After a big lunch, George began to feel a little sick, but he didn’t mind. As long as John’s feeling good.

I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately, he realised, with a jolt. I think…I think I love him. A blush crept up in his cheeks.

Looking into the mirror, he adjusted his shirt so he could be ready for the interview they had in ten minutes’ time. He gazed at his reflection somewhat mournfully. John’s so handsome. All the girls – and even some guys – like him. I look…strange. Self-conscious, he touched his ears.

“George?”

Ringo’s voice.

“I’m here.” George said, over his shoulder. “I’m done.”

“You’re late!” Ringo cried, sounding awfully like Brian just then. “Paul’s ranting and raving because he’s being kept waiting.”

“Tell him that patience is a virtue.”

“George?”

It was a different voice. John.

George blushed. Hard. “Yes, John?”

“You okay in there? You’ve been in your room for a while.”

“Oh, I’m fine, Johnny. Umm…I mean, I’ll be out in a tick.” Rubbing an ear with one hand, he grabbed his jacket and went out the door.

John caught a glimpse of the other Beatle blushing. What was that about? Has he got a crush? He mentally berated himself for overthinking things. It’s probably nothing. We’ve got an interview to do.

Upon reaching the room full of reporters, George sat in between Paul and John and waited for yet another session full of stupid questions.

The first interviewer rounded them, pacing like a hungry lion.

John tried not to feel apprehensive, but he was fighting a losing battle there. He felt a wave of nausea, and bile licked the back of his throat. He shook his head, trying to fight the feeling.

“You alright, mate?” George whispered, concerned.

Pasting a forced smile on his face, John nodded.

Meanwhile, the interviewer had finally stopped pacing. “I understand that your fans are a bit bewildered at your career diversification. Do they have a reason to worry, John?”

“Why would they worry?”

The interviewer tittered. “Well, your fans have been toying with the idea that you’re trying to quit the music industry.”

“I would never do that.” The thought made him feel even more ill.

“So, do you have an album in the works?”

“Er…no.”

The interviewer smirked, as if pleased to be proven correct. “I wouldn’t give your fans too much of a wait between releases, if I were you. They might…move on.”

“Move on?” Ringo remarked, in an incredulous voice. “I know our fans will scream for us even fifty years later.”

“Yeah – nothing’s going to stop us from writing hits when we’re old.” John piped up, gaining a bit of confidence.

“Well, we can’t be too sure. You could be replaced by a new Brit band. The Rolling Stones, for example.” One of the reporters smirked.

“What have they got that we don’t?” John countered, annoyed.

“You never know.” retorted the reporter. “Someone could come along and…kick you out. But, anyway, do you think you could sit back, John, before your suit buttons pop off?”

Feeling nervous perspiration drip down from his forehead, John tried to keep his face as expressionless as possible. George saw right through this.

In a wave of anger, he said, “No – but mine will!” He got to his feet and thrust his chest out. A button flew off his shirt and sailed straight into the face of the nasty reporter.

The man jerked, in a vain attempt to dodge the button, but it struck him all the same. Startled, he lost his balance and landed on his bottom.

“I bet you wish you had more packing now, don’t you?” John grinned. It was as though an angel had lifted some heavy weight from his shoulders. He’d been so sure that he’d been about to make a fool of himself at an interview again.

Laughter bubbled from the reporters in the audience, hastily stifled as the interviewer got to his feet. “That was exceedingly unprofessional of you.” he snarled. “In fact, it doesn’t become any of you – musicians or not.”

With that, he walked out, back as stiff as a poker.

“Oi!” John called, spirits as high as the clouds outside. “Isn’t it awfully unprofessional of you to walk out on us like that?”

The door remained resolutely shut.

“I guess we’ve seen the last of him.” George said, grinning.

That spurred the rapt audience to release more titters of amusement.

Only one person still looked glum.

“Paul?” Ringo poked the other Beatle with his elbow. “Anything the matter?”

“No. Nothing.” Paul smiled, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Ringo knew that something was off; he knew that Paul was still rather jealous. I’ll talk to him later, he decided.

Leaving the room when the interview was finally concluded (a different interviewer having taken over eventually), Ringo caught up with Paul and said, “You can’t hold a grudge forever, mate.”

“Ugh.” Paul made a face. “I feel bad for John…but I still can’t help feeling left out of everything.”

Feeling sorry for his younger friend, Ringo pulled him into a hug. “We’ll never forget about you – we’re all friends and we look out for each other.”

“Th-thanks, Ringo.” Paul felt a blush stealing across his face. “I – I think I’ll apologise for real now.”

“Don’t feel bad. If you tell him you’re sorry now, things might just go back to the way they were before.”

“You really think so?”

Ringo laughed at his bandmate’s wide, doe-eyes. “I know so. Now, c’mon – the others are waiting.”

Meanwhile, the other two Beatles were back on their floor of the hotel. John passed the bathroom and caught sight of George weighing himself.

“George?”

George jumped, a blush stealing across his face as he saw John by the door. “Oh! Oh…hi, John. Just…weighing myself, here…”

“I can see that.” John replied, drily. “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for sticking up for me back there.”

“Oh…it was nothing.”

“Right.” Something in the other Beatle’s manner made John suspicious. He was a little too…offhand.

Whilst this little exchange was going on, Paul had made his way to their floor. Passing the bathroom, he heard John and George talking and decided to have a listen.

Just then, John exited the room, coming face to face with a suddenly red-faced Paul (who was trying hard not to look like he’d been eavesdropping).

“Why are you here?” John’s tone didn’t exactly inspire niceness.

“Well…” Paul scratched his cheek sheepishly, “I’m…really sorry. I overreacted a few days ago – I was jealous that you were getting so much attention. I wanted to have our fans notice me, too.”

“Aha!” John exclaimed. “So you were jealous.”

Paul looked even more abashed.

John amended his tone, “Paul – there’s no need to feel that way. We’ve been friends for years and we’d never hog the limelight if it meant leaving you out. But I’m glad that you finally apologised.”

The other Beatle felt himself flush. “I’m at a loss for words, John. I was worried that you’d yell at me for what happened.”

“Hey,” John nudged him, good-naturedly, “you can’t keep a grudge forever.”

“No, you can’t.” Paul found himself smiling as his best mate enveloped him in a hug, made even more huggable by his extra pounds.

Just then, the bathroom door opened and George stepped out. “Hey, I’m sorry I’ve been hogging the bathroom, I-” He broke off, abruptly, seeing his friends locked in an embrace.

John’s arms released his friend immediately, as though he’d been electrocuted. “George!”

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting anything.” George said, his tone stiff. “I’ll be going now.”

“You didn’t interrupt anything, George!” Paul protested. “That wasn’t what it looked like.”

But the youngest Beatle didn’t respond; he was on his way to the solace of his room.

Paul and John exchanged worried glances. The latter was more worried than he let on. That look on George’s face – had it been…hurt?

🦋

Well, that's that, folks.

Sorry for the long wait for Chapter Three - that's my fault!

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