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“Well I need to go to sleep fellas, we have an early breakfast tomorrow,” Paul said, standing up.
The three other boys remained on the ground, barely conscious of what was happening. “George?” Paul asked. “Hmm?” George looked up with sleepy eyes towards Paul. “C’mon mate. Let’s go to sleep.” Paul motioned for Geo to follow him, which George did begrudgingly. Taking George’s arm in his he pointed at Ringo and John, still sitting on the ground. “You two better get some sleep too now yea?” John took a long and deep inhale from his blunt and nodded at Paul. “and maybe put him to bed too,” Paul said with a chuckle as he pointed at Ringo, who was fast asleep on the carpet. John smiled and “thumbsed-up.” “Ok. Night Johnny.”
“Night Paulie.”
Paul left the room half-carrying George on his shoulder and John relaxed back against the lower half of the couch. From his position, he could easily see Ringo sleeping beside his leg.
He drew another inhale from his ciggy and let the calming effects take over him. It might have been the weed, or perhaps the fact that it was 3 AM, but for whatever reason John thought that Ringo looked kind of cute laying below him. He looked smaller than he usually did, like a puppy.
John choked on the smoke and loudly coughed, beating his chest. He’d inhaled wrong and the smoke burned his insides. Setting the blunt down on an ashtray, he tried to clear his lungs.
Ringo stirred and lazily brought his head up. He blinked at John. “Are you okay mate? You sound like a bloody donkey.” John laughed and coughed at the same time, creating an awful sound from his chest: a mix between a whine and a burp. He coughed again and cleared his throat. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I was!” Ringo complained, playfully punching John’s leg. “I’m bloody tired, I am. You know we have an early breakfast tomorrow. What time even is it anyway?” John looked at his watch. “Around 3:15,” he said. “Mm,” Ringo hummed, laying back down and closing his eyes again. “You should go to sleep.”
“I can’t,” John responded. “And wouldn’t you rather be in bed?”
“Nope. Floor’s comfy.”
A few moments passed before Ringo realised what John had said.
“Why can’t you go to bed?”
“Because you’re on me feckin’ leg.”
In any other circumstance, Ringo would have sat up, moved, apologised, or anything else, but he didn’t. Maybe it was because of how late it was. Perhaps he was too tired to realise fully what he was doing, but for whatever reason he stayed with his head firmly planted on John’s thigh.
John took another drag and chuckled. “So, we’re just going to stay like this then?”
Ringo sighed and subtly nodded. “I’m too tired to care right now John. And to be frank, your leg is comfy. So-” he said, resting his hand on the other man’s trousers, “if you’re not going to bed, neither am I. Like I said; floor’s comfy.”
John looked down at Ringo. “Did you ever notice this grey streak in your hair?” He asked, gently stroking the piece of hair with his finger, a bit unaware of what he was doing.
Ringo pouted. “Of course I have. It’s on me head isn’t it?”
“Yea…I guess it-is-” John responded through a yawn, even as he continued to pet the drummer’s head. Ringo, sleepy as he was, didn’t seem to mind, however. He just breathed slowly and his face softened. After a couple moments he relaxed again and seemed to pass out. John tried to take another puff of his cigarette but he accidentally burned himself, as it was only a stub now. The ashes fell onto Ringo’s scalp and John tried to frantically brush them away. The last thing he needed was to burn his friend's hair off.
Whew
Minutes passed. Or maybe it was hours. John didn’t know at this point. It was still dark outside though, and he was comfortable enough sitting with his back against the couch and his mate on his lap. His eyes grew very heavy, and he sighed. Flicking the cigarette butt at a nearby ashtray, he settled down and closed his eyes. “...G’night Ringo-” he mumbled, and then he fell asleep.
…
Ringo lifted his head up and blinked slowly, trying to see in the dark. He looked around feeling confused, until he felt John’s leg below him. “Oh right.” He fell asleep here. But why was John still out in the living room? Ringo could have sworn he’d told John to go to sleep in his own bed, but to be honest he couldn’t remember. He was so tired. He stood up slowly and stumbled around until he found a light switch to a lamp, and he flicked it on. (Paul or someone must have turned out the lights when they saw that the two boys weren’t going to.) In the dim glow, Ringo could see that John was shivering in the cold.
“Silly git,” he laughed to himself, then went off searching for a blanket. When he came back, he had a bright orange quilt with him, and he gently placed it on top of John, who instantly snuggled into it. Ringo leaned down and tucked it around the sitting man’s shoulders, making sure that it wouldn’t fall off in the middle of the night.
“Beautiful boy…” he said absentmindedly. Being as gentle as he could to not wake John, he leaned forward and gave him a kiss on his head. “Night Johnny,” he whispered, before retaking his place on Lennon’s leg and falling fast asleep.
They still had an early breakfast tomorrow.