Nothing Is Gonna Change My World (McLennon, Starrison)

How Am I To Know?

*Paul McCartney*

"Damn it. I liked those."I slowly opened my eyes after hearing John complain about something. I turned towards John, who was picking something up from the floor.

"What is it?" I asked, and John jumped, dropping whatever he had picked up from the floor.

"Good lord, Macca. Warn me, will ya?" John said, clearly startled, "Thought you were sleeping still."

"Nope. Wide awake." I sat up, rubbing my eyes. John went to pick up the item from the floor. He brought up a pair of sunglasses, broken down the middle. "Oh, Johnny. Those were your favorite."

"I know..." John shrugged, and set the broken sunglasses on the bedside table.

"I'll buy ya a new pair, yeah?" John smiled, and moved into the covers next me.

"Okay," He said, pulling me back down towards him, "If you want to, my gorgeous princess!"

"Oh, stop that," I moved his hair from his eyes. He simply closed his eyes, and allowed me to do as I pleased.

"Macca, let's stay here. Let's stay like this forever!" He held me tightly and close to his body. We laughed, but above all, we both knew it was what was wanted. To stay like this, together, forever.

"Come on," I said, after a few minutes, "We've got to get to the others."

I sat up, but John did not. I looked over at him. Of course. He had fallen asleep.

"Okay, you can sleep a little longer." I kissed his cheek, and got out of bed. He continued to sleep, snoring softly, for once.

-*-

Filming was done, and they were to move back to London for the rest of it. Paul organized his clothes, and packed everything carefully. He was looking for his song, the one from his dream, but couldn't find it. He had began writing lyrics before he'd lost it (actual lyrics, mind you. Not his silly filler words).

"Well, that's a shame," Paul said, shrugging it off. He could hear the tune in his head. Maybe he'd remember the lyrics when he got back home, and they could be rewritten.

Paul straightened his suitcase, and left it near the door, but not in the way of anyone or anything. He took a quick shower, and changed into his sleep wear.

As he walked out of the bathroom, he noticed John hadn't come by yet, and wondered if he would at all. He decided to wait. Paul sat himself on his bed, his guitar in his lap, playing at random, waiting for some inspriation to spark. But it didn't, and soon he was too tired to keep his eyes opened. So he put the guitar away, and went to bed, falling asleep now sure that John would be staying in his own room that night.

-*-

John read the paper in his hands. He had found it in a bedside drawer in Paul's room. It looked like a sort of sad poem. A song, perhaps, that Paul had started to write. He had been working independently recently. It hadn't bothered John very much. Paul would always end up coming to John for help, or suggestions. It didn't bother him too much until now.

The song was beautiful, but John was anxious to know the meaning of it. What had happened? Why was Paul writing these words of...sorrow. John bit his lip, and he continued to read the few lyrics written on the page.

Why she had to go?
I don't know, she wouldn't say.

John ran through the possibilities in his head. Whom is this "she"? Was he switching lyrics again? John thought about all the possible inspirations. Jane? John laughed to himself, "No, he won't even give her a look anymore."