Archive of Our Own

That night didn’t really differ from any other. They played the concert, withdrew to the hotel as silently as they could with the screaming fans behind them and then, exhausted as ever, prepared for the night after Brian had had a few firm words about them going immediately to sleep. (Which the boys gladly would do even without Brian’s attempts to be their mother.) So they ate a bit, showered, washed their teeth and after changing a few words in the common room they parted into their own rooms. Usually it would be John rooming with Ringo and Paul rooming with George, but tonight had Ringo complained about never seeing George anymore and so they had silently all agreed to change the sleeping arrangements; John went with Paul and George went with Ringo and everyone was happy.

At least for the night.

That night neither John or Paul wanted to do anything that required physical activities, even if the opportunity was great. They were too tired and their muscles were too sore for even trying some kind of an illegal act that they both liked very much thank you. So they just moved their beds together and climbed in, John wrapping both of his arms around Paul and Paul snuggling against John’s chest happily, peacefully breathing in and out through his nose. John stroked Paul’s hair sleepily and Paul pushed his left leg between John’s ones, tickling at the older man’s stomach with his fingers. Everything was normal; nothing differed from the usual when they got some time together. Although usually they would change a few kisses, but tonight even that seemed too hard and they just wanted to enjoy some closeness they both liked with each other.

When Paul was almost asleep and John was nearly there as well there was one single scream coming from outside. John didn’t think about it too hard, after all he had got used to people screaming all the time, everywhere, any time. And actually there was no reason for him even to start thinking otherwise as it was just a normal fan. John curled his other hand on the back of Paul’s head and pressed his nose against Paul’s hair, breathing in the smell of the bassist. Slowly his mind started to slow down and wander and after five minutes, he was sleeping.

The morning came quite normally, the night had passed without interruptions and the only thing that had changed was still pretty much unnoticed. Two figures were still wrapped up with each other; the other one snuggled against the other’s chest. It was when Paul woke up that he knew that something was wrong.

It wasn't really knowledge, more like an instinct. His mouth tasted different but somehow not unfamiliar and he knew immediately that he was sleeping on the wrong side of the bed. Still without opening his eyes, he frowned and stroked at the hair under his hand in his thoughts.

After some time that he had spent fighting against falling asleep again he decided to stand up and go wash his teeth because the taste on his tongue was really weird. So he rolled over, hearing a vague groan from the other one under the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to stop the dizziness in his head. He stood up and without glancing back, only lifting his hand to his forehead to try if he had fever, walked into the bathroom, turned, switched the light on and accidentally glanced at the mirror.

The whole world was silent.

And then he shouted. And his voice came out, harsh and full of rock’n’roll, and the voice was so familiar.

As was the face that stared at him from the mirror, eyes full of terror, auburn hair sticking out anywhere but where it should be, crooked nose, strong jaw line…

Paul lifted his hands and stared at them. The young man in the mirror did the same. He pressed his palms against his cheeks. The man did it too. He hit his cheek so hard his head flew to one side. The man hit himself too.

Paul stared at the face that he knew so well, knew every detail of it and now he also knew why the strange taste in his mouth was so familiar.

It all belonged to John Lennon.

***

He couldn’t believe his eyes. Or John’s eyes, to be more precise. Everything in him was John, his voice, his hair; his face and even, well, other parts of his body too. Not that Paul wouldn't have ever seen John without a shirt or trousers, it was just that when he saw everything and knew that it was his body (even if it wasn’t), it made him very embarrassed. Very, very embarrassed to stand in the middle of the bathroom and stare at your dick. John’s dick. Whatever.

He didn’t know how long exactly had he stood there and stared at himself (John) with a shocked expression and naked, but when he heard a vague moan from the bedroom a terrified thought formed in his head for the first time.

If he was John, then where was the actual man?

He quickly turned and grabbed his pyjama pants, pulled them up and then put also on his t-shirt, not wanting to look too stupid. And besides it would be so embarrassing if John found him from here naked and blushing. No, that would be the most awful thing ever. Even if Paul was himself it would be pretty shameful.

“Paul..?” there was a low call from the other room with a voice that was kind of familiar but that also wasn’t. For a while Paul just stood and stared at the door, but when the realization hit him, it hit him hard.

It was the voice he heard from records and interviews. It was his voice, and he heard it like he had been someone else. He was someone else. And

John

was

him.

“Fuck,” he breathed out and closed his eyes, supporting his weight on the wall and breathing deeply in and out, trying not to start hyperventilating or do something else as stupid, as faint. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn't---

“Paul???” the voice, John, Paul’s voice called out again and this time there was a tiny hit of fear in there. Paul knew, because he knew his voice.

’And I sometimes thought that fallin’ in love with him would be the most horrible thing ever to happen,’ he thought and bit his lip in an attempt to stop the tears that were threatening to leave his eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he wasn’t supposed to be in this weird body and there was no way that John had rights to be in his body!

“Paul, for fuck’s sake!” the voice now almost shouted and then quieted down suddenly, shocked silence filling the atmosphere. Paul could just imagine the expression the other man probably still in bed was wearing; he knew because it would be his face making it.

Only if his mind could be the one behind it.

He took a deep breath, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and walked into the bedroom.

And there he was.

It was the weirdest thing ever, to stand in the doorway and stare at yourself. When his eyes met the huge brown ones that were staring at him in shock, Paul could say that John had already figured out what had happened. But it was totally another task to accept it happening.

“What. The. Fuck,” John (sounding like Paul, looking like Paul) said really slowly, startling every time he said something.

“I don’t know,” Paul answered and both he and John shivered violently, Paul wrapping arms around himself and John burying his face into his hands.

“I guess I look like ye too?” the man sitting on the bed then asked and lifted his face, looking helplessly at Paul’s (his own) face. The auburn-haired man bit his lip and nodded.

“Oh,” John answered and put his face down, blankly staring at his hands that were resting on a blanket. Paul’s heart ached at the view and he wanted nothing more than go and hug him and say that it was okay. But it really wasn’t, and the idea of going and hugging himself was disgusting. He just couldn’t stand the idea of touching himself.

“Did somethin’ happen last night?” John talked again and it was so weird to hear him speaking; it was as if Paul had been listening himself from a record.

“If happened, I can’t remember,” he said and John winced, probably for the same reason than Paul before.

“What the fuck ’re we gonna do?” the guitarist (the bassist at the moment) moaned and there was no sense in the whole thing, because the way John spoke and moved and made expressions differed really much from how Paul would have done them. This wasn’t possible. And still Paul was looking at himself sitting on the bed and pulling at his cheeks while mumbling, ‘I’m a chubby hamster with a small dick’. (Which he decided to ignore -for now.)

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully, “Should we talk to the others?”

“No way! They’d think we’re high or something and call all them doctors and everythin’ and I don’t want that,” John (Paul) glared at him with an expression that was really normal for him, but that didn’t suit Paul’s face at all. Paul gave him his best bitchy expression in exchange and watched with delight how John acted like throwing up.

But it made him realize how really in trouble they were in. He and John knew the truth; nobody else did. They would see only John and Paul and that was all. And if they didn’t want to tell people about this (which they didn’t) they would have to try and act like they really were who they looked like. And that. Was. A. Problem. Because for him it was impossible to even try to do things like John, and he knew for sure that John was going to make this into one of his ‘imitate Paul as bad as you can’ performances, meaning that George and Ringo were going to see lots of girly walking and complaining about hair not being perfectly in place with a hitch-pitched voice.

He even dreaded to think about it.

“So we’re just gonna… act like each other?” he asked carefully and John lifted Paul’s face (it was all so confusing that Paul didn’t even know whom to think, him or John or both?) while still holding at his (Paul’s) cheeks, looking extremely stupid and Paul made a mental note to never do that when he was himself. What if he never got a chance to be in his own body again?

“Yeah, guess…” John said quietly and looked away again, closing his eyes and running a hand through his hair. He grimaced and then fell backwards, his back thumping against the bed. Paul squeezed his eyes tightly shut and prayed that the tears he was holding back wouldn’t get too powerful and take over. Partly because he knew that it was girly to cry and all that, but partly because he didn’t want John to see himself crying. That would make it so that the man never cried again and that was something that Paul didn’t want. Sometimes crying was good and he remembered all those nights holding John and telling that it was alright, that Julia had loved him and that Paul loved him and he was not alone. Those were the moments when John let his barriers down and let Paul really help him. If he saw himself crying now, he would never do it again.

So he bit his lip and turned, mumbled about using the bathroom. And behind the locked door he let few of the tears run and there he sat, staring at the crying face of John from the mirror. He had always thought that crying John was beautiful in some ways. And he had to admit that he still thought so, now watching him longer than he had ever done before.

He was quite sure he heard a muffled sob from the bedroom at some point.

***

Dressing up was horrible. Not only John was complaining about every possible thing in Paul’s body but he was also dismissing his clothes quickly into a pile of Things That You’ll Never Wear Again. Which was actually ridiculous as they used to wear same clothes quite often. Paul in turn was ready to wear anything that wouldn’t make anyone suspicious.

It was really hard to walk without swinging his hips, as John had already complained about it. And swung his own (Paul’s) ones like he was trying to be a strip dancer or something. He had also combed his hair about five times, insisting that he had to, because he was Paul now. But Paul knew that John acted like this only because it was his way of coping with the shock. The hysterical breakdown would come later and Paul was going to make sure to be present when that happened; they would go through it together and get over it together. As they had always done.

After the clothes were on, the teeth were clean and the weird taste just remained in Paul’s mouth (John had smacked his mouth a few times and then grinned and said that he had always wanted to spend the rest of his life kissing Paul and this was almost the same thing. Paul had wanted to hit him and then snuggle up at him and cry), they had a quick discussion of what to do; both agreed that it was the best if they acted as well as they could, which wasn’t much. John had mainly agreed because he knew that if he made Paul look stupid in front of everyone, the bassist’s revenge would be something beyond horrifying.

So now they were standing in front of the door, picking up the remaining pieces of courage that they had left. Standing there side by side made everything so real and Paul felt for a while like he could faint. Until he felt a hand in his own and fingers squeezed at his ones.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he heard his voice saying and he turned his head, watched at his own face and realising that he actually was a bit taller than John. He had never really noticed before now, when standing next to himself in John’s body.

“Yeah,” he chocked up, “Just don’t mess anything up.”

“Yeah,” John echoed and nodded, deep in his thoughts and a frown on his forehead. And then he squeezed Paul’s hand even tighter and offered him a hesitant smile.

“I love you, you know,” he sighed and then grinned more openly, making his face shine and suddenly it was somehow easy to see why people fell in love with Paul so easily; if Paul hadn’t been looking at himself, he would have fallen too. “I’d kiss you but I’m too disgustin’ for that,” John chuckled and Paul huffed, rolled his eyes and lifted John’s hand up, brought it to his lips. Part of his brain registered that John did this quite often when they were alone; it looked natural, seeing his own face make the same expression as always, when it was him controlling his own body. He wondered if John kissed his knuckles only to receive that look.

“Yeah,” he smiled and let out a deep breath, “Same here.”

“Sorry Macca,” John said and took his hand out of Paul’s one, lifted it up and placed it on the doorknob, “but you’re anything but disgustin’.”

“Okay, thanks. But remember that I think that you’re beautiful,” Paul smiled and tapped at the other's cheek. “So if you wanna seem like you’re me, you gotta even try to think yourself beautiful. Or at least handsome,” he grinned now and John stared at him for a few moments before cracking up a similar kind of smile too.

“I’ll try.”

***

“Ah, mornin’ lads!” Ringo was the first one to greet them when they walked out, Paul first and John after, still squeezing each other’s hands. The drummer was seemingly just about to start enjoying his tea and George was yet nowhere to be seen, which made the situation a bit easier.

“Mornin’…” Paul started and paused when his voice sounded all weird, like he had drank five beers too much and too fast. He cleared his throat and flashed a smile at Ringo. “Mornin’ Rings, how was the night?”

“Could’ve been worse… Me ’n George talked quite late. Everything alright with you?” the oldest of them frowned and took a sip of his tea before continuing. “You both look a bit pale.”

“Oh, it’s just that P---John here,” John coughed and patted at Paul’s shoulder with his free hand, “found a huge spider in his hair… You did hear the shout?”

Paul almost wanted to scream because that was the worst explanation ever. Like, really. A spider??? He glanced at John with an expression that told everything that he thought at the moment and John just answered with eyes that said ‘what ye gonna do ‘bout it?’. Paul wanted to smash his head into million pieces.

Now he just had to hope that Ringo was too much in his morning mood to realise that that was the worst. Explanation. Ever.

“Oh yeah, I did…” Ringo’s brow furrowed even more and Paul wanted to strangle John. “I never thought you’d be afraid of spiders,” he eyed Paul suspiciously. Paul forced a grin on his face and ducked his head a bit.

“Oh you know, when you just glance at yourself from the mirror and there’s a spider sitting on top of your head…” he shrugged and Ringo looked at him sympathetically, offering a careful smile. For a while Paul wondered in the middle of his relief (that Ringo actually was still in his morning mood) why he was giving him that kind of an expression but after that realised; John could be kind of strict to make sure that no one would talk about him being scared of some stupid spider. He glanced at John (himself) and bit his lip before forcing a new smile on his face.

“Yeah, and... uh, make sure that no one hears about this, yeah?” he asked a bit shakily, trying to get John’s usual tone somehow visible under the shaking of his voice. For his luck, Ringo just nodded and smiled, lifting the news paper in front of his eyes.

“Don’t worry, I know that you think it’d ruin your public image,” he chuckled and Paul was somehow very aware of John’s piercing eyes on the side of his head and of course he knew why; John would always come up with a witty or sarcastic comment, but not Paul. His head felt empty.

“Okay, me and Johnny-boy here are gonna get some breakfast, I’m fuckin’ starving,” John announced after a painful (from their point of view, Ringo probably noticed nothing) silence and grabbed Paul, dragged him into the kitchen while Ringo called out cheerfully, ‘no fucking on the table then.’ John started to laugh, which was very uncharacteristic for Paul, and Paul felt and urge to shout back ‘very funny’ with a very sarcastic voice which was, let’s admit, the last thing John would do. At least he had enough willpower to keep himself silent. He pulled John back from his arm and hissed into his ear:

“You should at least try to act like me!”

“What??” John turned to look at him, Bambi-eyes in full use, “What did I do now?”

“Never mind,” Paul sighed and let go of John’s hand and started walking towards the fridge. God, he was hungry.

“It’s our luck that Ringo’s a bit too stupid,” John said then lowly behind his back and he really had to try his everything not to laugh. He let out a tiny chuckle though.

“Ringo’s a smart lad, but just doesn’t except anything like this to happen, he’s probably just thinking that we shagged too hard or something...”

“Can’t happen, that. Your butt is made of iron,” John grimaced and slapped at the said object, making Paul feel really uncomfortable at seeing himself do that.

“Thanks,” he deadpanned and reached out for the butter. He had a feeling that this day was going to be catastrophic.

***

“For fuck’s sake, I don’t know what’s gone into ye but if ye fuckin’ mess up over me once more I’ll hang ye up from yer arse and believe me, it’s not nice!”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just, uh, tired,” Paul stuttered and glanced at John helplessly who just shrugged his shoulders and plonked the strings of the bass few times. George had all the rights to be angry with them both; they had totally messed up his solo for about twenty times and they were all getting really tired.

“I get it that ye’re tired an’ everythin’, with all that fuckin’ ye’re so keen to practise every night, but it doesn’t explain how you’ve suddenly forgotten how to play yer fuckin’ guitar!” George was almost yelling and Paul flinched, now looking at Ringo helplessly. The drummer turned his eyes away and Paul felt like crying. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t actually know how to play a right-handed guitar.

Because the problem wasn’t that they didn’t know how to play each other’s parts. Hell, they had composed the songs together with guitars! And bass wasn’t too complicated for John to play. But the thing was that John wasn’t left-handed and Paul wasn’t right-handed and here they were, trying to find out how to exactly make the G-chord out of the instrument. At least it was a bit easier for John but Paul was totally lost.

“The thing is,” George sighed and rubbed at his forehead, somehow reminding Paul of Mimi when she was a bit more irritated than just a bit, “the concert is in two hours an’ if ye don’t fuckin’ get yerselves together, we’ll be all screwed.”

For a while it was a silence, Paul’s brain working and his mind realising that something was missing; something that should have been said, something that...

Oh.

“I-it’s not that they’d hear us anyway,” he said quickly and glanced at John in the hopes that he had done right. The guitarist (bassist-whatever) nodded without looking at him and stared down into the ground, fingers still trying to get something done that could be called as music.

“That’s what ye always say but y’know what??? I think they can actually hear us pretty well!” George was almost getting to his Ultimate-Raging-Point and when that point was reached, nothing could be done except sitting down and listening to him going on about half an hour of how Everyone Was Against Him and No One Ever Listened To Him and Why Couldn’t He Even Get A Bit Of Some Respect When Clearly He Wasn’t Important At All and Fuck You I Will Quit.

“George,” Paul’s own voice reached his ears and he looked up, seeing himself staring at George with a really intense stare that only John could master. Too bad he was Paul at the moment.

“Paul,” George spat out and John sighed, looking like he was close to exploding. Then he just shrugged and said:

“I think we need a break.”

“Good idea,” Ringo echoed, “Why don’t we all just go get drinks and have a laugh before getting on stage?”

“I’m not in the laughin’ mood at the moment,” George mumbled quietly and Paul could relate so well. All he wanted was to be back in his body, back with his bass and also preferably in John’s arms. Now all he could do was to wrap his arms around himself and try to imagine that it was John. And the arms actually belonged to the man but it wasn’t the same. He really wanted to be back in his own body.

“P-John!” his voice called behind him and he turned, saw John hopping down the stairs that lead up to the stage and getting right behind him.

“I really need a shag.”

Well, those weren’t the words he had waited to hear.

“I beg you pardon?” Paul tilted his head and frowned, glancing at Ringo and George who were very good at acting that they had heard nothing.

“You heard me, c’mon,” John grabbed his arm and started to drag him away. Paul knew he could only follow. But still...

“I don’t think it’s a good time for that,” he hissed into John’s ear and then met the big brown eyes staring straight into him with a very Lennon-ish look in them. And Jesus if it didn’t look really weird but also really hot.

“I wasn’t thinking of actual fuckin’, you idiot,” John hissed back, glancing over Paul’s shoulder to probably make sure that neither Ringo or George heard anything, “I jus’ want to get somewhere without anyone and shag is as good excuse as any!”

“Oh,” Paul felt a slow grin starting to spread on his lips, “As good as any?”

John nodded with a mischievous glint in his eyes and Paul glanced at George and Ringo who were coming behind them, watching them with blank faces.

“Oh Paul,” Paul started and for once didn’t stop to think how weird it was, “I’m so goin’ to have you right now.” He put on his best sultry voice and did notice how John actually shivered at that. He smiled and then grabbed John, and now it was him dragging him away.

“I can hardly wait,” John said just as seductively and Paul had time to hear a deep sigh from George and a mutter ‘bloody horny dogs’ before they were gone behind a corner and were running and holding hands on their mouths to prevent themselves from laughing out loud.

"That... that was..." John gasped for breath and then burst out laughing when they were safely locked inside the toilets, not so very rare place for them to be in. Usually it was the place where quick handjobs happened, but at the moment it would serve as a safe place to talk. George and Ringo did know to stay away.

"I know," Paul tried to stop his hysterical laughing but it wasn't easy. There was something in John's laugh that always got him laughing too and now when hearing that hysteric howling coming from his mouth, he just couldn't stop.

“Enough enough!” John hissed at him after few minutes, “We gotta talk!”

“Oh yeah, and have that shag,” Paul grinned and John chuckled before shaking his head.

“Nah, at the moment I really, really prefer talkin’. What the fuck are we gonna do??”

“With the instruments?” Paul sighed. “I don’t know. Guess we jus’ have to try. And no one will hear us anyway, as you said.”

“Paul,” John stated and sounded suddenly really serious. “It was you who said it.”

“Oh, of course...” Paul frowned. “It was me.”

“Yeah,” John said quietly and silence fell upon them. They stared at each other for a while and then John huffed really loudly.

“I wonder what the reason for this is.”

Paul looked at him with miserable eyes and shook his head, biting his lip. He just didn’t know.

“Close your eyes,” John stated suddenly and Paul was panicking for a while that John was going to continue ‘and I’ll kiss you’, but the look in his lover’s eyes (in his fucking own (WHY)) told that that wasn’t what he was going to do. And so Paul closed his eyes and heard John take a deep breath before two arms wrapped around him.

“Say that everythin’s gonna be fine,” John muttered quietly, voice muffled into Paul’s shoulder. Paul rested his head against John’s shoulder and pressed his cheek against his hair.

“Everythin’s gonna be alright,” he said quietly, trying to imitate John’s way of talking. It wasn’t actually too difficult to do. Maybe he had just been around the other so much.

“Say that I’m here for you.”

“I’m here for you.” Paul opened his eyes and stared at the mirror in the other side of the bathroom. With John’s eyesight he could sort out two people hugging each other, the other one of them dark-haired and the other one auburn one. (John's eyesight was really bad and Paul had tripped over all the possible things during the morning while John had walked around and pointed at things far away and said with the happiest voice ever ‘I can see that!’ Paul had had problems with handling his emotions at the cuteness.) And then John’s head shifted and they both were staring at the mirror, though Paul was quite sure John’s eyes were still closed. He would have seen them if they were open.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he said and for his surprise, felt some of the knots in his stomach opening. He knew it was him who said the things, but for his ears it was John. And these were the things John would have said to him in this situation.

“We get through this together,” John said then and Paul was amazed how well John actually knew him. Because that was a thing that John would have considered too sappy to say, too romantic and way too corny. But was a thing Paul would have said with all seriousness.

“I love you,” Paul breathed and felt John’s arms tighten around him. He squeezed John and waited, waited...

“I love you too,” his own voice answered and he moved his lips with the words.

“And, when we’re back to normal...” John mumbled and let go of Paul, touched his cheek with a gently smile, “I really need that shag.”

Paul laughed the tears away that were threatening to fall and punched John on the side.

***

“I’m so tired,” John groaned and slouched down on the sofa, “I don’t want to!”

“Paul,” Brian said and frowned, “Is everything alright?”

“Fuckin’ no,” John mumbled and turned on his side. He carefully touched at the spot Paul had punched earlier and grimaced because it had fucking hurt. The guy should have some respect towards his own body for fuck’s sake.

“You can tell me, you know,” Brian said and glanced around, even if there was no one else in the room. George and Ringo were off to this party downstairs that Brian felt obligated to put up every night and Paul was God knows where. Probably checking that his shirt was straight and washing his teeth just because they could never be too shiny.

“Yeah, as if I fuckin’ would,” John sighed and closed his eyes. The concert had been a catastrophe, though fans had noticed nothing. After what John now thought had been the most awful half an hour in his life George had had a word with them and John swore that he would never make fun of the younger man again, because if George just happened to be in a bitchy mood and explode, well, he didn’t want to go through that again. This day easily topped all the horrible days in his earlier life and the worst thing was that he could do nothing to make himself feel better.

It had been awful, to follow how lost Paul had been looking the whole day. The others didn’t maybe notice anything as Paul had always been better than John in hiding his true feelings. That was maybe the reason why everybody had asked from him if he was okay and not Paul. And the difficult thing in it was that John was still Paul and Paul was still John.

John knew that he should have maybe tried to be a bit more like Paul at the moment, with Brian nagging and everything but he just couldn’t bring the rest of the energy in him to do it. If he was to go to the party he really needed some strength to deal with the press and the girls.

He groaned silently while remembering how small Paul’s dick was and turned on his stomach, burying his face into the sofa pillows. He heard Brian sigh and then there were steps and for a fleeting moment he managed to wish if their manager was on his way out, but instead there was a pressure on the sofa and John felt like he could jump and strangle Brian any moment now.

“Paul,” Brian talked and his voice was stern and there was real worry in there, “Is everything really alright? You seem a bit weird, to be truthful.”

“What kinda weird?” John’s muffled voice came out against the pillows and his other hand clutched at the soft material under him. He wanted to be in Paul’s arms, he wanted to kiss and snuggle with Paul and hear him say that everything was really going to be okay. That tomorrow when they woke up they’d be back to normal. And what if they weren’t? The tour was over in two weeks. After that John had to go back home and Paul too and what would happen then? Paul with Cyn? Fucking no. And John with fucking bloody smart-ass pretty legs JANE??????

He shuddered visibly and tried not to vomit. No way he could EVER do THAT.

“Paul,” Brian sighed and John had almost forgotten he was there and he wanted to scream and throw the manager out of the window if the man continued to call him Paul.

’But that’s who I am. Bloody Paul,’ he thought and bit his lip, really hard trying not to start crying. His breakdown was still coming, building up somewhere and he was afraid it would come any moment. He knew that he needed to be alone to get through it but he also knew that Paul was going to be with him when it happened. John wondered how Paul was going to handle the sight of himself having a hysterical fit.

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he said and turned his head so that his cheek rested against the pillow. He looked at Brian with one eye and started staring at the sofa table that was way too interesting to ignore.

“Is there something wrong with John?”

John squeezed his eyes tight shut and gave the tiniest shake of his head. No. Of course there was nothing wrong.

“Apparently there is---“

“Will you bloody fuckin’ shut UP???” John shouted and jumped up on his feet. “There’s NOTHING wrong! Believe me Eppy, I’d fucking come STRAIGHT to you if there was somethin’ naggin’ between me an’ him! Of all the people I’ve got I would surely tell YOU!!!” He quieted down and turned on his heels, started to walk towards their bedroom. He wasn’t planning to attend the party, no fucking way after this. He was way too tired to even try. He wanted Paul.

’Just not with the way I’ve got him at the moment,’ he thought bitterly and was just about to grab the doorknob and leave Brian all on his own when Brian spoke.

“John.”

He stopped on his tracks and felt how all the colour left his face within two seconds. He squeezed his hand into a fist and hoped that Brian didn’t notice it shaking wildly.

“I beg you pardon?” he asked with a nervous voice and turned to look at him with the side of my eye. He had to be kidding. Or something else, he couldn’t have...

“You think that I am stupid?” Brian frowned and looked somehow hurt. John frowned and shook his head almost without even noticing it. No, he didn’t think Brian stupid. But he had hoped he would be stupid enough to ignore the fact that suddenly Paul acted and spoke like---

“John. There’s something going on between you and him.” Brian looked wondering, and John felt all his muscles relax and the cold sweat that was covering his forehead was quickly wiped away by the back of his hand. Of course he felt a bit weak for the fact that Brian had finally figured out the thing that had been going between Paul and John for about three years. Paris, it had been. They had never felt obligated to tell to Brian and had actually hid the true nature of their relationship quite skilfully. George and Ringo had known from the beginning and had handled it quite well, but as far as John knew no one else had the knowledge. Except that now Brian had apparently figured it all out.

“Eh?” he asked and decided to play stupid. After all he shouldn’t feel relieved that Brian knew. But he was so happy that it was this secret that Brian had found out. And besides, Paul would definitely play stupid. Or then he’d just ignore everyone in the world and fuck John against the mirror. John always liked that better.

“You. And John. Don’t act like you’d be stupid, Paul. I know you’re not,” Brian’s voice was calm but John could see the corner of his eye twitching funnily. And he knew the reason. After all, the whole Barcelona trip had been like that. Brian had been a nervous wreck the whole time and John had just enjoyed the warmth and teased Brian, enjoying his holiday. Though he had missed Paul like mad.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he decided to say and rubbed the side of his nose, something that Paul always did. The next state would be biting his lip and the following one would be biting his nails. John was glad he spent so much time stalking what his lover did.

“I’ve been ignoring it for how long, hoping... Wishing with all my heart that he would---“ Brian cut himself off and John raised his eyebrows. What would Paul say to this? Would he be kind of understanding and be more like ‘sorry Bri but he’s mine’ or would he be a jealous type... Like ‘SORRY BRI BUT HE’S FUCKING MINE KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF.’

John decided to go with the latter one. He narrowed his eyes and saw Brian taking a hesitant step backwards. And John did know; Paul could be one scary bitch when he wanted.

“That he would choose you instead of me, huh?” he asked a bit too aggressively and flinched at the way Brian startled. He had never seen this side of their manager; probably it was only Paul who could bring it up.

“No, I never thought—“

“But still you wished,” John chewed at his lip and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I never meant to come between you two,” Brian sighed and shook his head, “I will never come—“ he stopped for a while, took a deep breath and then met John’s eyes, staring at him with sadness in his expression. “I only asked if there’s something wrong between you and him. I can help, you know. You can tell me. And I mean it, Paul, you can tell me anything.”

John tilted his head and frowned. What would Paul say now? John would just tell Brian to fuck off but Paul would surely do something else. Like welcome the offer with open arms and after that talk for the next two hours what to do when John ate all his chocolate.

“Thanks for the offer,” he started and paused for a while to think how to say it without really hurting Eppy but at the same time getting him to realise that there really was nothing he could do. “But there really is nothin’ wrong between me’n P-John.” He cursed himself and made a mental note that he was an idiot and should suffer for the rest of his life. Maybe this whole body-changing thing was caused by the God who had gotten angry at John for shouting out nonsense about Jesus being gay. Which could have been true. Who knows?

“And I mean it when I say,” he continued after blinking few times and collecting his thoughts, “that I really don’t need your help at the moment. But I’ll keep your offer in mind. Nighty-night Eppy!” The last sentence was said with a cheerful smile and then he jumped inside the bedroom and closed the door before Brian had a chance to say anything else.

Paul was sitting on the bed, only in a t-shirt and briefs and he was looking at John with sad eyes. John swallowed and offered a hesitant smile.

“Hi?” he asked and took a step forward. “Alright?”

“You shouldn’t have shouted at him,” Paul mumbled and wrapped his arms around himself, “Now he’ll think the rest of his life that it was me who said all those things.”

“I at least tried--“ John started but was quickly cut off by the auburn haired man who was now looking at him more angrily than sadly.

“Tried?? Even when you shouted all that sarcastic shit???”

“If it bothers you so much why didn’t you bloody come and help me out of it???” John knew he was putting up an argument with the last person he wanted to argue with. He hated it when he and Paul fought. But he was so exhausted after the day and so tired on this whole thing that he didn’t know what he could do anymore than shout.

“Because do you EVER come between me and Brian when we’re having a fight??” Paul asked and stood up, crossed his arms over his chest just like John had done a while ago. Apparently he had chosen a good move in acting like Paul.

“Well, no, but it’s not the point!” John said hurriedly and Paul raised his eyebrows challengingly. John huffed and turned his back at Paul, almost hit the wall but only threw his hands in the air and grabbed his neck with a frustrated groan.

“The point, dear, is that we have to stick together! Of course always but especially now!” he turned back on Paul and met cold eyes that didn’t show any feelings through. They were the eyes that he feared and now it made him feel sick to see that expression on his own face. He almost stopped but forced himself to take a deep breath and shook his head faintly.

“There’s no one but you,” he said quietly and watched how Paul turned his head away, pretending not to listen. “And I don’t fucking wanna lose you because of this shit happenin’.”

“You’re not losing me, you idiot,” Paul said quickly and John felt relief washing over him. He was just about to give a smile when Paul talked again.

“I think we should separate the beds. I really don’t want to sleep with myself.” He turned his head away and John knew that Paul knew what those words did to John.

“Fine. I’ll be showering,” he muttered angrily and grabbed his towel before feeling that it was wet. For a second he stared at it, then lifted his eyes on Paul and stared at him with a look that was more desperate than anything else. Paul looked purposefully away and then John just turned, took the towel that Paul had used the evening before, the evening when everything was still alright. And then he locked himself inside the bathroom and let the water take away the tears in the corners of his eyes.

When he thirty minutes curled up into a ball with no one by his side the only thing he could think was, why?

Why?

***

The morning came too quickly. George knocked on the door and said something like ‘will you come out you fuckers so that you can ruin another concert’. John wasn’t too sure but then again he was, as it was George knocking. And the lad was still angry about yesterday. Of course he was.

Yesterday.

All the happenings came rushing into his mind and caused him to gasp for breath and jump up. He stood next to his single bed, breathing heavily and then he started mapping his body.

Tears were about to fall when he looked inside his boxers.

“Fuckin’ shit,” the voice of Paul McCartney whispered and then John’s legs gave over and he slumped down on the bed, burying his head into his hands. He was still Paul.

“God help us,” he muttered and rubbed at his eyes, “Oh God, someone just do something.”

“Like what?” there was a way too familiar voice and John lifted his eyes, meeting his own ones looking at him thoughtfully. Paul was leaning on the bathroom door, hands on his hips and eyes a bit puffy. John bit his lip and without a single word opened his arms, a silent question hanging in the air.

Paul sighed really loudly and walked through the room, melted against John’s embrace.

“I’m sorry,” John mumbled, “I really... Last night, I didn’t mean it...”

“Usually you ignore me for the next two days, I was afraid that—“ Paul chocked up, “I was afraid that you’d do it now too. And at the moment it’s the worst thing you could do. And I’m sorry too.” He sniffed and wiped at his nose before pushing himself even more against John. If John closed his eyes he could imagine that it was actually Paul he was hugging, not himself. And that thought helped him to keep the hold of his lover and not drop him on the floor and kick him while screaming ‘you disgusting thing’. No. And he suspected Paul was never going to do that (a part of him waited it to happen any minute) because as Paul had said, he thought that John was beautiful. Which was really weird.

“Okay you two, I don’t know what’s goin’ on but ye as hell ain’t gonna start another shag!”

They both startled and looked up and there was George standing on the door, a tea cup in his right hand. He was staring at them from underneath his eyebrows and John felt an urge to show him the middle finger until he remembered that it wasn’t something that Paul would have done just like that. Maybe when they were both horny as fuck, but not like this.

A finger rose to the air and John whipped his eyes on Paul who was boldly holding his middle finger, waving it to George.

“Harrison, see this? Fuck off,” he said shortly and John had to do his everything not to let his jaw hang because, what.

“Oh Lennon, horny as fuck all the time but now isn’t the time for that!” George growled and Paul rose to his feet with a dangerous look in his eyes. George flashed a quick smile and was gone with a ‘bye have fun’.

“What did you—“ John started and was very aware of the fact that he probably looked like a fish out of water but what had just happened??

“I just did what you’d do,” Paul shrugged turning to face John, a tiny hint of amusement in the corner of his eye, “if you’re super horny and need a shag.”

“I’m in the need of a shag at the moment but I’m still not waving fingers at George,” John mumbled but couldn’t help but let himself smile. Oh how he loved Paul.

“Did I ever tell you how much I love you?” he asked and opened his arms again, Paul now grinning at him like a fool.

“Might have mentioned it a few times, yeah,” the bassist-guitarist answered and quickly came back into the waiting lap of himself. He snuggled against John’s chest and John let out a deep sigh.

“How long will this go on?” he mumbled and felt Paul shaking his head against his breast.

“Got no fuckin’ idea,” was the answer and John buried his head into his own hair and finding for his horror that he wasn’t entirely disgusted with the idea of doing so.

’Probably in few days I’d be ready to kiss him even if he looked like a cow,’ he thought before he could stop himself and slowly shook his head to forget all that kind of thoughts. They were bad. He was not going to kiss himself for fuck’s sake!

“Let’s go to have a breakfast,” Paul said and pulled back. John smiled and stood up and dropped Paul on the floor.

“How does it feel without all the stuff in your butt?” he asked and escaped into the bathroom before Paul had a change to slay him with the bedside lamp. His own crazy laugh followed him and he blew a kiss at Paul with a wink before totally disappearing behind the bathroom door. And his current good mood might have stayed on if he hadn’t looked at himself from the mirror and the reality came with a crushing force on him.

He reached out for Paul’s brush and started to wash his teeth.

***

“John!” a voice called and Paul looked up from the newspaper and met Ringo’s smiling face.

“The tour’s almost over!” the drummer cheered and threw himself on the sofa next to Paul. Paul smiled and moved a bit to give the drummer some more space, as he was kind of slouched down on the whole object.

“That’s true,” he answered and turned a new page, eyeing through it, “Has been bloody long, this one.”

“Yeah,” Ringo nodded grinning satisfied. He then got more serious and said quietly.

“And you’ll get home to Cyn and Jules.”

“Oh yeah,” Paul said and hoped that Ringo didn’t notice the tiny quiver in his voice, “that good, too.”

“Really?” Ringo asked and sounded surprised. Paul snorted.

“Not in a million years. I’d prefer to stay inside that hotel room with Paul tied to the bed.”

“Please, say no more,” Ringo chuckled and waved his hand. “Where is he at the moment anyway? One would think that you’d use all your free time together now.”

“Yeah, that’s what we usually do... He’s just havin’ too much good time with his bass,” Paul said and at least tried to sound hurt, though failing miserably. Ringo laughed and Paul knew that he had hit the right button. The truth was that John was actually practising to play the bass upside down, in case that this was going to take longer. They had now been in each other’s bodies for ten days and both had started to fear the moment they had to open their eyes and see their own eyes staring back at them. At least they had started to get a handle of the way the other spoke and acted.

“Well, I’ll be playing cards with George... He challenged me earlier,” Ringo grinned and patter at Paul’s leg, “Have fun while waiting for your dearie to finish.”

“Ye bet I do,” Paul winked and Ringo flashed the last smile before he was gone.

The auburn-haired man lying on the sofa let out a huge sigh and let the newspaper fall on his face.

How long more?

***

The head on John’s shoulder moved a bit and there was a yawn before it was still again. John turned his own face a bit to press a tiny kiss on the top of hair that belonged to himself. He took a hold of his own hand and then turned his eyes back on the airplane window, looking down at the land that was thousands of meters beneath their feet.

’The whole world at out feet,’ John thought and slowly stroked the back of Paul’s hand.

He was afraid.

Two weeks they had been in each other’s bodies and now the tour was over. Twenty minutes they had, in their small safe bubble in the back of the airplane before the reality would come crushing over them in the shape of screaming fans, flashing lights, sings that said ‘Welcome Back’ and a Red-Head who was waiting to get a Passionate Kiss as a greeting.

He banged his head on the window and caused a deep sound that probably reached even the pilot’s ears. He cursed silently when Paul stirred next to him and muttered something vague. The lad really would have needed that sleep before going home to his wife and son.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said gently and wrapped his left arm around Paul, bringing him even closer, “There’s still twenty minutes to go.”

“I don’t wanna sleep them last minutes we’ve got,” Paul yawned and John felt a bang in his heart.

“They’re not the last,” he said quickly and wrapped his other arm around Paul too. “I’ll come to your place or... I mean I come to my place and...” he frowned in confusion and Paul started laughing. First it was just tiny shaking of his body but then it grew and finally he cracked up, his crazy laughing echoing inside the airplane. Somewhere was George’s grumpy call ‘Fuckin’ let me sleep’ but Paul didn’t seem to care. John wondered if he had finally lost his mind.

“It’s so... You with Jane... Oh my god,” Paul gasped or breath and buried his head into John’s chest, turning so that he could wrap his arms around the other too. His laughing quieted down but his shaking continued. And this time John knew it wasn’t the laugh.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he said and shook Paul a bit in his embrace, “It’s gonna be alright, I promise,” he chocked and pressed his lips tightly against Paul’s hair. They held each other in silence for a while, Paul still shaking. John really hoped he himself wasn’t going to get that breakdown now.

Five minutes it took from them to find strength to let each other go and sit straight. And when they did it they met the suspicious face of George Harrison staring straight at them with his eyebrows knitted together.

“Jesus George!” Paul let out a hitch-pitched noise and John really hoped he would never hear it again from his mouth.

“Y’know, I’ve been actually wonderin’ is everythin’ alright with ye two,” George started like he had prepared this speech for a long time and John already wanted to punch a hole into his annoying face.

“What d’you mean?” Paul straightened his back and looked at George challengingly, just like John would do. The guitarist felt really proud of his lover, although he was also a bit afraid, because they had learnt to act like each other. What if they would become each other? What if John’s mind would turn into Paul’s mind? He did enjoy being able to sing so high and seeing things clearly but he wanted his own dick back. End of story.

“These past two weeks ye’ve played worse than ever,” George lifted a finger up and seemingly prepared to count several things on his list, “And you always play bad when ye’re fightin’. Second,” he lifted another finger, “Me’n Ringo have hardly seen ye cuddlin’ together. Or bein’ together. OR,” he lifted a third finger, “kissing.” His eyes turned black and they swept between John and Paul, a suspicious expression on his face. John sighed loudly and shook his head.

“There’s nothing wrong with me’n John,” he said and George’s piercing eyes stared at him and made him feel really uncomfortable.

“Really? Then why no kissin’?? You're always lickin' at each other's face.” George leant forward from between the seats in front of them and John pressed himself against the plane seat, trying to get further away from the youngest of them all. He really didn’t want to have those eyebrows sticking into his nose.

“Uh, we’ve been kissin’,” Paul started and clutched at John’s hand really tightly, “You jus’ haven’t seen.”

“Prove it.”

“What?”

“Prove that you still kiss each other.”

Both John and Paul stared at George like he had gone mad and then slowly looked at each other, and then at George again. John felt his fingers tying up with Paul’s ones and he squeezed. No way. No way he could do that!

“C’mon George,” he sighed desperately, “everythin’s alright with us! Just leave it be, ‘kay?”

George’s eyes narrowed and he turned his head, glanced at Ringo who was, now that John looked too, following them behind his newspaper. Apparently it was true when George had said that it had been him and Ringo worrying.

“They won’t kiss!” George suddenly called out. John saw Brian flinch where he was sitting and Ringo lowered the paper, his eyebrows knitting together in the same way as George’s ones. Then his deep blue eyes turned on John and Paul and John felt cold sweat break through his forehead. What could they do? What could they possibly do? The others were getting suspicious. They wouldn’t be able to cheat them anymore, they just needed to count two and two and make three and everything would be ruined-

“Listen, we’ll kiss an’ then it’s okay?” His own voice broke through the barriers of his ears and his head whipped to the left, his wide eyes meeting his own ones, narrowed when they glanced at him before going back at staring at George.

“Wait,” John said and then hissed with a voice that only reached Paul’s and George’s ears, “But to kiss in front of them jus’ to show—“

“Oh Paul,” George said and shook his head, “If ye think that we wouldn’t be immune at seein’ ye two kiss by now, well ye’re pretty fuckin’ wrong in that. Do I need to remind ye of the time when we two walked in ye two shaggin’ on that red sofa? If I remember right, it was ye ridin’ John and oh yeah, I sure will get traumatised by one tiny kiss!” he laughed and John saw Ringo smiling too, though still eyeing at them with his brow furrowed.  John swallowed and looked at Paul, the silent question hanging in the air between them. Paul’s face was a bit pale and John was sure he himself looked the same.

“Guys...” George’s threatening voice started and John looked back at him. If they didn’t kiss, George and Ringo would know that there was something wrong. They already thought there was something wrong. And if they didn’t kiss then they would start thinking.

“Paul,” there was his voice and he turned his head back at Paul. His eyes were serious and slowly, ever so slowly he nodded, just the tiniest movements and John doubted no one else had noticed it happened.

”But remember that I think that you’re beautiful.”

“I’ll try.”

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and then he felt a hand on his cheek. His breath hitched and he heard George sighing really impatiently.

“Hurry up will ye???” the lad said and John really, really, really wanted to fucking grab him and drag him at the plane door and throw him out without caring what anyone would say. Because—

A pair of thin lips pressed against his own and he shuddered, his other hand coming up holding Paul’s (his, he tried not to think) elbow. And it felt weird.

But also familiar.

Despite everything, John found himself liking it, probably because Paul’s skills in kissing had disappeared nowhere. The auburn haired man slowly started to move his lips after holding them against John’s ones for a moment and then he was opening his mouth and John did the same, nibbled at the lip between his teeth before pulling Paul closer and feeling his tongue trying to get into his mouth. And he let his lips fall open and Paul took over the kiss, just like John would have done.

And he was shocked how it wasn’t as disgusting as he had thought.

Because the taste was the same. It was his taste, and it was Paul’s, and it was all mixed up together and John realised that it was the taste that he loved. That taste meant that they were together, holding each other, kissing, and nothing would come between them. It had always been so.

“Hmmh,” George let out an appreciating sound and then there was a squeak from the chair and a thump when he jumped on the floor and paraded over where Ringo was sitting. John could hear the drummer saying ‘it looks like they’re gonna die or somethin’ and that’s the last kiss’ to which George answered ‘they’re goin’ home. It’s the last’ and that made John realise it was true.

He broke away from Paul and without daring to open his eyes, let his forehead rest against Paul’s one. Then, ever so slowly he moved his hands in the back of Paul’s head and pulled him in again.

And this time it was more. It was tongues and teeth and lips and everything and John was grabbing at the back of Paul’s jacket with both of his hands and Paul was pulling him closer, the soft sounds that their clothes made when their bodies crushed togetherbeing the only sound they could hear. Paul’s hand sneaked in the back of John’s neck and forced his head a bit back and Paul’s tongue buried itself inside his mouth and it was just so good. And then Paul’s lips were on his throat and he let out a shaky moan and he found himself getting aroused. Though it made no sense.

‘Nothin’ in this thing makes sense,’ he thought to himself and pushed his fingers into Paul’s hair to keep his head into place. There was a slurping sound that Paul made when he retreated from the skin and John felt like he should have complained; he would usually complain.

And then he realised that they were landing.

Paul was holding him against his chest and his own hands were loosely around his back. Paul slowly stroked his hair and John sighed really deeply.

“It wasn’t too awful,” he then whispered and Paul started laughing, giggling manically into John’s hair. John joined him after a while and there they sat, laughing silently and holding each other till the very moment when the heels touched the ground.

They grabbed their BEAtles bags, did some unnecessary fussing around the plane and with Paul pressing John’s leather cap into his head (John had to admit that it looked good on him and hoped he didn’t look too smug) the doors opened and the world welcomed them once again as their boys.

They were just coming back from a tour and it seemed like every girl from the UK had come to scream ‘Hello’. John tried to remember how Paul usually acted in this kind of situations and planted a grand smile on his lips while he lifted his other hand high up in the air, trying to look extremely excited and feeling himself really stupid. Paul in front of him probably was just smiling; he did a funny little thing with his hand that looked like he was going to lift it up in the air but then never succeeded when his brain started to work.

Half an hour it was just like that. Police officers, screaming girls and press. John made sure to stay close to Paul, partly just in case and partly because he felt like he needed the last touch of fingers against his own before going and meeting the Pretty Legs. He shuddered and Paul gave him an understanding, sad smile. John grimaced in return and Paul ducked his head a bit to hide his smile that was widening all the time. He was probably thinking John with Jane, the bloody bastard. John hadn’t forgotten that laugh in the plane.

And before John knew, he was standing in front of the Red-Head with a grin on his face that was probably more mad-looking than anything else. He saw from the corner of his eye how Cynthia raced towards Paul and threw herself into his arms and Paul just hugged back and glanced at John with eyes that said ‘HELP ME OH GOD WHAT DO I DO’ and John answered with the same kind of an expression. Because the Pretty Legs were now moving towards him though she looked more like a predator in John’s mind (though she had pretty legs he had to admit). He hesitantly opened his arms and tried not to throw up when he felt his girlfriend wrap her arms around his neck and then he was staring down at her and she was smiling up at him, and after the last glance at Paul who was staring at him wide-eyed over Cynthia’s shoulder, he closed his eyes and surged down. The sooner it was over the better.

Unfortunately it seemed that Jane hadn’t planned of letting go too soon.

And so, fifteen minutes later they were sitting in a limousine that would take them somewhere (John had missed that part), the Pretty Legs glued to his side and Paul sitting on the other side of the car, Cynthia babbling something about how Julian had thrown up over the sofa and hopefully John wouldn’t mind if they bought a new one? It was actually pretty entertaining to see how Paul’s expressions changed between being annoyed (which would be what John would look like) to smiling politely (which would be what Paul would look like) and then every now and then he just looked like them both and after that really confused because he didn’t know how he should put his face.

“I think a new sofa would be a better idea,” the predator talked and John glanced at her before Cynthia’s eyes were on him and he offered a polite smile (just like Paul would do).

“I can’t say as I haven’t seen the damage,” he started and Paul looked at him hopefully, “But I’m sure John does have enough money to get a new one.”

God, how he sounded thick and lame. He knew Paul had noticed but fortunately the Red-Head had nothing else than pretty legs to show, and even though Cynthia wasn’t stupid she didn’t know Paul well enough to notice that something was really off in the way he spoke.

“Yeah, I’ll see into it later,” Paul mumbled and Cynthia turned to him, pressed her hand against Paul’s cheek and started to guide his head down to meet her lips. Paul had time to look panicked and close his eyes before they were kissing and John hoped Cynthia wouldn’t notice the difference. Because hell, there was a huge difference in the way the kissed. The Pretty Legs had fortunately noticed nothing as John had kind of ravished her mouth and it was something he never wanted to remember or do again.

Like, never.

***

“I’ve been just pulling the ‘too tired sorry luv’ –card,” John sighed and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, the other one resting in his lap. Paul nodded and scribbled down a few words before crossing them over and sighing loudly, turning his eyes on John. John met his eyes and then leaned forward, let his forehead rest against the piano they had in front of them.

“I’ve just made myself busy with other things and went to sleep pretty late,” Paul answered and lowered the notebook, watching John with tired eyes. A week after the tour they were back at work, writing together and this time either of them had nothing to complain. They hadn’t seen each other in five days and Paul couldn’t say that he wouldn’t have been a nervous wreck the whole time. Surely he had enjoyed playing with Julian, as always, but he really, really wanted to be back in his on body. What if this change had come to stay? What if they would never be themselves again?

He knew he had repeated these words in his head a thousands of times, but he just couldn’t help but wonder why it had happened in the first place. To teach them something?

“Have we learnt anything from this?” he asked quietly and looked how John pressed his hands together, trying to stop the shaking. Paul knew that they were shaking. He really hoped John wasn’t going to get that breakdown now, though Cynthia and Julian had left the house to give the two songwriters some peace.

“Not a single fuckin’ thing,” John mumbled as an answer and Paul let his head hung down. Because it was true.

“You’ve learnt that you’re beautiful,” he smiled suddenly and met John’s narrowed eyes.

“And also that you’ve got a small dick.”

“John,” Paul sighed and John offered an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. But it’s true though.”

“Well you shave your legs.”

“I do not,” John looked scandalised and Paul laughed, poking at John’s stomach.

“I hope you haven’t eaten too much, I don’t wanna start loosin’ fat when I get back into what belongs to me,” he cackled and John rolled his eyes before attacking Paul with his fingers.

“No tickling!” Paul had time to yell before they both fell into the ground, John on top of Paul and holding his hands from the wrists.

“Oh, I’ll eat all the chocolate I’ll find, all the biscuits, every cake that your precious pretty legs does, I will eat,” he said with a voice that was maybe meant to be threatening but pretty much failed as his whole body was shaking with laughter and Paul was struggling under him, laughing his arse off. And then before John had time to register anything his back met the floor and Paul was sitting on his stomach, holding his hands and smiling down at him mischievously.

“Well, maybe I’ll get fat too, what do you say?” he asked and John shook his head wildly, looking at Paul with wide eyes.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said and Paul laughed manically.

“You sure?” he asked and leant a bit forward, hovering over John and then without any warning grabbed John’s head, pulled it up and crashed their lips together.

John was, more or less, surprised. He stared at himself without being able to close his eyes and realised for his horror that he was actually kissing back. It was only a reflex, he told himself. But when he felt himself harden panic struck into him and he quickly pushed Paul away.

“Jesus, son!” he gasped for breath and held Paul’s head between his hands, “What’s the matter with you!?”

“I,” Paul started breathing hard and swallowing, “I don’t know. I just—“

“You just?”

“I just,” Paul let his head fall towards John and their foreheads touched, “I can’t go on anymore,” he suddenly sobbed and John saw tears in his own eyes. A sight he would have never wanted to see.

“Hey, now,” he started and smiled shakily, “Paul, everythin’ gonna be alright, believe me, we’ll get back to norm—“

“HOW DO YOU KNOW??” Paul shouted and startled John all over. And then the bassist was standing and walking further away, pressing his palms against his face, shaking all over. John leant on his elbows and stared at his lover who was apparently having some kind of a breakdown in front of him. A thing he had tried not to think. And seeing himself act like Paul did at the moment...

“Paul,” he said softly and stood up, straightening his shirt in the progress. A tiny part of his brain had time to notice that it was something Paul would always do but John would almost never. The same part of his brain also had time to fear that realisation.

“Don’t look,” Paul said with a broken voice, “Don’t look, don’t come closer—“

“I already am close,” John answered and made Paul jump and turn around, finding John ten inches away from him. There were tears in the corners of his eyes and he started desperately wipe them away, silently cursing something. John’s hand came up and took a hold of Paul’s wrist.

“Paul,” he said silently and Paul turned wholly towards him and John wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into an embrace.

“I love you,” he mumbled and pressed his lips against Paul’s ones this time with his own accord. And Paul took a deep breath and let John take over the kiss, wrapping his arms around John while John was holding him against himself and---

Their feet gave over and they fell into the ground without feeling anything.

Both were unconscious.

***

“Fuckin’ shit, my head,” there was a groan and John couldn’t quite figure out which one of them had said it. But he could agree anyway because his head was pounding so hard.

“What the fuck jus’—“ there was Paul’s voice and then it suddenly quieted down. A shocked silence filled the room and then without really being able to think anything, John turned his head and opened his eyes.

Wide hazel eyes stared at him with an expression that was impossible to describe.

“No way,” John whispered and brought his hand up in front of his own eyes, his OWN EYES and then he turned on his stomach with cursing wildly just to hear his own voice. His own voice. He was back in his body.

“Are we really—“ Paul started and cut himself off, brought his hand to his throat. And then John was moving, on his back and started wrestling with his belt.

“You can’t be that horny,” there was a comment from Paul when he pulled the trousers down on his knees and pulled down his briefs before Paul had time to say anything more.

He let out a triumphant shout and let the briefs slam against his skin before he turned to look at Paul with a winning smile.

“I’m back,” he hissed and poked at Paul’s crotch, “And so ‘re you,” he laughed and whooped before relaxing in the ground, breathing blissfully.

“To celebrate this ‘changing back’ –thing, I’ll let you go this time,” Paul mumbled but there was a humorous tone in his voice. John turned his eyes on him and there was a gentle look in them. Paul’s face quickly softened into a smile that was more beautiful than anything that John had ever seen.

“I’m really glad to see you,” the guitarist, the actual guitarist smiled and lifted his hand, pressed it against Paul’s cheek. Paul just continued smiling, moved towards John and then without any hesitation or look of disgust in his eyes, he planted his lips against John’s ones and took a hold of his head to keep him in place. After the first sweet kiss John pulled a bit back and grinned wildly at Paul who answered with a same kind of a smile.

“You know, I could do with that shag now.”

“Oh, I bet you do, Paul.”

*~ FIN ~*