Paul Mccartney Imagines

6

The front door creaked open, and Paul's footsteps echoed in the hallway. My heart leaped into my throat when I heard his familiar voice call out from the entrance, far earlier than expected.

"Hey, love! I'm home early. Thought I'd surprise you," he chirped, his voice warm and laced with affection.

The color drained from my face as I looked at the man beside me—John Lennon. His casual smirk, which had seemed carefree moments ago, faded into something tense and unreadable. We both knew this was wrong, but there was no undoing it now. Paul's footsteps grew louder and closer. Then, they stopped.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Paul stood in the doorway, frozen, his hand still on the doorknob, his eyes wide with shock. His face turned ashen as he took in the scene—the two of us tangled together in bed. John, his bandmate and best friend was lying next to me. There was no mistaking what Paul had just walked in on.

For a moment, none of us moved. The world seemed to stop, held in a cruel limbo as Paul's breath hitched. His eyes flicked from John to me, back and forth, as if trying to comprehend the impossible.

"John?" Paul's voice was so soft, almost childlike that it broke my heart. "You?"

John shifted uncomfortably beside me, sitting up and running a hand through his messy hair. His usual bravado had vanished, replaced by an uncomfortable silence. He didn't say anything. There was nothing to say.

"Paul..." I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of my guilt. I pulled the blanket up, clutching it to my chest, trying to cover myself in more ways than one.

Paul shook his head, blinking rapidly as if he hoped this was some terrible dream. "What... what the hell is this?" His voice was louder now, trembling with anger and heartbreak.

I scrambled to find words to lessen the blow, but none came. John sat still, his head down, guilt plastered across his face. Paul stared at us, his chest rising and falling rapidly, struggling to hold it together.

"How could you?" Paul's voice wavered as he entered the room, disbelief and fury colliding in his eyes. "John, you? With her? My girlfriend?"

John finally looked up, the tension palpable between them. "Paul, mate, I... it's not what you think," John said, his voice unsteady, though he knew as well as I did that it was precisely what Paul thought.

"Not what I think?" Paul's voice rose, his hands shaking as he pointed at the bed. "You're in bed with her, John! You're in bed with the woman I love!"

I stood, trembling, wrapping the blanket around me like it could shield me from Paul's wrath. "Paul, please," I begged, tears filling my eyes. "It didn't mean anything, I swear. It was a mistake, it—"

"A mistake?" Paul cut me off, his voice cracking under the weight of his pain. He turned his gaze back to John, his best mate, his brother. "How could you do this to me? We've been through everything together. I trusted you. I trusted both of you."

John opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. The guilt and shame in his eyes were undeniable, but what could he say would make this right? The bond between them, the one that had carried them through the madness of Beatlemania and the chaos of fame, had just been shattered in the worst possible way.

Paul's hands clenched into fists as he stood there, his face twisted in hurt and disbelief. "How long?" he demanded, his voice shaking. "How long has this been going on behind my back?"

I shook my head frantically, sobbing now. "It wasn't like that. It was just this one time. I wasn't thinking. I swear, Paul, it doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't mean anything?" Paul laughed bitterly, though there was no joy in it, only anguish. "You betray me with him and say it doesn't mean anything? How can you stand there and say that to my face?"