AN: Disclaimer: This never happened. I do not own Lennon or McCartney; I just own the words I wrote.

It's a little slashy, so if you don't agree with it, I suggest you to don't read this.

John Lennon's P.O.V.

1966. It's late night and my thoughts won't let me sleep in peace. I can't believe how I can do and say so many idiotic things so easily; like it's something common in me. I want to speak to someone; but not anyone. I need to talk with the person that knows me better in this world, or I won't be able to sleep, and when I don't sleep I get grumpy, 'cause yes, that's how I am.

I get off my bed, walk and sit down on the floor near Paul's bed where he is sleeping like a little angel, beautiful as only he can be. One of the infinitive things I love about him is that he sleeps quietly, never moves from one position; the opposite of myself: I can't sleep without rolling to all sides of the bed all night long. Paul says I sleep like a beetle, which is funny because I am a Beatle.

I have so much shit on my head right now. I can't stop thinking about what happened; about how a simple thing that rolls off your thong can change people's view of yourself in an extremely radical way. I ought to wake him up, but I don't want to… He looks so fucking adorable, breathing silently. I know almost any sound can wake him up; so, I just lean over and start to sing loudly one of our songs. "IT WON'T BE LONG, YEAAH, YEAAAH, YEAAH, IT WON'T BE LOOONG YEAAAH… IT WON'T BE LOOONG, TILL I BELONG TO YOU…"

He wakes up violently; looking scared, and yawns. "BLOODY HELL! WHAT WAS THAT?"

I smile and giggle a little because of his reaction. "Oh… Hey, Macca,"

He rubs his eyes and drowsily asks, "John? What the fuck are you doing down there?"

I shrug. "Can't sleep."

"Why? C'mon, let's sit in my bed and talk."

I sit by his side and sigh. "So much shit on my head. Everybody hates me now. In some countries they have even forbidden selling our music, and there are people burning photos of mine. All because of a stupid thing I said."

"Johnny, you don't have to care about what other people you don't even know think about you."

"But when I die I don't want people to think of me as the cocky man who compared himself with Jesus Christ. I didn't even mean it that way! Why do people only look about one line in a two page interview?"

"Oh please, John Winston Lennon, they are all going to forget about that soon, and you'll be remembered as the beautiful musical genius you are. Fuck all the people that can't see your awesomeness. You know? What you said is true, we're even more famous than Jesus, and everyone knows it. They just don't want to accept the truth."

I flash him a smile. "Why are you always so fucking cute, Macca?"

"Because you're a bloody idiot who feels vane and powerful one day, and the next day feels down and shitty; and I can't stand seeing you like this. Why do you care so much about everyone loving you? You count with people that love you, like George, Ringo, and me, of course."

"So… You love me, right?" I raise an eyebrow and crawl closer to him.

"Of course, silly. You know it."

I grin. "How much?"

"A little, I think."

"A little?"

Paul giggles. "A little too much."

"I love you more than that."

"Mmmm… I don't believe you."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I'm always the one saying cute things." He complains.

I get even closer and curl one of my fingers in his hair, "So I guess you want me to say lovely things to you right now…"

"I wouldn't mind if you do…"

"You're a lucky little boy, because I am dying to tell you the loveliest things on Earth…"

"Go on…"

"You have the softest skin. The smoothest thing I've ever touched."

Paul is kind of disappointed. "Seriously? That's all you've got?"

"Of course not, Macca. That was just the start. But I'm real serious about what I said about your skin…"

"Surprise me then. Be the cutest you can be. Make me blush."

I stare right into his eyes and begin again. "You know I'm the arrogant of the group, and you don't care! You still tell me all that stuff for me to gain more confidence and…"

The bassist interrupts me, and annoyingly says, "I thought you were going to talk about me…"

"Ugh! See what happens? Even when I try to talk about you, I end up talking about me! I hate that! You should be the cocky one, because I swear you're the most talented person I know. I really admire that sensibility of yours; something I don't have. Want to hear something I have never told you because I was too arrogant to do it? I'm jealous of you. Of your talent, kindness, and the fact that it is so easy for you to help and cheer others up without looking to yourself. Oh, and you're so fucking beautiful. Just look at your face! There isn't even one flaw on it. Those big sparkling eyes of you can make my day happier if I only look deeply at them; and when those eyes cry, the only thing I want is to wipe away those tears just like I'm going to do right now…"

I wipe away Paul's crystalline tears smiling shyly. He doesn't say anything. I guess he doesn't want to ruin the moment saying something, so I just keep talking. "I love the way those eyes look at me when I just did something wrong. That look makes me feel guilty; not only because of the stupid things I always do, but because I know I let down my lovely Paulie."

Paul is blushing harder than ever. Task accomplished.

"And your lips… There isn't something better than those freaking pink and soft lips. I love how every time you kiss me, you do it as if the world is going to end and there's no tomorrow."

The left-handed is completely red; eyes sobbing and shining beautifully, heart beating fast, and sweating hands.

"I love you, James Paul McCartney, and you know it. I wouldn't be the same without you. I'd probably be lost right now, and more stupid than I already am; and please don't say I'm not stupid, because we both know I am. I'm always screwing everything and I know I have done some bad things to you that you don't even deserve. You don't deserve all that shit. But you're so crystalline, yes, that word suits you perfectly… You forgive me all the time, and act like I didn't do anything. You're adorable."

Paul doesn't say anything; I think I left him speechless; he's just staring at me with those lovely eyes. I remove the hair from his forehead and kiss him there.

"Would you like to sleep here with me?" he asks.

"How can I say no to those eyes?"

We get under the covers and close our eyes. Paul returns back to the same position he was before I woke him up, and I start moving to find a comfortable position to sleep. Like five minutes later, I snuggle closer to the crystalline boy, and whisper in his ear, "Macca?"

"Yes?" He answers without opening his eyes or moving himself to another position.

"Do you mind if I fall asleep holding your hand?"