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The sound of George playing his guitar rang out through the empty hotel room. It was the winter of 1964, and the band had been in the process of writing and recording songs for their third album for quite some time.
Chord after chord, George was getting a bit frustrated with his playing. He was having a bit of an off day today. He wasn’t sure where the rest of the band was, but he assumed some American sports bar.
After a few more minutes of frustrated practicing, someone came in through the front door of the hotel room.
“Phew! Geo, it’s right cold out. New York is dead cold at this time, I didn’t realize,” Ringo sighed, wiping the snow off of his thick jacket.
“Oi! Don’t track all the snow into here,” George said, though there was no real venom in his words. He was glad Ringo was here, but he was wondering where John and Paul were.
“Oh, sorry,” Ringo smiled, shrugging. He put his jacket up on the coatrack. Underneath, he was wearing a thick, beige knit sweater. He walked towards the couch that the other man was sitting on, and took a seat himself. “I wish you came out with us more,” He said, watching as George kept practicing chords on his guitar. He was practicing ‘You Can’t Do That’, the song John just wrote for the band.
George replied with a shrug, looking a bit upset.
“What did you all do tonight?” He asked, making eye contact with Ringo, watching him light a cigarette.
“We went to a pub together," Ringo began, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Just to celebrate our arrival in America for the first time. We got our drinks for free, it was fun. Eh.. But I'm not sure where Macca and John are now.”
“They’re always together, aren’t they?” George frowned, turning his head back to his guitar, though he didn’t start playing again.
“I suppose they are..” Ringo replied. He changed the subject after a few moments of awkward silence. “There were a lot of fans surrounding us in that bar, too. I reckon the news spread that we were in the area quickly.”
George was silent for a moment, turning his head back to Ringo, noticing how he looked a bit disheveled and had makeup stains on his face.
“Right,” He sighed.
He continued to play his guitar as Ringo finished his cigarette.
“I sort of wish you and I could have written more for the new album. All the songs are written by Paul and John.”
Ringo’s head perked up as George began to talk again, and he turned his head to face him.
“They’re inseparable, aren’t they?” George frowned again.
“They are. I know you find Paul really inspirational, yeah? You find every opportunity to find him alone, but John’s always getting in your way, innit?” Ringo joked, elbowing the other man’s shoulder playfully.
George felt his face get a little warm at his sudden words. He admittedly had a small crush on Paul, and Ringo had described his thoughts perfectly out of nowhere.
“Well.. I.. I suppose.” He mumbled, shrugging. “M-My point is I wish I wrote more songs for the band. I.. I wasn't talking about Paul. It’s not like I..” He paused, not sure what he was going to say after that.
Ringo raised an eyebrow, looking up at George.
“You’re right, though,” George shrugged. “I wish I could sometimes.. well.. get close to Paul without him talking John’s ear off instead of speaking to me. Do you know what I mean? Like, if we’re at a pub or summat,” He took the guitar off of him and put it on a nearby guitar stand on a wall.
Ringo tilted his head, looking confused at George’s words. “Does Paul not talk to you? Surely he does.”
“Of course he does! It's just-..” He wished he didn’t bring this issue up at all. “Never mind, it’s nothing," He blushed. Ringo probably didn’t understand his crush on Paul, so at least he just looked like someone who couldn’t articulate his words instead of someone pining for someone who didn’t want him back.
George’s now racing thoughts were put to a halt by the sound of the front door of the hotel opening, the sound of Paul and John’s bantering echoing throughout the room.
“Bugger off, she was fine!” Paul laughed to John, shutting the door behind him as he began taking his jacket off.
“Those two blokes she fell on top of most definitely weren’t,” John teased, taking his own coat off. He hung both of their jackets on the coatrack before making their way to the large couch the other two men were sitting on.
George looked away, feeling a bit too embarrassed to look Paul in the eye.
“Oi! Where were you two?” Ringo raised an eyebrow, making space on the couch for the two.
“Oh, well, we found another pub,” Paul rubbed the back of his neck, taking a seat next to Ringo.
George was missing a lot of subtext on what had happened, but he assumed Ringo left a bar with Paul and John, and the ladder two ditched Ringo to take a cab back to the hotel by himself.
John took a seat next to Paul, crossing his legs. “Aye. Sorry, Richie, we thought you were following us.”
“You two look proper bevvied, then,” Ringo pointed out.
He was right, Paul and John looked visibly drunk, but especially Paul, as his cheeks were rosy red and his eyes were glassy. George noticed the way Paul’s words slurred slightly as he spoke, and how he gestured with his hands as he talked, which was something he didn’t do often unless he was intoxicated.
George found himself unable to follow or contribute to the conversation for the next few minutes, and he didn’t notice the fact he was staring slightly at Paul.
“Oi, Hassa!”
George jumped as he heard Paul’s voice cut through the noise, and the room went silent.
“What is it? Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention..” He mumbled, leaning forward so he could make proper eye contact with him.
“I was saying,” Paul began, looking at George with hooded eyes. “Would you reckon you’d want to go to a drive-in film with us all tomorrow?” He asked. “Proper.. eh.. proper American, innit?” He slurred, tilting his head.
“A drive-in film? Well, sure, I'd love to!” George answered without hesitation. He wasn’t fully sure what a drive-in entailed, as they weren’t a big thing in Britain.
“Right, then. We’re going tomorrow at..” Paul paused, looking around like he forgot whatever he was about to say.
“Six,” John interrupted, finishing Paul’s sentence.
George let out a soft laugh. He slumped back where he was sitting on the couch. “That’s fine. Is there anything else tomorrow we have to do? Before the film, I mean,” He asked. He felt a tiny pang of jealousy after John finished Paul’s sentence, but brushed it off immediately.
“No, there’s nothing,” Ringo replied.
“Oh, brilliant,” George smiled, looking down. He definitely felt excited for the film.
The next evening, the four men were getting ready in their hotel room at around 5:30. George was in his own room, staring at himself in the mirror. He had the door locked. He was trying to make his hair look just right, brushing it down and trying to fluff it back up again and again until it looked fine.
He groaned, growing frustrated after fiddling with his hair for about five minutes. He decided he looked good enough. He headed towards the door of his room and opened it, joining the rest of the men who were in the living room, already ready. They had their jackets on, so they might’ve been waiting on George for some time. Noticeably, John’s wife, Cynthia, was with them, too. George didn’t know she was coming to the movie with them, but it was a pleasant surprise. She had her own hotel room, so George hadn’t talked to her much for this trip.
“Oh! Cynthia, hello. It’s a pleasure to see you.” George smiled politely at her, then walked towards the coatrack to put his own thick jacket on. It wasn’t snowing right now like it was the night before.
“You too, George!” She replied. She was wearing a long, white coat with a fluffy hood.
“Alright then, let’s go. We’ll use the car we rented the other day, it’s in the car park.” John explained to George, opening the front door and stepping out.
“Oh, right.” George was feeling slightly rushed, but he remembered it was likely his fault since he spent so much time fiddling with his hair.
He turned to face Ringo, who was talking to Paul, and George felt his face heat up. “Aye, Richie, What film are we watching?” He asked, catching Ringo’s attention. He tried not to look at Paul.
“Some American one, I reckon it’s a comedy? Eh.. John didn’t tell me much,” Ringo replied, turning to Paul as if the other man would know the answer.
“I don’t know either. It’s fine. John and I heard some blokes talking about the drive-in last night, and we were drunk, so it just sounded fun, y’know? I think it’s directed by some bloke called.. er.. Gordon..? I dunno,” He shrugged, making eye contact with George.
“Oh, well. Come on, you two, it’ll be fun.”
After they were all outside, George got into the driver's seat, as he enjoyed driving the others around. Ringo sat next to him in the passenger’s seat, while John, Cynthia and Paul were in the back, with John in the middle. It was freezing outside, so George didn’t hesitate to turn the heat on in their car.
When they finally got to their destination, a large car park behind a department store, George tried to park somewhere inconspicuous, somewhere to the sides so there wouldn’t be loads of fans who’d see them.
“George, you should go to that store and buy us some snacks,” Ringo turned his head to face him.
“..That department store? I doubt it’d have any,” George gestured behind them to the large store.
“No, there’s a bloke selling snacks by the front.”
“Oh,” George looked out the windshield, his eyes narrowing, trying to look past all the cars, before he saw a man with a stand with several bags of popcorn, bottles of coke, and small boxes of candy.
“Okay. Richie, will you go with me?” He asked, smiling expectantly down at the other man.
“Eh.. You know, it’s.. it’s dead cold outside. Snow on the ground, you knowwww..” Ringo’s voice trailed off, and he looked outside the window.
“Oh, well, that’s fine,” George smiled, suddenly having an idea. Maybe he could spend a bit of time with Paul if he asked him to come with him. He paused for a moment, feeling himself grin a little, and turned around to face the backseat, about to ask him.
Paul was talking and joking with John, while Cynthia was watching the two. He felt a tiny bit jealous, but he decided to ask anyway.
“Paul, do-” He was interrupted by a loud laugh from Paul. John must’ve told a funny joke.
“Paul, would you want t-..” This time, George’s voice was drowned out by a loud, dramatic sigh from John after Paul said something stupid.
George stared at the two for a few seconds, feeling frustrated. He decided to give up, his jaw clenching as he turned back around.
“I’ll just go, Richie,” He groaned, standing up and exiting the car, slamming the door shut. George rolled his eyes as he began making his way to the snack stand, making sure he had his wallet on him.
He flipped his hood over his head, as the last thing he wanted in this headspace was for an excited fan to come up to him and have to speak to him while he was frustrated.
George found himself clenching and unclenching his fists, cracking all his knuckles and biting his tongue as a way to channel his frustration.
He began to wonder why he was feeling so angry over the fact Paul wasn't walking towards the front of a car park with him.
God, I really fancy him, don’t I? He winced at his own thoughts. If he was starting to get this frustrated over Paul joking with his best friend, he’d practically never last another month in the band.
His mind drifted to the comment Ringo made last night about how John ‘gets in the way’ of him talking to Paul. He was upset at how true that comment felt. He began to panic a bit at what Ringo meant, though. Did he know how much he liked Paul? How much he’d kill to be in John’s place sometimes?
It’s always Lennon and McCartney. George muttered under his breath, not noticing how much he had zoned out.
He realized he had walked past the snack stand, and embarrassedly walked back to where the man was.
“Hello. Eh.. can I please have two bags of popcorn?” He looked down at the selection of candy, too. Most of them were little pieces of chocolate.
“And, er.. three of these sweets,” He picked up three boxes. “Thank you.”
He noticed the way the man’s gaze lasted just a bit too long on George’s face, as if he was inspecting him. He honestly hoped he wouldn’t get recognized.
After he paid and left, a small, irrational part of him didn’t want to go back to the car and hear Paul and John’s bantering.
When he reached the car again, he shut the door as Ringo grabbed one of the bags of popcorn from George. He decided to stay.
“These American portions are massive, aren’t they?” George remarked, taking one of the boxes of chocolate and inspecting the box. As he was looking at the front of the box, looking at the sprinkle covered chocolate bits on the packaging, the sound of Paul’s laughing filled the car, and he grew frustrated again.
What could possibly be so funny? What did John say? He thought, his eyebrow furrowing. Then, he felt a bit silly when he realized they were probably just laughing at the film that was playing.
His body was still tense for the next few moments, and he found it difficult to pay attention to the movie. He did want to start a conversation with Paul, as this night would generally be a good opportunity, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling of jealousy he felt.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a girl outside, and Ringo was talking to her with the window rolled down.
“I- Oh. Who’s this, then?” George mumbled to him. Ringo got chatted up by birds all the time, so this absolutely wasn’t unusual.
George shielded his face slightly with the collar of his shirt, not wanting the lady to talk to him, too.
After a few more minutes of George uncomfortably sitting through Ringo’s flirtatious conversation with the woman and the sound of Paul joking with John and Cynthia in the backseat, Ringo opened the car door to leave. George groaned in frustration and pressed the heels of his hands against his forehead. This night has honestly done nothing but frustrate him. He couldn’t talk to Paul, as he was too busy chatting up John, he couldn’t talk to Ringo, because god knows where he’s going, and he couldn’t enjoy the movie because he parked way too far from the speakers. He brought his hands away from his head and instead tapped idly onto his thigh with one finger, staring blankly at something outside of the window.
Then, he heard some rustling coming from his left side, and he turned his head to see Paul, halfway done climbing into the front passenger seat.
“Bloody hell, Paul..” George found himself grinning, finding Paul funny and cute in the way he was so clumsily stumbling across the car and into the seat. He wanted to finish his sentence, but couldn’t find the words, just staring at Paul for a few seconds without realizing.
“Where’d Richie go, then? Did that pretty blonde bird pick him up? Lucky guy, innit?” Paul said, raising an eyebrow as he talked to George.
“Er.. Yeah. She was a proper looker..” George managed to mumble. He looked out the window, even though the two were long gone. He just needed an excuse to not look Paul in the eye, as any eye contact during their conversation would’ve only made him more nervous.
George saw Paul’s eyebrows furrow slightly as he looked at his reflection in the mirror.
“George,” Paul began. “Are you alright? You.. I feel like you aren’t having much fun. You’ve practically been sulking this whole movie. Are you okay?”
George turned his head to look Paul in the eyes, and he immediately felt his face heat up.
“Yeah. I’m alright. Uhm.. thanks,” He muttered, smiling softly at Paul. “I guess I'm just tired, innit?” He lied.
Paul blinked, his expression softening with understanding.
“Oh, alright. If you’re that tired, we could all go back to the hotel, y’know. Whatever you’d like.”
“Oh. Nah, it’s alright,” George shook his head, turning his attention to the movie. “So, how are you liking the film?” He asked.
Paul giggled at his question. “It’s a load of bollocks.. it’s great.”
George found himself laughing, smiling again as he faced Paul once more. “That’s contradictory.”
“Well, it’s a bad film, but I'm having fun. Eh.. as much fun I could have bein’ a third wheel.” Paul nodded his head towards the backseat, where John and Cynthia were huddled close together.
“Oh, right..” George breathily laughed, nodding. He didn’t realize Paul felt like a ‘third wheel’ to them. Then, the realization that, if Paul felt like that, then maybe he wanted to talk to George this whole time, set in, and George found himself grinning widely again. For a split second, he bit his lip with one of his fanged canines, something he often did when he was nervous.
George was now awkwardly staring at Paul, not sure what to say.
Paul seemed to notice George’s stare (how could he not?) and let out a soft, breathy laugh.
“George, are you sure you’re alright?”
George’s head immediately snapped the other direction as he pretended to be watching the movie.
“Yeah.”
Paul let out a long, dramatic, sigh.
“I swear I am, Paul!” George turned his head again. He was practically getting whiplash from the amount of times he was shifting his attention. He bounced his leg up and down as a way to fidget.
“You’re clearly pent up about something,” Paul frowned. “You’re practically shaking. Is it.. is it me?” He looked a bit dejected.
“What? It’s not you! Well- I guess it.. hm..” He blinked. “No, it’s- it’s not.” He sighed. He was fumbling in the pocket of his discarded jacket for a pack of cigarettes. When he found the small box, he opened it to take one of the cigarettes out, before Paul snatched it out of his hand.
“Ah-ah-ah. This is a rental car. I don’t think you should smoke in here. Let’s go on a little walk, yeah? It’ll be nice.” He offered George a soft smile.
“Right, sorry.” George replied. He felt a bit embarrassed, but complied and followed Paul out of the car after putting on his jacket.
“Oi, John, we’re gonna go out for a smoke. You two have fun.” Paul giggled to John and Cynthia before shutting the door.
George got his pack of cigarettes out again and pulled one out for both him and Paul. Paul pulled out his own lighter and lit both of their cigarettes.
“Thanks.” George smiled.
The street lights lit up Paul’s face and accentuated his features as the two began to walk to a nearby sidewalk. There were no cars outside, and the only noises outside were coming from the speakers of the drive-in film, but it was still extremely faint.
Paul took a long drag of his cigarette, and leaned against the brick wall of a store, his eyes facing the road. The street lights casted an orange glow on the area.
George was silent for a moment, before joining Paul, leaning against the building beside him. As a blanket of silence fell upon the two, he found himself breathing quicker and more shallow, his nerves getting the best of him. He wasn’t facing Paul, and a finger was tapping an idle rhythm onto the side of his thigh.
Paul noticed George’s anxious demeanor, and furrowed his eyebrows.
“George, tell me what’s wrong.” He frowned.
George stayed silent for a moment, his lip quivering and his face turning flushed.
“..It’s embarrassing.” His jaw clenched.
I should just tell him.
“George, please? I don’t like when you retreat into yourself like this, you’ve been upset all night. I can tell.” Paul grabbed his shoulder, turning him around gently but sternly, so the two were making eye contact. He made it clear that he wasn’t asking, he was telling George to just spill it already because he cared about him.
“F-Fine. I’m sorry. I’ll.. I’ll tell you, alright?”
Paul looked expectantly at George after he said that.
“You..” George swallowed, though his mouth was already dry. He let out a sigh and took another puff of his cigarette.
“You’re one of the most talented people I know. I think your songwriting skills are just.. really wonderful, and you’re such a kind person.”
Paul blinked, confused. He tilted his head slightly.
“And of course I admire you for all of that. That, and.. and so much more.” George paused.
Where am I going with this..? Bloody hell, I should’ve just kept my mouth shut.
“I.. I don’t know,” He crossed his arms, looking down. “I think.. I just..” He bit his lip. “I admire you more than words can say, really. More than.. y’know, a lot more than just a mate would.” He finally looked Paul in the eye. “Like a..” His lips quivered. It was so uncommon for a lad to have feelings for another lad like this, at least George thought so, so he was extremely ashamed of his feelings and wasn’t sure how to describe them. “Like.. a lady would.” He finally mumbled. “Romantically.”
Why did I say that..?
Paul felt his face grow warm, a blush creeping up his neck. He raised an eyebrow, looking confused. He pointed between him and George and his mouth hung open, though he wasn't saying anything.
“You..” He pointed towards him, then himself again. “Me-?”
“I’m..” George’s breath hitched. He immediately felt a wave of guilt surge through him, and he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t even sure if Paul understood what he was confessing, but he felt the need to apologize anyway.
“I’m sorry, Paul, I shouldn’t have said anything,” He gripped at his head with one hand, his fingers tangling with his dark hair. It was a way to ground himself. “I’m so weird, I’m sorry..” He said, his voice almost a whisper as he began to break. He already felt the tears welling up in his eyes.
Paul immediately noticed his distress. He flicked the butt of his cigarette to the ground, even though he hadn’t actually finished it, and he immediately walked closer to George, and pulled him into a hug by his neck.
“Shh..” Paul soothed George as he began to softly cry. “It’s okay, Geo. Please.”
George immediately returned the hug, pulling Paul in by the waist. “God, I’m sorry, Paul.” He said, though it came out more as a sob.
“Every time I see you with John, or.. or a girl.. I wish it was me close to you. I just admire- n-no, I..”
He didn’t want to say the ‘L’ word.
“Please don’t think any different of me. I’m not a weirdo. I’m not a pervert, I.. I swear.” He choked out.
“It’s okay, George. It’s alright. I’m here.” Paul comforted George as he rambled. “Is that really how you feel..?” He asked.
The question hung there for what felt like hours.
When George didn't respond, Paul hugged him tighter. “It’s so brave of you to say that. Please don’t apologize, I..” Paul blushed, recalling George’s words and thinking about them more.
Then, he let out a breathy laugh.
He’s.. laughing? George felt his lip quiver again. He thought Paul was about to make fun of him, or call him something extremely hurtful.
“George, I..” Paul began, letting out a sigh. “I really do think I feel the same way. You’re so creative and funny, and.. heh.. what’s not to like?”
George pulled away to look him in the eyes, extremely taken aback by his words. George’s face was red, his eyes were puffy, and he had snot dripping from down his nose, so overall not a great look.
“You.. do?” He whispered, wiping his eyes.
Paul quietly giggled, looking away. He was blushing a lot now.
“I guess so.” He cupped the side of George’s face, looking at him with a soft smile. “I think you’re amazing as well, y’know that? Sometimes I feel like no one notices you, but.. y’know, I do.” He admitted, looking to the side as he grew more nervous.
“I get so caught up in my bollocks with the band, and.. and John, and trying to be the perfect songwriter, the perfect bassist,” He sighed. “That I sometimes ignore how wonderful I think you are. I guess I try to ignore my feelings about you, too.” He met George’s gaze with half-lidded eyes, his confession hanging in the air.
George stared at him for a few seconds, before immediately breaking into tears again and pulling Paul into another hug.
“Thank you..” He sobbed, his tears soaking into the fabric of Paul’s coat. He left his thoughts about being painfully jealous of him and John out of this, not wanting to spoil the moment.
“Right.. there, there, George.” Paul said quietly, hugging George for a few more seconds.
After George broke the hug, he wiped his face, the sleeve of his jacket becoming soaked in tears and snot.
“Bloody hell, this is so embarrassing,” He laughed. “I was so nervous this whole night just because of you. Look what you’re makin’ of me.”
Paul let out a laugh, too. “Please don’t be embarrassed. I wouldn’t have you any other way.” He reached out to wipe a fresh tear that had just fallen from George’s face.
“Do you want to go back? To the car?”
George sniffed, wiping his eyes again as he stopped crying. “Yeah.”