Chapter Text
George staggers out of the van, pushing past people with a hand clutched over his mouth. The angry voices they let out are muffled in his head but he vaguely recognises some colourful words directed towards him. He tries his best to move away from everyone, doubles over and retches all over the ground, groaning as the sour taste hits the back of his throat. For a moment, he feels bad for whoever has to clean this mess up before realising there probably isn't anyone anyway. He throws up again.
A comforting hand rests on his back and he already knows who it belongs to.
"You alright there?" Paul asks, waiting for a genuine response as he watches George cover the ground with his vomit.
"Do I look alright to you?" he replies, wiping off the sick left on his mouth using his coat. Disgusting.
Paul hands him a bottle of water, all the while rubbing his hand across his back, "Didn't know you'd get this sick."
"Well, neither did I."
George wasn't this sensitive usually but the several hour-long drive coupled with the winding road throughout the journey was just too much for him to handle.
"Look alive, George!" John makes a rather loud appearance, finally getting out of the van with Stuart and Pete by his side. The ringing in his head intensifies and he prays to whoever's up there that John would just shut up. That however, is impossible.
"This isn't the time to be getting sick, son. We're in Hamburg, for Christ sake. Pull yourself together and show some rock and roll spirit!" John taunts in a mocking voice, the smirk on his face only getting larger when he notices George glaring at him.
"Alright boys," Allan cuts off, locking the doors of the van. "The club's not too far away. We'll have to walk from here."
Allan leads the way to the Indra Club, where they're supposed to be playing their first gig. George, feeling only a little better, gets up and the group trails after their booking manager.
George feels a mix of nerves and excitment brewing inside of him. He's never been this far away from his family before and though his mum was initially a little wary of allowing him to go all the way to Germany, she came around eventually, knowing how much this means to George.
He looks around, taking in everything. There's clubs at every corner, images of naked women in obscene postions painted on the walls, though they're rather empty at the moment. He supposes it's still pretty early for people to be visiting yet. Surely the streets come alive at night. The handful of people passing by eye them curiously, whispering words George can't quite understand, probably because of his minimal knowledge in the foreign language. Although they haven't even spoken a word yet, the people must've realised that they were not from around here. He adjusts his guitar strap and averts his eyes, feeling awkward under their gaze. His fingers twitch impatiently, he just can't wait to play tonight's gig, aching for the familiar feeling of his guitar strings against his fingers.
"Don't stray too far away, George. They ask for your ID and we're done for," Paul says, once again finding pleasure in reminding George that he's the only one of the group that isn't legally old enough to be playing at the club.
"That's right, Georgie. Be a good little boy and hold mummy's hand real tight," John teases, still trying to wind him up. Stuart's and Pete's cackling only adding fuel to the fire.
George, not in the mood for any of his nonsense, merely asks him to fuck right off as he glares at Paul for bringing up the matter at all.
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They're obediently waiting outside the club for Allan to return, like the bunch of good little kids that they are but they were getting restless. Even John who'd been trying to mess with everyone to keep himself entertained was looking bored out of his mind. George had desperately tried to minimise any contact with the filthy ground but had given up and was sitting down beside Paul, still feeling a little dizzy from earlier.
"The Indra Club, huh?" Pete boredly reads out from the faded signboard. Though, before anyone can reply to his very obvious statement, Allan steps out of the door at last.
"The owner wants to meet you boys. I've put in good words for all of you so remember to behave."
"But- "
"Especially you, John," Allan stops John before he can predictably make a joke about them always being on their best behaviour.
They walk in to find a man with a stout stature waiting for them. He introduces himself as Bruno Koschmider, the club owner and gives them all friendly handshakes.
"I have spoken to Allan about your band performing at my club," he explains with a strong accent. "You will start tonight and I wish you all good luck."
After chatting a little, the man leaves them to it and heads to the back of the club. The cleaner is sweeping up the place and the bartender starts wiping away at the counter, preparing for tonight. The boys linger in the middle of the club looking very out of place and trying not to get in anyone's way.
"And what do we do now?" Stuart asks for all of them.
"Well, whatever you want," Allan answers. "Just make sure you don't go missing for the gig. I'll be leaving for now and will be back later tonight."
Excited at the prospect of finally having the freedom to explore the new world they're in, John immediately suggests going outside, likely trying to cause some mischief.
"I'll pass," George says. "Wanna get warmed up a little before the gig."
"I'll stay back too then," Paul says and George's head whips towards him. "Don't want my fingers cramping up on me later."
George goes on to argue with Paul about how he doesn't have to stay behind just because George wants to but John isn't interested in sticking around to hear it.
The other three head out and John doesn't forget to loudly voice out, "It's alright boys, Paul can be stuck with babysitting this time."
George lets out a heavy sigh and doesn't bother acknowledging Paul just yet. He walks to a corner and whips out his guitar knowing the other would follow suit. George starts playing a random tune and they don't even have to exhange words for Paul to quickly catch on and play along. In sync as always, with their feet tapping rhythmically, they play for what feels like hours and George loses himself in the music.
"You should give your mum a call," Paul says, disrupting the moment. "You know, tell her you've arrived and all that."
"I will."
"So... how do you feel?"
"I'm fine."
Paul, expecting more for an answer waits a beat or two before saying, "Exciting isn't it? Been talking about this for months and we're finally here. There better be some fit German birds around."
Never being able to stay grumpy at Paul for too long, George chuckles at his joke.
Paul, clearly pleased that George was finally looking interested in having a conversation with him, smiles before continuing, "Do you reckon Pete will keep up with us this time? Last time we played, it sounded like we were playing two different songs."
"He better keep up, or else he's getting the sack."
"Yeah, well I'm sure he can't be as bad as Stu anyway."
As the both of them giggle away, guilt eats away at him. He never means to get upset with Paul, though it's hard to believe that when it occurs so often. He knows how hurt Paul gets whenever it happens but he just can't help it.
It's not George's fault, really. It's Paul's. He's always fussing over him as if it's his god-given responsibility only because he was born 8 months earlier. He never listens to what he says, pretending as if George is incapable of forming his own opinions. The way he treats George would drive anyone crazy. Not to mention, John who has a field day anytime he gets the opportunity to mock the way Paul behaves like a mother hen when it comes to George.
His frustrations have nothing to do with the fact that he may or may not fancy Paul and is annoyed by how said man treats him like a child and will never return his feelings. Of course, it doesn't.
George watches Paul as he goes back to fiddling with his guitar. His long lashes fluttering above his cheekbone, those pink plump lips, pouting in concentration. He really is just so beautiful.
Even back home when they'd meet up ever so often, George would have a hard time dealing with all his emotions for the other. Now, he knows they're going to be in close proximity at all times, every day and every hour for the next couple of weeks. Who knows what he's going to do.
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"You really should've been there, Paul! She had her tits out and everything!"
"Yeah? We'll have to go tommorow and see if they're still out then."
John's been going on and on about everything they saw on their trip outside. George is sure it wasn't all that anyway. It was obvious that John was just trying to stir shit up, wanting Paul to believe he'd missed out on so much fun just because he chose to stick with George.
"It's close to seven isn't it?" Stuart says, looking around. "We're supposed to go on soon. Not many people though."
Just then, the club manager walks towards them. "You will start in 10 minutes, yes?"
"Do you mind if we wait, sir?" Paul asks. "There's barely anyone here yet. Could we wait a while? For more people to arrive, I mean."
As if Paul had just insulted this man's family, his face scrunches up. "That is not possible! No! You will play in 10 minutes."
He doesn't even spare them time to argue as he stomps away, leaving them blinking at each other in confusion over the outburst.
"So, uh... should we ask Allan to speak to him for us?" Pete asks.
"Don't bother," George replies. "Doesn't sound like he's willing to listen anyway."
They return to practicing till it was time for them to get on stage. George steps on the heightened platform and hears a creak from the wooden floor. It's not a surprise really. The stage had looked pretty worn down but he was starting to wonder if it'll even hold them up while they were playing.
He looks over towards the audience. Earlier, when he was thinking of performing tonight's gig, he had envisioned a larger crowd, all drunkenly swaying to their music, beautiful women winking at them, asking for them to play their favourite songs. He'd imagined the nervousness he'd feel buzzing through his body at the beginning, slowly vanishing as the music starts to flow. Now, there was a feeling weighing him down, but it was only dissapointment.
Paul notices his frown and pats his shoulder, "It'll be alright. It's still early isn't it? People only come to drink when the sun's set."
"Hello, hello," John taps the microphone. "We're The Beatles and we'd like to dedicate this first song to that little bald man in the corner."
They start off their first tune and they look ridiculous. There's about 10 other people in the club and that includes their booking manager and the bartender. They look pathetic up on the stage, playing a rocking Eddie Cochran tune while the audience wasn't even pretending to enjoy it. George looks at the one man who is at least tapping his fingers against the table and wants to grovel at his feet just to thank him.
The first shift goes on uneventfully, and their break passes by so quickly George barely notices it. They felt a spark of hope when more people started entering the club during their third hour, but that seemed to be the largest amount they'd be seeing tonight. As if they weren't already feeling like crap, their spirits were further crushed when they were requested- no, forced to turn down their amps because the old hag living above the club was allergic to fun. It's her own fault for living in a red-light district and expecting any form of peace and quiet.
By the time they're playing their final hour, it's about two in the morning and yet the club is just as deserted as it was before. George's fingers feel like they're about to fall off from the continuous strumming and judging by the miserable looks on the others' faces, they were probably just as knackered as him.
The last note is played and they walk off the stage accompanied by a handful of claps, not saying a word. Allan walks up to them and looks like he's about to say something but decides against it. Instead, he informs them that they'd be sleeping at Bruno's apartment for the night, as their accomodations haven't been arranged.
The ride on the way to the apartment was silent, save for a few remarks from John. All of the boys probably busy thinking about how their first gig went no where near what they had fantasized. In the end, they're left tired and with empty stomachs at the apartment with hardly any of their belongings. The only thing that runs though George's mind is how if this continues, they might have to return home a lot quicker than expected.