Ten Petaled Rose

Chapter 7: It Takes Two To Be A Stranger

He didn't seem to know where the voice had come from. Head lifting, eyes squinting. Making two sweeps of his surroundings before noticing the figure pressed against the wall adjacent from him. Too blurry to make out with absolute clarity, but something about them was familiar. Not that he could remember much more than his own name.

"Paul." the stranger said, their voice a million miles away, "What are you doing 'ere?" repeating himself as he stepped closer. Though the distance didn't help in identifying the stranger, for some reason, likely because he was drunk, Paul didn't feel threatened by them. Welcoming the company from an otherwise lonely night.

"I am drinking." Paul replied somewhat matter-of-factly. Thrusting the bottle in hand forwards. Then throwing his head back and attempting to drink, though, he hadn't realized he'd finished it some time ago. Brows furrowed as he peered down the neck of the bottle. Baffled by this odd turn of events. Mumbling irritated gibberish. Distracted soon by a small movement. Forgetting his beer problem immediately. Slow eyes watching a gnat as it passed by. Following with the tip of his finger, which made John realize just how boozed up he was.

"I meant here, at the party." he clarified, patiently kneeling before the boy, looking into these fragile amber eyes, that could hardly stay open. Silent, soundless tears making long sprints down his cheeks, though he didn't seem to notice. Licking his lips curiously at the salty liquid that touched them. Brows furrowed again as he looked up. Half convinced that it was raining.

"Where am I?" He questioned. Turning one way, then the other, seeing nothing but trees behind him, and a house he'd never seen before in front of him. Brows furrowed as he glanced at the beer in his hand. Alcohol? He didn't drink? Watching with intense intrigue as John gently took the bottle from him and put it on the ground.

"Come on, Paul, I'll take ye home." John whispered. Taking each of his, surprisingly small hands; and helping the boy to stand. Then coming to the conclusion that he wouldn't be much help in regards to walking. Stumbling over each step he took. Cursing under his breath as he did.

So, being the gentleman he was, John scooped him up and carried him. Walking him around the house and onto the road, where, for the sake of his already tired arms, he slung Paul onto his back. Paul was quite a bit smaller than him, but John hadn't expected him to be so light.

"Hold on." He murmured, waiting for the boy to lace his fingers around his neck. Head lying on his right shoulder. Arms wrapping tightly 'round the boy's legs as he walked down the semi-steep hill from Epstein's. Taking slow steps, not once sacrificing Paul's comfort for speed.

Looking around, he didn't see anyone else about. Knowing that the sun wouldn't rise for some time. Wondering where Ringo had run off to, though he supposed he'd likely gone home; given that John had broken his promise.

"So." Paul breathed out lightly, "She's gone."

His voice trembled as he spoke. A mournful tremble, rather than the somewhat fearful tremble John was accustomed to. Wondering if this was what had kept him home that week. Secretly concerned. Secretly wanting to do whatever he could to fix it. Even if he couldn't.

"Who?" John questioned, not really expecting a response, given how paralytic Paul was. Though hoping for one.

"Me mum." He murmured tearfully. Chest rattling with one shaky breath. Sounding as though he were on the brink of tears; which after feeling a wetness seep through his sweater, John realized he was crying. Wanting to let him down so that John could comfort him. So he could hold him and tell him that everything would be alright.

But he didn't.

"What am I gonna do now George?" Paul whispered.

John paused for a moment.