St. Peter's Church

16

Paul's POV

"I think you need to go wank or something, John. Or sleep off the whiskey."

I didn't think it would affect him as much as it did.

He got up from his chair, without a word, and at a normal, unquestionable pace, he walked back to the storeroom.

I felt terrible; he probably thought I was insulting him, but I was just giving him advice in his best interest. However, I did drink a lot, and it might have effected my tone of voice, making me sound more abhorrent than I wanted to.

I was quick to get up from my seat and go back to the bunks. Hell, I was angry with myself for hurting his feelings, even if I wasn't sure what caused it.

"John?" I called out once I had gotten those doors open. He didn't turn to face me, but he did respond. "Yes?" he answered weakly. "Can we talk for a minute?" I asked. "Sure," John had said, rather reluctantly.

I sat down on his bunk. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings out there. I was trying to help you out some; I didn't know it would upset you."

John only sighed, looking up at me. "It's fine, Paul. I was the one in the wrong. I say stupid shit when I'm drunk."

"I don't think anything that you say is shit. You've helped me with music for years now; and we've helped each other in so many ways. I helped you be comfortable showing your soft side, and you-"

"-helped you become a cheeky rebel?" John interrupted. I laughed. "Yes, you did- but that's a good thing. We helped each other discover parts of ourselves we weren't comfortable with."

Another band must've gotten on stage, because music was playing louder than ever, booming through the whole club.

"Care to dance with me?" John asked me, standing in front of me and holding out his hand all cheesy-like.

I chortled, deciding that there honestly wasn't a better way to spend this night before we would all have to sleep in this cold, uncomfortable room. I took a hold of his hand.

"I'd love to."

He smiled at me and we began to slow dance to the music, which was oddly slower and more delightful, but loud like the Germans liked.

I drew closer to John's body, dancing just like they do in the movies. It was honestly very fun, and I was enjoying myself.

"Remember when you said that you'd be there for me no matter what?"

I raised my eyebrows, still dancing with John close to me. "Yes," I said, "Why?"

"I remember meeting you at the church party a few years ago; I remember, I was honestly probably a bastard then. I didn't deserve a friendship like you gave me. I still don't believe I deserve it, to be honest."

I frowned, holding onto John tighter. "Go on."

"You came into my life, and I used my confident front to try and show you I wasn't a sissy little boy who would cry over things of the past every night, like me uncle George dying and all that. You helped change me, and I'm forever grateful for it."

I was flattered, yet worried, since this side of John only came out when something was really, really wrong. "What's the matter, John?"

I could feel John's breathing turn shallow and shaky against my body, and I held him as tight as I could.

His shaky breaths were now audible through his mouth, and he was sniffling.

He was crying.

It had been a long time since I saw him cry, and it broke my heart to know something was bothering him bad enough that he started to cry.

I remained silent and let him sort it out by himself, knowing that was better for him, and letting him take his time to tell me what was wrong.

"Paul..."

"Yes, love?"

"I'm in l-love with you, Paul. I love you so much more than you would think, a-and you had n-no idea until just now."

I held him as tight as I could, saying nothing. His limp grip on my body grew strong, as he gripped onto my shoulders, digging his nails into the leather.

I rubbed his back. "It's okay, John. It's okay.... I honestly didn't know you felt that way."

John pulled back from me, his red, wet eyes searing into my own. "I'm sorry," he said shakily.

"No, no, don't apologize; you can't control your feelings."

He wiped his eyes off on his hands. "Would it make you feel a little better to kiss me?" I asked. He looked at me, his eyes suddenly turning brighter. "No, you're straight... I don't want to do that to you."

"No, I don't mind, honest. Whatever makes you feel better, John."