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George said he needed fresh air, so of course he lit a cigarette as soon as his back hit the wall of the alley he’s found himself in. Really he just needed to get away from whatever John and Paul were doing (simultaneously trying to flirt with some German birds while playing footsie with each other under the table, with George sat between them). The Hurricanes weren’t even playing anymore so there was no reason for him to stick around. He’d find his way back home, and so would John and Paul.
He almost flinched when the door opened as another person left, presumably to get fresh air like him.
“Oh, it’s you. George, wasn’t it?” He tried to turn his head as normally as possible towards the voice. Of course it would be Ringo-fucking-Starr, the drummer they all (minus Pete) wouldn’t mind getting in the band, in his dashing pink suit, hair coiffed just so, showing off the white stripe. The sheer fact he was there made George feel all sorts of queer.
“Yeah, jus’ needed to get some air,” He forced himself to look at the brick wall ahead of him.
“Mind if I join you?” He’d already leaned against the wall next to George, taking out his pack of cigarettes (slightly nicer brand than Georges).
“Go ahead,” George tried to act cool, like Ringo. He wasn’t sure he was succeeding. He didn’t even notice Ringo rifling through his pockets.
“Shit, I think I’m outta matches,” he said to no one in particular.
“I have some if ya want,” George turned to look at Ringo, who had an unlit cigarette between his lips. He tried his hardest to not stare too much at those lips, full and no doubt great to kiss.
“I’ve another idea, hold still,” Ringo grabbed the side of his jaw and brought their faces closer. With a bit of aiming he managed to line their cigarettes up, using the lit end of Georges to light his own. It was surprisingly intimate and if George wasn’t already feeling queer he sure was now. He turned his head away as soon as he could, he was sure his ears were turning pinker than Ringos suit.
“Ta,” Ringo said, puffing out smoke at the night sky.
George feels ridiculous being so flustered over a bloke. Sure, Paul and John were both poofs, or at least a little queer, but they were his mates, and they’d only shown interest towards each other. Him and Ringo weren’t quite mates yet, nor would they ever be if Ringo knew how George saw him. Mates didn’t see each other as handsome, or think about how nice it would be to go on a date like one does with a bird, sweet looks and handholding, maybe with something more after dinner…
“Penny for your thoughts?” God, he could hear the smile on Ringos face. The smile that could light up a room- he really needed to stop with this current chain of thought.
“Oh, nothin’ important, jus’ songs, really,”
“You write?” Coming from anyone elses mouth George would’ve considered it an insult. Of course he wrote.
“I try, not very good at it yet,”
“Me neither, I just do my drums,”
“Good thing you’re bloody good at them then,” George turned to look at Ringo again, and flashed a smile he hoped would come off as charming.
“Could say the same thing about you and your guitar,” Ringo smiled back and there was something in his expression that George couldn't recognize.
“Eyyy, George!” Came a shout from the mouth of the alleyway. Paul, with a more or less drunk John leaning against him, arm slung around his shoulders.
“Georgieee,” John wailed as the pair approached.
“Evenin’, Ringo,” Ringo gave the pair a nod in response.
“Ooh, so you found some company, eh, George?” John peered between Ringo and George before settling on George, a smug grin on his face. George stared daggers at him, not that John would notice, blind git.
“I was just complimenting the lad on his guitar, great stuff, that,” Paul elbowed John in the ribs before he could even open his mouth.
“Good enough for these two at least,”
“Better than good enough. But, Georgie, me n’ John are gonna be headin’ home, just thought you should know, don’t gotta wait up for us,”
“Got it,” with that, Paul dragged John around and they started making their way back to the pisshole they called a home.
George then remembered what usually happens when John and Paul had the room to themselves (as Pete had left with a bird earlier that evening, and Stuart was with Astrid).
“Shit. I think I’ll have to go too, make sure they don’t wreck the place,” he snuffed the cigarette out against the wall and turned to Ringo before leaving.
“See you ‘round,”
“Mhm, thanks for the light, lad,” Ringo waved a quick goodbye as George popped his collar and started heading after John and Paul.
Ringo was watching one of their shows again. This wasn’t unusual, they’d all started expecting it, even. However, George couldn’t stop thinking that Ringo was looking at him specifically. Any time he looked at the crowd he’d meet Ringo's blue eyes looking back at his own dark ones.
They were approaching the end of their last song of the night, the club was mostly empty, yet Ringo was still there, watching them. He clapped wholeheartedly as the song ended, easily the loudest person at that time of night.
As they began packing up their things Ringo approached them, getting up on the modest stage and going to George, who couldn’t stop his heart from speeding up.
“Great playing tonight,”
“Heh, thanks,”
A slight pause.
“I was wondering, do you want to grab a bite to eat? Just the two of us, I know a place,”
George's heart skipped a beat.
“Uh, yeah, sure, I just have to- hey Paul! C’mere for a bit,”
Paul walked over, a hint of mischief in his eyes.
“Delightful show as always,” said Ringo, it relieved the tension George was feeling somewhat.
“Thank you, thank you,” Paul said with a small bow.
“Paul,” George grabbed his arm, “you need to take my guitar back to ours, please”
Paul raised an eyebrow.
“Is that so?”
“Please, Paul. I’ll pay for dinner tomorrow, I’ll take me and Pete on the town so you and John can have fun, just do this for me,”
“Would’ve done it for free, but thanks for the offers Geo,” He lifted the strap over Georges head and took the guitar. “Have fun,” with a wink, Paul was off back to the rest of the band (no doubt telling John all about what happened).
“So, food?” Ringo said, a hint of a smile on his lips.
“Please,”
After a couple blocks and a couple restaurants that looked promising but “didn’t make their food right” according to Ringo, they arrived at a small grill. George peered at the menu, only kind of understanding it.
“What are you getting?”
“Jus’ some chips, they make em just right,”
“Grand, I’ll take those too then,”
Ringo got up to the counter, seemingly not caring about the stern looking lady behind it.
As he ordered his Scouse was noticeable but George had to admit he seemed more fluent despite it. Ringo dug some money out his pockets and George realized he should probably chip in too, it’s not like he was a bird.
“No, no, it’s my treat,” Ringo placed some notes and coins on the counter. George stuffed whatever little he had back in his pocket. Guess he was a bird after all.
They sat at one of the tables near the grill, the seats a little damp from a drizzle earlier that day. George tried one of the chips, it wasn’t as salty as he liked, but they were more than edible. Much better than half the slop he ate most days. They ate mostly in silence, though after some time George felt Ringos leg brush against his own under the table. He glanced up from his fries just to see Ringo looking off at a nearby club, free hand softly drumming along to a song playing there. Right, just a coincidence then.
Then he felt the toe of Ringo's boot travel up his ankle almost inside his pant leg. George paused mid bite, that was definitely not a coincidence. As calmly as he could, he returned the gesture, trying to eat the rest of his chip as nonchalantly as possible.
And god, Ringo's grin could light up the whole street. He glanced at George, who couldn’t help himself from smiling back.
“You enjoyin’ the food?” he asked. George noticed that Ringo still had about half his chips left, compared to Georges much emptier plate.
“It’s gotten much more enjoyable now,” he stole a chip from Ringo’s plate, who stared at him in mock disbelief.
“Today's youth! You offer them a warm meal and they still have the nerve to steal,”
“Oh I’m sorry mister, is there any way I could make it up to you?” The look he gave would’ve fit better on Paul, but with the way Ringo’s cheeks darkened he figured he was doing alright.
“I’m sure I’ll find a worthy punishment,” Ringo waved a chip between them and George (with the agility of someone who had done this before) masterfully bit into it. Genuine surprise flashed Ringo’s face before melting into a soft laugh.
Ringo insisted on walking him home and George felt even more like a bird. Somehow he didn’t hate it.
At the steps to the backdoor that lead to his (and the guys’) sad excuse of an apartment, Ringo gently grabbed his hand, just to hold for a little bit.
“Thanks for the meal. And, you know,” George squeaked out the last part, still a bit wary about the whole prospect.
“‘s nothing. Just wanted a good look at ya, and to treat you right,”
His heart skipped a beat. The thought of someone- someone like Ringo, wanting to treat him right...
“Could I-” he looked at a small puddle at their feet and lowered his voice, “could I get a kiss goodbye?”
Ringo’s hand gently tilted his head up before he felt a pair of soft lips on his own. It was a frustratingly short and chaste kiss, but Ringo didn’t pull away completely.
“Can I get a kiss goodnight then?” he asked with a chuckle.
Without wasting a second George grabbed his lapels and pulled him up for a kiss, this time a bit deeper, but still too short. They really needed to do this again.
“I’m sorry I can’t stay the night, but I’ll see you ‘round,” Ringo was just starting to leave when George grabbed his arm.
“Wait-” he gave a quick kiss to his cheek, “be safe,”
“‘Course, g’night Georgie,” god, his smile really could light up a room, as George caught the last glimpses of it before Ringo headed back to wherever he and his band were staying.
George could barely contain his own smile entering his dump of an apartment.