If I Fell│John Lennon/Beatles FanFiction

Chapter 75 - 7.Nov.1966 - 8.Nov.1966

Chapter 75

November 7, 1966

I rubbed the bottom of my nose as I lay on the floor, my ankle crossed over my knee and my eyes closed. John sat next to me, leaning against his favorite table which he'd had specially made when he moved into the house. He loved to compose next to it, sitting with his legs crossed, his guitar in his lap, and paper sitting on the table at precisely the right height. It had a cast iron frame and an unusual design, resembling a chess table, but it was never used for chess.

John strummed his guitar and worked on completing his latest song, one he'd started tinkering with in Spain and hadn't stopped working on since then. The lyrics sounded nostalgic, based on memories of the wooded garden of Strawberry Field, a children's home close to Mimi's house. There was something about the gardens that had always fascinated John. Though I didn't understand all the complex lyrics, they drew me in all the same. Listening to him sing, his unique, sometimes edgy voice paired only with an acoustic guitar, was enough to make me melt. When the music ended, and silence fell over us, I propped myself up on my elbows and looked at him.

"Do you like it?" John looked at me through his new glasses. They were small, round 'granny' glasses that he'd gotten in Spain at the beginning of filming How I Won the War, a side project he did without his bandmates. John had taken a liking to the specs, especially since they were so much more comfortable than the contact lenses he'd been trying to sport in public more recently.

"Hmm?" I hummed through closed lips, blinking my eyes, trying to wake up. We'd only just arrived home the day before from shooting the film, and my head felt like it was in a vice. Travel, it seemed, took a lot out of me.

"The song? Do you like it?"

"It's all right, I s'pose," I said, hiding my smirk as I grabbed my cup of tea and took a sip. It soothed my scratchy throat.

He narrowed his eyes and picked up his cig. "Just all right?"

"John, look at me." I gazed into his light brown eyes. His hair had been cut shorter for the film, but it had grown a bit again since September. It was a look I loved so much that we'd spent most of our free time in Spain with our hands all over each other. "Why the hell do you care what I think? I don't know anything 'bout music, remember?"

He paused. "I just care, Liv."

I sucked in a breath. "It's, well...it's so damned good, y'know? You're so damned good."

"You think so?"

Instead of answering, I crawled over to him and placed a hand on his arm as I peeked into each of his ears, my brow creased.

"The hell you doin'?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Checkin' to see if you could hear me, cause I think I told you it was damned good, but for some reason I'm not sure you heard me." I looked into his eyes, and was a bit more serious as I continued. "Truly John, it's bloody brilliant. Might be the best song you've ever written."

"Really?"

"You don't need me to tell you...you know it's good." I pressed my lips against his and let them linger. John showed the world he was confident, but he was often seeking some kind of approval, especially as he crept further into the world of psychedelic drugs. "Don't start questioning yourself."

John didn't respond; he simply pressed his lips to my cheek and frowned. "Feel warm."

"Think it's the travel," I mumbled as I leaned back and grabbed both of our now empty cups of tea. "Maggie was an absolute mess on the plane, and I didn't sleep well last night."