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Brian sighed as he sat back down on his chair after yelling at the four Beatles. He was only uneasy because he’d told them, very sternly, that they couldn’t leave the studio until they were finished with this song. He told Ringo to wait to use the toilet and John to ignore his grumbling stomach. He’d even snapped at George, who’d been kind about it, telling him he didn’t have time for a water break, no matter how much his throat hurt.
And only now was he realising he needed the loo. He couldn’t just get up and go now. The others would be so upset with him, call him a hypocrite. He wasn’t, though, was he? He really did have to go. He looked over at Ringo, who seemed very uncomfortable, as well. He had to use the toilet, too.
God, Brian was being a hypocrite. He closed his eyes, making his final decision to wait until they were done recording to use the toilet, that way he wouldn’t seem too bad.
-
But unfortunately for him, the time went by painfully slow, and the coffee he’d had that morning went right through him. The constant repositioning on his chair was becoming not enough to keep himself comfortable, and he eventually got up.
Mal glanced over at him, wrinkling his brow together at the urgency of Brian’s situation. “What’s wrong with you?” The four Beatles in the recording booth couldn’t hear them.
“I’m just going to go to the toilet really quick,” he whispered, and Mal rolled his eyes.
“Better make it quick. They’re going to eat you alive.” Brian ignored the joke, wasting no time in running out the door and down the hall. Mal didn’t think much of it, the manager was probably just in a bad mood after having to yell.
But then John started walking to the door and swung it open. “Where the fuck did he go?” he demanded, face angry. “Prick says we can’t go anywhere and then disappears like this isn’t his job, too.”
“John, he’s in the loo. He’ll be back soon. Just needed a break, I suppose.” John mumbled something about them all needing a break before darting out of the room, as well. Mal sighed, but he was too lazy to get up and follow him. It was better that Brian was yelled at and not him.
John ran down the hall in anger, and he didn’t know what he was expecting. But to be honest, it wasn’t his manager with a hand shoved into his crotch, standing outside of the bathroom door, which shouldn’t be locked. Nobody else was in the studio.
“What the fuck are you…?”
“Shit,” Brian muttered, his face bright red. “John, go back. I’ll be there soon.” But the guitarist didn’t move. He looked down and he saw that the older man already had a sizable wet spot on his pants. “I said--”
Then John opened his mouth, his anger seemed to melt away, but Brian expected him to make a snarky remark, anyway. He closed his eyes, determined to just wait until John was gone, but he felt a hand on his shoulder. “You need help getting to the toilet, yeah?” There was just a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but Brian knew he was being serious.
“I… Erm, I’m f-fine. Really.” He started to walk away from John, but he stopped when he felt more urine leak out of him and soak into his underwear. The hand on his shoulder travelled down to his back and started to walk slowly with him to the toilet. It wasn’t too far, but as soon as he stepped inside, his bladder had given up on holding.
His pants were quickly becoming very wet, though he was trying his very best to hold on. John was trying to get him closer to the actual toilet in the corner, but he refused to move. “Eppy…”
“I’m so sorry… I really didn’t mean to…” He groaned as he let go of the rest of his piss, completely soaking his pants and the floor around him. “Shit…” John was silent as it happened. And he stepped away from the older man as the puddle around his feet grew bigger and bigger. “Just… just leave already, yeah? I mean, this is disgusting.”
“I don’t mind,” John whispered. “You okay?” Brian shook his head. “Let’s just get this cleaned up then, yeah? I’m sure you’ll feel better.” He sighed, locking the toilet door, and Brian stayed right where he was.
“John…”
“Shut up, okay? Just shut up. We’ll deal with it. And I’m gonna help you with it, so don’t try to get me to leave. M’not going anywhere until you’re--” The door knob rattled, and Brian tensed. “Hello?”
“John, what’s wrong with Eppy? Is he in there with you?”
“He’s in here, but… look, everything’s fine.” Silence followed, and John had assumed Paul left. Everything obviously wasn’t fine, but surely the bassist would just leave.
“That’s ridiculous,” he heard from outside the door.
“Paul,” he stated sternly. “It’s fine. We don’t need you, okay? Just… go back and give us a minute.”
“I don’t really wanna give you a minute. If something’s wrong, I think we need to fix it.”
John sighed through his nostrils. “You know what? We’re doing just that. We’ll be right out.” He stared right into their manager’s eyes, and he saw the fear in them. Why couldn’t Paul just leave them alone?
“John, something’s obviously not adding--”
“Just fuck off!” he shouted. “Can you just take a hint and leave!? I told you that I’m dealing with it, and you are not needed right now!”
For a few seconds, his heavy breathing was all Brian heard, but then Paul spoke again. “Okay,” he whispered, sounding a bit hurt. “I’ll leave, then.”
His footsteps walking away weren’t as relieving as they should have been. “That was rude, wasn’t it?” John asked, and Brian calmed down a bit. He finally wasn’t the only one in the room that had done something wrong.
“What am I supposed to do?” he asked, not wanting to answer the question. John knew his own limits.
“I don’t know. Try to, erm, dry off your pants a bit, I guess. I’ll clean up the floor.” He started to pull paper towels out of the dispenser and bent down to the puddle, which Brian was still standing in. “E-Eppy, could you maybe move over a bit?”
“Oh, s-sorry…” He stepped out of the puddle, and John set a paper towel down on top of it. Liquid seeped into it so fast that it was completely unusable after two seconds. Brian had to turn away out of sheer embarrassment. And as the younger man dealt with the puddle, he stepped out of his sodden pants and stared down at them.
How was he supposed to dry these off? They were completely soaked.
“John..?” he mumbled, and John looked up at him. “Do you have anything I could slip on just to get to my car? I’ll wash them and bring them back to you tomorrow, I swear.”
“I don’t. I’m so sorry. Maybe somebody else does, but--”
“It’s fine. Can you just tell them I was sick or something? I’m gonna leave.”
“Of course, yeah. Were you gonna put those back on…?” He nodded. “Okay. Well, I hope you feel a bit better. I’m sorry I didn’t have anything for you.”
“It’s fine.” He was too humiliated to say much more. “Goodbye.”
“Wait, Eppy. It’s fine, what happened. You didn’t do anything wrong or anything. You only waited too long. That’s all. Don’t even worry about it, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” he replied shyly.
“I'll let the others know you’re sick, so you better get out of here before they come a-running.” Brian smiled, and John giggled at his own words before unlocking the door and slipping outside.