Be Happy, Baby (Chapter 22)
Title: Be Happy, Baby (Chapter 22)
Author: samberrie (itsa me)
Pairing: John/Paul and George/Ringo
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Naughty language, crude humor, slight homophobia?
Time Frame: Second American Tour, 1965.
Summary: In this chapter, oh hey, it’s that bellhop guy again.
Disclaimer!: I own no Beatles. None of their songs and none of their pretty faces. None of this ever happened. ‘Tis fiction my dears.
A/N: Realized I based Frank off of this creepy fucker. [The interviewer, not Bob.] So there’s your visual for Frank if I didn’t describe him well enough. No idea who I based Teddy on, probably no one. Chapter contains long plot-development but I promise slightly-plotless sex will come soon..
A/N2: John’s not even in this chapter, but happy birthday to him!
A/N3: Too many author’s notes, lol. I thought it was a little OOC for George towards the end, but then I watched LITMW and it turns out he did have a bit of a temper. So.
CHAPITRE VINGT-DEUX
It had been hours. Quiet, empty, and utterly depressing hours of absolutely nothing.
George turned his unsurprisingly stiff neck from its place facing the window to glance at the clock, and he felt slightly horrified when he saw that it was already almost 6 p.m. That meant he hadn’t left this room or laid eyes upon another soul for almost 8 hours.
Basically the time equivalent to that of a full-night’s rest, and he had used to stare out the window like some sad-stricken heroin in a cheesy romance novel. The bigger issue, though, was the lack of people present in his cheese. Because cheese is less cheesy when you share it with others, everyone knows that.
This didn’t happen very often, not seeing people for 8 bloody hours, being a Beatle and all, so it wasn’t surprising how it could come off as quite bizarre and a little unsettling to the guitarist. Where had they all gone off to? Not that he wanted to see any of them, but it’s not like he wanted to.. not see them. He was depressed and humiliated, but he was not any kind of hermit, not yet.
George was still staring at the clock, debating on whether or not to get up from his inviting bed, when he though he heard some sort of noise outside of his door. He stilled, waited a few moments, but eventually relaxed when nothing happened. Uncomfortable silence was the only thing that greeted him.
He eventually turned back to the window where the sun was starting to dip down into the horizon, willing to let it go and come to the conclusion nothing was there.
George didn’t really like thinking about any sort of things too much. He liked his assortment of things to be comprehensible and semi-reasonable. As long as they met those two broad requirements, George was willing to accept them.
The lone man gnawed on a fingernail, a silent debate going on inside of his scattered brain. Half of him really wanted to just get out of this room and find some sort of human comfort, sure he was going to go completely mad if he stayed so isolated any longer, while the other half was scared-shitless that there’d be photographers and newspaper men waiting for him should he ever step foot outside of that door.
But, should he choose to stay here for the rest of the evening and night, it would most likely only spike his anxiousness. Anxiousness for what, he didn’t quite know. Questions, answers, even more scandalous lies being printed about him in the papers? Where he was, on the sanity scale? Did he forget to turn the lights off at home? How would his electricity bill look after having a light on for so long? The list could go on for a mile if he let it.
The sun was nearly touching the tops of the buildings by now, an orange tint staining the sky. That was nearly identical to how the outside world had looked when he’d come into his room hours ago. That alone was enough to make George realize he was acting absolutely mental. Who hides away in their room all day by choice? Someone who’s got something to hide from the world, that’s who. And George didn’t have anything to hide, did he? Of course not.
That article.. there was some explanation for it available, he was sure of it. Its main purpose had most likely only been to stir up trouble and attract attention. It’s not like Frank had given any undeniable proof that he indeed knew about this whole romantical business going on within the Beatles lately. So. It must have just been a lucky guess. Likewise, an unlucky coincidence on George’s part.
It was all starting to make sense now that he really thought about it logically. It was really just a some twisted coincidence that Frank had chosen George as a target for his Beatle-bashing attempt, nothing more.
And anyways he wasn’t actually “queer”, like Frank had so boldly and falsely accused him of being. He didn’t lust after a whole flock of various men; the idea wasn’t appealing to him in the least, enough to make him gag.
Having it off with one guy, the first and only - ever, didn’t make you gay really. That’s not what ‘queer’ was. Queer was more like, well… well it was like the queer version of what every other bloke did, regularly picking up people to shag and whatnot. They just happened to pick up other blokes instead of birds. That made sense, didn’t it?
George hadn’t ever really thought about it too much, so he hadn’t even really understood what it meant to be queer since he’d fallen victim to the biased words instilled inside of him, just like everyone else.
This.. It wasn’t gay, really. All this stuff between him and the drummer. Even whatever was going on between John and Paul. Not gay. So there had to be some other word for it, it shouldn’t just be final like that.
George stood up from the squeaky bed - had it gotten squeakier? - with a sudden tentative hope, sort of a still-developing epiphany.
That’s right. George Harrison is not gay. He knew that, everyone knew that. So why was he getting all self-conscious about this whole thing? His sexuality was more or less set in stone, well, pretty much. Taking the bait and causing a stir would only give that creep what he wanted. Publicity. Popularity. Credit for starting a huge scandal. It was human nature to crave attention and recognition after all, some people just used dirty methods to get it.
Why had it taken him so long to get to this point? He must have stopped thinking all together for the last 8 hours to have not realized the absurdity of the situation. A coincidence, that was all. All this.. it was just a coincidence. Now, he just needed to deal with it the right way, whatever way that was.
**
When he’d stepped out of his room and onto the lift, George had been feeling pretty satisfied and intelligent, proud that he’d figured all this out himself with no help whatsoever. But as the numbers of floors quickly descended, a dry feeling slowly started to overtake his mouth.
George tried his hardest to shove it away, wanting this new confidence to silently guide him to wherever he needed to go, but his nerves were already starting to tweak and twitch. He suddenly just wanted to be back in his quiet room so it could veil him from the stress that was sure to come from this impending encounter with the others.
The lift’s doors pried themselves open with their invisible wizardry, and George was forced to make the decision of whether or not to get off more quickly than he would have liked to.
Reluctantly, after playing out the calming scenario of his finger coming into contact with that button that would take him back up to his sanctuary, he forced his eyes away from the bright rows and stepped off the lift before he had a chance to change his mind.
George was left standing alone in the dim corridor as the doors closed behind him, ready to get things moving. He started to idly wander down the hallway with a reluctant determination, really having no idea where he was even meant to look. He probably should have checked
John and Paul’s room before taking the huge leap of venturing all the way down here, but it was too late now. No rest for the wicked.
The hallway was dead quiet through and through. The hotel wasn’t usually brimming with life or anything, and maybe it was just George’s hypersensitive nerves getting to him, but fuck if it wasn’t creepy, this silence. Perhaps it was just the fact that he was walking around alone that was getting to him, monophobia and all that.
George was debating whether or not to whistle a tune to fill the silent void with at least something no matter what it was when he came upon the familiar wooden doors to the buffet along his trek.
Something in him made his legs stop moving as soon as he reached them, eyes surprised to find what they were looking for beyond the little glass windows.
Whether it was a pleasant or unpleasant surprise, he was still trying to decide.
Familiar heads were huddled around the very same table he’d been sitting at this morning, familiar mouths jumping up and down without a sound like a silent film. George felt an uncomfortable sensation light up inside of his stomach as his eyes picked out one manic-looking manager who seemed to be the center of the discussion. He couldn’t help but notice the newspaper splayed out in front of him, reminding him why he was even down here.
George, hands desperately searching for some distraction but ultimately settling for curling and uncurling into nervous fists, flitted his eyes from face to face of the other guests of this all-day get-together.
Brian was pretty much the only one who looked like he was having a shit under the table though, thank God. For the most part, the rest of their emotions seemed to be less extreme, or at least well-hidden.
Mal and Neil were there, hovering closely near the table with their arms folded in an almost identical manner. And John and Paul as well, sitting on one side of the table with, more or less, serious expressions on their faces.
And then, albeit probably against his preferences, there was Ringo sitting on the same side of the table as Brian. The expression of pure misery on his face was giving Brian’s a tight run for its money with his deep frown and uncharacteristically unsmiling eyes. George unconsciously copied the older man’s expression as his stomach twisted with remorse.
He felt confused for the first time in weeks. Things hadn’t even felt this complicated even after the first time he and Ringo did it. Or even before. It had been, still was, in more way than one, exciting. That George was really, really really, shagging Ringo. And that he’d thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.
Well, what he and Ringo were doing wasn’t just sex after all. It wasn’t any sort of casual, short-lived fling you’d have with some bird.
Or was it?
Maybe… No, no, it wasn’t.
It isn’t, rather. It was still going, wasn’t it?
So it’s more than that.
Probably.
To George it is.
Wait, it is?
Yes, it is.
He’d known that from day one hadn’t he? Well, maybe not day one, that was a bit early..
Christ, he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything anymore.
George shook his head in frustration, realizing he was over-thinking things again. Everything in life could be plain and simple if you let it; things only became a problem if you kept analyzing them like he was doing.
The man tilted his head in thought as he continued to watch the drummer through the window. George wasn’t any expert when it came to body language, or language in general really, but it didn’t take an expert to pick up on the tension Ringo was currently upholding along with his frown. He looked as if he was waiting for his death sentence as he focused on whatever Brian was in the middle of saying.
Seeing the older man so uncomfortable and just plain dejected, George couldn’t help but think back to that morning when he had been the complete opposite. Surprisingly, this was the first time all day that he’d thought of anything but that fucking article, so the memories came as sort of a relief.
Today had started out so nicely, hadn’t it? He’d been feeling at ease and completely free of worry almost as soon as he’d woken up. Sure, he’d been a little hungover, that was a given when it came to excessive drinking and joviality, but it was nothing compared to the all-consuming elation he’d been feeling at the same time. That elation had obviously won out by the time he’d become fully-awake.
It was the sort of elation that came with new romantic endeavors that were going smoothly, a peaceful kind of feeling. Ah yes, peaceful. That was the perfect word to describe how he’d been feeling. At peace with the world. He’d felt it, and even momentarily shared it with Ringo during their nonsensical conversation about elves. George would’ve smiled at the memory, but then-
Then Frank had to fuck everything up. What a saggy cunt.
George could feel the scowl overtaking his face as his thoughts returned to the man who’d taken the shit on his day. The man whose fault it is that he was about to walk right into that painfully awkward conversation happening beyond these doors. God, he did not want to do this.
His hands fell back into their fisting-tendencies as he tried to mentally prepare himself before he could storm in. George got so wrapped up in his mental-rehearsal, that he hadn’t sensed another human’s presence. It was only when his palm was already flat against the door, and he was searching for a way to prolong his absence from the little meeting, that a shifting movement to his left caught his eye.
George froze with his hand still pressed against the door, and turned his head towards whoever was standing a mere few feet away from him.
Slight recognition tried to nudge its way into George’s brain as he met eyes with the startled person, his own face probably showing the same emotion, but he decided not to coast on his vague knowledge.
“Hi.” George said simply and unceremoniously, trying to pull a neutral face. He spared a quick glance at the inner going-ons of the buffet. He subtly took a step back so that he was out of view should any of them decide to look up.
He looked back at the fairly young-looking guy, a kid really, whose mouth was slightly parted with a reply ready, before snapping shut at the last moment.
George waited for him to say something, watching as the kid - what was his name? He was sure he knew his name.. - gave him an awkward smile. The guitarist wasn’t exactly sure what else to do besides smile back, and so he did.
The kid seemed to still have traces star-struck syndrome as he fiddled with his bell-hop vest and continued to stare at George, something in his mind seeming to be slowly turning before realization lit his face up.
“Oh! Uh hi, hello.” He suddenly said, a sudden flush covering his cheeks. “Sorry, I just..” Shoving a hand into his pocket, the kid looked down at the floor. George wasn’t sure if he was trying and failing to put on a cool act like many of their few male fans did, letting him know that he ‘wasn’t impressed’ with George or something, or if this kid was truly just socially awkward.
George waited, thinking he was going to say something more, but the kid’s mouth stayed clamped shut.
Not wanting to prolong this awkward situation much longer, the guitarist cleared his throat.
“Right, so you work here then?” Silly question, but better than silence. He did looked pretty young though, so it was possibly a plausible question.
The kid looked back up and nodded. “Yeah.” And he looked back down.
George was slightly annoyed at this semi-conversation already, but decided to keep on and possibly end it on a pleasant note. He wasn’t eager to get in there to the others, but it was probably better than staying out here with some weird kid.
“That’s nice.” He told him, taking a step back towards the door. “Well, I should..” George gestured towards the door and laid a palm against it once more. “See you.”
“Wait!” He’d hardly nudged the door when the kid piped up. George looked at him with bewilderment from the desperate-manner in which he’d spoken.
The kid quickly started patting his pockets as if he’d remembered something. “Could I, y’know-” He looked at George before looking back at himself bashfully. “Have your signature?”
George lifted his eyebrows in surprise.
“You’re my favorite.. Beatle, that is. My favorite Beatle.” He continued on quietly while still searching his pockets.
The guitarist felt a slightly-familiar flattery at the words he rarely heard to his face, at least spoken so genuinely.
Most of their fans and or groupies seemed to take any Beatle they could get, not really having a favorite, per se. There were little fanclubs or whatever, but still. And most of them were female.
He looked through the door windows to make sure he hadn’t been seen, and took a step in the direction towards the kid so that he was once again out of sight.
“Sure. Got a pen?” George was happy to accommodate this kid’s request, even if he was a little odd. All fan’s were pretty important, as Brian would assure him.
The kid stopped his patting after a moment, seemingly dejected. “I-I thought I did.” He looked at George with embarrassment. “I just didn’t expect to, y’know, meet a Beatle. Again.”
Aha, he knew it. This kid was familiar. He’d see him earlier at breakfast. It was Terry right? That sounded right. “Terry, right?” George said out loud, feeling a little bad at the kid’s crestfallen face.
“Teddy.” He corrected him quietly.
“Oh yeh, of course. Teddy the bellhop who brought the paper.” George tried not to show his irritability at the mention of said paper, trying to keep up this pleasant turn in the conversation. He was pretty proud that he’d remembered where he’d recognized the kid from though.
Teddy nodded with a small smile. “Right.” The kid sighed to himself, eyes shifting away from George’s quickly when the pairs met.
George chewed on his cheek, feeling a bit caught in-between decisions. He wasn’t the nicest person in the world when it came to being hassled for autographs or whatever whacky things fans were always asking for, but this kid was his fan. It was obvious. George couldn’t just say ‘oh well, maybe next time kid’ and walk off. That would nag at his conscience for a while.
“Well..” He started, trying to think quickly so this they could both walk off happy. “I mean, d’ya know if there’s a pen at the desk or somethin’?”
Teddy looked at him in surprise. George was a little surprised himself at the words that came out of his mouth. He reasoned that he was just being a sport and going out of his way for a fan, but it was obvious he was now just trying to post-pone his entrance into the buffet.
“There might be. I think the clerk is still there though.. but she’s a little.. fanatic. About you, er, the Beatles being here. So..”
George hadn’t thought about the possibility of other people present in the hotel. The place was pretty much a warzone with hardly any other guests that any of them knew of. It was a big hotel though, so who knows. “Oh.”
Teddy nodded solemnly. The guitarist shuffled his feet for a moment, reluctantly letting the awkward air come back.
“I think there’s probably some pens and paper in the storage room though, if that’s, y’know..” He looked at Teddy, who looked like he was afraid he’d spoken out of turn at the Queen’s ball. When George didn’t speak, the young man looked away and said something under his breath, a red tint to his cheeks. “But it’s alright. I shouldn’t keep you.”
George kind of expected him to start walking away with is shoulders slumped, possibly kicking a rock in a sad manner, but Teddy stayed frozen in place. Obviously, it wasn’t alright.
“Well where’s the storage room?” He inquired, making it clear that he wasn’t going to just dump the poor kid because he didn’t have a pen.
“Over in the west wing.” Teddy answered quicker than George had been expecting.
George didn’t think much of it though, trying to figure out which way west even was. “Is it close then?”
Teddy nodded again, only this time with a tentative smile dashed with hope.
He was sure everyone else would still be there by the time he got back, no need to do things you don’t even want to do earlier than necessary.
The guitarist decided to follow through with his implied decision and nodded back.
“Lead the way.”
**
The supposed ‘west side’ of the building was actually just up one twisty-turny corridor, but the atmosphere shifted dramatically as they walked through it. The wallpaper had absolutely no transition, and just cut off from its bright flowery design to a warmer, more complimentary design that didn’t really seem to make anything. Just blobs of color that brought each other out.
George followed Teddy through the hall, relieved that it hadn’t taken them long to get to where they were going as they came to a stop in front of a door plainly labeled “storage”.
Teddy tested the handle and found that it was open. He shot a quick, shy glance at George before twisting and pushing the knob.
The guitarist half expected bats to come flying out in clusters as the room was revealed to be pitch black. It didn’t seem like a very pleasant storage room, he was sure he even felt chilly little draft rushing out of it.
Teddy gestured for him to go in, but.. he couldn’t be serious. George didn’t want to get the kid upset, but he hadn’t really thought he’d be expected to actually go in there. Besides, he wasn’t the one who worked at this hotel and had access to these places. George was a Beatle, sure, but.. so what.
“Um.” He started, trying to think on his feet. “Why dontcha bring the stuff out? I’ll be right here.”
“Well, my manager.. he doesn’t really like employees going in here without his permission and stuff.” The young man reasoned, looking up and down the hall as he spoke. “So I can’t really leave the door open for too long. He, uh, might catch me.” Teddy looked at him with nervous eyes.
George stifled a sigh. Well, he’d come all the way down here already. Might as well follow through and get this over with quickly. Besides, if he flat-out declined, he didn’t even know his way back to the buffet. He’d really never been in this part of the hotel, so he was as good as blind.
He gave Teddy a reassuring smile although he wasn’t so assured himself and walked through the doorway. The young man followed behind him and must’ve flipped a switch for the room lit up.
George wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but the room was pretty normal. Regular counters with hotel stuff on them. Cupboards filled with other hotel stuff were on either side of the wall with another door leading to some other room also filled with what he’d assume to be more hotel stuff.
George’s brain barely registered the click of the door behind him as he scanned the room with vague interest. He only realized it was silent when he heard, well, nothing. The guitarist turned and easily met the young man’s eyes, as he was already staring. George coughed and looked away when Teddy surprisingly didn’t. “So. Pen?” He asked, resuming his inspection of the room.
He went and leaned against a counter and watched Teddy walk to the cupboard opposite of him. His thoughts drifted to what might happen in the next ten minutes or so when he got back to the buffet as Teddy sifted through the cupboard.
Trying to play it out in his head, he imagined what their faces would look like when he walked through the door. It would be painfully awkward, he was almost positive. They were pretty much the closest people to him at this point in this life, and had been for a good 7 years or so, but even something like this couldn’t very well be danced around lightly. It was a weird subject to talk about with anyone, really.
George was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard an “aha!” come from the cupboard before Teddy straightened up and turned to him with a smile. “Found ‘em.” He said, holding up a pen and sheet of paper.
“Good.” The guitarist said for lack of anything better to say. Teddy practically bounced over to the counter and handed the items to George. It wasn’t too weird how quickly the man’s mood had shifted, so George didn’t really analyze it. The kid was already pretty weird anyways.
George hunched over the paper with the pen.
It was almost like Teddy grew a second mouth that actually liked to talk as he came to lean against the counter next to him, half-way invading George’s personal space.
“Thanks a bunch for doing this. Like I said, you really are my favorite Beatle.” He piped up, sounding very enthusiastic.
“Uh huh.” The guitarist said distractedly as he tried to think of a clever message to write. He liked to get creative with autographs when he got the chance.
“Ever since I saw you on Ed Sullivan last year,” Teddy continued, perfectly conversational, “I mean I know it’s a little weird.. having a guy for a fan and all, and asking for an autograph, like a girl..”
George decided just write whatever came to mind, not wanting to dwell on it too long. “Oh, it’s not that weird.”
“Really? A lot of guys asking you for autographs then?” He could practically feel the kid breathing down his neck as he spoke, his sleeve endlessly brushing against George’s.
George subtly shifted away, not thinking too much of it. “No, not really.” He answered, trying to focus on the task, literally, at hand.
“Oh.” Teddy paused. “Well I’m sure it’ll happen more often now after, you know..” Teddy’s arm was right back in the same place after he spoke.
George visibly stiffened before he could catch himself, making an unnecessary wavy line in his finished signature.
“After what?” He asked more calmly than he felt as he turned and locked eyes with the young man. His mind had assumed the worst, but for all he knew Teddy could be referring to their last concert or something. At least, he and his nervously-beating heart hoped so.
Teddy’s second mouth seemed to shrivel up and fall off under George’s scrutiny. He started fidgeting again like he had been earlier, his
face taking on its red tint once more.
“The… thing.” He mumbled.
George set the pen down, trying to maintain his calm. “What thing?”
The young man met his eyes, as if testing out the waters of where this conversation might lead should he say what he was thinking, so
George purposely kept his face free of any discouraging emotions.
“The newspaper article.” He finally answered, shifting closer as his voice lowered. Teddy gave him an odd smile and tentatively touched George’s arm.
Well it would make sense, Teddy knowing about the article. He brought the bloody thing to him for Christ’s sake. With this knowledge, George suddenly felt like the one being scrutinized. He felt his face get hot against his will as he shrugged out of Teddy’s much-too-intimate-for-two-blokes touch.
“Why would that get me more male fans?” George asked, losing a bit of composure.
Teddy lost his last bit of confidence at George’s harsh tone and shrank away, taking a step back. “Well, I-I mean, if it’s true-“
“It’s not true.” George said, mimicking Teddy’s step back with a step forward.
The bellhop furrowed his brows, confusion mingling in with his uneasiness. “It’s not?”
George shook his head with agitation. “No!”
“But I.. what I heard..” What he heard? Jesus, had this little rumor already spread to other tabloids? George waited for Teddy to continue, but the boy only stared at his hands as he twisted them.
“What? What d’ya mean what you’ve heard?” George said, rolling his wrist and hand in a ‘go on’ gesture.
“Nothing, I just..” Teddy’s face was the same shade as his vest by now as he looked at George cautiously. “Look, I’m not stalking you or anything. But..”
George had to lean in to hear his next mumbles, his wary-senses tingling after the word ‘stalking’
“I just happened to be on your floor a few nights ago, and, well,” He took another half-step back, holding his hands up slightly in a protective manner. “I wasn’t snooping! The walls are thin, is all.”
George could already tell where this was going as a stone started to descend into his stomach, a heat flaring in his cheeks. Though, he still asked, “Yeh, so?”
“.. I heard. You. And, you know, other things.” The stone hit the bottom of his stomach, the sensation reverberating off his nerves. George looked away contemplating on what to do next, God he had no idea, when Teddy spoke again. His voice was hardly above a whisper, he probably hadn’t meant for George to hear, but somehow George still heard.
“So I know it’s true... otherwise I wouldn’t have told.”
Alright, George was pretty sure he had permission for murder at this point. “What? Y-you, what?!” He wouldn’t doubt the excessive amount of fury he shot towards the bellhop when he looked up.
Teddy flinched and let out a little squeak, obviously caught off guard by George’s outburst.
“You told that guy! Wh-why would you-? What the fuck Teddy.” George took another menacing step towards the kid, Teddy stepping back to match him.
“So what, did he hire you to spy on the Beatles or something? How much is he payin’ you then?” Teddy must’ve noticed the guitarist’s balled up fists for he had his hands up near his face defensively.
“No! He’s not, he’s-“
“What kind of fan are you, you bastard? Was this all a ploy, asking for my autograph? Were ya gonna try and jump me and tell that to Frank too?”
Teddy’s face fell shamefully, his voice still quiet. “I really am your fan! Really! That’s why I-I..”
“Even if I was queer,” George continued, ignoring Teddy’s pleas, “I wouldn’t go for you, so don’t get yer hopes up.”
By the time Teddy had his back flat against a cupboard, boxed in from his own backing up, George was all too ready to sock this kid in the mouth despite his appearance to be on the brink of tears. He didn’t usually reason with himself when it came to blind fury, because that was kind of the point. When the fury is blind, there’s no guilt and usually no repercussions.
But something in the back of his mind, that logical corner that had made an appearance earlier but had sadly been wrong, wouldn’t let him. Reasoning was still present, which is how he knew he hadn’t met that blind point. Nothing would come from hitting this kid besides guilt and bruised knuckles.
Sadly, violence wouldn’t solve anything. But George wasn’t about to give this kid a slap on the wrist and walk away.
George turned on his heel, leaving a petrified Teddy behind him, and marched back over to the counter. He snatched up the paper with his curly signature on it and turned back to the bellhop. Teddy looked like he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved for not getting his face smashed or worried that he hadn’t.
Silently, without a second thought, George ripped the paper in two, then in four, then in six, then in eight, and then he stopped counting. Teddy squeaked something else but it was drowned out by the satisfying noise of paper ripping in George’s ears.
Once he couldn’t rip anymore and the paper was in the state of confetti, he glared at Teddy and tossed it towards the bellhop’s stupid face.
The tiny little paper particles only made it about a foot across the room, but George was pretty sure the kid got the point.
He didn’t want to stick around for when the kid started crying or something, George was almost positive that would be happening in thirty seconds or less, so he didn’t waste time with any menacing parting words.
Silence would probably be the best “fuck you” at this point, and so that’s what he ended with.
He strode over to the closed door and swung it open, ignoring Teddy’s last attempt at an explanation or whatever he was trying to say as he walked out, and made his way in the direction that he hoped lead to the buffet.
George figured he should have stuck to his plan of solving this whole thing as quickly as possible, for with every extra step he took, it seemed like he pushed deeper and deeper into shit.
**
A/N4: Oh god, I can’t stop with the plot. Next chapter will try and take a different turn to more sexy things, er, okay?
Author: samberrie (itsa me)
Pairing: John/Paul and George/Ringo
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Naughty language, crude humor, slight homophobia?
Time Frame: Second American Tour, 1965.
Summary: In this chapter, oh hey, it’s that bellhop guy again.
Disclaimer!: I own no Beatles. None of their songs and none of their pretty faces. None of this ever happened. ‘Tis fiction my dears.
A/N: Realized I based Frank off of this creepy fucker. [The interviewer, not Bob.] So there’s your visual for Frank if I didn’t describe him well enough. No idea who I based Teddy on, probably no one. Chapter contains long plot-development but I promise slightly-plotless sex will come soon..
A/N2: John’s not even in this chapter, but happy birthday to him!
A/N3: Too many author’s notes, lol. I thought it was a little OOC for George towards the end, but then I watched LITMW and it turns out he did have a bit of a temper. So.
CHAPITRE VINGT-DEUX
It had been hours. Quiet, empty, and utterly depressing hours of absolutely nothing.
George turned his unsurprisingly stiff neck from its place facing the window to glance at the clock, and he felt slightly horrified when he saw that it was already almost 6 p.m. That meant he hadn’t left this room or laid eyes upon another soul for almost 8 hours.
Basically the time equivalent to that of a full-night’s rest, and he had used to stare out the window like some sad-stricken heroin in a cheesy romance novel. The bigger issue, though, was the lack of people present in his cheese. Because cheese is less cheesy when you share it with others, everyone knows that.
This didn’t happen very often, not seeing people for 8 bloody hours, being a Beatle and all, so it wasn’t surprising how it could come off as quite bizarre and a little unsettling to the guitarist. Where had they all gone off to? Not that he wanted to see any of them, but it’s not like he wanted to.. not see them. He was depressed and humiliated, but he was not any kind of hermit, not yet.
George was still staring at the clock, debating on whether or not to get up from his inviting bed, when he though he heard some sort of noise outside of his door. He stilled, waited a few moments, but eventually relaxed when nothing happened. Uncomfortable silence was the only thing that greeted him.
He eventually turned back to the window where the sun was starting to dip down into the horizon, willing to let it go and come to the conclusion nothing was there.
George didn’t really like thinking about any sort of things too much. He liked his assortment of things to be comprehensible and semi-reasonable. As long as they met those two broad requirements, George was willing to accept them.
The lone man gnawed on a fingernail, a silent debate going on inside of his scattered brain. Half of him really wanted to just get out of this room and find some sort of human comfort, sure he was going to go completely mad if he stayed so isolated any longer, while the other half was scared-shitless that there’d be photographers and newspaper men waiting for him should he ever step foot outside of that door.
But, should he choose to stay here for the rest of the evening and night, it would most likely only spike his anxiousness. Anxiousness for what, he didn’t quite know. Questions, answers, even more scandalous lies being printed about him in the papers? Where he was, on the sanity scale? Did he forget to turn the lights off at home? How would his electricity bill look after having a light on for so long? The list could go on for a mile if he let it.
The sun was nearly touching the tops of the buildings by now, an orange tint staining the sky. That was nearly identical to how the outside world had looked when he’d come into his room hours ago. That alone was enough to make George realize he was acting absolutely mental. Who hides away in their room all day by choice? Someone who’s got something to hide from the world, that’s who. And George didn’t have anything to hide, did he? Of course not.
That article.. there was some explanation for it available, he was sure of it. Its main purpose had most likely only been to stir up trouble and attract attention. It’s not like Frank had given any undeniable proof that he indeed knew about this whole romantical business going on within the Beatles lately. So. It must have just been a lucky guess. Likewise, an unlucky coincidence on George’s part.
It was all starting to make sense now that he really thought about it logically. It was really just a some twisted coincidence that Frank had chosen George as a target for his Beatle-bashing attempt, nothing more.
And anyways he wasn’t actually “queer”, like Frank had so boldly and falsely accused him of being. He didn’t lust after a whole flock of various men; the idea wasn’t appealing to him in the least, enough to make him gag.
Having it off with one guy, the first and only - ever, didn’t make you gay really. That’s not what ‘queer’ was. Queer was more like, well… well it was like the queer version of what every other bloke did, regularly picking up people to shag and whatnot. They just happened to pick up other blokes instead of birds. That made sense, didn’t it?
George hadn’t ever really thought about it too much, so he hadn’t even really understood what it meant to be queer since he’d fallen victim to the biased words instilled inside of him, just like everyone else.
This.. It wasn’t gay, really. All this stuff between him and the drummer. Even whatever was going on between John and Paul. Not gay. So there had to be some other word for it, it shouldn’t just be final like that.
George stood up from the squeaky bed - had it gotten squeakier? - with a sudden tentative hope, sort of a still-developing epiphany.
That’s right. George Harrison is not gay. He knew that, everyone knew that. So why was he getting all self-conscious about this whole thing? His sexuality was more or less set in stone, well, pretty much. Taking the bait and causing a stir would only give that creep what he wanted. Publicity. Popularity. Credit for starting a huge scandal. It was human nature to crave attention and recognition after all, some people just used dirty methods to get it.
Why had it taken him so long to get to this point? He must have stopped thinking all together for the last 8 hours to have not realized the absurdity of the situation. A coincidence, that was all. All this.. it was just a coincidence. Now, he just needed to deal with it the right way, whatever way that was.
**
When he’d stepped out of his room and onto the lift, George had been feeling pretty satisfied and intelligent, proud that he’d figured all this out himself with no help whatsoever. But as the numbers of floors quickly descended, a dry feeling slowly started to overtake his mouth.
George tried his hardest to shove it away, wanting this new confidence to silently guide him to wherever he needed to go, but his nerves were already starting to tweak and twitch. He suddenly just wanted to be back in his quiet room so it could veil him from the stress that was sure to come from this impending encounter with the others.
The lift’s doors pried themselves open with their invisible wizardry, and George was forced to make the decision of whether or not to get off more quickly than he would have liked to.
Reluctantly, after playing out the calming scenario of his finger coming into contact with that button that would take him back up to his sanctuary, he forced his eyes away from the bright rows and stepped off the lift before he had a chance to change his mind.
George was left standing alone in the dim corridor as the doors closed behind him, ready to get things moving. He started to idly wander down the hallway with a reluctant determination, really having no idea where he was even meant to look. He probably should have checked
John and Paul’s room before taking the huge leap of venturing all the way down here, but it was too late now. No rest for the wicked.
The hallway was dead quiet through and through. The hotel wasn’t usually brimming with life or anything, and maybe it was just George’s hypersensitive nerves getting to him, but fuck if it wasn’t creepy, this silence. Perhaps it was just the fact that he was walking around alone that was getting to him, monophobia and all that.
George was debating whether or not to whistle a tune to fill the silent void with at least something no matter what it was when he came upon the familiar wooden doors to the buffet along his trek.
Something in him made his legs stop moving as soon as he reached them, eyes surprised to find what they were looking for beyond the little glass windows.
Whether it was a pleasant or unpleasant surprise, he was still trying to decide.
Familiar heads were huddled around the very same table he’d been sitting at this morning, familiar mouths jumping up and down without a sound like a silent film. George felt an uncomfortable sensation light up inside of his stomach as his eyes picked out one manic-looking manager who seemed to be the center of the discussion. He couldn’t help but notice the newspaper splayed out in front of him, reminding him why he was even down here.
George, hands desperately searching for some distraction but ultimately settling for curling and uncurling into nervous fists, flitted his eyes from face to face of the other guests of this all-day get-together.
Brian was pretty much the only one who looked like he was having a shit under the table though, thank God. For the most part, the rest of their emotions seemed to be less extreme, or at least well-hidden.
Mal and Neil were there, hovering closely near the table with their arms folded in an almost identical manner. And John and Paul as well, sitting on one side of the table with, more or less, serious expressions on their faces.
And then, albeit probably against his preferences, there was Ringo sitting on the same side of the table as Brian. The expression of pure misery on his face was giving Brian’s a tight run for its money with his deep frown and uncharacteristically unsmiling eyes. George unconsciously copied the older man’s expression as his stomach twisted with remorse.
He felt confused for the first time in weeks. Things hadn’t even felt this complicated even after the first time he and Ringo did it. Or even before. It had been, still was, in more way than one, exciting. That George was really, really really, shagging Ringo. And that he’d thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.
Well, what he and Ringo were doing wasn’t just sex after all. It wasn’t any sort of casual, short-lived fling you’d have with some bird.
Or was it?
Maybe… No, no, it wasn’t.
It isn’t, rather. It was still going, wasn’t it?
So it’s more than that.
Probably.
To George it is.
Wait, it is?
Yes, it is.
He’d known that from day one hadn’t he? Well, maybe not day one, that was a bit early..
Christ, he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything anymore.
George shook his head in frustration, realizing he was over-thinking things again. Everything in life could be plain and simple if you let it; things only became a problem if you kept analyzing them like he was doing.
The man tilted his head in thought as he continued to watch the drummer through the window. George wasn’t any expert when it came to body language, or language in general really, but it didn’t take an expert to pick up on the tension Ringo was currently upholding along with his frown. He looked as if he was waiting for his death sentence as he focused on whatever Brian was in the middle of saying.
Seeing the older man so uncomfortable and just plain dejected, George couldn’t help but think back to that morning when he had been the complete opposite. Surprisingly, this was the first time all day that he’d thought of anything but that fucking article, so the memories came as sort of a relief.
Today had started out so nicely, hadn’t it? He’d been feeling at ease and completely free of worry almost as soon as he’d woken up. Sure, he’d been a little hungover, that was a given when it came to excessive drinking and joviality, but it was nothing compared to the all-consuming elation he’d been feeling at the same time. That elation had obviously won out by the time he’d become fully-awake.
It was the sort of elation that came with new romantic endeavors that were going smoothly, a peaceful kind of feeling. Ah yes, peaceful. That was the perfect word to describe how he’d been feeling. At peace with the world. He’d felt it, and even momentarily shared it with Ringo during their nonsensical conversation about elves. George would’ve smiled at the memory, but then-
Then Frank had to fuck everything up. What a saggy cunt.
George could feel the scowl overtaking his face as his thoughts returned to the man who’d taken the shit on his day. The man whose fault it is that he was about to walk right into that painfully awkward conversation happening beyond these doors. God, he did not want to do this.
His hands fell back into their fisting-tendencies as he tried to mentally prepare himself before he could storm in. George got so wrapped up in his mental-rehearsal, that he hadn’t sensed another human’s presence. It was only when his palm was already flat against the door, and he was searching for a way to prolong his absence from the little meeting, that a shifting movement to his left caught his eye.
George froze with his hand still pressed against the door, and turned his head towards whoever was standing a mere few feet away from him.
Slight recognition tried to nudge its way into George’s brain as he met eyes with the startled person, his own face probably showing the same emotion, but he decided not to coast on his vague knowledge.
“Hi.” George said simply and unceremoniously, trying to pull a neutral face. He spared a quick glance at the inner going-ons of the buffet. He subtly took a step back so that he was out of view should any of them decide to look up.
He looked back at the fairly young-looking guy, a kid really, whose mouth was slightly parted with a reply ready, before snapping shut at the last moment.
George waited for him to say something, watching as the kid - what was his name? He was sure he knew his name.. - gave him an awkward smile. The guitarist wasn’t exactly sure what else to do besides smile back, and so he did.
The kid seemed to still have traces star-struck syndrome as he fiddled with his bell-hop vest and continued to stare at George, something in his mind seeming to be slowly turning before realization lit his face up.
“Oh! Uh hi, hello.” He suddenly said, a sudden flush covering his cheeks. “Sorry, I just..” Shoving a hand into his pocket, the kid looked down at the floor. George wasn’t sure if he was trying and failing to put on a cool act like many of their few male fans did, letting him know that he ‘wasn’t impressed’ with George or something, or if this kid was truly just socially awkward.
George waited, thinking he was going to say something more, but the kid’s mouth stayed clamped shut.
Not wanting to prolong this awkward situation much longer, the guitarist cleared his throat.
“Right, so you work here then?” Silly question, but better than silence. He did looked pretty young though, so it was possibly a plausible question.
The kid looked back up and nodded. “Yeah.” And he looked back down.
George was slightly annoyed at this semi-conversation already, but decided to keep on and possibly end it on a pleasant note. He wasn’t eager to get in there to the others, but it was probably better than staying out here with some weird kid.
“That’s nice.” He told him, taking a step back towards the door. “Well, I should..” George gestured towards the door and laid a palm against it once more. “See you.”
“Wait!” He’d hardly nudged the door when the kid piped up. George looked at him with bewilderment from the desperate-manner in which he’d spoken.
The kid quickly started patting his pockets as if he’d remembered something. “Could I, y’know-” He looked at George before looking back at himself bashfully. “Have your signature?”
George lifted his eyebrows in surprise.
“You’re my favorite.. Beatle, that is. My favorite Beatle.” He continued on quietly while still searching his pockets.
The guitarist felt a slightly-familiar flattery at the words he rarely heard to his face, at least spoken so genuinely.
Most of their fans and or groupies seemed to take any Beatle they could get, not really having a favorite, per se. There were little fanclubs or whatever, but still. And most of them were female.
He looked through the door windows to make sure he hadn’t been seen, and took a step in the direction towards the kid so that he was once again out of sight.
“Sure. Got a pen?” George was happy to accommodate this kid’s request, even if he was a little odd. All fan’s were pretty important, as Brian would assure him.
The kid stopped his patting after a moment, seemingly dejected. “I-I thought I did.” He looked at George with embarrassment. “I just didn’t expect to, y’know, meet a Beatle. Again.”
Aha, he knew it. This kid was familiar. He’d see him earlier at breakfast. It was Terry right? That sounded right. “Terry, right?” George said out loud, feeling a little bad at the kid’s crestfallen face.
“Teddy.” He corrected him quietly.
“Oh yeh, of course. Teddy the bellhop who brought the paper.” George tried not to show his irritability at the mention of said paper, trying to keep up this pleasant turn in the conversation. He was pretty proud that he’d remembered where he’d recognized the kid from though.
Teddy nodded with a small smile. “Right.” The kid sighed to himself, eyes shifting away from George’s quickly when the pairs met.
George chewed on his cheek, feeling a bit caught in-between decisions. He wasn’t the nicest person in the world when it came to being hassled for autographs or whatever whacky things fans were always asking for, but this kid was his fan. It was obvious. George couldn’t just say ‘oh well, maybe next time kid’ and walk off. That would nag at his conscience for a while.
“Well..” He started, trying to think quickly so this they could both walk off happy. “I mean, d’ya know if there’s a pen at the desk or somethin’?”
Teddy looked at him in surprise. George was a little surprised himself at the words that came out of his mouth. He reasoned that he was just being a sport and going out of his way for a fan, but it was obvious he was now just trying to post-pone his entrance into the buffet.
“There might be. I think the clerk is still there though.. but she’s a little.. fanatic. About you, er, the Beatles being here. So..”
George hadn’t thought about the possibility of other people present in the hotel. The place was pretty much a warzone with hardly any other guests that any of them knew of. It was a big hotel though, so who knows. “Oh.”
Teddy nodded solemnly. The guitarist shuffled his feet for a moment, reluctantly letting the awkward air come back.
“I think there’s probably some pens and paper in the storage room though, if that’s, y’know..” He looked at Teddy, who looked like he was afraid he’d spoken out of turn at the Queen’s ball. When George didn’t speak, the young man looked away and said something under his breath, a red tint to his cheeks. “But it’s alright. I shouldn’t keep you.”
George kind of expected him to start walking away with is shoulders slumped, possibly kicking a rock in a sad manner, but Teddy stayed frozen in place. Obviously, it wasn’t alright.
“Well where’s the storage room?” He inquired, making it clear that he wasn’t going to just dump the poor kid because he didn’t have a pen.
“Over in the west wing.” Teddy answered quicker than George had been expecting.
George didn’t think much of it though, trying to figure out which way west even was. “Is it close then?”
Teddy nodded again, only this time with a tentative smile dashed with hope.
He was sure everyone else would still be there by the time he got back, no need to do things you don’t even want to do earlier than necessary.
The guitarist decided to follow through with his implied decision and nodded back.
“Lead the way.”
**
The supposed ‘west side’ of the building was actually just up one twisty-turny corridor, but the atmosphere shifted dramatically as they walked through it. The wallpaper had absolutely no transition, and just cut off from its bright flowery design to a warmer, more complimentary design that didn’t really seem to make anything. Just blobs of color that brought each other out.
George followed Teddy through the hall, relieved that it hadn’t taken them long to get to where they were going as they came to a stop in front of a door plainly labeled “storage”.
Teddy tested the handle and found that it was open. He shot a quick, shy glance at George before twisting and pushing the knob.
The guitarist half expected bats to come flying out in clusters as the room was revealed to be pitch black. It didn’t seem like a very pleasant storage room, he was sure he even felt chilly little draft rushing out of it.
Teddy gestured for him to go in, but.. he couldn’t be serious. George didn’t want to get the kid upset, but he hadn’t really thought he’d be expected to actually go in there. Besides, he wasn’t the one who worked at this hotel and had access to these places. George was a Beatle, sure, but.. so what.
“Um.” He started, trying to think on his feet. “Why dontcha bring the stuff out? I’ll be right here.”
“Well, my manager.. he doesn’t really like employees going in here without his permission and stuff.” The young man reasoned, looking up and down the hall as he spoke. “So I can’t really leave the door open for too long. He, uh, might catch me.” Teddy looked at him with nervous eyes.
George stifled a sigh. Well, he’d come all the way down here already. Might as well follow through and get this over with quickly. Besides, if he flat-out declined, he didn’t even know his way back to the buffet. He’d really never been in this part of the hotel, so he was as good as blind.
He gave Teddy a reassuring smile although he wasn’t so assured himself and walked through the doorway. The young man followed behind him and must’ve flipped a switch for the room lit up.
George wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but the room was pretty normal. Regular counters with hotel stuff on them. Cupboards filled with other hotel stuff were on either side of the wall with another door leading to some other room also filled with what he’d assume to be more hotel stuff.
George’s brain barely registered the click of the door behind him as he scanned the room with vague interest. He only realized it was silent when he heard, well, nothing. The guitarist turned and easily met the young man’s eyes, as he was already staring. George coughed and looked away when Teddy surprisingly didn’t. “So. Pen?” He asked, resuming his inspection of the room.
He went and leaned against a counter and watched Teddy walk to the cupboard opposite of him. His thoughts drifted to what might happen in the next ten minutes or so when he got back to the buffet as Teddy sifted through the cupboard.
Trying to play it out in his head, he imagined what their faces would look like when he walked through the door. It would be painfully awkward, he was almost positive. They were pretty much the closest people to him at this point in this life, and had been for a good 7 years or so, but even something like this couldn’t very well be danced around lightly. It was a weird subject to talk about with anyone, really.
George was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard an “aha!” come from the cupboard before Teddy straightened up and turned to him with a smile. “Found ‘em.” He said, holding up a pen and sheet of paper.
“Good.” The guitarist said for lack of anything better to say. Teddy practically bounced over to the counter and handed the items to George. It wasn’t too weird how quickly the man’s mood had shifted, so George didn’t really analyze it. The kid was already pretty weird anyways.
George hunched over the paper with the pen.
It was almost like Teddy grew a second mouth that actually liked to talk as he came to lean against the counter next to him, half-way invading George’s personal space.
“Thanks a bunch for doing this. Like I said, you really are my favorite Beatle.” He piped up, sounding very enthusiastic.
“Uh huh.” The guitarist said distractedly as he tried to think of a clever message to write. He liked to get creative with autographs when he got the chance.
“Ever since I saw you on Ed Sullivan last year,” Teddy continued, perfectly conversational, “I mean I know it’s a little weird.. having a guy for a fan and all, and asking for an autograph, like a girl..”
George decided just write whatever came to mind, not wanting to dwell on it too long. “Oh, it’s not that weird.”
“Really? A lot of guys asking you for autographs then?” He could practically feel the kid breathing down his neck as he spoke, his sleeve endlessly brushing against George’s.
George subtly shifted away, not thinking too much of it. “No, not really.” He answered, trying to focus on the task, literally, at hand.
“Oh.” Teddy paused. “Well I’m sure it’ll happen more often now after, you know..” Teddy’s arm was right back in the same place after he spoke.
George visibly stiffened before he could catch himself, making an unnecessary wavy line in his finished signature.
“After what?” He asked more calmly than he felt as he turned and locked eyes with the young man. His mind had assumed the worst, but for all he knew Teddy could be referring to their last concert or something. At least, he and his nervously-beating heart hoped so.
Teddy’s second mouth seemed to shrivel up and fall off under George’s scrutiny. He started fidgeting again like he had been earlier, his
face taking on its red tint once more.
“The… thing.” He mumbled.
George set the pen down, trying to maintain his calm. “What thing?”
The young man met his eyes, as if testing out the waters of where this conversation might lead should he say what he was thinking, so
George purposely kept his face free of any discouraging emotions.
“The newspaper article.” He finally answered, shifting closer as his voice lowered. Teddy gave him an odd smile and tentatively touched George’s arm.
Well it would make sense, Teddy knowing about the article. He brought the bloody thing to him for Christ’s sake. With this knowledge, George suddenly felt like the one being scrutinized. He felt his face get hot against his will as he shrugged out of Teddy’s much-too-intimate-for-two-blokes touch.
“Why would that get me more male fans?” George asked, losing a bit of composure.
Teddy lost his last bit of confidence at George’s harsh tone and shrank away, taking a step back. “Well, I-I mean, if it’s true-“
“It’s not true.” George said, mimicking Teddy’s step back with a step forward.
The bellhop furrowed his brows, confusion mingling in with his uneasiness. “It’s not?”
George shook his head with agitation. “No!”
“But I.. what I heard..” What he heard? Jesus, had this little rumor already spread to other tabloids? George waited for Teddy to continue, but the boy only stared at his hands as he twisted them.
“What? What d’ya mean what you’ve heard?” George said, rolling his wrist and hand in a ‘go on’ gesture.
“Nothing, I just..” Teddy’s face was the same shade as his vest by now as he looked at George cautiously. “Look, I’m not stalking you or anything. But..”
George had to lean in to hear his next mumbles, his wary-senses tingling after the word ‘stalking’
“I just happened to be on your floor a few nights ago, and, well,” He took another half-step back, holding his hands up slightly in a protective manner. “I wasn’t snooping! The walls are thin, is all.”
George could already tell where this was going as a stone started to descend into his stomach, a heat flaring in his cheeks. Though, he still asked, “Yeh, so?”
“.. I heard. You. And, you know, other things.” The stone hit the bottom of his stomach, the sensation reverberating off his nerves. George looked away contemplating on what to do next, God he had no idea, when Teddy spoke again. His voice was hardly above a whisper, he probably hadn’t meant for George to hear, but somehow George still heard.
“So I know it’s true... otherwise I wouldn’t have told.”
Alright, George was pretty sure he had permission for murder at this point. “What? Y-you, what?!” He wouldn’t doubt the excessive amount of fury he shot towards the bellhop when he looked up.
Teddy flinched and let out a little squeak, obviously caught off guard by George’s outburst.
“You told that guy! Wh-why would you-? What the fuck Teddy.” George took another menacing step towards the kid, Teddy stepping back to match him.
“So what, did he hire you to spy on the Beatles or something? How much is he payin’ you then?” Teddy must’ve noticed the guitarist’s balled up fists for he had his hands up near his face defensively.
“No! He’s not, he’s-“
“What kind of fan are you, you bastard? Was this all a ploy, asking for my autograph? Were ya gonna try and jump me and tell that to Frank too?”
Teddy’s face fell shamefully, his voice still quiet. “I really am your fan! Really! That’s why I-I..”
“Even if I was queer,” George continued, ignoring Teddy’s pleas, “I wouldn’t go for you, so don’t get yer hopes up.”
By the time Teddy had his back flat against a cupboard, boxed in from his own backing up, George was all too ready to sock this kid in the mouth despite his appearance to be on the brink of tears. He didn’t usually reason with himself when it came to blind fury, because that was kind of the point. When the fury is blind, there’s no guilt and usually no repercussions.
But something in the back of his mind, that logical corner that had made an appearance earlier but had sadly been wrong, wouldn’t let him. Reasoning was still present, which is how he knew he hadn’t met that blind point. Nothing would come from hitting this kid besides guilt and bruised knuckles.
Sadly, violence wouldn’t solve anything. But George wasn’t about to give this kid a slap on the wrist and walk away.
George turned on his heel, leaving a petrified Teddy behind him, and marched back over to the counter. He snatched up the paper with his curly signature on it and turned back to the bellhop. Teddy looked like he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved for not getting his face smashed or worried that he hadn’t.
Silently, without a second thought, George ripped the paper in two, then in four, then in six, then in eight, and then he stopped counting. Teddy squeaked something else but it was drowned out by the satisfying noise of paper ripping in George’s ears.
Once he couldn’t rip anymore and the paper was in the state of confetti, he glared at Teddy and tossed it towards the bellhop’s stupid face.
The tiny little paper particles only made it about a foot across the room, but George was pretty sure the kid got the point.
He didn’t want to stick around for when the kid started crying or something, George was almost positive that would be happening in thirty seconds or less, so he didn’t waste time with any menacing parting words.
Silence would probably be the best “fuck you” at this point, and so that’s what he ended with.
He strode over to the closed door and swung it open, ignoring Teddy’s last attempt at an explanation or whatever he was trying to say as he walked out, and made his way in the direction that he hoped lead to the buffet.
George figured he should have stuck to his plan of solving this whole thing as quickly as possible, for with every extra step he took, it seemed like he pushed deeper and deeper into shit.
**
A/N4: Oh god, I can’t stop with the plot. Next chapter will try and take a different turn to more sexy things, er, okay?