Two of Us (McLennon)

|Quick A/N: Okay so, honestly idek what this is going to turn out to be. If it ends up crashing into ruins I'll just end up finding some sort of ending quickly or deleting but luckily, I do have hopes for this story. I chose the title because that song just gives me so much McLennon feels that I cried and I'm learning it on the piano. Yay. But anyways, SUPER MEGA CREDIT TO BEATLEBUGS FOR THIS FANTABULOUS COVER. ILY AND THANK YOU SO MUCH. Anyways, uh yeah, just read I guess.|

//AN: yo, this is me four years later. this is so old. Like four years old. It's trash in my eyes and I don't even have the will to revise it. Enjoy at your own risk, but I'm publishing much better fanfiction with 4 more years of experience under my belt on ao3 under the same jlawad name. I refuse to take this down, as it's part of my past as a writer and I use it to remind myself how much I've grown.

Much love,
Jay.

Part 1 - Two of Us

[Takes place around 1965, just after Help! was released]

It was hot, and very muggy. John and his band mates were drenched with sweat the second they stepped on stage, and now they were only half done with their performance. Paul breathlessly announced the next song as John panted in a sort of daze. John's brain barely acknowledged Paul coming to stand next to him.

"Love Me Do, Johnny?" Paul asked with a low, gruff voice. John shivered despite the intense heat on stage. John nodded uncertainly, his hands trembling, and Paul didn't fail to take notice, but he refrained from saying anything, smirking to himself. It had been a while since they performed the song, and John distantly pondered why Paul wanted to play an older song, but his thoughts were disconnected.

"You don't have to be nervous, John, you've performed this before," He said soothingly. John was grateful his cheeks were already flushed from the high temperature of the stadium, or Paul would have seen the faint, tingling blush that crept across his face.

What the bloody hell is into him? John thought, slightly panicked. He's acting queer. But that wouldn't change shit between us if he was, he scolded himself mentally. He noticed the smirk tugging on Paul's lips and shook his head. John gave a slight nod to everyone and launched into playing with tight, distracted fingers.

Adrenaline was pumping through everyone; the crowd, the band, the crew. The exhilaration of the crowd only added to John's racing heart as he noticed Paul's flushed and sweat drenched face next to his. John stumbled a bit across his words, grateful for Paul to not notice and continue to sing. John turned his face away in fear that he might lose it all together, the last tendrils of his sanity beginning to spiral away.

This is going to be a long night, John thought. But what he didn't know was that it was going to be a lot longer than just one measly night.

Later that night, the group came running into John and Paul's shared hotel room that they were renting out for the time they were staying. Everyone was rowdy and laughing with that type of excitement that wrecks a person's exhausted body; the type of achievement that a rugby player would feel after winning a game. They all felt that, all except John. All he felt was the exhaustion. George shoved John's shoulder playfully.

"What's gotten into you, mate? You're usually up screaming and breaking something," George chuckled and lit a cigarette, offering them to Paul and Ringo after John waved him away.

"Nothing's wrong George," John muttered and stalked away, dragging himself into the room he shared with Paul and falling onto his bed. George watched, tilting his head in confusion at John's behavior. He was acting like a moody, menstruating woman. Meanwhile, John ran a hand through his sweaty hair and stared at the wall, his mind lost in the emotional turmoil he was experiencing.