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All he needed was a second to breathe, "Give me a moment, lads," was all he said before he practically rushed himself to the rooftop. Ringo stood, still relatively close to the door, like it really would be a second, a moment, just to breathe, get some fresh air.
He didn't want it to be just a moment. Didn't want to stay temporarily, he wanted forever. The wind ruffled his hair, they were on a time limit, both with this whole concert-on-the-rooftop business and regarding the band itself. God, Ringo knew it all too well. Between George's short leave and Paul's continued controlling tendencies, they were all just sitting ducks waiting for it to be over.
It'd all be over.
Ringo peeled himself away from the doorway, this is where he'd be heading for what could be final time in about a week from now, playing his drums. Where would he go from here? He looked at the buildings around him, so many people, yet very little could really understand what he was going through. That thought was admittedly, a little self centered.
Surely someone would understand, right?
Ringo took a few more steps, peering down into the nearby alleyway, nothing, nobody. Just the stray rubbish bin or two, interesting. Well, not really, he just wanted something that'd take his mind off of things. It wasn't doing much of a good job, as his eyes continued to linger on the concrete below. The world seemed so small whenever he focused on the band, the idea he'd have to move on from them made his skin crawl.
Ringo swallowed hard.
He should stop looking down, go back inside, tell them he was all good, keep playing, act like it was normal. But he couldn't, it wasn't normal, how was he going to deal with losing them? His thoughts were rushing, surely they'd have to do a comeback at some point, but what could he do to keep himself occupied until then, if at all?
"Ringo?"
He could've fallen off the ledge, stumbling as he whipped around to see none other than John himself. God, was he really that long? He brushed his hands on his jacket, not really looking at the other.
"Sorry, jus' wanted to get some air, didn't mean to keep you blokes waitin',"
John chuckled, it was sort of strained, like he didn't really want to go back either. Ringo understood, Paul and George could be a lot sometimes.
"Nah, I wouldn't worry much about that lot," John waved away the apology. "Be it with the constant war between Major McCartney and sir George. It's reasonable you wanted to get out for a sec,"
He heard John's shoes on the pavement, Ringo tilted his head slightly towards him.
"Whatcha lookin' at?" John walked past him, straining his neck slightly to really get a good look at the alleyway below, he even took his glasses off and squinted, Ringo gave a chuckle at that. John turned back around to face him, smile a little less strained than before. "If you told me 'bout your.. fascination with bins, Ringo, I would've gotten you one for your birthday,"
Ringo shook his head. "S'not like that, just, was lookin' down, y'know?" He rubbed the back of his neck, John probably didn't know, Ringo wasn't sure he knew why he was looking down either, really. Another breeze passed by, as John fished in his pocket for a moment.
"Want one?" John held out his hand, two cigarettes between his fingers, Ringo took one, twirling it around his own for a moment while John looked for his lighter, it'd be funny if the poor bastard offered a smoke without having his lighter on him.
Eventually, John found it, motioning for Ringo to come close. Ringo leaned in, John used his hand to block any sudden breeze as he flicked the lighter. Once, sparks flew and scattered around them. Twice, John let out a huff, Ringo gave another chuckle. On the third attempt the cigarette lit, and Ringo took a few small puffs, exhaling as he pulled away from John.
"I've been thinkin' about the band, y'know. Wondering how it'll all turn up once we're all done here," Ringo spoke up, not fully knowing why he was whilst John lit up his own smoke, fearless of any wind blowing out his flame. That's what he really admired, John never worried, at least he never showed it all that much. Sure, there were moments where he did show fear, but that's in anyones nature. "Don't know where I'll go from here, overwhelmed meself, I s'pose,"
John was puffing away as Ringo rattled on, listening, he gave a hum, exhaling through the corner of his mouth. "Why go anywhere, really," He muttered, tapping away the ash collecting on his cigarette. "Y'don't think we're all jus' gonna abandon you, right?" John asked, he sounded like he was poking fun, though his smirk faltered a bit when Ringo didn't instantly respond.
Ringo shrugged, taking another drag. Realistically, Ringo should know that the others wouldn't just up and leave him forever, they were more than just The Beatles. John's face shifted, the usual aloof armor he wore fading away for a moment. He looked worried. Ringo felt his stomach churn, now aware of what he said. He pursed his lips, slouching down slightly, he couldn't look at John. "Sorry, probably shouldn't have said that,"
"No," John shook his head. "Don't apologize. Jus' didn't know you felt like that," He dropped his cigarette after a final drag, crushing it beneath his shoe. "Did I do anythin' to worry you?"
Ringo looked back as the smoke drifted out of his mouth with his words, his ears felt hot. How embarrassing, making one of his closest friends fuss over him like a child.
Ringo snuffed out his own smoke, halfway unfinished, it wasn't really helping his nerves much anyways. "Don't think so, no," His idle hands settled into his pockets, shifting his weight from left leg to right. "All the tension been gettin' to me, probably. Jus' wish we could play without havin' to worry so much about other things, y'know?" It happened before where Ringo had to leave because of the others arguing, and he felt guilty for it somewhat, though he didn't really tell anyone about that.
Ringo's ears burned, it was rare for any of them to really talk about their feelings together, probably some old rhetoric from when they were all boys. He felt John's eyes watching, trying to find, something. Ringo didn't really know what, he was unsure if he wanted to know, really. He didn't mean to cause a fuss, usually Ringo was content as long as he could play and be around his friends.
John took a moment to respond, letting the soft, bitter English winds fill up the empty space where he wasn't talking. John usually always had something to say, be it either a snide comment or joking quip to lighten any sour mood. Ringo hoped he'd joke again, make him laugh, anything to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest. The longer he took to gather his thoughts the more Ringo wished he never stepped out in the first place.
"I'm not gonna leave you, Rich,"
Suddenly, John pulled Ringo into a hug. Not a real close one, like how George sometimes would, but one of those hugs that were used to comfort someone. It caught Ringo off guard. As John reeled him in by the shoulder, the redness of his ears migrated to his face, surely Ringo couldn't have upset him that badly, to make him suddenly rope him into an embrace.
John held Ringo beside him for a moment, before turning the other to face him, his arms rested on Ringo's shoulders, hands laying on his back. Feeling like he needed to return the hug, Ringo took his hands from his pocket and wrapped them around John's lower half. John rested his head on Ringo's forehead, eyes shut, Ringo kept his opened. He felt, odd, palms beginning the sweat the longer the two stood in the others arms. The chilly winds around them didn't even make him feel cold, being close to John like this made Ringo feel, oddly warn.
"Not leavin' you at all, not now, not ever,"
John's breath was warm, too. Ringo didn't mind it, it felt, strangely nice to be like this he thought. He relaxed a bit, leaning into John's forehead himself. And they stayed like that for a moment, relaxed into eachothers bodies. It calmed Ringo down, truthfully, he hummed a response to John, shutting his eyes as the two stood together.
Finally, John let go, taking a step back, Ringo did aswell, hands slipping right back in his pockets. John was smiling again, and so was he.
"Feelin' better?"
John said as he adjusted his glasses, glancing back to the door behind him. Ringo nodded, rocking back and forth on his heels slightly.
"Yeah, 'm alright now,"
"Good, good. Come on now, gotta get back to the mines, 'fore big Macca has our heads,"
Ringo laughed at that, and John's smile grew wider. How lucky was he, to have a friend like John, Ringo's chest still felt warm, as John beckoned him to follow the other back inside. Ringo followed, a newfound bounce in his step, he was glad John was there for him, glad all his friends were, really.
It was going to be alright in the end.