A Silent Question

Chapter Four: The Closet

John's sitting on his bed, picking out a tune on his guitar. His fingers glide along the frets, and notes twang out, but his mind is still tangled up, replaying the events of mere moments before.

He steals a glance up at Paul, who's reading a newspaper on his twin bed across the suite. Paul's barefoot, as usual, and laid back completely relaxed, one hand behind his head, supporting his neck.

He looks so peaceful like this, coexisting with John. It's so effortless with him, John thinks to himself. I can sing, play- Paul can read. It just works.

As though he feels John's gaze on him, Paul opens his mouth to speak.

"Remember Heathrow last month? After Sweden?"

"Course. Them girls were shrieking so loud I thought me ears would bleed."

"Right" Paul laughs. "look-" He points to a line in the paper. "'the screams of their fans drowned the whine of taxiing jets'. This paper is from America John. The American press is writing about us." Paul is grinning, a little flabbergasted- he shakes his head a few times slowly, in disbelief.

"Brian did say we might perform in New York, y'know" John stops playing and reaches across the room towards Paul. "What else are the yanks writing 'bout us, let's have a look" Paul tosses the paper over to John, who catches it against his chest.

"Mum would have loved that, reading 'bout us in the American paper" Paul says, wistfully. John is surprised at the uncharacteristic mention of Mary- usually Paul didn't bring up his mother. In fact, she was rarely ever mentioned. Paul was not one to wear his heart on his sleeve, or spend time reminiscing about those they'd lost. They never brought up his mum, or Julia, or Stu- they were all off limits in a way. Too sad. In fact, it was a bit unnerving to hear Paul speak his late mother's name at all.

Not sure what to say, John flits his eyes down to the paper and back to Paul.

"Says here we've got 'floor-mop haircuts' about two lines later, so maybe best she didn't see." John tosses the paper back onto Paul's bed- returning to playing his guitar.

"Still" Paul laughs, then goes quiet, absorbed back into his American paper. John continues to pluck out the tune on his guitar.

"last night I said these words to my girl" He sings to himself "I know you never even try, girl" He continues to strum.
"come on" Paul croons, not even looking up from his paper.
"come on" John returns the call.
"come on" one note higher from Paul.
"come on" John's grinning, camping it up a bit.
"come on" Paul's put down the paper and starts to stand up, now it sounds like more of a command.
"come on" John's guitar strumming's getting more intense as he mimic's Paul's insistent tone.
"Come On!" Paul's yelling now, jumping up and down on the bed.
"COME ON!" John puts the guitar down and rushes over to Paul's side of the room with a pillow in hand and knocks him in the side of the head.

"Uncalled for!" Paul laughs with fake surprise, as he wrestles the pillow away from John.

Paul begins to pelt John with hits over the head, all while John is giggling uncontrollably, falling down to the mattress and letting Paul continue to jostle him with his jumps.
John feels like a little kid, suddenly. Not a care in the world. Nothing outside this moment seems to exist for John- he's so pleased he gets to sing and laugh and feel this good around Paul again.

Then Paul stops jumping and lands on top of John.
"hurmmmppf" Paul's whole-body weight is crushing John's lungs. John's on his back, Paul is face down stomach across John's chest.