Fic: The Art 2/?
Title: The Art, Part 2- Meet Paul
Author: imabeatlemaniac
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Modern AU, set in London not Liverpool, some OOC, talk of suicide
Disclaimer: I own nothing here, because, alas, I do not own a Beatle.
Paul's alarm went off and he peeled his eyes open, it was five o'clock and he needed to get up. He groaned and turned the alarm off, dragging himself out of bed. The semi-darkness of working class London kept him busy.
He stilled lived at home, his father had agreed to let him stay there through college. Paul wished he could live on campus but he could barely afford going to school let alone living there.
He threw on a pair of faded jeans and a green sweater. He wasn't about to take any chances, it looked like rain. He laced up his sneakers, he needed a new pair soon, the soles were almost worn through. He doubted he could afford it though, working part time at a strange little coffee shop didn't really give him much pocket money, and shoes were expensive. He considered stopping by the thrift shop not far from where he worked and get a "decent" pair of shoes.
He sighed and ran a hand through his shoulder length hair. He pulled it back and tied it. He put on his rain coat and left. He could do some thinking while he walked.
He was in college now. How in the world he was affording it was something he couldn't fathom. He was one of those people who was in school not knowing what to become. It was ridiculous and he knew it. He really needed to figure out what to do with his life. He sighed, this wasn't the time to contemplate what profession he wanted to be.
His mother had wanted him to become a doctor. She had been a nurse herself and for a while Paul had contemplated doing that for a while. But his mother's death stopped that idea. If those stupid doctors couldn't fucking save her life..... well Paul didn't want to be one.
Mary's death had been a real blow to Paul. He had receded emotionally and become very distant. There was a lot of walking on egg shells around him at that time. Looking back it seemed that Mike and his father were waiting for Paul to kill himself.
Paul wasn't denying that he had considered it. Not in the least. But he was never fully committed to the idea. When he got his job. It was a welcome break, before it turned into monotony. Then he relapsed again into his emotionally repressed state.
He never fully recovered emotionally from his mother's death, he just never had. So he wasn't always 'there' in a sense, at least not emotionally. He tried his best, but his mother's death had showed him how much people can hurt each other, at least inadvertently.
He wished Mike would stop trying to drop out of school. He and his dad ensured that Mike stayed in school. He only had this year left and it looked like he would be going to college on a full scholarship. Mike kept trying to get part time jobs and night shift jobs. But either Jim or Paul would stop it. Paul was worried about his brother sometimes though. But he brother didn't want him to worry and usually kept Paul at an arms length, which was irritating to Paul occasionally.
Paul walked on, trying to ignore the rain, it was making him rather cold.
He got to school and his classes went by rather quickly, mostly core things like math, English, and science classes. Nothing special, but lots of work. And he had tests coming soon. He sighed.
But once his final class was over, he headed straight to work. He actually enjoyed his job. Most people don't enjoy their jobs, but Paul liked walking everyday into a place that smelled like coffee, it was almost his second home seeing that he spent so much time there.
He walked into the back the back and threw on his apron. Setting his backpack aside.
"Hey Jane," Paul said.
"Hey Paul," Jane replied.
“Can you help me with this?” she asked, trying to put a heavy box on top of a shelf.
Paul nodded and went to her aid, helping her put away the box.
“Thanks,” She said and went out front.
Paul watched as she left. Jane owned and worked at the little coffee shop. She had once confided in Paul that it was her hope and dream to own a little place of her own. And when her parents died they had left her a sizable sum of money so she quit being a model and opened up this little coffee shop. Affectionately named L’art. She had studied French in school and that had stuck with her for some reason. ‘The Art’ was then the new name of her shop.
Paul marveled at her, not only was she beautiful, but she had done something he never could, be successful in whatever she did.
The rest of the afternoon went at a rather sluggish pace, not too many people stopped in and nothing really happened. Aside from Paul sloshing a hot cup of tea down Jane’s shirt, slightly on purpose he would admit. The day was almost like any other. At about four when nothing ever happened, people were at work, and the midday “rush” was over, Paul put on some music.
Music, it was a hobby of his. It wasn’t anything he took rather seriously. Sure, he had a guitar, and yes, he could play fairly decently. He could play some classical guitar, as well as some Elvis, Little Richard, and various ‘80s artists. But his ambition wasn’t to ever really do much about music. He loved it sure, but it was a hobby. A fun hobby nonetheless.
He had his phone with him, and he was in an Elvis mood that day, so he put on ‘All Shook Up’ and nodded his head to the beat. He sipped a cup of tea as he watched the rain fall from the steely sky to the bland, wet, grey sidewalk below. People scurried like mice to where ever they needed to be next. Paul chuckled at them softly as he watched them avoid getting rained on.
It had rained the day his mother died. He remembered that very much. And it never seemed to have stopped raining for a year afterward, though it probably did, but at least not inside his heart. And because of that all the days in those memories spent looking out the window blankly seem to be rather rainy and bleak.
But he still liked the rain.
He smiled to himself, he was a much happier person now. While he didn’t smile as much as other people, he was amiable, friendly, and if you knew him well enough, rather nice.
He looked up from his book to see a soaking wet man standing in front of him, shivering. How he got so wet was beyond Paul. His auburn hair was stuck to his face and his black woolen sweater and blue jeans stuck to his body. His shoes and socks squelched as he shifted his weight.
Paul noted the uncomfortableness that surrounded this man, as if he was out of place. Which wasn’t far from the mark.
Author: imabeatlemaniac
Pairing: John/Paul
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Modern AU, set in London not Liverpool, some OOC, talk of suicide
Disclaimer: I own nothing here, because, alas, I do not own a Beatle.
Paul's alarm went off and he peeled his eyes open, it was five o'clock and he needed to get up. He groaned and turned the alarm off, dragging himself out of bed. The semi-darkness of working class London kept him busy.
He stilled lived at home, his father had agreed to let him stay there through college. Paul wished he could live on campus but he could barely afford going to school let alone living there.
He threw on a pair of faded jeans and a green sweater. He wasn't about to take any chances, it looked like rain. He laced up his sneakers, he needed a new pair soon, the soles were almost worn through. He doubted he could afford it though, working part time at a strange little coffee shop didn't really give him much pocket money, and shoes were expensive. He considered stopping by the thrift shop not far from where he worked and get a "decent" pair of shoes.
He sighed and ran a hand through his shoulder length hair. He pulled it back and tied it. He put on his rain coat and left. He could do some thinking while he walked.
He was in college now. How in the world he was affording it was something he couldn't fathom. He was one of those people who was in school not knowing what to become. It was ridiculous and he knew it. He really needed to figure out what to do with his life. He sighed, this wasn't the time to contemplate what profession he wanted to be.
His mother had wanted him to become a doctor. She had been a nurse herself and for a while Paul had contemplated doing that for a while. But his mother's death stopped that idea. If those stupid doctors couldn't fucking save her life..... well Paul didn't want to be one.
Mary's death had been a real blow to Paul. He had receded emotionally and become very distant. There was a lot of walking on egg shells around him at that time. Looking back it seemed that Mike and his father were waiting for Paul to kill himself.
Paul wasn't denying that he had considered it. Not in the least. But he was never fully committed to the idea. When he got his job. It was a welcome break, before it turned into monotony. Then he relapsed again into his emotionally repressed state.
He never fully recovered emotionally from his mother's death, he just never had. So he wasn't always 'there' in a sense, at least not emotionally. He tried his best, but his mother's death had showed him how much people can hurt each other, at least inadvertently.
He wished Mike would stop trying to drop out of school. He and his dad ensured that Mike stayed in school. He only had this year left and it looked like he would be going to college on a full scholarship. Mike kept trying to get part time jobs and night shift jobs. But either Jim or Paul would stop it. Paul was worried about his brother sometimes though. But he brother didn't want him to worry and usually kept Paul at an arms length, which was irritating to Paul occasionally.
Paul walked on, trying to ignore the rain, it was making him rather cold.
He got to school and his classes went by rather quickly, mostly core things like math, English, and science classes. Nothing special, but lots of work. And he had tests coming soon. He sighed.
But once his final class was over, he headed straight to work. He actually enjoyed his job. Most people don't enjoy their jobs, but Paul liked walking everyday into a place that smelled like coffee, it was almost his second home seeing that he spent so much time there.
He walked into the back the back and threw on his apron. Setting his backpack aside.
"Hey Jane," Paul said.
"Hey Paul," Jane replied.
“Can you help me with this?” she asked, trying to put a heavy box on top of a shelf.
Paul nodded and went to her aid, helping her put away the box.
“Thanks,” She said and went out front.
Paul watched as she left. Jane owned and worked at the little coffee shop. She had once confided in Paul that it was her hope and dream to own a little place of her own. And when her parents died they had left her a sizable sum of money so she quit being a model and opened up this little coffee shop. Affectionately named L’art. She had studied French in school and that had stuck with her for some reason. ‘The Art’ was then the new name of her shop.
Paul marveled at her, not only was she beautiful, but she had done something he never could, be successful in whatever she did.
The rest of the afternoon went at a rather sluggish pace, not too many people stopped in and nothing really happened. Aside from Paul sloshing a hot cup of tea down Jane’s shirt, slightly on purpose he would admit. The day was almost like any other. At about four when nothing ever happened, people were at work, and the midday “rush” was over, Paul put on some music.
Music, it was a hobby of his. It wasn’t anything he took rather seriously. Sure, he had a guitar, and yes, he could play fairly decently. He could play some classical guitar, as well as some Elvis, Little Richard, and various ‘80s artists. But his ambition wasn’t to ever really do much about music. He loved it sure, but it was a hobby. A fun hobby nonetheless.
He had his phone with him, and he was in an Elvis mood that day, so he put on ‘All Shook Up’ and nodded his head to the beat. He sipped a cup of tea as he watched the rain fall from the steely sky to the bland, wet, grey sidewalk below. People scurried like mice to where ever they needed to be next. Paul chuckled at them softly as he watched them avoid getting rained on.
It had rained the day his mother died. He remembered that very much. And it never seemed to have stopped raining for a year afterward, though it probably did, but at least not inside his heart. And because of that all the days in those memories spent looking out the window blankly seem to be rather rainy and bleak.
But he still liked the rain.
He smiled to himself, he was a much happier person now. While he didn’t smile as much as other people, he was amiable, friendly, and if you knew him well enough, rather nice.
He looked up from his book to see a soaking wet man standing in front of him, shivering. How he got so wet was beyond Paul. His auburn hair was stuck to his face and his black woolen sweater and blue jeans stuck to his body. His shoes and socks squelched as he shifted his weight.
Paul noted the uncomfortableness that surrounded this man, as if he was out of place. Which wasn’t far from the mark.