mel ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

you’re not exactly sure why you stay at your job. 

most of it has to be because you met your loving husband a couple of years back, back when he was just another cocky musician you worked with. 

though with him, the more you worked together, the more you feel his walls begin to break, getting to see the softer side of him that many people don’t get to see. you learn that he’s understanding, he’s sweet, and most of all, his world begins to revolve around you.

now that the beatles disbanded, you don’t get to cherish all time of your day with him anymore, now replaced with other smaller bands that want to be the new big thing and bicker between each other non-stop. 

they all have a big vision, you’ll give them that, but that means you have to work overtime just to try and get them what they want. hours and hours on end, one person will tell you to do one thing and the other will tell you to do the opposite. 

it’s confusing and stressing the life out of you, people demanding things that echo in your bulky earphones while you scramble to find a new way to mix the song. 

at this point, you don’t even know what album or band you’re producing for, too busy trying to figure out how to make the album sound exactly like the band wanted. 

🍀

your keys jingle as you unlock the front door, the smell of rising bread hitting you as it opens. 

“i’m home, love!” you almost sigh out, tossing your keys in the key dish near the door. taking off your shoes, you take in the fact that you’re actually home now, away from the chaos of the recording room. 

taking a moment to relish in the comfort of your home, you take a deep breath, smelling the bread in the kitchen waft in the air. “smells like heaven in here.” 

john comes out of the kitchen with his glasses on and an apron on, hair pushed out of his eyes. “had time on my hand.”  

you smile when you meet his eyes, finally feeling the stress of today melt off you. 

“ya look dead on yer feet.” he mumbles out, moving to cradle your face in his hands. 

his fingers softly caress over the dark circles under your eyes, wiping at them as if it’d take away all your worry. in a way, you like to think it does. 

exhaling out a laugh, you feel yourself relax in his palms, your face tilted to fit into his hands. “and here i thought i was being subtle.” 

he presses a kiss onto your forehead as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. “oh, stop it, john!” 

at your squeal, he picks you up, moving you despite your wiggling, and sits you on the couch. 

“what’re you doin’?” you ask him, watching as he stands back up to his full height and walk back to the kitchen. 

“gettin’ ya to relax.” he says over his shoulder, letting you get a glimpse of his stupidly cocky grin.

you watch him turn the corner with him still talking to you as if he hadn’t left at all. “yer always workin’ and always lettin’ those bastards work ya half to death!” he exclaims as he checks the kettle on the stove, the stove knob clicking as he turns it. 

“y’know i love my job, john.” you know what he’s trying to get at as you lay back on the couch, letting out a sound of contentment. your head sinks into the throw pillows you always tell john are ‘just for decoration and nothing else’, not finding it in yourself to care right now. 

he scoffs, water sloshes as john pours it into a mug. “yeah, ya sure look like ya do.” 

you snort at his off-handed comment, rolling your eyes. “just wanna pay them back for introducing me to my lovely husband.” you smile to yourself when you say it, closing your eyes as you hear john open the oven, the fresh bread smell suddenly becoming stronger from where you sat. 

the oven closes, your husband scoffing out a laugh when you talk. “ya always a sap when you come home from yer dreary job?”  

“oh, shut up.” 

to anyone else, they’d think you two were fighting over you quitting your job. they’d suggest you do what you want to and to not let john hold you back. 

though, you both know that you’re not stuck at emi because of john. in fact, you know john would support you in whatever you choose to do. you’re still at emi studios because you hate the idea of being at home without anything to do when you know what your calling is. 

sound engineering. 

you’ve been a sound engineer longer than you’ve even heard about john and the beatles. every second in the studio was one you cherish and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

now that the beatles are done recording, you’re moving on to bigger and newer things. is it tiring? sure, but what work isn’t. that’s just how you know that all your hard work is going to pay off. 

john knows that better than anyone else. the back-and-forth banter is just something you’ve grown to love when working with him. 

🐛

your eyes have been closed for a few minutes now, just letting yourself rest after such a long day. 

“that tired, huh, [+]?” your husband’s voice sounds next to you. your eyes slowly open to see john, food tray in hand while he looks down to smile at your expression. 

you smile back at him as you adjust yourself to sit up. “hard work’s bound to do that to you, johnny. not like you would know.” you mumble the last bit under your breath, poking fun at the fact he’s home all day. 

“sounds like someone doesn’t wanna try the bread i made.” your eyebrow raises at his words, tilting your head at his words. 

moving to lay back down, you close your eyes, not bothering to feed into his pride today. “i’m going back to bed then, johnny.”

you don’t hear anything for a moment until a sigh escapes john, feeling a tray being placed on your lap soon after. grinning to yourself, you let your eyes flutter open. 

the tray has a cup of tea and a couple slices of bread with butter, all made specifically for you. 

“turn on our record, would you?” you look back at john, who’s trying to look like he’s tired of you when you know it’s just the opposite. 

“you’ve always been the bossy one between us.” he comments with a frown you know is fake as it breaks into a smile when he thinks you can’t see his face. 

within seconds, music fills the air, reminding you why you and john work. 

of course, you both challenge each other but, most importantly, you challenge john. 

you hum along to the melody of the record, content at where you are. john sits next to where your feet rest, watching as you stir the tea on the tray. 

it’s like heaven–you wish you could stay here forever. 

actually, you know you’ll stay forever if john is there to support you.

being invited to tag along on the tour was originally exciting. it’s been about a month now since you’ve married george and the press has been bombarding you endlessly. this tour was supposed to be an escape from being stuck in the limelight. you expected to be spending your time in nice hotels along with the band and their partners, sipping on fruity little drinks and lounging around before shows. 

while you did get to stay in stunning hotels, you realized quickly you wouldn’t get to see as much of the states as you wanted. cameras, mobs, and press followed your every step whenever each plane finally landed. each time you try ignoring one flashing light, another flashes in front of you.

the press seemed to focus on you the most too. now only are you john lennon's sister, but now you are george harrison's model wife. it was practically catnip to them. 

thankfully, the other partners of the beatles were there to offer their support, guiding you away from all the press. 

cyn has always been nice to you, even when she was just john’s girlfriend –the pretty blonde girl he met in art college. she would come over and always insist john bring you along instead of leaving you at home. your brother would always agree because she somehow always brought out the soft side in everyone. cynthia knew almost everything about trying to avoid mobs and the pressure of being married to a star, meaning she decided to stick by your side the most during this trip. since you’ve all landed, she made an effort to sit down next to you to check in and see if you're alright, acting like the older sister you’ve never had. you couldn't be more grateful that she came along on the tour. 

mo was nice too, even though she was a bit aloof. she had always been there to support the band–you’d even joke that she was the original beatlemaniac. you and her always talked fashion in your spare time as maureen’s style always fascinated you. dark, cool, mysterious–it reminded you of ringo’s style back when everyone in the band was younger and new to all of this, way before brian cleaned them all up. she offered her support in a quiet, more subtle kind of way. she’d turn the kettle on to have tea between the two of you, chatting about whatever else she could to get the day off your mind. it was simple and quiet but you still cherish that time between the two of you. 

you never really talk much to jane but when you do, she always made sure that you kept your wits. she almost never spoke to the press and learned quickly to ignore the mobs. in a way, you admire her because you never understood how she does it. she’s completely unbothered. when you first landed, you couldn't help but praise how well-composed she seemed in the chaos of fame. you think she’s so used to it because of her acting career but still, you wish you had her composure. you note her wariness of all the reporters pretty early on and admire her calmness throughout all the noise. 

though the first week was a mess, you stayed optimistic. the places you did get to see were simply beautiful and you were surrounded by people you considered family now. that was everything you needed and more. 

🪻

you all had been sprawled on one bed, playing cards laid on the sheets in front of you, entertaining yourselves since going outside would’ve been ruined by the reporters. 

“alright, ladies?” brian called outside your shared room with the other beatle wives (as management insisted it’d be cheaper and easier for both you guys and your husbands.) 

“hello, [+].” he said to you when you unlocked the door for him before waving to everyone else in the room. “hello, everyone.” 

he stayed in the doorway to be respectful, you assume. “how are you all?” 

“dead bored, brian.” maureen answered, her hand holding up her head with a flat expression. the others mumbled in agreement as you walked to sit back on the bed with the others. 

jane nods, her eyes stuck staring at the sun peaking in through the window. “we’ve got the entire day to ourselves before the show tonight and we’re stuck inside until then.” 

humming, you look out the window with jane. 

“with the sun and all, it’d be nice to go out in the pool.” 

jane is quick to agree with you, completely abandoning your guys’ card game to talk about having drinks in the sun. 

“we don’t mean to be a trouble, brian,” cynthia adds in, her cards laying flat on the bedsheet while her hand gestures to the beautiful weather outside, “but it’s so dreary back home and the weather seems so nice today. would it be so bad to let us sit by the pool?” 

you all watch as brian thinks, looking over all of you. 

“well…” he starts before nodding, “i suppose that’s fine.” he pushes himself off the door frame, straightening his tie. “i’ll go tell the boys to join you all.” 

“hold on!” cynthia said suddenly. 

brian stopped to look back at all of you. all of you looked at cyn in return. 

“why don’t we have a pool day between just the four of us?” she pulls you into a hug, her head knocking against yours. “y’know, a bondin’ experience for family!” 

your arms wrap around cyn as you laugh, feeling the warmth you always felt with her. all around you, you hear the girls laughing, cheering to have a day away for just the four of you. 

“i don’t see why not.” brian said with a fond smile, shrugging his shoulders. “make a day of it, ladies.” 

with that, the door closes and you all get up, getting ready to spend the day floating in the pool and soaking up the sun.

🐚

“they’ve gone to the pool?” john looks up from his paper, cigarette hanging from his lips. 

“‘s what eppy said.” paul is talking through the toothpaste foam in his mouth, spitting it all out into the sink. “said cyn thought a ‘family pool day’ was needed.”

ringo’s eyes skimmed over the letters that brian dropped off when he came to visit, eyes only briefly glancing up to paul. “think it’s for [+]. all of ‘em adore ‘er.” he shrugs though, turning to talk to george directly. “don’t blame ‘em though– she’s a sweet girl. good ‘or you, hassa.”

george’s smiles and nods back to ringo from where he was having breakfast near the window, basking in the sun while he munches on some food brian brought over. “‘s good they’ve accepted ‘er so fast.” 

no one had noticed up to this point but john was red in the face listening to their conversation. “of course they accepted ‘er.” john’s quick to jump in, his tone suddenly tense. “cynthia’s known [+] since she was in art school with me. she bloody grew up with her.” 

no one really responds to him. 

ringo stares at him with a confused expression, not understanding what triggered john’s reaction to be directed to george and not him. 

paul watches john through the bathroom mirror while he shaves, quietly monitoring his behavior. 

george simply just scoffs out a quiet laugh, finding john’s response ridiculous. 

“what’re laughin’ at, huh?” his words cut through the air, the atmosphere changing from john’s suddenly bitter attitude. “just ‘cuz i keep it together, you think i like ya, ya bastard?” 

george stares at him with confusion, lost on why john was so hostile towards him. “what?”

he knew john wasn’t particularly fond of him dating you but he always assumed john had gotten over it once you and george got married. john wasn’t like this at the wedding, leaving him to think everything had fixed itself.

he stands up when george finally speaks, stomping angrily towards the table by the window.

“woah, woah, woah.” paul’s rushing out of the bathroom, dropping his razor on the tile floor with foam still on his face. he places himself between john and george, trying to keep george from being wrung out for no reason. “what’s goin’ on?”

“he thinks i haven't seen him ‘round with that model!” john accuses, his eyes staring daggers at george. “that blonde bird from the ‘a hard day’s night’ set!” 

george stands up to defend himself, mirroring john. “now what the bloody hell are you talkin’ about, john?” he’s talking around paul, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“that pattie boyd girl– you don’t know ‘bout her, huh?” he bites back, his voice growing louder. “i know yer a bloody cheater! i know what yer doin’!” 

paul’s got his hands on john’s shoulders now, trying to make him back up a bit. as john is though, he fights him, pushing against his grip. “yer actin’ like yer clueless but in a few years, you’ll leave her for that model and ‘ll have to pick up all the goddamn pieces!” 

“bloody hell, john!” george groans, yelling over paul’s voice. “how many times do i gotta tell ya? there’s nothin’ goin’ on between the two of us!”

“sure, george! keep lyin’, see where that gets ya!” 

“pattie likes hangin’ ‘round [+] whenever they’ve got the chance– i’m not gonna spit in ‘er face if she talks to me!”

everyone’s bickering and talking over each other. 

paul is trying to keep john’s attention on him and calm him down. 

john is yelling over paul, accusing george of being a shit excuse of a husband.

george is shouting over him, telling him that he’s found real love with you and that he’s done nothing to make john think this way. 

“alright, all of you, quit it!” ringo interrupts all of them, making sure that he is heard over all of the fighting. from his fingers, a lit cigarette hangs, the smoke wafting into the air. 

all of their heads turn to face ringo, the tension between everyone momentarily easing. 

“we’ve got a bloody show tonight.” he reminds all of them firmly. 

“if there’s a problem– go ‘head, solve it.” pointing his finger at john then george, his eyes narrow. “but if yer just gonna fight, at least do it outside. leave the rest ‘f us outta it.”

normally, ringo would probably try and prevent the fight, ease the tensions between the group. the non-stop bickering between john and george though? it’s been driving him nuts. there’s only so much he can do to get the two to stop fighting and even with those solutions, it’s never permanent. so, why even bother anymore?

paul stares at him like he’s grown another head but ringo doesn’t pay him any mind, focusing back on his letters and finishing his cigarette.

john grabs george by the collar, bringing him nose-to-nose with him. “you ‘eard the man.” he’s got that cocky smirk on his face but now, george could tell it’s because john’s got full permission to do whatever he wants now. “let’s bring it outside, yeah?” 

and with that, john drags george out of the room and outside behind the building. 

🪷

“oh, knock it off, jane!” maureen laughs as she sun-bathes, the cold droplets from jane’s splashes in the pool peppering her skin. 

jane laughs with her, letting her arms rest on the ledge of the pool. “you’ve been out there for so long! at some point, you’ve gotta get in the pool!” 

“let ‘er enjoy the sun, would ya? barely any sun back in liverpool.” cynthia swims over next to jane, you swimming behind her. “might be the last time she sees it.” 

you’re about to add onto the joke when you see a flash from the other side of the pool’s fence. 

“oh god.” you frown, turning to the other girls with a sigh. “press’s back at it again.” 

as you swim to the edge of the pool, you quickly notice the camera isn’t pointed your way. in fact, all of the press seem to be drawn to something else. they’re all running to the other side of the hotel. 

you try and tell yourself it’s nothing until you hear a loud crash from behind the building. a yell follows behind and you immediately recognize it. you quickly climb out of the pool, throwing on your swimming cover up and following the reporters. 

“hold on! [+]!!” 

you hear cynthia behind you, but you don’t stop. you know you can’t because that’s george shouting. lord knows what’s going on, but you know that the reporters won’t call anyone if it’s bad, they’ll just stand around and take their bloody pictures. 

you push a couple reporters out of the way to see what the hell had been happening when your eyes are met with george, who was trying to catch his breath while bruised and bleeding, pressed up against the wall by your brother, who was throwing punches like a maniac. 

cameras flash around you and the questions fly in the air but you tune it all out. 

you know john has strong opinions on your marriage with george, but he’s never gotten violent over something like this. you’re watching john try to make george break beneath his hands while  george tries to defend himself as best as he can while pushed up against a wall. 

this was the same brother who gave the most beautiful speech at your wedding. the same brother who taught you to only fight when they targetted you. the same brother who promised to be by your side no matter what. 

“my god.” cynthia’s voice interrupts your thoughts, standing appalled as you watch your husbands yell and fight with each other. 

she moves first, grabbing john and trying to hold him back. you’re quick to follow behind her, running to hold george, trying to calm him down. 

thankfully, george doesn’t try to fight you like john is with cynthia, heavily catching his breath as he stares down your brother. 

“george, what the hell happened?” you turn him around to take his face in your palms, analyzing the broken skin that john left. 

adrenaline is rushing within him, taking a few moments for him to actually process and answer your question. 

“kept sayin’ i’d leave ya for yer model friend.” he’s breathless when he speaks, his chest heaving to catch up with his heart. “he kept accusin’ me of things and he got in my face… and he said to settle it like men.”  

you sigh in disappointment at the fact you could hear john doing something stupid like this back when he was a teddy boy, but to think he’d do anything like this now? you really thought he moved past this grudge he had for you and george’s relationship.

as you carefully move your husband’s hair to look at anything else your brother left on him, you can hear brian try to get the press away from the whole situation. you don’t notice him talking to cynthia, quickly telling her to bring john back to his room to cool off and take him away from the cameras, until he comes to talk to you. 

“think it’d be better for ‘im to lay low in your room instead of the lads’.” he tells you two quickly, patting you on the shoulder. on his face, his worry is unbelievably apparent, his eyes briefly scanning over george’s discolored face before quickly looking to you. 

he smiles but you can tell it’s more to comfort you than anything. you nod, unable to find the energy in you to give him even a weak smile back.

🍦

“i’m sorry–i know.” you whisper to george as he winces, trying to ice his injuries as well as you can.

you feel him smile a little, your hands stopping as you focus back on his face. “why’re you laughin’? d’ya get a concussion? should i call brian to get a doctor?” with your hands, you move his head around to look at his bruises again.

he takes your hands from where they rest on his head, bringing one of them down to press a kiss into them. you’re unbelievably worried and here your husband is, acting as if you hadn’t just seen your brother beat the life outta him. 

““no, i don’t need a doctor.” he says to you with an oddly calm expression. “i’m a’ight. just need you to fuss over me ‘nd i’ll be fine.”  

that was the thing about george, he always finds a way to make things sound sweet whenever you’re with him. it’s probably part of the reason you got drawn to him when you were younger now that you think about it. he always made an effort to let you know he cared, even if it got him in trouble with john. 

you give him a quick smile, silently telling him that you thought it was a nice thing to say before huffing out a chuckle. “i think i’d be a bad wife if i didn’t.” 

despite your attempt to show you were dealing with tonight fine, he doesn’t fail to notice the tension on your face. 

“y’know what he said isn’t true, right?” he breaks the silence between the two of you, tilting his head to meet your eyes. 

you don’t hesitate to nod at his words, looking back at him. “of course, george. neither of you are like that.” 

still though, you feel an ache in your chest, sighing deeply. “it doesn’t change that i watched john beat yer face in.” 

“it’ll be a’ight, [+].” he says with a kind of certainty. “y’know how john can be when he’s stressed.”  

“no, it’s not bloody a’ight.” you mumble back to him, sighing as your head lolls forward from all the stress of today weighing on you. “i understood it when we were kids– we were all dumb and john always fussed about me, but we’re all grown now.”

you look back at your husband, his thumbs carressing over your hands, letting you know he’s there and listening. 

“and at the wedding, he was great and i really thought…” you hesitate, taking an uneasy breath. “i really thought he’d be better by now, y’know?”

he sighs, nodding along to your words. “i know, [+]. i thought so too.” his voice is quiet when he talks, using the tone he only uses with you as his hands squeeze yours. “but he can’t stay mad forever, luv. ”  

you’re quiet for a moment before slowly nodding, finding comfort in his words. “yer right.” you take a deep breath, feeling the tension in your shoulders melt away. “johnny’s an adult. he’s bound to figure it out sooner or later.” 

george wraps his arms around you and a small chuckle escapes from your lips. “there you are, [+]. was worried you got a concussion, too.” 

“oh, sod off, george.” you scoff lightheartedly, kissing the apple of his cheek. he hisses, but you both laugh anyways.

it’s moments like this that you keep close to your heart. small, soft moments like this that showed despite everything, you find each other in the end. 

even when your brother is trying to beat the lights out of him, or mimi catching him sneaking into your room, or him warning you that it’ll create tension if you marry him–you’ve never left each other, even when you both tried to.

it never mattered to either of you because you always ended up back in each other’s arms, content and in love.

of course, you love being famous. you couldn't lie about that, even if you tried. but all of the nonsense brian’s got you all doing? day by day, you find yourself hating it a bit more.  

it’s to keep your public appearance, he tries to tell you all, to be present for your audience. you half think he’s doing it to just be cruel. 

your mind certainly doesn’t change when you walk into that room, you notice the sheer amount of reporters squeezed into this little room, flashes blinding you as you sit down at the long table with mics at each seat. 

you're sweating through the shift dress brian insisted made you sharp. it’s dead grotty, you thought when you stood in front of the mirror in the hotel room. you wouldn't be caught dead with it back home. to think you’ve gone from dressing like some sort of teddy boy to someone who's chasing fabs in just a couple years. you think this is the lowest you’ve hit ever. 

thankfully, you weren't alone as brian also had the lads get dressed in these ridiculous suits and ties. they’re all wearing the same color, you assume to show that these boys were all proper now. you remember nearly choking on the smoke in the air when they all walked out of the room, matching each other like quadruplets. 

replaying that moment comforts you at least as george sits next to you, glancing your way to check on you. you smile as you meet his eyes, silently telling him that you’ll be fine. 

“could we get an introduction to all of our members?” one reporter shouts and thankfully, brian is there to manage the crowd. 

you watch as your manager walks behind you all, starting from the left end of the table. 

“paul mccartney, the rhythm guitarist.” paul waves to the cameras with his typical charming smile, knowing how to win over the press. 

“john lennon, the keyboardist.” john nods at all the cameras before making that odd face he always makes to spice interviews up. 

“ringo starr, the drummer.” ringo quickly gives his hello to the crowd, smiling as he looks over the sea of cameras in front of him. 

“george harrison, the lead guitarist.” george briefly gives the press a tight-lipped smile, already feeling himself bored of this press conference. 

“and lastly, [+], our lovely bassist.” you notice how brian adds the word ‘lovely’ for your description but shrug it off as it seemed to have good intentions. with a polite smile and nod to your manager, you thank him, trying your best to come off as relaxed.

from there, the questions fly at you all at once. 

“over here, over here, beatles!” one reporter says over the others, waving his pen in the air to get attention. “for the girl!”

you don’t mean to but you scoff with a roll of your eyes. for god’s sakes, you’ve got a bloody name.

“how would you describe yourself, miss?” the man asks, pushing his glasses up as he prepares to write your answer. “a mod or a rocker?” 

your eyes stare at the mic in front of you as you softly tap at it, not particularly caring about the question. it’s a stupid argument between those two groups in your opinion. “modder or rocker– makes no difference to me.” 

“miss beatle!” the names for you just seem to be getting worse by the minute. “what if you weren’t a beatle? what’d you be?” 

it’s a regular question, you suppose, deciding it’d be fine to answer. “an actress, maybe.” you settle on the answer before thinking about it more, picking at your nailbeds. “though, i’ve always been fond of music so i’d like to think i’d always end up in a band.”

“what about settlin’ down? where do you think you’d end up when you aren’t a beatle?” a different reporter exclaims, his camera flashing twice when you look over at him. 

the question strikes a nerve. it’s nowhere related to the last question or your career. 

now that you think about it, were any of these questions even related to you being a bassist? 

you lock eyes with the man who yelled that question at you, narrowing your eyes at him. “what?” 

“you’re a wildly successful lady, miss.” the man explains, his tone telling you that he finds you a ditz of some kind. “one day, you’ll have to focus on your life after all this fame. like havin’ kids and whatnot.”

you scoff humorlessly, shaking your head at such a ridiculous question. “i don’t think that matters right now, does it?” you bite back, fighting to keep yourself from jumping over the table and wringing the reporter out. “after all, i am still the bassist of the beatles.” 

bloody unbelievable, you think to yourself. and to think that brian wants you to stay and answer this nonsense. 

a couple questions focus on the rest of your bandmates, all of them focused on future projects or their life outside of the band. none of them asking about whether or not they’ll have kids soon. 

as you think about it, you keep your sour expression, quietly eyeing brian to manage whatever was happening here. thankfully, he’s already on it, trying to shift the press’s questions to stay on everyone else for a bit. 

you sigh out heavily, only finding peace of mind when you look over to see george, his eyes already on you with a frown. “you a’ight?” george asks quietly, covering his mic with his hand. 

you copy his motion, blocking the mic from yourself. “‘m tellin’ you, george. none of ‘em respect me, even when we’ve got best-sellers under our belts.” 

"i know." he mumbles, shaking his head. “they’re bloody animals. don’t let ‘em get to ya.”

in that moment, it reminds you why you joined the band in the first place. you love them all but only one really stood out to you after all this time. george was still the only one that treated you like an equal. 

paul treats you well but he’s like an overly worried brother to you, always fussing over you like you’re still seventeen, lost in a world of performing and new-found fame. 

john is nicer than when you first joined but he’s still the cocky bastard he was a few years ago, poking and annoying you when he can. 

ringo has always been there to talk to you when you’re out of sorts but you find it harder to find moments to talk to him seriously when he’s now deemed the funny beatle. 

but with george, he’s always looking out, dropping everything when you look to him for peace of mind. maybe it’s because you’re closer in age but he always understands where you’re coming from, always somehow finding the right thing to cheer you up. 

“one more question for the bassist!” it cuts through the air like a knife when your manager’s delibrately trying to redirect them away. 

before you decline to answer, the reporter asks his question anyway, his camera being shoved in your face. “how do you feel being the only girl in the band?” 

your face gets warm as you hear it. you’re always just ‘the girl of the band’. not ‘the bassist’, not ‘the fifth beatle’– it’s always ‘the lady of the group.’ all of your hard work and talent seems to fly over these reporters’ heads because of your title as a woman. 

“’s pretty normal considerin’ me being a girl doesn’t interfere with our music.” you scoff out a humorless laugh into the mic, making sure that the whole world heard what you said. as you mull over the question in your mind again, you shake your head in disbelief. 

“y’know, ’ve played on multiple number one hits and became part of the biggest band of my time by the time i hit twenty– and all the questions you can think of is about what it’s like to be a girl?” you promised yourself you wouldn’t get upset when you get these questions but how are you expected to just sit and take this? 

no one seems to know how to respond to that, most reporters either hurriedly writing down your words or stuck staring at you, shocked. 

“a’ight, no more questions for [+].” george’s hands are on your shoulders, deciding that he’s had enough of listening to this crowd of men bombard you with mindless questions as he guides you to stand. “both of us’ll be leaving this conference. thank you for your time.”

like nothing happened, cameras flash from every angle as george guides you towards the exit door, a million questions thrown your way. it doesn’t bother george at all though, leading you out and behind the building. 

🎟️

“bloody animals!” you yell into the dark london sky as you pull your cigarette case from your dress’s pocket. you angrily light the cigaretter. as you take a deep drag, you scowl as your mind echoes the reporters’ question. 

george watches you carefully from where he stands, feeling the holes burn through the side of your head. 

“you still use that cigarette case?” he points to your pocket that kept the said case. 

“‘course i do.” you don’t mean to sound dry when you say it but it comes out as such. “it was my nan’s. i’ll be usin’ it till the end of time as far as ’m concerned.”

he hums, quietly understanding that you don’t want to talk about anything that happened just now. 

the wind picks up and you wrap your arms around you, blowing out the smoke from your lips to try and distract from the breeze. though, just as quickly as you feel the wind prick at your skin, something warm wrapped around you. 

you look down on your shoulders and it’s george’s suit jacket draped on you. looking at george, he’s got his cheeky smile on his face, his arms now crossed to hide from the cold. 

“no, george, it’s dead cold out. you’ll freeze to death out ‘ere.” you shake your head as you start to take the jacket off but he stops you, his hands atop of yours. 

“c’mon, [+].” he insists, pulling the jacket over you again. “‘s a rough night for you. the least i can do is make sure yer warm.”

you stare at him for a minute, sighing as a smile spreads across your lips. “always a gentleman, aren’t you, hassa?” 

“me mum raised me well.” his liverpooldian accent comes out slightly and you can’t help but just stare. 

there it is again. that feeling that never fails to come back when you’re with him. it’s the same feeling you had when you first met him in the band– back when you’d stay up late to perform in sticky bars and lousy clubs. you can’t fight the smile on your face or stop the warm feeling in your chest.

“yeah, she did, didn't she." you hum, the memories of you two as teens running around the roads back home. you hold out your hand to him, grinning. “you’ll walk back to the hotel with me then?”

dramatically, he bows and takes your hand. “you know i’d love to, luv.” he puts on his fake posh accent, watching knowingly as you laugh at it. 

both of you walk hand in hand away from the press conference and for a moment, it feels like it’s just you and him again back in home. now though, instead of the shabby streets of liverpool, it’s london’s, nice and unfamiliar to the both of you. instead of being two teenagers wandering with your hands intertwined, you two are grown and still letting whatever was between you both linger. 

this is the life, you think to yourself, cherishing the good in your life. it’s never been the fame or the money, it’s always been george because you can’t get what you feel with him anywhere else.

as long as you have him, you have everything you need in your life.