𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘐𝘚 𝘓𝘐𝘍𝘌 | PAUL MCCARTNEY

|don't carry the world upon your shoulders|

october seventh

,

that night

the most difficult thing i've ever had to do is lie to my mother and father about having a beatle in my room.

but, i did it anyway.

"i'm... getting undressed!" i yelled as paul fell recklessly into my room. "don't come in!"

"beatrice, i thought you were sick!" my mom shouted from downstairs. "you went to ballet?"

"i'm feeling much, much better now!" i called, paul halfway into my room. "i'm fine! don't worry about me!"

paul got himself into my room with a small bang on the ground. "honey, it's our job to worry about you," my dad yelled. "what was that noise?"

"nothing!" paul and i almost screamed in unison, but he held back. we looked at each other as soon as i heard my dad's footsteps coming up the stairs. he knocked on my door only three times before busting in. thankfully, paul had the brain to hide under my bed before it was too late.

"what is going on in here?" dad asked concernedly.

i was already on the floor in front of my bed, guarding paul, pretending to have fallen. "i fell," i lied.

dad shook his head, almost disappointedly, and walked out of my room. i sighed of relief and blushed as paul crawled out from under my bed. "that sure was a close call!" he grunted.

i chuckled softly and squinted my eyes, cringing as i sat up. paul's shirt became awkwardly untucked as he jumped on my bed. "until we find out what's happening or whatever... do you have any pyjama's for me?" paul asked while scratching the back of his head.

i nodded and opened my closet. "erm, you can sleep on my bed and i'll take the floor," i told him, grabbing a pair of sweatpants.

"no way! you live here! i can't take your bed away from you!" he protested. "i'll take the floor." i exasperatedly shook my head and tossed him the sweatpants. i didn't have any shirts for him, so i just assumed he could wear the shirt he was wearing.

i grabbed a pair of leggings for myself and a tank-top. "i guess i'll... change in the bathroom," i walked to the bathroom and closed the door as quietly as possible.

                                          🌺

the dull hum of the fan filled the silent room. i thought paul was asleep, but his british voice suddenly filled my ears. "beatrice?" he whispered. i slightly jumped and felt myself gasp. "why did you decide to become a ballerina?"

i inhaled deeply and licked my lips. "i... i don't know. i've trained my whole life to become one, so... why not?" i pulled my covers up more, almost feeling insecure.

"oh," he said. "i've always wanted to be a songwriter, y'know." paul said, making me laugh.

"paul, you are a songwriter. probably one of the best in history! the first being john, of course," i joked.

he cleared his throat. "thanks a lot, bea."

"you're... welcome," i yawned, turning over on my back and closing my eyes. "goodnight, paul."