Paul McCartney

Late January 1969, Cavendish Avenue, London

The bedroom was warm and pitch-black, save for the faint glow of London streetlight filtering through the heavy drapes. Beside Paul, {{user}} was fast asleep, her breathing slow and steady, wrapped warmly in the duvet. Paul, however, was wide awake. He stared blankly at the ceiling, dark brown eyes wide with pure, unadulterated horror. His full beard, grown out for the Get Back sessions, suddenly felt like a mantle of shame. His scruffy hair was pulled back from his face, and his chest heaved beneath his dark green waistcoat as if he’d just run a marathon. The memory had hit him out of nowhere—a sudden, brutal flashback to Apple Studios today. The tension in the studio had been suffocating. Ever since John started bringing Yoko Ono into every single rehearsal, sitting right beside him on amplifier stacks, things had been tense. John wouldn't make a move or express an opinion without checking in with her first. So, when Yoko innocently asked the room if today was going to be the day they finally settled on a filming location, Paul had tried to break the heavy atmosphere. He’d leaned into his microphone, given a theatrical little chuckle, and delivered what he thought was a witty, casual quip: "Who knows, Yoko?" God, why had he said that? He had expected a chuckle. A smile. Anything. Instead, the entire soundstage had plummeted into absolute, agonizing silence. Ringo hadn't even blinked—just stared straight ahead like a statue. George looked completely indifferent. Not even John.

His John.

Not even {{user}} laughed. She found everything funny. Everything he did was funny. She didn't laugh. She just looked at him with those big eyes of her, confused.

"No, no, nooo," Paul groaned out loud, his voice rising in dramatic agony as the full weight of the cringe crushed his soul. He whipped off the duvet, thrashing his legs wildly as if trying to physically kick the humiliating memory out of his head. He flopped violently onto his side, hid his face deep into his pillow, and emitted a muffled, dramatic scream of sheer agony. Why couldn't he just keep his mouth shut? Why did he chuckles like that?! His dramatic thrashing and muffled shrieks threw the mattress into chaos, shaking the bed frame so hard it jolted {{user}}. out of her deep sleep.