Flying

by MaybeSgtM

Summary:

After a painful night of drinking, returning to old habits, and a bottle of anti-depressants, Paul finds himself hospitalized in Strawberry Fields Mental Institution.

Notes:

• Inspired by Boys Interrupted by MiloSebastion

Hello luvs <3, I’m back after two months to deliver yet another crazy fic. I’m sorry for my absence, I’ve got a lot going on. Just came back from one of these looney bins myself lawl

Anyways, I’m doing a bit better now, so I'm locking in

This fic is based off my mental hospital experiences + some general experiences of mine. Some things may be inaccurate.

Shout out to K, I, and S, you guys made my stay slightly more bearable. You get a Beatles fanfic in return.

This isn’t beta read or edited. Just a little something.

Onto the fic

Chapter 1: First Day

Paul walked through the hallway, his brown paper bag clutched to his chest. The expression on his face was blank, almost emotionless. Despite the vacant stare in his eyes, Paul was anxious. Anxious, scared, nervous, and stale all at once. He wasn’t sure what to feel. What was right, and what was wrong. Was any of this right? Or was he just trying to make himself out to be a victim? Paul knew the nurse striding irritably in front of him had a job to do, but he couldn’t help but wince with every step she took.

Just forty-eight hours prior, he was being rushed to the hospital for an overdose. His father found him like that, eyes glossy and tossed into the floor, and hurried him to the hospital. Knowing his self-destructive history, (and seeing the empty bottle of pills on the dresser), Jim knew what he had to do. Paul survived, but with a cost. He was sentenced to what seemed like a lifetime at Strawberry Fields Mental Institution. Paul wondered if he’d be better off dead. Maybe he’d die here, and finally get that release he was yearning for.

But for now, he was walking down a dusty hallway led by a nurse who clearly had better things to do. She continued speed-walking ahead of Paul, barely giving him time to catch up. The only time she slowed was when they passed the day room, exposing him to the vicious glares of the other patients.

Paul saw all of them. Most were older, while others looked to be around his age. A couple sported leather straight jackets, contrasting the pale purple gowns the rest of the unit wore. Every patient looked different, but they were all the same in staring him down like a piece of meat to a hungry dog. One of them looked particularly interested.

Instantly, Paul felt sought at, and he instinctively pulled down his paper hospital shirt. It was then he wished he had long sleeves to hide the scars littering his arms.

Paul knew he was feminine. It was just how he was born. The way his hips popped out, his chest perked up, his lashes curled, and other features defined his figure. It worked at first, with Paul pulling new chicks every night, but quickly turned out to be a curse. Men constantly harassed him, some going so far as to sneak a touch when he wasn’t aware. Usually, these men would leave him alone with a promise of a fight, but some stuck around. He would have to relocate after that, hopping bars or changing sidewalks. It made life more difficult, but Paul got by.

“McCatney.”

The nurse snapped, reading off a clipboard and waving her hand inches from Paul’s face. He blinked rapidly, flinching a bit as she retracted her arm. Paul didn’t dare correct her mispronunciation, instead nodding quietly to show he heard. They were in front of a burly wooden door, one labeled with silver numbers hanging to the side.

246

“Come on, McCat- McCartney.”

Paul breathed a small sigh of relief, glad she corrected herself. Even if it was small, Paul was glad to have his identity. It was the only thing he had left.

The two stepped inside the room, and Paul shuddered. It was so cold. The chilly air nipped at his neck, causing a shiver to run up his spine. The nurse scribbled something in her clipboard, then turned her head back to Paul.

“Strip.”

“What?”

Paul stared back at her, blinking a couple times. He had to make sure he wasn’t hearing anything.

“I said strip.“

Unfortunately, little context was provided as to why Paul had to undress in front of this callous nurse. He already felt exposed as it was, with his scars out and on display, his ass outlined with the thinness of the paper scrubs. The thought of being nude was terrifying. His mind wandered; What if another patient bust in the room and saw him? What would he do then?

Still, he knew there was no room to argue. The nurse had her expectant yet cold glare locked onto Paul, ready for his compliance.

Slowly, Paul peeled off his shirt, his heart racing as his chest was put on display. He handed the nurse the top, watching as she threw it in another brown bag. Next, his socks came off, and like the shirt, thrown in that brown paper bag. Paul hesitated when he reached his pants, opting to pause there. Obviously, the nurse became frustrated, huffing in annoyance. Paul just became more anxious.

“Do I have to take off my pants…?”

The nurse gritted her teeth.

“Yes.”

Paul’s eyes roomed down to the waistband of his pants. They were flimsy, and already forming several holes. With a deep sigh, he teased them off, closing his eyes when they reached his ankles. However, when he opened them, he swore he saw the nurse’s curious gaze.

“And your underwear.”

Paul’s heart dropped. The humiliation and shame that would follow was almost worth the punishment for not obliging. Even if they’d be forced off, at least he wouldn’t willingly expose himself.

However, the last thing he wanted was to cause a scene in front of the other patients, so Paul got to quick work removing his boxers. He winced when the cold air hit his prick. Everything felt so out of place. From the nurse’s intense yet professional stare, to the dying light flickering on the wall, all Paul wanted to do was curl up on his bed with a warm blanket on his back.

But it was too late for that now.

The older woman’s stare lingered a little too long, and Paul found himself panicking as she got closer. Her fingertips found their way to his hip, then his thigh, then his—

“McCartney. Get your gown on.”

Paul blinked slowly. The world stopped turning. At least two minutes went by, but that single blink felt like half a second. Whatever had just happened, wherever he was touched, it fell away in an instant. Paul sheepishly accepted the gown and new pair of boxers, throwing them on. He didn’t allow himself to think of what might’ve just happened. “Moving forward”, as he’d say.

Before he knew it, he was being ushered to the day room, a pair of grippy socks on his feet and a warm cup of water in his hands. He felt like a kiddy again, being thrown into school for the first time. Except now, his “classmates” looked like they wanted to rape him. Paul found a seat in the corner of the room, away from everybody else. He needed time to process what happened, to forge the scraps of his mind together, and come to terms with his situation.

But, out of the corner of his eye, Paul spotted a man around his age, with choppy auburn hair and a thin frame. The man made eye contact with him and slowly started to get up, scaring the shit out of Paul.

No, no… dammit!

Paul cursed himself for making eye contact with the man. He was probably some crazy nutcase who was sent there for murdering a dozen. And Paul was next!

The man padded over to Paul’s corner, his gaze unreadable as he got closer and closer. He ignored the room’s loud chatter, making his way towards Paul. This frightened him to the marrow. Paul stayed silent, expecting to be slapped or sworn at, but was instead met with a warm greeting.

“‘Ello there.”

The man chirped.

“Erm… hello.”

Paul stumbled, biting his lip and tapping his fingers. The other man seemed to notice his nervousness, as he proceeded to sit down in front of his chair to make Paul higher.

“So you’re the new guy, huh?

Paul nodded suspiciously.

“What’re you in for? Seeing things? Being violent?”

Without warning, he grabbed a hold of Paul’s wrist, taking as he felt the bold lines peppering his skin. Paul tried to pull back, but the man was surprisingly strong. That, or Paul was reasonably weak.

“Oh, you’re a cutter.”

His voice was blunt and devoid of all judgement, like it was routine. He released Paul’s wrist, leaving the younger man to rub it obsessively. This guy was way too comfortable for his liking. But he couldn’t do anything about it. The auburn haired man sensed his unease and shared his own story to soften the tension.

“They say I’ve got schizophrenia. Seeing and hearing things that aren’t real, y’know? They think I’m crazy, but I just say they’re the thoughts in my head finally coming to fruition.”

The man said genuinely. Paul could tell something was up with this chap, and once he spilt the beans about his schizophrenia, it became clear. Maybe this guy wasn’t so dangerous— just ill. Like Paul. This revelation made him more comfortable, eventually prompting him to open up.

“I… yeah. I guess. I tried to overdose.”

The man’s eyes widened as he nodded.

“Really? Your girlfriend find you or something?”

Paul inhaled sharply, biting his lip again. He didn’t want to say it out loud, to admit what really happened, mostly for his own sake. The memory of lying half-naked, wrists slit, and an empty bottle of Amitriptyline beside him was haunting.

“No… actually, it was my dad.”

Paul murmured, a heavy silence ringing between the two. The man nodded understandably, breaking the tension with a lighthearted question.

“So, what’s your name?”

Paul hesitated. Did he really wanna give this bloke his name?

“Uh… Paul.”

To Paul’s relief, the other man smiled, nodding his head.

“I’m John. John Lennon.”

Chapter 2: First Day - 2

Notes:

Just to be clear, I do NOT think schizophrenic people are ‘crazy’ or anything like that. The third person POV is tinted with Paul's thoughts and opinions.

Paul nodded, silently testing the name on his tongue. John Lennon— it had a nice ring to it.

“So… how long have you been here?”

Paul asked, starting to warm up to this strange fellow.

“About six months. Life gets pretty repetitive after a while.”

Paul’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. He couldn’t imagine being here for a week, let alone six months. He’d only been there a few hours and he was already starting to go insane. Suddenly, he felt bad for the boy.

“Really? That sounds awful.”

John shrugged, tilting his head.

“Eh, my Aunt Mimi brings me books and things to pass the time. I’m only mad I can’t have a pen. It’s a shame; I have so many good ideas.”

Although Paul was nodding in agreement, he could see why they didn’t want John to have a pen. To them, it might as well be an ice pick. Plus, whatever strange thoughts he was conjuring up didn’t need to be written down. Especially not in a place like this, where every letter went on file.

John clicked his tongue, his eyes rooming over Paul’s figure. Paul gulped nervously, trying not to appear distressed. It seemed that John could smell fear.

“How old are you? You look like a kid.”

Paul thought for a moment, then looked back at his fellow patient.

“I’m 20.”

John’s eyes widened. Then he laughed, scaring Paul a bit.

“Really? You’re a fuckin’ baby! Why didn’t they put you in the other ward, with the kiddies?”

Paul frowned, unappreciative of his teasing. John couldn’t stop laughing, doubling over and cackling like a madman. No wonder he was here. No one even bat an eye.

“Well, how old are you?”

“I’m 22.”

Paul blushed. Yeah, he was younger. This only fueled John’s hysteria, and he continued laughing. What was so funny about this?

After a couple minutes, John wiped the tears from his eyes, and sat up to face Paul. He looked unimpressed.

“You done?”

John smirked.

“Yeah.”

Paul rolled his eyes, averting his gaze. His brows perked up when he saw the patients start to get up and walk towards the hallway.

“John, what’s going on? Why’s everyone—“

John got up, wiping off his knees.

“Lunch.”

Paul gazed at the clock. Had it really been that long? His eyes widened when he saw the time: 10:45 a.m. It couldn’t have been lunch time.

“Are you sure? It’s only 10 a.m.”

A deep suspicion burned in Paul, but he figured John knew this facility better than anyone. He followed John to the line, joining in the back. A few of the patients eyed him down like a piece of meat, their eyes telling what they'd do to him had he been alone. Their lustful gazes only fueled Paul's discomfort, but there was nothing he could do but hope he didn't have a roommate.

As the unit made their way out into the cafeteria, Paul was introduced to the outside. It was just an outside hallway; there was nothing special about the way the dead grass lay flat around them, or the ivy sprouted on the cracked walls. There were a few faded messages, written entirely in crayon and consisting of things like “HELP ME” or “KILL YOURSELF”. Paul expected this type of thing in a mental hospital, but seeing it in person was surreal.

Unfortunately, whilst Paul padded among the prisoners, he was distracted by the angsty text plastered on the wall, and walked right into a pole. He fell straight on his ass, letting out a pained “agh” sound when he hit the ground. Immediately, everyone looked at him, and a couple of people even started laughing. One of those people was John, but Paul expected that.

“Get up.”

One of the techs said harshly, offering him a hand. Though Paul appreciated the help, the coldness in her voice was demeaning. Still, he took the hand, and wiped himself off. John waited for him at the back of the line.

“Oh my gosh, that was fuckin’ hilarious! That’s the type of shite you see in cartoons!”

John howled, pulling on Paul’s arm. Paul froze, the sensation of John’s hand caressing his cuts without a warning chilling. He harshly pulled away, eyes frightful. John took notice, and regretted his actions.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to… ‘m sorry, mate.”

Paul sighed, trudging along with John. It was a bit of a walk before they reached the cafeteria, and they passed the little ward on the way. Paul felt disgusted with how the adult men looked at those kids— the same way they looked at him. It was no wonder the techs on the kids' side ushered them away as quickly as possible.

When they finally got to the lunch line, Paul could see what they were having: fish sandwiches with a side of chips and fruit. He wasn’t feeling particularly hungry on that day, as the stress of the last few hours ruined any appetite he may have had. Still, he knew refusing would land him in trouble, so he grabbed a tray.

The cafeteria workers looked more depressed than the patients. They served him his food wordlessly, glancing down at his wrists and resuming their work. Despite being surrounded by other cutters, his fresh scars made him self-conscious. He wished they could just disappear, though he knew it'd be at least a year before they turned white.

“Thank you.”

Paul muttered, though he didn’t get a single word in return. He sat down next to John in the table closest to the wall. Away from the patients, away from danger. John sat across from him, a smug look on his face.

“I’d fuck that tech sideways if she kept touching me like that.”

John smirked, nodding towards a nurse. Paul’s eyes went wide. That was the same nurse that violated him.

“You alright?”

John asked, unwrapping his sandwich and taking a bite.

“Yeah… ‘m fine.”

Paul muttered, looking down at his food. It looked fine; nothing too special. But it wasn’t as bad as he expected.

Paul continued staring at his food until John hummed unexpectedly.

“So, tell me about yourself, Paul.”

Paul snapped back into reality, his head shooting up to meet John’s amused gaze.

“What? Oh- er, me?”

“Yeah.”

Paul thought hard for a minute, not sure what to say. What could one say? For someone as awkward as him, all that came to mind was his name and birthdate. Nothing fancy like hobbies, or preferences, or—

“You have a job?”

Paul shook his head. Welp, that was easy.

“No. I mean, I guess not. I just write songs, but that’s nothin’.”

John’s eyes lit up, the sand which in his hand dripping to his tray. Paul flinched.

“Really? You’re a songwriter? Well I’ll be damned! So am I!”

Paul smiled a bit, equally shocked. He didn’t expect to meet another musician here. He wasn’t really sure who he was expecting to meet here. It was comforting knowing there was someone like himself to talk to.

“Who’dya like?”

John asked eagerly.

“Well, y’know, Buddy, Elvis, The Crickets, Fats Domino, Chuck Berry.”

Paul flinched when John slammed his hands on the table. John had to remember to stop doing that.

“My lord! You’re one likeminded chap! No wonder we met eachother.”

Paul smiled a tad. John was one crazy sod. And he was okay with that.

“Yeah, no wonder.”

John smiled his cheeky grin back, eyes crinkling at the corners. It made Paul chuckle a bit.

“So, you got family?”

Paul frowned, his earlier confidence gone like a leaf in the winter wind. Thinking about his dad finding him lying there, barely conscious and almost nude, cuts down to his elbow filled him with guilt. John bringing it up didn’t help.

Paul also thought about his mom, and what she would’ve thought. The cutting started shortly after her death. He turned to self-mutilation as a way to cope with the stress and grief following her unfortunate passing. Somehow, Paul blamed himself. He should’ve been there for her. Maybe she would’ve been cured.

“Uh… yeah. My dad and my younger brother, Mike. He’s a couple years difference.”

John perked a brow. Paul felt like he knew what was going to be asked.

“You got a mum?”

There it was. Paul had to bite his lip just to keep from sobbing.

“No.”

Suddenly, John’s playful demeanor subsided. His features turned sympathetic, and the sandwich in his hands gently fell onto the plate.

“I’m sorry, lad. I didn’t realize. When did she pass?”

Paul could feel a tear pricking his eye. He felt like a little child again, trying to keep his emotions in check as to not embarrass himself in school.

“W-When I was fourteen…”

Paul paused. Did he just stutter? His heart dropped when he saw John tilt his head in sympathy. He would’ve died from embarrassment if he hadn’t begun to cry. Paul was aware of the stares he was getting, but didn’t care. At least, not enough to stop himself.

“Here, I’ve got ya’, mate.”

John handed him a napkin. Wiping his tears away, Paul tried to compose himself.

“Thank you.”

Paul murmured, his tears ebbing away.

“I don’t suppose you’re gonna eat that?”

John’s question shocked Paul, but he was right nonetheless. Paul pushed him the plate while shaking his head.

“No. You can have it.”

John eagerly took the sandwich, but flipped his gaze back to Paul.

“I know how you feel. My mum died when I was 19. I still haven’t gotten over it, either.”

A deep sigh escaped John’s lips as he lowered hus gaze. John was heartbroken, too. But unlike Paul, John barely had any time with his mother. Instead, he was raised by his strict Aunt.

“But I’m gettin’ by. Gotta keep going, or whatever these bastards say.”

John smiled, deflecting the situation with black humor. Paul kept his frown despite the light tone. Now he was in a mood. Talking about his late mother made Paul miserable. Noticing this, John changed the subject.

“Visiting day isn’t too far. Saturday, actually.”

Paul’s eyes flicked up. Saturday? That was only a few days away. He couldn’t see his dad. No, not now. It was too humiliating. But with that revelation, Paul started wondering. What did Mike think of all this? Did anyone else know? Was his dad ashamed? Paul had answers to all these questions. Mike was pitying him. The whole city of Liverpool probably knew. And his father was disappointed.

Fuck.

Line up!

Paul snapped back into reality. John was beckoning him to follow, which came naturally for Paul. Scared out of his mind, Paul was willing to lean on anyone for support. Well, "anyone " was a stretch. John was nutty, sure, but he knew what he was doing. Paul needed someone who was experienced, somewhat sane, and not an ass. John almost met those requirements.

And that was alright.

Notes:

Fun fact: I actually walked into a pole when I was there lmao

Chapter 3

Summary:

John, you prick!

Notes:

Sorry for updating so late, I see all you subscribed to this and I didn't want to lose you guys so I wanted to push out an update ASAP! This one's been brewing for a while but I finally got around to finishing it.

RIP John

The next couple of days were a blur. Paul would wake up, get changed, eat breakfast, attend therapy, and chat with John until lunch. Dinnertime was the break from the routine, as sometimes they’d go outside or to the gym. It didn't seem like much, but to Paul, it was everything.

As time went on, Paul noticed the behavior of the other patients. They acted different towards him. Their behavior got more aggressive, and he could've sworn he caught a few lustful gazes, but he pushed the thoughts away, convincing himself it was paranoia. Strange clicks and whistles rang in his ears, as if silence itself had turned into a symphony of irritating noises. He was starting to go mad.

But, whenever he felt himself slipping, John was there to ground him. They hadn't delved much into their personal lives, yet they knew everything about each other. Favorite food? John liked hamburgers, whilst Paul preferred toast. Favorite musicians? They shared the same taste. It was like their souls were intertwined.

One afternoon, the two sat in the grass, enjoying the outside air. Paul had his gown draped modestly over his legs, whilst John let his skin loose. The perfect balance.

“So, what girls do you like? Got a girlfriend?”

Paul looked back at him, his pretty doe eyes sparkling with thought.

“I’ve been going out with this girl, Dot, but I’m sure she won’t want to be with me after this.”

Paul frowned.

“Eh, birds come and go. Personally, I’ve got my kicks for Bardot, but God knows I’ll never snag her.”

He laughed his silly pig laugh, his chin raising high into the air. It made Paul smile a bit.

“Everyone wants Bardot. With her… y’know.”

Paul snorted, motioning to his flat chest. John laughed harder.

“I don’t know. Care to enlighten me, Paulie?”

Paul looked around, ensuring no one was in earshot. He leaned in, nearly touching the other man.

“‘Er tits!”

That was the final straw. John burst out in hysterics, falling backwards on the grass. Paul didn’t think it was that funny, but decided to let him have this moment. It was good to laugh. Especially in here.

After about a minute, John wiped the tears from his eyes, and met Paul's gaze.

"Elvis is neat too. Gosh, if I could have a shag with him. With that sharp jaw..."

John said it like it was the most casual thing in the world. Paul's expression immediately changed. He didn't know John was... queer. Paul fixed his gown subconsciously. John noticed, his lips curling into a frown. Paul saw the gears turning in his head.

"What? You think I'm gonna molest you or something?"

Paul's eyes widened, and he shook his head.

"No! I just didn't know you were-"

John let out a scoff, perking a brow.

"A fag?"

Paul quieted down, giving John the upper hand. He was starting to shut down. His stupid eyes sparkled, this time with unshed tears. John sighed, realizing Paul wasn't going to clap back.

"Whatever. If you think I'm gonna rape you, I can just leave. I ain't got time for folks like you."

John turned away from Paul, standing up and dusting off his gown. Suddenly, a switch flipped in Paul's brain. He wouldn't-- no, he couldn't be without John. His chest tightened, heart racing and dropping like a janky fair ride. Hot tears welled in his eyes as he realized John was leaving him. John knew what he was doing. It was shameful, but he was doing it. Manipulating Paul into begging for his forgiveness. It was a nasty habit of his, to snap and withdraw at the drop of a hat. And, if Paul actually paid attention in therapy, he would know that.

"John-- I'm sorry, John, please, I didn't mean it like that, I didn't mean..."

Paul sniffled and choked like a small child, unable to speak clearly. John smiled when he head the sound of his broken, pathetic sobs. With a loud sigh, he turned back around, facing Paul with a stern expression.

"You're really sorry?"

Paul's eyes lit up, sad and desperate.

"Yes, really, I am!"

Gosh, he was so pathetic. John bit his lip to keep from laughing, or worse-- apologizing.

Finally, when John felt satisfied with what he had done to the poor Paul, he let out another hearty sigh.

"Alright, stop yer cryin', I forgive you. Just don't do it again, yeah?"

Paul nodded at least fifty times, spewing apologies and promises so fast John couldn't even tell what he was saying. He rolled his eyes, boredom replacing the strange emotion he felt earlier.

"Why don't we go somewhere else? The sun's burnin' my arse."

John joked, letting a smirk take his lips. Though he was grateful John was willing to move on so quickly, Paul was confused. Why had he been so quick to forget when he seemed so hurt?

Paul's train of thought was interrupted by his friend's loud bellowing.

"C'mon! Before they think you've gone mad!"

Paul returned the smile, finding a bit of humor amidst the pain. Maybe he was taking this too seriously.

Right?

--------------------------------------------

"Paul, look."

Hearing his name, Paul instinctively turned around to see John pretending to snort a salt packet. He'd even gone so far as to arrange the salt in a neat line, attempting to get a rise out of Paul. He felt a burning satisfaction spark deep within him when he heard that perfect laugh come of those perfect features.

"Move forward, you git."

Paul reminded him, giving him a light bump in the arse with his tray. Though meaningless to Paul, John felt that burn intense tenfold.

As they moved forward in line, a particularly tall man stared at Paul like he was candy. Over the past few days, he'd noticed the man's hungry looks. Paul kept to himself, as he knew confrontation would get him nowhere. He didn't want John causing a scene and getting transferred.

"Bloody hell... fish sandwiches. Remember we had those the first day you came in, Macca?"

Macca. Paul was still getting used to that nickname. He nodded in response, eyeing the food with visual distaste. Once the two had gotten their plates, they headed for their table, sitting across from each other. John dug in immediately, savoring the warmth and familiarity. Paul left his untouched.

"When I get home, these things are the only thing I'm gonna miss. I've gotten fat off 'em."

He poked his stomach, laughing loudly, but Paul could sense a hint of unease. John made comments about him weight often, leaving Paul to speculate that was one of his issues. He didn't really think he was fat, just soft on the edges. He might've been medically overweight, but Paul didn't see it.

Before he could speak, John mocked affection.

"Of course, I'll also miss you. We gotta find a way to find each other after this, right?"

Paul smiled, the thought of staying in contact making his stomach flip.

"Yeah. I can give you my telephone number. And my address-- for letters, y'know."

John shoved more of his sandwich into his mouth, hand occasionally dipping into the side of chips beside it. After a few minutes of eating, he'd come to realize that Paul hadn't even touched his plate. He looked up at him, perking a brow.

"You're not hungry?"

Paul shook his head.

"No..."

The older man let out a series of tsks, taking another bite of his food.

"Well, you gotta eat, or they're gonna think you're anorexic. Then you'll be in here for longer, and they'll force feed with you with a fuckin' tube down yer throat."

The image of a cold, sterile tube being shoved down Paul's esophagus made him shiver. He looked at the plate in front of him, then tentatively picked up the sandwich. It didn't look half bad, as bits of sauce oozed off of the bread. He thought about the sandwiches he'd share with Mike after school in the empty parks near Frothlin Road.

Then, he took a bite.

The flavors hit him all at once. After days with little to no food, it was almost too much.

He finished the sandwich quickly, but left the chips for John. Of course, the other man happily accepted, and got back to stuffing his face. Paul watched as he ate, gaze lingering a little too long.

Paul thought back to what John said earlier. Now that he knew, it made sense. John seemed a bit queer. He hoped he wasn't fantasizing about him. But then again, the thought of that didn't bother Paul as much as he'd like. Was he queer?

No, he couldn't be. Sure, there wasn't anything inherently wrong with being gay, but that wasn't like him.

But then again, nothing about him now was "like him".

It was confusing.

"Gosh, I'm so bored. Just wanna get out of here."

John grumbled to no one in particular. He had a habit of talking to himself.

"Yeah... I get it."

Paul could've said he wanted to go home, too, but truthfully, he didn't. And he didn't want to be here, either. But, realistically, where would he go? He didn't have a stable income, lived at home, and went to school. There was no where to go but home. His dad probably hated him, though. His brother, too. Discovering your son naked and convulsing on the floor is no pretty sight. He probably never wanted to see him again. And that'd be completely valid.

"Line up!"

The tech yelled, cutting through the silence. John had long finished his sandwich and had started picking at his nails. Paul got up quickly, pushing in his chair and following John to the back of the line. There in front of them was that guy. The one who looked as if he'd devour Paul without a second thought. He subconsciously gravitated closer towards John.

This was gonna be hell.

----------------------------------------

The night came quick, and soon enough, the two were sent to their rooms. They exchanged one last goodbye before splitting up across the hallway. Paul quickly settled into his bed, picking up one of the books his father had left him. It wasn't anything too daunting, just some biography about Da Vinci. Nothing that would inspire rebellious or angry thoughts. They'd already taken his copy of 'Catcher In The Rye', a decision he couldn't agree with, and now he was left with boring stories about boring people who lived a million years ago. Not that Da Vinci was boring, but you can only read so much about a guy who does the same thing for hours on end.

He heard from John that there was a couple dirty mags stashed under his mattress, and that the last guy who roomed with him decided to donate them once he left. But besides the porn, Paul came to realize that John was highly intellectual. He would go on and on about things Paul would never have thought of, and share ideas so vivid Paul swore he could see them. It was like their minds were merging, creating one sole entity.

John thought the schizophrenia thing was a load of horse shit. "Anything to keep me here longer", he'd say, popping the pill out the corner of his mouth. Paul always laughed. John kind of flip-flopped on whether he was really ill or not. Somedays he'd admit it, and others he'd swear his sanity. Paul admired his fiery spirit.

As Paul began reading something about the early days of Da Vinci's life, he heard a crash. Immediately, he craned his head up, trying to see through the slim crack of the wooden door. During the week he'd been there, Paul had witnessed a few minor altercations, but none at night.

"What the?"

Without warning, a man flew by his door, completely nude and followed by a gang of techs and nurses. They yelled codes and locations he didn't recognize as they chased him down the hallway.

Then, a familiar face.

"Paul!"

Paul's eyes widened, staring in disbelief. He put down the book, scrambling to the door.

"John? What're you-- you can't be out this late! They'll see you!"

John smirked, shaking his head as he invited himself inside.

"Nah. They're all busy chasing that wackjob. I've got a minute."

Paul chuckled, a rush of adrenaline flooding his system.

"Well, did ya' just come ta' see me?"

John pursed his lips, appearing to me in deep thought. Paul knew it was a gag.

"Nah. Just came to see Dan. Hey, Dan!"

The man lying down on the other side of the room grumbled some gay-related insult and told him to fuck off. Paul felt a bit uncomfortable with John taunting his roommate, a large, burly man who could snap him like a twig, but he trusted John had it under control.

John chuckled, his eyes landing on Paul's lovely features. Until now, Paul hadn't noticed John's hand poised stiffly against his back. He parked a brow, leaning over to get a look.

"What's you got there?"

Paul knew it was important based on the way John's grin widened.

"Can't tell anybody 'bout this, kay? You'll get both of our asses in trouble."

Paul's eyes rolled playfully, curiosity growing within him.

"Alright, alright, just show me what it is!"

Paul's jaw fell when John revealed what he was holding.

"Where did you get that!? And-- and why did you bring that here?!"

"..."

"John, why?"

Notes:

Cliffhanger time

Chapter 4: Mas Que Nada

Summary:

Paul finds a friend.

Notes:

This chapter was supposed to be much different.

Also it's like 5 am so I'll edit this later 😭💔

The next morning, patients went about their daily routines, a sense of unease leftover from last night's events. Paul was quick to shower, dress, and brush his teeth, making it to the dayroom in record time. He needed to find John.

There he was, sitting calmly on a green chair and reading a magazine. Paul ran up to him, bug-eyed and frantic.

"John!"

Paul had so many questions. He felt utterly betrayed by the man he thought was his friend. How could he be so irresponsible and trust him with something like that? His hands gripped his shoulders as if trying to suck the answers out of him. This couldn't be happening.

Paul's chest tightened when he thought about it. If John gave that to him, did he really care?

No, John didn't give him that. He knows better. He cares for him. He wouldn't want him to get hurt. He said it himself. Paul's his friend. And friends don't give each other things so they'll hurt themselves.

He wants to believe this. He really does. Wants to believe John really cares.

But he can't.

"Why did you do that?"

Paul stammers, tears pricking at his eyes. John looks up at him lifelessly. Did he even care?

"Why? John, please, why?"

John doesn't respond. He doesn't seem guilty, either.

"John, please tell me why! Tell me!"

Paul gets more desperate. He tries to shake some sense into John-- literally.

"DAMMIT, ANSWER ME!"

Paul yells, his voice raw and hurt. The nurses hear him and flood out into the dayroom. To them, they see a new arrival shaking the daylights out of a calm patient. One man lunges for him, grabbing him by the waist and pulling him back as he continues screaming.

"Why! Why did you do this, John? Why!?"

Tears have long fallen, staining his rosy cheeks. The techs don't seem to care that he's crying, only that he's being violent, and violence has no place in the ward.

"Get him a shot!"

One nurse yelled, though Paul barely heard her. Other patients watched, but he didn't care. His eyes were locked onto John's expressionless face staring back at him.

Taunting.

"No! Nonononono!"

Paul howled as two nurses dragged him away. The next few minutes were a blur; orders being shouted, his face being smashed into a mattress, a sharp prick in his ass, and silence.

Deep, dark silence.

-------------------------------

Paul awoke a few hours later, disoriented and sleepy. The blurry window told him it must've been hours since he went out. He groaned, flinching when he saw a nurse sitting quietly on a chair in the doorway, a clipboard in her hands. Her silky blonde hair draped just past the edge of her shoulders, little strands getting caught in the buttons of her uniform. Her expression was kind, a stark contrast to the rough demeanor of the nurses. For the first time in a while, Paul felt safe.

She noticed Paul had awoken and greeted him with a warm smile. Even her lips were soft.

"Good afternoon, dear. I'm sorry if I startled you."

Paul lagged for a second, shaking his head once her words sank in.

"No, you didn’t startle me. Just… tired, I guess.”

Though it was a lie, Paul didn’t want her to feel bad. She seemed kind, and kind people don’t deserve to feel bad.

“Are you hungry? I brought you something from the canteen. You missed lunch.”

Paul wanted to protest, but the loud grumble of his stomach beat him to it. The nurse took the noise as an answer and reached for the cardboard box underneath her chair.

"Here you go, love."

Paul accepted it gratefully and peered inside. It was nothing fancy-- just a turkey sandwich with yogurt and crisps on the side. Still, he was thankful she thought of him.

"Thank you, miss."

Her smile softened upon hearing his voice, small and quiet with sleep. She watched as he picked up the sandwich and brought it to his lips, taking a long bite. Although he didn't mind, Paul wondered why she was still there. He wanted to ask, but didn't want to come across as rude.

"Uh, excuse me, miss...?"

She finished for him.

"Nurse Rigby."

He nodded, taking another bite of the sandwich.

"Why, er, are you still here?"

The nurse sighed, folding her arms and letting her smile falter.

"Well, you had an incident with another patient, so you'll need to be monitored-- just for a bit."

Paul nodded in understanding, but he couldn't help the tears forming in his eyes. He didn't want to be seen as violent. He was just upset with John, upset that he gave him such a thing.

Upset that he didn't care.

"I understand."

Paul, trying to subdue his tears, felt his voice crack. Nurse Rigby tsked, approaching the bed. Once her long pale arms reached him, he let go.

"Oh, dear..."

He knew it was humiliating. He knew men shouldn't cry. But the way she held him so tender, so tight...

He missed them. He missed his Da, he missed Mike, he missed Ivan, he missed Mary--

He missed John.

He cried harder. Did John even care about him? Did he want him to hurt? Paul didn't know which one was worse.

“There, there…”

She soothed, letting him cry into her shoulder. Her heart ached for the poor boy. Since the incident, the other nurses shared their distaste for Paul, but Nurse Rigby couldn’t see why. To her, he was a troubled, lost soul who was just in pain. She saw most of her patients like that.

“Do you want a tissue, dear?”

He nodded, prompting her to remove one from her breast pocket. The thin cloth dampened with tears, soaking up the bits of humanity that had fallen from his eyes.

They stayed like that for a minute, Rigby continuing to hold and comfort him. When the storm settled, she looked down, meeting his sad doe eyes.

“Now, I can’t leave, but I can let you sleep if that’s what you prefer.”

Even after an eight hour nap, the promise of sleep sounded preferable to Paul. He nodded, shuddering from the loss of contact once she got up.

"Alright. Just let me know if you need anything."

Paul thought it would be difficult to fall asleep with someone watching him, but her presence had the opposite effect. The gentle sound of her pen scrawling across her clipboard was like a lullaby, drawing him into a deep sleep.

----------------------------------

"Afternoon, dear."

Paul's eyes cracked open, adjusting to the harsh fluorescent lights. His shoulders relaxed when he saw Nurse Rigby inches from him, her soft blue eyes like an ocean of calm. He must've stayed like that for a minute, as she tugged on the blanket, insistent but not unkind.

"You have to get up, dear. We're leaving for dinner."

Paul shot up, throwing the blanket down in record time. He stood beside her obediently, like a dog waiting by its owner for a walk.

"You must be hungry, huh? Poor thing. You're awfully skinny."

Paul, upon hearing her words, felt a strange pooling sensation inside him. Like her warmth had spread and was rooting itself deep within his body. The image of his mother pitying and holding him replayed in his mind. Though she'd been dead for a long time now, her influence lived on. Now, she'd just found another vessel.

He wanted to hear more. Needed to hear more.

Nurse Rigby led him out of the room and to the back of the line. It was humiliating having to travel with a nurse everywhere, but he'd get over it. He didn't quite mind being with Nurse Rigby.

His heart nearly sunk when he saw John just a few spots ahead of him, flirting with another bloke. The patient, an older man with a few strands of greying hair, seemed amused at his efforts. Paul couldn't tell if he was actually into it. To Paul, it was like watching a male bird trying to impress a female.

"So? You gonna fuck me or not?"

John asked bluntly, fed up with the lack of response. The man laughed, looking at John with a humored expression.

"No. I'm not a queer, fruitcake."

John became enraged at his comment. He flipped him off, scowling and shooting profanities.

The unit arrived to the canteen after a long walk. Paul purposefully avoided John's gaze. He wanted so badly just to talk too him, to cry and apologize and ask why he did that. But he couldn't get that image of John's face, expressionless and dead, out of his head. How he looked as if he'd done no wrong.

He just couldn't.

So, instead, he ran away. Hid in the back of the line like a coward. Went through, grabbed his dinner, and retreated to an empty table at the back. Paul smirked. It wasn't long before he heard the sound of clicking heels.

"Hello, Paul. How are you feeling?"

She sat down across from him, setting her clipboard and note book on the other side of the table. Paul felt his face heat as he hurried to compose himself.

"Oh, er... I'm fine, thank you."

Nurse Rigby smiled, leaning forward so he could hear her better.

"That's lovely. What's that you've got for dinner?"

Paul looked down at his tray. He hadn't even noticed what he'd been served. The dinner was mediocre at best. Some kind of curry with rice filled his plate.

"Just some curry and rice, I suppose. Can't be too sure, yeah?"

Paul's weak attempt at humor was as bad as he thought, but the nurse bought it up anyways. She let out a soft laugh, and Paul found himself melting at the sound of her voice.

"Oh, dear. I won't disagree with you there. I usually bring my own lunch."

Paul nodded, now completely engrossed in her. His lidded doe eyes scanned every feature, every freckle, every hair. She was absolutely beautiful.

Then, he saw it.

A pair of eyes staring back at him.

Paul jumped, panic coloring his features. Nurse Rigby noticed and grew concerned.

"What's wrong? Are you alright?"

John reacted quicker than the nurse. Once she turned to look, he'd already faced the other way. Paul felt another flutter.

"Er... nothing. It's nothing, miss."

She smiled politely, casually grabbing her clipboard. Paul wanted to die right then.

Nurse Rigby scribbled something on the clipboard and set it back down.

"Would you like to talk about anything?"

Paul blinked slowly. No one talked to him like he was human anymore.

"Oh, uh, sure.”

She smiled.

“What would you like to talk about?”

Paul thought hard. He picked at his food, smiling a bit.

“Well, I really like music.”

Nurse Rigby looked astonished. But not the surprise kind of astonished; the kind of astonished that happens when someone’s real happy.

“Really? That’s interesting! Do you play guitar?”

A beam of pride shot through Paul’s chest. He huffed before twisting his fork around in the curry.

"Yeah. I'd say I'm half-decent at it. But I'm not in a band or anything."

Nurse Rigby crossed her arms, leaning so close Paul could practically taste her perfume. It smelled like strawberries and honeysuckles.

"Still, that's really something. Have you thought about pursing a career in music?"

Paul thought back to the conversation he had with John about starting a band once they got out of the looney bin. At the time, it sounded promising, but now Paul wasn't sure if he could ever look him in the eye again. Life without John sounded miserable, but he'd already screwed it up.

"A bit..."

His mind raced desperately for other topics. He noticed the notebook beside her and nodded.

"You draw?"

The older woman let out a long sigh, saddened by his question. She tried not to show it, but Paul could see the lingering sorrow in her gaze. He felt a twinge of guilt for asking.

"I did. Well, I do. But not like I used to."

Before Paul had the chance to ask what that meant, she spoke again.

"I wanted to go to art school. I saved up every penny working two jobs as a waitress in London. But my father wouldn't allow it. Said I'd be wasting my life. So I got into nursing, and now I'm here."

She put on a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. Paul knew he shouldn't keep asking, but curiosity stirred within him.

"Do you like being a nurse?"

Paul asked, hoping to crack her just a bit.

"I like helping patients, yes. Helping people brings me much joy. I love my patients, really."

She paused.

"Especially ones like you."

Paul's heart quickened, his face flushing in a matter of seconds. First, there was the burning. The raging fire that infected his whole body. Then, the realization. She liked him. More than the other patients. Last, the panic. The uncertainty of what to do next. Should he thank her? Run away? Kiss her? No, he didn't want to kiss her. Funny enough, he'd gotten so worked up over her, but didn't feel the desire to lay her down and fuck her sideways. He wouldn't do that to his mom, so why would he do that to her?

Oh gosh. She wasn't his mom!

"Are you alright, dear?"

The sound of her voice grounded him. He couldn't lock eyes with her, instead focusing on anything else in the room.

"Um, yes, I'm okay."

She tsked, eyes drifting towards his untouched plate.

"You haven't eaten anything."

Paul was caught off-guard. He blinked at her, avoiding contact with his food.

"I'm not hungry." he lied, too easily to go unnoticed.

"Could you try to eat something? Even a little?"

As guilty as he felt, Paul didn't budge. He didn't want to eat. He was afraid he might throw up.

"For me?"

For me. Oh, gosh, yes! He'd do anything for her. That's all she had to say.

Reluctantly, Paul picked up his fork, scooping up a bit of rice and curry, and brought it to his lips. The texture was horrible, the rice unevenly warm and the curry like a watery snake climbing down his throat, but he swallowed nonetheless.

And the look on her face made it all worth it.

"Very good."

Paul took another bite, then another, until nearly his half plate was cleared.

She smiled, cooing softly. Maybe she was doing this intentionally, seeing what effect she had on Paul. Dirty, but for the right reasons.

"Thank you, dear. You did very well."

Paul didn't like the feeling of being full, but the praise he received trumped any negative emotions.

"Now, let's clean off your tray and get to the line, yeah? We don't want to be left behind."

---------------------------------------------------

That night, Paul lay on his bed, a smile plastered on his face. He couldn't stop thinking of her. They had different nurse assigned for night watch, but Paul didn't care. Just the thought of her long, slender fingers cupping his cheek was enough to make him squeal. He wanted to be around her all of the time.

But on the flip side...

He also couldn't stop thinking of John. How he looked at him. How he watched from afar, like a predator stalking its prey. John had some appointments to attend to towards the end of the day, eliminating any potential contact, but Paul was still nervous nonetheless.

He looked at his nightstand, eyes catching the half bowl-shaped handle. Swallowing hard, he ran his fingers inside it, feeling for the object hidden inside. Sure enough, it was there, hidden like some dirty secret.

Their dirty secret.

Notes:

This chapter was supposed to be much different, but I realized a stunt like the one Paul pulled would probably land him in timeout with a 1:1 sentence.

For the sake of what I have planned, the 1:1 won't be long (unlike real life), but you're gonna have to bear with me here.

Ok little side tangent, those 1:1 staff REALLY piss me off. Some of them are perverts. Like no, I'm not cutting/purging in the shower, I'm taking a shower.

I never had to deal with them but I've heard (I think twice) of 1:1 staff opening showers unprompted.