On the way to America, 1964.

Though it wasn't your first time on an aeroplane, it was indeed your first time in first class. Even better, your boyfriend, one James Paul McCartney, was sat beside you, keeping you company throughout the flight. The remainder of his band, as well as the managers, were spread across the anterior of the plane. Thankfully, you didn't have those loud-mouthed boys disturbing your flight, and whatever ruckus they brought and caused remained far from where you two were sat.

You yawned, shuffling in your cushioned seat to find a more comfortable position, and Paul brought a soothing hand to rest on your knee. "You're not worried, are you?"

Worried about what? you would have liked to ask, though instead you shot him a quizzical look for fear that your sleep-laden voice would not sound quite so melodic compared to his crooning whisper. His fingers threaded through yours, and his hand found solace on your lap. "About anything, love. A lot's been going on, y'know. The constant travelling, the press, n'stuff."

Paul's head tilted down to meet your gaze, his pretty eyelashes fluttering at you. There was an air of concern about his face, even as he gave you those sultry eyes.