The interview went by rather quickly and before Connie knew it Ruby had hold of her arm, pulling her away from the band. Rushing out a hasty goodbye and ignoring John's rude hand gestures towards her, Connie followed her colleague, who led her outside of the theatre to the taxi rank.

"That went rather well," Connie muttered casually, squinting through the poor light of the night's sky and dim street lights to look over the notes she'd made, attempting to distract from the inevitable that she realised was impossible as soon as Ruby turned to her, arms crossed across her chest angrily, her thin eyebrows knitted together. "Sorry,"

"I can't believe it," she breathed out, shaking her head. "I thought... You never said anything! God, Constance, if I had something that interesting about me, I'd tell everyone! You're John Lennon's cousin, for goodness sake, and you don't tell anyone! Not to mention the others!"

"I didn't think it was overly relevant to tell you when I first moved here, they weren't even famous then," Connie shrugged, letting out a small sigh. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but we weren't invited tonight because of my connections, we were here as press, that was all that mattered,"

"Yeah, sure," Ruby let out a short, bitter laugh. "Because George Harrison looks at all of his interviewers like that,"

Connie bit her lip, knowing that Ruby was right and what she'd said before had been a slight lie. Of course she was invited because of Brian Epstein knowing her, though she doubted that Mr Hill would have approved of her going if he didn't think she was a good journalist. And as for the interview itself... it wasn't a normal one, that was for sure, what with John jokingly insulting her at any chance he got, Paul and Ringo acting as if she was still just the Cavern barmaid from next door. And Ruby was right about George too, because even Connie had noticed the affection he directed to her through his gaze and his small smile. It was the way he'd looked at her the last time she'd seen him, and not at all the way he should have been looking at a journalist asking him questions.

Before Connie could excuse herself any further, a taxi pulled up, and without a word, Ruby stuck her arm out, flagging it down. As it pulled up to the curb, she leant over to talk to the driver through the open window, and before getting in, she turned back to Connie, forcing a smile.

"I'll see you tomorrow, anyway," Ruby spoke, giving her a small nod of goodbye as she slammed the cab door shut.

As soon as Ruby's cab drove off, Connie let out a sigh of relief that she didn't even realise she'd been holding in. Trying to balance her work with her old life had been harder than she thought it would be. Over the years since she'd moved to London, Connie had become a completely different person to the one she'd been in her youth in Liverpool. She wasn't the girl who got into fights anymore, the one who cursed and flashed her middle finger without a second thought, the one who hung around with the lads, the one spoke with her scouse accent with pride. She'd tried to remember her roots, and there were things about her upbringing that she'd never forget or compromise, but parts of her had to stay hidden around her Southern co-workers to preserve her professionalism.

That preservation seemed so much harder when she was around people who really knew her and not the fake persona she portrayed day to day in her London life. She wanted so badly to act like she usually would around the band, to have fun with them, but she couldn't, not in that press room, her responsibilities and reputation practically suffocating her.

"Thank god she's gone," a voice from behind called and Connie didn't even need to turn around to see it was George. "You want a smoke?"

"I was trying to quit," she muttered, but held her hand out anyway as George came to stand by her side at the side of the road, handing her a cigarette and his lighter. She lit up, bringing the cigarette to her lips as she examined his lighter. "Fancy light, but I guess it's fitting for a rockstar,"

"Do you really think I'm a rockstar?" George asked with a small smirk as he blew out smoke, Connie taking in a deep breath as she savoured the scent she'd not smelt for such a long time.

It wasn't just the taste of nicotine she was savouring, as she realised this was the first time in two years that she had been alone with George. It was a strange feeling being with him, because once upon a time she would see him everyday, be it on the bus home from school or him meeting her after work or her going round to his house for dinner. Everyday she saw George, until she went to London and he went to Hamburg, and for a while being apart from him, as well as the others, was devastating, until she got used to it. He was still her best friend, still the handsome boy that was the subject of her first and only crush, and although he hadn't changed much physically, he was now the boy that hundreds and thousands of girls screamed for.

She'd seen the girls during the concert wearing his name on badges, claiming him as theirs, heard them all crying his name, screaming in desperation for him, and Connie would have been lying if she said it didn't bother her slightly. She was proud of him and the band's achievements, but she couldn't help but feel jealous at the fact that the boy she grew up with, the boy she always secretly crushed on, was now the figure of desire for many teenaged girls.

"Georgie you're a Beatle, of course you're a rockstar," she stated simply, looking over at him with her eyebrow cocked up. Remembering his previous remark, she continued, "Didn't you like Ruby?"

"Nah, too posh, seemed like the sort of bird you'd have gotten in a fight with back in the day," George grimaced slightly, taking a drag of his own cigarette.

"I can't just punch people anymore," Connie muttered, letting out a short laugh. "Dunno what you'd think to the rest, she's the best out of 'em,"

"That dick still giving you trouble?" he asked with a frown, turning serious for once as he remembered the last time they saw each other, when she complained to him about how Henry treated her.

"Nothing I can't deal with," she shrugged, narrowing her eyes at the thought of the other man, taking one final breath of her cigarette before dropping it on the floor, stubbing it out with the heel of her shoe. "They're no better than me,"

"This new accent of yours is just an act then?" he asked the question she'd dreaded all night, making her let out a groan of disgust. "Since she's gone you sound like normal again. I get it, anyone we speak to makes a big deal about not being able to understand us,"

"Ironic, innit, that the people who try to make us seem stupid because we don't sound like them always claim they can't understand us? Maybe they're the stupid ones, not being able to fathom a different accent," she rolled her eyes, smirking slightly as she turned to face him properly. "God, you don't know how good it is to say that stuff and not be called a radical northern fool,"

"Well, now the southern fool's gone, maybe we should get a cab too," George suggested, putting his own cigarette out, his remark making Connie laugh.

"George Harrison, famed for his excellent methods of asking out girls," Connie teased, nudging him with her elbow as she smirked at him, making him laugh in embarrassment. "Where we getting a cab to then?"

"A club across the road from out hotel invited us as guests of honour," George shrugged, as if the concept of a private party was so casual to him; one of the many perks of fame and Beatlemania he was getting used to. "The others wanted to invite you, said it'd be like old times when you weren't having to act up in front of other reporters,"

"And by others, you mean John said that?" she raised her eyebrow, knowing it would be her cousin out of all of them to pick up on her personality change. Letting out a small laugh, she turned to George, flashing him a smile. "Whatever. Come on then, Mr Rockstar, flag us down a cab so we can go to your big fancy party,"

***

George had been right, it was like old times once they'd gotten away from everyone else. After getting a taxi with just George, the other three met them at the club, which was unsurprisingly surrounded by press and fans, the latter making jus as much noise as the concert-goers had done. It was a little overwhelming, especially as George took hold of her arm to guide her through the chaos and into the safety of the club, but once they were in and drinks had been served, everything was fine.

It had been a while since Connie had spoken to any of them properly. Sure they had spoken on the phone, and she'd written occasionally, but talking to them in person was something she'd wanted to do for so long, something she often thought about doing when everyone at work was getting her down. Things weren't the same as they had been back in Liverpool when they were all teenagers, but as she was sat in the club with John whilst George was over at the bar, watching Paul flirt with three girls at the same time and Ringo on the dance floor, it was almost like old times.

That was until John dropped a bombshell.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me you got married!" Connie gasped, slapping John's arm. John shrugged, rolling his eyes, seeming rather casual about the whole thing, which only annoyed Connie more. "God, you seem thrilled, romance truly is alive and thriving with you, Johnny,"

"Well what did you think I'd do? Cyn was bloody pregnant," John shrugged, though his comment made his cousin gasp again. "Oh, did I not tell you that bit either?"

"No you didn't!" Connie exclaimed, trying to stay mad at him, though his stupid grin merely made her snort out a laugh. "Gods sake, the minute I leave Liverpool you get Cynthia-bloody-Powell knocked up! And then you don't even tell me!"

"Didn't want to ruin the surprise," John smirked, and in that moment George came back from the bar, holding their drinks. He handed Connie hers, and she couldn't help but notice the crystal glass, and how expensive it must be. She sniffed the drink, before looking at George in amazement.

"Whisky and ginger ale?"She asked, her eyebrow cocked up slightly, surprise evident in her smirk. "You remembered?"

"Couldn't forget," George winked, laughing as he watched her take a sip.

And in truth, how could he? George never forgot anything about her, especially the little things like her favourite song, or her favourite drink. Whisky and ginger ale was always her favourite drink, it had been ever since the rainy day in the summer holidays when they raided the cupboards and found nothing to drink but an old bottle of whisky and half a bottle of ginger ale.

It had been a long time since he'd seen her, but he'd thought about her enough to commit every detail of her to memory. The way she walked with a skip in her step when she was happy. The way she smiled one-sidedly after making jokes. The way her eyebrows creased together when she grinned. The way she bit her lip and stared at the ceiling if something upset her. All of it, and in the few hours since they'd reunited, it was nice for him to see that she'd not changed, or at least not in personality.

Appearance-wise, however, she had changed. Her hair wasn't as wild, and seemed shorter, reaching her shoulder blades rather than her waist. She seemed older too. Maybe that had something to do with the way she was dressed, wearing heels and makeup, or maybe it was to do with the fact she'd lost her accent ever so slightly, but either way, she seemed more mature, not like the young dreamer who'd left Liverpool four years ago to pursue a career in writing. Connie was different now, but it was good different. Nothing about her could change so much to make him not like her, and if anything, the slight changes in her made her more appealing than before. Before, George knew Connie like the back of his hand, but now there was so much more to discover about her, and all he wanted to do was get to know her all over again.

"So," Connie spoke up, taking a swig out of her drink, a mischievous glint flashing across her eye, one both George and John knew far too well. "I know you're both Rockstar celebrities now, but, for old times sake... Let's get pissed!"

***

After leaving Liverpool, Connie gave up drinking, mostly because she didn't have anyone to drink with. Whatever impressive alcohol tolerance she had built up before moving down south had pretty much gone, and so after only a few drinks, she was quite drunk. Not that George minded, of course, considering he'd always found her quite amusing when she was drunk, especially as John wandered off with two pretty blondes, leaving the two of them alone.

"I can't believe him... married... flirting..." Connie muttered, shaking her head as she watched John at the other side of the room. She sighed, rather dramatically, grabbing his arm and squeezing it, pulling him slightly closer. "God, Georgie, when did we all get so old?"

"Hey, I'm not old," he laughed, flashing her a toothy grin, though his words acted as a reminded that he was still twenty, his birthday in three weeks.

"No, you're still little Georgie," she grinned back at him, moving her face closer to his teasingly, though he had to stop himself leaning in towards her lips, reminding himself that she was intoxicated. "I've missed you, Harrison,"

"I've missed you too, Con," she smirked softly at her, staring into her deep brown eyes. "In fact, I-"

Except before he got the chance finish what he was going to say, Connie let out an excited squeal, and he soon realised why upon hearing the opening few cords of 'Johnny B. Goode' play out across the club. It was one of her favourite songs, he knew, right after Ella Fitzgerald's 'It's Only A Paper Moon', and as an excited grin spread across her face, he couldn't help but jump to his feet, holding his hand out for her to take.

"Fancy a dance, Con?" he offered, tilting his head slightly as he dared her to her feet.

She didn't take much convincing, as she leapt up, grabbing hold of his hand as she pulled him to the dance floor. As soon as they were up, spinning around together, both of them singing the words enthusiastically to each other, George felt relief that he didn't get the chance to finish his last sentence, partly because he was unsure how he would even word how he felt about her in the moment, but also because he realised that whatever he wanted to say, he could most likely express it far better by dancing with her. Not to mention he too felt rather intoxicated, and he didn't know if he could trust himself to not say something he wouldn't regret.

As they were dancing, Connie squeezed George's hand, and he wasn't sure if it was the high levels of alcohol both of them had drank leading them astray, or whether there was something happening between them. Either way, he moved his hand to her waist, pulling her closer to his body, and she responded by laughing, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as the two of them jived to the music.

Connie's head was spinning, thanks to the perfect mixture of whisky and excitement, but even so, she couldn't help but think about how, for the first time in a long time, she felt truly happy. That feeling only seemed to double as she looked into George's eye, seeing his face turn up into a smile, especially as she felt her breath catch in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest. There they were again, those stupid feelings she always feared of getting in the way of her friendship, the problematic ache in her chest that she always made herself ignore. As she stared into his eyes as they danced, her hands squeezing his shoulders tightly,  she realised that once again she was utterly enamoured over George.

Except this time, she really didn't want to ignore the feelings, especially as she noticed his gaze flick away from her own eyes to her lips. Maybe if she was sober she would have had a completely different reaction to the aching desire within her, but she wasn't sober, and the voice of reason in the back of her head that would have normally talked her out of what could only be described as a stupid idea had disappeared. She didn't want to ignore the feelings, and that was why her hands drifted to his shirt collar, pulling his face closer to hers, though before she got the chance to herself, he had pushed his lips against hers passionately. And though their kiss was rather clumsy due to their drunken state, the two of them held each other close, forgetting about everyone else on the dance floor as if it was just the two of them alone, kissing and holding each other in the exact way they had done two year ago, the exact way they had both wanted to do from the moment they reunited.

***

Word count: 3049

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