Chapter Text
After purchasing an Irn Bru (he never would think of that drink the same way ever again after all this), and using the change for a phone booth just outside the cafe, he called for his auntie. She lived somewhere around these parts lately and he hoped to god that she could make her way over quick. He’d have had to call someone to come pick him up later anyway, if he’d ended up not finding Michelle’s . Now however, there was an urgency.
“Alright, come on then” his auntie grumbled as she rolled down the window of the passenger seat, “You sounded like you’ve just robbed a bank over the phone. I hope you know i’ll be chargin’ extra if you’re using me for a getaway” she added as Ringo leapt into the car.
“No time for banter! I’ve got to get back to work!” he said, “Uh, please and thank you, of course” he added
She looked at him sideways but then nodded, knowing better than to question her nephew’s exceedingly odd moments.
Maybe it was auntie-magic, or just that his auntie actually had a life and went out regularly, but she managed to get from Penny Lane to his work in little more than ten or fifteen minutes immensely putting Ringo’s day of torture to shame. But he didn't have time to dwell on it. As he got out of the car, he actually did leave her with some money “For the gas” he’d said, and then bolted over to the automatic doors of his very soon to be closing work.
As he busted his way through the gap though he ended up colliding with someone who’d been about to exit, purchase in hand. The two men clattered to the ground and Ringo slipped and slid as he tried to get up off of the bloke below him.
By the time he did, he looked to the man to apologize....
....
“PAUL?????”
“Um, hullo? Do I know you?” Paul asked, a little insulted looking.
Ringo ignored him and got up though because this was just all too perfect. It had to be. He stood up and looked around and it was then that finally, FINALLY, he saw him.
There, standing slack jawed with a purchase of his own in his hands, knuckles white from the force with which he had to grip it lest it slip out of his hands.
“ George... ” Ringo breathed and it made George visibly shiver when he said it.
Stepping over the still insulted but totally insignificant Paul, Ringo made his way over to him carefully. Oh god this was really happening. He didnt want to fuck it up so he was being as cautious as he could, but honestly all he wanted to do was throw himself onto him and kiss him passionately, everyone else be damned, just like George was doing to him right now-
AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH
***
George had decided that whatever he’d just bought didn't matter one bit. Wherever it’d landed it was probably fine, given all the packaging anyway. Holy hell, It was richard-or-ringo... Oh shit, this couldn't be real. This was insanity right? Sure he’d had some... interesting and rather uh, frequent dreams over the last month or more, but it still beggared belief.
But sure enough, he certainly looked familiar. As familiar as a vague fuzzy face was when you’ve just woken up and can't really remember why your dream was so great, but it’s familiar all the same. And that voice was absolutely familiar. He felt like he was going to melt on the spot when he’d whispered his name like that. Then, this... this figment of his imagination started walking towards him. His fever dream from earlier came back to him, and up close everything became even clearer. This man was indeed the strange presence that had been haunting his subconscious for so long now. The reason why he started going to bed early. The reason why he felt like he was missing something every time he woke up.
The only reason he’d gathered up the courage to cut the crap and just take the risk. He’d come to this exact shop, having seen it in his mind's eye that afternoon. After waking up, he’d felt an urge like he’d never done before and called Paul’s new home number. Paul knew all the music shops in town, but it’d still been a bit of a mess trying to pinpoint which one since it was a chain store, but despite Paul’s impatience and concern for his wellbeing, they had pressed on for the longest afternoon ever until coming upon here.
He couldn't take it, it was all too much. Everyone else in the room be damned, he didn't care, he just dropped his goods and grabbed him. Feeling the real live person under his arms, and then soon after under his lips too , he felt a true shred of peace for the first time in way too long. The grand total of three onlookers (two employees and the ever more increasingly confused Paul) turned away in shock and embarrassment, but the two continued... until the manager kindly and firmly asked them to leave.
***
Needless to say, a few weeks later Ringo ended up quitting his own job. That said, he didn't like his chances of keeping it in the first place after that sudden display. It wasn't exactly the 60s where you could go to jail for that, but the entire atmosphere at work had been rather strained ever since. Besides, he’d gotten a long good run out of it, and just like George, he too had been sitting on his talents for too long. Paul and John were so confused at first about how and why George had made such a drastic change of mind after all those weeks of tension, but nevertheless they were grateful. Especially since, due to it all, George had managed to secure them with an actually good drummer entirely out of the blue and free of charge. One with a sense of humour who felt like he slipped right into the group too, which they could have only dreamed about. George and Ringo decided to keep the more fanciful particulars about how they met a secret, opting for a more feasible lie that Ringo had been a regular at the cafe.
That said, their dream adventures did indeed seem to have almost totally faded away after some time had passed. Whatever connection they had made wasn't nearly as strong anymore, and neither of them really remembered the dreams that they did share together, but the time they spent in the waking life more than made up for it.
“Do you ever miss it?” George asked, “Dreaming about me?”
Ringo snorted as he looked up from his book as the train car jostled a little, “Why would I need to? I’m living the dream now, ain’t I?”
“Aw, sod off,” George smirked, looking back down at his cheap and watery cuppa. He could have made such a better coffee than this.
“...Hey, do you have any drinks on ya?” he finally asked after a half hour of pretending he was gonna finish his own sorry drink.
Ringo looked up again and then bent over to reach into his travel bag.
“Yeah, sure. But it’s a bit soft,” He said, handing over a can of Irn Bru.
George heaved a deep and weary sigh.
Ringo tried not to laugh as he continued the well over played joke, “But i’ve got some kibbles on me if you wanted some extra texture,”