Paul and George - brothers
Paul remembered how fond he was of this guy, who was a kid brother to him. “Sleep well Georgie.” He cooed, in a mock-taking motherly voice to cover the seriousness of the affection.
Paul could feel George’s breath on his face as he leaned over and talked into his face.
“When’re we gonna go?” he yelled, his voice so loud that it drowned out the music, rather than the other way around.
Paul turned to the bird he was chatting up and laughed, before replying “Why George, you not having a good time?”
He clearly HAD been having a good time, Paul thought to himself, amused, George was so pissed he could barely keep himself upright, and at that exact minute his elbow slipped from the table and his chin came crashing onto the surface with an almighty blow. Paul erupted with laughter as George pulled himself up again, confused and disorientated. Paul quickly browsed the room for Nel or Mal and sighed as he realised it was only he and George still here.
“I better take him back to the room.” Paul grinned to his bird, “I’ll be right back okay?”
The girl nodded, looking highly un-amused that her conversation had been cut short, as Paul heaved George to his feet. Any gentleman wouldn’t ditch a lady for his friend, she thought with great annoyance.
Paul had pulled George’s arm around his shoulders and winked at the girl to let her know he’d be back. Back as soon as possible if he could help it; this girl was hot! George’s light weight meant he wasn’t too hard to carry, but his lack of co-ordination almost sent he and Paul tumbling to the ground as he tripped on his own feet.
“Wooaaahh!” Paul laughed, using his second arm to pull his young friend up again, “Uh, come on!”
Just in case, Paul chanced a second look around the bar for anybody to take over and wasn’t surprised when there was none. They’d all hooked up with girls hours ago. Pushing the door open, he felt the cool breeze push his light-layered fringe backwards, fulfilling the “Elvis” look, and slumped George onto a wall.
“You’re not gonna be sick are you?” he asked, with a cheeky grin on his face.
“No. I wanna go to bed.”
“Come on then.”
By the time Paul had heaved him to the bedroom they all shared, George was practically passed out on his shoulder. It was too hard to get George into his own bed on the top bunk, so he dropped the young guitarist onto his at the bottom and had done with it. But as he went to leave, he felt George’s arms tighten around his neck, pulling him back again.
“What??” he laughed.
“Stay here Paulie.”
“You’re joking aren’t you? Did you see that bird I was talking to?”
He went to leave again, but George continued to cling onto the bassists neck, “Nooo!” he cried in a mock whiny voice, “Stay with me, I want to talk!”
Paul sighed. He’d been through this whole process before; George was a clingy drunk. Just a few minutes and he’d pass out anyway, “What do you wanna talk about then?” he asked, sitting at the end of the bed.
“You tell me something.”, slurred George as a reply.
“Okay. I am hoping… sorry, was hoping… to have a lot of sex tonight, Georgie.”
“Tough. I want you to stay here.”
Paul smiled. “You tell me something then, come on.”
“I haven’t got anything to tell.”
“Not as easy as it sounds, is it?”
“But I KNOW you have secrets.”
Paul paused, “No I don’t.” he said, “Not from you lot.”
George drunkenly kicked his friend in the back. “You don’t tell me anything anymore.”
Paul stared at the door for a minute, thoughts of that gorgeous blonde waiting for him at the bar was too much to bear. Cor, what an arsehole, he thought, she’ll be all on her own. But through practice, he swallowed his guilt, and lay back on the bed next to George.
“shift up then.”
Neither said anything for a minute as both lay with their own thoughts. After a few minutes George broke the silence with a loud laugh.
“What??”
Paul turned to his companion to see tears of laughter rolling down his cheeks as his whole body shook from this new random burst of laughter. “What???” he cried
“I’m just… remembering…” George gasped
“What George?!”
Now laughing so hard that no sound was coming out, George gasped for breath as he spluttered “When we were at the top of the stairs. And… and… you were trying to be cool!”
“Ughhh”. Paul groaned. He knew what incident George was talking about. Just three days ago the four of them had been called to a press conference. Paul had been waving to the crowd, lost his footing and stumbled down the stairs onto an unsuspecting police officer. The other three had found the incident absolutely hilarious and ribbed him about it all day, glorying in his embarrassment. “Shut up!” he snapped, kicking George’s leg.
George continued the hysterics, madly signalling with his arms the way in which Paul had tumbled from the top. “Shut uuuup!” Paul whined, a small reluctant smile moving across his lips, “Let it rest, already!”
“And your face!!!” George reminisced with huge amounts of glee
“I know! I know! You’ve said a million times!”
Paul rolled his eyes as the bed shook from George’s mad hysterics, but quickly gave in and shook his head, laughing. All went silent again.
After a few minutes, George’s breathing became slower and Paul assumed he’d passed out. There wasn’t much room on the bed and George’s arm lay on top of Paul’s, meaning it was hard for him to move without risking waking him up. He craned his head to get a look at the time: 12.23. Still plenty of time to go back to the girl, but right now he didn’t feel like it much.
He lay for a minute, staring at the panels of the top bunk where George was SUPPOSED to be sleeping. But just as he thought George was truly out for the count, his thoughts were disturbed by a slurring voice, “You’re so weird Paul.”
Paul frowned. “Why George?” he sighed, humouring the drunk.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry.”
He went blank. Why the hell was George saying THAT? He should have gone downstairs again, what an idiot. Worst yet, George was waiting for some sort of reply. George didn’t mind terrible silences, he could keep them going forever. Paul had to answer for himself, and quickly.
“Poke me in the eye then.” He smirked, for lack of any other comment.
JAB!
Paul cried out in pain and water spurred from his left eye as George giggled next to him.
“YOU BASTARD!” he groaned, cradling his throbbing eye, “Fuck, that hurt.”
“You asked for it.”
“Urrghh, I can’t believe you did that! There, I’m crying now, happy?!”
“Yes.”
Paul turned to the smug and grinning face of his younger bandmate. “Come here.” He growled, taking hold of the back of George’s head.
“N…no!” George frantically giggled, even in his drunken blur he could see Paul lining up his finger for revenge.
“Just… hold still! Fairs fair!” Paul remarked, half-smiling, half determined to cause pain.
“Just… wait.” George giggled, “You can but…”
George held still, scrunching up his face in anticipation of the attack. A couple of seconds went by until Paul half-heatedly pushed his finger into the corner of his eye.
“That didn’t even hurt.” George sniggered.
“Fuck off, I’m going back downstairs.”
“No! Paulie!”
“Night.”
Paul pulled his arm from underneath George and moved towards the door before hearing a massive thud behind him. Turning, he burst into laughter at the sight of George sprawled on the floor, grinning up at him with a mixture of amusement and confusion.
“You’re so pissed!” Paul laughed, “Go back to bed!”
“I was enjoying our little chat.”
“It wasn’t a chat, it was a torrent of abuse! George, get up!”
“I can’t.” he giggled.
For the millionth time that night, Paul pulled George to his feet and pushed him onto the bed. Fearing his friend would escape again, George held Paul’s sleeve and pulled him down too, without needing to; Paul wasn’t ever planning on going back downstairs anyway.
“I’m going to sleep now.” George murmured, his eyes becoming heavier.
Paul squeezed back onto the bed, feeling tired himself now. His eye was still watering. For a minute he watched George, whose eyeballs were moving underneath his eyelids and Paul remembered how fond he was of this guy, who was a kid brother to him. “Sleep well Georgie.” He cooed, in a mock-taking motherly voice to cover the seriousness of the affection. At that minute George turned in his sleep to face the wall so his back was facing Paul. Paul moved his arm so it was spread out across the pillow above George’s head for more room. He smiled to himself as he closed his eyes.
No, he’d not cried in front of George. It had never felt right to. He’d always felt responsibility over George; it had never been the other way round. Besides, he wasn’t good at crying anyway; very rarely did that happen. He opened his eyes and glanced again at his friend, who was now definitely fast asleep, at last.
John and Ringo both turned up at different points through the night and barely took notice of the two of them. Just smiled and went to sleep.