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After the celebrations were wrapped up, and the excitement had died down, all the boys were beginning to fall asleep after a long and tiring day. They bid farewell to Ahme as she left to board a plane back home, and they (unfortunately) had to organise a way to pay for all the resources they'd used up in their attempts to save Ringo. That was all stuff they could think about tomorrow though. Filing out of the car as they reached their street, they each walked up to their own front doors.
The lads had all bought apartments situated right next door to each other. They loved staying close together, so it was only natural. They'd even gone so far as to knock down some walls, making their four apartments into one big house. They all marched upstairs to their bathrooms and dressing rooms, (and Ringo cut his hair because he couldn't be bothered to wash all that red paint out), then back down again to bed. Most of them were practically out as soon as they'd slipped under their covers.
All but John. He sat there, staring up at the ceiling. What a day... He didn't let the others know that he'd been so frightened about Ringo's plight, it simply wasn't the manly thing to do was it? But putting on a mask didn't cause what was hidden to go away. If anything all it made him look like was an arse who'd rather cut his best friend's fingers off than risk his life.
Not even just his best friend, either, but the one out of four John could say he'd really sort of fallen for. Before all the chaos there had begun to be a little bit of something special between them. It was just another thing to add to the list of reasons John hid everything though. Hid his affection and tried to stifle it. And what happens in return? Bah, it was only a matter of time before he blew it before it'd even begun. Ringo was too good a friend, and John just didn't bloody deserve him, did he?
He turned onto his side, staring into the barely visible room. He could hear Ringo just beside him, up in his own bed to the left of him. Originally John had been frustrated as all hell about the snoring (the others seemed to resign more easily). He suffered not a wink of sleep til eventually he got used to it. Now it was keeping him awake again but for different reasons.
Tick tock, tick tock. The multiple clocks in the house seemed to be louder than usual, and slower at the same time. John tossed around again and then finding no comfort he sat up.
"I can't do this," he muttered, "Can't..."
Getting up he threw together some warm and sloppy clothes, whatever was easier to put on quickly, and then left through his back door. He paced around a bit, occasionally looking up at the sky. What sort of friend was he? NO! He'd come out here to forget about that! Shhh! Pesky mind...
He sighed and slumped down into a lawn chair, staring at the way the light reflected off the water of the pool they'd recently installed.
"Bit of a cold night for a swim," someone spoke from behind him. Still on edge as he was, John jerked up and fell out of the chair, turning to see...
"Oh," John looked away, "Hey Ritch," he said, putting on a casual tone. The drummer pulled him up and brushed him off. John felt butterflies every time those ringed hands made contact. Hands he very nearly - NO no, no, no! He shook his head clear and sat down. Ringo didn't seem too affected by his antics either way.
"Have a rough day didja?" he asked. Partly it seemed like a joke, a morbid little poke at the preposterous situation they'd just been in. However it was also clear that there was a tone of bitterness to it. John braved a glance to see the fiery red end of a cigarette light up as Ringo pulled a drag off it.
He could use one himself honestly, he reached over to knick one of Ringo's but found his hand swatted away. Ohhh dear, he was really pissed at him wasn't he? Pissed and simmering but too bloody polite to say anything about it.
God, John loved him. What a saint, honestly, how else could Ringo even suffer his presence?
"You know, I can go," he said, though he remained still, "I know I've done you wrong,"
All John got in response was the red light of Ringo's cigarette end as he dragged off it again. A cloud of weakly blown out smoke wafted past him. Nerves got the better of him so he opened his mouth again, not sure what to do in the face of all the silence.
"I mean, ye don't have to say anything either, I suppose, but I'd just like to at least know... I dunno, where I stand with ye,"
There was a sort of huff from the other lad, and then a quiet quip, "You're not standing, you're sitting," he said. Then, after a few cold seconds of John's heart disintegrating, he sighed and flipped out a spare cigarette and lit it with his own. He handed it over, and John took with with a shaky hand.
"Ta," he muttered, the butt of it between his lips.
The moon started to shift a little as they silently wasted their time out there. The sounds of crickets, and dogs, and distant light traffic continued on like the soundtrack of their lives; there but detached. Eventually a sliver of light illuminated Ringo's face. He looked so tired.
John felt the urge to place a hand on his leg like he always subtly did during times like these. He was immobilised though. Then Ringo, probably aware of his stare, flicked his eyes to the side to catch him. Those deep blue eyes seemed intimidating in this eerie atmosphere. John looked away, but knew Ringo was still staring.
"John," he sighed, and the guitarist felt his breath catch.
"Yes?" he asked.
Ringo smirked sadly, "You know the best way to show you're sorry isn't to laze around being miserable,"
If that was meant to make being miserable seem any less appealing right now, it wasn't working. No, it just made John more miserable. Ringo wasn't done though.
"I know you feel bad. But that's not gonna do either of us any good on its own."
The drummer finished off his cigarette and then spoke again.
"It's what you do about it. If you do something about what you've done then we'll both feel better, won't we?"
Was John really such a baby that he needed such a simple concept explained to him?... Probably. He heaved a huge but silent sigh and sat up.
"I don't know what to do," he confessed, "I know I SHOULD do something, but what can I?" then he looked Ringo right in the eye.
"Seriously, I'm actually asking,"
A tiny smile played at the corners of the other man's lips, and he shrugged as he thought about it. The breeze picked up a little, their hair flying around in it.
"Come here," he finally said, beckoning him.
John put out his cigarette and then stood up. He awkwardly walked over to stand by Ringo's lawn chair. Said man shook his head though and beckoned him closer.
"Nope, not there, come here," he said, patting the small amount of seat next to him. John felt his skin prickle up. If he was gonna sit there... there'd be nearly no space between them. Ringo was waiting though, so John self-consciously slid in next to him. Their feet were at slightly different spots at the end of the chair, John's nearly at the very end, Ringo's not so much.
"You could spend the night looking down there, or you could look at me," the drummer whispered, though the sound was so close to John's ear that it made him shiver. He guiltily glanced up at him. Ringo smiled softly, then to John's shock (not unpleasant shock however), he slid an arm under him and around his waist.
Ringo chuckled a little, "Come on now, it's you that's meant to be doing the work, not me," he teased.
John's heart began pounding in his chest, and though his actions were delayed, he returned the embrace, sliding his arm under Ringo too. He gasped audibly when his free arm was grabbed and then pulled over to drape across the other man's front too. Then, that adjusted, Ringo snuggled into his side. They were both properly hugging now, laid side by side on a rickety lawn chair on a winter night in the backyard.
And? John was in heaven. He pulled him closer, holding him tighter.
"What now?" he asked, scarcely audible.
Ringo laughed, shaking them both, "I reckon you could start with an apology, if you must know,"
John felt hot with embarrassment.. OF COURSE an apology - god damn it... Well here went nothing anyway. He lowered his head, and after a bit, pushed the words out.
"I'm so sorry," he whispered into his hair, "I'm so so sorry,"
Ringo didn't verbally respond, but squeezed him in acknowledgement.
"I was scared... I was scared but I didn't want anyone to know or worry about it," he continued, "I was weak...I promise I won't be again,"
John felt his eyes sting as all the feelings he'd been holding back came leaking out in tears. He couldn't talk anymore like that, so he just kissed the top of Ringo's head.
Ringo must have been a bit misty eyed too, some warm wet droplets seeping through John's shirt.
"Hey now, I know. I know you John, it's okay... I knew under all that that you cared,"
John laughed, self deprecatingly, "It doesn't bloody excuse it, does it?"
Ringo shrugged (as best as he could whilst in a hug). After breathing in deeply to regain some strength in his voice he replied, "I don't know. But I know no matter what, I still love you,"
John pulled away to look at him, his entire body overcome with a sudden wave of shock. He searched for the other's eyes and stared into them. Ringo smiled bashfully back, then reached a hand up to brush some bed head hair out of John's face.
"You know, you really don't have to hide your love away. Not from me," he smiled.
John, snotty tear stained face and all, leaned down, Ringo leaned up to meet him halfway, and a tiny, brave kiss connected them. They stayed out there in silence for the rest of the night, til it got too cold to bear, and snuck back in. John crawled into his little hole in the floor and then looked up at Ringo... Would he come with him?
Ringo seemed to be contemplating it. Then with a look that said 'here goes nothing', he climbed down too.
***
"Ringo?" George asked as he stopped mid stride, glancing at the floor bed where normally only John slept, "The hell are you doing on the floor?"
Ringo, barely awake but enough to speak back simply muttered, matter of fact like, "I'm tired!"