Now and Then- 𝓂𝒸𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓃𝑜𝓃

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒯𝓌𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓎-𝓉𝓌𝑜

"...Eleanor Rigby, dah-dah dah-dah, dah-dah-dah, dah-dah-dah, dah-dah-dah..." Paul hummed to himself, shuffling around the studio, rolling up the long sleeves of his white tee shirt. "Lives in a dream, waits at the window..."

It was early in June of 1966: another busy day at the studio, banging around on their instruments and experimenting with the subsequent recordings. It was entirely too hot to be outside, and somehow, the heat had penetrated into the expanses of EMI Studios: which had, up until now, practically been an ice box.

"Wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door..." Ringo offered with a smile, looking up from his drum set, as he and Paul sang together: "Who is it for?" in-between laughs.

"We were damn lucky to 'ave Shotton weigh in on tha' one," George mused, blowing into his steaming cup of tea from the corner where he sat on the floor. "He's a bloody genius, I reckon- we ought to replace John wi' him."

John, outright ignoring George's joking quip, stormed around the studio, his footsteps falling as heavy thuds onto the tile. "Which one of you took my glasses? I'll have your head, I will!"

George, Ringo, and George Martin all glanced at Paul, who was sitting prettily on the piano bench, one leg crossed over the other: with, of course, John's horn-rimmed glasses on the tip of his nose. But John, without his glasses, was far too blind too see that: he had no way of knowing where his glasses were, or who had stolen them. Paul and the other three all bit their lips, trying not to laugh as George suggested, "Where'd you have them last, John?"

"Oh, how'd I fuckin' know? I'd lose my head if it weren't attached to me neck." John mumbled, stumbling, bumbling into every piece of furniture and equipment in the studio, his arms out in front of him, trying to feel his way through the room. "Can anyone see where I've left 'em? I can't see well enough to look!"

Everyone burst out into laughter, and John stopped short, his shoulders slumping as he finally realized. "Oh, my god." He exclaimed, starting to laugh, too, as he approached what was, in his vision, a Paul-shaped blob propped up by the piano. "Macca, give 'em back!"

"No!" Paul giggled uncontrollably as he leapt off of the piano bench, over the piano, and sprinting to the other side of the room.

"MACCA!" John yelled, nearly weezing as he laughed, chasing Paul as best he could while still being legally blind. "Macca, I swear to god-"

"YOU'LL DO WHAT?" Paul yelled back, ripping the glasses from his face and holding them high above his head, laughing still, as John jumped up and down, trying to reach them. "What'll you do, Johnnie?"

"Oh, fuck you, Paul. You bastard." John heaved a great sigh, a final laugh escaping his lips as he collapsed onto a nearby chair.

"Mhm. Wow, such an intelligent come-back." Paul replied, sarcastically, his eyebrows scrunched up and smirking with condescension. Everyone else in the studio was still laughing hysterically. "Admit that I'm simply taller than you, and I'll give 'em back."

"Well, yes. By a fuckin' half-inch." John replied, snatching his glasses from Paul's hands, scowling up at him.

"Hm," Paul hummed, satisfied, a bright smile plastered upon his face. "Thank you, Johnnie."

John's face lit up suddenly, clearly having come up with an excellent retort. "Right, 'cause to you, Paul- a half an inch must seem incredibly large."

"Oooooooh!" Came from everyone in the room, listening, as if it were some sort of act. Paul glanced around, his cheeks aflame, still grinning madly.