My first Beatles fanfiction! I've been reading here for quite some time, but I figured I'd try to write a little something. So here I am… You want to read this and I'm still rambling. Okay. Read on my friends!
John cracked his eyes open and groaned in agony. It was bright. Startlingly and painfully bright. The chocolate brown orbs squinted and struggled to make out the surroundings. He was in a hotel room that much was obvious. But John's fever muddled brain had yet to figure out the exact location. His throbbing eyes scanned the room before another bout of coughs went through his shivering form. He slammed his eyes shut almost instantly, bracing himself for a few horrifying moments of breathlessness.
It was so hot, John noticed absently, as his lungs raged and heaved.
Sudden footsteps assaulted his eyes. A cool and comforting hand found kindly found its way to his forehead.
"Your fever's up again," mused an equally soothing voice. It was low, silky, and eerily familiar.
John wracked his brain momentarily trying to place the voice's owner. He furrowed his brow in curiosity, but refused to open his eyes just yet.
"Johnny? You alright?" The voice asked rather stupidly.
He struggled to clear his throat. "No," He winced inwardly at the awful raspy sound he was producing.
The voice's hand shifted to his shoulder. With a renewed interest, John considered the identity of the voice.
"Paul?" He murmured. "Is that you?"
His eyes reluctantly opened to find Paul's concerned face peering at him.
"Yeah John. It's Paul. Are you sure you don't need a doctor?"
John abruptly sat up in weak protest. However the normally simple action triggered another fit of agonizing coughs.
"N-no doctors." He managed to choke out in a series of gasps. "Hate…them." Tears streamed down his flushed cheeks. Paul's doe-like eyes grew dramatically in a combination of sympathy and worry.
"Lay back down before you keel over, mate." The younger man said softly.
Once he was settled back into the cocoon of blankets, John wearily gazed up at his best friend.
"It's just a cold, Macca. I'm not dying."
Paul snorted. "Could have fooled me. That cough of yours is right nasty."
John ignored him, instead half-heartedly rolling his eyes. He shifted slightly and let out an ear-splitting yawn.
"…Blood knackered. But I've been sleeping all day." A series of chills then decided to wage war against the rhythm guitarist's body. John groaned audibly as the violent shakes became uncontrollable.
"Alright?" Paul murmured hesitantly. Dealing with John always proved to be a difficult task, espically when he wasn't feeling well. He was still trying to gauge whether or not his best friend wanted company or to be left in his misery.
"I'm fine." He growled in irritation, pulling another blanket over his shoulders.
"Oh yeah, you're the spitting image of health, Lennon." Paul retorted.
As if on cue another chest rattling cough burst from John's diaphragm. He shrunk instinctively into the blankets, sitting almost doubled over. "I fucking hate this." He rasped.
Paul sighed deeply, knowing that he very wouldn't leave his best mate's side tonight. He sunk down onto the floor next to the bed.
"Why don't you try to get some more sleep?" The bassist suggested gently.
"Yeah, I guess."
John looked down at Paul suddenly. "You don't have to stay, ya know." He said quietly.
"I know."
There was a paused.
"You've done the same for me." Paul added.
"G'night Macca."
"Night Johnny. Feel better."
I'd love it if you'd review
-Peace and Love
