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Do you want to know a secret?
You can hear Paul singing quietly to himself through the thin wall that divides the two of you, and you lean your head back against it, before taking a drag of the cigarette.
“We’ve been writin’ that one for yonks now,” John laughs, and you smile; he takes the cigarette and puts it to his lips. “So… how’s yer crush on Geo?”
“Shut up, John,” you laugh, and he quirks an eyebrow, before baring his teeth in that slightly-terrifying smirk. “Please. I’m not interested in him.” He hands you the cup of tea from the tray, and you look at the clock.
Do you promise not to tell?
8:32am. You secretly consider this an early start; but it’s no secret that John, who could sleep for Liverpool and perhaps the entire country, hates this too. He gets you, which is why you two are sharing a room for this trip, to Paul’s chagrin. He’s in with Brian, which almost gave John an aneurysm – whether from hilarity or anger, you aren’t sure which – and he’s been getting a ribbing for it all week.
“Don’t know what bastarding words to pick, Bri.”
You hear what sounds a lot like a tired Brian mumbling hateful words at Mr. Bright-And-Early (for once) McCartney, and roll your eyes as John snorts with laughter.
“Well, if yeh ever get a handle on how yeh feel about him, yeh can come to me for advice,” John laughs, and you sip the coffee – it spreads fire through your stomach, and you feel yourself wake up a little.
“Up yours, John.”
“Findin’ it hard to sit down yet, Paul?”
You roll your eyes as Brian sits next to you, and Paul glares up at John.
“You assume he’s a catcher, not a pitcher, John,” Brian says flatly, and John pulls a grossed-out face – it’s the best way to stop him, you know it, but you roll your eyes anyway. “Anyway, (Y/N), John, nice to see you’ve finally woken up.” He rolls his eyes, and Ringo waves at you from across the table. “Now, we’re only waiting for George…”
“He’s upstairs, avoiding. I dunno what. Just avoidin’,” John grins, and Paul smiles, like a puppy brought back inside from the cold. “Bird problems. But yeah, Sir, he’s skivin’, shall I tell him he’s got detention or…” Brian’s eyes flicker to you – you almost don’t notice it, but it’s there. What’s that all about?
“Well, perhaps, tell him to do what any sane person does.”
“Please, Brian, tell us all about how to deal with bird problems,” John beams, and Brian looks at you despairingly. You shrug imperceptibly, and he turns back to John.
“Go out there and sort it out. Right now, we need him. You two told me you had a song you were working on…” Paul leaps up, pacing around to John’s side, and the three of them begin talking, as Ringo leans over.
“So how’re you findin’ it…?”
But your thoughts are on George, and as you give a non-committal answer, you wish he was thinking about you. Just a little, of course…
“…well, we can’t all sing it.”
“Why not?”
Paul bursts through the door, looking upset, and you look up; John has his arms folded, and George walks in behind them both, looking more than a little awkward. Oh dear.
“(Y/N),” Paul says peevishly. “John and I’ve wrote a song, right?” You nod. Yes, that sounds about right. “I reckon one of us should sing it, but John…” John waves at you, and you smile a little. “…reckons Geo should sing it!”
“Oh, yeah, she’ll pick fairly there,” Ringo murmurs from behind you, and you thump his leg.
“Well, why don’t you all sing it?” you say, and Paul’s brow furrows. John nods fairly, and you see Geo blush and turn away. “That way, I can hear who sings it best…” Paul opens his mouth. “Listen, if you put it to vote between you three, that’s two for Geo already.” Paul pouts, and you look over. “Okay. So… you and John first?”
“Can I do mine later, like?” George asks, and you nod, watching as he slinks out of the room – and then you catch John’s eye, and he smirks.
It’s much later – both John and Paul have sung the main vocals, and it’s a charming little song. At the moment you’re leaning towards John, liking the depth of his voice with the tune – but you’re waiting for George to come and play it. It doesn’t even seem like he’s bothered…
“(Y/N)?”
Speak of the Devil. You glance up, and George is smiling at you from the doorway.
“Uh, I wanted to play the song for yeh.” You nod, and he jerks his head towards the door. “…?”
“Come with me, like.” You raise an eyebrow and stand up, and he guides you out – he’s already gotten your coat, which makes your legs weak, and he helps you pull it on, before you both leave. There’s a taxi outside the door, and as you hop in, you realise he’s got an acoustic guitar in the front seat. Glad to see something important gets shotgun.
“Where are-”
“It’s a surprise.” The taxi starts driving – he’s planned this. “I… uh, yeah. Yeh’ve heard the nerk twins, right?” You nod, grinning, and he looks over at you. “What d’yeh think?”
“John, so far. But I’m waiting.” He looks gorgeous – so young, in a way, but then again he’s only just twenty, and as he smiles, his eyes flicker down to the floor, as dark as his smile is bright.
“It’s not far, y’know. We could’ve walked, like, but… fans.” You nod, and your heart skips more than a few beats as he reaches out and squeezes your hand nervously. “You… uh… yeah.” He recoils, and you miss the warmth of his hand already – and then you remember his girl problems, and feel a little ill.
You’ll never know how much I really love you,
You’ll never know how much I really care.
You sit on the grass, and George sits opposite you. His voice is a little wobbly – almost nervous. You want to laugh, but it hurts, knowing that some other girl has his interest at the moment.
Listen, do you want to know a secret?
Do you promise not to tell?
He’s at his most beautiful with an acoustic, in jeans and a t-shirt, you think dreamily.
Closer…
So who could she be? He meets so many people, but you never see him with anyone, and you’re around him almost constantly.
Let me whisper in your ear;
Say the words you long to hear…
Your stomach flips at the emotion he’s putting into it, and close your eyes. You suddenly feel a little nauseous.
I’m in love with you.
You feel tears spring to your eyes – how pathetic of you, but you suddenly realise how obvious it must be to John. To Ringo too, and Brian. Even Paul’s probably noticed. So how has George not?
You leap to your feet and walk off, and you hear him stop. You’re not sure where in this park you are – you don’t know what park it is – and you don’t know how to get out either, but you’re pretty sure you don’t want to sit there and listen to George sing you a love song for another woman. Did John and Paul… did they write it? For him to sing to her? Are they so cruel?
“(Y/N)?!”
You feel his hand on your shoulder and spin around – unfortunately, as you’re still walking, this leaves you staggering a little, which is not the intimidating femme-fatale appearance you wished for. The snot and tears probably aren’t adding to that, but you could’ve saved some face there.
“That’s a lovely song. You uh… you got my v-vote,” you sniffle, and he’s staring at you in near-horror. “Well done, Geo.”
“What’s the matter?” he asks, gently, and you exhale.
“Whoever that’s about? Whoever you really wanted to sing it to? She’s a lucky lady,” you whisper, and bat at your tears. This feels slightly pathetic and passive-aggressive, but hey. “I just… can’t.”
“Ey, what?” he asks, and you don’t fight this time – you let him gently cuff away your tears on his sleeve. “Ey, yer all grotty, c’mere.” He hands you a tissue, and you blow your nose like a depressed foghorn. “I wanted to sing it to you, that’s why we’re out here…”
“But whoever it’s for. Whoever it’s about,” you sigh, and he brushes your hair out of your eyes.
“Yeh. You. Yeh daft cow.” Your brow furrows. He just doesn’t understand. He means… and then you catch up, and you gasp. “Yeh… it was dumb. Didn’t expect yeh to react like that…” He sighed. “John knew I liked yeh, so he suggested I sing it – Paul doesn’t know, so… yeh. He was a bit pushy.” You stare at him. “…so… is this a no, or what?”
You launch yourself at him, and he jumps a little, before wrapping his arms around you and kissing you back.
“Sorry. That was probably… gross.” He shakes his head, and beams at you, showing every inch of those cute fangs.
“Ey, love. I don’ mind, long as yer not cryin’ at me singing no more.” You flush, and he shakes his head. “C’mon, let’s get back… I reckon Paul’ll be gutted that yeh didn’t pick him… Yeh do think I should sing it, right?”
“Of course,” you sigh, and he begins to lead you back to the car.