Saturday Morning
Title: Saturday Morning
Rating: G
Word Count: 532
Disclaimer: I don't own the Beatles, this fic is only a segment of my imagination.
Summary: Ah! The Savage Young Beatles, yet again. Set in the winter after John and Paul met. Pre-slash.
A/N: For my personal prompt “early”. I let myself be inspired by these lyrics by Eels.
Saturday Morning
When Paul awoke that morning, it was far too early. The sun hadn't decided to rise yet, and a last silver shimmering of the moon, slowly hiding behind the houses, was still visible when he peered through the slit in his curtain. It wasn't dark as night anymore, but still far too dark to really see anything.
He wasn't quite sure what had awakened him. He could see the outline of John's form on the floor - his friend was staying over for a night, but he was still breathing deep and even, and snoring a little every now and then, and so Paul concluded it couldn't possibly be him. It couldn't be the birds chirping either, like in summer, because he didn't hear them now. And of course it couldn't be the daylight because it was night still. He lay still and listened carefully then, but didn't hear anyone walking around in the house, so it probably weren't his father or Mike either.
There was something though, something that tugged on his mind and stirred in his stomach in a rather annoying manner, but he couldn't quite grasp the thought that had to be somewhere, right alongside the feeling. And the more he thought about it, the more it was starting to irk him, too.
It was six o'clock in the morning, and he was very much awake now. He sat up, propping the pillow up behind his back, and closed his eyes again, trying to recall where the feeling was coming from.
Unexpectedly, he saw flashes and slithers of dreams pass by, stages and screams and other pieces that were too small to make a full memory off. The feeling in his stomach grew heavier at the images, and so Paul was pretty sure they were connected somehow. Then the pieces of the puzzle suddenly fell together, and he remembered the dream - even the little details. He could see himself on stage, with John standing beside him, the people in front of them screaming and shouting, while the smell of sweat and booze and true excitement hung heavy in the air. It was somewhere dark, some place he had never been to before, but it felt like where he belonged to be.
His fingers started to itch for his guitar, and his heart rate sped up at the thought of playing for hundreds of excited people, or more, maybe.
Then he remembered that they didn't play a lot, weren't exactly being booked, or even cheered at whenever they were playing. They didn't even have a steady band formation, and they didn't earn enough money to make a living out of - it was hardly enough to buy new strings. But the feeling was there, the feeling of hope and of belonging, and he didn't doubt they would make it, the way John didn't either.
So maybe, he supposed, their time hadn't yet arrived. They would have to work a lot, play a lot and then more, but maybe, maybe after that long time that was still ahead of them...
Maybe then they'd be the ones on that stage he dreamt about, making the people scream and their hearts sing.
Rating: G
Word Count: 532
Disclaimer: I don't own the Beatles, this fic is only a segment of my imagination.
Summary: Ah! The Savage Young Beatles, yet again. Set in the winter after John and Paul met. Pre-slash.
A/N: For my personal prompt “early”. I let myself be inspired by these lyrics by Eels.
Saturday Morning
When Paul awoke that morning, it was far too early. The sun hadn't decided to rise yet, and a last silver shimmering of the moon, slowly hiding behind the houses, was still visible when he peered through the slit in his curtain. It wasn't dark as night anymore, but still far too dark to really see anything.
He wasn't quite sure what had awakened him. He could see the outline of John's form on the floor - his friend was staying over for a night, but he was still breathing deep and even, and snoring a little every now and then, and so Paul concluded it couldn't possibly be him. It couldn't be the birds chirping either, like in summer, because he didn't hear them now. And of course it couldn't be the daylight because it was night still. He lay still and listened carefully then, but didn't hear anyone walking around in the house, so it probably weren't his father or Mike either.
There was something though, something that tugged on his mind and stirred in his stomach in a rather annoying manner, but he couldn't quite grasp the thought that had to be somewhere, right alongside the feeling. And the more he thought about it, the more it was starting to irk him, too.
It was six o'clock in the morning, and he was very much awake now. He sat up, propping the pillow up behind his back, and closed his eyes again, trying to recall where the feeling was coming from.
Unexpectedly, he saw flashes and slithers of dreams pass by, stages and screams and other pieces that were too small to make a full memory off. The feeling in his stomach grew heavier at the images, and so Paul was pretty sure they were connected somehow. Then the pieces of the puzzle suddenly fell together, and he remembered the dream - even the little details. He could see himself on stage, with John standing beside him, the people in front of them screaming and shouting, while the smell of sweat and booze and true excitement hung heavy in the air. It was somewhere dark, some place he had never been to before, but it felt like where he belonged to be.
His fingers started to itch for his guitar, and his heart rate sped up at the thought of playing for hundreds of excited people, or more, maybe.
Then he remembered that they didn't play a lot, weren't exactly being booked, or even cheered at whenever they were playing. They didn't even have a steady band formation, and they didn't earn enough money to make a living out of - it was hardly enough to buy new strings. But the feeling was there, the feeling of hope and of belonging, and he didn't doubt they would make it, the way John didn't either.
So maybe, he supposed, their time hadn't yet arrived. They would have to work a lot, play a lot and then more, but maybe, maybe after that long time that was still ahead of them...
Maybe then they'd be the ones on that stage he dreamt about, making the people scream and their hearts sing.