sun (1959)

A Raisin in the Sun, screenplay (1961)

"On Summer" (essay) (1960)

The Drinking Gourd (1960)

What Use Are Flowers? (written c. 1962)

The Arrival of Mr. Todog – parody of Waiting for Godot

The Movement: Documentary of a Struggle for Equality (1964)

The Sign in Sidney Brustein's Window (1965)

To Be Young, Gifted and Black: Lorraine Hansberry in Her Own Words (1969)

Les Blancs: The Collected Last Plays / by Lorraine Hansberry. Edited by Robert Nemiroff (1994)

Toussaint. This fragment from a work in progress, unfinished at the time of Hansberry's untimely death, deals with a Haitian plantation owner and his wife whose lives are soon to change drastically as a result of the revolution of Toussaint L'Ouverture. (From the Samuel French, Inc. catalogue of plays.)

Wikipedia

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imaginebeatles · 7 years

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Poetry Nights | Chapter 4: In which Paul is not on a date

Pairing: John/Paul

Rating: PG-13

Set in: Modern AU

Summary: 21-year-old Paul McCartney, who has recovered from a breakdown due to stress and his mother’s unexpected death, has recently moved to London where he now rents a cheap flat with his friend George. Having needed to give up his medicine studies, he has decided to start over and go to art college instead where he meets the rude and troublesome John Lennon, a young poet, who, much to Paul’s dismay, also happens to be his neighbour.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Beatles and this is fictional. I do not make money off this.

Author’s note: Yeah, extremely long chapter! Enjoy ;) Also, the song Paul and John listen to in the park is Dearest by Buddy Holly, in case you were curious.

For the following week, Paul made sure to stay away from John as much as possible. He constantly kept an eye out for him, not wanting to run into him in the hallways on his way to class or in more public spaces such as the university cafeteria or the library, even though he doubted he’d be running into him there a second time. John didn’t seem like the type who would willingly spend his time there, unless he had an ulterior motive.

Even when leaving his flat, he made sure to check first to see if John wasn’t in the hallway before stepping outside, and when he got back, he’d glance around the corner as he walked up the stairs before heading to his flat. George, having caught him doing this twice, thought he was being ridiculous, but Paul didn’t care. He’d rather flunk one of his courses if that meant he would never run into John ever again after what had happened, and would gladly go through the rest of his life without ever seeing him again, no matter what it took.

So what if George thought he was acting silly? He hadn’t been the one who had drunkenly kissed the most handsome man he had seen in years before throwing up on him twice and needing to be carried home by him because he had passed out. Not to mention that John had most likely been the one who had stripped him of his clothes before laying him down on the bed and pulling the covers up over him. The thought alone was enough to make him want to go back in time and stop himself from ever going to that damn poetry evening.

Besides, it wasn’t like his strategy wasn’t working. There had been a few times when he had caught glimpses of the other man, either walking down the street or after a lecture in the hallway with a group of friends, and every time he had managed to avoid him. Once he had even forgotten to look before leaving his flat, and Paul could still vividly remember the moment and the fear he had felt when he had thought John had seen him.

He had been about to take out the trash - it being his turn this week - and, having been too deep in thought about Dot to realise what he had been doing, had opened the front door without looking first like he normally did. Taking a single step outside, he had caught sight of John from the corner of his eye, standing by his door and talking to a friend who Paul didn’t recognise. Paul had nearly dropped the trash at the sight of him.

He had been as handsome as Paul had remembered him, if not more. He had once again been bare-footed, and had worn a simple pair of tight-fitting blue jeans that made his thighs look great and a slightly wrinkled white shirt. His thick-rimmed glasses had been on his nose again as well, and his hair had looked ruffled and unkempt as if he had just stumbled out of bed despite it being 2.30 in the afternoon, which Paul thought was just unfair.

As soon as he had regained control over his body - having momentarily lost it as he had stared at the other man - Paul had swiftly slipped back inside and thrown the door shut again with the softest thud possible, before he had slid down unto the floor, hoping John hadn’t spotted him. His heart had been thumping in his chest and for a moment he had been certain John had seen or at least heard him and was going to knock on his door at any moment. But nothing happened.

He had sat there, on the floor, back resting against the door, bag of garbage between his spread legs, for about fifteen minutes before he had dared to have another quick glance outside. Taking a deep breath, he had put the garbage bag aside and crawled onto his hands and knees to have a sneaky look outside, pulling the door open just enough for him to look around the corner. To his luck, John hadn’t been there this time and Paul had slacked a sigh of relief as he had scrambled up and hurried past his flat and down the stairs, cursing himself for being so stupid, as well as forcing the sight of John out of his mind. He shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. He had a girlfriend. Not to mention that John was a smug bastard, and he wasn’t going to waste his time on those again. It didn’t matter how handsome he was, or how soft his lips had been, or how witty he was, or how caring and sweet when he had looked after him, or that he listened to Elvis, or wore horrendous and suggestive shirts that Paul was still thinking about- it didn’t bloody matter!

“Of course it bloody matters! You can’t shut up about him!” Jane cried, and Paul let out an exasperated groan as his head came down on the table with a painful thud. Jane smirked and took a sip from her bottle of water as she reached over to give him a couple of encouraging pats on the shoulder. They were in the library again, and had managed to procure themselves a study room to work in, seeing as they were going to be here for a while - George and Ringo were having another video game tournament as a rematch for the last one and Paul did not want to be there while that was going on, fearing he might witness a murder if he was. The privacy of the room allowed them to speak at a normal volume, and although Paul had been glad he had been able to talk about this with someone other than George, he now kinda wished he hadn’t said anything.

“Paulie… is that what you were doing when we came in? You were checking to see if he was around somewhere? Because Christ, Paul, you really are hopeless,” Jane said, and although her voice sounded emphatic, there was an amused glint in her eyes that gave her away. Paul shot her a look.

“I’m not hopeless, it’s called taking precautions,” he said matter-of-factly, but the grin on his friend’s face didn’t go away.

“Why? Because you may not be able to control yourself around him if you see him? Afraid you might kiss him again if he looks at you a certain way? Granted the guy is good-looking, but I had thought your taste in men would be slightly more refined.” Paul rolled his eyes in response and cursed himself for ever having brought the subject up. He should have known better than to share these thing with Jane; she was far too concerned with his love-life.

“I do not have a crush on John and my self-control is as impeccable as always, thank you, Jane. I just don’t want to deal with the embarrassment again. Throwing up on handsome guys wasn’t really part of the plan when I decided to come to London to study art history, you know. Handsome guys in general weren’t part of the plan. And they still aren’t.”

“Paul, dear… You kissed him. You kissed him. Which, combined with the fact that we are still talking about him a week after, makes it safe to say you do have a crush on him, don’t you think?”

“Oh, piss off…” Paul shot back and pouted down at his library book at his failure to come up with a better retort. “How do you know John anyway? He doesn’t seem like the type you’d usually hang out with.”

“Yeah, because we don’t. But Astrid and I are on the swim team together, which means Stuart is at the pool a lot during practise to support his girlfriend, which in turn means John is there because he gets bored and needs Stuart to entertain him.”

“And you don’t like him because…?”

Jane raised an eyebrow at his question and scoffed. “You’ve met him, haven’t you?”

“I meant why specifically,” Paul clarified with a smirk, glad to have moved the focus away from himself and to Jane, who took another sip of water before she started to explain.

“He was a prick to me the first time we met, as he is to everybody,” she said, shrugging. “He asked me how girls masturbated and then went on to make up some inappropriate poem about me being a beautiful water nymph who lures guys in and murders them.”

“You’ve got to admit that sounds pretty badass. And at least he said you were beautiful,” Paul said, chuckling, but Jane shook her head in return.

“Not if you heard what kind of language he used. It was humiliating, Paul. Not to mention he went on to suggest I was a lesbian too, and he gave some very colourful descriptions about that. At least Stuart thought it was funny.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think you’d make a great man-murdering, lesbian water nymph,” Paul said with a wink and Jane laughed as she took another sip of water.

“Maybe I already am one,” she said mysteriously, “that’s why I have my water bottle with me. Need to stay hydrated while I’m on land.”

“I hope not. Because if you were, you’d be doing a piss-poor job at killing men, seeing I’m still very much alive and it’s been weeks since you met me.”

“Don’t worry, dear, I wouldn’t kill you. You’re part of my great plan. Every lesbian water nymph needs her hot bisexual male eye-candy besides her to assist her.”

“That’s all I am then, eh?” Paul said with a dramatic sigh, pressing the back of his left hand to his forehead as he pretended to swoon, “Nothing more than a fine piece of ass to be gawked at. Barely more than pretty face. A sexually-ambiguous sex object.”

“As if you’d mind.”

“I can’t say, can I? My body is all that matters now! When you’re hot, no one cares about what comes out of your mouth anymore. It’s a curse! All they care about is what goes into it,” Paul said and winked at Jane, who recoiled in disgust. Nonetheless she was laughing, and for a moment Paul had completely forgotten about John. That is, until Jane had caught her breath again and turned to him with an even wider smirk.

“I’m not sure John would mind either, you know,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes, but Paul waved away her remark.

“There is nothing going on between me and John and there never will be. Besides, I doubt he’s still into me after what happened, which I guess is the only good thing to come out of this.”

“Did you tell Dot what happened?”

Paul shook his head.

“No… And I wasn’t really planning on it either,” he said truthfully. “There’s not even much to say, is there? It was just a stupid drunken mistake. It didn’t mean anything. Telling her will only unnecessarily hurt her.”

“Paul, you did kiss another person…”

“So?”

“So, you ought to tell her!” Jane’s voice was forceful, as if she could not believe what Paul was saying. “It doesn’t matter if it didn’t mean anything or not! She will appreciate your honesty. Besides, you’ve been dating for over three years! You’re in a serious, long-term relationship, Paul. You can’t just keep these things from her. Not anymore.”

Paul was quiet for a while, letting her words sink in. He knew Dot wasn’t going to react positively if he were to tell her about what happened between him and John, and she had every right to. And if she wasn’t, then she would at the very least feel betrayed. They had been dating for over three years! And if that didn’t count for anything, the occurrences of the last two years certainly did. Things like kissing men while high or drunk just wasn’t supposed to happen anymore, especially seeing as Paul had known John had had an interest in him. He had broken her trust, intoxicated or not. But if he told her, he would hurt her, and she didn’t deserve that.

“What if she finds out from someone else, eh? You’ve already told me and George, and if George knows, then you can bet Ringo and Pattie know as well.”

“George swore on his Bob Dylan records he wouldn’t tell anyone. You know how much that man worships Dylan! He isn’t going to let me get anywhere near his records.”

“Yeah, but for George, Ringo doesn’t count. And he and Pattie are dating now, so he will have told her too, especially since she was there the night it happened and Dot kept interrupting them with her phone calls to ask about you. She would want to know what was going on and I’m certain George wouldn’t think twice about telling her. Not to mention that there is one other person who knows about what has happened between you and John, and who will definitely be talking about it with other people.”

Paul glanced up at her questioningly and waited for her to continue, having not a clue who else he could have told, which drew an annoyed groan from Jane.

“I’m talking about John, Paul! You can bet all of his friends have heard the story at least twice now! What if somehow Dot hears it from one of his friends, or friends of his friends? You know John’s from Liverpool too, right? Dot will be pissed if she hears about it from anyone but you.”

“Wait… John’s from Liverpool?”

“Paul!”

“Okay! Fine... I’ll call her this evening,” Paul said, holding up his hands in defeat before he reached for his phone and typed out a quick message to Dot, making sure to hit “send” before showing it to Jane. She smiled and nodded as her eyes skimmed the text, which essentially asked Dot if she had the evening off so they could talk and that he missed her. Already Paul felt he had made a mistake, but he knew Jane was right. He couldn’t risk it.

“Thanks, Paul,” she said, and he nodded in response, his throat too tight to talk at the prospect of actually having to speak to Dot. At least he had a little while to prepare, though he couldn’t help but hope she had something planned this evening and wouldn’t be able to make it.

Without another word, he went back to work, taking notes as he did his reading for later that week, while occasionally sharing a few words with Jane about unimportant things, as she revised the notes she had taken that day. At least one positive thing about getting kicked out of your own flat - albeit willingly - was the amount of work he could get done for university, being stuck in the library for a large part of his day. In the end it saved him a lot of time.

Or at least… it would have done if he had been able to keep his mind focused.

Instead, he found himself thinking about John again, although he blamed Jane for it this time, seeing as she had been the one to bring up John was from Liverpool as well. Had they ever met before? Or even just seen each other? Had they gone to the same school? John was older than him, so it could be a possibility… Maybe they had sat on the bus together once, neither of them knowing one day one of them would get sick all over the other and would need to be carried home. His life was a mess.

Once their allotted time for the study room was over, Paul and Jane began to gather their stuff and Paul decided he would skim the library a while longer for a particular book he needed for his upcoming essay, seeing as he doubted George and Ringo would have finished their gaming tournament yet, it being barely four o’clock. Jane, however, had other plans for the day, so they walked back downstairs together, talking to each other in hushed whispers as not to be of any nuisance. They had only just reached the second floor and turned a corner when they suddenly heard a familiar voice calling out for them, far louder than either of them were comfortable with in a library.

“Would you look who it is! Our very own good little student Paul, back here again!” the voice called and Paul tensed up as he swiftly looked around himself, judging whether he could still make a run for it for not. The stairs weren’t that far away - seeing as they had just come from there - and with all the running he had been doing in the mornings, he could easily make it, assuming John was as lazy and hateful of any kind of exercise as Paul had him pinned for. Jane, however, had a strong hold on his arm, keeping him from going anywhere and urging him to turn around. “And Miss Asher… it’s always a pleasure to see you again as well.”

Turning around, Paul swallowed thickly as his eyes landed on John, feeling how his chest tightened under the other man’s gaze as he looked him up and down, taking in every part of him. When John’s eyes landed on Jane’s hand which was still holding his arm, he quickly tugged himself free. He didn’t miss the way the corners of John’s mouth twitched at the sight.

“Is it not curious I only ever see you in the library? I’d almost begin to think you lived here,” the older man said, and although Paul now knew there was no cruel intent in his words, he still felt his cheeks heat up.

“Well, some of us need to study. And besides, you know where I live.” He said that last quietly, almost shyly, and mentally kicked himself for letting John get to him so easily. After all, they had had fun last week before he had started to feel sick. He had been able to keep up with him. He could do so again.

“Aye, that I do,” John replied with a wink and moved a little closer to them, taking a step into Paul’s personal space, eyes twinkling as Paul refused to step away. “What are you studying for then, eh?”

“Just working on an essay for art history.”

“Boring,” John replied with a smirk, and Paul rolled his eyes at him. He felt the urge to take a step back, but doing so would feel like John had the upper hand on him, which wasn’t the case, so he remained where he was, unmoving. At least he was half an inch taller than John, which he felt counted for something.

“Actually,” he said, eyes looking directly into John’s, “I find it rather interesting, so I’d better get back to work. Jane has other plans as well, so...”

“Oh well, in that case I won’t keep you, Jane,” John said, shooting Jane a sideways glance which couldn’t be mistaken as meaning anything other than “leave” - although a ruder variant would be more apt - before he turned his focus back onto Paul. Jane was more than happy to comply to that order, clearly uncomfortable baring witness to whatever it was that was going on. Paul hardly knew himself, so he couldn’t blame her. Still, he hated her for what she did next.

“Yeah… see you around, guys. I’ll er… I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Paul,” she said and before Paul could protest, she had turned on her heels and walked off with quick, long steps. Paul cursed her in his head for leaving him like that, before turning back to John, who, as he now saw, had stepped even closer to him, but had also pulled a very familiar-looking leather-bound notebook from his bag.

“As for you, doctor McCartney…” he said, his voice low and sultry, clearly trying to make Paul feel uncomfortable, “I just wanted to hand this back to you. You must’ve been missing it.” Paul stared at the notebook as he held out it out for him, and recognised it easily as his own. He had been searching for it, thinking he had misplaced it, but now he saw it in John's hand, he felt stupid for not having suspected him sooner. He tried grabbing it, but John was swift to pull it out of his reach, causing Paul to stumble forward slightly as he lost his balance, bringing the two men even closer, so that they were barely a two feet apart and Paul could feel John’s breath on his face.

“Ah-ah! Not so quick, darling,” John said, smirking as Paul made another unsuccessful reach for it.

“Don’t call me ‘darling’. And how did you get my notebook, anyway?”

“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re implying. You just left it at the cafe last week. Thought it’d be proper of me to hand it back to you is all.”

“Good. You can give it back now then,” Paul said, making another grab at the notebook, but John swiftly moved it behind his back and out of Paul’s reach.

“Patience, doll eyes,” he playfully scolded and Paul huffed in annoyance but kept silent, knowing John would just continue being a pain if he didn’t do what he said. Still, that didn’t stop him from hissing “asshole” under his breath, which, judging by the smirk on John’s lips, the other man had heard. Good, Paul thought.

“You know, there is no reason to be embarrassed. People do all sorts stupid things when they’re high and drunk. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

“For some reason I’m not surprised…” Paul muttered in reply, causing John to let out a little laugh. “And I’m not embarrassed. I just want my notebook back and get back to work.”

“Are you free now?” John asked, and Paul stared at him wide eyed.

“I-I just… I just told you-” Paul stammered but John easily silenced him.

“Look here, gorgeous,” he said, cocking his head at him in a manner Paul knew to be seductive, as he raised his free hand to motion him to be quiet, “I know there’s no way that essay is due any time soon, and truthfully I’m rather hungry and in a dire need for a good cup of coffee, so all I’m asking is whether you want to come with me or not.”

“Why would you possibly think I’d say ‘yes’? I don’t even like you!”

“Last time you told me that you ended up kissing me, so I’m taking my chances here. What do you say?” Paul felt his cheeks heat up again as the memory of John’s lips pressing against his own filled his mind, and by the way John was grinning at him, he assumed his blushing was very apparent. Still, Paul pulled himself together and narrowed his eyes at the other man as he folded his arms before his chest.

“I’m guessing you’re not going to give me my notebook back unless I say yes, are you?” he said. Much to his genuine surprise, however, John merely laughed and offered him his notebook back right away.

“Don’t be silly. I’m not going to blackmail you into having coffee with me. I just knew if I had given you this right away, you’d have ran away before I had the chance to ask.”

“I- I wouldn’t have ran away…” Paul said, flustered as he took his notebook from the other man and slipped it into his bag, pretending not to see the knowing look John gave him in response.

“So… what to do you say?” the man asked again and Paul looked him up and down for a moment, before he gave in with a sigh.

“Fine… but only because I could really go for some coffee right now. And this not a date, if that’s what you’re thinking!”

“Whatever you say, darling,” John said, and with that, he took Paul by his arm and started dragging him with him towards the exit.

The cafe John took him to was remarkably nice. Paul had suspected they would go somewhere simple, like a Costa or a Caffè Nero or even the university cafe, and had raised an eyebrow in surprise as they passed a number of them on their way. Instead, they had walked for about ten minutes before John had finally directed him into a small, but cosy cafe, to which Paul had been once before a few years ago. He had been visiting London for a holiday with his father and brother, and they had stumbled upon it by accident. Paul was more than happy to find himself back here again.

He welcomed the smell of freshly ground coffee as John opened the door for him and let him in first. Adele’s Crazy For You was playing, and like the time before, it was quiet, there being only a few people of around, most likely other students, sitting at small round wooden tables with their laptops or phones, either alone or with another person with whom they would occasionally converse. The place was bright, with large windows at the front, white tiled walls, and light wooden flooring with geometric patterned rugs for a more cosy atmosphere. The bar was large and square and took a prominent spot in the room, but if anything it made it more personal. He and John took a seat at a table by the window and they offered each other a small smile as they sat opposite each other. Paul took off his coat and hung it over the back of his chair, while John simply put his with his bag on the floor between the window and table.

“Any idea what you’d like, yet?” John asked as he had a quick glance over the menu that was placed on every table, twirling it around a few times in his hands, before handing it to Paul. It was obvious he already knew what it said, and Paul wondered if he came here often.

“Hmm… I might just get a simple black coffee. Although… if I remember well they have the best chocolate cake here. But I probably shouldn’t,” Paul said, frowning, as he took the menu from John and had a quick look at it his well, his eyes lingering on the cakes and pies section.

“What do you mean, you probably shouldn’t?” John asked, pulling the menu down so he could look Paul in the eye.

“Well,” Paul said, nervously shrugging his shoulders, “it’s not exactly good for you, is it?”

“So? It’s just one slice. You’re skinny enough, if that’s what you’re worried about,” John said, his tone firmer than what might have been expected in a situation like this. “And even if you weren’t, fuck the others, right?”

Paul smiled at the flattering words, but remained unsure, remembering how hard it had been to lose weight when he had been younger. He hadn’t liked the nicknames people had used for him, calling him chubby or baby or fatty, be it in jest or with the actual intention to hurt. He hadn’t liked the teasing, or the general unhappiness he had felt about his body, making him oddly aware of it all the time - he hadn’t liked any of it, and when he had decided to lose weight, he had struggled with it for a long time. It hadn’t been easy, and when his mum died… Well, it hadn’t helped.

The last thing he wanted was to return to that, to be fat again. But unfortunately he had always had a sweet tooth, and once he started eating, it was difficult for him to stop. It was easier to just never indulge himself. He allowed himself one bar of chocolate a week, which he mostly had on the weekends, because he simply could not survive without it, and Jane already got him plenty of cookies when they would meet up after class, and if it hadn’t been for his strict running schedule he would never have allowed for any of that. If he started having cake now with John as well… He wouldn’t stop at simply having that single slice of chocolate cake. He would be coming back again, telling himself it would be fine, and then it’d get worse and worse until he’d sit by George’s cupboard full of sweets and treats and other good stuff in the middle of the night, stuffing himself in secrecy.

He knew it probably wasn’t healthy to be this concerned with his eating habits, especially since one slice of chocolate cake wasn’t going to ruin his life, and he knew that, but Paul really wanted to stay in the shape he was in. It wasn’t that he wanted to lose weight or anything, or that he thought he was fat now - in fact he had never felt better about himself in that regard - but… he didn’t want to hear people call him “fatty” again, or look into the mirror and call himself that.

He shook his head.

“No, I shouldn’t… I’ll just have a cup of coffee and that’s it,” he said, but John wouldn’t have any of it and promptly took the menu away from him.

“Don’t be silly! You want chocolate cake, you’ll get that chocolate cake!” he said, looking at the menu himself to make sure the chocolate cake was still on there, and grabbed his wallet from his bag. Before Paul could object, he had got up and had hurried to the bar to order, not giving him a chance.

“John! No, I don’t-” Paul tried, but it was in vain. John had already gone. Groaning, he let his head fall onto the table, regretting his decision to accept the other man’s offer for coffee, knowing he should have expected things to not go according to plan when he was with him. Things never seemed to when John was around. What had gotten into him, saying yes?

He opened one of his eyes to glance at the counter to see John talking to a young female barista and watched in horror as the girl got him a slice of that deliciously sinful chocolate cake, home-made from organic and fair-trade ingredients, which made it only better in Paul’s opinion. His mouth watered at the mere sight of it, memories of the taste coming back to him, the way the chocolate had melted on his tongue and the taste had lingered in his mouth for hours after. Shaking his head in a poor attempt to rid himself of these thoughts, he hurriedly looked away and got out his phone, hoping it would take his mind of that chocolate cake, or rather that it would somehow magically disappear.

Unlocking his phone, he noticed Dot had send him a message back, telling him she was going out with a couple of friends that evening but could talk beforehand that if that was okay. Paul, knowing he did not have a good excuse to back out now, texted her back, saying it was fine before asking her what time would suit her best. Within ten seconds he got a reply back suggesting seven o’clock, to which Paul half-heartedly agreed, his heart thumping in his throat. As he looked back up and out of the window, silently freaking out about his coming talk with his girlfriend, he noticed the music had changed to Sam Cooke’s Bring It On Home To Me - the music the coffee shop played was even better than how Paul remembered it being, and he softly hummed along, feeling how the music calmed him, if only a little.

“Here you go, Princess,” Paul suddenly heard John say, and he turned his head to see John put down a large plate of chocolate cake in front of him along with both their coffees. He frowned when he saw John was holding two forks, but had no other piece of cake or pie or any other food with him. “I thought,” the man continued as he took his seat again, noticing Paul’s look of confusion, “we could share it, instead. That way you can feel a little better about not upholding your usual diet.”

Paul smiled at that, and chuckled as he gave in, just the sight of it and John’s strange way of compromising rendering him unable to refuse. It did look delicious, and when John smiled in that charming way of his as he handed Paul one of the forks, he knew he was going to regret it. His self-control only went so far.

“Fine,” he said, “but this isn’t a date thing.”

John grinned at him and rolled his eyes as Paul dug in and took his first bite of the chocolate cake, which just seemed to melt on his tongue. He didn’t even need to close his mouth and he moaned in pleasure as the bitter, yet sweet taste of chocolate invaded all corners of his mouth and began to drizzle down his throat - it really was the best cake he had ever had in his life. Opening his eyes - he hadn’t realised he had closed them - he saw John watching him, a smile on his lips that could not be interpreted as anything other than love-sick, and Paul smiled apologetically at him as he looked away, embarrassed. He frowned as his gaze landed on John’s drink.

“Huh,” he said, gesturing at it, “I didn’t pin you for a latte kind of guy.”

“There are multiple layers to all of us, Paul. Besides I like the little art they do with the milk,” John explained as he turned his cup around so Paul could see the little cat face the barista had managed to create, and for a moment Paul was taken aback by his answer, which was so unlike the rest of his rough exterior. It was really… kind of cute? He was only taken away from his thoughts as he phone began to buzz again.

“That your girlfriend?” John asked, and Paul nodded as he checked it swiftly.

“Something like that,” he said and texted Dot back with a kissing emoji, before turning it over so it was lying face-down on the table, hoping it wouldn’t disturb them again for at least a little while.

“Something like that?” John asked with a curious chuckle.

“It’s not important,” Paul said, sighing, and picked up his cup of coffee to take a careful sip, blowing into it first to cool it a little, not wanting to burn his tongue. John, however only sat up in interest at those words and leant forward on his elbows, as if afraid he were to miss anything if he didn’t.

“You sure? Come on, Paulie. Satisfy a guy’s burning curiosity,” he said with a wink, and Paul glanced at him doubtfully, but gave in anyway and put his (still too hot) coffee back down. He stared into it as he answered, preferring not to look at the other man.

“She erm… We were engaged, actually. Or for a while we were, anyway. But then… well, we had our issues and now we are here and I’m not sure either of us knows where that ‘here’ is right now. ‘Girlfriend’ just seems the most fitting label right now, though I don’t know what Dot calls me, her fiance or boyfriend. We never really talked about it.”

“Wow, engaged, eh?” John said and whistled lowly, “what did you do, Paul? You didn’t knock her up, did you? You know they have invented stuff for that now, right?” Paul started at that, but didn’t say anything and merely had another bite of his chocolate cake, preferring that to talking about him and Dot. Especially with John. While they were sitting in a cafe. He knew John didn’t mean bad, but it was exhausting thinking about her, about what had happened, to both of them at that. Thankfully, John didn’t press it and followed Paul’s example as he too took a bite out of the chocolate cake.

“So,” he continued after a moment of silence, catching Paul’s eyes again, “you studied medicine. What was that like?”

Hell, was the first word that came to mind, but he swallowed it down in favour of a shrug.

“As if you really care,” he said, taking a sip from his coffee, which was now finally the right temperature. He hummed contently as the warm liquid rushed from his mouth to his throat to his stomach, mixing with the chocolate and warming him throughout from the inside out. God, he had needed that.

John was looking at him again, enjoying the noises he was making, but unlike last time, Paul didn’t look away from him as their eyes met and bit his tongue to tell himself to not be this loud, which appeared harder than one might expect. John licked some cake crumbles from his lips before he spoke.

“Contrary to what some might think,” he said, smiling, “I like learning more about the people I kiss, and even if I didn’t, I still enjoy hearing them talk. You especially.” John shot him a flirtatious wink, and Paul lightly choked on his coffee at his forwardness, making him almost feel betrayed by one of the few good things he had in his life as it burned in his throat. He suppressed the tug at his lips at John’s remark and looked down at his mug as he placed in the saucer in front of him, wiping his mouth.

“Is that because you just like my voice or because you think I’m actually saying something interesting?” he asked and John smirked at him.

“Both,” he said without so much as a thought, and Paul chuckled despite himself, his chest feeling strange at John’s words, strange in a way he knew he shouldn’t feel, but he allowed himself to be indulged for a moment and enjoyed the flattery.

“In case you had forgotten, this is not a date, so you can stop flirting with me. It’s not gonna get you anywhere this time. And… well, there’s not much to say. It had good and bad moments. And if I had liked it, I wouldn’t be here right now, so… Make your own deductions,” he said, swallowing thickly and felt relieved when John didn’t go into it.

“Oh, but I think you rather like my flirting, even if you won’t admit it,” he said instead, and when Paul didn’t respond, he added, “you studied in Liverpool, you said?”

Paul nodded. “I’ve lived there all my life, and once I finished secondary school, it just made sense for me to stay, though I got me a student flat to live in. Jane told me you’re from there as well.”

“You two been talking about me?” John asked, smug grin on his lips, and Paul rolled his eyes at that. Putting on a thick scouse accent that would have been more fitting in the 60s than now, John said, “I’m a Liverpudlian through and through, darling. Think you can handle a tough old scouser like me?”

“I think I’ll do fine, thanks, John,” Paul replied in similar fashion, though his accent wasn’t as over-done, sounding instead more modern and genuine as opposed to John’s dramatic take on it.

“You don’t sound that scouse normally,” John remarked, and Paul laughed as he shrugged.

“Mum taught us to speak proper, you know. She hoped it would open up more chances for me and Mike. She always got upset about me g’s and would go on about me vowels being lazy. Dad never really cared, though. How ‘bout you?” Paul asked, keeping his pronunciation scouse, which seemed to amuse John.

“Learned it from the sailors down the docks. I grew up with me aunt, in the proper middle class way, so I would use it to piss her off when I was angry. I can do it pretty well, but it’s not natural like yours, I guess.” Paul nodded at that, wondering why John had grown up with his aunt, rather than his parents, but he didn’t dare ask, knowing how annoying it could be when you constantly needed to explain why your mother wasn’t at your first solo performance in the church choir, or why she wasn’t there for your graduation or why you were sad and depressed on mother’s day and didn’t stress about getting your mother a present like all the other kids. It was horrible to constantly be reminded of it, to constantly have to explain and to have to deal with the condolences and words and looks of pity afterwards. Paul was certain it hadn’t helped with his mental health to have to deal with that constantly all the time, and although he knew Dr Collins said it wasn’t good for him to keep those things hidden and to bottle all that pain up, he mostly found himself jumping around the subject, preferring not to talk about it, and he didn’t doubt John felt the same way. That is, assuming he had gone through something similar, which of course didn’t need to be the case, but just to be certain, he didn’t ask about it.

“I think you can do the accent better than I can,” he said instead.

“Well, yeah, but I’m not proper scouse now, am I? Not like you lot.”

“Think you can handle a tough old scouser like me, then, eh?” Paul repeated, joking, and he knew he had made a mistake when John’s eyes glazed over dark and the corners of his mouth curled up into a smirk.

“If you’re offering,” he said, and Paul casually flipped him the finger as he drank from his coffee again, though he could not deny the strange churn in his stomach.

They spoke for a while, their conversation getting easier and easier, and it was almost as if their minds had synced up by the end of it. They barely even finished their sentences anymore and would often come up with the same joke, which they would tell at the same time, after which they giggled into their cups like school boys talking about naughty stuff they had seen on the internet or on those magazines you could buy at gas stations. The atmosphere was relaxed and although John remained overtly flirtatious, it wasn’t anything Paul couldn’t handle, and by the end he had even grown to like it, that is, as long as John knew this wasn’t a date, of which Paul reminded him plenty.

The chocolate cake was easily shared between them, and when Paul had finished his coffee, John readily got him another one, for which Paul was grateful. He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, talking about Liverpool, university, friends, family, poetry and music, but the more Paul spoke with John the more likeable he became.

John, Paul learned, had gone to art school right next to where Paul had attended grammar school, and had lived only a short walk away from him, meaning they would have needed to take the same bus for the last leg of the way and that they had possibly seen each other before but just never got to meet. It was strange they would meet here now, so far away from Liverpool where they had lived their lives so near to each other.

“Do you think you’ve seen me before?” Paul asked, unsure which answer he would prefer, and John thought for a while before shaking his head.

“I would have remembered you, I think. You’re far too pretty to forget about,” he said and Paul slapped him on the arm in response as he told him off. John, however, reacted fast as caught Paul’s hand in his own for a brief moment, causing Paul to freeze as he stared at him, his fingers trembling where they touched John’s skin, which was surprisingly soft except for the callouses on his fingertips. When John pulled his hand away again, he sighed, though not necessarily from relief.

“Sorry,” John said, his voice soft and Paul blinked up at him in surprise, not having expected those words to drop from the man’s lips. Before he could say something in return, however, a bell sounded behind Paul, signalling the arrival of another customer, and immediately John pulled even further away from him. He called out to the man and Paul realised he could hear sound again that wasn’t John’s nasal yet attractive voice. It all came back to him suddenly and all at once: the music - it had changed to You’ve Really Got a Hold On Me by Smokey Robinson and The Miracles - the chatter of other people, and the sound of the coffee machine as more coffee beans were ground.

“Stu! What are you doing here, mate?” John called out as he looked up at the newly arrived customer. Turning his head, Paul saw the familiar small-bodied man standing by the door, sunglasses on his nose and a smile on his face as he looked from John to Paul and back again.

“Just grabbing a cup of coffee before heading out to my last lecture. How about you? On a date, I see?” he asked, smirking, and Paul flushed red.

“We are not on a date.”

“Right…”

“We’re not!”

“Which is why you are having coffee with the guy you made out with a week ago,” Stuart said with a grin and Paul groaned, resting his head in his hand as he suddenly remembered exactly why this had been a bad idea in the first place. Of course, John had told his friends all about it too. He hated it when Jane was right.

“Come on, Stu. Let the poor boy be,” John said, giggling and Paul mouthed a thank you back at him, causing John to smile at him warmly, as he reached out and gently touched Paul’s hand with his fingertips in a soothing manner, and Paul actually felt himself relax.

“Yeah… You two are totally on a date,” Stuart remarked at that and before either of the two men could object, he said, “Anyway, I shouldn’t stick around. Mr Cornell will have my head if I am late. God knows why. It’s not like he says anything interesting during his lectures.”

“It’s not on a date!” Paul muttered again, but now both men ignored him.

“Shit, Stu… You may want to hurry up then. It’s already past 5.30 and Mr Cornell is the absolute worst. I do not envy you at all. I don’t know what possessed you to take that course.”

“Tell me about it,” Stuart said and shot one more glance at Paul, who had shrunken into his chair like a little ball of embarrassment, silently hoping the other man would leave soon. “Anyway, enjoy the rest of your date. I have to go. John, I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah! See ya tomorrow, Stu,” John said and Paul muttered a soft, grumbling goodbye himself as Stuart began to make his way to the counter to get his coffee. Once he was out of earshot, John turned back to Paul, who was sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, pouting, and John chuckled at the sight of him. .

“We are not dating!” he hissed and John rolled his eyes.

“You know he is just teasing you, right?”

“I know…”

John studied him for a moment before he picked up Paul’s coffee cup to see he hadn’t finished it yet, and handed it to him as he told him to finish it.

“Let’s go for a walk together. I can bring you home.”

“If you want me gone, you can just say so. You don’t have to chaperone me. I’ll be fine this time, seeing as I neither drank nor smoked any pot,” Paul said as he did what John had asked and took a sip from his coffee. John smiled at his joke, but shook his head nonetheless.

“Don’t be silly. It’s a nice day out. And besides, I need to get home too. Now finish that coffee.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m working on it,” Paul said, laughing and hastily complied, swallowing the rest down in one go as he reached into his bag for his wallet.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked once he had finished his coffee and put his cup back down. John, however, refused to let him pay. “You know, you don’t have to keep paying for me all the time. I can pay for myself no problem.”

“I know. See it as a gentlemanly gesture. Besides, I forced you to share that chocolate cake with me. It would be unfair to have you pay for it. And you can also see it as my way of making it up to you for that,” John said and Paul could not help but feel flattered, so he accepted.

“Fine, but I pay next time,” he said, causing John to grin at him.

“So, there’s going to be a next time?” he asked, as smug as ever, and Paul shot him another stern look as he got up and pulled on his coat again, not saying another word about it.

Back at home, the gaming tournament appeared to be over and the living room was in surprisingly good condition. A handwritten note lay on the coffee table, scribbled in the same style as the one he had found on his bedroom door a week ago, explaining that George and Ringo had gone out to get some fish and chips for dinner to celebrate George’s victory (which probably meant Ringo had won) and that they’d be at the usual place in their usual spot if he may wish to join them, which was a mere five minutes away. Paul, however, was glad to have the flat to himself for once. It was already a quarter past six, which meant he was going to have to call Dot soon, something which he really was not looking forward to. He hoped George and Ringo would be out till then at least, preferring not to have anyone around to hear the inevitable fight.

The walk back home with John had been quiet, neither of them having spoken much as John had urged them to take a small detour so they could walk quietly through the park where Paul would run every morning. It had been quiet there as well, and they had spoken in hushed voices about their favourite artists and songs as they walked, finding they had a very similar taste in music, while they took in the chilly autumn air as they still enjoyed the warmth the sun provided. Once they had gotten home, Paul had mumbled a quick goodbye and had thanked John once more for the coffee and his notebook before he had hurried into the flat.

It hadn’t been anything special, but still Paul found himself smiling as he remembered the way John had offered him his earphones to let him listen to a song he had recently discovered and was crazy about. Paul couldn’t remember the song now, though he knew he had liked it. He guessed it had been a Buddy Holly song, but he couldn’t be sure. Still, it had been nice to be able to talk to someone who had the same taste in music as him.

Throwing his things into his bedroom, Paul headed to the kitchen to heat up some canned soup for dinner and make some toast as he poured himself a large glass of water, feeling thirsty after all that coffee, and drank it all in one go while he waited for the soup to warm up. Once it was ready, he poured it into a bowl and got himself another glass of water, before he carried everything with him into his bedroom, sitting down at his desk by his laptop to eat. He put on a record - Pet Sounds by The Beach Boys, his favourite - and softly starting singing along to the music as he ate his dinner and checked his university email, scrolled through Instagram for a bit and checked his favourite twitter profiles. There didn’t seem to be much going on today that interested Paul, so, out of sheer boredom, he decided to google John instead for no reason at all.

He found his Facebook account immediately, but it was mostly empty, the last thing that had been posted being birthday greetings from… almost a year ago! October 9th. Glancing at the Elvis Presley wall calendar that hung on the wall above his desk, Paul noticed it was only two weeks away. John’s profile picture was nice though. It looked like it was an old one, perhaps taken about a year ago, maybe longer, and it was John, dressed up in 50s rocker style clothes, sunglasses on his nose, his hair slick and styled into a quiff, as he stood leaning against an old vintage car. He looked good and Paul felt to urge to press like, but decided not to, thinking that would be weird.

There was however a post a little further down of John’s telling people to check out his twitter, so that was what Paul did next, hoping to find more there. His jaw dropped and his spoon nearly fell from his fingers onto the floor as he saw the incredible amount of tweets on John’s twitter account, and to his horror saw a mention of himself a few tweets down where John warned people about kissing guys who had just thrown up on you, ‘cause they tasted disgusting, no matter how sweet they looked. Thankfully, he hadn’t mentioned any names, and Paul felt relieved, if not slightly surprised, not having thought John would care about that. The man however, appeared less and less horrible with every new thing he learned about him.

The rest of his twitter account was filled with rants about various topics, such as politics, social issues, news articles, celebrity gossip, books, music, television series and movies, most of which were long and at least eight tweets long - making Paul doubt just how much John meant the tweet about tweets were meant to be short for a reason and how annoying it was when people would use multiple to express one idea and write an entire essay, though he supposed it could have been meant ironically too. There were also tweets about more mundane things about his daily life, such as losing your keys, or people taking too long to make a choice when ordering food, or about the intense irritation of dropping your guitar pick between the strings and having it fall into your guitar, about which John had managed to rant for 28 tweets… At least it explained the callouses he had felt on John’s finger tips.

There were also a few pictures posted, some of which linked to what John claimed to be an horrendously inactive Instagram account, and Paul smiled as he saw a picture of a gorgeous, expensive Rickenbacker guitar with the caption “my true love” under it, remembering his own similar tweets.

He looked through John’s twitter for a while, reading various rants of his and being surprised at how well-thought out some of them were, whereas others seemed to have been typed drunk. Or high. Considering what Paul knew of the other man, he figured they probably were.

As the number of his digital clock came closer to 19.00, however, he found it becoming harder and harder to focus on the man’s tweets, and when it was four minutes to seven, he decided to just go for it and get it over with. It was best to keep it short, anyway, seeing as Jane would probably be waiting by the phone to hear about how it went.

Taking a deep breath, he dialled his girlfriend’s number and sat fumbling with the hem of his shirt as he waited for the tender sound of her voice. He only needed to wait a few seconds before someone answered, but instead of the sweet voice he was used to hearing, he was met with huffing and puffing and light curses as Paul could hear what sounded like stumbling and various things clattering onto the floor on the other end of the line.

“Dot?” he asked, and for a second all he got was a huff in return, after which more stumbling followed and finally she let out a curse loud enough for him to hear properly.

“Shit, sorry… Ow! Yeah… yeah, I’m here.”

“What is going on there?” Paul asked, laughing, and Dot huffed again, before she finally sat down on what was presumably her bed with a sigh and the noises stopped.

“Just… just getting dressed. I er… I tripped over the leg of my tights. I’m a little late, so it’s a bit chaotic here right now.”

“You want me to call back later? Cause that wouldn’t be an issue-”

“No! No, that’s fine. I still got plenty of time. The girls won’t get here for another forty minutes or so. It’s just… a mess, basically,” Dot said, chuckling and she led out a sigh as Paul heard her fall back on her bed. He pulled his legs up and hugged them close to his chest, picturing what she would look like now and smiling at the pretty sight she would make, a lock of short blond hair falling before her eyes like it always used to do, and which Paul always used to push away and behind her ear.

“What are you doing then? This evening?” he asked, reaching down between his legs to play with his toes.

“Oh, it’s Sandra’s birthday today, so we all decided to have a girl’s night out to celebrate. We’re going out for drinks first and then we’re going dancing. No boys allowed.”

“Can’t say I’m not relieved to hear that. Anything special you’re going to wear?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Dot remarked with a giggle and Paul smiled.

“You know I like my girl to look pretty,” he said and Dot hummed.

“Any special requests? I was planning on just wearing an army green skirt with an off the shoulder top… perhaps with that special set of underwear you gave me. If you’d like.”

Paul swallowed thickly as he remembered that particular present and could only hum in response as a tiny smirk pulled at his lips. She had looked wonderful in that, and the first time he had seen her in it, he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her for the entirety of the evening and long into the night. They had only fallen asleep from exhaustion at about four in the morning and hadn’t left the bed until late afternoon. Paul missed those days and for the first time in a while he wished she was here with him, or he was over there, back in Liverpool, and that they could have nights like that again. More guilt for his actions of the previous week gnawed at him, and he felt his throat dry out as he remembered why he had called her in the first place.

“You know how much I would like that,” he said, trying his best to sound casual. “I wish I could see you in it.”

For a moment it remained quiet on the other end of the line, and for a second Paul thought he had said something wrong or that she had noticed something was off, but then his phone began to buzz and he groaned as he realised what she had done.

“Don’t look at it now,” Dot said, a giggle in her voice, and Paul swallowed thickly, wishing she hadn’t done that, knowing how upset she was going to be when he would tell her he had kissed another guy, especially after having foolishly accused her of having done the same thing the next day. God, he was a crap boyfriend. Fiance. Whatever.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” Dot asked and Paul shrugged as he began to spin circles in his chair.

“Just wanted to hear your voice again,” he lied, though he figured it was alright, seeing as there was some aspect of truth in there. “You’re not still mad at me for last week, are you?” Paul bit his lip and crossed his fingers as he hoped for the best, and sighed in relief as Dot chuckled.

“Don’t be silly. I was just worried. Is that why you called? You were afraid I despise you now?” she asked and Paul ran a hand through his hair as he gathered up courage, figuring he might as well do it now. When he tried to speak, however, the words got lost halfway, and in the end it was Dot who spoke again, asking him about university and George and his life in general, and Paul answered accordingly, occasionally trying to guide the conversation to John, but found it hard to say anything about him.

In the end, they just spoke for a while, and Paul made sure to ask about her as well, but with every good thing she told him about what was going on in her life, the more difficult it became for Paul to tell her the truth. It had been a while since he had last heard Dot this happy and carefree, and he didn’t want to ruin that with his stupid mistake, seeing it had already been his fault she hadn’t felt that way for so long in the first place. His kiss with John hadn’t meant anything, and Dot deserved the happiness she felt right now, seeing how hard the last two years had been on them. But at the same time, he knew Jane was right. He needed to tell her. She had to know… even if it would hurt her.

All too soon, though, Paul could hear the sound of a doorbell ringing on the other end of the line, signalling Dot’s friends had arrived and Paul groaned, knowing that if he was going to tell Dot today, he was going to do it now, possibly with them around. But he really didn’t want to hurt her. Not now… She was about to go out after all, he couldn’t just ruin her entire evening with his own stupid mistake, could he?

“Oh sorry, love. The girls are here. I have to go,” Dot said, and her voice turned suddenly serious and full of concern. “You are alright, right?”

Paul smiled weakly at that, wishing she wouldn’t ask, wishing they could just pretend the last two years hadn’t happened, but he knew she had every reason to. Dr Collins had told her to do so in the first place, and she had been doing it dutifully for months now. He hadn’t deserved Dot, and he still didn’t deserve her. She shouldn’t have to deal with this. With him. With his stupid issues.

“Dot,” he said and he knew he ought to say it now. Dot, I kissed someone. I am sorry. I was drunk and it was a mistake. He could say it now and have it over with, but the concern in Dot’s voice made it impossible to do so. She deserved to have fun this evening, to not have to worry, to not have to fight with him again, to not have him ruin her night for once, like he had done countless of times before. He knew he shouldn’t feel guilty about that, that it wasn’t his fault, but he could not agree to that. So he didn’t and forced himself to smile. “Have fun, yeah? Don’t worry about me. I’m more than alright.”

“Is George there if you need someone?”

“Yeah… Yeah, he is.”

“Okay good. Cause if you’re not, if you need to talk, and George isn’t there, you can always call me, okay? No matter what,” Dot said and Paul could hear her walk from room the room, doors shutting behind her, and he sighed.

“I know. But I’m fine. No need to worry. Just have fun and… I’ll talk to you again later, yeah?” he asked and he could hear Dot smile as she agreed.

“Yeah. Talk to you later, Paul! And don’t forget the picture I sent you. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it,” she said and with that they quickly said goodbye before she hung up on him, making Paul feel suddenly incredibly alone.

He simply sat there for a while, chin resting on his knees as he stared at his Elvis calendar, wondering if he had done the right thing. His phone went off twice, and both times Paul declined it as he saw it was Jane, probably wondering how the talk had gone. A talk they hadn’t had, even though Paul knew they should’ve. He just felt so guilty… not necessarily about what had happened with John, but about everything having to do with Dot. She didn’t deserve him. She deserved more, she deserved to be happy and to be with a guy she wouldn’t constantly have to worry about, and who was still eager to talk to her every day and missed her and wanted to see her. Not someone who kissed other guys and was afraid of even just calling her.

He glanced at the picture Dot had sent him, and it was exactly what he had expected and he felt a tingle in his crotch at the sight. Yet, he deleted it. It didn’t feel right, seeing her like that while she remained unaware of what he had done.

Sighing, he put his phone aside and got up from his desk to collapse on the bed instead, feeling emotionally and physically drained. He landed half on top of his school bag and kicked it aside to make room for himself. It fell off his bed with a loud thud and glancing down at it, he noticed a couple of books, a pen, and his notebook had fallen out. Sitting up, he picked up the latter and opened it on a random page and began to leaf through it as he picked up said pen with his toes, thinking that maybe writing something would help him. Dr Collins had always encouraged him to write whenever he was feeling down or simply strange, and Paul had to admit it worked. As he skimmed through it, however, he saw some scribbles here and there in another person’s hand. At first he barely noticed them, but then his eye caught one of them. It was a little note, written next to one of his better songs with a tiny arrow pointing towards it. The handwriting, messy but small, was unfamiliar to Paul, but as he read what it said, there was no doubt in his mind who had written in it.

“Not Bad, Mr Melody Man…”, the text read and Paul stared at it in disbelief, before he silently grumbled John’s name to himself. That fucker, he thought and with that he slammed his notebook shut and shot up from his bed, energy levels suddenly restored. Without so much as a thought, he stormed out of their flat and knocked onto John’s door, ready to confront him. John, however, didn’t answer, not even when Paul shouted at him to come out, and eventually he had to admit to himself that John simply wasn’t home.

Grumbling some more curses, he tore a piece of paper from his notebook and hastily wrote John a warning note, telling him to never read or write in his journal ever again as he called him a twat and couple more inventive insults, before he folded it up and shoved it under his door for him to find.

“Asshole,” he muttered, and kicked the offensive door in revenge before returning to his own flat, throwing the door shut behind him in frustration. He was going to get him back for this. Somehow. He threw himself onto his bed and cried until he heard George and Ringo come home.

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#fanfiction #beatles fanfiction #beatles slash #The Beatles #McLennon #mclennon fanfiction #johnxpaul #john #paul #au #pg-13 #mclennon big bang #mclnbb #Poetry Nights

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