Rating: PG-13
Pairing: John/Paul
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Summary: John sits in his hotel room, a cigarette resting delicately in his fingers. He smiles while he watches the smoke twist out of the open window, and it's when fondly he thinks, "There's no place like London", that Paul returns from a walk, disheveled and soaking from the rain.
Author's Note:
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Astrid
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"Maybe it's time to grow up."
Paul is soaked with rain again, and the scene in which he and John find themselves is eerily reminiscent of their days spent at the top of not just everybody else's world, but the world inside their own minds.
"You think so?" John flicks his cigarette out of the window and fixes his eyes carefully to the street below.
"Does it really matter what I think?" The streams on Paul's face could be either rainwater or something to John that is much more undesirable. He doesn't wipe it away this time, no matter how much he wants to, nor does he respond, repression being his desired course of action for the years to come(...)
"Jesus, Macca," John says hollowly, "I thought I told you to get an umbrella."
Beautiful and sad.
Bravo.
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Keep writing, eh?
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Amazing as always. Such a wonderful, thought provoking piece. Your writing is so poetic. I'm always enthralled by your stories from start to finish.
I really hope you continue to write here. It has not been the same without you. ♥
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JP
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