Now and Then- 𝓂𝒸𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓃𝑜𝓃

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝑒𝓃

"We didn't tell the others about our trip." Paul smiles. "John and I figured tha' we shouldn't worry them about it, and it was nice, y'know, to finally have something that was ours, and ours alone."

"Completely understandable." Michael nods. "What, in particular, excited you most about the prospect of this holiday?"

Paul grins again, rather proudly. "Well, it was sort of taboo, wasn't it? The fact that John was newly engaged and tha' we were having a vacation together, just the two of us. I found that very exciting." He pauses for a moment, then adding, "It felt as though I was proving a point, too, in a way. Because even though he could've taken Cynthia in my place, he didn't. He took me instead, and I was quite proud of that, 'cause to me, that implied that he preferred me to his fiancé.

"Of course, that was quite the stretch." Paul chuckles. "I also just loved John, which is somethin' tha' I think a lot of people seem to forget. We had a deep love for one another, and it was so, so natural, the way we completed each other. He had this tough, ruggish exterior, but 'e allowed me to see his internal, emotional, vulnerable side. Not many others saw that side of 'im, but I didn't mind that, because if they had, everyone would've wanted him. I was happy to have him all to myself. Of course, with the new exception being Cynthia."

"That's very sweet." Michael smiles.

"Well, it's the very least I can say about 'im. And the trip we had, together..." Paul trails off, losing himself in thought. "We only actually went to Paris. We intended to go down to Spain, but we loved Paris, so we stayed the whole week there, in the same little hotel room."

"Mhm. And what of the trip itself?"

Paul smiles, the faintest blush appearing on his cheeks. "It was perfect. Everything was perfect. And I'd give anythin' to go back."

___________________________________________

It was raining on September thirtieth, 1961: the day that John Lennon and Paul McCartney left for Paris.

The two were clad in matching bowler hats, which Paul had learned from experience seemed to attract hitchhike drivers. They wore their black leather jackets that they'd bought in Hamburg along with their drainpipes and had gelled their hair nicely beneath the bowlers.

They were running through the streets of Liverpool, each carrying a brown leather suitcase, and waiting for a driver to pick them up.

They'd finally left Liverpool late that morning, finding rides here and there at different stops, and giggling to themselves all the time.

"I can't believe we didn't tell them, Johnny." Paul mumbled, grinning mischievously. They were crowded between their suitcases in the backseat of a small buggy, and were pressed almost uncomfortably close to each other. "The others, I mean: George, Pete, our parents, even. They probably think we've gone missin'."

"Oh, let them talk." John waved him off with a scoff. He adjusted Paul's bowler hat, which had been laying quite flatly against Paul's dark hair, and placed it farther back on Paul's head. "It'll give them somethin' to talk about, at least. Nothin' ever happens in Liverpool, Macca."

"Well, I met you." Paul offered, and John shook his head, grinning at him.

"Alright, fine. I suppose one good thing has ever come out of lousy ol' Liverpool." His gaze softened. "The two of us."

___________________________________________

After hours upon hours of hitchhiking, driving, and train-hopping, the two had finally arrived in Paris.