Talk about Magical Mysteries

Please, look at me

A/N: 6 chapters in less than a month, that is a streak.

Hmmm... I need to even out the pairings. Somehow, McLennon is a lot easier than Starrison, despite George being my favourite to write. His introspective nature is like a still stream, flowing and present.

It might be considered a filler, but I felt that it was necessary to have those moments

Reminder, "-o-" means the Beatles, and "-oo-" means the wizards. 

-o-

For once in this month, he was completely awake.

Although tense and unsure he was, he was not swaying around as the Submarine sailed in a calming manner, finally straightening itself out with Ringo's help and Old Fred's overall control of the unit. John was glued to Paul's side, massaging the arm that he often muttered was hurting.

John didn't really know what to ask the lost boy. He's never seen Paul so withdrawn, somewhere else and signing something blankly. There was only one time he's seen that, but he was so caught up in his own anger that he didn't notice Paul was growing tired of everything. It was during their last tour before they resorted to stay holed up in their studio where they could actually hear themselves play and sing. The place where they could serenade themselves, and themselves be the first critics.

He remembered, however, giving Paul a side-long glance through his round glasses when the boy robotically signed a fan's paper, no words coming from his mouth save for a faint smile to keep a lie alive. What lie? He wasn't sure. The reporter that was showering him with attention was caught off guard by Paul's lack of PR-imagery.

Typically, he was the one who smiled and spoke with the serenity of a waterfall upon the dry rocks, over there, he had only said "something" in the most dead-pan voice John had ever heard him use when the reporter pleaded that he "say something".

John was having issues with his break-down in marriage. He knew Cynthia meant no harm to him, he knew that she didn't deserve his abandonment, nor did little Jules whom he left at an age similar to his own when his parents were parting, breaking each other's hearts and lumping John into a mass heartbreak. He loved Cynthia, he still does, but he knew... he couldn't do the family thing.

Make no misassumptions, Cynthia was no mistake.

She was what Paul is to him. She felt right, she loved perfectly, she made him whole. Despite that, deep down inside, he knew he couldn't bind himself to her. He tried when she was bearing his child, but when the child was born, it felt like it was more of an obligation, rather than something he was willing to do. He loved little Jules, he was one of the most beautiful babies he had ever seen, born of a gorgeous woman, but he couldn't juggle work with settling down.

Paul was in a state similar. Perhaps that was why they were so tight knit. He was always working, even in his sleep.

He was no virgin to women, bedding many, and almost bedded a bloke before he let John make love to him. Paul was experimenting everywhere, and somehow, his seemingly independence ensnared John. He could have the best family, have lovely children and be an amazing father – see how he is with Julian. That was the father the boy deserved. A father like Paul.

But Paul too, was young, he too, must've been tired of it too.

Jane leaving him gave him a loose screw on his possessive mind. While he created the prettiest love songs, loved her dearly, it was rather frightening, even to John, how much he was hinting that Jane should settle down and be home more often so that when they have children, she could stay by their side. She was a lot like Paul herself, fiercely independent and self-made, and what Paul needed was someone more.