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Brian had warned them it would be a busy day. Two interviews, a press conference, and a show all in the span of six hours. They were taking it in stride, though. It hadn’t been long since they blew up in the states and they were loving the attention, as chaotic as it could be. They took pride in their work, both as musicians and public figures.
The issue came from the press conference. So many people asking so many different questions. Interviews were simple: answer one person’s questions (typically ones they’ve answered plenty of times before) and move on. But so many people were lined up to ask their own perfectly crafted, unexpected questions. It took time to adapt, even more to speak over the crowd.
“Paul, how would you describe your political affiliations?”
“Ringo, are the others wearing heels?”
“John, would you say that your marriage is Christian in nature?”
But occasionally, they’d get a question that was fairly easy to answer.
“How old are you boys? Who’s the youngest?”
Technically two questions in one, but they’d allow it. They rattled off their ages, until it came time to answer that second question. Paul, as always, answered first.
“Georgie over here is the youngest! Joined the band as a wee lad of fourteen!” He recalled proudly, stating the fact with pride.
“Looked more like twelve!” John laughed, “Was always following me around, that one. Practically forced me to let him in!”
“Bit of a late bloomer too, poor lad.” Paul continued, “Didn’t hit that final growth spurt ‘til he was eighteen! He was just a tiny little thing!”
Audible “aww’s” could be heard from the crowd, then an uproar of more questions.
“Is he your little brother?”
“How did you take care of such a young bandmate?”
“George, how does it feel to be the baby of the group?”
George shrank into his seat, embarrassment burning his stomach. He would have glared if Eppy hadn’t warned against it. Something about keeping up appearances, always looking innocent and kind.
Slowly, he edged towards his microphone.
“Uh,” He began, and found he had no words to follow. He flushed.
The crowd burst into a blend of laughter and coos, both endeared and entertained by the young musician. George could feel the burning gazes of everyone in the room, his mates included. But Paul swooped in, for better or worse.
“Don’t mind him, everybody. Just a bit shy, y’know?”
Beside him, Ringo grinned. “Too big of a crowd for little Georgie.”
Ringo too?! George’s face burned, made even worse by the loud affection of the crowd. God, let it be over soon. He cleared his throat, and managed to scrape together a response.
“There’s only eight months between me an’ Paul!” He internally cringed at how whiny his voice sounded, so high pitched.
That earned a laugh at least, but John leaned forward to retort.
“That still makes you the baby, son!” He grinned, “You’re always gonna be the little brother.”
And boy, if that wasn’t the truth. It always felt as though George was the youngest in any given scenario, always following around his older peers for a crumb of attention. He used to follow John and Cynthia on their dates, silently begging them pay for his ticket to see whatever movie he invited himself along to. When they met Ringo in Hamburg, he practically glued himself to the drummer’s side. Looking back, it was embarrassing and pathetic. His bandmates remembering it, let alone teasing him for it, was mortifying. In front of a whole sea of people too!
George stared at his lap for the duration of the conference, then stayed quiet during the car ride to the concert venue. It was only on stage that the others seemed to notice his sudden withdrawal.
Paul bounced up to their shared microphone, bumping him in an attempt to get him to dance. George kept singing, but averted his gaze. He held none of his usual chipper energy, instead doing the bare minimum to get through the show.
Paul had frowned, halting his movements to mouth ‘you alright?’ between the chorus. George ignored him.
The performance was an absolute slog to get through. As soon as they were offstage, George handed his guitar to a stagehand and sped off to the break room. It only took a moment for the others to join.
He could tell Paul was fretting by the way he gnawed at his fingernails. He whispered to John, who whispered to Ringo when he entered moments later. Each wore a similarly confused, worried expression. Though, John’s was tinged with frustration.
“Quit scowlin’, son. It looks wrong on you,” John snipped.
All that did was make George scowl harder. He just wanted to get back to the hotel and sleep off the shame he felt. Knowing he was just some annoying kid they took pity on was nearly debilitating. He thought of himself as a decent guitarist, but maybe he was just there because they would feel bad kicking him out.
When they realized he wouldn’t talk, they backed off. George thanked the universe for that. Even if he did want to talk with those pricks, it wouldn’t be surrounded by stagehands and strangers.
When they piled into the car, George squeezed himself as close as he could to the door. He knew it seemed immature, but he didn’t want to sit close to the others if he could help it.
But Paul tried again, fidgeting nervously with his hands.
“George, are you feeling okay? You’re not sick, are you?”
George simply stared out the window, as if Paul hadn’t spoken to begin with. They would forget about it in the morning, and George could try acting older and less annoying to appease them. Or maybe fade into the background so they wouldn’t notice him at all. For right now, though, he wanted to sulk.
The rest of the ride was silent, and then the walk through the hotel lobby, and then the elevator trip up to their rooms. George could feel their eyes on the back of his head, but he still jumped when John barged through his hotel door before he had a chance to close it. The others followed close behind.
“Alright, son. You’re scarin’ Paulie to death over there!” He started off light, but was clearly exasperated.
George’s frown deepened when he saw Paul’s face, nearly frantic with worry.
“M’not sick,” He said simply.
“Christ, Georgie, then what’s the issue?!” John was practically interrogating him now.
George’s frown twisted into a glare upon hearing that nickname. He was about ready to reply when Ringo perked up.
“Aw, hell. It was the press conference, wasn’t it?”
George bristled. Ringo always had a way of knowing.
Upon seeing his reaction, John’s annoyance melted away. Paul crept closer, relief apparent in his eyes.
“Oh, Georgie.. We didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Paul began, apologetic.
“Didn’t embarrass me,” George lied, glaring at the floor to avoid their gazes. “Just didn’t realize I was so pathetic to you all.”
They froze, worry morphing into confusion. Ringo was first to break the silence, choosing his words carefully.
“What gave you that impression?”
George sputtered. Wasn’t it obvious?
“The- the babying! You lot still think I’m that annoying little fourteen year old!” He knew he was ranting, but he didn’t care. “I just wish you’d tell me sooner so I could quit embarrassin’ meself!”
Ringo looked crushed. He turned back to the others, in similar states of panic. Paul rushed forward, hands gesturing wildly.
“No, no! Georgie- George, we didn’t mean that at all! Not like that!”
George scoffed. “Why the hell else are you spoutin’ off about me being the youngest then? Everyone was laughin’ at me, Paul!”
“Because—! I- Y’know, George! You’re like..” He trailed off, eyes flickering between John and Ringo. With a sigh, he quietly confessed. “I just thought it was rather cute, y’know?”
“Huh?”
“Maybe we miss that annoying little fourteen year old, Georgie.” John said sheepishly, a light flush dusting his cheeks. “Always askin’ to chaperone Cyn and I’s dates. Thought it was mad at first, but you’re.. good company.”
Now it was George’s turn to be confused. His gaze landed on Ringo.
“I always thought it was sweet, you followin’ me around.”
George slumped. Were they truly just teasing him then? Being in front of a crowd made it feel so much worse, but was it anything worse than what they’ve said to each other in private? The others seemed to sense his apprehension.
“Oh, Georgie.. We’re sorry. Just thought it was a bit of fun, y’know?” Paul started, reaching out to hold George’s hand in his own.
John rubbed the back of his neck, always awkward in vulnerable moments like these. “Won’t do it again, if you’d prefer.”
Ringo pulled George into a hug, making the lad shiver. “You’re our baby. Nothin’ wrong with that at all.”
The tension left his body. He had been worrying himself ragged all day, thinking the others looked down on him. As strong as he tried to be, he held the others in such high regard that they could effortlessly crash his confidence. It was so easy for him to internalize a comment from any of them.
He patted Ringo’s back with his free hand, giving him a light push. As nice as this all was, he was still embarrassed. Ringo only tightened his grip.
“M’alright now, Rings,” He tried to protest.
“No way, Georgie. I’ve been missin’ that smile all day! Let me see it!”
George managed to stifle a giggle, pulling his hand away from Paul to push against Ringo. He locked eyes with John, who was now sporting a mischievous grin. Uh oh.
“Hey, w- wait!”
Before he could protest, Ringo lifted him off his feet and dumped him onto the bed. George yelped and kicked out as he got manhandled. He couldn’t stop himself from giggling then, especially when Ringo wiggled his fingers at him. It was like he could feel the sensation even before he was touched.
“Noho! I- I’m sorrhyhyhy!”
“Aw, you didn’t do anything wrong, Georgie,” Paul cooed, coming up beside him on the bed. He scratched at his ribs, making the boy gasp. “We just want to see you smile!”
John joined in then, positioning himself across from Paul. He dragged a slow, tortuous finger behind the guitarist’s ear, earning a flurry of bright giggles. George tried scrunching his shoulders to get away, but all he did was trap the finger there.
“Johnny! N- nohohoho!” He giggled, “Fuckin’— prihihick! Ehehehe!”
John gasped, dramatically ripping his hand away to cover his mouth in faux shock. “Who taught you those words?”
Paul giggled beside him, “Potty mouth!”
Ringo edged closer, kneeling on the bed and looming over George. “Naughty!” He wagged a finger, which made George curl up further.
“Shut uhuhup!” George whined, though he couldn’t stop himself from grinning, “All o’ you!”
“Now, there’ll be none of that, mister!”John declared, wrangling George into his lap to hold him still. He kept one hand rubbing up and down the boy’s ribs, making him shiver. “I know you want to laugh, Georgie!”
The teasing was making the sensations so much worse. He felt so small like this, giggling as they talked to him like a naughty kid. Earlier today, he would’ve flailed and fought back and swore. He wanted to do anything to seem as mature as his bandmates, but hearing that they enjoyed his youthful energy had changed everything.
“You’re making the poor baby all red!” Paul cooed affectionately, petting George’s hair.
“I’m not a— EHHEE!” He didn’t get a chance to retort before Ringo squeezed his hips, earning a squeal.
“Poor lad is too sensitive for his own good!” Ringo chuckled, not letting up for even a second. George twisted and squirmed, but was held in place by John. “Tryin’ so hard to be tough but you’re just too tiny and ticklish, huh?”
Tiny?! He’s taller than Ringo! But the tease earned its desired reaction, as George’s blush spread to his ears.
“I- I’m not!” He yelped, “M’not tiny! I- Ihiheehe! I’m nohohot ticklish!”
“Really?” John questioned, stilling his fingers. “Could’ve sworn you were. Maybe we’re not tryin’ hard enough, fellas.”
He knew he had sealed his fate then.
“Wahahait! You bastards— !”
John dug his hands back into his ribs, drilling his fingers between each bone. It was like he was counting each set, making his way down before starting back at the top again. George thrashed and grabbed his hands, but was far too weak to push them away.
“You little liar! You are ticklish!” John called out.
George threw his head back onto John’s shoulder, giggles becoming cackles. Ringo began scratching at his hips again, skittering his fingers under George’s shirt. Meanwhile, Paul leaned in closer to trace across his ear.
Oh, it was hell. It was heaven. George loved and hated them all at once.
“You have such a cute giggle, Georgie!” Paul teased, practically speaking into his ear.
“IHIHit’s not! EhhehehAH! GUHUHUYS! EEHEEK!” He twisted in John’s hold, trying to get away Paul’s breath on his poor ear. John just held him tighter.
“Awwh, what’s wrong, Georgie? Does it tickle too much?”
“YEHES! Fuhuhahuck! Noho n- nahaHAH!”
Richie tilted his head with a chuckle, still scratching the boy’s hips. “Yes or no, lad! Can’t be both!”
“YEHEHHES! It— Oh god, EHEHEHEEK! PleheHEHEASE! IHIHIT TICKLES!”
Ringo nodded cheerfully, “Oh, I bet it does! Kitchy kitchy koooo!”
Oh, that was just evil. George shrieked, squeezing his eyes shut as the onslaught continued.
Suddenly, the door swung open. They froze, leaving George to curl up on himself.
A very tired, amused Brian stood in the doorway.
“I don’t suppose you boys are aware of how thin the walls are?” He huffed a laugh when he saw the state of them. “And I do believe George is in need of a break, as are my ears.”
The boy in question sank into John’s lap, residual giggles wracking his frame. Paul pat his shoulder sympathetically, shooting Brian a sheepish, cheeky smile.
“Think you may be right.. Sorry, Eppy.”
Brian sighed in relief, backing out of the doorway. Before he did, he took one final look at his boys. George’s shirt was pushed up over his belly, his whole body being supported by John behind him. Ringo was still rubbing soft circles into his hips, keeping him pliant and giggling. Paul scooted further up the mattress, fluffing the pillows to get the bed ready. Presumably for all of them.
He closed the door behind him, smile on his face. It was a sweet sight.
Together, they changed into their nightgowns and pajamas, before carefully helping a shaken George. The poor boy giggled every time someone put their hands on him, much to their amusement.
“C’mon, son. I’m hardly touching you!” John chuckled, pulling a shirt over a giggly George’s head.
“Noohoho..” He whined, just barely keeping his eyes open. It was nice to be fretted over, even if he couldn’t stop laughing.
He could feel John pick him up, placing him gently in the middle of the bed before backing away. His eyes shot open then, a small whine escaping him. Were they leaving?
The bed dipped beside him. He could hear Paul coo as he settled next to him, pulling the tired boy into his chest. Paul was talking, perhaps comforting him, but George could hardly process it. All he wanted was for all of them to be here, another whine building in his throat before he felt the bed dip again.
Someone skittered their fingers across his side, earning nothing more than a chuckle.
“John? Richie?” He slurred, feeling more hands wrap around him.
“Right here, lad. It’s okay.” Richie spoke from behind him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.
“Where’s..” He whined, and John cut him off from his spot beside Ringo.
“Well, I can’t sleep on you, can I?” He laughed, reaching to hold George’s hand.
Distantly, George thought that maybe he should. But he’d settle for this. He could feel John squeezing his hand, Ringo rubbing his belly, and Paul scratching his scalp in a way that made him shiver.
Maybe he was alright with being their baby if it meant this would happen more.