I Learnt To Love In Liverpool | George Harrison ✅

♥ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐒𝐢𝐱 ♥

Emeraude's POV

I heard the car pull up outside of the block of flats earlier than I had expected, but I put some shoes on, dashing downstairs excitedly to greet George... and Ringo, but mostly George. However, four people climbed out of the car. I opened the front door and exclaimed, "hi, boys!"

None of them answered me verbally, instead they all looked dead at John. So there was something going on between them, then... and John seemed to be the centre of it. They all came towards me, none of them smiling.

"What's wrong?" I asked them as George led the way up the stairs and to his, mine and Ringo's flat, having only greeted me with a soft peck on the forehead.

"John's done something stupid." Paul said as he passed me, the last of the four Beatles.

"Doesn't he always?" I teased, closing the door and following Paul up, "he wouldn't be John Lennon if he didn't -"

"Em, this time it isn't funny." Ringo said from ahead of us.

We reached the flat and George unlocked it, standing back so we could all go in before he followed us.

"Right," he said, looking pointedly at John and then at me, "we'll all be in the kitchen. You two stay here."

"But -"

"Sorry, Em, but John has to apologise."

John has to apologise...? T-to me...? John would never hurt me, would he?

John was my best friend in the world. I was as close to him as I was to Paul. I considered John my brother, and I had hoped that he considered me as his sister.

When we were alone, I turned to John. "What's all this about, Lennon?" I asked, neither angry nor particularly impressed.

"Emeraude -" I knew this was serious because he had used my full name. He carried on, "I didn't mean for it to be written down or anything. It was just a jape at George, really..."

"What was?" I asked him, beginning to feel the anger bubbling within me, slowly but surely growing and getting to the surface.

John sighed and took a step closer to me, "Em, I might have accidentally told the interviewer from the BBC that you and George... y'know... last night -"

"WHAT!?" I exclaimed angrily, turning away from him. "How did you even find out? Did George tell you?"

If he did, then I'm going to kill him, I thought. Our sex life was private, and I wanted it to remain that way - well, it was out in the open now, anyway, but that wasn't the point.

John didn't answer. It wasn't like him to be quiet, so I turned around... and my heart stopped. John was kneeling on the floor, and he was crying. That was so un-Lennon that tears filled my eyes and spilled over, too. I knelt down beside him and put my arms around him. He rested his head against my chest and sobbed.

"John," I said softly, realising that he was crying over more than just spilling mine and George's private life to the press, "Johnny-boy, what's wrong? I've never seen you like this before -" he usually loved it when I used that name for him, because it was one that was private to the two of us... but it didn't stop him from crying. "John, how bad is it?"

"I-I think I made a mistake, Em..." he sobbed, albeit quietly so the boys in the next room wouldn't hear him in his moments of vulnerability, moments which were always reserved for me and his Aunt Mimi - even though he would often not take his walls down completely, even for her... I was the one person in the world who didn't judge him, and I never would. I loved John. He was my brother.

"Mistake?" I asked him, "John, whatever it is, we can fix it. Nothing is ever as bad as it seems -"

I was cut off by his lips against my own. He was kissing me, and for several seconds, I kissed him back... but then I came to my senses. My heart started thudding in my chest, and I could taste his tears on his lips.

I pulled back and John let out a howl before burying his face in my chest once again.

His tears were soaking through my shirt, but I couldn't bring myself to stop him, or to even speak to him. I wasn't angry with him. I had kissed him back... but I was angry with myself.

"Em?" John asked quietly.

I hummed in reply, incapable of forming an actual thought after what had just occurred.

"Em, I think I'm in love with you."

A tension so thick that it could have been cut with a knife settled over us.