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It was a gloomy day in London. The Beatles were in the studio today. It just seemed like another day, much like how it's been since they started. All stars Lennon and McCartney would bounce ideas off each other, George would strum his guitar, and Ringo would sit with George or at his drum set.
On this day he was sitting idly at his drum set with his head resting on the base of the drum closest to him. His arms were stretched out across the top protecting the sides of his head. He stared into space, almost absent from everything going on. When George Martin came in to talk to the boys Ringo hardly moved. No one paid much attention, or that's what Ringo thought.
George took notice of Ringo’s behavior and his pale eyes. He felt uneasy, Ringo was never this quiet. Something had to be wrong with him, and it wouldn't be out of the question, either. Ringo was ill often, but this time felt different. For now he just talked to Paul and John and followed them over to the mixing board. Maybe the day would run its course and he would be normal by the end of the day.
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It was an early night, only around 6:30 when they left the studio. George Martin had told them they did enough work for the day, and for once they actually listened. Or maybe it was the lingering feeling that there was something terribly wrong with Ringo.
George and Ringo waved goodbye to John and Paul as they walked out before they did. George quickly grabbed Ringo’s coat for him off the rack as Ringo looked up at him with a mild expression.
“What was that for?” he asked.
“What, I can’t be a gentleman to my best mate now?” George quickly snapped back, with a playful bounce in his voice.
Ringo rolled his eyes with a smile and simply said, “I suppose.”
They walked out the studio’s back door, Ringo closing the door behind them. George wishfully hoped that they wouldn’t be stopped on the street by fans. Truthfully, he wanted to get back to the flat they shared together as quickly as possible.
Now, in the sunset glow of the sky, he noticed Ringo's skin looked pale alongside his eyes, walking slightly off balance. Despite this while they were walking, he dug in his coat pocket, finally pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighter. He put one in his mouth and gave the other to George. Ringo lit his cigarette, and George’s as well. The cigarette now resting between his lips, you could more clearly see George’s fangs. Ringo blew a puff of smoke into the atmosphere and looked up at George.
“Y’know, your fangs are pretty, Georgie.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t talk too loud,”
Ringo chuckled weakly.
“Yeah, I know. I just can’t lie, you know that.”
“I do…”
“But you also know I have to be careful.”
He took a drag on his cig.
Ringo slightly nodded and they continued to walk with George keeping a watchful eye on him.
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When they arrived at their flat, it was already empty. Pattie had left for a model job out of town that morning. Ringo threw himself on the couch by the door, put his feet up on the arm, and closed his eyes. The curtains were drawn and it was starting to get dark. George turned on the lamp on the side table and sat beside Ringo. He hummed, almost in a nervously sounding in tone for a minute and glanced over at Ringo.
“Hey Ritchie?”
“Yes?”
“Are…You alright?”
Ringo’s eyes snapped open.
“What do you mean?”
“I dunno…You just felt kinda off today. I’m worried about you.”
There was a long and awkward pause as Ringo’s mind scrambled to come up with a response.
“I had, uh, a bloody nose this morning. Real bad in my sleep–”
“Don’t lie to me, Ringo. Please.”
Ringo slowly sat up but tried to look away. He knew George’s eyes told a story as much as his would.
“I’m not daft, Rings. You can’t lie, remember?"
Ringo swallowed hard. “Okay,”
“So you know how you've been feeding on me?”
George gave a slow nod.
“I’ve…been feeling myself get more weak afterward recently.”
“Ringo, why didn’t you–”
“I know I’m the most consistent person you can feed on. I’m around you the most, it makes the most sense for it to be me.”
“That doesn't mean you have to feel obligated to.”
“I know you'll never make me do anything I don’t want to George! I want to.”
“I don't.”
He takes a breath.
“I’m not letting you do this to yourself, Ringo.”
George gently puts his hands on Ringo's face lifting his head up to eye-level. Ringo had a pained expression, his eyes all sparkly. George's thumb rubbed on his face softly and reassuringly. Ringo leans into his hands.
“I just…care about you George. I don’t want you to be hungry.”
“It’s not your responsibility, Ringo. I promise.”
They looked into each other's eyes for a moment of charity. Ringo’s eyes were the most blue they had been all day. He could see the shines of red in George’s eyes that were usually hidden.
Suddenly, with the same thought the both of them leaned in and kissed. It was soft and tender. It was over as quick as it happened.
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It was calm after that. Ringo let himself be tired. He needed to, from the blood loss. He didn't notice how bad it had gotten. He was lying in bed, alone. But he rolled over to see George alone in his bed, too. Usually, Pattie would be laying there. But it was vacant. Ringo slowly and as carefully as he could manage, walked over to George’s bed. George felt the flop on the bed. He wasn't asleep yet. He was writing.
“...Ringo?” he whispered.
“Can I lay with you?”
“Um...Sure, Rich. Come here.”
Ringo wrapped his arms around George's back, feeling his skin under the covers. He had the softest skin in the world. He pressed his nose against the back of George’s neck.
They laid like this for a few minutes, yet Ringo still wasn't asleep. Eventually, Ringo let go and George rolled over. They were looking into each other’s eyes again. They wrapped around each other without saying a single word, they didn't need to. This felt right. As the breathing slowed, they got closer. They were finally asleep, together.
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