i'M FiNE | Starrison [✖️]

Chapter eight

I know I kinda fucked-up. :( I'm really, really sorry. But I swear I'll make the buildup of the Starrison ship better. The timeline however is a bit messed up now.

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Ringo felt the itch again. It was strong and it swept him back like a giant tsunami wave. Except like the wave was made of fucking fire and not water.

And it was constant. It was annoying and it burned. It worsened to the point Ringo wanted to pull his own goddamn hair out if he doesn't cut just a little prick on his skin soon.

He went to the bathroom. Fans were outside, looking like rabid zombies as they screamed at them. The bathroom, thank god, was the only place Ringo could feel peace.

There was a safety razor. It teased him, seducing him to cut. Ringo wanted to, of course. The itch got progressively worse and cutting would solve it. Maybe. Probably.

"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."

He let out a heavy, strained sigh. John was right. Of course he was right. Well he wasn't called the 'smart' Beatle for nothing.

Not today, razor.

George would've been proud. Ringo's fingers almost reached for the blade. Almost. He gave a shaky sigh and got out of the bathroom. His head was ringing. Jesus, he could still hear the screams even from here.

"Will they ever stop?" George said, who was looking stressed as ever. A fangirl clawed for him while another latched, hugging him to death. Poor lad couldn't breathe as other girls jumped at him like he was a piece of meat and the girls were starving lionesses. He had scratch marks on his cheek and long pinkish-red claw marks on his arms.

Paul groaned. "Depends. They can't scream forever. Maybe their vocal cords would give up and they wouldn't have their voices anymore."

Ringo wasn't even sure who they were screaming for. It was just noise.

John called out from the other room. "Hey, I heard there's a place nearby and the hotel manager agreed to let us use the back door to escape."

Paul nodded. "Thank goodness. We could lay off for a few hours. But we'll have to walk, though. The fans can't see us in a car or they'll chase after us like zombies!"

Ringo laughed at the mental picture. "Well it's settled then. Boys, grab your fake moustaches, shades and coats. We're going out!"

George looked at John like he was some godly saint. He let out a sigh of relief. "Thank god we can get the fuck out. My ears are bleeding. Not that I hate the fans."

The four took their coats and fled the hotel, their fans still crowding and screaming in the front.

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"It's been a week, yeah?"

Ringo nodded. "It's the longest I didn't cut." His lips curled up. "Thanks George."

He smiled back. He placed a hand on his shoulder. "You know if you have anything to tell me, tell me now. Paul and John are doing god-knows-what in the loo and that gives us time alone."

Ringo's heart, as cheesy as this fucking sounds, skipped a little. Dammit. Damn you George. Damn you to hell and back, you smooth mother--- "O-Oh." He looked at his leather shoes for a bit. "Uhm... The urge gets stronger everyday, Gear. But I'm trying my best not to."

George grinned, cute little fangs showing. "I'm glad, Rings. I knew you could do it." He hugged him for a bit, making the smaller blush. "I feel like a proud brother."

Ringo froze then and there. Brother?

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Brother.

Brother.

George wanted to scream.

The second he saw those baby blue eyes tear up he done fucked up. Ringo... Ringo was in love with him. Maybe not love but somewhat close. Close enough to know that being brother-zoned hurt like a bitch.

He wanted to hug him. He wanted to say everything was alright and that he didn't mean it. He would say that he loved him all before the moptops, chart-topping records and Please Please Me. He wanted to say that he loved him so much that one time at Germany he took a punch because someone talked shit about him that time. Christ, he'll take a dozen hits just for him.

He was the kindest, sweetest and prettiest person he ever met. The way his blue eyes sparkled and how he smiled whenever they played just lighted up his world.

But he was depressed.

It was ironic; the funny, goofy Beatle was depressed. George hated the word. It was cold and just plain bad to hear. It gave Ritchie horrid nightmares and it made him hurt his beautiful self. George couldn't see why he would do it. He couldn't see why anybody could do it.

Ringo was chatting with Paul now. Most of the them could see how he was getting thinner and thinner everyday. He knew the coat was truly one size too big on him but now he was swimming in it. And he barely ate now. He would eat a sandwich or something light then leave the three of them eating lunch and dinner. He would make some excuses to say he was full. Now even Paul was worried.

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"You're so thin, Rings." The bassist pointed out. Concern laced his voice. "You might even give George a run for his money."

At the mention of the name, he shifted a bit on the seat. He laughed nervously, hoping his voice didn't sound strained and thin.

"You don't eat with us anymore," Paul said sadly. "You practically don't eat at all! What's with you, Rings?"

"I'm on a diet." He said, a bit too quickly though.

"John's the one who needs a diet, not you." Paul joked. He turned serious. He placed a hand on his shoulder. "We miss you, eating with us. It's weird that you don't crack jokes and practically laugh anymore. What happened Ritchie? Are you okay?"

Ringo gave him a smile. It was stiff but well-practiced. He uttered the two words he knew so well.

"I'm fine, Paulie."

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So why don't you~

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Love you guys,

~Grace ❤️❤️❤️