It was a sunny day in early 1963 when your boyfriend rushed over to your apartment whilst you were still cleaning your old turntable. He was bouncing around like a little kid, babbling about a record which he was currently pushing into your face.

"Shit, Ritchie, wait a minute." You swore at him, something you rarely did, and carefully finished wiping down the platter. When you were finished, you stepped aside and let him place the newly printed record down.

"Sorry, love," he chuckled, "I just really want ye to hear this."

Both of you stared at the needle, which was still off the record, and no one dared to move. You giggled softly as you felt a mix of excitement and nerves radiate from the both of you.

"You have to put the needle on the record for it to play, Ritchie." You teased, hanging onto his right arm as his left reached out for the needle.

He scoffed playfully, "I'm fully aware of that."

The record started, and you were soon wrapped up in the sounds of your boyfriend's band. Although this was their first album, they played and sang like seasoned musicians, and you were blown away.

It took everything in you to keep from swooning like a crazed fan girl when one of Ringo's solo songs came on. It was such a rare occurrence for him to sing, and you absolutely adored it when he did.

The record ended and you stared at it, shaking all over from excitement. "Well, that was it." You giggled, looking up at him.

"Yeah, that was it." He said flatly, his eyes transfixed on the turntable.

Uneasy silence settled in as you took the record off the table, put it back in the sleeve and turned your gaze up to him. "I-it was fantastic, Ritchie." You smiled lightheartedly and set the sleeve on the table with no response from him. "I can't believe my boyfriend made that, I-"

"I didn't make that," Ringo turned away from you and started to walk away. Puzzled, you followed him.

"What? Babe, you were wonderful."

You caught up to him and snaked your arms around his waist from behind. He quit walking, and you felt his chest heave.

"No, Paul and George and John did wonderful."

"Oh, no, darling..."

He turned around and held you tight by your shoulders, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You traced circles into his back with your fingertips.

"Darling, you were just as important on that record as anyone else," You reminded him, "And I'm so proud of you."

"It would have m-made no difference if John sang that song," he brooded, "A-and they could find another drummer and replace me inna heartbeat a-and-"

"Why on earth would they replace you, Ritchie? They stole you from Rory." You pulled back a little bit and rubbed his cheek, forcing him to look into your eyes. "You were so excited just a little bit ago... Baby, why're you doing this to yourself?"

It took a second for him to gather his thoughts. "I don't sing good, and I just realized it."

"I think you're a beautiful singer," you cooed, wiping stray tears that escaped his eyes

"You have to say that."

"No, I dont, I really believe it," you sniffled slightly yourself, "I love you so much and you're just a magnificent man and it hurts me to see you like this."

"All I do is make you sad, don't I?" He broke down a little more, holding onto you tighter. You whispered 'no' continuously as Ringo kept talking, "I sing awful and I'm ugly and you deserve such a better boyfriend. I'm not magnificent."

"No, no, no... Ritchie," you cooed, "none of that is true."

You looked into his glassy eyes and caught his tears on your fingertips. His eyelids fluttered shut. Ringo couldn't stand to see you in pain, and he regretted ever opening his mouth.

"I... I love you, and I just want you to be happy." He whispered, his voice small and weak.

"I am happy, I'm so incredibly happy with you, Ritchie." You placed a kiss on his chin. "You don't make me sad."

"Then wh-"

"It hurts me that you doubt yourself. Who put those thoughts in your head?" You felt him let out sigh into your hair, and you took that as a sign to continue. "Everything about you is beautiful. Your voice, your face, everything. And if you really feel this way about yourself, then either I'm not treating you right o-"

"No!" Ringo almost yelled as he cradled your cheeks in his hands, squishing them together, and tilted your face up so he could look down at you. "No, you're perfect, darlin'. And ye deserve the perfect man, and I'm not perfect."

"I don't want perfect, Ritchie, I want you. And I always will."

He sniffled and rubbed his eye, "Always?"

"Always." You stood on your tip toes and kissed him tenderly. "Im so damn proud of my little drummer boy."