Chapter Text
The world seems a hell of a lot more manageable from the view of a car window.
At least that's how it felt, even for 30-odd minutes.
Normally he’d put a cd on in the car, even if the journey was barely five minutes. That wasn't the case today, he wasn’t in the mood, not even for music.
His dad, who was uncomfortably silent, noticed him casting his eyes away from the painfully grey local scenery and gave him a quick, very english closed mouth smile.
He tried to return it, but he couldn't get it to reach his eyes. He truly did not want to be here and didn't even try to hide it.
What would be the point? They spent about 20 minutes having a screaming match about this just a few weeks ago and nothing has changed.
Unfortunately, they reached their destination not long after. Cant avoid this now i guess.
Paul didn't exactly see the point of all this anyway. She died so bloody long ago and he was fine now. It's just his dad and the school who are the ones making all this fuss, he couldn't care less and frankly, thought it was a waste of everyone's time.
You see, the McCartney boys lost their mum just over 2 years ago now and it was “An awful shame” because “She was ever so lovely” and “What are you boys going to do now? Your poor Da’ must be so lonely!”
Now it's not that these things were untrue of course. Paul really did love his mum and she was lovely and he knows his dads having a hard time with it too, but was all this faff necessary?
Therapy. Fucking therapy. And not just that! No, no, this was group therapy, which to Paul meant a bunch of miserable teenagers weeping their little hearts out about a dead great-great-grandad that held them once as a baby.
Paul hadn't exactly been told what the therapy group was for but he’d place bets on it being exactly that based on the sheer amount of people trying to relate to his situation by telling him that their hamster died from an ear infection last week so they know 'just how he feels'.
Paul doesn't like to think of himself as a cynical, resentful person by any means, but therapy was just taking the piss. And believe him, he attempted to make a point of telling his dad exactly that, but to no avail.
Maybe his dad saw this as a ‘last resort’ for the way Paul had been behaving recently. Which translated, in Paul's mind, to: "I can't be bothered to comfort my own son anymore so I'm sending him here on Saturday mornings instead”
To be completely honest, Paul was surprised the group even let him in considering it was so long ago. He figured any kind of ‘bereavement’ therapy would be for strictly fresh cases of grief, and because he felt like after two years you're kind of expected to be over this sort of thing now, which again, he was. Just further proof of how silly this all was, he supposed.
Can't a kid have a slight breakdown anymore without being sent to therapy?
Apparently not, which is why they are currently pulling into a pothole filled car park outside of a slightly run-down community centre.
He faintly registered his dad saying his goodbyes as he had to get home to meet a friend and gave him a quick distracted nod as he walked up to the building, quickly sidestepping out of the way as another car turned up and was slowly driving behind him.
His first impression upon getting a closer look at the place was one of slight despair, yet with a kind of curiosity, albeit with a very ‘might as well have a look since I’m already here’ attitude that is very typical of a boy his age.
Upon approaching the doors, he noticed a small sign (a scrap of paper, really) with some rather helpful directions to newcomers.
Saturday:
Alcoholics Anonymous-2nd Floor, Door B1
Under 16s Orchestra Rehearsals- 2nd Floor, Door B2
Bereavement Support- 3rd Floor, Door C1
Child Education Classes-3rd Floor, Door C2
“They really got the whole spectrum of people, huh?”
“Christ-” Paul clutched a hand to his chest as this nasally voice appeared just behind him.
Must have been the one in the car nearly bloody running me over.
Paul gave a quick assessment of this person, trying to figure out which group he belonged to.
1. He was certainly not under 16, he had the lifelessness in his eyes that came with being an older student. He didn't exactly look the orchestra type anyway- and Paul would know, what with his brief stint with a saxophone.
2. He certainly wasn't in the child education class, unless he was an incredibly supportive father?
3.Paul highly doubted he was a recovering alcoholic, although it technically remained a possibility?
So, that only left one option if we’re being honest.
An option which Paul decided against mentioning, and instead just decided to let this boy figure out why Paul was there too, possibly through taking the same route through the entire building.
On the walk up Paul realised that he should get a proper look at this guy, especially if they were going to be in the same group together - And because he isn’t too bad looking if I may be so bold.
He was wearing a baggy, black Led Zeppelin t-shirt with a small necklace perched on top of it, with some leather and string bracelets on both wrists. His jeans were equally baggy yet fit him well, and looked a bit more…well-loved, to put it nicely.
He was relatively skinny (as far as Paul could tell, what with the baggy clothes) but Paul knew he was certainly in no place to judge as he didn't have too much ‘meat on his bones’ either, as his aunts like to remind him.
In any case, he certainly looked much cooler than Paul did, as the extent of Paul's morning routine today was picking some clothes off the floor from God knows how long ago and calling it a day. That was all thanks to Paul's admittedly irritating reluctance to even go in the first place, which turned into doing every task as half-arsed as possible just to really hammer in the defiance.
Paul felt it would be best to stop borderline gawping at the poor lad as they passed the second floor - that rules out alcoholic then- and in a comfortable silence, they arrived upstairs and found their assigned door.
Before entering, Paul figured that he might as well just give this a chance, after all he is kind of stuck doing this for the time being.
After a light tap on the shoulder when the boy made to enter the room - "I'm Paul, by the way. Figured if we’re in this thing together then I might as well introduce meself ‘n all.”
Paul noticed a slightly far- away look in the lad's eyes when he met Paul's eyes, and he eventually replied with an unexpected nervous shake in his voice.
“I err- ahem. Sorry. I'm John, its- ” the bo- John took a stabilising breath. “It’s nice to meet you.” and gestured for Paul to enter.