#teddyboy

content: nothing too bad. Just a yearning George. angst to comfort. John is john. little bit of swearing maybe?

Everybody knew about the unspoken relationship that you and George had managed to acquire over the years. The Harrison’s moved into your neighborhood when you were just fourteen. Hormonal, awkward, and klutzy, you stumbled across George playing guitar under your favorite hiding tree on a random summer night, strumming and singing some popular tunes. You didn’t talk much, but you sure as hell observed nearly everything around you. You took note of the days George went down to your tree, the times, and how he never seemed to really notice your presence.

At least that’s what you thought.

Soon enough, it came to be that you two were on the same bus on your way to school, which is when the silent agreement came upon that you’d sit together; which soon led to talking; which led to being best friends three years later.

Your father didn’t want you home alone, claiming: “You’ll prolly bring a bastard over that I won’t like.”

Yet he never seemed to pay George any mind, for better or for worse.

“I don’t think your father likes me very much.” George once muttered, looking up at you from his crossed spot on the ground as you splayed yourself out on your bed, staring at the ceiling. You hummed quietly; a brow lifted as you turned to look at the boy.

“why’dya say that?” You asked, flopping down to lay on your side. George leaned up, brushing some hair out of your face with a gentle comb of his finger. Your cheeks flushed. He pretended not to notice.

“Well, maybe he doesn’t like that i’m datin’ his baby girl.” George whispers, glancing at your cracked door like it was getting ready to jump him. You giggled softly, sitting up straight to pat the spot beside you.

Right. There was that little detail.

George had asked you out. On a whim, a dare to himself to see if you’d really like him the way he stayed up dreaming about at night. You stood, staring at him like he slapped you across the face…which made him lose hope for half a second. Then, when you silently nodded and giggled to yourself, he knew the answer he imagined had come true.

Paul had given George crap about dating his younger sister. Your father had become ever so skeptical, simply because he could recognize just how much the young guitarist liked you.

But the only opinion George really cared about was yours. He loved how shy you’d get, and the way your chest would rise any time he stepped a little closer, or when his eyes would dart down to your lips.

Still, he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. So, George took things slow and kept to himself despite the voice in his head that so desperately wanted him to treat you like a man treats his girl. This meant staying away, and being ever so slightly distant. You two were still such a fresh couple, on the borderline of friendship with just a hint of hesitant daring to cross boundaries that aren’t so firmly set.

George didn’t want to freak you out with his clinginess, so he just waited for you to make the first move.

Which was never.

So, there was a tense distance that wasn’t there before. George noticed it. He didn’t think you would.

But like I said. Observant as hell.

“My father likes you a lot. The fact that you’re allowed in my room is proof o’ that.” You tease, a small chuckle leaving your lips.

George’s gaze followed yours as you moved, soft and admiring. He yearned to reach out and turn your chin to him, to kiss your lips and listen to you tell him how much you loved him.

He got lost in his day dream. As you were turned away, chatting about something he couldn’t even recall, George made the move to reach up and try to grab your chin. You turned back to fast, to which he immediately pulled his arm back and played it cool by looking around your room.

“Is everything okay, George?” You ask with mild concern.

“No—Yeah! Yeah. No, haha. Yeah.” He fumbled, his knee bouncing from the frustration pent up in his tapping foot.

Christ, this was embarrassing.

“Anyways, so that’s why I was maybe thinking…” You paused, biting your lip with slight anxiety. “Could I sort of…well, I dunno…be your date tonight? I mean, I know we are dating but sometimes it feels like we are just really awkward—”

George cut you off with a wave of his hand, curious and slightly thrown off.

“Tonight? What’s goin’ on tonight?”

You looked up at him, brows knit in slight concern.

“George, did ya hit yer head?” The question sounded rude, but he couldn’t be mad at you when you had such a look on your face. “Tonight you’re preforming with my brother and John. I was wondering if I could…well, maybe hold your arm or…do things that…couples do…?” George just deadpanned at you, trying to hide the excitement that was bubbling up in his stomach.

You laughed it off, rubbing your arms uncomfortably before quickly standing up and making a gesture towards the clock mounted on your nightstand.

“Better get yerself ready, Georgie.” You tease, using the obnoxious nickname to get an eye roll out of him. “Y’know John doesn’t like it when you boys aren’t on time.”

George stood up, following behind you as you trailed out of your bedroom. His eyes stayed on your hair as it bounced and the way your shoulders seemed tight with unasked questions. He wanted to wrap his arm around your waist and walk by your side, but he just couldn’t tell if you’d be okay with that.

Hell, the lad was so lost in the way you nervously fumbled over your words that he didn’t even hear what you were saying.

So, he stayed silently debating; wondering how much would be crossing the line. Of course he couldn’t just ask. This was the 60’s, and men had their pride to worry about. What if you turned him down? His shy nature would not let him take such a risk.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t help but wonder why George wouldn’t even try to wrap an arm over your shoulder like he used to. At the bare minimum, he’d poke your side and run ahead, leaving you to chase after him. But no.

He walked behind. Many, many feet behind.

You were relatively quiet that night. The boys preformed and you would clap and maybe cheer, but you didn’t seem as joyful. Something looked as though it were stuck in your mind, dragging out some sort of insecurity.

You tried to brush it off, but the thought in your head remained ever so present.

“Does George really like me? He hasn’t tried to make a single move. Maybe he regrets us being more than friends…but will it be awkward if we split up?”

Like an annoying neighbor that’s mad at you for blasting your music too loud at 6:30PM, the impulsive thoughts did not want to leave your mind. Your foot tapped, you picked at your thumbs, you tried to focus on anything else—the idea of George being through with you wouldn’t leave your brain.

So, you stood up and walked out mid performance, hoping to clear your mind out in the cold nipping wind.

Without a jacket.

In a dress.

George noticed right away. How couldn’t he? The main reason that shy little guy was up there was to impress you. Next thing he knows, you’re gone!?

The show was over around thirty minutes after that, and you’d been pacing around outside somewhere a couple blocks down the road. The boys looked for you around the Cavern, then outside, then down the road. It was only then when George finally found you, thumb nail nervously being bitten at between jittery teeth.

He’d been worried sick, having thought you’d been picked up by a serial killer or creep or just…well, that you’d just left,

“Bloody hell!” He shouted, rushing to your side immediately. George’s arms embraced you in a hug, one hand against the back of your head, tucking your nose into his shoulder. The other wrapped firmly around your waist, ensuring you wouldn’t get away. He’d never been more grateful for your scent until now. “Christ, (name)…I thought you were…well, I don’t know what I thought. Hardly had time to think while I was lookin’ for ya and—“

“I’m sorry to make you worry.” You cut off, pulling away to look George in the eyes. His tense brow softened, leaving him to look at you with confusion and slight hurt. It killed you.

“Why’d you leave in the middle of our show?” He whispered, bringing his face in closer to yours. It felt as though it were only the two of you out on this cold, dark road. Well, it sort of was.

It felt as though it were only the two of you in this whole, wide world.

“I didn’t mean to do that either. I felt all overwhelmed and…I needed to step out. Next thing ya know, you’ve got a whole team out searchin’ for me like i’m Liverpool’s most wanted.” You laughed to yourself. George just stared, a little irritated.

“You gave us a freight.” Paul said from behind George, relief shown in his voice as he came up behind you and ruffled your hair.

“I knew she’d be alright. You boys never listen to me. It’s not like we got some crazy man comin’ round with a silver hammer tryin’ to kill everyone.” John huffs, nose red from the nipping cold.

“Don’t jinx it, John.” Paul warns.

“What?”

…

The environment between you and George was…tense…on the way back. Even in the days to follow, the two of you didn’t seem to really hang around each other, too caught up in thoughts and emotions that left you feeling unsure of your relationship. It wasn’t until one night, when the boys had gathered together at your and paul’s home for a rehearsal, when you actually saw George again.

He stood against the kitchen counter, lean, tall frame a contrast to the furniture piece. He looked out of place in your neat home, wearing a leather jacket and blue jeans with a white, loose t-shirt. You didn’t understand why boys decided to dress this way. You didn’t mind it though. Especially not on George.

“George.” You quietly acknowledged, stumbling over to where he stood. The boy mixed his drink with a stir of his wrist, taking a small slip before finally daring to turn his gaze towards yours. You felt your pulse quicken, nearly daring to halt in your steps before continuing on. “I’m sorry. For scaring you that night, and for missing out on your show.”

He doesn’t say anything.

You clear your throat.

“I miss you.”

Still nothing.

“…I was scared that you didn’t like me as much as I thought you did. We aren’t as…uhm…playful…I guess?”

You rubbed the back of your neck, uncomfortable with the whole talking-about-your-feelings vibe that was going on here.

He seemed to be listening now, head tilted with brows furrowed. Not in anger. You couldn’t quite decipher what it was.

“And we don’t really do things that…couples do. I’d like it if you held my hand. I meant to ask you the other night but…” A nervous huff of air that one could determine as a laugh left your throat. You averted your gaze to the ground. “I was scared. I’m sorry.”

George looked at you for a few moments, taking in the silence.

“All ya had to do is ask.” He finally says, quietly smiling to himself as he strides towards where you stood. You felt tears pool in your eyes, filled with relief and slight embarrassment.

“Awe, don’t cry pretty girl. M’ not mad. Just talk to me next time, yeah?” He whispers. Your cheeks flush with a faint pink, a slight smile cracking at your lips.

As your emotional eyes met his, George kissed away the little tear that fell down your cheek, his tongue darting out to lick the salt away once on his lips.

“oi.” Paul’s voice boomed from the hallway behind you. “Don’t let me see that again.”

John pokes his head out from behind paul, a gross smirk on his lips. “I wouldn’t mind. Pretend we aren’t here.”

John went home with a slap mark on his cheek just about the size of your palm. He didn’t care, though. Deserved.