Classic Rock Oneshots

In My Life

John crept up the stairs as silently as possible. His efforts didn't amount to much though as he entered their room to find Cynthia still very much awake. He couldn't look her in the eye and he didn't have the strength to voice more than a breath, so he changed into his pyjamas in complete and utter quiet. Cynthia didn't say anything either, but her husband could feel every flicker of her pale oceanic eyes on his skin.

Without a single word exchanged between them, John slithered into bed alongside his wife and turned off the lamp. Possibly an hour went by and neither of them was asleep. John didn't know that though.

His shoulders began to shake. Only a jolt at first, but then it turned into racking movements. His fingers gripped and pulled at the blanket so fiercely that his knuckles were an ivory complexion. You wouldn't be able to see that in the dark though.

But Cynthia didn't need to see to know her husband was in great amounts of pain and inner turmoil. What she didn't know though was what to do about it. She ached to turn the lamp back on and rest her head on John's shoulder to let him know she was there. But part of her knew she shouldn't. He obviously waited until he thought she was unconscious to let his emotions show, so he probably didn't want her knowing. It pained her to lay there though, still as a statue, while John silently wailed and sobbed out his deafening heart-ache.

In the morning, as Cynthia cooked breakfast and made cups of tea, John's eyes were bright red as he slumped at the head of the table. Julian was quiet, reading a book in the chair opposite him, but his almond eyes - so much like his father's - wondered in his direction frequently. He too, had so much on the tip of his tongue, wanting to ask his father what was wrong, but he promptly swallowed the desire to speak and lowered his eyes.

When Cynthia tried to place a cup of tea in front of John - made the just way he likes it - he waves it off and stood up.

"I'm going into work." Was his announcement, his voice so incredibly monotonous that it even watered down his accent, before he avoided Cynthia's eyes and headed out the door, grabbing his coat and keys on the way out. His hand was still on the doorknob when he hesitated and stayed in the same position for a long while. His mind was a battle before he quickly opened the door again. "Julian!" He calls into the house, standing in the doorway.

Little footsteps pad up the hallway until the small boy appeared, standing as straight as a soldier before his father. He didn't smile and his chocolate eyes were wide with no expression. Tenderly, John beckoned him forward.

"Come on. Give us a hug, Jules." He whispers and hugs the boy's head to his stomach as Julian wraps his arms around the back of John's thighs. They stay that way for a long moment before John breaks away only a fraction to kneel down in front of the boy, placing his hands on his shoulders. "Have a good day, yeah?" He breathes and brushes his son's hair away from his face. Julian nods in response, a little smile breaking way on his lips. "You take care of your mum, okay?" John's voice breaks and Julian nods again, wrapping his tiny arms around his father's neck.

Julian waves goodbye to his dad soon after and in the snow, John's tears froze and he walked to the studio.

***

"Come here!" He growls in George's ear as he pulls the younger man into a closed-off room. "I'm going crazy without you." He breathes and yanks the other man's collar towards him, greedily taking George's lips with his own. He can feel the guitarist's smile as he collides his lips with his.

George's hands immediately curled around John's hips, crushing him against a wall. Their kiss was eager and their embrace was desperate. Every inch of physical contact felt like a slice of heaven between them yet what they were indulging in was so sinful; everything they were taught not to do.

Instead of clutching his collar, John ran his hands up George's neck and caressed the sides of his face as if it were a lifeline. It was then that George felt something wet on his cheeks.

"What's wrong, baby?" He asks softly as he breaks from their kiss. His twiggy fingers brush away the tears from his companion's cheeks, his tenderness only making the man cry more hopelessly.

"What is wrong with me?" He sobs, his dark eyes scrunching up with tears caught in his lashes and his bottom lip quivering with a concoction of raw emotions. George's heart sunk and his grip on the other man tightened.

"Don't say that." He whispers. "Don't you dare say that!" He was saying it louder now. "There is not a single inch of you that is faulty." He says with complete and utter certainty. He grabs John's chin in his hands and forces him to meet eyes with him. "Do you hear what I'm saying? Nothing is wrong with you."

***

This went on for weeks. John only ever said 5 words or less at a time while he was at home and as a man who rarely offered his emotions to be viewed by others, he found himself in heaving tears most days. He was drinking more too, and Cynthia found that he had started to prefer sleeping on the sofa with all his clothes on rather than come up to bed with her.

So when after dinner and after Julian was put to sleep and he came up into their room, Cynthia was some-what shocked. Pleased, but shocked.

His face was cold though and he stood so incredibly stiff. Silently, he handed her a piece of crumpled paper.

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new

"This is lovely, John." Cynthia smiles sweetly, her cheeks warming up in a blush.

John looked the opposite. His face was pale and he looked like he was going to faint of dread. Slowly, with calculated movements, he sits down beside her and exhales deeply.

"It's not about you." He voices so softly that even he almost couldn't hear it, his voice breaking and crackling.

Cynthia froze. Her eyes looked over all the scribbled words again and clicked all the pieces in place.

"Oh." She whispers.

At that, John broke down. It seemed as though all the tears he had cried up to this point meant nothing in comparison to this. His mouth hung open and his eyes squeezed shut as he bawled. His breath rapidly morphed into hyperventilation and he tried to speak through it.

"I've known for so long, but I just didn't know what it meant. I love you so much, but it's not the type of love I'm supposed to feel. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I can't give you the kind of love you want." He manages to say through heaves and gasps for air. Tears stained his short and he hugged himself so close and so tight that his arms ached. "Why does love have to be so hard!"