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“Ritchie!”
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” Ringo said. When he made it to the living room, he found John fumbling around at the coffee table, knocking things over as he went. “What is it?”
“Can’t find me glasses.”
Ringo laughed. “They’re on your face.”
“No,” John scoffed in the same playful way he had for decades. “These are my reading glasses. I need my other pair.”
“Ah.” John’s already poor eyesight had only worsened over the years, and Ringo knew better than to deny him help with this search. Ringo searched the end tables while John continued feeling around the coffee table.
“Aha!” John held up a pair of glasses in triumph only to frown when he put them on his face. “Can’t you keep your damn sunglasses obsession under control?” he asked as he dangled the shades in Ringo’s direction.
“Why? I look good in them,” Ringo said, sliding them over his eyes and striking a pose.
John pouted. “I’d agree with you if I could fucking see.”
“Alright, alright.” Ringo removed the glasses and continued looking.
“Why is it that you haven’t aged a bit?” John asked suddenly. “You look just as good as when we were young.”
“Nah. I look better,” Ringo smirked. “And so do you.”
“Bullshit.”
Frowning, Ringo sat next to John on the sofa. He pulled the reading glasses away and gazed deep into his eyes. “You look stunning. Always have, always will.” Ringo kissed the tiny creases at the corner of his eye, brushed back his silver hair, and slid the proper glasses onto his face.
John blinked as his eyes refocused, and his lips curved up into a slight smile. “Thanks. And thanks for…you know.”
“Any time.”
After a few kisses, John leaned back on the sofa and stretched. “Now that I can see again, how ‘bout you put on those shades, take off that shirt, and give me a little show? Gotta make the most of these eyes while I still can.”
Ringo laughed and shot him a wink. “Anything for you, baby.”