McLennon/McHarrison/Starrison Oneshots

Can't Sleep? 🥀

John sat up in bed. He sighed, running his hand through his hair. It was 3:14am.

This was becoming a more and more regular occurance for John; he would lay awake in bed for hours, unable to sleep.

God knows how hard he'd been trying to this morning, as he knew there was a recording session for the Beatles' first album and he didn't want to be tired. But that's how it was going to be.

He rubbed his face, groaning, then pulled back the covers and got out of bed, sucking breath in through his teeth as his feet pressed against the cold, wooden floor. He passed George, Paul and Ringo's bedrooms and made his way downstairs to get himself a glass of water. As he was stood at the sink, the stairs creaked and a voice came from behind him.

"John?" It asked, groggily.

"Yeah?"

"What're ye' doin' up this early?"

"I could ask ye' the same thing, Macca," John chuckled.

"Ye' woke me up with those bloody creakin' floorboards," Paul laughed.

"Sorry."

"S'alright."

"Are George an' Rich awake too?" John asked.

"Ringo isn't, he's snorin' like a trooper. Not sure 'bout George."

John laughed quietly.

"Can't sleep?" Paul continued after a moment of silence.

"No, Paul, I just like to walk around the house at three in the fucking morning," John retorted sarcastically.

Paul was used to John's sarcasm, but, unlike usual, it seemed to be laced with frustration, anger, even.

Paul sighed.

"S'ere anythin' keepin' ye' awake? Somethin' on yer mind, I mean," Paul asked, being more specific to avoid recieving another one of Lennon's sarcastic responses.

"I dunno," John sighed.

"Y'know ye' can tell me, John."

"There isn't anythin' to tell ye', Paul!"

"Okay."

Silence filled the room again.

"What if ye' went to yer doctor? They could sort ye' out somethi-"

"Bloody 'ell! Do ye' ever shut up? I know 'ow to look after meself."

"I'm tryin' to fuckin' help ye', John. Y'aven't slept properly in nearly a week now."

"What's it to you?"

"I care about ye'."

"Well, ye' shouldn't worry yer pretty little 'ead about it, or you'll stop sleepin' aswell. I'm fine," John insisted, in a harsh tone.

"Jus'.... Jus' let me lay with ye'. See if that helps," Paul offered, unsure where he was going with this.

"How the fuck would that 'elp?"

Paul didn't say anything. He just stared at John, his expression unreadable.

"Fine," John gave in, feeling like Paul's eyes were about to burn holes through his.

"C'mon then," Paul said, leading the way.

When they got to John's room, Paul let himself flop onto the bed, patting the space next to him. John sighed and led next to him, staring at the ceiling.

"Close yer eyes." Paul spoke softly.

John obeyed, letting his eyelids fall shut and his breathing slow.

Then, he felt Paul shift and suddenly a pair of soft lips were pressed gently against his own. John's eyes widened and he sat up, turning around to look at Paul.

"S- sorry," Paul panicked, eyes also wide but with fear and regret.

"What was that?!" John almost yelled.

"Shhh! I- I don' know. I'm sorry, I really am."

John led back down, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Are ye'... y'know... do ye'.." John trailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.

"I'm.. not sure," Paul answered, knowing what John was trying to ask, "I think so."

The room went silent, the only sound that could be heard was Ringo's faint snoring from the other room.

"Yer disgusted with me. Shit, I've ruined everything," Paul whispered, his voice slightly shakey, as he got up and headed to the door.

"Wait," John said as Paul touched the handle of the door, freezing in place but not turning to face John.

"It's alright, Paul. I jus' wasn't.. expectin' it, s'all."

John paused, biting his lip as he thought of what to say next. Paul didn't move.

"I'm confused 'swell," John admitted.

"What d'ya mean?" Paul asked, finally turning around.

"Well, with a face like yers, I'm pretty sure ya've made every man on the planet question... certain things."

Silence again.

"Come 'ere," John said, patting the space next to him on the bed, mimicking what Paul had done.

Hesitantly, Paul complied and sat beside John, with his back against the headboard. Neither man looked at one another, hoping that the other would speak first. At last, John broke the silence.

"Why I've not been sleepin'.. It's because... Well, I think I'm bisexual. And, honestly, I'm scared. What if it gets out, y'know? What if I bring a bad name to The Beatles an'... an' ruin not just my life but George's, Ringo's, yours?"

"John. Ya won't ruin anythin', ok? Nobody will find out if ya don't want 'em to. An' even if they did, they shouldn't be so quick to judge. Yer a great musician, no? People love ya an' nothin' can change that."

John was staring right into Paul's eyes. He grabbed the latter by the shirt collar and pressed their lips together. Paul smiled into the kiss and leant his weight on John, causing them to both fall over, so they were once again led on the bed.

They pulled away and Paul rested his head on John's chest.

"I love ya, Macca," John whispered, just loud enough for the youngest to hear.

"I love ya too, John."

After a few minutes of silence, Paul heard a soft snore escape John's lips. He smiled to himself and, not long after, he felt himself begin to drift off aswell.