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The video began shakily, a blur of light that eventually settled into the shape of a bed. “Rise and shine,” George said from behind the camera.
Ringo rolled over in bed, instinctively stretching his arm toward the spot where George would usually lie. When he couldn’t find George, he looked up in confusion, blinking a few times at the camera. “What are ya filmin’ me for?” Ringo said groggily, sticking a hand in front of his face and shooing George away. “I look like shit.”
“Impossible,” George said, zooming in closer to capture his eyes before he could get up and put on his sunglasses. “You always look beautiful.”
Ringo couldn’t hide his smile. “Well, can you at least put the thing down and give me a kiss?”
George laughed, and the camera angled down toward the floor as George leaned in. Many, many seconds later, the camera aimed at Ringo again.
“You’re still doin’ that?” Ringo pointed at the camera.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You’re not even filming anything important! We’ve got no plans for the day.”
“That’s why it’s perfect,” George said. He grabbed Ringo’s hand and pulled him out of bed. The camera bounced up and down as he tugged Ringo down the hall and into the kitchen, where sunlight streamed in through the windows. “Look how beautiful it is, Ritchie.”
“…It’s our kitchen. We’ve seen it a hundred times.”
“You don’t think our kitchen is beautiful?”
Ringo sighed. “Stop pouting, you know I love our house. Now why don’t you turn that off for a minute and help me cook?”
“You’re a persistent little thing, aren’t you?” George teased. “I guess I could stop for a few minutes,” he said in exasperation. The camera shook again before the view went black.
When the camera turned back on, the rays of sunlight had shifted, and eggs were sizzling on the stove. Ringo watched over the food with a spatula in his hand. He was humming softly to himself, his head bopping along to the tune.
Behind the camera, George didn’t make a sound. He didn’t want to ruin such a beautiful sight. He’d watched Ringo cook countless times before, but it never became any less endearing. And the way the camera zoomed in just right to make Ringo the center of the world made it even better.
Ringo turned his head over his shoulder to smile at George, like he always did, and he sighed when he saw the camera. “You’re back on that again?”
“Mm-hm.”
Ringo shook his head. “If I can’t talk you out of it, I might as well give you something worth filming.” He shifted to the side so the camera could get a better view of the eggs, then lifted the pan and shook it side to side a little. When he started to bend his knees, George stopped him.
“Are you gonna flip that like a pancake?”
“Yep.”
“Ritchie. You’ll drop them right onto the floor.”
“Hey—have some faith in me,” Ringo said with a pout.
George didn’t trust him on this for a second, but he let him try anyways. Ringo jerked the pan upward—and half the scrambled eggs went flying, one piece even smacking against the lens of the camera.
“Oh, damn it,” Ringo said as he slammed the pan back on the stove and rushed to scoop up whatever bits had landed safely on the countertop.
Laughing quietly, George wiped off the lens with his sleeve. Then, deciding he shouldn’t leave Ringo to clean up alone, he stopped recording once more.
“Hey, give that back,” was the next thing the camera captured as George scrambled to steal it back from Ringo.
“No.” Ringo yanked it out of George’s reach. “Why should you get all the fun?”
George pretended to be mad, but even through the window of the camera, the hint of a smile was still evident on his face—especially when he met Ringo’s gaze.
“God, what the hell did you do to the settings?” Ringo said, fiddling with the camera and adjusting the view.
“Sorry,” George said as his face came into better focus, making every soft little crinkle around his eyes crystal clear.
“Now, sing us something,” Ringo said, zooming in closer.
“Oh, god, you don’t wanna hear that.”
“I do. The whole world loves your voice, you fool.”
“I don’t know ‘bout the whole world,” George said, but his cheeks brightened at the compliment. He finally obliged and grabbed one of his ukuleles, tuning it quickly before looking back at Ringo. “Any requests?”
Ringo listed off at least five different songs—he couldn’t make up his mind. But it worked out perfectly. George played every single one. And then half a dozen more. He always got caught up in his ukulele. He likely forgot the camera was there at all.
Though, he certainly didn’t forget that Ringo was there. He played Ringo’s favorite songs: the ones Ringo’s parents sang to him when he was little, and the ones George and Ringo danced to late at night whenever sleep eluded them. Every word George sang, he sang for Ringo. And when he finally set down the ukulele, he asked Ringo to dance with him.
Ringo placed the camera on the table as George put on a record, and then they were locked in each other’s embrace as they swayed around the room to song after song. The sun sunk lower in the sky, giving the room a soft, radiant glow that only amplified the glow of their love for each other. Then George pulled Ringo in closer, kissing him deeply and passionately. They didn’t split apart until the final notes of the record echoed around the room.
“Love you so much,” Ringo whispered.
“Love you, too.” With one more quick kiss, George released Ringo’s hands and—“Ritchie.”
“What?”
“You left the damn camera running! You could’ve killed the battery.”
“Oops. Sorry, love.”
George laughed. “It probably got a good view of our feet while we danced. Just turn it off now, I’ll go get the case.” As he left the room, he mumbled, “Can’t believe you forgot to turn it off.”
Ringo picked up the camera and clunkily aimed it at his own face. “Right. I ‘forgot’ it.” With a wink, Ringo clicked the camera off.