Photography (A Beatles Fanfiction)

7 / fixing a hole...sort of!

As Paul and I walked down to the canteen, he asked, "So what made you take interest in us, of all bands? Do people stop making music in the future?"

"Oh, there's plenty of music that gets made after you guys, trust me," I told him, giggling. "Most of the stuff worth listening to came out before I was born, though."

"Hmm, I wonder what happened," Paul said, shaking his head. 

"I have no ide--wait. Did George tell you I was a fan?" I questioned, still wondering how Paul knew this much about me in such a short matter of time. "I could have been a girl who only listened to dubstep and had no idea who you all were, and just so happened to end up in a stranger's car, in a strange country and in a strange time, you know?"

Paul bursted into laughter, enough to make him stop walking."Okay, first of all, what in bloody hell is a dubstep?"

"I'll tell you later. That's besides my point," I protested, cracking a smile but soon becoming serious again. "I'm just trying to understand why you know my name, my interests, all of this."

"Alright, George did tell me a little, he called me yesterday," Paul confessed, calming down a bit. 

"So he was...talking about me," I mumbled, a small rush of electricity rushing through me. I made sure I didn't get too lost into my thought. "But I also want to know how I got here, since you seem to know that, too."

"Oh, Bri..." Paul began, suddenly sounding distressed. I looked over at him. He was facing the ground, and he began to play with his thumbs. "It's...it's embarrassing. I realize now how silly of an idea this all was."

"How can time travel be embarra-"

"Eh, we better hurry, we haven't got much time to eat," Paul cut me off, taking my hand and walking briskly. He had turned red again, and refused to make eye contact with me. "Bri, I know ye think I'm strange. But if any of this really makes you feel uncomfortable, please let me know."

"I'm fine, Paul, just very...confused," I told him, as we arrived to the canteen. 

Paul stopped in his tracks again, dropping my hand from his. "Also, I'm sorry for... for almost trying to kiss ye back there."

"Oh," was all I could manage to say. "Paul McCartney", "kissing", and "me" were words I struggled to string together in my mind. It was hard for me to believe that that was what he actually wanted to do. 

"I know I was a little too forward too fast," Paul admitted, turning to face me. He gave me a hopeful look, his brown eyes twinkling from their reflection of the sunlight. "But you're a very good-looking young lady. What fella wouldn't want to kiss ya?"

I smiled bashfully at Paul's sweet words, but off the top of my head I could already name for certain a few guys who wouldn't want to kiss me. And one of them was sitting in that very room. 

It seemed to be Chinese food day, because the smell of fried rice and soy sauce wafted through  my nose. 

We found the table where George, Ringo and John were already sitting at. I noticed that Ringo had a dish of sweet and sour chicken, John had veggie lo mein, and George, naturally, had one of my favorites--shrimp fried rice.

"Paul, could you get me what George is having, please?" I asked him.

Paul looked at George's plate, then looked up at George and smiled. His smile looked fake, though, and he muttered something under his breath that I couldn't quite catch.

"Huh?" I whispered.

"Nothing, love," Paul assured me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I'll get it for you, please sit for now." He pulled out a chair for me next to Ringo and across from John, and then ran off to the food line.