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John sat up on the couch with a big yawn and a brightened mood until he felt something underneath him. He quickly looked down to see the stain on not only his pants but the entire couch cushion. And it had just dawned on him that, holy shit, he’d pissed himself. In the studio. Across the room from--
“M-Martin…?” His voice was weak, ashamed of what had happened. But the other man looked up from his newspaper in confusion. John had never sounded so fragile. He saw the guitarist’s face, and concern grew in his eyes.
“Lennon? W-what’s going on? Are you okay?” He scanned the situation for anything that might give him a hint as to what had the man so distraught. And then he saw it. “Oh, god… John, what did you…? Shit, what happened?”
“It, it was an accident, I swear! I don’t know what happened--!”
“Okay, just-- yeah, that’s fine. Do you want me to get someone? Because I have no clue how to even go about cleaning this.”
John took a trembling breath and stood up from the couch, cringing at how much piss there really was underneath him. “Fuck… god, please don’t get anybody else. This is humiliating enough.”
“I can get Eppy. You know he’ll be understanding about this.” John only shook his head. “John--”
“No. Please. We can figure out how to clean it, right?” George Martin eyed him, opening his mouth to speak. “God, please, this is--” He groaned in frustration when he realised that the older man wasn’t convinced.
“He cleaned up when Heather--”
“I’m not three, Martin! I’m a grown man! It’s not the same!”
“It’s not like it was your fault, John.”
“I told you I don’t want him to know! If you’d like to help me with this, that’s fine, but don’t--”
“Hey, Paul’s trying to work something out with George’s solo, and you two are-- John…?” The guitarist whined, his face only growing redder as Brian stood in the doorway, staring right at his pants.
“Oh, fuck.” He immediately took off towards the door and pushed past the manager on his way to the toilet. Brian then refocused his gaze onto the couch, still shocked.
“What the hell happened? Did he piss himself?”
“He really didn’t want you to know,” Martin mumbled. “I told him you could help us clean it. You seemed like you knew how when Heather, erm-- but he just really didn’t want you to know.”
“Oh, erm… d-do you think I was too mean about it?” Brian shifted on his feet uncomfortably, and Martin just sighed.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Eppy. I mean, you know how he is. He must be embarrassed.”
“Should I go and talk to him?” Brian looked over at Martin’s pensive face. “Maybe not, then?”
“I just don’t know how he’d react, and I don’t want to upset him any more than he already is. W-would you mind cleaning up? Or helping? I just have no clue how to--”
“I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go and see if he’s okay.”
“You sure?” He nodded, and Martin headed off towards the loo to find the guitarist. He knocked slowly on the door. “John?”
“Go away!”
“I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” When he got no reply, he spoke again. “Well, I wanted to ask if you wanted a ride home. Didn’t think you’d want Paul to take you home today.”
He then heard a soft, “okay.” A few more beats of silence passed. “Can we leave now?”
“Of course. I’ll let Brian know and make sure he’s gonna be alright.”
“Fuck, is he cleaning the couch? I can do that. Don’t make him do that.”
Martin shifted on his feet. “John, he’s got it. I think we ought to just get you home, okay? It’s no problem at all.”
“I just feel bad.”
“Don’t. We know it wasn’t your fault. I think it would be better if I just took you home, and we all forgot this happened. That’s probably what you want, anyway, I’m assuming.” He opened the toilet door, and Martin took it as a yes. “Alright. Here are the keys. I’ll be right out.”
John took the car keys from him and started towards the stairs. He was ready to forget this day had even happened.