Chapter Text
Paul, 12, works as a cleaner for George Martin at EMI studios. It’s a nice job, really, pays a bit well. At least enough to have food on the table.
His father always gambles it away, he didn’t know what that word meant until he saw their money disappear. That’s fine.
Last night, Paul was making Jim’s favorite dinner as an apology for his bad behavior. He’d been talking back to him, so it’s his fault. He shouldn’t say “no” when his father’s hitting him.
Paul waited for Jim to come home, and when he did he smelled of beer and alcohol. He shivered. It’s never good when he’s drunk..
He stood with his hands folded next to the dinner table, still wearing his mittens. Dad will love the food he’s made him! He knows it’ll cheer him up!
Jim’s angry, wanted warm food ready for him on the table and instead was met with cold spaghetti.
“What is this rubbish? Couldn’t you have made something better? Made it warm for your father? Is this how you repay me, you waste of space!?” He slurred his words, slamming his palms on the table with a loud smack.
Paul flinched, heartbroken and confused.
“I.. I’m sorry, da. I wanted to make you your favorite food and I didn’t think you’d—“
“Didn’t think. Of course you didn’t think! You never do! Aye, I know what’ll teach you lad. No good for nothing kid!” His voice echoed with anger. He stood up and kicked the chair within the same second.
Paul was shaking, tears threatening to fall out his eyes. His father’s towering over him. He’ll be punished again.
Paul fell asleep hiccuping with tears rolling down his eyes, a bruised face and swollen back once again. When will Dad stop punishing him? It hurts.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Paul went to work the next morning, it was a weekend after all. The workers didn’t seem to notice Paul’s bruises. Or they just didn’t care. It’s fine. He didn’t expect them to. It’s normal anyway, all dads are like that. They all have that temper! Which makes him wonder why Harold Harrison never raises his fist?
As Paul was cleaning George Martin’s office with a broom way too big for him, clothes that aren’t his size. George entered the office, “Thank you, James.”
“P-Paul, sir.” He quickly corrected. He never wants to be called James. That’s his father’s name. He doesn’t wanna be him.
“Ah, right, my apologies Paul.” George martin sat at his chair, took a closer look at Paul’s face. Bruises?
Paul was dumbfounded by George’s quick apology. Adults never apologize! They’re angry and they hurt!
“What’s wrong with your face, Paul?” George asked softly.
Paul straightened, stopped his sweeping. He paled. What should he say? Think!
“It was— I was— I ran into a door on my way here, sir.” He stammered, avoiding eye contact.
George hummed, “Does it hurt you?” Of course, Martin is not daft. He knows someone hurt the boy, but he can’t say that. Doesn’t want the boy to flee.
Does it hurt? Nobody ever asked Paul that question.. What’s the right answer? He doesn’t want to anger him.
“No— No it’s fine, it’s alright. I’m alright, sir.” Paul nodded, he’s a bit scared really. He hopes that’s the right answer.
George hummed again, observing Paul as he sweeps. The boy was way too thin, too small for his age. “I’ll be back.” Paul nodded.
After a few moments, George came back with an ice pack. He held it up infront of Paul for him to take it. Paul flinched.
“Sorry.. sorry, sir I thought..” he stared at the floor clutching the broom in his hand. George Martin is looming over him. Paul’s heart is beating.
“No.. it’s alright.” George says gently, he has a calculating look in his eye.
Paul tilted his head, he took the ice pack in his hands. He’s confused, what’s he supposed to do? He looks up at George expecting instructions.
“You’re supposed to put it in your cheek.” He says.
Paul looks confused by that, he stares at the ice pack like it’s the first time he’s seen one. “..In my cheek?”
“Yes, it makes it feel better. Try it.” He replied gently.
Paul mumbled an apology, he feels like he’s burdening the man. He put it up his cheek, it feels cold. But it feels good. Dulls the ache.
“…Thank you, sir.”
George nodded.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
When Paul finished sweeping and cleaning, his shift didn’t end. He still has half an hour left til he has to go home. Sometimes, he wishes he could stay at the studio for a while longer. He’s a bit scared.
He was peeking through the glass of the studio, still holding the ice pack to his cheek— The glass was too high for his height so he had to stand on his tippy-toes to see the artists play. He loved it, so much! Sadly, he can’t hear a thing since the studio doesn’t let out a sound unless inside. But he can already imagine it!
An adult from inside noticed him peeking, and Paul panicked. Is he not allowed to watch? He should’ve known! Only adults stay together! Children stay away, or they’ll get punished!
He wants to run, but he’s frozen in place. The adult got out of the studio, and towered over Paul. He’s so tall! Practically a giant! Paul thinks his height is about the same as the monsters in the stories he reads about!
He’s shaking as he stares up at the man.
“Hey, kid. I noticed you watching the lads play some music. I’m Mal, Mal Evans. What’s your name?” He kneels infront of Paul.
His heart is shaking fast. What if he smacks Paul for watching?
“Paul.. Paul McCartney.”
“What a nice name you got, lad. Would you like to come hear the artists play? I think they’ll like you there.”
His eye’s widened. Like him? They’ll want him to scram!
.. But he really did wanna go.
He nodded, was going to leave it at that until he remembered the man— Mal, probably needs a verbal answer out of him. That’s what his dad always wanted. Or else.
“I- Uh- Yes, sir. I’d like— I’d love to.” He stuttered, he really hates stuttering. But he can’t help it when he doesn’t know if he’s safe or not.
Mal smiled warmly at Paul, stood up and put his hand behind Paul’s back to walk with him— when Paul suddenly flinched.
“Ow!” He accidentally let out. His face reddened with embarrassment.
“Sorry, I- I didn’t mean to.” Paul muttered. He’s avoiding Mal’s eyes.
Mal’s concerned, really. Not only does the kid have an ice pack on his face, his bruised cheek— but his back also apparently hurts him?
“Did someone hurt your back, Paul?”
Paul froze, he looked at Mal with eyes clouded with fear,
“No! No! I— I fell down the stairs, it’s not a big deal, sir” he shook his head and laughed nervously.
Mal frowned, the boy seemed too nervous to him. “Okay..”
Paul spent the afternoon sitting at a chair in the corner grinning as he watched the artists play, holding an icepack to his cheek.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
After about an hour of the artists recording and finishing their work, they all left except for the producers. Paul is sure that he never felt this happy in his life! It was so fun! They played so well! And no one did anything to him and he behaved! He was so giddy!
He noticed George Martin going to play the piano, it was such a beautiful quiet melody. It reminded him of his mother.
George saw Paul standing in the corner, still holding the ice pack to his face. The boy must be waiting for someone to tell him to stop pressing it, because the ice has long since then melted.
“Paul, could you come here for a moment?”
Paul startled when George stopped the melody to call him, did he want him out of the way?
He walked to him, and George patted the empty space of the piano bench next to him.
Paul eyed it suspiciously, then sat next to him making sure there’s still a space between them. He was kicking his feet under the bench.
“You don’t have to hold it to your face anymore, Paul. When the ice melts, that’s when you know it’s long overdue.” He explains gently to the child.
Paul tilted his head in confusion as he looked at George, he pulled the ice pack away from his cheek to examine it. Melted indeed. What should he do with it?
He looked at George expectantly. His voice isn’t working, it happens sometimes. He doesn’t know why.
“There’s a trash bin in the corner of the studio, you should throw it out and come to sit again.” George smiled as he talked to Paul.
Is it a trap? Paul doesn’t know.
He threw it out and went to sit back at his place, kicking his legs under the bench. George looks huge compared to him! Like an elephant next to a tiny mouse! He read a story like that yesterday!
An elephant and a tiny mouse were together, bonded by their love for nature and running!
It reminded him of him and his friend George Harrison’s hiking trips!
Paul was afraid the elephant would step on the mouse when the mouse started talking with an attitude, it was telling the elephant “no!” for not wanting to find food for the day. But the elephant didn’t! It only helped the mouse look with it. It seemed strange to Paul.
As Paul was zoned out, thinking about the Elephant and Mouse story.. George was observing Paul’s bruise. It seemed to heal a bit, but it looked like a strong hit. He wondered if a “door” could make such a fist shaped bruise.
“Do you have a father, Paul?” He asked.
Paul startled, he forgot he was here. He started to think about what dinner he could make today for Jim and Mike, one that would please Jim so he wouldn’t get angry again.
He nodded, his voice still not working.
“And your mother?”
Paul shook his head, tight-lipped. His mother died when he was 8. It was worse than any punishment he got from his father.
George nodded, seeming to understand.
“Would you like me to teach you some piano, Paul? I saw you mesmerized by the notes I was playing earlier.”
Paul straightened, he couldn’t believe it! His father never let him play the piano they have at home, says it’s too much of a racket. (Now, Paul may play it when Jim’s out. But that’s a secret!)
He grinned, he tried to speak but his throat let out a click sound. He nodded eagerly instead.
George and Paul spent an hour playing the piano together. George’s big hands jumping from one chord to another, while Paul’s small ones click a tiny note with another.
Paul never felt more at home.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
They stayed like that for an hour, until Paul saw the clock and panicked. He was late to make a meal for Jim! He was supposed to be home!
How could he be so selfish? Sitting around playing piano with a man (Who is not his father!) When his dad is awaiting a nice warm meal to come home to?
George Martin noticed Paul’s sudden panic, his breathing rhythm faltered. “Are you alright, Paul?”
Paul startled. (God, will you stop doing that!)
He tried to speak, but his voice is still not working! He feels his throat closing up, he needs to speak! (He’ll think you’re daft, Paul. Speak! Speak!)
He opens his mouth, click. Click.
“H-home. L-L.. - Late!” He croaks out, forcing his raspy voice out of his throat.
“.. Sorry, sir.” He whispers, cheeks reddening— apologizing for his stuttering.
“You don’t have to apologize, Paul. That’s alright. Your shift ended a long while ago, anyhow. But I’d like you to know you’re always welcome here.” He smiled softly, he knows somethings wrong. Why would a child panic over coming home? George doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but it’s all very concerning.
Paul looked confused by the kindness. Nevertheless, he nodded and immediately stood up. Practically running his way out of the building.
He ran until he found his way in Forthlin Road. His heart is beating. He should get in the house, he knows that.. but he’s a bit scared. That’s alright! He should man up! Right?
He read a story, about a brave knight going inside the dragon’s den. He should be the brave knight! Would that make Jim the dragon? Nonsense, Dad can be good! He’s just … angry sometimes. And everyone can be angry!
He took in a brave breath, and opened the door to see Jim sitting in his chair with a belt in his hand.
Paul wants to go back to George Martin. So much for being a brave knight.. he thinks as metal strikes his body, once again.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
The next day, Paul is walking to work with a slight limp on his step. Jim went a bit harsh on his back, especially his legs.
That’s alright, because Paul shouldn’t have been so selfish to forget his father and his brother. Mikey could deal with himself, but his Dad is a whole other story! He needed to help him!
But instead, he was hanging about in some studio.
… Would it be wrong if Paul really liked it there? He doesn’t know.
He reached his way to the studio, and started sweeping. Though, it was more slowly now. He’s hurt.
George Martin came by to work in his office, while sitting he silently observed Paul’s mannerisms as he was going through papers.
The boy seemed to limp, he looks like he hadn’t eaten anything since the night before and he keeps wincing when he changes his footing. It’s very concerning, and George wishes he could do something but keeps reminding himself that he is not the child’s parent. But at the very least he could offer some warmth and comfort, things the kid is clearly lacking.
There’s a bakery nearby the studio so he thought of getting some baked goods for the both of them. Mostly for Paul, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm the kid.
Half an hour later, George came back to the studio with a few warm muffins and bread. Made sure to get some milk too, the kid will need something to drink with it. He seemed severely neglected.
He cleared his throat as he sat at his desk. Paul seemed to have ran out of breath, as he’s in the corner holding the broom as if it’s his only thing that’s not making him collapse.
“Paul.”
He startled. He was slacking! He shouldn’t have taken a breather. He knew it was wrong!
“Uhm… sorry, sir. I was— I was taking a breather, you see. I- uhm..” he trailed off.. mumbling a shy “yeah” in the end.
“I’m not angry at you, Paul. I’d like you to come sit with me, please.” He smiled sadly.
Paul lifted his head at that. Is he going to punish him?
He slowly walked to the chair next to George, and carefully sat down. Tucking his hands in between his knees as he kicked his legs under the chair. He bit his lip as he waited for the next command.
George took out something from a bag, it smelled nice.
“Would you like to eat with me, Paul?” He asked.
Paul widened his eyes. Eat with him? Nobody wanted to eat with him, not even his father. Jim would always make Paul eat upstairs “Only men eat at the dinner table.” But Paul is a man? A boy, but a man? What’s the difference?
Maybe it’s because Jim is more braver with his fist. Paul is a coward.
He didn’t answer at first, just stared at George as he contemplated. He doesn’t want to talk.
George, however, immediately started getting Paul’s food ready— placing his muffins, a piece of bread and milk on the table in front of Paul.
“There. It’s all yours, Paul. I figured you might need a bit of a lunch break, no? You can get back to your cleaning after, if you’d like.” He smiled warmly at the boy next to him. And Paul gave a small shy smile back.
As Paul reached out for the muffin first, he flinched and let out a small quiet groan. He stretched his shoulder too much, Jim made sure to .. punish.. him bad. He tried again, more carefully and took a bite of the muffin. It tasted so good! Better than anything he’s eaten! He loves it!
George noticed the sudden flinch, the groan of pain. “Are you hurt anywhere else, Paul?” He asked gently.
Paul froze mid-bite. He doesn’t know what to answer, and he needs to answer because he can’t be rude. But he can’t speak.
He stared at George, and slightly shrugged with one shoulder as he nitpicked the muffin in his hand avoiding eye contact.
George hummed, he knew if he pushed he wouldn’t get any more out of the boy.
“Are you sure? Maybe you’d need bandages. That’ll help, like how the ice pack helped yesterday. It’s more safer.” He explained gently.
Paul stared sadly, and continued to eat his food.
George sighed, “Alright.”
They both ate in silence, with one boy letting out an occasional hiss of pain.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Later that day, Paul had another shift where he needed to clean the studio. He doesn’t know if he can, his back burns and his legs could give out any minute. But he mustn’t show that! They’ll punish him! He needs to work!
He doesn’t think he can handle any more punishments, his body is small as it is. He doesn’t like it, that his body is small. At school, he sees other boys his age growing taller and taller. While Paul looks like he’s still 9. It makes him sad. But isn’t it also good? When he’s still small, he doesn’t become violent.
But when he’s big… maybe he can stand up for himself?
No, he’s not allowed. He winces again as he sweeps the floor. He feels something roll down his back.
Mal Evans came by the studio to see that Paul kid still cleaning.. but there’s something on the back of his shirt..
God, is that blood!?
“Paul!” He called
Paul startled, he immediately threw his broom and held his arms up. “I’m sorry!”
Mal frowns, “No, my boy! Your back is bleeding! You’ll need to go to a hospital!”
Paul’s eyes widened at that as he lowered his arms, “No! No! I told you— It’s fine I jus— I just played too harshly at the playground!” He shook his head frantically
Mal’s frown deepened, “I thought you said it was the stairs?”
Paul froze, his heart is beating too fast. His throat is closing up. He tries to speak, click. Click. Click. He sobs, he shakes his head as he mouthes the word “no”.
Mal kneeled, he held his arms up to hold the boy but he flinched violently as he sat and curled up on himself wrapping his arms around his knees as he hiccups. The position must definitely hurt his back.
“Okay, Paul. Okay, that’s okay, please don’t cry. It’s okay. Do you not wanna go to the hospital? You don’t need to. It’s okay.” He keeps repeating, he really doesn’t know how to comfort the kid and he could feel himself panicking as well!
Paul continues to sob with childlike hiccups.
“Stay here, Paul. I’ll be back.” Mal stood up and left.
Paul sobbed even more, he’ll punish him once he’s back. He’s just looking for the belt. He shouldn’t cry, boys don’t cry. And now he’ll be punished for it.
He read a story like that once, a bunny and a gentle bear. The bunny would always cry and cry, he never stopped! And the bunny’s family would scold him for it, boys don’t cry! But the bear, he comforts the bunny instead. Telling him
“it’s okay to cry, bunny. We all do, even I, the big bear!” “Be wild, be free, but my dear won’t you shed your tears for me? Do not hide them from me!”
It’s strange to Paul that the bear didn’t eat the bunny for crying. Isn’t that what all adults do? Maybe it’s different for animals. He wishes he had his own bear. He bought a tiny teddy bear that he leaves at home with his paycheck from last week, just for this. But the bear doesn’t tell him anything. Maybe it’s different? At least the bear makes him warm when he hugs it. He loves the teddy bear, he misses it now.
George Martin came in, Mal felt too shy to enter the room with him. Two adults might frighten the child even more and he already knows his height makes the kid fear him.
“Paul, son, do not cry please. It’s alright.” A man says gently.
George?
He lifted his head from his knees, still clutching his arms around them trembling. He tries to speak, but his voice is not allowing him. He’s scared.
George sighed as he looked sadly at the boy, “You do not have to hide your injuries from me, or from Mal, dear boy. You don’t have to bleed every day. You know that, don’t you?” He whispered.
Paul hiccups as he looked at him with sad big eyes. Tears still rolling down his cheeks.
“I got you some bandages. Please, don’t refuse this from me. I have to help you because this is going too far, my boy. You’re only a child.”
Paul doesn’t agree with him, if he doesn’t deserve it then what else does he deserve if this is all he can get?
He nodded, a small hesitant nod as George got the bandages ready. They went to his office.
When he took off his shirt, George tried to hold back his gasp that almost left him. The boy was filled with bloodied belt marks and bruises. They definitely scar.
He wanted to ask who did this, but he managed to hold back. The boy was already crying and he does not need any more on his plate.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Paul was hiccuping with tears silently rolling down his cheeks flinching as George was disinfecting Paul’s wounds, the boy looked severely malnourished. You could practically see his rib cage, no wonder all his clothes are too big for him. Poor child.
“I know it hurts, Paul. But it’ll make you feel better, hm? Think of it like the ice pack.” He muttered softly to the boy.
Paul was a bit scared to say the least, he doesn’t know what’ll happen after. What if Dad punishes him again and notices the bandages? He’ll ask who did it for him!
George wrapped the bandages around Paul’s back, when he finished he kneeled in front of the boy as he held his shoulders with his hands. He cleared his throat,
“Paul, is everything okay at home?” He asks gently.
Paul can hear his heart beat in his ears. He can’t answer this question. He stares as George.
George sighed, his silence was enough of an answer.
“Does your father hurt you?”
Paul bit his lip. His father does hurt him but… he’s fixing him, isn’t he? He avoided eye contact.
“.. Is he the one who did this to you?”
Paul’s shaking in George’s grip, he feels scared.
He nodded.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
George really had a feeling it was Paul’s father doing this all along, but seeing it confirmed now makes it all feel real and heartbreaking.
“Alright, Paul…” he sighed, rubbing Paul’s shoulder softly. The boy shivered, either from fear or cold George doesn’t know. However the office is freezing, so he pulled out of his own coat to drape it over Paul’s shoulders, gently guiding his small arms through the sleeves. Paul’s shirt is bloodied, so he’s definitely not wearing it anymore.
Paul seemed confused by George’s action. Why is an adult giving him their coat? No one did that to him. When it’s cold at home, Jim warms him with the belt. Maybe that counts.
"It’s freezing, Paul. It’s better to keep you warm.” George explains gently to the confused child.
“Would you like to drink some tea with me, Paul?” He offered.
Paul merely stared up at him from his long eyelashes.
George nodded. Whether the kid wants tea or not, he’ll make some for him just incase.
He can’t leave Paul alone, so he held up his hand for Paul to take it. He’ll be going with him to the small kitchen area by the studio.
Paul stared at the hand with a calculated look, and looked back up at George as he slowly reached out his own small hand to hold his hand. Jim never held his hand.
As Paul and George were walking together, hands held. George got a small chair nearby for Paul to sit on as he makes some tea.
Paul’s still holding George’s hand —sucking on his thumb with the other— as he stared at the chair, seeming to wait for instructions.
“You could sit if you’d like, Paul. I’m going to make some tea for us.” He said softly to the boy.
Paul looked up at him as he slowly pulled his hand away from George’s grip, holding the coat close to him as he slowly step by step reached the chair and sat on it. The coat smells nice and clean. It smells like George.
The coat was swallowing him, sleeves going past his knuckles by a long shot that he’d have to roll it up if he wanted to work with his hands. He liked it.
George was humming a tune as he was making some tea.
The kitchen was quiet, no sound but the occasional sniffle by Paul and humming by George. Paul felt… safe.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
As George finished making their cups, he slowly placed the cup in front of Paul with a soft clink, and sat down next to him. "Don’t drink it yet, my boy. It’s too hot.” He smiled.
As they were waiting for their cups to steam off, Paul broke the silence.
“Thank… you, sir.” He whispered, his voice still a tiny fragile rasp. But coming back, nevertheless.
“You’re very welcome.” The man smiled.
As they started sipping quietly on their teas, George found it the right time to talk to Paul seriously, but also gently.
“Paul.. I want you to listen very carefully, alright?”
Paul straightened, his eyes widened as his hands clutched his cup. There it is. He’s in trouble now.
“You’re not in any trouble at all, my boy. Nobody’s angry with you.” He starts gently, reading the terror on the boy’s face.
“Mal and I… we care about you, we care about what happens to you. Do you understand that?”
Paul bit his lip, and nodded a small shy nod fiddling with his cup. Where is this going?
“What’s happening to you.. what your father’s doing to you— Your face, your back. It’s wrong, Paul. A father doesn’t hurt his children, he cares for them.”
Paul didn’t seem too certain of that, but if George is.. George knows best? Right?
“It’s not your fault he’s doing that to you, you know. And it’s not right. No child should ever be hurt this way and especially not by their own— their own parent, a parent who’s supposed to protect them.” He looked at Paul with sad eyes.
A small tear escaped Paul’s eye, dropping silently to the rim of his mug. He wanted to tell him that it’s alright. That Jim is not all that bad— that he can be good. That dads are just dads, that they punish their sons. That it’s Paul’s fault for not obeying. But the words died on his throat as he looked into George’s sad eyes. Click.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Later that night, George insisted that Paul should stay at his house until they figure out what to do with Jim.
Paul was holding George’s hand, biting his thumb on the other— as they were walking through the quiet streets til they reach George’s house. It was a quiet talk.. but the good kind of quiet.
Like, the quiet between two frogs - a daddy frog and a baby frog jumping on their ponds. Paul liked that story, the frogs looked cute together. Why couldn’t his dad be like the daddy frog?
Could George be his daddy frog? But they’re different than each other?
He read a story about a kangaroo taking care of a puppy. He thought of it as silly really! How could a kangaroo take care of a puppy? They look so different than each other! But the kangaroo didn’t mind as it put the puppy inside its fluffy pouch “Don’t worry, little puppy. I’ll be your parent till the end of time.” The End.
Is it truly possible for an adult to do that? Hm.
Maybe animals are just different. He wishes he was an animal. Maybe a bird? He could fly and run away from home. He tried to fly once a few years ago, he spent weeks looking at the birds outside his house. How they used their wings to fly, their mannerisms. Paul tried it. He got a broken arm instead and another punishment for “being daft”. He was daft. Maybe he still is for thinking this way.
Paul must’ve thought for too long because suddenly they were outside George’s house. “We’re here, Paul.” He looked down at the boy, still holding his tiny hand as they climbed up the stairs.
He let out his keys and opened the door, Paul thought he should’ve let go of his hand by now… but he doesn’t want to.
“You could sit at the sofa, if you’d like to. I’ll be making dinner before we could go to sleep.”
“There’s a spare room, so you don’t have to worry.”
Paul reluctantly let go of George’s hand as he went to slowly sit at the soft sofa. It felt nice, comfy. The house smells clean with a hint of perfume and tobacco. It smells different than his house— moldy, blood, alcohol.
He likes it here. He decides as he tucks his hand between his knees.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Paul’s panicking. It just struck him that he is in a house. A house that’s not his. A house he does not know the rules of. He could’ve broken them already without him knowing! His heart is beating too fast, the room feels like it’s closing in on him.
He stares at the floor, tries to control his breathing. The rug underneath him is filled with beautiful colors. Colors that he could’ve ruined with his shoes. Are his shoes dirty? Did he ruin the carpet? That’s not allowed. Will he be punished? George says it’s wrong but that doesn’t mean he won’t. He will get angry. All adults are angry. Everyone is. How could he be so dumb to forget that? So innocent? His father certainly taught him that with the back of his hand.
“Paul!” George called out from the kitchen, Paul could hear him chop some veggies. The kitchen is peaceful. “Would you like some chicken or beef? I’ve got a bit of both.”
Paul’s confused. Why is he giving him a choice? Is there a wrong answer? Children eat whatever’s on the table no matter if they like it or not. That’s the rules.
He tries to answer, his voice is not allowing him. He swallows, counts to 10. “I- Anything.. whatever you— have, sir… Thank you.” He tries to get out, his voice raspy.
George hummed, “Chicken it is, then!” Not minding Paul’s stutter at all.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
“Dinner’s ready, Paul!” George called out, readying the food at the dinner table.
Paul stood up from the sofa, wincing slightly when the bandages rubbed against the raw skin. He walked slowly to the dinner table, confusion visible in his face as he saw his food ready at a designated place on the table. For him.
Children eat elsewhere, don’t they? Away from adults.
“Come sit.” He smiled, though he was confused at Paul’s own visible confusion.
“I.. eat here?” He asked, his voice slowly coming back.
“Yes.”
“At.. the dinner.. table?” He asked again, cautious.
George nodded, “Do you wish to eat elsewhere?”
Paul shook his head, mumbling a small “no, sir” as he sat at his chair.
He smiled, “You don’t have to call me ‘sir’ Paul. George is enough.”
Paul nodded, “Okay, George..”
As George started eating, he noticed Paul didn’t touch his food yet. Though he seems to be watching it with clear hunger and desire. Is he waiting for permission? George’s heart dropped at that. How bad was Jim to make his own son ask for permission for something as simple as eating?
“You can eat, Paul. Better not make it too cold, right?”
Paul nodded, as he picked up his fork and started to eat away. The food was warm, better than anything he’s eaten in years. Even better than that muffin and bread in the studio.
“You don’t have to ask for permission to eat, Paul. Alright?” He said gently.
Paul was confused.. “Okay… sir— George.”
He nodded shyly.
George smiled, the dinner was quiet only the clinks of their spoons and forks could be heard.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Paul finished eating, still sat in his chair. He shouldn’t stand up til someone tells him to do so. He doesn’t want to anger George. What if he kicks the chair next to him because of that?
He cleared his throat “Uhm.. George?”
“Yes, Paul?” George said as he put down the fork, giving his full attention to Paul.
“Are there any.. y’know. House-rules?”
“House-rules?” George repeated quietly.
“Yes.. like, uhm, times when you want me out of the way.. or things you don’t want me to do, stuff you don’t want me to touch. I don’t wanna get in trouble.” He said that last part too fast and wished he could swallow it back, he didn’t mean to let that part out.
George merely observed Paul fiddling with his hands avoiding his eye contact.
“You won’t get in trouble here.” He said softly.
Paul wasn’t sure if he believes that too much.
“As for house rules, let me think..” He mulled.
Paul paid attention.
“Hm. If you stay at my house for the whole day, then you must eat 3 meals a day. If your stomach hurts and you don’t wish to eat then you can tell me. When you feel hurt you can tell me and I’ll see what I can do to help. If you feel your bandages stretch and rip then you must tell me so I can change them for you. You will not be hurt in this house, Paul. Nor punished. I suppose those are the house-rules.”
Paul blinked. He didn’t expect that.
“And what about you?” George asked
“What?” Paul exclaimed in confusion.
“Do you have any rules for me?”
Paul paled, he couldn’t even think about giving out rules to anyone let alone an adult!
He shook his head frantically.
George hummed, “Well, if you feel like you have a rule for me you can tell me any time.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
After dinner, George got Paul some pajamas that he could change into. They’re too big for him but it’ll do. A few years ago, George’s little cousins used to visit so he always has some extra clothes for them. Now, they’re all grown up of course. But George was too sentimental to get rid of them. And it proved to be useful!
Paul changed into his pajamas and it swallowed him whole! Really, he looked adorable.
He looked at George expectantly, waiting for his next instructions. He feels sad. He doesn’t know what to do unless someone tells him to. Sometimes he wishes he could do whatever he wants immediately, but he gets scared and freezes. He doesn’t know why it happens.
“You should go to bed, Paul. It’s getting late. Would you like me to take you to your room, or would you like to go alone?” He asked gently.
Paul came closer to George as he hesitantly held his hand and looked forward, meaning that he wanted to walk with him.
George held his hand just as tight, and walked him to his spare room. When Paul was changing he got out some toys his cousins played with. Put it in Paul’s room.
When Paul saw a small bunny plushie, he felt so happy! He always loved plushies. They feel good when he hugs them. It reminded him of his teddy bear at home. He hopes it’s not too lonely without him.
He stared at the bed, still holding George’s hand as he bit his thumb.
“You could go to sleep now, Paul.” He smiled at the boy.
Paul pulled out of George’s hand, and laid down in bed.
“Would you like me to tuck you in, Paul?”
Paul was surprised, no one did that before. No one but Mary.
He nodded.
George tucked him in, made sure the bunny was tucked next to him as Paul hugged it.
He went to go out and before he closed the door, he looked at the boy who was staring at the ceiling with droopy eyes clinging to the bunny.
“Goodnight, Paul.” He closed the door.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
The next morning, George insisted that Paul mustn’t work that day. “You’re injured, my boy. I don’t want you hurt.” He explained gently.
“Although, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me. After all, I have work as well!” He chuckled. Paul smiled shyly.
He got some clothes for Paul, a nice blue shirt with a pair of comfortable soft jeans. As Paul finished changing, they started their walk to the studio.
Paul was walking next to George, he wanted to hold his hand but was a bit too shy. He gathered up the courage as his tiny hand slowly made its way up to George’s, clasping his hand. George looked at Paul and smiled. They walked holding hands, Paul admiring the greenery.
They made their way to the studio, and Paul sat nearby at a corner as George was working with some recording buttons. Paul didn’t know what they do but he was fascinated nevertheless. Sadly, there were no artists today. So it was just the two of them, and Mal.
Mal came by, though he was a bit shy and concerned for Paul’s wellbeing.
“How are you today, Paul?” He greeted him.
“I’m okay.” He smiled shyly, avoiding eye contact. He’s a bit embarrassed from his outburst yesterday.
George was showing Paul some buttons, telling him how the volumes work and the rhythms. He even made Paul press some of his own! He liked it.
In the middle of their bonding- The studio burst open violently so that it could’ve shaken up the whole building. Paul froze, he heard angry footsteps. He knows those footsteps from the back of his mind.
George and Mal shared a look of concern, they had a small idea of who it might be. Paul was shaking next to them.
“Paul!” An angry, gravelly voice echoed in the building.
Paul shook even more, George nodded at Mal— both adults stood up to figure out how to deal with this. Paul hid behind George as they left the control room to the studio.
Jim was arguing with a secretary, a woman in her thirties trying to calm the man down “Sir, I’m sorry but you need to calm down! Only staff is allowed here!” She tried to talk some sense into him but he immediately cut her off, breath smelling of alcohol and beer. “I want my son. Where is my son? That boy will be in a lot of trouble just let me get my hands on him!” He shouted , jaw tight.
Paul sobbed as he clutched George’s coat from his back, hiding his face in George’s back. He was shaking so bad, he feels the room close in on him. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have gone with George. They’ll all hate me now. I’ll be punished.
“Sir, you can’t be here. Could you leave please?” Mal shielded George and Paul.
“Where is my son?!” Jim heard Paul’s sobs, he turned his head and saw him hiding behind a tall man. Who does he think he is?
“Give me my son. You’re corrupting him, aren’t you? Thinking you can let him stay here for the whole day? What about his father? Huh? I’ve been waiting for the bastard for the whole day!” He shouted voice only getting louder and louder.
George leaned an arm back to Paul, shielding him. He placed a hand on his hair. “I don’t think it’s very wise of you to be this angry in front of your son, sir. You’re scaring him.”
“Scaring him?” Jim laughed a cruel manic laughter, slurring his words. Drunk. “Just let me get my hands on him and he’ll know what to be scared of, la.”
Paul let out a sob, clutching George’s coat with a death grip.
“Now c’mere!” He yelled, walking with angry footsteps toward Paul— when Mal pushed him away “Sir, we need you to leave right now or we’ll call the police. This is a private workplace and you’re disrupting the staff.” He exclaimed rather irritatedly.
“Get your dirty hands off of me!” Jim pushed Mal away harshly, a fist raised— Paul gasps — but Mal blocked it off as he hit Jim with a fist of his own.
George turned his attention to Paul, the boy was staring at Mal and Jim with wide clouded eyes clutching George’s coat, his mouth parted as he’s letting out a silent cry.
“Paul, my boy, it’s alright. It’s alright.” He repeated as he was going to hold Paul. But Paul didn’t seem to notice George was there. His full attention was on Mal and Jim, who were tackled on the floor. The secretary was calling the police.
George gently pulled off Paul’s grip on his coat to kneel and look him in the eye. He held Paul’s arms together. “Paul, Paul look at me, son.”
Paul turned his head to him, a devastated terrified look on his face. He tries to speak. Click. He sobs, he sobs and points at Jim.
“I know, I know, it’s okay. You’re okay.” George mutters as he went to hug Paul, who was still sobbing and hiccuping.
He hugged him gently, aware of the bandages that hide underneath the shirt. Paul clung to George clutching his coat from behind his shoulders with a death grip, knuckles white. He buried his face in the space between George’s neck and shoulder and sobbed. He couldn’t speak, and he isn’t sure he would if he could. He’s scared.
It’s his fault, isn’t it? He shouldn’t have stayed with George. He should’ve lied better. He shouldn’t have made them notice. Jim is hurt now and he’s going to be more angry when they go home. He doesn’t wanna go home.
The police came by, and they arrested Jim. As they handcuffed him he started spitting at Paul “Don’t think I’m done with you, boy! You’re no son of mine! No son of mine at all! You worthless waste of skin! Mary would despise you!” He screamed at Paul, resisting the police. Paul was staring back at him with a blank look at his face, his eyes clouded and wide. George kept telling him it was okay, it’s not true. Paul doesn’t hear him.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
After a few hours, the police started asking Paul questions.
“Does your father hit you?”
“Does your father always speak to you that way?”
“Do you have other family than him?”
He merely stares as he clutches George’s hand. George told the police about his back, about the belt. About the bruises. Everyone knows now. Paul is scared. He wants his teddy.
What’ll happen to him and Mike?
The police searched their house, a scared and hungry 10 year old Mike in tow. They saw blood, mold, barely any food in the fridge. That was enough for them. They decided that Jim is deemed no longer capable of taking care of children.
Paul no longer has a daddy or mummy.
His aunt from London took Mike with her, separating the brothers. She says that Mike is younger, that he’ll be easier. She cannot take care of two boys.
Paul said goodbye to Mike for the last time before he left for the train. He hugged him tightly, tears threatening to fall. He gave him his teddybear. He wanted to speak to Mike, ask him that he won’t forget him, right? but his voice is not allowing him. He hasn’t spoken for days, and when he tries his throat closes up. So all he could give him was a sad smile and nod. Mike understands.
Paul is alone now. Who’ll take care of him? They placed him at a building, a “foster care” they call it. There are other kids there, some younger and some older. He’s scared. He wants to go home, but where’s home?
A day later, George Martin came by. Paul peeked from the small space of the open door of his room and saw him talking to the workers. He can’t hear what they’re talking about.
An hour later, they call him. A lady talked to him gently, “Paul, dear. You’re going to be adopted today.”
Adopted?
“This man is going to take care of you from now on, he’ll be your new parent.” She smiled.
He looked at George Martin, and walked slowly as he wrapped his arms around George’s middle— hugging him. He’s too short for his age, only reaching George’s stomach.
George returned the hug, placing a hand on Paul’s head. “You’ll be safe now, my boy.” He whispered.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Paul arrived to George’s home— His home too, George insisted on letting him know that. He held George’s hand on their way home.
When they arrived, Paul stayed seated at the living room couch reading a short storybook George got him about two bunnies fighting over carrots. He’d laugh really, the story is really silly— but he doesn’t feel like laughing. He feels numb.
“Paul, dinner’s ready.” George softly informed Paul, the boy seemed to be in shock from all the events of the past week. He doesn’t blame him.
When they both sat down at their places, George noticed Paul still didn’t eat his food. He had a clouded look to his eyes.
“Paul..?”
Paul startled out of his stance, he wanted to mumble an apology but his throat closed up. Click.
“Do you not want to eat?” He asked gently.
Paul shook his head, took the fork and started to eat slowly. He didn’t seem all there.
George wished he could help Paul but he knew the boy’s still processing this all.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Next morning, George had to go to work and he obviously couldn’t leave a child alone at home. He told Paul that he no longer has to clean, that he no longer has to have a job— That he should just focus on healing and be a child. Paul seemed a little confused at that but nodded anyhow.
They reached their way to the studio, and Paul stayed still at the corner biting his thumb as the adults worked. He eyed Mal suspiciously when Mal greeted him.
George went to his office for a bit and Paul followed him, sat right next to him. George let out some paperwork and as he started working on them he felt something tug his sleeve. He turned to look at Paul, and Paul pointed at some empty papers.
“Do you want a paper, Paul?”
Paul nodded shyly, biting his thumb avoiding eye contact.
He gave him a paper and pen,
“Do you want to write something?”
Paul nodded, “A letter to my friend George Harrison” he wrote.
George nodded, “We could go send the letter after work today.” He smiled.
Paul was too busy writing,
Dear George,
A lot has happened these last few days, and I’m sure you noticed me not coming to school. I don’t know if you’ve heard, if someone told you. But my father is in jail now. He was a bad man. I’m okay. Mike is with my aunt in London, and I live with a nice man now. He adopted me. The lady said that he’ll be my new parent now. His name is George Martin, he’s not mean like my dad. I like him.
I don’t know how to tell you this, Georgie. But I do feel a bit scared. Everything is changed now. Do you remember those days when my voice stopped working? It’s back now. I don’t know why. I’m scared my voice will stop working forever. But that’s silly, right?
I miss you a lot. Please write back to the address in the back.
Your friend, Paul. Xxx
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
After Paul’s adoption by a week, he started slowly gaining his voice back. After a few days of missing school he attended once again and was greeted by a massive hug from George Harrison. He loves him.
“Paulie! Paulie! I missed you so much, lad you had us worried!” The boy surely doesn’t stop talking because as soon as he greeted Paul he just didn’t stop! He started filling him in on school drama “Aye, did ya see that Patricia girl cheat on Adam? Tsk, tsk i’m telling ye mate that couple is nasty!” talking about everything and nothing at all!
What Paul loves about George, is that when he loses his voice George doesn’t expect anything back! He just continues like it’s nothing.
The whole interaction had Paul smiling and nodding, making a shocked face when needed for the school dramas. “I know! Crazy right?”
When class started, he started getting a little nervous. What if the teacher calls him out and he can’t answer? He got a paper and pen ready, “I’m sorry, miss. I can’t speak today. Or the next few days. My voice doesn’t let me speak.” He slid the note to the teacher as she read it.
“Don’t worry, Paul. We’ve been informed about your adoption and what you’ve been through the past week. You can take as long as you like.” She smiled softly. The boy was always a polite kid, she was saddened to hear the news about his father. What a terrible man.
Paul was shocked, but nodded and smiled nevertheless. In class, they learned a little sign language. So he made sure to blow her a ‘thank you’ just as they learned that day.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
When school ended, he walked out with George Harrison as he was looking for George Martin. He was picking him up.
He noticed Martin immediately and pointed at him to Harrison,
“Aye so that’s the Martin fella you spoke about in yer letter?”
Paul nodded.
“Well, let’s say hello then.” Harrison said with a determined look. He really wants to interrogate this “Martin”. Will he be deemed good enough for Paul? That is what Harrison will decide!
Harrison and Martin started engaging in a conversation, though Little George was suspiciously guarded at first. Soon, the three of them were walking home together, all thee of them talking with one of them nodding.
“I like you, Martin. I give you my utmost approval of your adoption to Paul!” He flashed them with a wide grin.
“Well, I suppose I’m glad to have your approval, Harrison.” He chuckled in surprise.
They later split ways to their separate homes.
Things seem better again.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Paul and George Martin were peacefully drinking their tea together. Paul was talking about his day at school as George Martin was reading the newspaper smiling at Paul and humming. When Paul started talking about some school gossip—
Someone knocked at their door so harshly that their cups almost fell from the table. Paul froze. Could it be?
The door handle was almost going to break from how much the person was trying to open it, frantically knocking on the door.
“Paul! Come here, boy! You think you can run away from me?!”
Paul trembled, it can’t be! No it can’t be! Why can’t he have something good for once?!
The door broke and Jim was there with his belt, a bottle in his other hand. He threw the bottle right next to Paul’s head, and Paul flinched violently. “No! No Dad, Please don’t!”
George Martin stood up, “You have to leave Jim, you’re scaring your son”
You’re scaring your son.
You’re scaring your son.
The room started getting smaller, Jim getting bigger and bigger and he snatched Paul by the collar, his belt ready to strike. He’s taking him away from George Martin. They’re at Forthlin Road. They’re at Forthlin Road. They’re at Forthlin Road.
Paul felt metal strike his back—
Paul wakes up screaming in terror.
He’s hyperventilating, his breaths short and fast. He clutches his bunny plushie close to his chest. The plushie is a bit big, so hugging it reaches his chin. He hides his lower face behind the plushies head, smelling its scent.
He’s at George’s house. He’s at George’s house. He’s not in Forthlin Road. Jim’s not here. Jim’s in jail. But what if he escapes? He’ll come back! He’ll take him!
He hears fast footsteps coming towards his room, he whimpers as he curls up on himself still hugging the bunny plushie to his chest.
“Paul? Dear boy are you hurt?” George asked worriedly. He was sleeping when he suddenly heard a terror-filled scream from Paul’s room.
Paul hiccups as he silently cries,
“Oh, Paul. It’s alright, son. You’re safe.” He says gently as he sits on the space next to Paul.
“Can I hold you, Paul?”
Paul shuffled closer to George, in the way that meant Yes, please.
George hugs Paul, rubbing his back, muttering words of reassurances to him.
“It’s alright, Paul. It’s just a bad dream. You’re okay.” He mutters into the shaking boy’s hair, stroking it.
After half an hour, Paul’s shaking died into occasional tremors.
“Do you want to talk about it, Paul?”
“… Maybe.”
George hummed, “Take your time, then. Whenever you’d like.”
They lied down, Paul’s head on George’s chest listening to his heart beat— clutching the bunny plushie near him. An arm wrapped around George’s middle, the other wrapped around the bunny.
“… Jim took me away from you.” He whispered. “He— hurt me.” His voice fragile.
George hummed, continuing to rub Paul’s back.
“I’m here, Paul. Nobody’s gonna take you away, he’s not here to hurt you anymore.” He said softly.
“… What if he runs away from jail? He’ll hurt me again. Like how he was at the studio.”
“He’s far, far away from us. The police there keep a good eye on him, they make sure he doesn’t go anywhere he’s not supposed to. It’s alright, Paul.”
Paul supposes he feels a little relieved at that, but he’s still afraid.
“‘M sorry..”
“What are you sorry for, my boy?”
“For— for waking you up…” he whispered, his throat threatening to close up again.
“You mustn’t apologize for that, Paul. I don’t mind waking up at night as long as you’re safe and sound. You shouldn’t hesitate ever to wake me up when you’re scared, alright?”
Paul nodded, his eyes droopy. He clings harder to George.
One blink… two…
“Goodnight, George..”
“Goodnight, Paul.”
Two hours later, Paul was snoring softly clinging to George’s middle like a koala.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
It’s been two weeks since George adopted Paul. Apparently, George explained to Paul that official adoption could take a long time. That morning, was the official morning of the court hearing. George had bought a brand new suit for Paul. It was a deep charcoal grey with a white shirt and a neat black tie.
As Paul stood in front of the mirror he felt very out of place. He never wore anything .. fancy.. like this. Whenever he had to go to somewhere fancy with his family he just went there wearing his school uniform. Speaking of his family… he misses Mike. He should write him a letter soon.
He adjusted the jacket nervously, his thumb making its way to his mouth. He looked so small in the suit, like a little boy pretending to be an adult.
George noticed his trembling hands and knelt down in-front of him, gently taking his thumb away from his mouth. He smoothed down Paul’s suit and straightened his tie.
“You’re looking very sharp, my boy.” George said, his voice steady.
Paul stared at George anxiously, he wanted to voice his fears but his throat closed up. Click. He squeezed his eyes in frustration. He hated when that happens.
George waited patiently for Paul, “It’s alright, Paul. Take your time.”
Paul opened his eyes, wide and terrified with a questioning look. He pointed at the door, and looked at George— his breath shaky.
George understood immediately, “Your.. Jim won’t be there, Paul. He’ll be in his cell. It’ll only be me, you, the judge and lawyer, and a social worker. I promise.” He smiled gently cupping Paul’s cheek.
Paul let out a small breath he didn’t know he was holding, and nodded hesitantly as he clasped George’s hand, making their way to the courthouse.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
The courthouse was very huge to Paul, he felt like an ant inside a king’s wooden castle. He didn’t want to hold George’s hand in front of the judge so he instead clutched George’s sleeve tightly to his hand as they walked through.
He later had to be separated from George. George had to sit next to the lawyer, so Paul sat a few chairs behind and he panicked when he had to let go of George’s sleeve. George pat Paul’s back gently and gave him a soft smile before they had to be separated.
As soon as Paul sat down, he felt anxious and already missed the softness of George’s sleeve in his hand. He wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the floor. He wants to sit next to George. Why can’t he?
The court was quiet, only a ticking clock, the rustling of paper and Paul’s heavy breathing could be heard.
The lady he met from the foster care started to speak, she had a big folder with her. He didn’t understand a lot of words she was saying, it was all grown-up legal stuff. But from what he could hear was— “Physical abuse” “unstable home environment” “neglect” “belt” and “bruises”.
Paul could feel his cheeks redden with shame, he looked down at his brand-new shoes as he tried to ignore everything surrounding him. He felt exposed and ashamed. He caught George’s eye from afar when George turned his head to look at Paul, giving him a reassuring, comforting nod. The adults must think he’s a wimp now. George might not want him anymore..
The lady stopped reading, and the courtroom fell silent again. Tick. Tick. Tick.
The Judge spoke up, “Paul..” he called gently, his voice echoing. “Could you step forward to the front for me, please?” His expression softening as he looked at Paul through his reading glasses.
Paul froze. He looked at George, terrified.
George stood up from his chair, waiting for him. Paul immediately scrambled out of his seat and quickly moved to George’s side. Instantly grabbing a fistful of George’s suit coat with his tiny hands, hiding slightly behind his arm.
The Judge smiled softly at how tightly Paul clung to the man, “Paul,” the Judge asked, leaning forward slightly.
“The court has looked over everything. We know now what you’ve been through staying at your Father’s house, and that you’ve went through a very difficult time that no child should have to go through.” The Judge continued,
“But now, we must look at the future. Paul, do you understand who Mr. Martin is to you? Do you wish to stay with him?”
Paul opened his mouth to say “Yes!”. But his voice had failed him, his throat closed up once again. Click. A tear threatened to spill, a heavy feeling on his chest. He wanted to rage, to cry. Why must his voice fail him now? When he needed it the most?
George Martin didn’t speak for him, didn’t speak at all. He rubbed Paul’s back, and stroked the back of his hair gently— looking at him patiently with an encouraging look.
Paul felt encouraged, he felt strong. He felt like the brave knight in the storybook he read. He stood out from behind George’s arm, looked at the Judge with a determined fierce look. Nod.
And to further confirm it, he looked at George and placed both of his arms on either side of his coat and buried his face in George’s stomach— clinging to him.
George felt very emotional by Paul’s reaction, he chuckled in surprise and placed a hand on his head, stroking his hair— and one on the back, gently rubbing it.
The Judge’s smile widened, “The Boy has spoken! Very well, then” the Judge said,
“The biological parental rights are officially terminated. By the power vested in me, I hereby approve this adoption. George Martin, you are legally this boy's father. Take good care of your son.”
Bang!
The Judge brought the gavel down on the wooden block. The sharp, loud noise echoed through the courtroom.
For the first time in Paul’s life, he didn’t fear loud noise— For this time, it was the noise of freedom. He dug deeper into George’s coat, sounds of raspy laughter escaping him as his voice is still fragile. George kneeled down and Paul clung to his neck jumping from happiness, his grin wide. Not caring at all about the adults in the room, so long as George Martin is his father! George laughed with Paul, tearing up at his ecstasy and hugged him just as tight— mindful of his still healing back. “It’s over, Paul. It’s official, my son.” He grinned.
Paul never felt any happier in his life. He finally found his kangaroo.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
George led Paul out of the courtroom as they climbed down the stone steps in the afternoon sun. Both of them feeling relieved that finally, finally, Paul is safe.
Paul clung to George’s hand as they walked admiring the sky and greenery, when George spoke up.
“Now, Paul. I think you deserve quite the celebration, no? How about we pick up your friend Harrison from school so we get some ice cream together? Would you like that?” He asked with a calm anchoring voice.
Paul grinned, nodded eagerly and squeezed George’s hand.
They later picked up George Harrison who greeted Paul with a tight hug and a handshake and nod to George Martin.
They walked their way to an English café that Martin used to go to during his days in college. As he started speaking about his fond memories there Harrison cut him off “Yer dead old, lad! 1935?! I wasn’t even thought of then!”
Paul giggled nervously, as he analyzed Martin’s facial expressions— looking for any sign of anger or danger. He knew he wouldn’t hurt but Paul never tested his limits either…
Martin cackled, “You’re rotten, Harrison.” He shook his head fondly at his boys.
They reached the café and started picking their flavors, “I want the chocolate!” Harrison exclaimed excitedly. Martin made sure to order it for him and Little George immediately took it from his hand flashing him a wide grin as a thanks before going away to sit at their designated table, “Now, Paul, which would you like?”
Paul worried at the prices, he didn’t want to make Martin spend too much. He stared calculatedly at the glass of many ice cream flavors and started comparing the prices.
Martin noticed, “Don’t worry, son. Pick whatever you’d like. As your parent, the matter of money concerns me and not you. You shouldn’t worry about it, my boy.” He smiled gently, stroking Paul’s hair.
Paul nodded hesitantly, and pointed at the vanilla flavor. He doesn’t trust his voice yet.
The boys spent the rest of the afternoon eating ice cream together, even Martin intentionally (Though secretly! The boys thought he was being for real!) getting some ice cream on his nose to make them laugh. Harrison played along, getting some chocolate on his nose as well!
The afternoon ended with the man and his two boys having ice cream on their noses and giggling like mad.
Paul could get used to this, he thinks as he scoots closer to George Martin.
That night, Paul fell asleep clutching his bunny plushie. Paul fell asleep— officially, George Martin’s son.