The Sound of Silence | Paul McCartney ✅

16

I breathed a sigh of content as I rolled over in my bed and smelt Paul in my pillows. His side of the bed was still warm, so it must have been early in the morning - he couldn't have been gone long. I already missed him. My world was silent once again.

I had come to hate the sound of silence - not that I hadn't before, of course... but now the sound of silence meant that Paul was absent from my arms.

I sighed in dismay, my mood quickly shifting. I'm never going to get used to waking up without him. I hoped that one day I wouldn't have to... and then I remembered that the 21st April was just a few days away, and that he'd be doing the photoshoot with me on the 22nd. We'd get to wake up together that day. My heart beat in anticipation already, and I knew that I would be looking forward to those days until they finally arrived.

I got out of bed and went into the bathroom, using the toilet, brushing my teeth and then climbing into the shower, thinking about Paul. Who could blame me? It seemed like the last few weeks, all I did was think of him.

I thought of the previous night's events - his arms around me, his fingers inside of me, and his lips against my own. I thought of his cock down my throat and how good it had felt to be fucked by him, the headboard of my bed slamming against the wall, probably waking the neighbours. I had a feeling that if I looked at the wall behind the bed, there'd be dents in the wall. It had been that hard and that good.

I got out of the shower, pulling a towel tightly around me before I went into the kitchen. "Morning."

I nearly dropped the kettle of (thankfully) cold water in my hands. I squeaked in surprise. "What're you two doing here?!" I asked, glaring at Jean and Henry, who were sitting at my kitchen table, each wearing the same clothes as they had been the previous night.

"We slept over." Jean answered in a nonchalant tone of voice. Henry had not yet spoken - generally, when my brother had a hangover, he didn't talk for most of the day.

"Oh my God," I said, my mouth hanging open. "Please don't tell me that you heard -"

"Relax, Ad," Henry said in a tired, definitely hungover, tone of voice, "we got back once you and Paul were asleep."

"Only just." Jean said.

"I practically had to pry you off of Lennon -" Henry complained.

"And if you had left me with him for a little while longer, I might not have made you carry me all of the way home." Jean snapped back. She turned to me. "Can I have a cup of tea?" Nodding, I put the kettle on the stove, remembering that I was still holding it in my hands.

"Um sure," I answered slowly, "but just tell me why you two didn't go back to your own places last night?"

"Your's is closer." They chorused.

"Right..." I trailed off. "Did you see Paul leave this morning?"

"Nope." Jean answered. "We were asleep -"

"Speaking of," Henry said, "why'd I have to sleep on the floor?"

"Because you're a man -"

"And you're a bloody pest." He answered. "My back hurts!"

"So does mine, trust me." Jean shot me a look. "Your sofa is uncomfortable."

"Oh sorry," I answered sarcastically, "let me just get you a new sofa for the next time you drunkenly crash on it -"

The kettle had boiled remarkably quickly. It was whistling. I took it off the hob and made three cups of tea, handing Henry and Jean their own mugs before I sat down with my own.