The Nearest To My Heart -John Lennon Fan Fiction - Paul McCartney Fan Fiction - Beatles Fan Fiction

Chapter Twenty-Two - Lets Fall In Love, Part One

John was sprawled out on the Asher's sofa. He'd turned up at their townhouse unannounced after breakfast. He and Paul had gone downstairs to the music room, but they weren't writing. 

Paul was seated at the piano, playing a melody that was unfamiliar to John. 

"What's that your playing?" 

"He's the Sweetest Boy I've Ever Known," Paul replied, he thought it was a good tune. It needed a bit more work, but for what they'd accomplished with the middle eight he was pleased with his contributions. 

Paul was curious about why John had turned up, but he hadn't asked. His mate was uncharacteristically quiet. He felt that John had come round for a reason, and was waiting for his friend to clue him into the reason for his visit.

John laughed, craning his neck back on the armrest of the sofa to look at Paul. "A bit cheesy of a title even for you." He remarked cuttingly, focusing on a painting across the room, an array of colorful flowers in full bloom. He thought it was garish, and in complete contrast to the tasteful furnishings. It was an odd thing to be bothered about, but it was just another attempt to think of anything other than Charlie.

Paul abruptly stopped playing. "It's Charlie's song." He turned around on the piano bench to face John.

John took a long drag off of his cigarette. "She fancies herself a songwriter." He smirked.

"She's not bad." 

"An endorsement if I ever heard one," John replied sarcastically.

"Charlie has talent. I think she's well on her way to becoming a good songwriter." Paul countered.

John didn't say anything for a long time, looking contemplative as he smoked, occasionally tapping the ash into the ashtray that rested on his stomach. "Couldn't have been at it too long if you just worked on the middle eight."

Paul looked toward the staircase leading out of the music room. He was mindful to close the door when they'd gone downstairs. Paul would've heard anyone walking down those stairs, and he listened for any noise. 

When he was sure that no one listening he continued "We just worked on the song." He knew what John was implying, and it didn't bother him, but he had a distinct feeling that it bothered his mate.

He snorted, growing a bit annoyed. Just because Paul worked on Charlie's song, which John unfairly thought was terrible based on the title alone, didn't mean that they hadn't messed around. "She knows about Cyn."

"How'd she find out?"

"I told her." He answered somberly.

Paul's eyes widened in surprise. He knew John wasn't having him on from the tone of his voice. 

His marriage to Cyn was a secret in the beginning. There were rumors of John having a wife and young son back in Liverpool, but none of the Beatles had confirmed it to be true. John had outright lied when any reporter had the nerve to ask him to address the rumors. 

It was only when Cyn and Julian had settled with John in London that the truth of his home life had come to light. 

It certainly wasn't the sort of thing you told a bird you were seeing about, and Paul couldn't understand why John had told Charlie. It didn't make sense to him. "What did she have to say to that?"

John smiled bitterly, stubbing out his cigarette into the ashtray. "Nothing. Not a word." He sat up, tossing the glass ashtray onto the coffee table. 

Paul briefly winced at John's careless action. He felt that was odd, but Charlie had proven to not be like many of the birds he'd encountered. She was impossible to read, not even during their writing session did he feel that he'd gained an understanding of her.