Although he had not initially intended to spend his first weeks as an art student at the library, it was where he most often found himself after his classes and during his free mornings and afternoons. Because the semester had only just started, the library was practically empty most of the time, save for the occasional over-enthusiastic, over-ambitious student who was already cramming for tests that were still weeks if not months away, and writing essays about topics that had not even been properly discussed yet in class, sitting with their noses buried in books with such flimsy paper, that it looked like it would tear if handled in any way but with the utmost care. There was something "uncool about spending all your days at the university library, making time-tables, revising notes, studying texts, writing essays, and cramming for exams, that made most people want to stay away from such places as much as possible, not wanting to be considered "one of those people". Paul would have done the same, that is, if he had cared at all about what was and was not considered "cool", which obviously he didn't. Not one bit. At all.

Truth be told, he enjoyed the library. It was quiet, peaceful, filled up to the ceiling with books containing fascinating information about curious topics and ideas he did not yet know about, there was free Wi-Fi, plenty of spots to plug in your phone or computer when needed, and, most importantly, no one to bother you by asking annoying questions or playing Guitar Hero at an ungodly volume, while stuffing their face full with potato crisps and diet coke, wearing nothing but a pair of plain, light blue boxers that looked suspiciously similar to a pair you owned yourself and would burn the next time you saw them. On the second floor they had opened a coffee corner where you could grab a cup of tea, coffee, or hot chocolate, along with some (cheap!) sandwiches, cookies, and other snacks (they even had vegan options), of which Paul took full advantage. They had also put down a couple of old battered couches for people to sit on, and honestly Paul could not imagine why anyone would want to spend their days anywhere else, except when they did have normal roommates with at least a sense of common decency.

At the moment he was sitting at a table on the third floor, rearranging his time-schedule in order to fit in his morning classes as well as his first assignments and regular homework, while still leaving him time to go on a forty-minute run every morning through the park that was not even five minutes away from the flat he and George shared. He had his new MacBook Air - a present from his father - open in front of him and had his wireless earphones - sadly not a present, but an expensive impulse buy he had yet to regret - planted firmly in his ears in the hope to block out all the outside noise as he listened to The Kinks singing Strangers directly into his ear, a memento from his and George's first traditional movie night that would happen every Friday evening for the coming three years that they would be living together. They had watched The Darjeeling Limited, the perfect combination of comedy and drama with a nice aesthetic and good music, and just weird enough to be highly enjoyable and intriguing. It had been George's pick, which meant Paul was allowed to choose the next one, which just had to be The Dead Poets Society - he was already looking forward to it - after which he was going to make George watch The Graduate because he hadn't seen it and that, in Paul's eyes, was a cultural sin if there ever was one.

A couple of rapid taps on his arm alerted him of his neighbour, who was sitting opposite him, drinking tea and stealing some of his veggie crisps as she revised her class notes on the fundamentals of dramatic text. She was a great girl, really. Stunning, with fair skin, long copper hair that cascaded down over her narrow shoulders - a shade that matched the colour of her painted lips - and kind blue eyes that shone brightly beneath her fringe that was bordering on the edge of being too long. But she was clever and funny too, with a mouth that was fouler than what he had initially expected, and a confidence that would have made Paul believe she was a professor rather than a first-year student, if it wasn't for the fact that she was far too young to be one, being not yet nineteen. She was a great friend.

"I'm going out for a smoke and get myself another cup of tea. D'you want anything?" she asked as she stood up from her seat, fumbling around in her bag in search for her phone, cigarettes and lighter, and cursing at herself when she couldn't find the latter. Paul, realising he had been staring, declined and offered her his own lighter, which he took from the pocket of his denim jacket.

"Thanks. I'll be right back. Mind my bag, yeah?" She didn't wait for Paul to nod or reply, and turned around and started heading towards the stairs, her heels clacking rhythmically on the synthetic floor as she went. Sighing, Paul reached for his own phone and checked his messages. Apart from a text from George asking him if he could swing by the store for some milk before he went home - they had run out again - there was nothing. It wasn't so much that he was expecting something, but he had hoped to see at least one message from Dot, not having heard from her for a few days. The number of messages that normally went between them had started to decrease more and more over the last couple of weeks, especially since he had moved to London for his studies, which would usually warrant more messages. The thing was, though, that he wasn't sure if he truly missed her. George said they needed some time to work it out, but lately he was feeling less and less certain of that, which made him feel even worse for not talking to her more often like he should.

Putting away his phone, he turned back to his time schedule and made some minor changes to is as he finished his tea, before he decided to do some reading for the following week, hoping that if he could get most of it done today, he would have the weekend off to relax and do something fun. George wanted to go out and live the student life like it was supposed to be lived according to every single movie in existence; so, naturally, Paul hadn't been able to say no to that, being in the mood for getting drunk and enjoying the tantalising sight of hot boys and girls in sexy, tight outfits, even if he could not touch. Some harmless flirting was always fun.

He had barely gotten through the first two sections, however, or the peace and quiet that surrounded him was rudely broken by some loud shouts and laughter, which he could hear even through the music that was still blasting in his ears. Annoyed, he took out his earphones and glanced up to see a skinny lad - a little older than himself, but shorter and more fragile-looking - being slammed into a wall, laughing loudly as he struggled to hold onto a stack of papers he was holding in his arms. Some of the papers slipped from his grip anyway, despite the boy's best efforts, and landed scattered on the floor. He shouted something at where he had emerged from, and knelt down to pick up the papers again as he wiped some tears from his eyes, which were covered by a pair of tinted sunglasses.

Not long after a second guy appeared from that same direction. He was taller and tough-looking, wearing a pair of tight black jeans, the ends of which he had flipped over once, a green plaid shirt with a leather jacket - faux leather, Paul hoped - and brown boots. He had a pair of glasses on his nose that reminded Paul of those Buddy Holly used to wear, and his brown hair had been styled into a tousled quiff, both of which, under any other circumstance but this one, he would have found incredibly attractive. He was laughing loudly as well and pushed at the smaller lad's shoulder, causing him to lose his balance and fall down again, the paper slipping from his fingers once more.

Rolling his eyes at them, he turned up the volume on his computer and went back to work, but found it had become increasingly more difficult to concentrate on the words he was supposed to be reading, the sentences being too long and containing too many complex words, that he found his thoughts drifting away and his eyes towards the two men who were still causing trouble on the other side of the room. He considered telling them to be quiet, but decided not to, knowing these types of guys from when he had still been a teenager in Liverpool, where he had had to deal with guys like this on a regular basis in school. They thought they were too cool for anything and better than everyone else, and there was nothing you could say or do that would not end with either you running away or being punched in the eye. Being bisexual hadn't much helped in school either, and he preferred to stay away from them now, not wanting a repeat of last time.

The curious thing was, though, that rather than being disruptive for the sake of being disruptive, these guys did seem to be doing something, namely bothering people and handing them those papers the lad with the sunglasses was holding in his arms, most of which were rather creased at this point, but neither of them seemed to care. They also laid some of the sheets on empty tables and in stacks between books on the bookshelves, which made Paul curious to know what they said. The two guys, on the other hand, did not seem to take any note of him, so Paul kept to watching them silently, hoping they would not spot him. Especially the taller guy, who had a pair of thighs that made it extremely difficult not to stare at him. He shouldn't. He had a girlfriend.

"Chocolate cookies were twenty percent off, so I got you one as well," a voice suddenly spoke next to him, making him jump in his seat and quickly look away from the two guys who were bothering a couple of girls a few tables away from him, and glanced up, only to be hit in the face by said chocolate cookie that had been thrown his way.

"Thanks..." he muttered in reply, half annoyed, half grateful, "you could've just given it to me, though, Jane, but injuring me works fine too, I guess."

"Don't be such a baby and accept the free food, will you," she replied and sat back down on the chair opposite him. She smirked when Paul did as she had said without another word and began to eagerly take it out of the packaging; he harboured a deep love for anything chocolate that was too strong to be denied.

"Jane?" he asked after a few seconds, pausing from munching on his chocolate cookie, "do you know those guys?" He pointed at the two men who were still talking to the same two girls, one of whom looked intrigued, while her friend had turned away to try to read her book again. She couldn't, however, as the taller lad with the quiff was now poking her book, while the other chuckled, but tried to get him to stop. Jane groaned in annoyance as she caught sight of them.

"You know them?"

She moaned, but nodded. "You get to know them soon enough. They're kind of hard to ignore. Well, John is. Stuart - the one with the sunglasses - he isn't that bad, really. He's quite sweet when you catch him alone, artistically talented too, and his girlfriend, Astrid her name is, is a nice enough girl, but when he's with John..." She shook her head and turned to glance over her shoulder to look at them. "I don't even know what they're doing here! Probably just trying to cause trouble again as always - John! Leave them girls alone!" She shouted that last directly at the two men, who looked up in confusion before a flicker of recognition flashed across the taller guy's - John, Paul now knew - face and a grin spread across his lips.

"Miss Asher! My beautiful water nymph! What are you in the library for? Classes have barely even started yet!" he cried out, in a tone that was a little too melodramatic to be truly funny, but Paul could not help the grin that involuntarily appeared on his own lips. The guy jumped off from the table he had been sitting on and nudged his friend to tell him to follow him, that same mischievous grin still on his lips.

"Don't bother with the niceties, Lennon. They won't work, as you well know. And some of us do actually work hard, in case you didn't know. Which begs the question what you are doing here," Jane called back at him, as she watched them come over.

"Ah! That's where you are mistaken, my dear. I value my studies highly. Just not in Nerd Central," John replied with a charming wink when he was close enough and turned to look at Paul, who was watching him with interest, wondering where Jane would know a guy like him from. He did not appear to be anyone whom Jane or her friends would be acquaintances with. And what was this "water nymph" business? "But never mind that," John continued after a brief moment of silence, "who is this handsome guy you've brought along, eh? New boyfriend?"

"I'm Paul. And we're just good friends," he quickly brought in before Jane could answer for him. He really was handsome, though, with almond-shaped eyes that shone darkly from under his thick-rimmed glasses, a strong jaw, and an aquiline nose. His hair, Paul now saw, was more auburn than brown and had a reddish shine to it as the light hit it, making it hard for him to look away.

"Good. I'm John. This is Stu," he nodded at his friend and paused for a moment as he took a second to look his new acquaintance up and down, as if unsure how to place him. "You look familiar. Those eyes... they're quite distinct."

"Impossible. I just moved here a few weeks ago. I'm a first year."

"You don't look like a first year. Couldn't you find the door or something?" John said with a jeering laugh, but Paul wasn't so easily intimidated and cocked his head at him as he leaned back in his chair, trying to assert some dominance, which made the other's eyes flash dangerously.

"Studied medicine before this, actually," he explained calmly, "back in Liverpool. I quit during my first year, took a gap year afterwards, and now here I am."

"Why? Subject too hard for you, pretty boy?"

"No. I found out that if I became a doctor, I'd be bound by oath to help stupid pricks like yourself as well, and thought I'd do more good for this world if I didn't."

"Oh, kitty's got claws, doesn't she?" John crooned and Paul started at his words, feeling a flush creep up to his cheeks, which he fought to repress. Before he could come up with a good comeback, however, Jane had mingled between them again.

"Do you want anything, Lennon? If not you might as well just leave," she said, and John tutted at her in disapproval, but kept his eyes firmly onto Paul's, looking at him with a gaze so intense, it made Paul squirm in his seat. He refused, however, to look away.

"Don't worry, Miss Asher. We don't plan on staying. Me and Stu here were simply giving out some flyers to advertise our monthly poetry night. You two want to come?" As he said this, reached for the stack of papers in his friend's arms and laid two of them down on the table for them. Curious, Paul took one, while Jane ignored hers.

"You already know my answer, Lennon," she said and John nodded with another one of his dramatic sighs.

"And it will not be the same without you, my dear, as you well know. How about you then, Doctor Big Eyes?" he asked, turning once more to Paul, who had been reading the flyer.

"You're a poet?" he asked instead of answering, ignoring the uncreative insult. John nodded as he bowed to him.

"John Winston Lennon, your most humble and ingenious juggler of words, at your service," he said in a not-so-humble tone of voice. Paul ignored him and looked back at the flyer in his hand. Although the design was rather cliché, with a vintage mic on the front and a red theatre curtain in the background and the usual cursive font, it looked pretty well-made. At the bottom of the flyer he could see John's and Stuart's names in bold cursive letters, as well as two others he had never heard of.

"You don't look like a poet," he remarked, throwing the man's own words back at him, as he glanced up at him and awaited his reaction. Sure enough, his lips twitched in annoyance and his hands bawled up into fists, but he failed to look truly intimidating.

"Well? Are you coming or not?" John asked through gritted teeth, clearly ticked off by his talking back at him. "It's this coming Thursday evening from 8 till 11 at the café next door to here. You can either listen or perform your own stuff, if you even have any. There's cheap booze as well."

Paul shrugged as he offered him his flyer back. "Couldn't even if I wanted to," he said as if that explained everything, and turned back to his book which still lay open in front of him, hoping the guy would leave. It was probably for the best the guy proved to be a total dick, though it would have been nice to meet a hot guy who didn't act like a jerk of once. He supposed George was right, his taste in men wasdespicable, and he shouldn't make that same mistake again. To his luck, John did as he had hoped and snatched the flyer from his hand, before turning around to leave, grabbing his friend by his wrist to drag him with him.

"Think it over sometime, Paul. Maybe you'll change your mind. See you around, Miss Asher," John grumbled bitterly and with that, the two men left, heading straight towards the stairs, which they hurriedly descended.

"Is he always like that?" Paul asked once he was certain the two men were out of earshot, keeping his eyes on them for a second longer, before he turned to Jane who was looking at him thoughtfully, one eyebrow raised.

"No," she said after a moment of consideration, "normally he's worse."

***

The troublesome poet remained on his mind for the rest of the afternoon, despite Paul's best efforts to forget about him and do his reading like he was supposed to. The thought of him even followed him into the supermarket and onto the bus home, leaving him restless. He didn't know why but for some reason he was doomed to only find guys attractive who were total assholes, and John Lennon was one of them, it seemed. He was terribly good-looking, and Paul could always appreciate a guy who wrote poetry or did anything artistic like that - he wrote songs himself, which he considered a type of poetry in itself, so it would have been great to have someone with whom he could share that passion - but, of course, the guy had to be an utter douchebag. It was a curse and terribly unfair.

As he mulled over his tragic fate in his mind, he climbed up the stairs to the fourth floor where his and George's flat was situated, the lift being out of order again, as it always seemed to be. The shopping bag felt heavy in his hand, having bought not only the requested milk (two cartons, mind you), but also some frozen veggies, a couple of bagels, and two bottles of apple cider, as well as a package of jelly beans for George, having figured he might as well, and he felt a great sense of relief once he finally reached the right floor. Taking his keys out of his schoolbag, he momentarily put both bags down and opened the door to his flat, where he was greeted by the unpleasant smell of old pizza and beer, as well as some loud and obscene curses, which told Paul the gaming tournament hadn't yet ended. Sighing, he heaved the bags inside and kicked the door shut before making his way into the living room where his suspicions were confirmed as he saw George and his friend Ringo sit on the edge of the couch, playing Mario Cart. At least now they were dressed, which Paul considered a blessing. Ringo appeared to be winning, having a smug and relaxed grin on his face, his bright blue eyes twinkling in delight, while George only cursed at the screen and called out various colourful profanities as he once again drove over a banana peel.

"I see you guys are having fun," Paul muttered as he put his schoolbag down on the floor and reached into the shopping bag to get out the jelly beans which he threw into his friend's lap, who cried out in joy.

"Jelly Beans! Thanks, Paul! You're the best- Oh fuck!" Hastily, he turned back to the race, where he had just knocked into a wall, causing Ringo to burst out laughing as he easily manoeuvred past the last of the obstacles and crossed the finish line first, much to George's frustration, who looked like he was about ready to throw his controller out of the window.

"I hate you!" he grumbled at Ringo, and punched him in the stomach in revenge, causing the poor man to double over, though he kept on laughing, seeming okay.

"Rematch? I'll even let you pick the track," Ringo suggested, and George narrowed his eyes at him, but gave in anyway and ripped the package of jelly beans open. He muttered something about needing something extra to help him along, and stuffed a couple into his mouth.

"Don't eat too many, Geo! I'll be making dinner soon! Richie, you're having dinner with us, right?" Paul warned as he began to kick off his shoes while checking his phone for any messages from Dot, but when George grumbled something inaudible back, he knew it was already too late.

"Don't worry, Paul. I don't think you can overeat when your stomach has been replaced by a black hole," Ringo said, laughing, which he quickly regretted when George hit him again. He, once again, doubled over again and gripped his stomach, while George continued to munch on his jelly beans. "I was going to let you win, you git, but now you can go fuck yourself for all I care. I'll come help you later, Paul. First, I need to ride George off the fucking Rainbow Road."

"What?! You said I could choose! I suck at Rainbow Road!"

"Exactly," he concluded and with that he selected said track, just to spite him. Paul chuckled at their bickering, and, shaking his head, grabbed the groceries and started to make his way to the kitchen to prepare dinner. He was in the need for some good food, which at the moment meant some simple pasta with tomato sauce, because it was easy and quick to make and not too expensive, which were the three crucial ingredients of good food when you were a poor student living away from home, who spend way too much money on other things, such as clothes and pretty editions of books and LPs. Besides, pasta was simply delicious and no one could tell him otherwise.

Once he had put the groceries away, washed his hands and got some water boiling for the pasta - a mixture of penne and fusilli because they didn't have enough of one kind - Ringo, who had once again been victorious, judging by the angry shouts coming from the living room, came into the kitchen to help. Paul made him cut up the onions, tomatoes and other veggies, while he himself made the sauce and grated some cheese to go on top. They had almost finished when George came in, a couple of jelly beans stuffed in his mouth and a piece of paper in his hand.

"Macca? What's this?" he asked, waving it around above his head to catch his attention. Paul frowned when his eyes landed on the flyer, recognising it immediately.

"How did you get that?"

"It was sticking out of your bag. I've heard about these poetry nights. They're pretty good, or so they say. Are you going?"

"No. Some asshole gave me one, which I handed back, damn him! He must have secretly put it in my bag when I didn't notice. Ugh!" Paul took the flyer from his friend, which he crumpled up and unceremoniously threw into the bin.

"But I thought you liked pretentious shit like this. You know, listening to snobby, edgy, emo kids reciting their amateur existentialist poetry and all that. If you don't have anyone to bring along..." George offered, staring at his friend, as if unable to belief he would say 'no' to anything like this.

"It's not always like that, George. There's some stuff that's really good! And it'd be fun to go, but not if it means running into that guyagain. You wouldn't say this if you had been there, you know. The guy was a real asshole and I already told him I wouldn't come, so who knows what he'd think or say when I'd show up anyway! He's bound to be there..."

"Who cares!"

"Well, I'm not going to let him have that satisfaction!"

"You're seriously going to let this guy ruin a fun evening for you? That doesn't sound like you. So what if he's there?! You don't have to talk to him, do you? And if he does start bothering you, just tell him to stuff it! Besides, it'd be good for you to do something fun and relaxing and go out for once. Even Dr Collins told you so, remember?"

"I don't need some shrink to tell me when I should and shouldn't be having fun, Geo. Besides, Dot and I always meet on skype Thursday evening, so I couldn't go even if I wanted to. Let's just forget about it, okay. Dinner is ready," Paul concluded and with that the conversation had ended. The three of them all got their food and George made sure to grab them all something to drink, before they headed back into the living room and took a seat on the couch. Ringo let George pick something for them all to watch, which Paul supposed was reconciliation for having beaten him so often at Mario Kart and whatever other games they had played that day, and soon they were watching telly and having their dinner while George and Ringo spoke about all sorts of things, such as George's new super-hot girlfriend, Pattie.

Paul mostly kept out of the conversation and sat quietly on the other side of the couch, staring at his food as he ate, not feeling in the mood for any social interaction all of a sudden, which happened from time to time. The telly was loud, but he ignored it, and thought about Dot. What was she doing? Why wasn't she texting him? Did she still look as pretty as she had done when she had wished him goodbye at the train station? Was she happy? Was she waiting for a message as well? Should he text her? Or was she busy with other things? Did she have someone else? Shaking the thought of her from his mind, he instead forced himself to talk to his friends, needing the distraction.

"Hey, Geo? Did you manage to talk to our neighbour yet?" he asked once George and Ringo stopped talking for a moment. He couldn't have chosen a better topic, for as soon as the word 'neighbour' passed his lips, George sat up and went off into a tantrum, that made Paul grin in amusement.

"No! The bastard has been out all day! Or he won't open up, which would make it even worse! Like, I'm starting to doubt there's even anyone living there, to be honest. Who is out that many times a day?! It's ridiculous! But of course, for some reason he does manage to find the time to steal from us! Fucking bastard," he grumbled, and angrily pricked some pasta onto his fork to get some of that frustration out of his system, which made Paul feel somewhat relieved their neighbour wasn't home right now with his friend being in a mood like this.

"Wait someone has been stealing for you guys?" Ringo asked, eyes wide in surprise. Paul opened his mouth to explain, but before he could, George had thrown down his fork and was already talking at a speed that made it hard for the other two of follow what he was talking about.

"Yes! Someone has been stealing our internet. I am certain of it, because our connection has been incredibly slow lately and when I looked at the device list of our router, I saw some unknown device on it - dirty name, of course. Me and Paul have been asking people about it for over a week now, and we still haven't found the guy! The only person left is our neighbour, but he never seems to be home, which I think is highly suspicious!"

"He is like a ghost. All we hear is music coming through the walls at ungodly hours. A bang or two is usually enough to get him to shut up, though, but he never answers the door. George sees that as an admittance of guilt," Paul brought in with some intense nodding on George's part. Ringo, however, didn't seem to impressed by the serious crime that was being committed right under their noses.

"So? Just change your password," he suggested and Paul grinned at him as he shook his head.

"We've tried that."

"Multiple times," George added, "it's like he can read my mind or something!"

"Well? Who is your neighbour?" Ringo asked and both Paul and George shrugged.

"We've never seen him. According to the neighbours it's a guy, but they've never spoken to him. Descriptions don't go much further than that. They've only even seen him in the dark when he comes home."

"We might need to call the landlord if he hasn't been seen by the end of the week. Before something starts to smell, you know," Paul suggested and George agreed with a voice that sounded a little too excited about the prospect, while Ringo only chuckled, muttering something about them having wild imaginations, which Paul couldn't deny.

A/N: This is the first part of my fic for the McLennon Big Bang 2017! There will be seven chapters in total which I will post whenever I get one finished, because I'm well-organised like that. Before anyone asks, I will be posting A&O still (of course), which will be up again every Monday again as per usual. Sorry for the lack of fics and updates coming out lately. University has just been incredibly busy, so that's why, but things are much quieter again now. I hope you'll like this fic. Don't forget to vote and leave comments! I live for them :D

A/N: Also, check out my professional-looking book cover!