Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

John adjusted the hem of his jeans, pulling them up by a belt loop at his back before he crouched down with a groan and began to ever-so-carefully organize and refill a rack of used and abused vinyl records. He might as well kiss the corner of each album individually and tuck them into bed with how forlorn he was at seeing each and every disk that qualified for the bargain bin.

“C’mon…” he mumbled under his breath as he struggled to reach far back enough under a taller shelf just above his head to pull out a plastic bin that was just empty enough to fill up, “Just a bit more…” He moved nearly his entire body under, unwilling to move to his knees as he rested on his beat up chucks.

“John?” A beautiful voice called out from behind.

Immediately, John slammed the top of his head against the shelf with a groan, the entire unit rumbling as he scrambled to pull himself back out as smoothly as he could possibly manage without making an even bigger fool of himself.

“Are you alright?” The voice asked, John now able to see who exactly had been calling out for him (not that he’d ever forget the face that matched a voice like that).

“Fuck.” John bit back a whimper as he fell back onto his rear and looked up at the figure above him. “Yeah, I’m alright. Love a good surprise, Paul. You’ve always got the best timin’.”

If he wasn’t carrying two cups of coffee in his hands and a bass stored away in a bag over his shoulder, John was sure Paul would’ve cocked his hips and given him just enough of a playful wallop to the back of his head to play it off. “You’re the one who asked me to come here durin’ your break with a coffee.” He lightly kicked one of John’s feet. “Why aren’t you on break, anyway?”

“Eppy handed me over some last minute trades.” John sighed, finally standing up and dusting off the company apron he wore. “Some lucky lad raided his gran’dad’s attic an’ came back with 50 antiques. Names not even I’ve even heard of.”

Paul brought up a straw to his pouty lips, his iced latte appearing absolutely refreshing. If it weren’t absolutely pouring wet outside, at least. “Lucky indeed. How many did he get in return?”

“Exactly two new albums from some pop group after we found out half of his disks can’t even play.” John eagerly reached out for the other drink, already recognizing the carton cup as his. “Get me what I asked for?” He was already sipping it before he could get an answer.

But that didn’t stop Paul from reciting it with a laugh and roll of his eyes. “Regular cappuccino, extra cinnamon, double foam. Piping hot, just for you.” He slipped his empty hand into the pocket of his jacket, pressing it close to his body to warm up despite his frigid drink.

“Thank you, thank you. Amazing memory, as always.” John let the warmth of the coffee run it’s course. “Maybe you can put that to good use and start remembering where you park your car.”

Paul gasped, “Rita is in perfectly good hands with me! I take very good care of her an’ I’ve even started payin’ for street parkin’. Five quid for an hour today.”

John pushed the filled box underneath the shelf, knowing he could just get to it later. “You still got those three tickets on your windshield?”

“The rain will wash ‘em away,” Paul said with a grin as they both began to head to the back of the store.

John pulled out his tag from the pocket of his apron, swiping it to open the ample storage room for the two of them. As the only employee trusted enough to know how to keep it organized and keep the disks, cassettes, and spare books safe, it had also become John’s personal little break room.

He had 3 years working at NEMS now (technically 4 if you asked Brian Epstein considering how often John would hang out there during his formative college years) and John wasn’t sure if he even had the choice to give up the position and go somewhere else at the moment. He was a starving artist who was barely making money on the side with actual art.

His relationship with Cynthia had been a bust (not surprising considering she’d caught him cheating on her) and he’d left their swanky little apartment for something much less appealing. Dried, peeling wallpaper, a broken heater, and a loud street accompanying the world's smallest studio apartment wasn’t exactly a place he could take his dear aunt Mimi to visit.

Well, at least temporarily.

His big move was coming soon with a friend he’d reconnected with, Richard Starkey, and John was sure that it was the fresh start he needed to get things rolling. With Richard finishing up a temporary little gig over in Germany with some of his band mates as a drummer, John was praying to the Lord that he might be able to steal him away for his own plans.

Hence Paul sitting daintily upon a sturdy packing box as he pulled out his bass and began to tune it.

“How’s the new Hofner treatin’ ye?” John asked as he grabbed his own guitar from the corner and sat across from him atop his own box.

Reaching for his nearly empty iced latte, Paul finished it up as he slurped loudly. “Absolutely banger. Can’t believe I was able to get enough from the old guitar an’ dog walkin’ for it.”

“Aye, that’s because it’s cursed. Whoever owns this lovely thing is driven to a life of bad bowl cuts for all of eternity. Nothin’ cheap is without reason,” John joked, eyes on Paul’s concentrated expression as he tuned his instrument by ear. “Oh my God, the curse has already started!” He said with a gasp, ruffling Paul’s hair and laughing when he got a kick to his shin.

How long had they been friends now? 5 years? Going onto 6, possibly? John was sure he’d lost track at some point between college travels, Paul’s primary graduation, countless birthdays, the occasional move, the brief period they both were students at the same time, their trips to Germany, their deportations from Germany. Through sickness and health, they’d stuck by each other for longer than some people in John’s life ever wanted to. Or could.

It was no wonder John had grown so close to Paul. It was no wonder that whenever he looked into those large doe eyes and long lashes, his heart beat just a little bit faster and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up just a little bit straighter.

Could he count the ways he loved Paul? He’d been an art student for a reason. If he needed mathematics, he’d call up Ringo.

But it was there. Millions of little details from the way he’d refused to save up just a few more pence for a left-handed guitar to the way he pursed those plush lips of his in thought as he sat there, figuring out if his D string was truly out of tune or if his hearing was just shot.

“Do you think we should perform our next song with our trousers down to our ankles with decorative hats?” Asked Paul.

John shook his head, almost panicked as he immediately took his gaze off the way Paul lifted a finger to his lips and up to his hauntingly beautiful eyes instead. “Hm?”

“You can nap during your 15, John. Now, tell me if you think this is in tune or not.” He plucked the string again, finger at the top of the frets as he tried to tune it.

John scoffed, scooting close enough for their knees to touch as he tried to listen. “Funny of you to believe I work retail an’ get more than just my lunch.” An hour lunch he’d negotiated by pestering Eppy for over a month that instead of four 15 minute breaks, they could just give him a full hour lunch and place two employees on the floor to replace him. He still wasn’ exactly sure how’d he’d gotten so successful, but he wasn’t about to question his luck.

Was the begging and groveling absolutely worth it? Yes. If only because it meant that he now coincidentally shared a daily lunch in between two of Paul’s senior-level classes. His acting when he’d brought it up hadn’t been the most convincing, but Paul barely needed any to eagerly agree to a daily lunch.

And just like today, even the pouring rain that pounded the rooftop above their heads wouldn’t stop him.

John lightly strummed his own guitar, happy to find it still in tune since he’d touched it last night. “An’ how’s song writin’ goin’? Got anythin’ to truly woo the girls?” The joke was true, and that stung just a bit more.

“Don’t flatter me. What’s a bass player to someone who’s got it at a guitar? Pull it out an’ the birds come flockin’.” Paul giggled to himself at his silly little wordplay and John could spend the entire hour just hearing him laugh. “But… I’ve got some stuff down. Nothin’ too good but… I’m proud…”

How charming. Paul was trying to be humble.

“Will today be the day I get to hear it?” John asked as he crossed a leg and strummed a bit more, not playing any tune in particular.

Paul scoffed, “It needs some more time.” He sighed, groaning as he dropped his head to his shoulder and looked back at John with a pout. “I’ve been too busy studyin’ to write. My grades are down an’ my dad is already close to havin’ an entire litter of kittens from just findin’ out I’d skipped a class three months ago.”

“Remind me why you skipped?” John asked.

Paul grinned. “Concert in London with George.”

John snorted. “You posted the entire trip on your socials. I wouldn’t be surprised if your own professor had found out you’d skipped.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Paul said with a laugh. “He’s startin’ to ask me questions about my grades and with only two semesters left, he’s gettin’ antsy about it.”

“What’s goin’ on, then? Classes too rough?” John bit his tongue back to keep from joking about just how difficult a business major must be. Too many videos on the internet showing them jokingly coloring in picture books plagued his mind.

“Numbers.” Paul’s upper lip pulled into a snarl. “Retakin’ some economic an’ accountin’ classes and it’s reminding me I’m absolute shit at mathematics.”

“Need a tutor?”

“You offerin’?”

As much as John would love more time with Paul, their fingers grazing on accident when they both reached for the same pencil… “Yesterday, I shorted the cash register 200 pounds and stuck past closin’ for an hour to find it. Week before was 250. I don’t think I’m your man.” He suddenly snapped his fingers. “Ringo.”

“Was… his name-o…?” Paul asked with a snort.

“My mate Ringo. Name is Richard but the bloke wears too many rings.” John nodded. “He’s studyin’ some type of engineering an’ he’s aces at maths. He could help ye.”

“I appreciate the offer but I dunno if I can even afford it.” Paul sighed. “It’s been rainin’ the past two weeks an’ people aren’t exactly keen on their pups comin’ back home soakin’ wet.”

“He’ll do it. Pro quid bono.” Sorry, Ringo.

“Wrong phrase. And you sure he’s alright with you offerin’ his help when the poor lad isn’t even here to defend himself?” Paul asked, a smile still on his face.

John nodded. “He’s the one I’m movin’ in with. Come over by… Friday an’ we’ll be ready for guest. He’s a real nice guy an’ he’s been meaning to meet my friends anyway.” He grinned, “A perfect opportunity to bring over some food for a good lunch.”

Paul sighed, “Another excuse at my dad’s beef stew…” He tried to sip at his latte again, having forgotten he’d emptied it seconds ago. “An’ when do you move, officially? Send me a ring in the mornin’ to come over an’ help”

“Today is Monday… we’re lookin’ at Wednesday since he’s comin’ in from Germany tonight.”

“Germany? What’s he doin’ over there? Is he coming back because of an arrest?”

“Not everyone is an arsonist like you, Paul.” John rolled his eyes. “Drummer. Performed with his friend Rory an’ a few others.”

“Drummer?” Paul clearly struggled to hide his interest. “Is that so…?”

“Correct. A kickin’ drummer, so I’ve heard. An’ seen.” John hummed, suddenly appearing much more interested in his guitar and the wonderful world of dust beneath his strings.

“You’ve heard him? How’s he?” Paul asked, showing just how bad of an actor he is.

“Good.” John motioned with his chin to Paul’s bass. “But we’ll need to practice if we want to convince him.

And that was enough for the two of them to spend the next 45 minutes practicing in the storage room, blasting tunes and giving each other little notes here and there until the alarm on John’s phone went off and it was time for them to split.

If they were together, John would’ve gotten a kiss on the cheek the way Paul would for all his prior girlfriends. But they weren’t. So all he could do was joke about it as he pointed at his face and received a roll of large hazel eyes in return before Paul headed back outside to go to his next class for the day.

“Shit, the truck is gettin’ here in 15.” John looked at his wrist watch, the arms ticking down his eventual rush.

Paul groaned, standing up to stretch out his back after putting down a box heavy with books. “This is what you get for wakin’ up two hours later than you should’ve. Lucky I knew where your copy of the key for this place was.”

As much as he would’ve loved waking up to the sight of Paul, John didn’t appreciate the way he’d stood at the side of his bed, staring down with a look of disapproval. It’d been enough for him to jolt out of bed, their foreheads colliding when he’d moved too quickly and without his glasses to get a proper distance. “I thought Georgie was comin’ over to help?”

“Mid-term. He said he’ll be at your new place to help with unpacking.” Paul quickly kneeled down once more, clear tape in his hand as he tried to close the remaining boxes and empty out the lot. For someone who lived in such a small space, it was crammed to the very brim with all sorts of things.

John sighed. “I run through my entire contact list for help movin’ an’ I’ve only got one returnin’?” Not that he didn’t understand everyone’s reasons for being unwilling to help.

Ivan? Sorry, mate, I’m crammed full with lessons back on campus.

Pete? Double shift at Casbah. A bloke called in sick last minute and I’ve got to cover for me mum.

Eric? Yeah, listen, ‘ow about you give me a heads up next time you don’t want me on the next gig and maybe I’ll help you come around again?

Nigel? I’m still workin’ on those flyers you asked for an’ I already called in sick today to take the time for it. It’s one or the other, lad.

John was sure he’d gone through the entire list, with plenty more he hadn’t bothered reaching out to, with little to no success. Even Ringo himself wouldn’t be able to help, in charge of moving his own things from point A to point B since both his parents wouldn’t be there to assist and his band secured a last minute gig still in Germany. So much for the close ties of a band.

Paul scoffed as he lifted a box into his arms. “Am I of that little use?”

“You’ve got a car,” John said. “That bumps you up to at least number 2 on my list.”

“Oh? Then who’s got first?” Paul asked as they walked into the hallway of the complex and out to the front where they’d piled what they could into the trunk of his car. Trucks were expensive and when it came down to renting it by space, John wanted to leave behind as little as possible.

“I keep it open.” John grinned as he crammed a box filled with winter coats into the back. “You never know when someone will impress you an’ jump up to number 1.”

Shutting the door of his luggage tight, Paul leaned against the metal with a tilt of his head, fringe softly falling into his eyes as he looked back at John. “An’ what’s it take to jump up to first position?”

There was an entire blast of jokes John could make right now, ranging from friendly to absolutely perverse. A laugh, a tease, another breakfast together, a trip in your car, late night calls, helping me move even though it meant skipping classes again, a good shag, a really good shag, bending over and-- “Rob a bank for me an’ maybe I’ll consider you promoted.”

Paul huffed, “Thanks for ruining my surprise housewarming gift for you.”

John laughed softly as he watched the aforementioned moving truck arrive at the nick of time, right on the dot as a man came out of the driver’s seat to get everything organized.

The process of moving was substantially easier since they had nearly everything packed. With John’s couch, ratty bedframe and mattress, and spare boxes all that was left, they were bound for his new apartment in a mere hour.

Driving through the roads, Paul barely giving his breaks a chance as he pressed on the gas whenever he felt there were no police to catch him, his face turned to a grimace as they got closer.

“Home sweet home, Paulie. Wonderful, isn’t it.” John said with a smile.

Paul nodded slowly, eyes on the space as he tried to find street parking. “Yeah… I… I suppose.” He turned to John as he turned on his brake. “You know, you could move in with me. Mikey an’ I can room together an’ you can take his space--” he rushed to follow John out of the car, “--o-or we can room you downstairs! Dad’s new sofa is somethin’ spectacular! A miracle for lumbar support!”

John pulled out a box, ready to get inside and get started while the truck was still a distance away. “You’re a horrible liar, Paul. Next time we’re gettin’ interrogated, I’m not trustin’ ye.”

“C’mon, Johnny. When is this buildin’ even from? It’s fallin’ apart!” Paul gasped as he motioned to the building, it’s age given away by pale pink brick walls and dusty windows.

“It’s from the 60’s! Vintage.” John said simply as he heads towards the door and unlocked it with a key from his ring. “Ritch an’ I got a two-bedroom townhouse for under 900 pounds. Whatever the split is, I was still payin’ more for that alone!” He grimaced when a burst of dust hit his face, causing him to sneeze and nearly topple over from everything he carried. “It just needs some love, alright? All it needs is love.”

“If I see a rat, I’m runnin’.” Was all Paul said before they got to work laying the boxes out in the living area and making enough space for the mattress and bed frame to be taken upstairs to John’s new bedroom.

It took another hour of unloading the truck before it was just the two of them again, the door of the building left open as they walked in and out, back and forth over and over again as they chatted about whatever came to mind. A new album that had just come out, nostalgic television they were watching on their laptops, a brand new cafe that would be opening soon. Paul brought up his brother and John brought up his own half-sisters. It felt like in no time at all, the afternoon had passed them by as they both walked back into the apartment with the last of the boxes in their arms.

And from behind, came in George through the open door with no needed fanfare. “I’m not too late, am I?” He asked, messenger bag over one shoulder and both hands holding plastic cups filled with tea. One, he lifted to his lips to take a sip while the other one he held out for Paul to immediately grab.

“Came just in time!” Paul slurped at his drink excitedly, happy to have something to cool him down after so many boxes.

John made a face. “Nothin’ for me?”

George only snorted as he tossed his bag to the side and began to look around. “You hate boba tea.”

“I don’t like chewin’ me drinks!” John said defensively as he grabbed a box cutter and started opening the kitchen-ware stored off.

Paul sat on the third step of the nearby staircase, chewing before speaking. “How did the exam go?”

George crouched down to help pull out some decorative plates that very clearly had been a gift from Mimi to John from his first move. “Philosophy. Not too difficult, but the professor had us create our own arguments as a final essay on the back of the exam. Two entire pages I filled out about the concept of common sense.” He gave a glance over at John. “Might make someone in here read it in hopes they’ll learn somethin’.”

John let out a dry laugh. “The least common of the senses. Would help me understand why you’re dressed like that.”

George frowned, tugging at his linen shirt. “What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?” He was dressed… less than smart. He’d always been a fan of bright patterns and colors and, well, maybe the open sandals with baggy elephant-patterned pants to go along with his yellow top and heart shaped sunglasses he’d brought up to the top of his head could be a bit questionable.

“It’s… very you, George.” Was all Paul could say, his tone the way a sibling tried to be polite to a younger brother.

“Glad I stored my lenses in a box somewhere…” John murmured before George smacked the back of his head.

“Lay another one an’ I’ll pick up the bus back to me ‘ouse,” George retorted, as if John didn’t know he’d rather spend his time with friends than return to a smothering mother and an endless list of chores with his name on them.

John only laughed, getting into the work ahead of them. It was a couple of hours before half of John’s boxes were undone and they still had just enough energy to order some take away for themselves.

It’d been an argument of pizza, Indian, or Chinese and when none of them succeeded, Thai had been the winner of all things.

Their energy was completely gone, however, by the time that there was a knock on the door that neared 10 at night.

“God, someone get up. I can’t walk anymore.” John groaned, dramatically slapping his hand over his forehead as if he were fainting.

“Georgie, you go.” Paul mimicked John, falling across his lap as they rested on the dusty couch. “Please, you’re so full of love and life. So young… you can save us…”

George frowned, standing up from the corner where he’d been charging his phone with a huff. He made his way to the front, head turned their direction as he opened the door. “I’m callin’ first dibs on the food then, blokes--”

Then, there was silence and the softest murmurs of words.

Paul lifted his head after a full minute, sightline to the door blocked by a half wall. “Georgie? Is it the delivery man?”

“I’m busy!”

John and Paul shared a look before getting up, creeping their way behind George as they angled their heads just right.

“Ritch!” John shouted, making a dash past George as Paul fell to the floor, having been resting against his friend’s back for support.

The man John was hugging, Ringo, laughed softly as he returned the favor before letting go with a pat to his back. “I’d ask how you are but apparently you were throwin’ a house party for the move in, mate.”

“Don’t be daft,” he scoffed. “Wouldn’t be one without you.”

“John,” George’s voice was tight, “You’re friends with Ringo?”

John raised a brow, giving him a look-over. “Already on a petname basis for one another?” He gave Ringo an elbow as he let him in. “You work fast. Teach me your tricks.”

Ringo only laughed coolly while George’s cheeks turned rosy. “Don’t tease the lad. He was introducin’ himself to me.” But George had already walked back to Paul, clearly over the entire situation. “Oh, and,” he took a step inside and towards Paul, “if I just met George an’ know Johnny is a bloke, then you must be Paul.” He stuck out a polite hand for a firm shake.

Paul returned it quickly with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Ringo--”

“Or Ritch, y’know.”

“Ritch,” Paul said with a soft laugh, “it’s nice to meet ye.” He looked right past the man with a quirk. “Well, erhm, shouldn’t you be movin’ in as well?”

Ringo sighed with a shake of his head. “Had to change it to tomorrow. Flight got pushed back from the rain, all sorts of it, an’ I won’t be able to move my things until tomorrow.”

George glanced up from his phone, clearly trying to hide any eagerness laying under his expression. “In need of some help?”

Ringo laughed politely, voice soft and slow as he spoke. “I couldn’t ask that from someone I’ve just met,” he winked, “but I’d appreciate it.”

“If you aren’t ready to bring all of your thousands of sunnies, then what’s got you here, Ritch?” John asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“I wanted to check the place out since it’s along the way to my mum’s home. Know if i had to bring anything to help clean up an’ all of that. Didn’t expect to find it already lived in, though.”

“Stretchin’ it out for ya!” John grinned as he smacked Ringo’s back.

George scoffed as he scooched a bit closer to the group again, the cord of his charger stretched as far as it could allow. “Big enough to stretch it out for all four of us.”

“Now you--!” John shouted as he ran towards George, hands up as his friend immediately booked it up the stairs, their pairs of feet stomping against the aging grain of the wooden steps. “Get back here, you fuckin' twat!”

Paul only watched, soft laughter escaping pretty lips before he turned back to Ringo and noticed a take-away driver walking up their way. “Mind some drunken noodles?”

Ringo looked sheepish as he made space for the driver to hand over large bags of food in styrofoam boards while Paul exchanged a couple of bills. “Hate to say I’d probably be allergic.” He motioned to his messenger bag, pulling out a bland digestive treat instead. “I’ll have me own and lend me company instead.”

“We’ll make sure to ask you next time, alright, lad?” Paul said as he walked into the kitchen with Ringo.

“Sounds absolutely swell.” He responded, helping unbox everything as the sound of two bodies hitting the floor tumbled above them.