August, 1964.

Entry six-

Touring, touring, touring. I feel like it's all I've been doing for my entire life nowadays. We were steadily getting more popular than ever and honestly, I couldn't tell myself that this is what I had wanted all along.

Back in Liverpool I had constantly spoken of making it big; playing shows all over the world and earning more money than I knew what to do with. Haven't I got that, and more? Couldn't I just be fucking grateful for once, to have all that I do?

We had girls screaming our bloody names and stamping their feet before we even came onto the stage, crazed with something I don't quite understand and damn near pissing themselves or something.

I have the life other blokes would give their left arm for. What's wrong with it, then?

It isn't that we're confined to hotels too much or that the shows cause me stress to a great amount - I can deal with those things easily. But sitting here, writing in this journal while rain hammers down outside of the hotel window, I can't force myself into a decent mood.

I'm tired of hearing from George about how no one needs my moping and groaning right now. I'm exhausted of Ringo tapping his drum sticks against the coffee table, and Paul is a whole fucking different story. Speaking of which, the daft bastard is running his pretty gob right now.

Kill me.

-J.L

"Really? The one chance we get to relax in between shows, you're hunching up like this?"

"You're the one with your knickers all in a twist. Fuck off, I'm tryin' to write."

I scribbled my initials onto the page hastily and shut the journal, throwing Paul a death glare that sadly didn't scare him off anymore. He glowered back at me, his features ominous and dark. I thought for a moment he would make another comment, but he only shook his head and stomped off to the bedroom he was sharing with George tonight.

He suggested rooming with the youngest of us as soon as we arrived to the hotel, leaving me to sleep in the same room as Ritchie.

"What the hell is it with you an' Paul lately? Accidentally use his toothbrush?" George questioned with his usual toothy grin, albeit it was a rather sarcastic one.

His scrawny legs were dangling from the edge of his chair as he lay sideways on it, his head rested against the other arm. It looked awfully uncomfortable, especially the way his neck was bent.

"Doesn't matter. He's acting like a ponce and doesn't want to admit it."

"Well, you have been pretty harsh on the lad lately." Ringo said, nodding at me with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

I looked down from the uneasy feeling it gave me, fiddling about with my journal pages and flipping through them slowly. Guilt is such an odd sensation to bear, and I wasn't very used to it.

Usually, I couldn't give a damn if I hurt someone's feelings or did wrong towards someone. Usually I could give an excuse for it. But with Macca, I've just been plain rude and demeaning with no reason.

Beneath that hard exterior, there was something else that I had brought out, and that 'something' had pink pouty lips and big puppy dog eyes that were begging for some sort of apology.

Maybe I should go talk to him.

Then again, those hazel eyes might be less inviting than I hope for.

"He jus' provokes me into being harsh. He knows what he's doing." I mumble back to him.

"But do you know what you're doing, John?"

George pulled himself upright on the cushioned chair and stared at me, and suddenly I felt like this was an interrogation.

What did they expect me to say? What was I doing?

Well - they certainly couldn't know what I wanted to be doing with Paul.

"This isn't your business, Harrison. It doesn't affect you."

"Will it affect me when you're so pissed one day that you up and end the band? Just bloody speak to him."

"Christ, you lot are as dramatic as him. Fine." I threw my hands in the air in defeat, marching off into the bedroom.

The door was shut, of course, but thankfully not locked like it usually is during one of these spells. I entered quietly, flipping his light on and smiling as I realized he had fallen asleep all curled up to a pillow.

His hair had been pushed back, revealing his forehead and a couple drops of sweat beading on the porcelain skin. It was pretty stuffy in the room, especially when I had my collar done up and my tie still knotted tightly.

After untying it and undoing the top three buttons of my crisp white shirt, I spoke to his sleeping form quietly.

"I'm, uh, sorry.. I haven't treated you the best lately. I don't like making you upset, luv, but I'm a bastard at heart. A pathetic and lonely bastard and I've ruined the whole trip."

He was still completely unconscious, snoring quietly and getting a little bit of drool on the crumpled bed sheet.

I sat down on the mattress and took off his blankets, it was much too hot for those.

"I just don't understand myself sometimes, y'know? Here I am, acting like your bloody mother while you're sleeping, but when you're awake I tell you to fuck off. I dunno, Macca."

My words die off with a quiet laugh and I let my curious fingers brush over his supple rosy cheeks, sighing inwardly.

I hated how angelic he was, constantly reminding me of a cherub or a fawn or something equally sweet and fragile. And then moments later he can be the nastiest, bitchiest person around.

"I do think I might love you. It's hard to tell, though. And it doesn't matter anyways, because you keep blocking off all of your feelings when we're together. It's frustrating."

My heart was skipping beats at the thought of him waking up while I talked, but he remained unmoving. George said to discuss things with him, but I found it easier when Paul couldn't respond or even knew what I was saying.

If we got down to the bottom of what our problem was, it would most likely center on the odd affair we have had for years now, and I was afraid it would vanish if we acknowledged it. I wanted more, though. With him it didn't feel like screwing around or cheating, it didn't even feel wrong.

I stood up, going over to the door to shut and lock it, just in case. Then, I went across the room to open up the little window to let some light and cool air inside.

It was quiet out on the streets, but very, very loud in my mind. I had so many thoughts to let out, and now was a better time than any.

"So frustrating, wanting you all the time. My own fuckin' journal sounds like your biography. 'Paul said this today, Paul did that.' Am I out of my bleedin' head?"

I spat out the last sentence, glaring down at the asphalt of the road like it could answer all the questions that tore me apart, drove me insane.

A woman and her two children crossed the street, as she held each of their hands in a struggle to keep them nearby.

I huffed with boredom at the scene, suddenly wondering how Cyn and Julian were doing right now. Did she have such a rough time too?

"I could live without her, if I had to. How crazy would it be, me and you with Julian? Is it really so far fetched? He adores you..."

"John?"

I froze at the window and closed my eyes tight. This was just my luck, really.

I fought for some words to utter in my defense but I ended up pretending not to have heard, seemingly fascinated by a single brown leaf blowing down the sidewalk. I wasn't even sure what city we were in anymore, I was only glad the fans hadn't gotten our hotel address.

"Still in a mood, I see." Paul stated sleepily.

I shook my head, wanting to know how much he heard but not having the guts to ask him.

"No, no. Just thinking."

"Thinking out loud?"

"Perhaps." I swallowed thickly and drummed my fingers on the windowsill.

"C'mon over here, Johnny, maybe we can think out loud together, yeah?"

"Yeah, whatever."

I turned to walk over to him, making sure not to look him in the eyes. Quite frankly, I had no desire to see what emotions they held. When I stumbled upon the bed I sighed heavily, sitting down and crossing my legs.

If I knew he wasn't watching me I'd probably be chewing on my lip or biting my nails or something, but his stare practically burned a hole into the side of my face.

"I know you're pissed but at least stop acting like a stranger." Paul mumbled, gesturing for me to scoot closer, which I immediately did.

His weight pressed against my side and I was surprised to find that he actually rested his head upon my shoulder, causing me to become completely still, afraid to move a muscle. When he exhaled, I could feel it on my skin and the comforting sensation surrounded me like a blanket.

When I finally became brave enough as the silence continued to drag on and on, I slid my arm around his waist and pulled him closer, melding him to the contortions of my body and feeling as though I could make him a part of me. There was no protest, so I let my head lay on top of his.

"I don't.. don't know what to say." I stammered quietly, cursing myself for sounding so stupid.

"I've already heard all that you have to say, John. And it's alright, y'know? If you really think you might... love me."

The last two words sounded strangled within his throat, nearly too difficult to sputter out. I shook my head, moving away from him quickly to see the expression on his face.

"You heard all of that?!" My voice actually squeaked.

I felt like my chest was going to collapse on itself from the sudden turn of events, my heart doing leaps in nervousness. My cheeks were burning.

"Unlike you, I'm a light sleeper. Calm down, yeah?"

"No!"

"John."

Paul grabbed ahold of one of my shoulders, efficiently shutting me up for a moment. Embarrassed tears stung at my eyes and I had to hurry and blink them away before he could see, humiliated to my very core that I was to the point of crying over this.

"Don't get all defensive on me, John. I mean, it's no big deal. I am the cute one after all."

He winked playfully and chuckled, easily earning himself a punch to the shoulder.

I didn't hold back on it, either, and I saw him wince in pain before laughing a little while longer.

"And besides, we've had a fucking affair going on for quite a while, it's not a surprise that one of us has developed...feelings."

"Yeah, one of us. What good does that do?"

I drag my tongue across my lower lip, testing the waters a bit and seeing how far I could push the conversation. I know he doesn't feel the same, so in reality I was only setting myself up for disappointment. I keep doing daft things like that.

He smiled slightly and nudged me in the side to get me to turn towards him.

I huffed a little in irritation at how he always plays around when emotions get involved, trying to get a laugh out of me or a smile or whatever.

Couldn't he just be serious once?

When I did eventually turn, though, he looped his fingers around my shirt collar and pulled me in close, instantly covering my mouth with his. I closed my eyes and one or two tears slipped out from between my lashes, wetting our cheeks as we kissed.

He grabbed my hair and tugged me towards him, even though I winced slightly from the uncomfortable feeling.

"Don't worry about the emotional part, John. It's okay.." He said against my lips, and I noticed I was still crying silently.

I felt a sob building up in my throat and swallowed it back down, because he couldn't be more wrong. What he said made me feel disgusting; an object used and discarded whenever Paul was finished.

Not only did he not feel the same, but he didn't give a fuck about how I was affected.

I stayed quiet and crawled onto his lap, kissing him slowly and more passionately than I should have. I kissed him like a lover.

He unbuttoned the next couple of buttons on my shirt and felt around at the exposed skin, and involuntarily I felt myself suck in my stomach out of frigid insecurity.

"I don't want to do this right now." I said, frowning.

Paul lifted my chin and planted a kiss right on my lips before he wiped at the streaks of salty tears rolling down my face.

"I'm sorry I can't be what you want. But you're my best mate, and I love you, okay? And right now this has to be enough for the both of us."

I nod numbly at what he had said and watched as he fixed my shirt back and knotted my tie perfectly. Once again he dabbed at my blotchy cheeks and sighed softly;

I knew he was at a loss of words but there was nothing more for me to utter either.

He had a choice of having me or a life full of normalcy and occasional sneaking around, and he'd chosen the latter.

"I'll tell George he can room with Ringo when the last show is over today. That way you can snuggle up to me tonight, and not Harrison."

He giggled, and if sounds were portrayed by objects, this particular one would be a feather.

I smiled despite the horrible feeling in my gut and shook my head.

"I have never cuddled with anyone. Not even Cyn."

"You hang onto me like a bloody leech!" He laughed incredulously, fixing the cuffs of his suit jacket.

I try not to get defensive, especially while I'm sitting here crying of all things, so I just shrug.

"You must have a better smelling shampoo than George."

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