"Have You Ever Seen Him Naked?"

“How does Paul feel about the breakup?“

Oh bloody Hell, another Paul question. I haven’t a clue how Paul feels right now. I don’t care. [John says it like they’ve just interrupted him in the middle of a song.]

“There’s speculation that Paul’s actually quite happy to be working solo.” [The interviewer says it clearly, but they feel they should be mumbling.]

Have you ever seen him naked?

[John snarls that. The interviewer laughs, hoping it comes out as light. They are glad they’re on the radio. No one but John caught their nervousness.] “No, I haven’t.”

Have you not? Have you ever noticed his paleness? [He flies through his words before inflecting on “paleness”.] Have you seen his bare skin? Not underneath a suit or a moustache or his charming Beatle smile. [He makes “Beatle” sound like a dirty word.] Bare, I mean. Not a telly or a magazine picture or a crowd between you. [He spits that out his throat. You could taste the bit of Scouse in his voice.] God, nothing. When he hasn’t even fussed his hair ’n he’s right in front of you. Blank, almost. A clean slate. Catholic skin and Liverpool eyes and Hamburg blood. When he doesn’t try to charm you like a bird and you feel like you might know him.

[The interviewer is left mute.]

Well, you don’t feel like you bloody know him, okay? You haven’t seen any of these things and I’ve seen them for ten fucking years and I haven’t got a clue as to how Paul feels. You’ll have to ask him that. Tell me, did you know Paul gets freckles?

“I can’t say I do, no.”

In the summer, when his skin gets tan, he gets freckles ’cross his face. Little sunspots. Known him for ten years, didn’t know that. Not till he got that farm. Figures. [He scoffs, sounding more amused than tired.] That business did him some good, I think. Liverpool was a dreary place. And the Beatles, you know, mighty as we were, never got to sit in the sun long enough to see. Stayed indoor tuning our guitars, or something like that.

[There is a moment of dead air time. The interviewer composes themself.] “What’s it like, knowing him?”

[John softens. When he answers, his voice has lost that quick-thinking rhythm.] He doesn’t smile as much as he did on the telly, constantly smiling at the girls. I guess we all did, but you know. He gives you smaller smiles when you say something really funny. Something, you know, that only we’d say. He just curls his lips. His cheeks go round like a baby’s. He’s almost thirty ’n he’s young. Like a kid.

You couldn’t tell it, but we all are. Young, I mean. Me ’n George ’n Ringo ’n Paul. We were young, all of us. But together, we’re old men. That’s why we broke up.

A/N: I just had fun with this one and experimented with formatting. I've just read the Lennon Remembers interview, so that probably inspired me. I wish I could’ve turned it into a drabble, but I’m not that concise. Critique/feedback is always encouraged.