Crack Classic Rock Oneshots

Starrison

A/N: Welcome back, everyone!

This chapter is a bit different, but I've got my reasons.
And the reason is — someone very special is having birthday today. Very, very special.

So I've wrote this and I dedicate this for you, because I know how big Starrison trash you are (just as me lol).
Happy Birthday. You're great *I'll spare you a whole novel of compliments* I love you. 💜

And, sorry, this is not crack. Just fluffy. Ikr, this is crack book. But you have to forgive me, since it's a special occasion!

<Sorry for every grammar mistake>

And enjoy y'all!

--

“Maybe we shouldn’t be together. Maybe it was all a mistake.” With those words George walks out of the room, leaving Ringo alone with tears silently forming is his eyes.

Mistake. Was it? Of course, they fight from time to time, but they couldn’t last long without each other. And George has never said something like that before. Something so painful and bitter.

He tries not to cry so hard, he tries. The minutes passes in  silence and drummer finally gets up, finding his courage, praying that Harrison is still home.

He is. In a kitchen, smoking, with a cold look in his eyes. Ringo sighs at this sight and walks to him, touching man’s shoulder delicately. But there’s no reaction. Only beating of their heart.

“George?”

“What do you want?” Guitarist try to sound cold, distant, but it ends up weak. He turns his head to older man, angry. “Ritchie, I can’t…”

“George,” Ringo interrupts him. “Do you remember that stormy night? When I confessed you love?”

Harrison opens his mouth, but no words escape. He remembers very well, indeed. Memories fill his head.

* * *

George Harrison was watching raindrops hammering at the window, carried through the sky by the wind. Still looking at them, he reached to a cupboard to make himself a tea.

It was the late evening and spring thunderstorm was sprawling across the sky. Thunders were snapping the air merciless. Rain soaked wet every person that dared to go out. The guitarist sighed happily that this day they didn’t have to record. They deserved some break before the new album coming out.

The man sat on a couch, drinking the tea, warming himself up. He took his precious guitar and ran his finger on strings. That was all he needed. A moment of relaxation. He has expected that he’ll slowly drift away, lulled to sleep by taste of tea, a music and a quiet song of fire consuming  wood in a safe fireplace.

Knocking on a door was the last thing he has expected.

Even crazy fans wouldn’t haunt him in the weather like this. He insecurely walked to the door, opening it, wondering who could this be.

A pair of big blue eyes. Brown hair, completely wet, covering his face. Wet clothes. Raindrops, running down man’s cheek like tears.

“Ringo!” George shouted, surprised at the friend’s sight. “Come in, you’re soaked wet.”

The drummer sneezed and took a step in, making George’s carpet already wet. “Hi. Oh God, what a downpour.”

Harrison ran for a towel and dry clothes for his friend, still puzzled. He came back after a moment and handed it to Ringo. “Take it, dry off.” Richard took his jacket, shirt and trousers off, staying only in his underwear. George looked away to be polite. Finally, Starkey stood completely dried, only shaking a bit. In clothes a bit too big for him, but he didn't care.