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John was lying on Paul's floor, strumming his guitar. Paul was sitting on the bed, strumming his own guitar.
"Throw in a B7 there before the E," Paul said, kicking his legs, clearly excited by the new chord they had learned.
Paul's socked, stinky foot came frightfully close to John's face. John swiped him away.
"Watch it, you muppet," John grumbled, shuffling away from the potential of more Paul feet attacks.
He tried out the chord progression on his guitar again, with the addition of the B7.
"Like this?" John asked.
"Oh, yeah," Paul said, eyes closed as he played it himself. He practically moaned as he said, "that's it. Just like that."
John gave him a look as he sat up against the wall. "Alright, no need to get that into it."
Paul grinned at his mate. "Don't you feel it? Y'know, when music hits just right?"
John closed his eyes, playing the progression again. "Yeah. Feels… sort of… godly."
Sometimes it felt like he was being lifted out of his body. Sometimes it felt like everything in the world had been slipped into place, just right. Like things might finally make sense.
John frowned as he caught up with what he had said. "Nevermind, that's daft."
Paul giggled. "'Godly' is right. Y'know, just imagine how we'll feel on stage with all those German birds screaming for us."
"German tarts…" John smiled dreamily. "When's the train again?"
"Ah, 9:30," Paul said, casually taking out a cigarette.
John looked at the clock on Paul's bedside drawers, and he jumped up.
"9:30?" John exclaimed. "It's almost 9 already!"
Paul dropped his unlit cigarette and grabbed his clock, eyes bulging out of their sockets.
"Shit, we gotta run to the bus," Paul grabbed John's hand, leading him out.
"Oi, get your shit first, lad," John said. "You're not stealing all me clothes in Hamburg."
Paul bounced back into his bedroom, frantically tossing things into a suitcase while John stood there holding his nicely-packed suitcase, tapping the non-existent watch on his wrist.
"Let's go, let's go!" Paul pushed John out of his room, down the stairs, into some shoes, and out into the street.
They both ran as fast as they could down the street, turned the corner, only to see the green bus they needed was already at the stop.
"Wait!" Paul shouted, running ever faster.
John gave up already, standing on the corner of the street, trying to catch his breath. He watched Paul zoom to the bus stop, only for the bus to leave just before he got there.
Paul looked back at John, anguished. John gave him a pitying look, even though secretly John was disappointed as well. Oh well, if they couldn't make it to Hamburg today, they could try again the next day. The Indra Club surely wouldn't be too upset about them being just one day late.
Paul and John walked back towards each other, meeting in the middle.
"We," Paul panted, "missed it."
"Did we?" John mockingly furrowed his brow. "I thought you were making all that fuss about that bus for fun."
"Since when do buses come on time?!" Paul groaned.
"I think that was as late as we are."
"Why are you being so flippant?!" Paul snapped. "We can't go to Hamburg now!"
"We'll try again tomorrow."
"We'll have to buy new train tickets!"
"Oh, right," John frowned.
It was certainly very expensive to travel out of the UK.
"Maybe someone can drive us to the station," John suggested.
Paul nodded in agreement. They both stood by the edge of the road, sticking their thumbs out.
The minutes ticked by. No success.
"Y'know how English trains are, it'll be late anyway," John said.
"Late out of its starting station?" Paul looked at him.
John turned back to the road. At last, someone picked them up.
The two of them squished into the back of the car together, amongst some foul-smelling bits and bobs. They both bounced their legs up and down nervously, legs rubbing against each other. At least, like always, John's nerves were settled when he could feel Paul against him.
When Lime Street Station came into view, they still couldn't be relieved yet. They had no idea if they were on time.
"Thank you very much," Paul told their driver before John pulled him away.
They ran into the station. John read out the platform number from their tickets, while Paul, who was the only one who could see the platform numbers in the distance, looked for it.
Just as they found it, the train chugged away.
Both boys stared silently.
Something stale settled at the pit of John's stomach.
There went Hamburg and all of their dreams.
"We… could, y'know, hitch-hike to Hamburg," Paul suggested weakly.
John looked at the empty train tracks in front of him. They had been so close! That made it sting all the more.
"Forget it," he mumbled. "We'll get there too late and they won't want us."
Paul held his palms out to his sides as if trying to invoke some kind of deity. "So now what?"
"Now we go back to the Casbah and the Cavern until someone else wants us again."
"While most of our band is in Hamburg."
"If Stu, George, and Pete made it, they're gonna have to come right back. Can't have a band without us."
"Why not? You and I are only extra guitars, y'know."
John gave him a look. "Extra guitars? We're the guitars! And the only ones who can write."
"Well, fine, we'll see if they come back for us. Otherwise we'll just have to build another band, y'know."
John looked at the other trains around him. He gripped his suitcase tightly.
He didn't want to be stuck in this city anymore. He had to get out into the world. To be free, and to be known. John knew he and Paul were the best musicians in all of Britain, so rotting away in Liverpool wasn't going to cut it.
John clutched Paul's hand.
"C'mon," he said, leading Paul to a train.
"Where are you taking me?" Paul asked.
"Dunno."
They hopped onto one of the trains that was about to leave, finding two free seats and sitting down.
"Wait, we don't have tickets," Paul said under his breath.
John looked at him and grinned. "So what? Wherever the train stops, or wherever they kick us off, that's where we're staying."
Paul's eyes shone at the rebellious prospect. He and John, on a random train, letting it deposit them anywhere. Just the two of them, on an adventure together.
It was even more exciting than taking a random bus together. Random buses usually took them to Blackpool, which was exciting but not all that far from Liverpool. A train could take them anywhere. Birmingham? London? Cornwall? Scotland? France?
The train chugged along. John watched the English landscapes outside his window. It was quite pretty, seeing it all like this. The green trees and grass, terraced houses, and the occasional castle whipping past his eyes.
Paul leaned on his shoulder to get a better look out the window.
When John heard the ticket inspector walking down the carriage, he nudged Paul. They both pretended to be asleep.
Footsteps approached. John kept his eyes shut and his limbs loose, lit cigarette propped between his lips.
Footsteps paused nearby. John remained still.
Footsteps moved along.
John waited a few more moments to be sure before he opened his eyes again. Thank god, the ticket inspector had left the carriage.
Paul grinned at him. John grinned back. There was nothing stopping them from going as far as this train would take them.
The ticket inspector came along a couple more times as the hours dragged on and new passengers boarded. Each time, John and Paul pretended to be asleep. Each time, it somehow worked.
When they got hungry, they ate the sandwiches John had packed in the morning.
Unfortunately, while they were eating, the ticket inspector walked through the carriage again. They quickly put their sandwiches down and again pretended to be asleep.
Footsteps approached.
A throat was cleared.
"Tickets," said a voice.
John and Paul didn't budge.
"I saw you eating just a moment ago."
John didn't open his eyes, but he heard Paul yawn beside him.
"Morning, sir," Paul said primly, even though they both knew it was now the afternoon.
"Tickets," the inspector repeated.
"Right, let me just get them," Paul said.
There was a kerfuffle as Paul dug around for nothing.
"I seem to have misplaced…" Paul said vaguely. He elbowed John. "John, lad, do you have the tickets?"
John stretched as he pretended to wake up. He dug around in his pockets.
"Tickets…?" he pulled out the tickets for the initial train that was going to get them on the way to Hamburg. He flashed them at the inspector before he could get a proper look.
"Can I check them, please?" the inspector asked.
John passed the tickets over, nervously fiddling with his hands.
The inspector squinted at them. "Wrong train."
John and Paul looked at each other in mock-shock.
"Is it?!" they both gasped.
"What train are we on, sir?" John asked.
"We're heading to Glasgow."
"Oh! Scotland! Wrong direction, that."
"Exactly," the inspector frowned. "I'm afraid you're going to have to leave the train at the next stop. And you got on in Liverpool, did you? There's a hefty fine for that, y'know."
"It was an honest mistake, sir," Paul said sweetly. "I understand you have to do your job, but we already paid for a train we didn't get and now we're going to have to pay for a train all the way back home, y'know. If you let us off the hook just this once, I promise it won't happen again."
The inspector gave Paul a long, hard look.
"I'll be back here when we get to the next stop," he said at last.
"Thank you, sir," Paul said. "We're terribly sorry, sir."
When the inspector was out of earshot, John and Paul burst into laughter.
John waggled his eyebrows at Paul.
"Scotland, Macca," John grinned. "Just you and me."
"If the next stop is in Scotland, yeah."
John looked out the window. He couldn't really tell, and he hadn't been paying attention to the stops they had already made. There was only one way to find out where they were going to be kicked off.
The train made a stop at a station called Motherwell. John had never heard of it, but he liked the sound of it.
The ticket inspector came back over to them.
"You're getting off here," he said.
"Thank you, sir," Paul said. "Is this Scotland, sir?"
"Yeah, last stop before Glasgow. Lucky you…" he drawled.
"It'll be a long journey home then," Paul said with his big, sad eyes.
"Yeah, alright, off you go, and don't let me see you two again."
So they got off the train into Scotland without having to pay any fees.
They both squealed in delight. This was really happening. They were alone in a new place together.
They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring Motherwell, without a thought as to what they might do when night came.
As it started to get dark, they found their way to a pub to get some proper Scottish scran for dinner.
"We're gonna have to get some gigs here if we wanna survive," John said as he scooped out most of what little cash he had.
"We'll get gigs," Paul said confidently.
They both ordered some kind of soup that John was pretty sure he had had before and enjoyed while staying with his Aunt Mater in Scotland, and a couple of beers.
"Y'know, I'm excited to be here," Paul said over his beer. "You're always going on about how great Scotland is."
John cracked a lopsided grin so he wouldn't sound too serious when he said, "I'm excited to be here with you. Just you."
"Just the two of us," Paul said, looking into John's eyes for perhaps a few seconds too long. John didn't complain or point out the prolonged eye contact, but it stirred something funny in his gut.
When they were finished eating, Paul yawned, resting his head on his arms on the table.
John leaned over and scruffed up his hair. "Alright, sleepyhead, we've gotta find a place to crash."
John brought Paul over to the bar. He asked if they had rooms, and to his relief, they had a room that John could afford for one night.
It turned out the room was almost cupboard-sized, with a single bed. The sheets were stained with John didn't want to know what, there was a crack in the small window letting the wind in, and the floorboards looked like they needed a proper mop. Still, it was a room just for John and Paul, on their adventure together.
John and Paul got undressed with their backs to each other, and into their pyjamas. They squeezed into the bed together.
They kicked each other under the covers, trying to assert dominance, giggling.
"You're hogging the whole bed!" Paul complained, and tore the blanket away from John.
John grabbed the blanket back. "No, you are!"
"I'm almost falling off the bed, y'know!"
"Not much I can do about that, it's a tiny bed."
Paul resorted to climbing on top of John. John didn't mind. Paul was like a very large, warm teddy bear.
"I bet the others are gonna be sleeping in big beds with lush German sheets," John sighed.
"With girls," Paul added.
"And here we are. Stacked on top of each other in a tiny, cold room."
They both chuckled at the absurdity of the situation, their laughs vibrating through one another.
"I think it's fun," Paul admitted. "We can do anything we want, y'know? This is freedom."
"Anything except get separate, nicer rooms."
Paul turned around so he was now facing John, stomach against stomach. He pouted. "You'd wanna be in a separate room to me?"
"Get your face away from me," John gently nudged him.
Paul leaned in closer. "You got a problem?"
John did not enjoy the way his cheeks heated, feeling Paul's cigarette-smelling breath against his mouth.
He tackled him away. Paul laughed, finally turning back the other way.
Every time he turned over, he was grinding against John in a way that was not, er… not ideal in this situation.
"Um," John said. "I need to wank."
Paul sat up in an instant, making the blankets fall away. It didn't exactly help that he was sitting on John's crotch.
"You what?" Paul turned his head to him. "Right now?"
"I always do it to help me get to sleep, y'know," John said. "Not like you've never seen me wank anyroad."
"Yeah, but we're not normally this close."
John reached his hands down his pants. Paul groaned and laid beside John again. They both wanked, their bodies squashed side-by-side, saying the names of women from Brigitte Bardot to the queen, until they were satisfied and sleepy.
Paul wrapped a leg and an arm around John. John did the same to him. They were tangled, heads tucked together.
Sometimes, with Paul so close, John felt like he was being lifted out of his body. The way they slotted together made it feel like everything in the world had been slipped into place, just right. Like things might finally make sense.
"I don't wanna be anywhere but here," Paul whispered, eyes so close to John's their eyelashes were almost touching.
John smiled softly. "Neither do I. Never wanna be."
They closed their eyes, and comforted by each other's presence, they drifted to sleep. They weren't yet sure what they were going to do in Motherwell, how they were going to get gigs, where else they might go, and when if ever they were going to return to Liverpool. What they did know was that as long as they had each other, anything was possible.