#also i'm not gonna proofread this cause i've already spent Way too long on it

[victorian-miner]

Part 2 of things you said with too many miles between us

[Part 1]

“Hi.” From the moment John speaks, the last frantic piece left unanchored inside Paul settles. He’s never really been able to feel entirely at ease onstage without John next to him, something left over from the years they spent singing into the same mic. Now, though the show ended hours ago, the high-energy anxiety finally dissipates.

“Hey, love. Sleep well?” Paul can still hear the echoes of sleepiness in John’s voice; he hopes it’s just because it’s early for John, but he’s not too sure.

John’s hesitance only confirms his fear. “Not too well. It was a late night.”

“Was it?” Paul prompts, adjusting the phone against his ear as he watches Linda leave the room. Most likely to say her own goodnight to Heather and Mary.

“It...well y’see...”

Paul waits. John will tell him, in his own time.

John lets out a long breath, more forceful than a sigh. “I’m stuck on this one song. Or, not just one. It’s the whole fucking thing, really.”

Paul winces. He’s heard that tone of self-deprecation before, in their darkest periods. “John...”

There’s a hitch in John’s breath before he starts speaking that causes something cold and fearful to knot at the base of Paul’s spine. “And if I can’t even write anything then why did I stay? I thought it would be good for me to have some time to myself, but nothing is...I’ve been playing the same chord progression for hours. Hours, Paul.”

“John,” Paul tries again. Normally it’s him who spirals out; of course the first time John’s done so in months is when they have the Atlantic between them.

“And Stel’s lovely but maybe...I mean I think she’d be better off with her parents. I can put her on a plane and she can be in Chicago in a few hours. She misses Heather and Mary too, of course, and it’s not right for-”

“John!”

The other man falls silent, the only indication of his presence the continued crackle of the line. Paul thunks his head softly against the wall. “Breathe for me, love.”

He hears a shuddering whoosh as John lets out the breath he’s been holding, and then waits for the sound to stabilize. “There you go, Johnny. You’re okay. I’m here.” The words seem hollow, the thousands of miles between them suddenly rising up between them. He can picture the way John’s chest is heaving, the flutter of his eyelids, how his fingers are clenched around the receiver. He knows exactly what John looks like now, could draw him as he is now from memory, but he can’t touch him. Paul burns with it.

“Thanks,” John murmurs.

Paul shakes his head. “I’m sorry I can’t be there.”

“Don’t be,” John says, even though they both know he doesn’t mean it. “You’ve put too much into this tour to get out now.”

He’s right. Paul knows he’s right. But John’s all alone in their bed and Paul can hear it, hear how their absence is weighing him down. “We’ve got a three day break after Kansas City. I could-”

“Don’t, Paul.” John sounds exhausted, not in the cozy, sleepy way that Paul longs to hear, but wrung-out, empty. “You won’t leave the kids. You shouldn’t, anyway.”

“They can come!”

“What, you want to fly them to England and then back to the States? They’ll have one night at home and then they’ll have to leave and they’ll be sick with it.” And then, quieter, softer: “Don’t tease me like that. Don’t say you can come when you know you can’t. Even if you did, Lin would have to stay with the kids and it’s not...” He trails off.

It’s not fair. “I know. I know, John.” Paul closes his eyes. “We won’t tour in America anymore.”

John’s silent for a long moment. “What?” The word comes out a little like a croak.

“It’s too far away. The time differences are too much for the kids. It’s not worth it.” This isn’t even the first time he’s thought about it. He knows Linda’s not as big of a fan of touring as he is; it’s not fair to any of them.

John swallows audibly, voice just barely wavering. “Paul, if you’re doing this just for me...”

“So what if I am? Would that be so bad? Would it be the worst thing if someone put John Lennon first?”

John doesn’t say anything. Paul wasn’t really expecting him to. He sighs. “Go on. Play me one of those songs of yours. See if I can help any.”

“It’s not...it’s late for you.”

“Well it’s early for you. We’re even.”

Silence for a long moment, in which he can almost feel the sigh John is holding in, and then Paul hears rustling. “Gotta get the acoustic.”

As he waits, Paul unconsciously starts to bite his nails. He stops with a shake of his head. John’s fine. They’ll work on a song and John will get past this block and they’ll call tomorrow and they’ll be home in a month and they won’t tour outside of Europe anymore and John will be fine.

“‘m back,” John murmurs into the phone. “I can’t be too loud, though, cause Stella’s still asleep. You know how she gets.”

He does, and he smiles involuntarily at the memory of his youngest daughter running around the house at six in the morning. “That’s alright. Just play me what you have.”

John strums once. Paul doesn’t think he’s using a pick, and he mutes the strings before it has a chance to ring out for two long. “Can you hear that?”

“Yessir, loud and clear.” He’s careful to draw a barrier of humor up around them. When he was younger, it was instinctual, subconscious and thoughtless, a natural response to uncomfortable situations. But he’s gotten better at using it to put people at ease.

John snorts. “Okay then.”

The first few bars flow like water kept underground for years, flowing out with a force that Paul lets himself bask in, just for a moment. This is the part he loves, listening to the raw, unshapen creativity that John’s always been so good at. But then John starts to slow, picking uneasily through half a verse until Paul stops him before he can falter entirely.

They push ideas back and forth at each other for awhile, Paul humming what he can’t play and trusting John to remember the bits he takes a liking to. Paul’s listening intently to what might become a countermelody in order to maintain momentum, when a hand brushes his elbow and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

Linda stares at him, shocked at his reaction and slightly sheepish. Paul blushes; music and John are not the best recipe for his situational awareness. He reaches out for her hand and draws her close while he holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder.

After a few more minutes, which Paul spends absent-mindedly twirling Linda’s hair around his fingers, John stops playing. “I think I’ve got it.”

“Are you sure?” It’s getting later, but Paul’s no stranger to sleepless nights. He’ll stay up as long as John needs him to.

“I know how to write a song, Paul. Did it just fine without you.”

Linda shouldn’t be able to make out John’s words, but she stiffens at the sharpness of his tone all the same. She presses a little closer to hear, and Paul welcomes the contact, grounds himself with the weight of her against him. “I know you can, love,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean anything.”

“No. I know. I’m just...” John pushes air out through his nose. “Tired,” he finishes.

Paul looks at the clock, tilting his head back as he figures out what time it is in England. “You could probably catch another hour, before Stel gets up.”

“Mmm. Might do that.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Thank you, Paul. For...”

“Always, Johnny. You know that?”

“Yeah.” And neither of them bring up how choked he sounds. “Love you.”

Paul smiles, softer than he means to. They’ve been together for a year and a half, but those words from John still manage to make something flutter inside. “You too, love. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Paul waits til John hangs up the phone, then turns his body towards Linda, tucking his head into her shoulder with a sharp exhale. She brings her arms up around him. And then, just as the silence is closing in tight around him, she breaks it. “It’s not right. We should be with him.”

He’s nodding before she even finishes, tightening his grip around her. “I think so too. I was...maybe this should be our last world tour. You know?”

Linda draws back in shock, meeting his eyes. She doesn’t try to disguise the hope that flits across her face. “What?”

“I mean, y’know. We’ll be closer to home, tours will be shorter. It’ll be easier on the kids, if we stay within Europe. Maybe even the UK.”

“I...really?” Linda asks.

Paul winces internally. He should’ve brought this up a long time ago. “Really. What do you think?”

Linda smiles, sunny and mega-watt, and closes the space between them. “I think it’s about time.”

A laugh is startled out of him. “You’ll have to forgive me, love. I’m a bit slow.”

Linda kisses him. “I know, baby. You’re lucky I love you anyway.”

“And thank god for that.”

'things you said' asks

[wrong-way-sir]

Your boyfriend Shuuji Hanma isn't a man of comforting words and tends to come off as cold or uncaring but when it matters most you can always count on him to calm your worries no matter how trivial the subject might seem.

Requested by: @dabisfireflower

CW: GN Y/N, Aged!Up Hanma, Possible Tokyo Revenger spoilers, Light Angst, Curse Words, a little bit of an argument, Hanma isn't good with words, Mentions of Smoking, Fluff, and little to no proofreading! ♡

1.9k Words

1:50 P.M.

Your eyes stared at the analog clock that hung over the TV in your apartment living room. The feeling hadn't come back to your fingers, you felt like you had pin-needles digging into your thighs, and the only feeling present was the tingling of your face. Your fingers twisted the end of your hair as anxiety ran through you while you waited for the handles of the clock to reach 2:30 P.M.

You had to leave at 2:30 P.M. to arrive at the salon at 3 o'clock. Your body refused to remove itself from the couch until then. To be honest you don't know if you would even be able to walk with how your anxiety was treating you. Why did you even make the damn appointment? You thought to yourself as you pulled on the end of your hair hard enough to ache slightly and pull you out of the spiral of thoughts.

As trivial as it sounded the thought of chopping off your hair at the salon filled you with dread. You had spent so many years growing it out but to your dismay it hadn't had been for the better. You had realized only a few days ago while trying to dye it with box dye how bad your hair's state was, all the dye, the heat, the different products had left you hair beyond repair.

Scheduling a haircut hadn't been your original idea. It had been your boyfriend's. He had thrown it out nonchalantly and the moment it left his lips your heart picked up its pace. Shuuji didn't know about this anxiety, nor would he care about it if you told him so you had done as he suggested and scheduled a haircut.

"I'm coming in, it's Shuuji."

Your head shot to the door of your apartment where Shuuji was kicking off his shoes as he fumbled with his jacket. A half smoked cigarette hung from his lips, unlit. A deep breath escaped you and your hand that had been twisting the dead ends of your hair dropped to your thighs.

"Hey Princess," Shuuji smiled as he made his way towards you on the couch. You watched as he removed unlit stick from his mouth and he leaned down to place a kiss to your forehead before he fell onto the couch next to you, "You miss me? Of course you did." He giggled as he kicked his feet up onto the coffee table.

A smiled placed itself on your features at the soft kiss coming from your boyfriend. It had relieved a small tension you had in your shoulders as Shuuji sat next to you. You were more than happy to see him. He would help you get your mind off your hair for the next 30 minutes.

"Shuuji get your feet off the table!" You protested as you smacked his thigh. He rolled his eyes as he removed his feet and placed them back on the carpet, "Why are you here? I thought you were busy today with Kisaki and the rest?" You asked as you sunk back into your old couch as Shuuji shrugged.

"Like I give a shit about those guys," Shuuji said and you sighed, "Only guy I even remotely care for is Kisaki and even then he's a bit much. Plus he said he had someone else to fuck Toman's plans up, gave me the day off, so I thought I would come see my baby."

You shook your head in disbelief, you knew your boyfriend was involved with the gang life but you hadn't minded it all that much as long as he didn't show up with a bullet wound on your door step or in a body bag. Although you had to admit, him working for that weirdo Kisaki made you uncomfortable but for Shuuji you shook it off.

"Well, thank Kisaki for me next time. Now you can get my mind off things until I leave." You smiled and he hummed in agreement before his features turned into confusion with a head tilt.

"Eh? Where are you going, work?" He asked and you rolled your eyes, of course your boyfriend hadn't remembered about your hair appointment even when you had to repeat yourself for a week straight. Sometimes you wondered if Shuuji ever thought of anything besides his own plans.

"Shuuji, I told you so many times, I'm getting my hair cut today."

"Oh yeah, I forgot... Why do you need to get your mind off of that it's just a stupid haircut." Shuuji said as he stretched out more on your couch, his head falling back onto the back of it.

You pursed your lips into a tight line as you looked over at your boyfriend relaxing. Your eyes fell to your fingers as they picked at your cuticles from the anxiety growing again at the way Shuuji had blown off your feelings.

"It's not just a stupid haircut, Shuuji..." You mumbled and you felt his gaze turn to you, "I've grown it out for so long... I'm chopping of so much of it, I'm scared."

Your eyes looked back over to Shuuji who looked back with a unfazed expression. His eyes traveled to your hair and he gave a hum as his head fell back once again and you gave a defeated sigh.

"You need it though, you hair's all frizzy and dead.... Looks like shit anyways who cares if you chop it off?" He chuckled and you whipped your head towards him with a look of disbelief and annoyance on your face.

"I do, Shuuji!" You said almost a little too loudly. It caused him to flinch as his head shot up to connect eyes with you, a mumbled apology left your lips as you turned to the coffee table in front of you that your boyfriend had previously put his feet on. "What if short hair looks ugly on me or what if it takes too long to grow back? I'll be stuck looking like an idiot. Not to mention I've never been to the hairdresser I scheduled with and I'm also terrified you're not gonna like it so yeah, I care, okay?"

Silence fell and your eyes didn't leave your clenched fists. Worry started to set in again as you two sat next to each other. You already felt idiotic for being so nervous and the fact you had gotten so defensive with your boyfriend of your dried and damaged hair only added to the internal humiliation.

You could feel your boyfriend's gaze on the side of your face as you stared at your hands. Another apology was bubbling up in your throat but as you went to turn to him you saw his tattooed hand take yours. Shuuji rested his chin on your shoulder as he grasped your hand. His shallow breath tickled your face.

"Shuuji-"

"It's just a haircut, babe." Shuuji said softly and you sighed for the umpteenth time while letting out a panicked chuff, "You'll figure a way to look good with it no matter how short. Hey, and if it really does look that bad then I'll just shave my head that way we can both be ugly. We'll be that hot ugly couple."

A laugh replaced the bubble in your throat as you imagined your boyfriend bald. Shuuji chuckled with you as his chin continued to rest on your shoulder. The laughter grew with each image that popped into your mind and you boyfriend laughed with you because he had made you. Soon enough you were both giggling like children on your couch with the anxiety you once had gone.

A few more chuckles escaped you and you let your free hand swipe under your eye as you felt them watering. You cleared your throat and shook your head, your tangled hair falling in your face. You paused as you felt Shuuji's fingers take the hair and put it behind you ear. You turned to him to see a wide smile on his face and leaned into his hand as it cupped your face. His eyes scanned your features and he let out a sigh as he dropped his hand.

"Nah, I couldn't do that. Then I really would be the ugly one in the relationship." He laughed as he fell back to the couch and let out at grunt when your free hand collided with his side.

"Shut up, you're not ugly, you always look good." You mumbled and dropped your chin into your propped up hand.

"So do you! I don't know why you're so nervous, it's just hair it grows back but if you're really that nervous about it... I can go with you, keep your stylist in line make sure they know if they fuck up I'll be waiting for them outside."

A laugh left you once again as you shook your head fondly at your boyfriend's threat. You smiled at his offer and your felt yourself relax at the thought of Shuuji be near you during the haircut. You honestly didn't think you would be able to do it alone.

"Really, you'll go with me?" You asked as you hoped he hadn't been joking like he always did.

Shuuji gave a nod and let his eyes glance at the clock that hung over the TV. He gave a sigh and pushed himself up, yanking his hand from your in the process. You frowned at the loss of warmth and looked up just as he bent down to place a kiss to your lips.

"Alright baby, let's go, I brought my bike." Shuuji said as walked away from your sitting form and to the door to slip his jacket and boots back on.

Your eyes glanced at the clock once again to see how much time had passed. You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at the clock that was telling you it was time to leave and get this whole ordeal over with. You pushed your hair back as if you were also pushing you anxiousness to the back of your head before you turned to your boyfriend who was slipping on his gang jacket.

A smile returned to your face as you watched him. You were thankful to have him in your life for little things like this. Despite his personality and the way he spoke you knew your boyfriend cared just as much as you did. You also knew he would try to fix anything for you and make you laugh even if the threat of violence was followed. You loved him for that, you loved that he cared for you the way you did for him.

"Shuuji," You called to him and he looked over you as he finished putting on his jacket with a soft hum. "Thank you, I love you."

"Who wouldn't love me, I'm great." He gave you a devious smirk along with an arch of his eyebrow as he puffed out his jacket collar and you rolled your eyes as you reached back to grab a pillow from the couch to through it at him. To your dismay he caught it and chuckled, "Kidding, you know I love you baby. Now come on, I like it when you hold on to me while we ride."

You watched as your boyfriend jangled his motorcycle key and you shook your head with a laugh as you pushed yourself from the couch to follow him out the door.