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George thought he’d be able to handle it, he really did. But once he got to the studio and started darting around with the others to set everything up, his stomach churned again.
“You alright?” Paul asked, instantly by George’s side and touching the small of his back.
Nodding, George gave him a pained smile. Paul clearly didn’t believe him, but he knew better than to keep prying. His hand gently slid from George’s back and he carried on, albeit casting George a few worried glances now and then.
When they stopped walking around and started tuning up, George felt better—at first. But the longer he stood, the more his stomach hurt. Eventually, he grabbed a chair and took a seat. Paul was staring again, and Ringo’s eyes lingered on him a bit more than normal, but still no one spoke up.
Until George felt something rising in his throat.
George had barely started gagging when a firm arm wrapped around his shoulder and handed his guitar off to someone. “I’ve got ya,” John whispered as he led him towards the bathroom. As soon as they stepped inside, George dropped to the floor and retched into the toilet.
“Let it out,” John said, rubbing George’s back as he vomited. “You’ll feel better when it’s gone.”
George felt disgusting curled up on the grimy floor as the horrid smell drifted around them. Yet, John stayed by his side, whispering soothing words in his ear and placing soft kisses on the back of his neck once his stomach was finally empty. “Sorry,” George mumbled before spitting once more into the bowl.
“Nah,” John shrugged. “Happens to everyone.”
The door creaked open, and Paul and Ringo peered inside. “How’s he doing?”
John looked to George who said weakly, “I’ve been better.”
“We brought you water,” Ringo said. He stepped inside and handed it to him.
“Thanks,” George said, taking a small sip. “You don’t have to stew in my filth with me. Go back out there.”
“Not a chance,” John said. “We’re not leaving you.”
George wanted to protest again, but he was still feeling woozy and John’s shoulder was comfortable. The glass of water shook in his hand, and Paul knelt down to take it from him.
“Why don’t we get you home?” Paul said, pushing George’s sweaty bangs away from his forehead.
“But we have to record,” George muttered as he leaned harder against John.
John snorted, and George winced when it jolted his head. “There’s no way you’re recording like this, John said. “We’ll get you home, make you nice and comfortable, get you all the hugs and kisses you could ever want.”
“But I’ll get you sick.”
“So what? You’re worth it,” John said, kissing his forehead.
“I’ll let the others know and pull the car around,” Paul said. He squeezed George’s hand before heading out.
“Come on now,” Ringo said, smiling sweetly as he first offered a hand to John, then to George. He kept his arm around George’s waist and rubbed circles into his side with his thumb while John held the door.
“I’m sorry for all the trouble,” George slurred.
“Cut that out already,” Ringo said. “Stop thinkin’ about that and start thinkin’ about how nice it’ll feel getting all cozy in bed.”
George pictured Ringo tucking him in; Paul getting him a bucket, water, and anything else he might need; and John curling up next to him, maybe reading him a passage from a book to help him fall asleep.
“There’s that smile,” Ringo teased, poking his cheek. “We’ll take good care of you.”
There was no way George could doubt him on that.