i'M FiNE | Starrison [✖️]

Chapter five

"Did you really mean that?"

George turned to face him. "Mean what?" They were on the bed, lying around like lazy bastards. Well, Ringo was sitting on the edge of the bed not too far from George.

The kiss. The little fucking kiss on the forehead that made me warm up inside. "The whole "die" thing," Ringo glanced at him before looking down on the floorboards again. "Did you really mean it?" He said, swinging his legs around. His hands fumbled with his shirt nervously.

George nodded and that made him smile a bit. "I meant all of it. It won't be the same without you, Rings. I won't be the same without you."

"Gee, George... Thanks..."

Ringo's stupid heart skipped a beat. He found himself smiling like an drunken idiot. George grinned too.

"I should say things like that more often if it makes you smile." George said. "What you need is positivity. Also love. All you need is love, right?"

Ringo nodded, stealing another glance at the window. Maybe it's for the best that I lose them. Just... Just maybe...

"Yeah," He said dreamily, heart pounding against his chest. "All you need is love."

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John was leaning against the doorway when Ringo got up to use the bathroom. He shifted his gaze almost guiltily.

"Ritch..." He began, his voice was uncharacteristically soft. "Ritch, you okay?"

Ringo gave him a quick smile. "I'm fine, Johnny."

"Ringo." John said, a bit stronger. He took a sharp intake of breath. "I do it too, you know. Well, I used to."

Ringo whirled around, blue eyes wide.

"What?"

His eyes went to his arms. John slid up his sleeves. It wasn't evident like Ringo's but it was there, fading away in his arms. They were long and seemed deep, probably even deeper than Ringo's.

"When my mum died," John began, tracing some of the scars on his wrist. "I died too. If it wasn't for Paul I'd be joining her in heaven right now." He looked at him straight in the eye. "I felt stupid. Cutting wasn't fucking helping. It's not like the slashes on my skin and the blood running down the fucking bathroom sink would bring her back. It made things worse, Rings."

Ringo felt ashamed. He knew it wasn't helping him. The box was long gone, down into the depths of the dumps, maybe. He itched again. John knew that look. He gave him a hug, a real brotherly hug.

"It's gonna be alright, Rings."

"I-I try to stop it John ... I-I really do..." He poured it out to John. "Every single fucking night I just wanted to do it. I start itching and it eats me up inside telling me just to cut. Every single fucking day, I pick the fucking razor and do it. Then after that I start hating myself because I did it." Ringo gripped his shirt. He didn't want to look at him. "It's like a fucking cycle that I can't stop because I'm so fucking weak."

John comforted him, rubbing his hands around his bandmate's back. "You're not weak, Rings. You can beat it, I know you can." He wiped the tears from his eyes. "Stop crying, okay? You can beat it. George loves you, Paul loves you, I love you. The fans love you--- everyone loves you."

George loves you. Ringo looked down, his cheeks flushing because of embarrasment because John was right and shame because he was stupid for even thinking of cutting.

George loves you, you fucking idiot.

"I know that! B-But... I still do it a-and... Oh god I don't know," Ringo cried. "I'm such a fucking idiot," He hated himself. He loathed himself. He hated himself so fucking much that he can't face a fucking mirror without rushing off to get a blade.

John, like a mother, rocked Ringo back and forth, resting his chin on his head.

"It's gonna be okay, Ritch." He mumbled. "It's gonna be okay,"
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He was sleeping, softly breathing, eyes closed. George thought he looked like an angel. An angel who cuts himself. He carried him from John.

He's exhausted, John had said. And damn right Ringo was. And combine lack of sleep, severe hunger and depressions and you get fucked-up. George couldn't understand how the holy hell Ringo managed to not eat whereas he needed a sandwhich every minute.

He wrapped his arms around Ringo's thin frame and frowned how small he was. He wasn't eating right. He sighed and brushed the hair from his eyes gently so he wouldn't wake him. He was shaking a bit, mumbling words George couldn't hear. His face scrunched up in terror and he was full-blown shivering.

"N-No!" He whimpered, voice laced with terror. "Stay away from me!"

"Shhh... I'm here, Ritchie. I'm here. It's fine, everything's fine." He said, running his fingers through his hair. "George's here, Rings."

"I-I'm cold..." He mumbled, still half-asleep. George nodded and lifted the covers to his chin. Ringo turned to him and wrapped his arms around his waist and nuzzled his face in his chest.

George fought back a smile. "You warm?" It was too cute.

"Yeah..." Ringo said, sleepy blue eyes peeking underneath his eyelids. George always like them. Like they were some deep blue ocean filled with secrets down the surface. He found himself drowning in said ocean.

"Na night, Rings." He reached for the lamp and pulled the string. Darkness surrounded the two. He pulled him closer and closed his eyes. He made sure the other was asleep. "I love you." He uttered, blushing despite himself. In the inside, George was dying. Dying because Ringo was just right there in his arms but he felt so fucking away from him. Dying because he loves someone who can't even love himself.

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George is fuh-leeeeng! (Falling, I mean). Also poor baby is sad because Ringo doesn't love himself still.

MOAR LOVE COMIN IN

Dream sequence happening next chapter. I wonder what Ritchie panicked about?

So why don't you.....

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Love you crazy bitches,

-Grace who totally doesn't stalk youtubers on Facebook