Till There Was You

A Day in the Life

John POV

I wake up with a pounding sensation in my head. The lights swirl all around me and I have to clench my eyes for them to adjust. When they finally do, I rub my face from exaustion and stretch. Lazily, I stumble towards the bathroom and look in the mirror. My hair is dishevled and the bags under my eyes are huge. Muttering under my breath, I slowly start to get dressed in fear of loosing my balance. I'm almost all the way done manouvering myself through my pants, when-

RINGGGG

Caught by suprise, I lose my footing and fall down on the hard tile. My right cheek burns on impact.

"Fuckin hell," I mutter, as the phone continues to ring off the hook. I lift myself up, finish getting dressed, and trudge into my bedroom. I yank the phone up off the table and answer it.

"What?" I growl.

"Where are you?" The boyish voice on the other end asks me.

"Well considering you called my home phone, and I answered it, I think you should know, Paul," I answer sarcastically. I can almost hear him roll his eyes at me from the other end of the line.

"I meant, why aren't you here?" He asks matter-of-factly. "You were supposed to be here 15 minutes ago." I look at the clock; he's right. Dammit.

"Hello??" Paul asks, annoyed. I groan.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Paulie," I say with faux sweetness. "I'm coming." I don't give him a chance to respond before I hang up. Going back to the mirror, I deem myself somewhat presentable. It doesn't really mater anyway. It's just Paul.

Rubbing my sore cheek, I grab my guitar and lightly run down the stairs. I'm still cautious of my hangover.

I eventually get to Paul's and knock on the door. He answers it fairly quickly, scowling. Here we go...

"Why are you late?" He asks me. After I don't respond he adds, "Again." I roll my eyes.

"Bugger off, McCartney," I rasp. "All that matters is that I'm here now." Paul frowns at me, but he doesn't stay angry for too long. How could he? I think to myself. I'm too loveable.

We walk into the small room with the piano that we always practice in. Paul sits down at the piano bench, collecting the papers he has scattered on the top. I find myself awkwardly stading in the doorframe, almost as if I was expecting an invitation to sit down, stupid enough. Once Paul is done organizing, he turns around and stares at me. I stare back a confused look on my face.

"What?" I ask hesitantly.

"Oh, um nothing," Paul starts. "It's just- what happened to your face?" I hold my hand up to my cheek, remembering my fall. Embarassed, I shake my head.

"It's nothing," I mutter, blushing. "I'm fine."

"If you say so," he shrugs. "Oh, by the way, I think Geo and Pete are going to join us later, if that's alright."

"Whatever," I say. What do I care?

Paul hesitates for a second. His cherub face is thoughtful; dark eyes droppy. His plump lower lip juts out slightly; a pouty expression. I shake my head, looking down at my feet.

"Erm," I murmer. "Want to get started?" Paul nods, knocked out of whatever trance he was in before. He gingerly picks up his guitar and lazily strums a couple of notes on it. I listen intently.

"Mm," I grunt. "Did you come up with that?" He gives me a curt nod and keeps strumming.

I cross to the stool adjacent to the piano bench where Paul is and sit down; I'm oddly stressed out. I rub my hands up and down on my pants out of habit. Paul's strumming stops abruptly and I look up. He's staring at me again.

"I already told you there was nothing to worry about my face," I say harshly.

"What's wrong, John?" he asks me, in a state of calm.

"It's nothing," I spit, getting angry. "I-I don't even know myself, Paul!"

"Is everything alright?"

"Is anything ever?"

He's taken aback. I am too, honestly. We sit in silence for a few seconds.

"I'm here for you," he mutters. At least, that's what I think he said. I still can't think straight.

From my hangover, obviously.

I search my head for what could have happened last night. Paul has returned to strumming away at his guitar, but I'm thoughtful. I got home late, obviously. Mimi was cross with me as always, but what was she going to do? I was drunk out of my mind and tripping up the stairs. Yelling would have done nothing.

I bite my tongue.

"Oi, you got any lyrics that could go with this?"

Paul snaps me out of my pensivity and I listen to him play a short but catchy riff. I scrunch my nose.

"I don't know," I admit. "Haven't got anything." He gives me a look.

"Sure you don't," he says. Before I can respond with a witty comeback, there's a knock at the door.

"Ah, shit," Paul mutters. "We have'nt gotten a thing done and now the boys are here." I don't look at him, but I can tell he's getting on at me about being late still. Paul leaves the room and I eventually hear the door to his house open. Voices drift down the hall towards where I sit.

Despite the company, I feel...

So lonely.

"Why hello, Lennon!" Pete greets me with a grin. I half-smile at him.

"Are you melancholy, John?" George asks.

"Always," I grin. Paul rolls his eyes.

"Right," he frowns.

Pete sits down on the ground in front of me with his notebook, pulling out a pencil.

"Hey Paul?" George starts. "Do you happen to have any snacks? I'm stravin'."

"Why of course, Georgie," Paul grins. "I knew you were coming, didn't I?"

"Sodden off!" George exclaims, crookedly grinning.

After George has finished fixing himself a sandwhich in Paul's kitchen, we all sit down together in the small room.

I can't focus.

"John, are you ok?" Pete asks. I look down and notice my leg is bobbing up and down uncontrollably.

"I need some fresh air," I stammer, stumbling out of the room with my guitar. I step outside of the house and slow my breath down. The air is crisp and silent. After a few moments, I keep walking, leaving Paul's house behind me.

A/N: Hey friends!! I wanted to try out something new, so here we are!! Please let me know what you think, I plan to try to keep this one going. Thank you all!!