St. Peter's Church

14

John's POV

August 25th, 1960.

I woke up to the feeling of someone shaking my arm lightly.

"John, wake up, I need to tell you something."

Oh.

Duh, it wasn't fucking real.

How could I see into Paul's mind?

How could we date?

Nonchalantly have random, strange meet-ups?

It wasn't real.

I turned to see Paul by my side, looking excited and genuine. "What is it, Paul?"

"I know it's not hardly been a week, but George and I managed to get another gig booked tonight. T-that's only if you're fine with it."

"Of course I am, why wouldn't I be? But I'm bleedin' tired, so if you don't mind-"

"No, you're alright. I'll tell the others you're still in bed. Also, Stu complained about some weird noises you were making last night. He said you talked a bit, too. I won't bother you too much about it, though. Get some rest."

It was cold.

We were all sharing a dingy room that used to be a storage room, in a raggedy club, and to make matters worse, it was right next to the bathrooms.

It was less than appealing, and our washing situation wasn't very pleasant either; we had to use urinal water to clean ourselves.

Uncomfortable, laying in my bunk with nothing more than a thin sheet to cover me, I tried to fall back alseep, forcing my eyes shut.

But I simply could not shake the memory of my dream.

Not to mention shivering.

I decided to get up instead, knowing that it wouldn't do me any good to try and force myself to sleep when i wasn't actually tired.

Paul seemed to notice that I had gotten up, looking at me and furrowing his brows in confusion. "I thought you were going back to sleep," he said.

"Can't. 'M too cold," I responded.

He shrugged his shoulders and went to the bathroom, holding a razor in his hand and shaving his face in the cold urinal water.

We were all greasy-haired and dirty; especially George, who refused to bathe himself.

Not that we didn't clean ourselves, but it was hard when water was scarce and unsanitary.

I had spent so much energy bathing myself last night that I decided to not do it today, instead quickly changing into my leather for the rest of the day and later that night.

"Shit... John, I ran out of clean shirts, can I borrow one of yours?" Paul asked.

"Of course," I answered, probably a little too eagerly.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

The shirt was a bit big on him, but he looked so perfect, he could pull it off just fine, tucking it into his leather pants and securing them with a belt.

I have to distract myself.

I grabbed a random book I packed and flipped through it, pretending to read. From what I could read, though, it didn't seem like much of an interesting book. In fact, it might've been a children's book that I had thrown in there on a whim, rushing to pack my things.

Paul drew nearer, and I was so busy pretending to be busy that I didn't notice.

"C'mon, John, don't you want a nice big brunch before we have to do that gig tonight? You'll need the energy."