Nothing Is Gonna Change My World (McLennon, Starrison)

With You

*Paul McCartney*

I woke up rather early. There was nothing pleasant about it either. It was actually quite exhausting, and I wasn't exactly sure why. I had a terrible upset stomach. I could not think of any cause for it. I had felt fine when I fell asleep. It had happened some time in the night, I'm not sure. I only remember waking up from a terrifying nightmare.

I'd prefer not to talk about that.

I stayed in bed, wrapped in the covers. I was cold, thought the room wasn't cold at all. I closed my eyes, but I couldn't sleep. The nightmare was still vivid.

I hadn't seen John in two days. Now, I wouldn't necessarily say that this may be the whole cause of such a horrific nightmare, because I don't believe it was. And that was what was so unpleasant about whatever it was I was feeling. I just needed to know he was okay.

I sat up, and rubbed my eyes. The sun was extra bright this morning, and my adjusting eyesight did not appreciate it. I started to move, only to get an upsetting response from my stomach, warning me to not move another inch.

I laid back in my bed, and pulled my covers up to my neck. I laid my arms atop my stomach, and closed my eyes. I don't remember falling asleep, but I do remember waking up to movement beside me.

My eyes shot open, but I didn't turn to look. I felt lips kiss my cheek, and up to behind my ear. I had a pretty good idea as to who was next to me. I felt a tremendous wave of relief come over me.

"Oh thank god," I whispered, and managed to turn to face John. He laughed, and snuggled up next to me. I still felt nauseous, but I could move more than before.

"Who else could it be, darling?" John said, wrapping his arm around me.

"No one but you, love. I'm just glad you're okay." John moved his head enough to look up at me. There goes my mouth again without thinking.

"Yes, I'm okay. Why would I be?" I didn't know if I should tell John about the nightmare. I smiled, and decided to leave it for a later time.

"Never mind. Of course you're okay. You're right, why would you be?" I pulled him close, and he snuggled his face in my neck again. I closed my eyes, relaxing at the feeling of his lips on my skin. I needed that. I needed to know he was there. And, my, was I glad he was.

I woke up again, feeling an absence by my side. I sat up, and immediately regretted it. Nausea washed over me, and I fell back, closing my eyes. I groan lightly, but it was loud enough for John to hear, who was entering my room again.

"I can't be gone for one second without you groaning, can I?" John said. I chuckled weakly, just to show acknowledgement, and avoid the topic of my health to come up. But it didn't seem to work. John's smiling mouth and bright eyes soon turned into pure concern. "Macca? Are you okay? You don't look too good..." He sat by me, slowly, trying not to move me too much. I was grateful for that.

"To tell you the truth, Johnny," I tried sitting up again, "I feel terrible. My stomach is all sorts of mixed up."

John gently pushed me down on my bed, "Oh no. You are not leaving this bed." He pressed his cold hands on my cheeks, and then on my forehead. His eyes widened, "No, no. You are definitely not leaving this bed. I'll make you some soup, yeah?"

"John, you don't have to look after me--"

"Paul, I'm looking after you whether you like it or not." John stood up, crossing his arms firmly across his chest, and keeping his chin up.

"I didn't say I didn't like it..." I muttered. But, like always, he heard it. He smirked and sat down again, kissing my cheek.

"So, soup?" He asked, still sitting on the edge of my bed. At first, I thought soup would be wonderful. All warm and delicious. But then the thought of food made me cringe, and I immediately shook my head.