Missing You...

Chapter Seventeen

Monday, 8th December 1980

Ten past ten...

Paul approached John an hour before he was due to depart. They hadn't spoken at all since the dreadful episode that happened the previous day, so the final meeting was a bit odd and awkward. John was in a bad way, lying face-down on his bed, a half empty tumbler in his hand. He barely moved when he heard Paul's footsteps coming through the door. 

"Hi, Johnny," came Paul's smooth voice.

"What do you want?" John mumbled.

"I wanted to say goodbye," Paul replied. 

"You don't need to. Just go away."

"But John, I want to say goodbye," Paul paused, "And I'm going to whether you like it or not."

Paul balanced his suitcase on its base and strolled over to the bed. He sat beside the lump that was John and began stroking his friend's back, back and forth - just the way he liked it. John had to force himself to remain angry and unresponsive. He settled for lying motionless on the duvet, not making a sound. Paul frowned and seized one of John's feet.

"Don't make me tickle you, John," Paul said threateningly.

John couldn't hold back his giggles this time. "Oh, Christ, Paul! Anything but that!" he screamed, just to humour Paul. He didn't think Paul would really tickle him.

"You asked for it," Paul said, and started mercilessly tickling the soles of John's feet. John kicked and squirmed and shrieked, trying to burrow under the duvet to get away from him. He ended up tumbling right out of the bed and ending up in a giggly heap on the floor, the duvet draped over his head. Paul was laughing too and rolled over, falling right on top of John. 

"I hate you so much," John gasped, short of breath from all of the squealing and giggling.

"I know you do," said Paul. He felt around under the duvet for John's hand. He found it and held on tight, giving it a sly squeeze. "But you love me, too."

"You know I do," John said, wheezing a little. He wasn't too winded and managed to muster enough strength to pull Paul close. They sat there in silence, hand in hand, breathing heavily. The duvet was suspended over their heads like a tent. 

Fifteen past ten...

"This reminds me of the time I stayed over at your house, John," Paul said suddenly. "Remember when we were teenagers and wanted to go camping, so we made our own tent out of blankets and the living room drapes." He chuckled at the memory.

"Mimi was furious," John muttered, but he giggled too.

"I bet she'd be furious if she knew what we've been up to," said Paul.

"Yeah, but she's not here. We can do what we like. We're free men."

John leaned over and gave Paul's cheek a small kiss to illustrate his point. Paul smirked and returned with a proper kiss on the lips. Within two minutes the couple was sprawled out on the bedroom carpet, caught up in a warm embrace, exchanging sweet, loving kisses. They were still giggling like schoolgirls. John suddenly sighed.

"I'm going to miss you, Macca."

"I'll miss you, too." Paul looked up at John's flushed face. "Your glasses are all lopsided."

John righted his specs. "Better?" he asked.

"Much," Paul said, grinning. "I wish I didn't have to go."

"Ah, but you must," John said airily, casually running his fingers through Paul's hair.

"Don't mess up my hair!"