Author's Note: Hey howdy hey :) Ever since I stumbled across the ATU archive (mostly the stories that really aren't even about the movie) I've been inspired to write a Beatles fic! And this is the product of that inspiration. This is just sort of a background for the story and I promise the following chapters won't be as short as this. So yeah, please read and tell me what you think!
PS I know the title has nothing to do with the Beatles but it's from one of my fave songs, and it's tentative. Can you guess where it's from? ;)
31 December 1959
She was walking towards him ever so slowly, as if she was teasing him, toying with his emotions. A small smile graced her delicate features as she straightened the little black dress she knew he adored.
"Hiya Paulie," she breathed once she was a reasonable distance from him.
He smiled too, wondering what on earth she was up to.
"I didn't think you would come, what with your new friend John over and all," she trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards his house a little ways away.
"That wouldn't stop me from seeing you," he assured her, making her grin brilliantly. "What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"
Her grin faltered a bit but she kept it in place. He made no notice. He did, however, see a slight change in her usually overconfident demeanor. For a minute or two she refused to look him in the eye, instead glancing at the paved road beneath their feet or the twinkling stars in the distance behind him. Finally she mustered up all of her courage and faced him head on.
"Look," she sighed. "We've been friends for a while now and I greatly appreciate that. I honestly don't know what I'd do without you."
"How would you get on without someone as devilishly handsome as me?"
"Oh, stop it." She swatted his arm, the corners of her mouth tugging up slightly. "What I mean to say is," here her voice lowered so much he had to strain to hear. "I know I'm not perfect, but you could at least give me a chance."
"What are you talking about, love?" he asked, sincerely confused. Her vivid green eyes were dancing with whatever emotion she was hiding. He absentmindedly pushed a stray lock of fierce red hair out of her face. At that moment she was thankful for the cover of night to conceal the blush creeping up her pale freckled skin.
She fidgeted nervously with the thick buttons on her short cream-colored cardigan. "Paul…Jimmy," she smiled with the use of the name he only ever allowed her to say. "I understand you've got hordes of birds throwing themselves at you now that you're making something out of yourself with your music. I get that you have millions of choices…but I want you to choose me," she suddenly blurted out.
Paul was speechless. "I don't know what to say, love."
When she called him almost ten minutes ago he had not expected this. She told him she had something important to tell him and she would meet him outside of his house but he had no idea she was interested in something more than friendship. And here he was thinking he could simply go back to enjoying the New Year's festivities with his friend. But he knew no matter what he said she would no longer be that.
"Paulie I…I've been in love with you for a long time now and I'm not sure I can stop," she whispered, not looking at him again.
"I don't think I can," he responded without truly meaning to.
Her eyes flicked towards him, now alive with other emotions. "Why not?"
"You're not right for me."
Those eyes, those beautiful eyes he found himself staring into for the last few years displayed her hurt and immediately flashed to show her rage. She stood to her full height, which wasn't very much, and faced him defiantly with her arms crossed. Her hair billowed menacingly around her in the late night breeze.
He remembered telling her how much she looked like her mother when she was angry, which was a lot with him. Irene was an Irish immigrant who married the man who lived across the street from Paul, which is how he met her. She was a few years younger than him but she was able to keep up with him and his older friends, like George. She would always force her presence on them but after a while no one seemed to mind. After a while she became his best friend.
"Annie, you're like me sister!"
"Sister?" she spat. She adopted her father's rough Liverpudlian accent, which became even more pronounced in her anger. Somehow coming from her it sounded almost angelic, which was another thing he loved about her. "What about when you kissed me last summer? Is that what you'd do if you had a sister? Snog her?"
"I was completely blitzed then!" That wasn't necessarily true but he wasn't going to admit that now.
"Is that so? Cause I heard from George you were bragging about it the next day to all your little Teddy boy friends!"
"That's not fair, Annie." He ran a hand through his gelled hair and tugged his leather jacket tighter around him. From the shouts and laughter coming from the houses besides them he knew the final minutes of the year were upon them.
"You know what's not fair? Me spilling my guts to you and you rejecting me! You know you see me as more than a friend Jimmy, why are you denying it?" she cried in frustration.
"I'm not denying anything! I could have any bird in this whole fucking city, why would I want you?" The moment the words slipped from his lips he regretted it. Everything she said was true. He didn't believe she wasn't right for him. He just needed her to see he wasn't right for her.
If looks could kill he would be six feet under right now. Her hands were clenched in tight fists at her side as she glared at him, every nasty thought she had emanating from her body. "James Paul McCartney I fucking hate you!"
"Ten, nine, eight…"
She stormed past him, purposely bumping into his shoulder.
"Annie, wait!" He made to grab for her but she lurched away, not wanting to be contaminated by his vulgar presence.
"Piss off. I never want to see your slimy face again, McCartney."
"…three, two, one! Happy New Year!"
What a happy one indeed. Paul watched as his best friend, his sister, walked out of his life forever.
Or so he thought.