My Soul May Find Her Peace, John/George, PG-13
Title: My Soul May Find Her Peace
Pairing: John/George
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2995
Notes: More Hamburg!fic! A companion/sequel to Sink in Good Oblivion. This took far too long to write, and I'm still not entirely pleased with it. However, I send it off into the world. The one that's been brewing in my mind as I worked on this is faaaar slashier. Hopefully, that will write up quicker than all this mild flirtation. Thanks to beatlesnspurs for her lovely spammages and listening to me rant about this fic the other night!
George was pulled from his dreams by yelling and a high-pitched wail that he only hoped was coming from a bird and not one of his mates. The scream sounded like murder, while the yelling sounded like a fight. A fight he could ignore. Though awake, he stayed still, eyes closed, waiting to see if it was a matter worth getting involved in.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Paul yelled.
The high-pitched keening broke into sobs interspersed with German. Some bird. George lifted his head partially off the pillow, trying to hear better. It wasn’t like Paul to yell at a girl like that.
“Get out of here! Just get the hell out!”
There was a hollow pounding followed by a loud crash. That was enough. George sat up and tried to see what was going on through sleep-blurred eyes.
Paul was standing in the middle of the room, starkers, with a dark-haired, hysterical girl wrapped up in a blanket behind him, clutching his arm as she wailed. The floor was covered with tattered clothes: a blouse and skirt had been cut to shreds. Across the room, John was stabbing the wardrobe, which was now on its side, with a pair of scissors as Pete tried to pull him off, only to be shoved aside.
“The fuck is goin’ on?” George asked no one in particular. He only managed to capture Paul’s attention.
“He’s lost his fucking mind!” Paul croaked, eyes even larger than usual. “Get him the fuck out of here!”
“Whass goin’ on?”
“Help, George!” Pete yelled, relaunching himself onto one of John’s flailing arms.
George managed to send the necessary orders to his limbs through the haze of sleep that still lingered, and he grabbed John’s other arm away from the wardrobe. He awoke fully when he noted it was the one with the scissors, and together with Pete, he managed to drag a cursing John through to the room John shared with Stu, or used to until Stu started spending all his time with Astrid..
“Hey! Hey, take it easy!” George told him, tightening the arm he held around John’s chest, his lips near John’s ear as he tried to be heard over the noise from the other room and John’s own nonsense blabbering.
“Gerroff me!”
“Give us the scissors, mate,” Pete demanded softly but firmly as he moved in front of John while keeping a grip on the arm that lacked a weapon. John threw the scissors at his head, and Pete barely managed to throw up his arms before they hit his face. In the dark room, George could still make out the line of blood growing on his forearm.
“You little... That’s it. I’m done with you.” Pete glared at them both and turned toward the door. “You deal with him.”
The door leading to their other room, the room with George’s bed, the room with safety in numbers, slammed shut, leaving George alone with a madman. John struggled against his arms, a raging powerhouse, mad with pills, booze, and lack of sleep. “You’re shit! The lot of you! Sleeping with those fucking Nazi cunts!”
“John, calm down!”
“Fuck off, Harrison!” John spun around quickly, and George struggled to maintain his footing and his grip on John. He slammed into the wall as John turned and lost his grip on him.
George shook off the pain in his shoulder and turned to grab John before he headed back into the other room. They had all seen John get like this enough times, but usually the violence was directed at an outsider. John would rail against whoever it was until they got up the courage or the strength to give the same back. Then it stopped being fun.
George was slightly pleased to find that John seemed surprised by the force with which he was grabbed, and even more surprised when his head connected with the wall.
“Ow!”
“For fuck’s sake, stop!”
George kept a firm grip on John’s shoulder, pressing the older man to the wall. John let out a harsh breath as he rubbed the back of his head and was momentarily distracted from struggling. His eyes focused on George in front of him, slow recognition finally seeping through the chemicals. He nodded and went limp. “Yeah. Yeah, right.”
“All right?”
“I’m all right.”
Keeping an eye on him, George slowly stepped back. “What in the hell just happened?”
John shook his head and fidgeted against the wall, his hands pulling at his jacket, raking through his hair, slapping his pockets absently in a futile search for a cigarette.
“Maybe we should get out of here. Go for a walk, yeah?” George could still hear the girl in the next room ranting at Paul in broken English interspersed with streams of German cursing. Half of him expected her to burst in and attack John. The other half expected John to continue his attack on her.
“I’ve been walking up and down the Reeperbahn all night,” John said, beginning to pace back and forth in the space of the room. “I’ve pulled two birds. I got in a fight with some sailor. I’m on fuckin’ fire, son.” He stopped, hands pulling at his hair, a live wire with no place for its energy to go. His eyes traced dizzy circles around the room before stopping to focus on George once more. “I think I’m losing my mind.”
“You’re all right,” George reassured him. “Stay here. I’ll come right back. Just need me trousers.”
John nodded miserably, hands still pulling at his no longer slicked-back hair.
George opened the door carefully. Paul was sitting on his bed with the girl, his arms around her as she cried. His head whipped around when George stepped in the room.
“He cut up all her fuckin’ clothes!” Paul said. “For no reason! Just barged in here, spare, and goes at it!”
“He’s calmed down a bit,” George offered as was of condolence as he dug out his jeans from the mess of the room.
“Oh, great lot of good it’s done now, eh?” Pete snapped from the corner where he held a shirt (one of John’s, George noted with a hint of amusement) to his wound.
“You got scratched, Pete,” George said, wondering how he ended up in the role of diplomat. “You’ll be all right.”
“Just get him out of here,” Paul spat. “If I see his face again tonight, I may kill him.”
“Right.”
George was relieved to find John had actually waited for him when he returned to the other room. “You’ve managed to make quite a mess of things.”
John squinted at him myopically as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “Have I?”
“You git, there’s a room full of people in there ready to have it out with you.”
“Oh.” John stilled. “I should... I should apologize or-”
And if George had doubted the extent of John’s temporary insanity, the fact that he was offering to apologize proved that they were on dangerous ground. “Not now,” George said, grabbing him as he turned towards the door. “Tomorrow maybe.”
“Right, right.” John nodded again, short, quick, jerks that made George’s brain rattle just watching.
“Hey.” George grabbed John’s face, one hand on either side of his head. John’s eyes snapped up to meet his, and for a moment, George feared he was about to lash out again. John’s hands grabbed onto George’s elbows, and that was when George noticed that John’s entire body was trembling uncontrollably. “Take a deep breath, mate.”
John shut his eyes and inhaled shakily. He stepped forward and leaned his forehead against George’s and breathed again. George watched as his friend’s features blurred, too close to focus on, but he felt John’s tremors reduce ever so slightly. He slid his fingers back a bit, gently working the muscles at the back of John’s neck.
“You’re all right. You’re just too fucking high. It’ll wear off.”
John continued to breathe deep, continued to cling to George’s arms.
A particularly vehement “fucking Lennon” was heard from the other room, and George made the decision for John. “I really don’t think you should be here right now. Let’s go for a walk.”
John opened his eyes and nodded, slow and smooth, and the two disentangled. George ushered John out the door, casting one last glance over his shoulder to see if Paul was going to follow and start more trouble.
Outside, the night was cool, and George mentally cursed himself for having forgotten his jacket. John marched along a few steps ahead, and George struggled to keep up with the hurried pace as he rubbed his arms to ward off the crisp air. The Reeperbahn was brightly lit by signs beckoning all sorts to sample their wares; booze, drugs, sex gadgets, and prostitutes of every size, shape, and gender could be found in every window display. The first couple of weeks, they’d goggled wide-eyed at the blatant opportunities for depravity. Now, it was just the hellish street they called home.
John turned around abruptly, and George very nearly walked right into him.
“I don’t know what’s going on tonight,”John said. “Nothing makes sense, and I can’t keep fucking still.”
“Maybe don’t take so many pills next time, eh?”
John nodded and chewed his lip. “I really scared that bird.”
“I’d say you gave her a good fright, yeah.”
“Paul’s rather mad.”
“He’ll get over it.” George eyed the clubs and bars along the street. “You want to get a drink or something? It’s fucking freezing out here.”
“No. No, let’s sit.” He grabbed George’s arm and dragged him into an alley. He pulled his coat off and handed it to George. “Here. Wear this. I’m on fire. Sit with me.”
“I thought you couldn’t keep still?” George wondered if John realized how little sense he was making, yet at the same time, he marveled at how astute his observations were. There was no other description for John right now; he crackled and fizzled and lurched unexpectedly like a flame in the middle of the dark alley.
The two sat with their backs against the brick of a sex shop, away from some of the noise of the street. George was pretty sure that John was incapable of sitting in the state he was in, but he managed to keep relatively still, leaning his shoulder heavily against George’s. George watched him out of the corner of his eye as John snapped his head back against the bricks, once, twice, three times.
“Stop that.”
“I’m anesthetizing myself. I think it’s the only way I’ll sleep tonight.”
George reached around and slid his hand between the wall and John’s head, cushioning the next blow he tried to deliver. John turned and looked at him.
“You give yourself a concussion, and the real bugger of it will be waking you up again. You’ve done enough to yourself tonight, I think.”
A sigh hit George’s cheek, and he stiffened when John leaned in and rested his head on his shoulder.
“You’re the only thing grounding me right now.”
“Shush.”
John chuckled. “Sing us a lullaby, son?”
George’s hand still cradled the back of John’s head as John took up some wordless tune when he noted his request was not being fulfilled. George’s fingers unconsciously set to the task of combing John’s hair back into place as best they could, stroking along the side of his head.
“What the hell happened to you tonight?” George asked, curiosity finally getting the better of him.
“What d’you mean?”
“You went off on that girl and cut up all her clothes!”
John raised his head and stared with his mouth open. “I did?”
Before George could squeak out an incredulous response, John grinned a grin that quickly faltered once he saw that George did not appreciate the joke.
“Go back to anesthetizing yourself,” he said, shoving the older boy off him. “Then I won’t have to put up with your rubbish.”
“I was only-”
“I was asleep before you showed up. I was warm, and in bed, and dreaming of Brigitte Bardot, and then you come in and make a fuss.”
“Was she naked?”
George rolled his eyes and hauled himself to his feet. John scrambled to follow.
“Where are you going?”
“Back.”
“But I shouldn’t be there right now. You said so.”
“You don’t have to come.”
John put on a pout and batted his eyelashes. “You’d abandon a damsel in distress?”
Before George realized he was doing it, he had shoved John up against the wall. He was breathing hard, and he could see each puff fog before him as it rushed into John’s startled face. “Quit joking around! You were scary tonight. You scared that bird. You scared the guys, and you scared me. You were out of control! You cut Pete, you know that? And all you can do is joke about it like it’s nothing.”
“Look, I took too many pills, all right? I’m an asshole. We all know this. I’m fucking sorry.”
George let out a sigh and looked away, wondering how he could convey how fucking terrifying it was when John got like that. As he searched for words, John grabbed the back of his neck, and for the second time that night, the were pressed forehead to forehead.
“I’m sorry,” John repeated, and George marveled at how the usually unapologetic guitarist managed to show a little sincerity this time. John dropped his gaze to the ground and continued. “Everything’s just going to shit. It’s like no one cares. Stu’s off with Astrid all the time, we all know Pete’s no good, but he’s the best we’ve got, and then I saw Paul with that bird tonight. Everyone’s more concerned with getting their dicks sucked than playing fucking music. It’s why we came here, innit?”
While the thought had crossed George’s mind before, he also could hear them improve each night, trudging away through eight hour sets. Even Stu’s fumbling was getting to be passable. They were good. But John wanted them to be brilliant.
“Not you, though,” John said, giving him a little shake. “You’re the only real musician in the lot of us. And I don’t have to worry about losing out little blushing virgin to some bird.”
“Oh, leave it,” George muttered.
John grinned. “You’re all right, you know that?” With that, John grabbed George’s face and held him as he gave him a loud, smacking kiss.
“What the-”
“Too many pills,” John said with a shrug. “Come on. Let’s head back then, yeah?”
George followed, stunned, as John led them out of the alley and back onto the street.
“Someone could’ve seen that, you know,” George said.
John laughed and threw his arms up, gesturing to the debauchery all around them. “As if anyone here cares? I could’ve shoved my dick up your arse, and no one would’ve looked twice.”
“It might have caught my attention.”
“Would it, now?”
“It’s a possibility.”
By the time they got back to the Bambi Kino, it felt like any other night. They were joking easily, and John had calmed considerably. George was reluctant to return to what had the potential to be a still hostile environment in the rooms, but the lure of his bed was too great.
Stu had reappeared in their absence and was asleep in the top bunk he shared with John. George watched John’s face as he noted his presence, hoping he would be reassured that things weren’t falling apart as much as he had imagined. John’s features, however, revealed nothing, and it was that fact alone that convinced George that his friend was back to normal, or well on his way.
George tried the closed door to the other room only to find it locked. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Hey!” He banged his fist against the wood in attempt to rouse one of his fellow bandmates and got no response. “You worthless little shits!” he yelled, giving the door a final kick.
“Quiet,” Stu scolded sleepily from his bed.
“Kip here then,” John said as he climbed into his own bunk. “Even if they do hear you, they probably won’t let you in after you’ve spent the night with the devil.”
“Even at your worst, you’re a far cry from the devil, John.”
“God, then. Doesn’t matter. You’ll not see your bed tonight, son.”
“It’s morning by now,” George pointed out as he leaned his back against the wall to pull off his boots.
“Shut up. Get in already.”
“What, with you?”
John raised himself up on his elbows. “You can sleep on the floor if you want, but I’m not answering to your mother for any illnesses you pick up from it. You spout a third arm, that’s your doing. I wash my hands of it.”
George eyed the floor suspiciously as he pulled off his trousers and dropped them on top of his boots. He hesitantly crossed over to John’s bed and slid beneath the covers.
“Goodnight, then,” he offered softly as he made himself as small as possible.
“Night.” The room was quiet for a moment. “And thanks.”
He wanted to ask John what he was being thanked for and was turning in bed to do so when Stu’s voice cut through the silence once more.
“Will you two queers shut up and go to sleep already?”
George resettled in the small bed, and John glanced over at him and winked. “Goodnight, Georgie!” he declared in a loud, bright falsetto. “My sweet little honeypie!”
With a grin, George replied, equally loud and shrill, “Goodnight, Johnny, my love! Goodnight dear Stuart!”
John chuckled and kicked the underside of Stu’s mattress. “Night, Stu.”
“Sleeeeep.”
George closed his eyes, a smile still on his face, and fleetingly wondered if he’d ever be able to find dreams of Brigitte Bardot again that night, just before he drifted off to sleep.
Pairing: John/George
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2995
Notes: More Hamburg!fic! A companion/sequel to Sink in Good Oblivion. This took far too long to write, and I'm still not entirely pleased with it. However, I send it off into the world. The one that's been brewing in my mind as I worked on this is faaaar slashier. Hopefully, that will write up quicker than all this mild flirtation. Thanks to beatlesnspurs for her lovely spammages and listening to me rant about this fic the other night!
George was pulled from his dreams by yelling and a high-pitched wail that he only hoped was coming from a bird and not one of his mates. The scream sounded like murder, while the yelling sounded like a fight. A fight he could ignore. Though awake, he stayed still, eyes closed, waiting to see if it was a matter worth getting involved in.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Paul yelled.
The high-pitched keening broke into sobs interspersed with German. Some bird. George lifted his head partially off the pillow, trying to hear better. It wasn’t like Paul to yell at a girl like that.
“Get out of here! Just get the hell out!”
There was a hollow pounding followed by a loud crash. That was enough. George sat up and tried to see what was going on through sleep-blurred eyes.
Paul was standing in the middle of the room, starkers, with a dark-haired, hysterical girl wrapped up in a blanket behind him, clutching his arm as she wailed. The floor was covered with tattered clothes: a blouse and skirt had been cut to shreds. Across the room, John was stabbing the wardrobe, which was now on its side, with a pair of scissors as Pete tried to pull him off, only to be shoved aside.
“The fuck is goin’ on?” George asked no one in particular. He only managed to capture Paul’s attention.
“He’s lost his fucking mind!” Paul croaked, eyes even larger than usual. “Get him the fuck out of here!”
“Whass goin’ on?”
“Help, George!” Pete yelled, relaunching himself onto one of John’s flailing arms.
George managed to send the necessary orders to his limbs through the haze of sleep that still lingered, and he grabbed John’s other arm away from the wardrobe. He awoke fully when he noted it was the one with the scissors, and together with Pete, he managed to drag a cursing John through to the room John shared with Stu, or used to until Stu started spending all his time with Astrid..
“Hey! Hey, take it easy!” George told him, tightening the arm he held around John’s chest, his lips near John’s ear as he tried to be heard over the noise from the other room and John’s own nonsense blabbering.
“Gerroff me!”
“Give us the scissors, mate,” Pete demanded softly but firmly as he moved in front of John while keeping a grip on the arm that lacked a weapon. John threw the scissors at his head, and Pete barely managed to throw up his arms before they hit his face. In the dark room, George could still make out the line of blood growing on his forearm.
“You little... That’s it. I’m done with you.” Pete glared at them both and turned toward the door. “You deal with him.”
The door leading to their other room, the room with George’s bed, the room with safety in numbers, slammed shut, leaving George alone with a madman. John struggled against his arms, a raging powerhouse, mad with pills, booze, and lack of sleep. “You’re shit! The lot of you! Sleeping with those fucking Nazi cunts!”
“John, calm down!”
“Fuck off, Harrison!” John spun around quickly, and George struggled to maintain his footing and his grip on John. He slammed into the wall as John turned and lost his grip on him.
George shook off the pain in his shoulder and turned to grab John before he headed back into the other room. They had all seen John get like this enough times, but usually the violence was directed at an outsider. John would rail against whoever it was until they got up the courage or the strength to give the same back. Then it stopped being fun.
George was slightly pleased to find that John seemed surprised by the force with which he was grabbed, and even more surprised when his head connected with the wall.
“Ow!”
“For fuck’s sake, stop!”
George kept a firm grip on John’s shoulder, pressing the older man to the wall. John let out a harsh breath as he rubbed the back of his head and was momentarily distracted from struggling. His eyes focused on George in front of him, slow recognition finally seeping through the chemicals. He nodded and went limp. “Yeah. Yeah, right.”
“All right?”
“I’m all right.”
Keeping an eye on him, George slowly stepped back. “What in the hell just happened?”
John shook his head and fidgeted against the wall, his hands pulling at his jacket, raking through his hair, slapping his pockets absently in a futile search for a cigarette.
“Maybe we should get out of here. Go for a walk, yeah?” George could still hear the girl in the next room ranting at Paul in broken English interspersed with streams of German cursing. Half of him expected her to burst in and attack John. The other half expected John to continue his attack on her.
“I’ve been walking up and down the Reeperbahn all night,” John said, beginning to pace back and forth in the space of the room. “I’ve pulled two birds. I got in a fight with some sailor. I’m on fuckin’ fire, son.” He stopped, hands pulling at his hair, a live wire with no place for its energy to go. His eyes traced dizzy circles around the room before stopping to focus on George once more. “I think I’m losing my mind.”
“You’re all right,” George reassured him. “Stay here. I’ll come right back. Just need me trousers.”
John nodded miserably, hands still pulling at his no longer slicked-back hair.
George opened the door carefully. Paul was sitting on his bed with the girl, his arms around her as she cried. His head whipped around when George stepped in the room.
“He cut up all her fuckin’ clothes!” Paul said. “For no reason! Just barged in here, spare, and goes at it!”
“He’s calmed down a bit,” George offered as was of condolence as he dug out his jeans from the mess of the room.
“Oh, great lot of good it’s done now, eh?” Pete snapped from the corner where he held a shirt (one of John’s, George noted with a hint of amusement) to his wound.
“You got scratched, Pete,” George said, wondering how he ended up in the role of diplomat. “You’ll be all right.”
“Just get him out of here,” Paul spat. “If I see his face again tonight, I may kill him.”
“Right.”
George was relieved to find John had actually waited for him when he returned to the other room. “You’ve managed to make quite a mess of things.”
John squinted at him myopically as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “Have I?”
“You git, there’s a room full of people in there ready to have it out with you.”
“Oh.” John stilled. “I should... I should apologize or-”
And if George had doubted the extent of John’s temporary insanity, the fact that he was offering to apologize proved that they were on dangerous ground. “Not now,” George said, grabbing him as he turned towards the door. “Tomorrow maybe.”
“Right, right.” John nodded again, short, quick, jerks that made George’s brain rattle just watching.
“Hey.” George grabbed John’s face, one hand on either side of his head. John’s eyes snapped up to meet his, and for a moment, George feared he was about to lash out again. John’s hands grabbed onto George’s elbows, and that was when George noticed that John’s entire body was trembling uncontrollably. “Take a deep breath, mate.”
John shut his eyes and inhaled shakily. He stepped forward and leaned his forehead against George’s and breathed again. George watched as his friend’s features blurred, too close to focus on, but he felt John’s tremors reduce ever so slightly. He slid his fingers back a bit, gently working the muscles at the back of John’s neck.
“You’re all right. You’re just too fucking high. It’ll wear off.”
John continued to breathe deep, continued to cling to George’s arms.
A particularly vehement “fucking Lennon” was heard from the other room, and George made the decision for John. “I really don’t think you should be here right now. Let’s go for a walk.”
John opened his eyes and nodded, slow and smooth, and the two disentangled. George ushered John out the door, casting one last glance over his shoulder to see if Paul was going to follow and start more trouble.
Outside, the night was cool, and George mentally cursed himself for having forgotten his jacket. John marched along a few steps ahead, and George struggled to keep up with the hurried pace as he rubbed his arms to ward off the crisp air. The Reeperbahn was brightly lit by signs beckoning all sorts to sample their wares; booze, drugs, sex gadgets, and prostitutes of every size, shape, and gender could be found in every window display. The first couple of weeks, they’d goggled wide-eyed at the blatant opportunities for depravity. Now, it was just the hellish street they called home.
John turned around abruptly, and George very nearly walked right into him.
“I don’t know what’s going on tonight,”John said. “Nothing makes sense, and I can’t keep fucking still.”
“Maybe don’t take so many pills next time, eh?”
John nodded and chewed his lip. “I really scared that bird.”
“I’d say you gave her a good fright, yeah.”
“Paul’s rather mad.”
“He’ll get over it.” George eyed the clubs and bars along the street. “You want to get a drink or something? It’s fucking freezing out here.”
“No. No, let’s sit.” He grabbed George’s arm and dragged him into an alley. He pulled his coat off and handed it to George. “Here. Wear this. I’m on fire. Sit with me.”
“I thought you couldn’t keep still?” George wondered if John realized how little sense he was making, yet at the same time, he marveled at how astute his observations were. There was no other description for John right now; he crackled and fizzled and lurched unexpectedly like a flame in the middle of the dark alley.
The two sat with their backs against the brick of a sex shop, away from some of the noise of the street. George was pretty sure that John was incapable of sitting in the state he was in, but he managed to keep relatively still, leaning his shoulder heavily against George’s. George watched him out of the corner of his eye as John snapped his head back against the bricks, once, twice, three times.
“Stop that.”
“I’m anesthetizing myself. I think it’s the only way I’ll sleep tonight.”
George reached around and slid his hand between the wall and John’s head, cushioning the next blow he tried to deliver. John turned and looked at him.
“You give yourself a concussion, and the real bugger of it will be waking you up again. You’ve done enough to yourself tonight, I think.”
A sigh hit George’s cheek, and he stiffened when John leaned in and rested his head on his shoulder.
“You’re the only thing grounding me right now.”
“Shush.”
John chuckled. “Sing us a lullaby, son?”
George’s hand still cradled the back of John’s head as John took up some wordless tune when he noted his request was not being fulfilled. George’s fingers unconsciously set to the task of combing John’s hair back into place as best they could, stroking along the side of his head.
“What the hell happened to you tonight?” George asked, curiosity finally getting the better of him.
“What d’you mean?”
“You went off on that girl and cut up all her clothes!”
John raised his head and stared with his mouth open. “I did?”
Before George could squeak out an incredulous response, John grinned a grin that quickly faltered once he saw that George did not appreciate the joke.
“Go back to anesthetizing yourself,” he said, shoving the older boy off him. “Then I won’t have to put up with your rubbish.”
“I was only-”
“I was asleep before you showed up. I was warm, and in bed, and dreaming of Brigitte Bardot, and then you come in and make a fuss.”
“Was she naked?”
George rolled his eyes and hauled himself to his feet. John scrambled to follow.
“Where are you going?”
“Back.”
“But I shouldn’t be there right now. You said so.”
“You don’t have to come.”
John put on a pout and batted his eyelashes. “You’d abandon a damsel in distress?”
Before George realized he was doing it, he had shoved John up against the wall. He was breathing hard, and he could see each puff fog before him as it rushed into John’s startled face. “Quit joking around! You were scary tonight. You scared that bird. You scared the guys, and you scared me. You were out of control! You cut Pete, you know that? And all you can do is joke about it like it’s nothing.”
“Look, I took too many pills, all right? I’m an asshole. We all know this. I’m fucking sorry.”
George let out a sigh and looked away, wondering how he could convey how fucking terrifying it was when John got like that. As he searched for words, John grabbed the back of his neck, and for the second time that night, the were pressed forehead to forehead.
“I’m sorry,” John repeated, and George marveled at how the usually unapologetic guitarist managed to show a little sincerity this time. John dropped his gaze to the ground and continued. “Everything’s just going to shit. It’s like no one cares. Stu’s off with Astrid all the time, we all know Pete’s no good, but he’s the best we’ve got, and then I saw Paul with that bird tonight. Everyone’s more concerned with getting their dicks sucked than playing fucking music. It’s why we came here, innit?”
While the thought had crossed George’s mind before, he also could hear them improve each night, trudging away through eight hour sets. Even Stu’s fumbling was getting to be passable. They were good. But John wanted them to be brilliant.
“Not you, though,” John said, giving him a little shake. “You’re the only real musician in the lot of us. And I don’t have to worry about losing out little blushing virgin to some bird.”
“Oh, leave it,” George muttered.
John grinned. “You’re all right, you know that?” With that, John grabbed George’s face and held him as he gave him a loud, smacking kiss.
“What the-”
“Too many pills,” John said with a shrug. “Come on. Let’s head back then, yeah?”
George followed, stunned, as John led them out of the alley and back onto the street.
“Someone could’ve seen that, you know,” George said.
John laughed and threw his arms up, gesturing to the debauchery all around them. “As if anyone here cares? I could’ve shoved my dick up your arse, and no one would’ve looked twice.”
“It might have caught my attention.”
“Would it, now?”
“It’s a possibility.”
By the time they got back to the Bambi Kino, it felt like any other night. They were joking easily, and John had calmed considerably. George was reluctant to return to what had the potential to be a still hostile environment in the rooms, but the lure of his bed was too great.
Stu had reappeared in their absence and was asleep in the top bunk he shared with John. George watched John’s face as he noted his presence, hoping he would be reassured that things weren’t falling apart as much as he had imagined. John’s features, however, revealed nothing, and it was that fact alone that convinced George that his friend was back to normal, or well on his way.
George tried the closed door to the other room only to find it locked. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Hey!” He banged his fist against the wood in attempt to rouse one of his fellow bandmates and got no response. “You worthless little shits!” he yelled, giving the door a final kick.
“Quiet,” Stu scolded sleepily from his bed.
“Kip here then,” John said as he climbed into his own bunk. “Even if they do hear you, they probably won’t let you in after you’ve spent the night with the devil.”
“Even at your worst, you’re a far cry from the devil, John.”
“God, then. Doesn’t matter. You’ll not see your bed tonight, son.”
“It’s morning by now,” George pointed out as he leaned his back against the wall to pull off his boots.
“Shut up. Get in already.”
“What, with you?”
John raised himself up on his elbows. “You can sleep on the floor if you want, but I’m not answering to your mother for any illnesses you pick up from it. You spout a third arm, that’s your doing. I wash my hands of it.”
George eyed the floor suspiciously as he pulled off his trousers and dropped them on top of his boots. He hesitantly crossed over to John’s bed and slid beneath the covers.
“Goodnight, then,” he offered softly as he made himself as small as possible.
“Night.” The room was quiet for a moment. “And thanks.”
He wanted to ask John what he was being thanked for and was turning in bed to do so when Stu’s voice cut through the silence once more.
“Will you two queers shut up and go to sleep already?”
George resettled in the small bed, and John glanced over at him and winked. “Goodnight, Georgie!” he declared in a loud, bright falsetto. “My sweet little honeypie!”
With a grin, George replied, equally loud and shrill, “Goodnight, Johnny, my love! Goodnight dear Stuart!”
John chuckled and kicked the underside of Stu’s mattress. “Night, Stu.”
“Sleeeeep.”
George closed his eyes, a smile still on his face, and fleetingly wondered if he’d ever be able to find dreams of Brigitte Bardot again that night, just before he drifted off to sleep.