"Buddy Holly" Paul replied without hesitation. John gave him a sad smile, "People still like him now? In... shit what year is it?"
"2018," Paul didn't mind the questions, as long as John had stopped scaring him.
"Christ I'm in my seventies then" John sniggered. "How old would you put me at, Paulie boy?"
Paul was beginning to relax a bit, he wasn't sure why but he felt comfortable and safe around John, yet excited all the same, almost as if they shared some kind of connection, it was strange.
"Hmmm, around seventeen?"
"Well how bout that, I am around seventeen. How old are you, 10?" John sniggered again."
He was met with an annoyed "hmph" and a playful punch. Or, what would have been a playful punch but ended up with Paul reaching into cool, empty space.
He withdrew his hand hastily and stared at John in fascination. "Ay lad I'm not an artwork in a museum."
"You look like an artwork," Paul muttered to himself, causing John to smirk in reply, reaching forward and shoving a hand through Paul's chest.
Paul giggled and jumped right at John, tumbling through him and falling onto the floor, but John followed him and they rolled about in the floor, until ending up lying still, somehow in the same place. This is ghost cuddling Paul decided.
"So how old are you then Paulie, do tell." John questioned, taking great interest in the floorboards for some reason. Paul shuffled away, finding the position they were in rather awkward. "15."
"Really? right baby face you 'ave," John teased, bringing his eyes back up to the boy in question. Paul pouted, only succeeding in making his face look even younger.
"What's it like these days Paul?" John asked, suddenly sounding rather somber. His mood really was all over the place, all those years alone in this house would cause me mood changes, Paul thought to himself.
"I'm going to need you to specify Johnny,"
"Don't be calling me Johnny, Princess."
"Ah but you call me Paulie so I guess I'm just going to call you Johnny," was the cheeky retort.
"Anyway, people are dicks nowadays, art is shite, books are shite, outfits are shite. All of it pretty much. "Oh." John stared at the wall, then after a pause asked about the music. "I'm not going to lie, but I have no bloody clue about modern music, only that it sucks and I don't listen to any of it.
John laughed, then stared bluntly, "you're interesting Paul, I like you."
