Mr. Brightside

I - It Started Out With A Kiss

It was 1965, 2:44 in the morning, and the world famous Beatles were on their American tour. All four band members had barely got any sleep the past few nights, as per usual. Which made it even more odd when Paul was awoken by a hand on his shoulder and a figure standing over his bed. Paul groaned, eventually opening his eyes and seeing the dark figure. Paul's eyes widened as he tried to wrack his brain on what to do. Sleep still hung over him, and he was a bit slow. He glanced over to the bed on the other side of the room, seeing no figure in between the sheets. Instead of going on Paul's first instinct-- which was to punch the man --he threw one of his pillows at the figure instead.

"Get to bed you git."

The figure cackled and leaned down to eye-to-eye level with Paul. The familiar sarcastic John Lennon voice pierced Paul's ears.

"Evil never sleeps, Paul!"

"Well maybe evil knows when to shut up and lay there silently."

John remained silent and watched as Paul turned over and pulled the sheets up over himself farther.
"We'll have time to shut up and lay silently when we're dead, c'mon! We have been cooped up in here practicing for half the day yesterday. Brian even threatened to take the ciggies away from us if we didn't behave and practice, remember?"

Paul grunted in response, shifting a bit. John frowned, pulling the covers down from Paul's grasp.

"John what the actual hell?"

Paul looked up to John and John held a finger out as if to silence him.

"I know you've already made your point or whatever, but just listen."

John walked over to his bed, reaching into the bedside drawer and pulling out a plastic baggy. Paul immediately recognized the aroma.

"How did you-?"

John put a finger to his lips and smirked nodding towards the door. Paul sighed, sliding out from under the covers and then stopping before he reached John.

"And where do you suppose we go Johnny?"

John frowned, pondering this for a bit, then nodded to the door.

"Just follow me, Macca."

John said in a bit of a falsetto voice, heading towards the door. Paul bit his lip, taking one last glance at his bed, then sighed and proceeded to follow the older man. John lead them down a hallway and into--

"A supply closet, really? What are we, six?"

Paul criticized, looking at John and John shrugged.

"It's either this, or no pot for Paul."

Paul grumbled, then groggily stepped inside the tiny area, resting his back against the wall and then sliding down into a sitting position. John did the same against the door, propping himself against it in case someone tried to come in.

After a short while, both musicians were high and the smoke fogged up the small supply closet. Paul took a long drag of the drug, and then resentfully handed it off to John.

"See? Good to relax every once in awhile."

Paul chuckled, biting his bottom lip and looking up at the ceiling. Everything and yet nothing crossed his mind, and after a few seconds of staring up at the ceiling, he looked back at John. He watched as he inhaled the drug and the way a small smile showed on his lips. Paul smiled in response, reaching for the joint.

"Uh-uh, what's the magic word?"

"Give me the bloody joint or I'll kill ye?"

John chuckled, handing the drug to Paul, Paul snatching it and inhaling it as if it were his lifeline. John watched intently, the way Paul's plump lips wrapped around the joint, sucking in the marijuana. His eyes glazed over, taking the joint out from between his lips and then exhaling, closing his eyes. John never really realized how beautiful Paul actually looked. Normally, he'd push away these thoughts, but his numbed brain didn't know any better. Paul looked back to John, their brown eyes catching each other's gaze.