A/N —Piløts

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RINGO WAS sure that his heart would've fucking burst in his chest if the telephone didn't ring.

"Hello, Ringo Starkey speaking." He said, luckily not stuttering it out. His decorated fingers made it's usual way around the cords nervously as he felt Paul's eyes on his back.

"Ritchie?"

He widened his eyes. "U-Uncle Bri?"

"Oh thank goodness," Brian sighed. "I was trying to get a hold of your number but for some reason the line would suddenly burn out." Ringo heard him chuckle. "But anyways, how are you holding up there lad?"

"I'm—" Ringo took a quick glance towards Paul's direction. His back (Ringo remembered that he needed to get him another shirt) was turned and the telly lit up the room with bright red. "—fine. Is my mum with you?"

"Yeah, but she's fallen ill with a cold. Must've gotten it from your aunt Prudence."

"I-Is she alright?"

"She already took medicine, Ritch. She'll be fine before you know it."

Ringo sighed in relief.

"Did she say anything about going back home?"

"I think she mentioned it," Eppy mumbled, and Ringo heard a supressed yawn over the phone. "Don't worry about it too much, Ritchie. She misses you a great deal and she can't wait to get back home."

"O-Okay," Ringo cracked a small smile. "Thanks Bri. Tell my mum I love her for me, okay?"

"Alright. Goodnight, son."

The line went dead and Ringo made his way back to the couch. He felt nervous around the older man, and he itched for a cigarette.

"Who was it?" Paul asked, eyes going from the bright, illuminous television to the boy beside him.

"Jus' my uncle checking up on me," Ringo said, grabbing a pillow nearby and hugging it near his chest. He suddenly looked smaller, more innocent, even more so with him biting his lip. "What's on?"

"An old horror movie," Paul answered, and he saw Ringo shiver a bit in the corner of his eye. He remembered what he said about the whole "close your eyes during horror movies" thing and he cringed at the memory of it. "I could always change it?"

"It's fine," He mumbled, but the look in his eyes said otherwise. Paul sighed and slung his arm around his shoulder, and Ringo felt his face heat up.

Tentatively, he scooted closer to Paul's side, mumbling about how silly and unnecessary the high-pitched music was for the horror movie. Paul smiled at that, and he tightened his hold around him protectively.

But the movie progressively got even horrifying, and despite being one of Paul's slight favorites (he didn't wath movies alot but The Exorcist was a classic), he pretty much wanted to immediately turn it off based on Ringo's body language.

"Your mother's in here, Karras. Would you like to leave a message? I'll see that she gets it."

Ringo uttered a frightened whimper, burying half of his face in Paul's neck. He was slightly on top of him, with Ringo's chest touching Paul's and his left leg touching his right. Paul never thought that he could get any more closer until he suddenly let out a choked scream and practically held onto him for dear life.

"Paul–"

"I got you, princess." Paul snatched the remote control off the tabletop and switched it to a nearby channel. The demented demon was gone and all that glowed in the tv was a blonde teaching the audience how to cook. "Ringo? Are you alright?"

"No," Came the shaky reply. "That terrified the shit out of me."

Paul was about to scold him when he felt Ringo knee accidentally nudge his thigh. He stiffened up, and tried covering it up with a cough as Ringo tried to move.

"Do you still have any of my cigarettes with you?" Ringo asked, and despite the question he just gave, the tone of his voice pure and soft. Like the rest of him, except his mouth of course.

"I think I left three," Paul patted his pockets and fished the small package out along with a rusty lighter.

He watched as Ringo's nimble fingers picked a stick up before placing it in between his lips. Paul was mesmerized a bit by the shape of his mouth, the way they wrapped around the cigarette.

"Light me up?"

"I– Yeah, sure," Paul stumbled out and flickered the lighter. With a soft hiss, smoke wafted out, and Ringo coughed a bit.

"Thanks, Paul." He managed to say, and he took another small drag just for the fun of it.

"Can I...?"

Ringo pouted a bit, the cigarette sticking out downwards. "Get your own stick."

"I thought sharing was caring, sweetheart?"

Ringo crinkled his nose at the nickname, cheeks heating up. He cursed under his breathe before handing it to Paul, who smoked it with an expertise of an addict who never went cold turkey.

"Paul," The name drew his attention, and Paul once again found himself staring back at deep pools of blue. "A-About earlier... Do you– Do you still want to–?" His fingers fidgeted with each other, making his little plastic rings shine in the lampshade.

"I..." There it was again; the sinking feeling, the drowning feeling. And Paul's mind raced, and he was torn between dragging Ringo to hell with the curse of his tainted lips or letting him free with the expense of his own sanity. Not that he still had any left.

Then he heard the couch springs squeak. And before he knew it, Paul felt something soft against his mouth and his heart gave a violent lurch in his chest.

It was an innocent peck, barely a kiss by any standards. But it was enough for Paul to shiver with want and Ringo thought it was a good idea to go up on his knees, bringing himself up to the height of Paul's face and kissed a little bit harder than before.

Then Ringo pulled back, his sweet face pink with embarrasment and eyes wide with fear.

"I-I..." He tried to make somekind of explanation. But he found none and he bit his lip again. "I'm sorry I shouldn't— I-I shouldn't have done that."

"Ringo– fuck," He sat up in alarm when Ringo quickly got off the couch. "Ringo wait!"

He tried to grab his wrist but it was too late– Ringo's feet had already carried himself upstairs and Paul found himself alone, alone, in the living room with the tv humming in the background.

He licked his lips, and he scowled, eyebrows knitting together in frustration and anger. His hands curled into fists and when he opened them, red crescents and scarlet half-moons decorated his pale palms. Then he felt the crippling fear of being alone and unwanted and he couldn't help but rewind the kiss back and forth like a broken casette tape in his mind.

He didn't want Ringo to go away but– But if he went any closer, he'll just ruin him. Paul always ruined whatever he touches, like some fucked-up King Midas. But he remembered his big, baby blues that pleaded for him to stay and Paul decided to do so. No matter how catastrophic everything will turn out. He just can't leave.

Because he didn't have anywhere else to go.

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How was that for a first kiss? Expect another update tomorrow, but please COMMENT ALOT because it gives me life :))))

Chapter is dedicated to dumplingdun bc she is amazing and you should read her stories :))))