Paul Mccartney Imagines

17

The night was still, the only sound coming from the soft rustling of the trees as a light breeze swept through. You and Paul sat on the old wooden bench in the park, the dim streetlights casting long shadows across the ground. It was late, and the world fell asleep, leaving just the two of you to talk about everything and nothing at all.

Paul leaned back, his hands resting in his lap, staring at the stars across the night sky. His leather jacket was slung over his shoulder, and his hair, longer than most lads', caught the moon's glow. He looked relaxed, but you could tell by how he kept fidgeting with his hands that something was on his mind.

"You ever think about where all this is going?" Paul asked, his voice quiet but filled with curiosity. He didn't look at you, his gaze still fixed on the stars.

"All of what?" you replied, turning slightly to face him. The cool night air made you pull your jacket tighter around yourself, but you didn't mind. Nights like these felt special when you could talk with Paul, even though you couldn't explain why.

"Life," he said, finally glancing over at you. "Everything. The band, the future... us."

You smiled at the mention of "us." It wasn't romantic, but there was something comforting in knowing you were part of his thoughts, even if just as a friend. "Yeah, I think about it sometimes. It's all a bit unknown, isn't it?"

Paul nodded, letting out a soft sigh. "It is. I mean, we've got the band going, and things are startin' to pick up, but... what if it doesn't work out, y'know?"

You tilted your head slightly, curious. "You're really thinking about that?"

He shrugged. "A bit. I believe in us—me, John, George, and Ringo. But there's always that little voice in the back of my head wonderin' what happens if we don't make it. What if all this dreamin' leads nowhere?"

"You'll figure it out, Paul. You always do," you said, your voice steady with confidence. "You've got talent, and so do the others. You'll get there even if it takes longer than you want."

Paul smiled, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "You always know what to say."

"I just know you," you replied, nudging his shoulder playfully. "What would you do if the band didn't make it?"

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No idea. Could always work at me dad's shop, I s'pose. But that's the last thing I want to do. I need to be doin' somethin' with music. It's all I've ever wanted."

"Then you'll do it," you said simply as if there were no other option. "You'll make it, Paul. And even if the band doesn't work out, you'll find a way to make music."

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. "What about you? What do you want to do?"

You hesitated, looking down at your hands. No one asked you that. You'd always been content to go along with whatever life threw your way, but now, with Paul looking at you like that, you felt the weight of the question.

"I don't know," you admitted after a moment. "I guess I've never thought about it as much as you have."

"There must be somethin'," Paul urged gently. "What makes you excited? What gets you thinkin' about the future?"

You glanced up at him, feeling vulnerable under his gaze but strangely comforted by it. "I suppose... I want to see the world. Do something that matters, something that makes me feel alive. But I've never really figured out what that is yet."

Paul nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "You will. You've got time, y'know? It's not like we're runnin' out of it."

You laughed softly. "Feels like we are sometimes, doesn't it? Like there's this invisible clock ticking, and we've got to figure everything out before it's too late."

Paul shook his head. "Nah, not yet. We've got loads of time. I mean, look at us—sittin' in a park, talkin' about dreams like we've got the whole world ahead of us."

"And maybe we do," you said, your voice soft with wonder. "Maybe that's the point. We don't know what's going to happen, but... that's kind of exciting, isn't it?"

Paul grinned, his usual easygoing charm returning. "Yeah, it is. A bit terrifying, but excitin' all the same."

Silence fell between you for a while, the quiet of the night settling over both of you like a blanket. You could hear the distant hum of the city and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind, but it was peaceful—one of those moments that felt suspended in time, where everything was just right.

"You're gonna make it," you said after breaking the silence. "The world's going to know your name, Paul McCartney."

Paul chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly, though he tried to play it off. "You think so?"

"I know so," you replied, smiling at him. "And when you're famous, don't forget about the little people, alright?"

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "I'd never forget you. Not in a million years."

You smiled, feeling a sense of certainty settle over you. No matter what happened—whether the band made it or not, whether your own dreams took shape or faded away—you knew one thing for sure: you and Paul would always have this. The quiet moments, the late-night talks, the dreams shared under a starry sky.

And in that moment, it felt like enough.