Missing You...

Chapter Seven

Saturday, 29 November 1980  

There was a long moment of silence. Neither John or Paul said anything, completely spellbound by what was happening. John cocked his head on one side to examine Paul properly. He looked a right mess; a total nervous wreck. Paul's hair looked like it was permanently messy, sticking up in odd clumps like a scrubbing brush. His face was chalk white but his cheeks were alarmingly red from the cold evening air. Huge, plum-coloured bags hung under Paul's eyes, and his back was stooped over slightly. John smirked a little.

"You look like a walking corpse, man."

"Thanks." said Paul, rolling his eyes, "Tell me something I don't know."

"The bags under your eyes are quite a delectable shade of purple." John asked, "What brand is that?"

"Insomnia." Paul replied flatly.

"Nice. Gotta try that some time." John shot a goofy smile at Paul, his eyes crossed, his front teeth stuck out over his lip. Paul tried desperately not to burst out laughing, but it was a struggle. John always knew how to make him chuckle. John was chuckling now.

"Want to come in?" he asked, "You look completely out of it."

"Sure, thanks." Paul said wearily as he gathered his belongings. John stuck his hands in his jeans' pockets and led Paul up the front stairs of the skyscraper. They got to the elevator. John reached out and tapped the "up" button. Paul was gazing around the grand lobby of the building.

"Like it?" John said, not turning to look at his friend.

"It's much nicer than my home in London." Paul remarked, still fascinated.

"That's what I was aiming for." John smiled.

Paul looked at John, his eyes narrowed. He couldn't quite comprehend how much John had changed over the course of ten years. His pale brown hair was cut short; it wasn't a long, scruffy carpet trailing down his back like Paul had remembered. He was wearing his "granny glasses", but they had peach-coloured lenses. His clothes looked different too. They weren't crazy and outlandish as they had been ten years ago - they looked fairly normal. John hadn't even bothered to put on shoes, and was now padding around in bare feet. Paul raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

* * * *

In under five minutes, Paul found himself going from struggling to stand on his own two feet to reclining on the elegant white sofa in John's apartment. What an apartment! The entire place was colour coordinated, pure white furniture and walls as far as the eye could see. Paul kicked off his shoes and rubbed his toes on the fluffy, white shag carpet, making little purring noises under his breath. John noticed this and copied him, humming rather than purring.

"This is a wonderful place, John." Paul remarked, stroking a white velvet cushion as if it was a cat, "But why all white?"

"I wanted it to match my personality, Baby Brother." John replied, "I thought it might reflect my purity."

"So says the guy who lost his virginity at thirteen!" Paul scoffed.

"Don't say it so loud!" said John, shushing him, "Someone might hear you!"

"Really, John? Who could possibly hear me? There's no one here!"

"I don't know. Maya could hear you."

Paul felt his heart crash down into his stomach. "Maya?" he repeated, his voice cracking, "Who's Maya?"

"She's this lovely, lovely girl who lives down the hall." John said airily, "She might call on me today. She doesn't really have anything to do in the afternoon."

"Oh." Paul said flatly. "You never said anything about a Maya before. What do you do together in the afternoons, then?"

"We chat, we play with my cat, sometimes she makes me tea." 

"Anything else?" Paul asked, arms crossed firmly across his chest.

"No..." John suddenly cottoned on and laughed, "Maya and I aren't a thing, Paulie. Don't look like that, you silly wanker!"

Paul was struck speechless. "But... I thought..."

"Maya's only thirteen years old, dopey!" John was practically wetting himself laughing. Paul's face went redder than Rudolph's nose. He didn't speak and flopped backwards on the sofa, his head buried deep in the pillow. John stopped giggling and sighed. 

"Sorry, Paulie." he said apologetically. "Why don't we go out later? You know, sightseeing. Does that sound like fun?"

"Yeah..." Paul mumbled into the pillow. "Whatever."

John wandered around the room, counting off potential sites they could visit on his fingers. "We could go around Central Park, or maybe some shopping in the city - there are a whole lot of great record and tape shops. Or maybe we -"

John went off into a rave, listing so many places that Paul couldn't force himself to listen. He was exhausted, and the pillow was so comfortable that he couldn't stop his eyelids from drooping. Paul curled up tight on the sofa, let out a deep sigh, and fell fast asleep. John had completed a full circuit of the room and hadn't noticed his friend dozing on the sofa. 

"Paul?" 

John examined Paul's sleeping body properly, taking in every detail. Paul was completely out for the count and didn't even stir when John poked him hard in the shoulder. He was curled up in a little ball with his knees under his chin, facing John. Paul's fist was under his nose so it looked as if he was sucking his thumb. His face was soft, his pale face glowing pinker until it looked just about its normal shade. He looked so young, so innocent, so sweet.

"You look like a real baby brother, Paulie." John whispered, crouching down. He wasn't aware of what he was doing, and had no excuse to explain what he did next. John leaned over Paul, who was still sleeping peacefully, and kissed him lightly on his pink cheek. Paul didn't open his eyes or complain - he smiled drowsily and mumbled, "I've missed you too, Johnny."