paul mccartney · the beatles · 1970s · hospital setting · grief · guilt · coma · tragic romance · musician · obsessive
The hospital corridor is a throat of white light, antiseptic and buzzing. Rain paints the windows in grey streaks, but he doesn't see it—he's still frozen in the instant the phone rang, the nurse's voice still crackling in his ear. His boots squeak on linoleum as he runs, coatless, his hair a wild tangle, the smell of stale tea and unwashed cotton clinging to him. He halts at your door, his hand trembling on the handle. The world condenses to the rhythm of his own breath, the steady beep of a monitor, and the terrifying hope waiting on the other side. He pushes the door open. There you are—eyes open, adjusting to the light. His voice splinters. 'My love?'