Paul knew George was right; he was going to have to tell John about him one day and the longer he was going to put it off, the more difficult it would become. In the end, it would probably be for the best, seeing as either John would show his support and they'd live happily ever after (so to speak), meaning Paul wouldn't have to worry anymore, or John would break up with him and he wouldn't be wasting his time dating someone who was never going to accept him the way he was. However, this didn't mean Paul was looking forward to the conversation, but he was aware he ought to do it sooner rather than later, especially because John was bound to find out by himself someday and he wasn't sure he'd ever be ready for that fight. He could be brutal and if he wasn't happy about this news about his boyfriend, Paul wasn't sure if he'd mentally survive it, especially if John thought he was lying to him on purpose or trying to trick him or whatever his mind would come up with in his anger. He didn't want John to feel betrayed. Thus, Paul decided, he was going to have to tell John. The sooner the better.

His back still felt sore from that previous day, so Paul decided to only wear a pair of pyjama bottoms and a loose shirt, not bothering with proper clothes or with his binder and packer, wanting to lessen the pressure on his body for a little while and give himself some time to relax. Everybody probably thought he was ill anyway, with the way he had left yesterday, and he didn't plan on going out or meeting up with anyone anyway, so this was the perfect moment for it. He did take a brief shower, went downstairs for breakfast, which he had in the back garden while his father took care of his lavender plants now the rain had finally stopped, and preceded to go back to his room to come up with a plan to come out to John. He turned on the radio, which his father had installed in his room so he and Mike could listen to comedy shows while he would listen to sport commentaries, adjusted the channel, and sat down behind his little desk that was placed under the window so he could look outside while he worked. He opened his notebook on a blank page, grabbed a pencil and indulged himself as he wrote on the top of the page with grand letters: Mission Blackbird. He chuckled at his own childish stupidity, but no one would ever see it anyway, so who cared?

The music coming from his radio played softly while Paul worked, and occasionally the lad would hum along when one of his favourite songs would come on. It helped with keeping his spirits up while he thought of a way to tell John that he was trans, which at times was rather stressful; the doom scenarios were often one of the first things to pop into his head. The end result was a rather simple plan, but still Paul was glad he had worked it out. He would tell John the next time he'd see him. He'd ask him to come over his house when his father and brother were away - he didn't want them to accidentally interrupt anything, and neither did he want them around if John would get angry at him - and have him sit down on the bed, as he would stand at a safe distance on the other side of the room. He would have him promise him not to get mad at him, so John knew it was serious, and then he'd simply say it. Just like that. "John, I'm transgender." Or something along those lines that sounded less robotic. He would simply say it and then it was up to John to decide what to do with the information.

Or maybe it was a good idea to have his father around, so he could interfere if John would get angry or violent with him, but Paul doubted that would happen. John wouldn't hurt him. Not horribly at least. A punch in the face, he could deal with. But maybe? Just in case? Paul shook his head, closed his notebook and laid his pencil down on top it before pushing it away from him. He had to stick to this idea, however crap the idea was. John wouldn't hurt him. Even George had told him John wouldn't get mad at him, and he knew how to read people. If only it was as easy to believe for himself. With a frustrated groan, he let his head fall onto his desk.

The doorbell rang, and at first Paul didn't even react; his father and brother were home, they could open the door. He only continued to sit there with his head resting on the wooden desk as he silently cursed himself. When the person at the door rang again, he raised his head enough to make himself audible as he shouted at his brother in the other room across the landing.

"Mike! The door!" he said, before dropping his head again. Mike, who was in his own room doing things Paul wasn't sure he ever wanted to know about, shouted back at him to get it himself. He was busy, or so he claimed, but Paul didn't buy it. The person rang again.

"Mike! Don't be a lazy pig and open the door! Dad's in the garden!"

"No!" Mike shouted back and Paul groaned, before lifting his head up all the way with a deep sigh, hoping that the person at their front door had a bloody good reason to be this persistent. When the bell rang again, he lost it and got up from his seat and made his way downstairs to open the door, having had enough of that horrid sound of the doorbell ringing over and over again. He had been ready to greet the person with an annoyed "What?!", but when he pulled the door open and saw who actually stood behind it, he could only stare in surprise for a moment.

"John!" he cried out at last, flushing as he realised he was still very much under dressed and not wearing his damn binder! Right away, as if on instinct, he hunched over slightly, hollowing his back to hide his chest from John's eyes, not wanting him to see. "Er... what are you doing here?"

His boyfriend frowned at him as he looked him up and down a couple of times, looking rather surprised for whatever reason, and Paul offered him a nervous smile in return. In his hand, Paul now saw, he was holding two guitars, one of which was his. When the older man saw him looking at it, he offered it to him.

"You forgot this at my place yesterday, so I er... I thought I'd pay my man a visit and give it back and maybe try to cheer him up and make him feel a little better, but it seems that that won't be necessary anymore," John explained, and Paul flushed as he took his guitar from John with trembling fingers, having briefly forgotten that John had thought he was actually ill.

"Yeah, I er... I'm feeling much better, actually. I think I just needed to catch up on some sleep," he quickly lied.

"Oh good," John said, nodding in understanding and Paul nodded with him as he started to stroke the strings of his guitar, needing to have something to do to calm him down a little. "So, are you still going to let me in, or what?"

"Oh, yes! Yes, of course. Hi," Paul muttered awkwardly as he stepped aside to let his boyfriend in, smiling when John closed the door behind himself and cupped Paul's cheek in his hand to place a gentle kiss to his lips, causing Paul's heart to flutter.

"I'm glad you're feeling well again. You kind of had me worried, you know," John whispered as he pulled away, and Paul reached up to run his fingers to John's hair as he nodded.

"I'm alright, John."

"It's just, you've been getting sick a lot lately. You sure everything's okay?"

"Yes, John. I promise you I'm good."

"And if something was wrong, you'd tell me, right?" John asked, and Paul chuckled at that as he nodded, looking John directly in the eye as he stroked the man's cheek with his thumb. He leaned into his boyfriend's touch when John wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him closer.

"You'll be the first to know, love. I promise. Now, I'm going to go upstairs and change into something else, and you can go to the kitchen and get yourself a cup of tea or something. My dad will make you some, I'm sure," Paul said as he leaned in to give John another little peck on the lips. John grinned back mischievously in return.

"You know, I could come up with you and help you get out of these clothes," he suggested, tugging at them to illustrate his point, and Paul laughed at that as he shook his head.

"Sorry, Johnny, but not with both my father and Mike at home. Just be a good boy and wait for me, yeah?" he asked, and John groaned, but nodded anyway, so Paul rewarded him with another kiss, causing a little smile to appear on John's lips. As soon as he broke the kiss, he wiggled himself free from his grasp and pulled away from him, before hurrying upstairs to get changed and put on his binder, dragging his guitar up with him. Maybe, Paul thought as he put his guitar aside, he could come out to John today and get it over with. He just hoped he wouldn't get angry with him.

Making sure to hurry up and not make John wait, he grabbed his tightest pair of jeans and a simple white shirt, and squirmed himself into his binder, trying his hardest to ignore the complaints of his aching back. He still felt uncomfortable in it, the ache in his back not having gone completely, but he forced himself to put it on, not wanting to have John find out quite like that. He was going to be surprised enough without all of those things, Paul figured, and the last thing he wanted was scare him away. Once it was on, it wasn't even as bad anymore, so he figured he would be fine as long as John didn't stay too long. Next, he put on his packer and clothes, styled his hair into that Elvis quiff, and gave himself one last quick look over in the mirror, before hurrying back downstairs and to the kitchen where John would be waiting for him.

"Looking good, Macca," John said as Paul entered the kitchen and in return, Paul made a little courteous bow to show his thankfulness, causing John to snicker. His boyfriend was sitting at the kitchen table, mug of tea in his left hand as he was going through Mike's photos which his brother had left there this morning. He looked beautiful as he sat there, thick-rimmed glasses on his nose, a soft smile on his handsome features as he looked back at said pictures, his usual wall down, allowing Paul to see all of him rather than mere glimpses, which didn't happen as often as Paul would have liked. He found himself smiling at the sight of his boyfriend and felt himself falling in love with his a little bit more right there and then. Soon, though, the wonderful feeling was replaced by the feeling of dread, making his body shiver at the cold chill that ran up his spine at the thought of ever losing this man, making him wish he never needed to tell him about his little secret in the fear that it would ruin everything. His knees were trembling when Paul walked over to his boyfriend and his hand shook as he laid it on the back of John's chair, his fingertips grazing his shoulder.

"I love his picture," the man in question said, glancing up at him as he held up one of Mike's pictures for Paul to see. Paul reluctantly tried smiling back at him, and nodded as he looked at the picture in John's hand, the flattery of John liking one of his pictures only causing his nerves to get worse. But he had to tell John. He could do it now; his father was outside, his brother upstairs in his room, no one would bother them. This was his chance.

"John-" he started, but his voice broke off when he saw John folding the photo and sticking it into the pocket of his jeans. When he saw Paul looking, he only winked at him. "Did you just steal my brother's picture?"

"No?" John tried, but when Paul gave him a look, he added, "I stole your picture."

"You're a horrible man," Paul replied with a laugh, shaking his head in disapproval.

"You won't tell, will you?"

"Nah, not yet. After all, I can't pass up this opportunity to blackmail you, can I? Still, it's nice knowing who's actually been stealing his photos. He always blames me," Paul said with a fake pout, and John pretended to feel bad for him by letting out an emphatic little moan, as he put away the photos and reached out for him, taking his hands into his own as he pulled him to him, making him sit in his lap with his legs on either side, straddling him. Paul let himself be moved with a happy giggle, liking it when John was this touchy-feely with him, and sighed as John wrapped his arms around him, trailing his finger up and down his lower back rather soothingly.

"At least you know it's for a good cause now. Besides, in a way it is kind of your fault," John with an amused smile as he watched Paul cock in his head cutely to the side at that, making him look even more like a puppy than he already did.

"What? Why?" Paul asked.

"Because if you weren't so beautiful, I wouldn't feel the need to steal those pictures your brother takes of you. I like looking at you before I fall asleep," John replied. Paul shook his head again in disapproval, pretending John's words didn't flatter him as much as they did.

"I'm not sure if that's supposed to be creepy or cute."

"How about both?"

"Yeah, okay. We'll go with both," Paul said, and with that, John leaned up and pressed a small kiss to Paul's lips, catching him half off guard, which caused him to let out a tiny little moan in reply, before his lips curled up in a love-struck smile. When they broke apart, however, the blissful feeling slowly faded and Paul needed to take a deep breath before he spoke.

"Johnny," he tried once more, but again John interrupted him.

"Can I ask you something, Macca?"

Paul blinked a few times before nodding. "Sure."

"It's nothing serious. It's just... I've always wondered who that girl is in that picture of your family. You know, the one with your mum and dad and Mike," John asked, nodding with his head into the direction of the one proper family photo that the McCartneys had hanging around the house, right above the kitchen table. Paul glanced up at it and felt his throat get dry for a moment. It was an old picture, taken when he and Mike had only been children - he himself couldn't have been older than four or five. It had been taken in front of their house, with him on his mother's lap and Mike by his father's side. As Paul remembered it, the sun had been shining brightly that day, which explained their somewhat serious-looking expressions.

He didn't often look at the photo. It had been one of the few good family photos with all four of them in it, which is why his father had wanted to hang it up after his mother's passing, but he didn't like looking at it. He had still had his long hair, and had been wearing light blue dress with a pattern of tiny white flowers. Back then, he already hated having to wear it, but his father always insisted on it when they needed to go out or had family over, which Paul supposed had been the case at the time of the picture.

His mother had always been more lenient, not really caring how her children dressed as long as they felt good about themselves, but even she insisted on him dressing up properly for church or parties. It hadn't been until he had been about nine or ten that she had allowed him to wear boy's clothing to such things, or at least when she had been able to convince his father to let him do so. Although he hadn't had a bad childhood, it were things like that, that made him feel glad he wasn't a kid anymore and made him avoid looking at pictures of himself as a child as much as possible. It wasn't hard to guess who John meant with "that girl".

"Paul?" John asked after a long moment of silence, and Paul jerked awake at the sound of his voice.

"Oh! Her. Right. She er... she's my cousin," he lied. He immediately regretted that, knowing it would have been a good moment to come out to John like he had intended to do not a second before John had asked about 'her'.

"Your cousin?" Paul found himself nodding. "You two really look alike, you know. I don't think I've ever seen her, have I?"

"No. She er... we haven't seen her for a long time. She was family from my mother's side and after her parents split, we didn't see her often anymore. Especially not after Mum passed away."

"Oh... I see."

"Anyway. It's not really important. It was one of the only good portraits with Mum we had, so Dad put it up."

"Then why aren't you in it? Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen a picture of you as a child," John asked, sounding genuinely interested. Paul shrugged and quickly tried coming up with an excuse, mentally cursing himself for running his mouth like that.

"I must have run off somewhere. I used to do that a lot. I didn't much like getting my picture taken. I just thought it was annoying and I was never good at sitting still. Anyway, it's not important. Let's do something fun, yeah?" Paul suggested as he jumped off John's lap with faked enthusiasm, really not feeling comfortable talking to John about this and having to keep lying to him about it. Luckily, John seemed to go for the bait and laughed as he got up as well.

"I haven't even finished my tea!" he objected, but Paul only shrugged as he grinned at his boyfriend.

"Just take it upstairs with you. And don't forget your guitar!" he said, and before John could object, he turned on his heels and started hurrying back up to his room, feeling somewhat relieved when he heard John running after him.

Upstairs, John and Paul locked themselves into Paul's little bedroom and took a seat on his bed with their guitars in their laps, their knees knocking together as they faced each other and played through a couple of their favourite songs to get in the mood. Paul did Twenty Flight Rock on John's request - the song he had played for him the day they had first met - and in turn John played Come Go with Me, wanting to keep with the theme. Slowly, Paul felt himself relax again a little and his nerves gradually ebbed away as they played together, their voices melting together in perfect harmony. He had always loved singing with John, just the two of them. John had described it once as making love, and if this was all the making love Paul could get, he was going to take it with both hands.

Paul understood it though, why John could call it that; the way the tremor of the music travelled through their bodies, their synchronised breathing, the sound of their two voices in harmony, dancing together, around each other and with the other, the sound of it caressing them as their hands stroked their guitars, creating sweet soft music that would make its way into both of their bodies, and how they would look at each other, sharing this one little look, both unable to look away again, until by the end of it, their cheeks would flush and their breathing turned heavy. It was intimate, erotic in a sense, something only the two of them shared in the privacy of their own rooms, and it connected them like nothing else had before. It was as close to perfection as they could get, and Paul loved every single second of it.

They played some more songs and tried writing some of their own, occasionally bursting out into laughter at something the other said or did, and Paul slowly started to believe that John would accept him no matter what, the thought calming his nerves. He tried to regather strength and bravery, wanting to come out to John and have it over and done with, but still fearing his reaction. John must have noticed him worrying, for when they finished their song, he reached out and placed a reassuring hand on his knee, giving him a little squeeze to get his attention. When Paul looked up at him, however, John didn't speak. Instead, he put his guitar aside and leaned in to capture his mouth in tender kiss, pulling at Paul's lips with his own, and smiling as Paul gave into it and let himself melt into the wonderful feeling. Gently, John pried Paul's guitar from his fingers and put it away as well, carefully laying it down onto the floor beside his own, as he shuffled closer to Paul and cradled the younger boy's cheek in his hand. When Paul pulled away from him, he searched for his eyes and Paul stared back into his for a moment before leaning in himself to return the kiss. He let out a tiny little moan as John drew him closer, allowing their bodies to touch as he cocked his head and deepened the kiss.

Paul let him guide it, liking it when John would take control, and relaxed into it all, allowing his body to slump against John's as their kiss deepened and their tongues curled together. For a moment, he thought of breaking the kiss and telling John then, knowing he wasn't going to come out to him if he kept putting it off, but then John wrapped his arms around him and slowly pulled him down onto the bed with him. Paul giggled as he felt them tumbling down until he was lying on top of John, one of his legs between the other man's and his previous intentions forgotten. John opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Paul had already kissed him again, eager for more.

"Hmm... I love you so much, you know that," John muttered against his boyfriend's lips, and let out a little whine of disappointment when Paul pulled back, much to the latter's amusement.

"You'd better love me. Or else you won't be getting anymore kisses," Paul teased, and John rolled his eyes at that, before he tangled his fingers into Paul's hair and pulled him down for another kiss to silence him. Paul let him without a word, feeling his body get hot as John's hands started to wander, caressing his sides, his arms, his shoulder blades, and lowering themselves to rest on his arse, giving him a firm squeeze.

"I'm hoping I'll get more than just kisses in the future, Macca," John muttered before rolling them over so he was the one on top, keeping their mouths connected all the while to drink in all of Paul's little noises of surprise, loving every single one of them. Paul had long stopped worrying about being noisy whenever they did this, knowing John liked it. When the latter finally pulled away, both men were out of breath and panting. Paul looked up into John's almond eyes and sighed as he reached up to stroke his cheek with the back of his hands, feeling so incredibly lucky to have him.

"I could do this forever, you know," John whispered, and Paul smiled at that, tugging a lock of hair behind his boyfriend's ear as he took in all of his handsome features, wanting to remember every single one of them forever, until he could draw his face in perfect detail from memory alone.

"I'm not going to stop you," he replied, and they stared into each other's eyes a moment longer, breathing in each other's air, before Paul leaned up and placed a tentative kiss to John's lips, feeling them tremble against his own. "I love you, too," he whispered, and, in reply, John kissed him again, slipping his tongue between Paul's parted lips as he let his eyes fall close and let himself melt against the man beneath him. Paul pulled him closer to him, wrapping his arms around his neck to hold him in place and to make sure he wouldn't pull away again, needing to feel John close now that he still could.

They kissed for a while, each kiss turning more and more passionate and sloppy, their want getting the better of them as they enjoyed each other and their closeness, neither feeling like ending this any time soon. They had moved more to the middle of the bed, both having feared they would fall off if they didn't, and they didn't want Mike to come in at the sound of them crashing to the floor and see them like this. This was private, personal, just the two of them and no one else. Besides, the pain it would probably cause wasn't too appealing either. John was still lying on top of Paul, his one hand tangled into his boyfriend's hair as the other pulled at Paul's thigh, caressing him through the material of his jeans, as Paul pulled at his shirt, refusing to let go of him for even a second, as he ran his leg up and down John's and kissed back with as much fervour he could muster.

His vision was blurred, clouded by the intense feeling of happiness and arousal as they moved and kissed, and all he could see was the light brown colour of John's eyes when they would occasionally pull apart for air, but that was all he'd ever want to see anyway, so he didn't mind. His mind was getting fuzzier by the minute too and he found it getting harder and harder to control himself, feeling the strange need to drown himself into John, let himself be consumed by him and become one with him.

When he felt John's hand sliding higher up his inner thigh, though, all that quickly vanished and when his hand started to get even more curious and get too close to his crotch, Paul's hand shot down and wrapped itself tightly around his boyfriend's wrist, catching both of them by surprise. Their kiss broke at Paul's sudden movement and for a moment they could only look at each other, before Paul regained the ability to speak.

"No," was all he could get out of his mouth.

"Paul-"

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. Of course, it's okay."

"John-" Paul tried, but John shook his head and pulled his hand away. He sat up on the bed and Paul followed his example and sat up as well, feeling guilt creep up on him at the look of hurt in his boyfriend's eyes.

"Paul, love, you don't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with," John said nonetheless, and Paul believed it. Of course, he did. John had never done anything that he wasn't comfortable with or didn't want to do, and even now, one and a half years later, they still hadn't had sex and he was always supportive of that. Paul knew he was lucky, he knew many men would have left him as soon as they realised he wasn't going to give it up as soon as they would've liked. He would have been okay with it, too, if him not being ready yet had been the reason for why he kept refusing him. But it wasn't.

"I'm sorry," Paul repeated, although he wasn't sure if he was talking to John or himself, and looked down in shame, feeling his cheeks heat up at the awkwardness that now hung around them. He only looked up when he felt one of John's fingers on his chin, angling his face up to meet his eye. He smiled down at him.

"You don't have to be sorry, Paul. I can wait. I don't mind," he said in a gentle and soothing voice, and Paul nodded at that.

"You sure you don't mind?" he couldn't help but ask, not being sure what answer he was hoping for.

"Yes, Paul. If I wanted to have sex with someone, I would have gone after Eric or something! It's not about that. I love you, okay?" he asked, and Paul nodded again as he took a deep breath and forced himself to smile. He wondered if he ought to say something now. It would be a good moment to explain. John could understand why he kept saying "no" then, because it wasn't what John was thinking. He didn't want to say no. He longed to know what it would be like... with John. He just had no other choice. He didn't even know if John would want to do it with him if he knew... The thought almost caused him to have a panic attack.

"Come on, Macca. Let's get out of the house for a while, yeah? Some fresh air might do you some good," John said, sliding off the bed, before offering Paul his hand to help him up, looking rather worrisome. Paul nodded and found that he was shaking as he took John's hand and let himself be pulled up. Perhaps John was right. Perhaps some fresh air would be exactly what he needed. And when they'd get back, he'd tell him. He was going to have to.

Outside, however, Paul wasn't doing much better. John had been right, though. At first the fresh air had done him some good: it had made him feel calmer, more grounded and less nervous, even his hands had stopped shaking. He had tried to get his body to relax, but as soon as they got off the bus in the centre of the city, he felt his nerves get the better of him again. It was busy on the streets, the warm weather having driven most people out of their homes and into the parks and the shops and the little coffeehouses to enjoy the exceptionally warm weather, the sun being a nice change from the usual grey sky that was always filled with rain clouds. He and John walked down the streets holding hands, not caring if anybody saw, and made their way to NEMS record shop to see if there was anything new and interesting for them to have a look at, and potentially "buy" - Paul knew John meant steal, but that was not the point, according to John. Paul, however, failed to see why he'd then call it "buy", if it didn't matter anyway, but he had some more pressing matters on his mind than simple technicalities, like phrasings of sentences and meanings of words.

Everywhere they went, he had the feeling that people were watching them, or more specifically him. He feared the idea that they might run into someone who knew Paul from the time he had lived in Speke, when he had still been known as "Jessie", rather than Paul. Of course, he had started to adopt his second name "Paul" there too, but not everyone had been as understanding. It wasn't something he would usually worry about. Most of them simply went out of his way or Paul would go out of theirs and it was only rarely that he'd happen to run into someone. But for some reason, with him needing and wanting to tell John but putting it off, and John's questions and concerns and little observations, he felt himself worry that someone would recognise him and say something. Or that they would run into someone seemingly harmless, but they would misgender him or call him by his old name by mistake. He didn't want John to find out by himself or on accident. He wanted to be the one to tell him. He wanted to be honest with him. But to do that, he needed to stop being a coward and actually do it, which was easier said than done.

His pace slowed as he shrunk into himself, his worries growing and his confidence lessening, making him fall behind on his boyfriend, his hand slipping from his grasp. The thoughts of something going wrong plagued his mind, causing him to look around himself every alternative step and jump at every noise and tense up when he thought he could hear someone call his name, either one of them. It didn't take long for John to notice how badly he was doing, and he halted for a moment as he turned around to look at his boyfriend with a concerned frown, clearly wondering what was wrong with him.

"Paul?" he asked, his voice gentle but worried. "Are you alright, love?"

"Yeah... yeah... I'm fine," Paul replied as his fingers started to fumble with the hem of his shirt. He nodded and forced a smile as he quickly hurried over to John to catch up with him, not having quite realised how far behind he had fallen. When he was close enough, John wrapped an arm around his shoulder and held him close as he guided them to the record shop, which luckily wasn't too far away anymore. But whereas normally John's hold on him would have soothed him, now it only caused Paul to tense up even more, the idea John not being willing to accept him slipping into his mind again. He subconsciously gripped John's arm a little tighter.

Once they got into the record shop, and the door fell closed behind him, Paul felt a sudden rush of relief in his body, making him relax again and breathe normally, being glad to be on safe and familiar grounds again. John gently squeezed him once more as he looked down at him and Paul smiled - genuinely this time - to let him know he was feeling much better. John nodded in return and together they walked to the section of the store where all the new arrivals were placed. They barely spoke a word as they flipped through all the records, occasionally pulling one out to see what the other thought. Once they had a few, they went into one of the listening booth together and listened to them all, before coming back out to put the disliked ones back and keep the records they had liked, before the whole affair started over again.

Paul always loved doing this with John. He could get lost in the shop for days, just listening to all the great new music, finding little gems for the band to play and making silly jokes with John. It was nice, the shop being warm, the people nice, and the music even better. For a moment, he even forgot about all his problems; he didn't even care about needing to come out to John anymore for a brief moment. Music was and always would be an escape for him, and he wasn't sure where he'd be without it. For John it was the same, which made doing this even better. They understood each other.

He did notice that John was still worried about him, though. He occasionally caught him looking at him, staring at him thoughtfully as they went through all the different albums and singles, as if he didn't really trust him and knew something was wrong, but not what. Paul wished he'd stop, his concern only making it more difficult for Paul to enjoy himself.

"Paul, dear, are you sure you are feeling okay?" John finally asked after they'd been looking through records for nearly an hour and a half, and Paul sighed in reply as he turned to look at John.

"Do I look like I'm not feeling okay?" he asked, and winced internally as it came out more catty than he would have liked it to. He fought the urge to flush and turned back to the records.

"Well, yes," John said, and Paul let out a groan. Of course he didn't look okay. He wasn't okay. Him not looking okay was the main reason why John thought he wasn't doing okay in the first place. He was so stupid. God, he wished his mind would shut up.

"John, I'm fine."

"You're not fine. Something is bothering you. You know you can tell me anything right?" John asked, and Paul swallowed thickly at that last, wishing he could be so certain of that as John was. But John didn't know. Immediately, his heart started thumping in his chest.

"I know, John," he said nonetheless, raising a trembling hand to push some hair from his face, gasping at his saw it and quickly grabbing the wood of the crates in which the records were displayed to steady it. John, however had already noticed.

"You're shaking."

"I'm fine!"

"Paul-"

"I'm fine."

"I wish you wouldn't lie to me. I can see you're not fine. You haven't been fine for a while now, Paul, and I do worry about you, believe it or not. I wish you'd talk to me."

"It's not like I don't want to talk to you."

"Then do!" Paul glanced up at his boyfriend at that, and opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind at the last moment. He shook his head and looked away again. John laid his hand over his, and Paul was shocked at the way his body tensed at such a familiar touch.

"Paul, if this is about the sex-thing," John finally said in a hushed voice, not wanting anyone else to hear what they were discussing, but Paul quickly shook his head.

"It's not the sex-thing," he muttered, and winced when John raised his voice at him.

"Then what, Paul?!" he spat, and a few heads turned in surprise at his sudden outburst, causing John to flush a light pink as he took a deep breath to calm himself before he turned around to lean against the crates and stayed quiet for a moment until most people had gone back to whatever they were doing. "I shouldn't have yelled at you," he said, but Paul shrugged.

"Just leave it, John," he said, but as he had already feared, John wasn't about to give in.

"I want to help you."

"You can't," he snapped back at him, and with that, he turned to walk away, feeling how his emotions suddenly started to get ahead of him, tears burning behind his eyes, wishing he could just tell him. If only he wasn't so damn scared of losing him. God, he hated himself. He was pathetic.

Deciding he could do with some fresh air, Paul walked out of the shop and leaned against the brick wall as he got a cigarette from his pocket. He placed it between his lips, lit it, and smoked in silence as he thought about what had happened. He wasn't sure how long he could keep this up with John, how long he could keep on lying and avoiding the subject. He hated lying to John. He was his boyfriend, he deserved the truth, about everything, and yet here he was, smoking outside a record shop by himself because he refused to tell John what was bothering him, despite John clearly being worried about him. He was a crap boyfriend. Perhaps John deserved someone better. Someone without all the extra trouble. Someone...normal.

Paul sighed and shook his head, telling himself he shouldn't think like that. In his mind, he could hear George telling him that. His friend was great like that, always being able to make him feel better about himself and who he was, even when he wasn't there. But if John knew... A small smile appeared on his lips as he thought of all the sweet ways John would make sure he'd feel comfortable and happy. How great he'd be at it too, considering that most of the time he could already do that without knowing what was actually wrong. John deserved so much better them him. Perhaps he should just not bother and break it off. He didn't deserve someone like John.

"Macca?" Paul quickly wiped away a tear from his eye at the sound of John's voice. "Are you crying?"

"No." Paul started laughing at his own stubbornness. John however, didn't laugh with him. Instead, he carefully approached him, keeping a safe distance to respect Paul's private space, something Paul was grateful for, with that way he was feeling about himself. Again, John knew exactly what to do and he didn't even know what was going on. He let out a little sob at that last.

"Paulie..." John said, and gently reached out for him, giving him enough time to pull away if he wanted to, before he wrapped an arm around him, pulling him against his chest. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Why are you feeling like this?" he asked, but Paul shook his head. He couldn't say it. Not now. Not with all these people around.

"Was it something I said?" John asked, and Paul let out a sad chuckle between his quiet sobs as he shook his head again. "Then what?"

"C-can... can w-we go home?" Paul stammered finally, and John nodded at that, pulling Paul away from the wall and allowing him to lean on him as he started to guide him away from the record store and back towards the bus station, and Paul couldn't help but smile at the loving way John was treating him. If only he deserved it.