His nose was still throbbing when he crawled into bed, absolutely exhausted. He just wanted to curl up in a ball and fall into a relaxed, deep sleep. That wasn't going to happen, though. He was handcuffed to John. There was no way anyone would get a good night's sleep with John.

    "Stop hogging the blankets, Harrison!" John barked, jerking the blankets toward his side.

    "I'm sorry," George sighed. He rolled over onto his back so he could lay more comfortably while he was chained to John. Thank Krishna Yoko decided that she wasn't going to sleep with them. It would have been too crowded.

    "Why is this happening?" John said to himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

    "Maybe it was intended."

    "What are you saying?"

    "I'm saying it was meant to happen. This is happening for a reason."

    "Do you ever get sick of acting like that?"

    "Like what?"

    "All . . . Zen."

    "No," George replied matter-of-factly. He yawned. "I'm tired but I don't think I'll sleep."

    "Me neither," John said, staring at the ceiling.

    George laid there for a few more moments before leaning over to pick up the phone. He was going to call Pattie and pester her. He wondered what she was doing. He wondered if Eric was there and if they were spending the evening together. He felt bitterness wash over him and his throat clenched as he violently spun the dial.

    "Fussy, aren't you?" John said, noticing his angry dialing. "What's bothering you?"

    "Nothing," George said as he held the phone to his ear. He heard it ringing and laid his head back on the pillow. It rang forever before a breathless Pattie answered.

    "Hello?"

    "Hi, Pats. How's it going?"

    There was silence on the other end.

    "Pats?"

    "Um, yeah, it's going," she said nervously, and he imagined her twirling the phone cord with her long fingers as she usually did.

    There was a long silence between them.

    "How's John?" she finally asked.

    "He's fine," George said, casting a look at John, who was looking rather smug, obviously enjoying that their conversation had veered to him. George rolled his eyes. "We're laying in the same bed right now."

    "Am I supposed to be jealous?" she laughed.

    "We can't stand each other. Nothing to worry about." George smirked. His smile vanished, though, when he heard a familiar voice in the background. Eric was there. He sighed.

    "I'll let you continue whatever you were doing," he said and slammed the phone down in its cradle.

    John remained silent, not a single snide remark. He finally said, "Want to watch the telly?"

    "Sure."

    John turned the television on and George's eyes were confronted with the bright light of the screen. It took a few moments for them to adjust. The news was on, the usual redheaded bird on there. George was too busy looking at her low-cut dress to listen to what she was talking about.

    "She's talking about us," John said groggily.

    George forced his eyes to move up and his ears to turn on.

    "Beatles John Lennon and George Harrison left Twickenham Studios today and departed in the same car," she was saying, nothing really interesting. "A photographer on the scene snapped this photo as they got in their vehicle and it appears the two are handcuffed together." A photo was put up that showed John flashing the V-sign as George rolled his eyes, getting into the car. He looked closely and saw that it was perfectly visible that they were chained together.

    "Either this is another one of their wild experiments or they lost the key," the news lady joked. Then the nightly news ended and a boring movie started, something about some cowboys.

    "Huh," George said.

    "Huh," John repeated. "They're onto us."

    "Yeah. There'll be some rubbish conspiracies floating around now," George said with a bark of laughter.

    John was quiet again before he abruptly got out of bed, dragging George with him.

    "Hey! Where are you going?" George asked, having no other choice but to follow him out of the bedroom. He had been comfy.

    John didn't say anything, just went to the front door of the house and threw it open. A breeze came in and hit George in the face, blowing his hair back, and he felt goose pimples break out across his arms. It was frigid outside, and his thin nightclothes weren't keeping the cold air out.

    "John, what are you doing? It's freezing out here!"

    "Haven't you ever wanted to go prancing through the streets in the dark?"

    "No," George said, sending him a strange look.

    "We're free!" John cried, throwing his arms out and picking up his pace.

    "What are you talking about?" George's legs hurried to keep up with him, his arm out in front of him as John pulled him.

    "I feel the wind in my hair!"

    "Are you high?" George couldn't help but ask.

    "No, I'm low."

    "John."

    "What?"

    "Let's get back to your house."

    "But why?" John whined, sounding like a toddler.

    "It's cold! And running around in the streets at eleven is insane!"

    "I need inspiration," John finally said.

    "You think this will do it?"

    "Maybe. I just need to breathe. That house is stagnant."

    "I think you mean Yoko is stagnant." He received a nasty look for that comment.

    "Let's go to the park."

    George didn't complain. He liked the park, with all the trees and the tranquility. He felt at home in a place like that. He let John lead the way to the park, which wasn't that far away, and they both sat down on a bench. They stared at the duck pond for a few moments in silence.

    "Give me some words," John finally said.

    " 'I'm sitting here staring at a duck pond and I'm thinking of James Bond,' " George suggested.

    "Ha."

    "I think those are lovely lyrics!" George laughed, smiling widely. He looked around and saw that the moon was full and there was nothing but dark shapes around them. If he squinted he could make out certain things like the leaves on the trees or another bench not very far away.

    He yawned and shivered, unconsciously scooting closer to John for warmth. They sat there in silence and George's eyes started to droop.

* * *

"George," came a distant, echoed voice. "George."

    "Krishna?" he mumbled.

    He heard an exasperated sigh. "No, it's not Krishna. It's John. Wake up!"

    He opened one eye and wondered why the world was sideways. That's funny, he thought. I don't remember it being like that when I fell asleep. He suddenly realized that his head was resting on John's shoulder and that it was dawn. He sat up straight, his back popping and creaking at he did so. He winced.

    "I've got an idea," John croaked, bags under his eyes.

    "Oh, yeah?" George said, yawning again. "Did you sleep last night? You look terrible."

    "Thanks."

    "You're welcome."

    "No, I didn't sleep. I'm tired. That's how I thought of this song."

    "Lay it on me."

    " 'I'm so tired, I haven't sleep a wink. I'm so tired, my mind is on the blink.' I'm still working on it."

    "That sounds good," George said, yawning again.

    "You shouldn't be yawning! You sleep all night!" John cried. "You slept on me, in fact!"

    "You make a good pillow," George said, smiling.

    "We'd better get home," John said, looking around. "It's getting lighter. People will start to get up and see a couple of Beatles in the park and wonder what they're up to."

    "Yeah, we'd better — " He didn't finish his sentence because he heard the familiar music coming up the street.

    "Is that . . . ?" John said, craning his head.

    "Yes," George said, nodding. "The Mr. Whippy truck."

    "Ooh, we'd better flag him down. I'm gear for some ice cream."

    George stood up from the bench and began to drag John in the direction of the music.