PAUL MCCARTNEY woke up the exact moment the clock striked twelve. He sat up and quietly made his way upstairs, knife at the hip.

He opened the first door and saw it was all pink, with a vanity at the left and a dresser at the right. His breathe got caught in his throat when he saw the family pictures. Ringo's mother was always with him, just like...just like...

Do it quickly. Paul thought, and went over to the other bedroom. Oh fuck.

He looked so peaceful; sleeping in the orange light of his lampshade, eyelashes atop his flushed cheeks. His hair was a mousy mess and his lips parted slightly as he let out soft snores.

And Ringo looked so painfully innocent in those covers.

Paul pressed his lips in a straight line as he turned away. He couldn't do it. And he never left someone alive before.

He went back to the leather couch and stared at the ceiling, planning in his mind on how to fix the fucked-up situation both of them were in.

He could leave in a week, late in the night when the teen was asleep so he wouldn't be able to tell anyone which direction he went in.

He sighed instead, too tired to keep up with the messy chain of events. He felt oddly safe anyways in the house, not that Ringo was a potential threat. And he wasn't dumb (or smart, depending on how you look at it) enough to call the police because the landline was just two feet good of Paul's reach and experience made him more alert than usual.

And so, Paul fell into a dreamless sleep, relaxing in what felt like the first time in months.

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fucking hell i want disney covers

hows the story so far? i hope im not boring you guys with the slowpace :/