Paul Mccartney Imagines

28

The darkness of the bedroom enveloped you as you jerked awake, heart pounding against your ribs. Sweat beaded on your forehead, and you struggled to catch your breath. The nightmare's tendrils still clung to your mind, refusing to dissipate.

In your dream, Paul had walked away, leaving you behind. A sea of faceless journalists surrounded you, their laughter cutting through you like shards of glass. The memory made your stomach lurch.

You squinted at the bedside clock, its luminous hands glowing faintly in the darkness: 3:12 AM. Paul's gentle snoring should have been comforting, but the dream's grip was too firm. You turned to look at him, his face peaceful in the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains. How could he sleep so soundly while your world was crumbling?

You tried to shake off the dream's residue. "It wasn't real," you whispered, but the words felt hollow. The image of Paul's retreating, of those mocking voices, all felt too vivid, too possible.

"Mm... what's wrong?" Paul's sleepy mumble made you jump. He rolled over, squinting at you through heavy lids. "You okay?"

You hesitated, feeling silly for being so shaken by a dream. But the dam broke as his warm hand found yours in the darkness.

"I... I had a nightmare," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "You left me, Paul. And everyone... they all thought it was hilarious. Like our relationship was some big joke."

Paul blinked, the last vestiges of sleep leaving his eyes. He propped himself up, his other hand resting on your cheek. "Oh, love... c'mere." He pulled you into his arms, and you went willingly, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

"It felt so real," you mumbled against his skin, inhaling his familiar scent. "Like I meant nothing to you. Like everything we've been through was... meaningless."

His arms tightened around you. "Hey, look at me," he said softly, tilting your chin up. You could see the concern etched on his face even in the dim light. "That's never going to happen, you hear me? Never."

"I know, but—"

"No, listen," he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. "I love you. More than anything. What do some newspaper vultures or gossip hounds think? It doesn't matter. It's you and me against the world, remember?"

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. His thumb brushed away a tear you hadn't realized had fallen.

"I've got you," he murmured, kissing your forehead softly. "Always have, always will."

The tears came then, but they weren't born of fear anymore. You clung to him, feeling the steady thump of his heart against yours.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "It's just... sometimes the pressure gets to me, you know? All those eyes are watching us..."

He chuckled softly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back. "Hey, no apologies needed. Not with me." His voice took on a playful tone. "Besides, have you seen yourself? Leaving you would be the dumbest thing I could ever do."

You laughed despite yourself, feeling the nightmare's grip loosen. He peppered your face with feather-light kisses, each one a silent promise.

"Try to sleep," he said, settling back down and pulling you close. "I'll be right here when you wake up. Cross my heart."

As you drifted off in the safety of his arms, the nightmare faded to a distant memory. In its place was the warmth of the man who loved you, flaws and all, and you loved just as fiercely in return.