Beatles Halloween One-Shots

The Record Player

(A/N: sorry I'm a bit late. I had lots to do yesterday. Let's pretend its still Halloween, eh?)

"John, turn that down" Paul sighed heavily as he bit the end of the pencil he was tapping against his white teeth.

"Its Bob Dylan, Paul!" John exclaimed, scanning the album cover once again.

"I'm fully aware of that, yes, now turn it down. 'M trying to write"

"Alright sir Paul, 'm sorry for disturbing you" John slightly turned the knob down, lowering the volume only a bit, but enough. Paul knew he wouldn't turn it down anymore. These were the consequences of sharing a flat with John Lennon.

Paul looked down at his notebook thoughtfully. Christ, he could never get anything done unless he was in silence.

Close your eyes, and I'll kiss you

Tomorrow, I'll miss you

Remember I'll always be true

Paul stood up from his chair, walking past John, who was kneeling on the ground, looking through the records, and went into his room, laying in his soft bed and pulling out a book.

Paul groaned when he heard John turn up the volume even more, probably just to annoy him.

Sometimes, Paul thinks he should have moved with his new girlfriend, Jane Asher. He probably will soon, but for the time being, John had convinced him to live with him.

If they were going to be serious about this music thing, they can't live together like a bunch of poofs.

Paul groaned again when he heard john change the record to The BeachBoys. It was awfully loud.

He stuffed a pillow over his head and forced himself to sleep.

~

Later into the night, Paul had awoken.

The room was entirely dark and quiet. Peaceful, so he wasn't sure why he had awoken.

John must have went to bed now.

Paul sighed and sat up on his bed, he rubbed his eyes and scratched his head.

Shit, he had forgotten to brush his teeth.

Paul smacked his lips in disgust and quietly walked into the bathroom, turning on the tap and rinsing his mouth, then, grabbing a toothbrush and scrubbing his mouth.

After he was done, he walked into the small kitchen to grab a glass of water, when, he heard it.

It was soft and distant, but definitely audible in the quiet house.

The record player. It was on.

Paul frowned deeply and set down the glass of water uneasily.
What the hell?

Paul's bare feet silently patted across the kitchen floor until he stopped again to listen.

It was a Bob Dylan record, he recognized the rough voice.