The first thing Connie became aware of as she woke up the next morning was the raging hangover headache. The next thing she became aware of was the pair of hands wrapped tightly around her waist, those hands belonging to George.

In fact, it wasn't just his hands that were in contact with her, as his whole body seemed to be wrapped around hers, his head nuzzled into the crook of her neck. Savouring the calm of that moment, Connie took in a few careful breaths, trying to clear the haze in her mind, staying as still as possible to not wake George up.

What she didn't know was that George had been awake for a while, watching her sleep. Not in a creepy way, rather in a way that he wanted to memorise every little detail of her face since it had been so long since he'd seen her and who knew what they would next be together. She'd always been a peaceful sleeper, he'd first noticed that about her when they were teenagers in Liverpool when she once fell asleep on the bus, but there was something so beautiful about watching her that morning. The moment was only made better as he saw her eyelids fluttering open, and in a moment of stupid bravery, George decided to push his lips against her neck, watching as her face flushed bright red.

"Mornin'," he greeted, hushed, his voice thick from sleep, unable to fight the smirk climbing up onto his face.

"Hmmm," she mumbled tiredly, and as much as she loved his hold, she pulled out of his hands, rolling over to face him.

Her hands gripped the bedsheets to keep her bare chest covered, because even though he'd seen everything the night before, she was now sober and her dignity was in need of rescuing, or what was left of it. George noticed, the sight making him let out a silent laugh as he tugged on the sheets, pulling them away. Connie tried to stay serious, forcing a glare at him as he stared at her bare chest, but she couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh.

"Last night..." she began, but trailed off, deciding she had no idea what she was actually going to say.

What could she even say? 'Last night was amazing'? 'Last night was a mistake'? 'Last night was only my second time ever'? Each option would leave her feeling foolish, especially considering the first two were true. It had been a drunken mistake, to sleep with your childhood best friend and first crush could be nothing but a mistake, but she didn't regret it for one moment, not since it made her feel alive for the first time in years. And as for the latter option... how could she own up to the fact that there had been no one but him? How could she even begin to tell him she'd only ever slept with him, whilst he was off living the rockstar lifestyle where he could have anyone he wanted? Telling him that would only leave her feeling like a stupid, innocent kid compared to him, who surely had his pick of any groupie he wanted, and she cared far too much for her pride to even consider that option.

Except for what he'd said, when he thought she'd fallen asleep. If it was true, if it was anything more than just a drunk joke, Connie had no idea where it would put them. What he'd said the night before was the exact same as how she felt, so if he was just speaking through the alcohol, Connie knew the situation between the two of them would grow awkward very quickly.

She didn't want things to be awkward, so as much as she wanted to know if he'd spoken truthfully, Connie sighed, ignoring the thoughts in her head and instead just savouring his company. She edged closer to him, moving her hand to his shoulder as she stroked his arm softly. George pulled his gaze up from her chest to look at her face, bringing his own hand up to her face as he pushed a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. Her eyes were fixed on his face, studying his contented expression, until she noticed the small clock on his bedside table.

"Shit!" she hissed, jumping up as she saw the time. George frowned confusedly, watching her as she jumped up from the bed and began rummaging round the pile of clothes they'd left the night before. "I was meant to be at work half an hour ago!"

"Gods sake," George mumbled annoyedly, rubbing his eyes with his hands as he sat up, disappointed their moment of peace had been brought to a close so suddenly. "Can you not just call in sick?"

"No, sorry," she offered him a sad smile as she quickly put her bra and underwear back on, grimacing slightly as she realised she really wanted a shower. "It's not too bad, our hours are flexible so I'll just work a little later tonight but... do you have any deodorant or aftershave I could borrow?"

"Erm, yeah, sure, it's on the dresser," he sighed, getting up off the bed himself as he moved over towards the open suitcase in the corner of his room, pulling on a pair of boxers and a white shirt whilst Connie pulled on her trousers.

Rushing to pull her trousers up, Connie stumbled over to the dresser where George had pointed out the deodorant, only to glance over to the other side of the room. Last night it had been dark, and she'd been far too drunk to focus on anything other than George. Now, though, it was light and she'd sobered up, and she realised the hotel room was actually a double room, the other half of the room taken up by another bed in which Paul was laid sound asleep, his arms wrapped around a pretty brunette.

"Shit!" Connie jumped, shooting George a wide-eyed look. "Were you gonna tell me you shared a room with Paul?"

"Sorry, I forgot, but it's alright, he's a heavy sleeper, plus I, uh, I think he came in after us last night..." George ran a hand through his hair as he shrugged, though there was no hiding his slight embarrassment as he failed to meet her eye, especially as she let out an irritated sigh. In an attempt to make it up to her or to at least change the subject, George reached over to her shirt he'd thrown on the floor the night before, holding it up to her as she sprayed herself with anything on the dresser to make up for the lack of a shower. "Do you want this?"

"Erm..." she reached over, taking hold of the shirt and sniffing it before grimacing. "I can't wear that! Bloody hell, have you got anything I can borrow?"

"Sure, of course, just let me..." George nodded, rooting around in his suitcase looking for anything that would fit her, before he glanced back over to her, watching as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail, exposing her neck, specifically the red mark he'd left there. "Though, actually, you might want to borrow one of Paul's jumpers, y'know, with the high neck,"

Connie frowned slightly, bending down by the dresser to look in the mirror, and as she noticed the bright red love bite he'd left on her, she groaned in frustration, shooting a glare over to George. Her seriousness only lasted a moment, however, before she snorted out a laugh, rolling her eyes as she moved towards where Paul kept his own suitcase, rummaging around in it until she found one of his dark grey turtlenecked jumpers. After pulling it on, making sure the collar was covering the mark on her neck, and checking herself over in the mirror she turned to George, who was now fully dressed, looking at her with an expression of admiration.

"Well? How do I look?" she asked, giving him a small twirl as she pulled on her leather jacket.

"Not at all like you spent the night dancing and drinking only to end up in a strange man's hotel room," George smirked at her, slipping on a large overcoat.

"Who's the strange man, you or Paul?" Connie raised her eyebrow, gesturing over to the bed where her old neighbour was still sound asleep. George let out a small laugh as he grabbed a hat and a pair of sunglasses off the dresser, buttoning the overcoat right up to his chin. "Okay, dressed like that you're the strange man. What're you doing, Georgie?"

"Disguising myself," he shrugged, and it was his turn to twirl. "Thought I'd walk you to work, y'know, since it's my fault you're late, and this is the only way I can go outside and not get mobbed,"

Connie couldn't help but think how sad that was, that he had to completely hide and disguise himself away just to walk down the street safely, but she'd seen the audience and the concert and the crowd around the club last night so she understood the precaution. If it was really that dangerous she wasn't sure she wanted him walking her to work, even if her office was only a ten minute walk from their hotel, and he was grinning at her so sweetly; she could hardly say no.

"Come on then, stranger," she nodded to the door, and whilst she was caught up in the moment, she took hold of his hand, letting him lead her out of the hotel room.

***

By the time George parted from Connie, she was roughly an hour later than she was meant to start, so after giving him a quick goodbye kiss on the cheek she ran up to the office block. She signed in and made her way over to her desk, keeping her head down even though she could feel people watching her. No one said anything to her though so she thought she was in the clear, until she got to her own desk and saw Ruby who was tapping at her typewriter angrily, and she prepared herself for her wrath.

You're an hour late," Ruby said, surprisingly calm as she looked up from her typewriter, and the moment she saw Connie's outfit her nose wrinkled in disgust. "What in Gods name are you wearing?"

"I know, I'm sorry, I overslept so I left the flat in a rush," Connie excused herself, slipping off her leather jacket and placing it on the back of her seat.

"What's with the jumper?" She asked, making Connie blush slightly as she adjusted Paul's jumper slightly so it didn't look that unkempt, making sure to pull the collar up over her neck. "Not to mention the same trousers as last night,"

"First thing I picked out of the wardrobe," Connie shrugged, not really wanting to apologise for an outfit she actually quite liked.

It was the sort of thing she'd wear at home, the sort of thing her friends would wear, and it made her feel quite confident in herself, except maybe the confidence was something to do with what she'd done last night. It had been a long time since she'd been drunk, a long time since she'd seen her friends. In London, no one really got her like her home friends did, especially not her work friends, and seeing the boys last night made her feel as if she was still funny, still fiery, still the same old Connie.

"I think you need to reorganise your wardrobe," Ruby commented with an eyeroll.

Connie knew Ruby was purposefully being snide because of what happened last night, channelling her disappointment and embarrassment into bitter remarks. Except Connie didn't really have the patience to put up with it, so instead she simply sighed, taking her seat and pulling the notepad from last night out and flicking it open to the page of notes she'd made. Snickering slightly at a quote from John she'd written down, she settled down in front of her typewriter and began to type out her article.

"That's not your jumper," a smug voice called to her, and Connie had to hold in another sigh of contempt as she watched Henry lean on her desk, throwing a newspaper down in front of her.

She glanced over at it, noticing a picture of the Beatles on the cover, and she had to fight the urge to pull the paper closer the way she always did whenever she saw articles about her boys. She couldn't help but look at the picture, however, especially as Henry flicked at it repeatedly to get her attention, his hand touching over Ringo's face, making her glare at him slightly.

It was a promotional picture from their last album, Connie knew, and she had to fight back a smile when she saw all of their smiling faces, especially George's. The smile she was fighting all but disappeared the moment she saw Paul, smirking his usual cocky grin, the one that used to make all the girls in Liverpool go wild, and noticed what he was wearing; the exact same jumper she'd picked out of his case only hours before. Trying to hide her realisation at her mistake, Connie pursed her lips slightly, narrowing her eyes as she looked up to Henry stubbornly.

"Don't you think that jumper looks rather similar to the one in the picture, Ruby, dear?" Henry pushed on, noticing Ruby looking between the photograph and Connie's outfit, her mouth falling open in shock.

"Coincidence," Connie shrugged, feigning causality, though she knew neither of them were buying her lie, especially not Ruby, who'd seen exactly how Connie was with the Beatles.

"Oh, God, Constance! You're wearing Paul McCartney's jumper!" Ruby exclaimed rather loudly as she jumped from her seat, her voice carrying across the whole office, making all the other journalists stop and look over to the three of them.

"Yes and I was wearing one of John Bloody Lennon's shirts last night as well," Connie hissed quietly, trying to keep her voice low as she remembered leaving her shirt on the floor of their hotel room, knowing she probably wouldn't get it back if John recognised it as one of his. "Paul lent it me, alright? Well, he doesn't know he lent it me yet, but he'll get over it. It's no big deal,"

"Do you fancy telling us how you got it?" Henry smirked. "That picture was taken last week, meaning you must have borrowed it recently. And considering you'd not seen him for two years before last night... did the party go on, after Ruby left? Two many free champagnes? I wouldn't blame you for making the most of it, I doubt they even have such nice things where you're from, but one too many and it goes to your head and the next thing you know you're waking up in an old friends bed, late for work with nothing else to do but borrow his jumper. Sound familiar, am I close?"

Connie was usually so good at keeping her temper in check when she needed to. There'd only been one incident before when she'd not quite managed to keep her cool, and that was when she was a teenager. Even if Henry had just insulted her roots and covertly try and slut-shame her, she couldn't punch him. She was in the workplace, and meant to be an adult, she couldn't just hit him like she did to Jenny Wadeson back in school, so she took a few deep cleaning breaths, never breaking eye contact, fighting down the burning urge to break his nose.

One thing that did help calm her down was the fact that, despite being so smug and acting as if he knew it all, Henry couldn't have been more wrong. Not that she was planning on correcting him, but it was nice for once to have the upper-hand on him, a feeling she didn't get very often.

"I didn't shag Paul Mc-bloody-Cartney, if that's what you're wondering," Connie glared at him though she managed to keep her tone calm. "And what I am wearing is none of your business, so bugger off and leave me to get on with this article," 

For once, Henry got the message and backed off to his own desk, leaving Connie to her work, though she could barely focus. The notes from her interview with the boys from the night before weren't helping either, because all she could think of was her old friends, the way things had been before, and the way things could have been if she'd just had the bravery to talk to George properly about everything. 

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Word count: 2805

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