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There were quite a few people to whom Ringo could confess that thunders had scared him to death since his early childhood. His mum was aware of it and in most cases just urged him to pray during savage Liverpudlian thunderstorms to get distracted, but it certainly didn't help. Stepfather Harry was in the know as well and was very kind and sympathetic, but still couldn't do anything about it. His childhood friends would’ve mocked him if they found out, so naturally Ringo inclined not to tell anybody about his fear if it wasn't necessary. In his current life practically nobody knew.
Back then, every time a thunderstorm happened, Ringo used to lock himself in a room, wait impatiently until it was over (because he couldn’t fall asleep anyway unless he got drunk) and try to calm his nerves by any means. It was disturbing, dreadful and agonising, but secret and all private. When he started his drummer career, it became a huge problem.
Touring by itself is nice and entertaining, but when the weather's awful, it turns into torture. Weather in Britain can be very severe, and taking trips during frosts, heavy rains and fogs was ordinary. However, in the early days Ringo was lucky enough to avoid getting stuck in a thunderstorm in the middle of nowhere with his bandmates and being forced to explain why he is sweating and shuddering uncontrollably. Nevertheless, Ringo felt that his fortune wouldn't last long.
In the Beatles, they became so close that they started to trust each other very deeply. John, Paul and George were practically like brothers to Ringo. Brothers he never had, but always dreamed of. And he still didn't dare to tell them.
"Are ye OK, Rich?"
Ringo almost didn't notice when George got back from the bathroom, too much absorbed in his depressing thoughts. He was sitting in an armchair in his sleepwear, smoking a cigarette and staring blankly at the hotel window. The clatter of rain, the remote lighting flashes and thunderclaps were evident outside.
"What?" Ringo asked, caught by surprise.
"You look… anxious." George noticed.
Ringo looked away in shame.
"No… not at all. I'm just tired, tha's all." he said, which was at least half-true.
With a baffled look on his face, George frowned, but then sighed, giving in. He sat down on the bed and began to put on his pyjamas while Ringo continued to smoke nervously, trying so hard to hide a great horror that was growing inside him. He already had time to regret the fact he didn't manage to booze properly this evening. All that was left for him at this point was to hope that George wouldn't notice anything odd in his behaviour. But as thunder grew, heavy and enormous, his terror overtook him more and more. At some point he couldn't help but shiver, biting his lip and coiling up. Besides that, he felt acutely George’s worried eyes staring at him from behind.
"What the hell is wrong with ye, man?" George asked eventually, unable to ignore the elephant in the room.
Ringo looked at him, eyes wide open. He swallowed, breathing heavily, trying to calm down. He felt embarrassed for being so pathetic and helpless.
"I told ye it's nothin'…"
A loud, roaring bolt struck outside the window, and Ringo flinched.
"You tremble like a fuckin' leaf, Rich." George said while looking directly into Ringo's face. "What's happenin'?"
Ringo covered his face with his hand and put out the cigarette. He didn't have time to prepare for this conversation, not with any of his bandmates. He never even imagined what they could possibly say or how they would react. For a second he caught himself thinking that he would never tell John or Paul even if they asked him, because they would say that it's stupid to be afraid of thunder this much, considering his being the eldest in the group.
But George was another story.
Ringo lowered his head and mumbled:
"It's all this damn thunder… I fuckin' hate it."
He expected to hear some sort of laugh or a joke, but George merely smirked at him.
"Oh… that's it. A thunder. I thought ye managed to catch a cold or somethin'."
He moved over on the bed to be closer to Ringo and lit a cigarette. Ringo turned back to him and saw a knowing, but still a little concerned look on him.
"So… how long has it been happening to you?" he asked, puffing out smoke. His even voice made Ringo feel somewhat more balanced.
"Since I remember myself, George." Ringo said, still being a bit abashed.
"You didn't happen to outgrow it, did you?"
"N-no, as you can see."
"Do you remember the exact moment when it all got worse?"
"I c-can't say…"
Ringo thought for a few seconds while staring at his hands foolishly and trying to keep himself from stuttering. 'But one day thunder was so disastrous that a tree next to our house got burnt to the ground. I was so startled.'
"Shit." George cursed. "I get it."
Ringo took a quick look through the window once again and then closed his eyes. He saw a clear picture of his memory. The lightning. The fire. The terror.
He opened his eyes as he noticed slow movement next to him. That was George, who passed by Ringo and headed towards the window. For a few minutes he looked at the clouds, lightnings and flashes, and then said:
"We're in a tall building right now, and the storm seems to be quite distant. Nothin' will happen anyway. What's so scary about it, then?"
Ringo tried to shrug his shoulders, but it felt awkward as he was still shaking terribly.
"The noise. The darkness. The deadliness. Everythin'." he explained.
There was silence for a few minutes again, disturbed only by the raging thunderstorm’s dull sounds. While George was standing by the window, Ringo caught himself staring at his back and his long dark brown hair. Somehow Ringo felt more secure when George was near him.
"It'll pass, y'know." George said. "You're too self-conscious about it. As soon as you realise that there's no danger, the fear will disappear, I'm pretty sure."
It's our George, Ringo thought, perceptive and sensitive as he always was. Maybe George was right, and the idea made Ringo feel a little lighter inside.
Eventually George went back to the bed and Ringo figured that the talk ended. He looked at the clock; it was already quite late. He took a deep breath and started mentally preparing himself for a sleepless night. The next day promised to be busy, so he would somehow have to live through it while completely sleep-deprived and…
"What if I know how to help ye?" George asked all of a sudden. He put out his cigarette and grinned. "I'm not sure if it'll work, but…"
Ringo looked at him in surprise. He couldn’t think of anything George could possibly do in his situation. But he fancied trying it anyway.
George made the bed swiftly, sat down on the opposite end and said decisively:
"Come 'ere."
Ringo, stressed, but a bit flustered as well, sat down on the bed on his side. George and him shared a bed at night many times before, so he was expecting that, but he wondered what it had to do with his issue. His heart pumped in the chest roughly as he was still hearing the storm outside. The mere second passed and Ringo felt George's arm enfolding around his quavering shoulders.
"Alright?" George whispered in his ear.
Ringo nodded, the urge to lay his head on George rising in him. George, as if reading his thoughts, carefully put Ringo's head on his chest and made them both lay down on pillows comfortably. Ringo immediately felt a clean, smokey scent and a pleasant warmth of George's body.
"Me mum used to do this when I was feelin' bad." George said in a deep, hushed voice.
He moved a bit lower and their faces became so close that Ringo could feel George’s breath on his skin. He gasped a bit at this sudden closeness. Ringo watched, mesmerised, as George cupped his face with one hand, removed some loose strands and placed a soft, gentle kiss on his forehead.
"It'll be alright, love." he murmured, the sound of his soothing voice filling Ringo up from the inside. His thumb slowly caressed Ringo's cheek. "All the dread will go. Dark clouds will disappear. The sun will come…"
George kissed Ringo some more on his temple, his cheeks, between his eyes. The strands of his hair tickled Ringo's face. Ringo couldn't help but think that George's lips were even softer than the ones most girls had. But the strangest thing was that Ringo didn't mind George kissing him at all. Ringo's eyes closed and he felt rested and content like never before. All his discomfort was suddenly gone. He didn't notice how his body stopped shaking. Even the frightening sounds of thunder got quiet behind George's steady heartbeat and breathing. Ringo mindlessly pinched fabric on George's forearm and nuzzled his neck.
"Feelin' better?" George asked quietly. He stroked hair on the back of Ringo’s head.
"Yes…" Ringo sounded muffled.
"Tha's good."
They both fell silent, embracing each other. Drowsiness was taking over Ringo bit by bit, and he was about to fall asleep when suddenly George chuckled, and Ringo woke up.
"Wha's funny?" he asked in irritation, looking up at George's face.
"Sorry, I just thought…" George fell silent, as if considered saying something on his mind. "You're such a baby, Rich. So much afraid of goddamn thunder."
"I know very well it's dumb, thank you."
"I'm not sayin' it to insult ye, mate." explained George. After a short pause, he added tenderly: "It's kinda cute, actually."
Ringo blushed. He never realised that George found him cute.
"What the hell, George…"
George let out a little laugh because of his confused voice.
"Such a baby." he teased, mounting over Ringo. "So small and adorable with these puppy blue eyes…"
George’s smile faded and his dark lashes trembled as he fixed his half-closed eyes on Ringo's flushed face, examining it in such a caring, loving way that it made Ringo dizzy. George left a few chaotic, pecking little kisses all over Ringo's face and, to top it off, kissed him directly on the lips. There was nothing erotic nor demanding in it, but instead it was so soft and sweet and lovely that it almost made Ringo start melting. And it oddly seemed so natural and good that Ringo didn’t realise right away that he was smooching with his own bandmate. And that he indeed liked it.
"Your mum did this too?" Ringo asked breathily when their lips drew apart.
"No." George said with slight smile. "It was my own idea."
He continued to kiss him, and this time Ringo didn't stop himself from caressing George's beautiful sharp-cheeked face and his wonderful fluffy hair. Meanwhile, thunder began to fade away, but Ringo was too absorbed in George's magnificent presense to even notice.
They lay like this, basking in their bed, lingering in the moment and relishing each other's warmth and touch, for God knows how long. When George abruptly shifted to the side, Ringo let out a frustrated groan. He thought for a second that George was going to leave him. He didn't want him to go madly.
"I'm just turnin' off the light, ye fool." George reassured him, pulling the lamp's switch, and the room went dark.
Ringo sighed contently. He buried his face in George's chest, clinging to the back of his collar. George snatched up the edge of the blanket and covered them.
"You're so sweet, Georgie." Ringo said and smiled faintly, sleepiness taking over him again. "Thank you…"
"Wha' wouldn't one do for a cute baby like you."
"Oh, sod off."
George chortled, kissed him for the last time and whispered affectionately in Ringo's ear:
"Goodnight, our cute little Richie."
When Ringo woke up next morning, perfectly rested, the sun, as George had promised, was shining brightly through the curtains.