June 28, 1970 - Monday Morning.

May sat at the dining room table, a piece of paper and pencil in front of her. Peter had left for work at the butcher's half an hour ago. There was absolute silence; no TV, no radio, no birds squawking or buzz from the neighbourhood. May wanted silence however, as she had difficulty trying to compose the letter to George. There were so many words, but it seemed ridiculous to put all of them down. It would be confronting to George if she poured all her feelings onto the page. She didn't want to frighten him off, she wanted him to...come back? Visit her? Talk to her?

That was another difficult component; what did May want as a result from this letter? George would receive the letter and they could fall back into what they had before, but she didn't want that. May licked her lips, tapping the end of the pencil onto the table. She abandoned the letter to take a walk and clear her mind.

May didn't end up getting back to the letter until the late afternoon. Whilst waiting for the leg of lamb to roast in the oven, she fetched the piece of paper, and wrote three simple words on it:

I Miss You.

She signed it - at first - with:

Your June,

Before scribbling it out and replacing it with:

May.

May didn't post the letter until the following week.

****

January 28, 1969 - Tuesday Lunchtime.
Oxford High School - Oxford Street - School Bathrooms.

The girl's bathrooms towards the basketball courts at Oxford High School were for smoking cigarettes - everybody knew that, whether it was the students or teachers. May had never caught a teacher smoking in the bathrooms, but her friend, Stacy, had. Stacy claimed to have seen a lot of things during her three year friendship with May - whether May believed all these stories was another thing.

Tracy fished out a cigarette then passed around the Marlboro's packet - first to Stacy, then Gina, lastly May. Conversation around the bathroom sink covered the basics - homework, students they hated, bitchy teachers - except for Mr. Phillips, all four girls found him to be 'foxy'. Nevertheless, as they gossiped around a cloud of smoke, May couldn't focus, her attention only on last night - first on the list, George's rushed departure from her house. It constantly boggled her mind - for the rest of the night and morning. Class was a distraction, but now she felt powerless to her endless theories on why George escaped so quickly and without a goodbye.

The kiss had been fantastic, and she fantasised about it often, but it was the events afterwards that plagued her. She needed advice.

"If a guy suddenly leaves - when you've just kissed - what does that mean?" May asked, interrupting whatever previous chit-chat was taking place.

"Means you're a bad kisser," Stacy answered without hesitation, smirk on her lips.

"How would you know? I've never kissed you." May glared at her, and Stacy responded by sticking out her tongue.

"Stacy! That's not nice. He most likely had to be somewhere in the morning," Gina smiled at May, trying to reassure her friend.

May nodded. "Yeah, you're probably right, G," she replied, figuring that George was tired and wanted to go home after a long day at the studio.

"Did Pete leave you then?" Stacy questioned, cigarette posed between her fingers, as she observed May. "Or is it another guy?" she drawled, and May's cheeks flustered, to which Tracy and Stacy grinned.

"No, it is not another guy!" May wildly denied, but she realised then that it sounded fake and guilty. "It was this morning with Pete," she lied, her voice soft.

"Oh. Well, maybe he has someone on the side then," Tracy sneered, stubbing out her cigarette on the bathroom floor with her shoe.

May rolled her eyes, although the statement hurt slightly. But what was May to say? She had someone on the side, she couldn't judge if Peter did as well. She knew it was just her friend's making fun, but May was tied up with miscommunications and contradictions, that she didn't feel any better about George, nor the kiss they shared.

****

Tuesday Afternoon.
Apple Building and Studios.

After dumping her school bag at the side of the entrance, May hastily walked down the corridors of the Apple building, to the bathrooms. Her friend's accusations were floating in her brain, unable to be erased; it caused May to be extra jumpy, moody and overthink. She entered the bathrooms in a rush, pushing the cubicle door open, only to discover the mingled bodies of two occupants, hands on each other's sweaty skin, as his fingers raked through her black hair. May's loud gasp caused the pair to look at her, and words failed to form. She had never walked in on people having sex - particularly on a couple so famous. She watched as he collected his glasses from the closed lid of the toilet, and it finally came into view who was the intruder.

"Well, either join us or leave, May," John sneered, and Yoko playfully hit his chest.

"Uh, uh...oh God, sorry," she stuttered, and swiftly shut the cubicle door, before exiting the bathroom.

Oh for God's sake, May thought, her eyebrows furrowing. Despite just walking in on John and Yoko, it registered to her that she would have to use the other bathrooms, which had this disgusting smell of lemon air freshener - it was absolutely revolting. Great.

****

Apple Dining Room - Afternoon Tea.

May and Sam sat in the dining room, drinking strawberry and cola slurpees, which Sam had bought for the two of them whilst on his run to the cigarette shop before work. Sam and May were becoming fast friends; they were the same age and recently employed to Apple, so they shared a connection of some sorts.

"Hey, apparently the Beatles will be performing at the Roundhouse for this film - wicked, yeah?" Sam beamed, before taking a sip of his drink.

Sam was a good lad because he always had some sort of gossip for May - either about the musicians or staff at Apple. He was an assistant - technically third assistant, but Sam would introduce himself to people as 'an assistant to the Beatles', which isn't entirely true, but people believed him - well, seemed to. Due to this, he was present during meetings and the control room, where secrets were often spoken of, and Sam eased into the role of a fly on the wall.

"Yeah, that's cool," she nodded.

"They haven't performed live in, damn, so long - 66' or somethin'. Did you ever see them live?"

May shook her head. "Nah, more of a Stones fan," she joked.

Her lips was red from the strawberry and coolness of the slurpee, and Sam briefly imagined kissing her lips, warming them up with his own.

Sam smirked. "Lucky they didn't hear that,"

It was quiet for a moment, and the thumping of the drums, bass and guitars from the studio trembled under their feet. A voice would filter through now and again, strained and quiet, guiding the music, and slightly overpowered by the loudness of the strum from the guitar. May quickly identified it as George's dulcet voice, and her heart quickened as she briefly reminisced about the kiss they shared last night. She was aware that things could have escalated, and became flustered from the thought of how the night may have panned out; wrapped in his arms, in a sticky daze, skin against skin, with his amorous kisses and trembling whispers of want. A tingling in May's lower stomach spread to her core, and she had to cross her legs and squeeze her thighs together to mask her arousal as the events of the night swirled through her head. A hint of a smile lingered on her features, as she gazed down at the green table, her finger tracing over the marks and faint scratches on its rough surface.

"But I also overheard from upstairs that they'll be performing in North Africa, can yer believe it?" Sam interrupted her reverie.

May stopped her actions, and looked to him, the acne on Sam's cheeks catching her attention first, before looking into his eyes.

"Oh that's bullshit! Like the Beatles would fly to Africa just for one show - and to end a movie of all things!" she protested, stirring the straw through her slushee, loosening the ice up, before taking a sip.

"Aye, it's just what I heard!" Sam flung his hands up in defence. "But it's not like they don't have the bread,"

May crossed her arms. "True. But c'mon Sam,"

He nodded, sighing. "If they do fly to Africa, do you think we'd be able to go?" he asked in a serious tone, before a grin spread across his face.

"Very funny." May rolled her eyes.

****

Apple Studio

"No, yer see, it can be positive as well. It's as if there's always a lightness when it's dark - so it is positive," George explained.

The Beatles had been rehearsing one of George's tracks, "All Things Must Pass", and he was trying to highlight to John and Paul how the song is uplifting and gives a sense of hope. John was not interested - that was evident from the beginning. Paul was trying to comprehend George's words, but was half listening, seemingly distracted by the papers in front of him. It was incredibly frustrating for the guitarist. He looked to Ringo, but the drummer just returned the gaze, not saying anything, and George couldn't blame him. What could you say? There was no way Paul or John were going to allow this song on the record. He was lucky to get "For You Blue" on there, and George wasn't completely certain if "I Me Mine" had a spot on the album yet. It was ridiculous.

They tried to play "All Things Must Pass" once more. It sounded okay, but with half enthusiasm. So really it sounded awful. Not anything like George wanted. It was supposed to be inspirational - or something close to it - but it just felt forced. After gradually ending the rehearsal, George witnessed John and Paul speaking, and he predicted that they now wanted to run through one of their number's. George rolled his eyes, thinking that it was probably "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" that Paul now wanted to practice. George was flustered, his chest tight with stress. He did not want to practice "Maxwell's Silver Hammer". The track was about death and murder, when there was already enough negativity in the world, with Nixon elected and Vietnam - surely there was a more uplifting song?

George glanced at John and Paul once more, before looking at Ringo and shaking his head, as if to say, "I'm taking a break, do what you guys want". Ringo nodded, before getting up and retrieving his glass of water from the table, taking a large gulp. George lifted the guitar strap over his head, placing the electric on the stand, making a quiet exit from the studio.

Nevertheless, his escape was immediately noticed, as John signalled to Paul that George was leaving. Paul had been anxious that George might depart the band again. The bond between the four of them was slipping so quickly, and he wished they could stay in one piece for a bit longer while they complete the album and film.

"Aye, George! Wait up, we're about to..." Paul trailed off, realising George was not returning as he witnessed the door to the studio slam shut.

Paul sighed, turning to face John, who was retuning his guitar.

"Great, now he's gone...probably off to the kitchen. He's always spending time there with May," Paul remarked, scratching his arm, slightly annoyed.

"Just leave em', Paul. He'll get over her soon," John replied, without looking up from his guitar.

"But we need to get this record finished," Paul reasoned. "And we can't if one of us is in the kitchen every bloody minute. We only have the rest of the week in this studio," he pointed out.

John sighed, turning to Yoko, asking her to pass him his cigarette pack from the table. Paul stood there, his arms crossed, impatiently waiting for John to reply. John looked up at Paul, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth, and he raised his eyebrows.

"What do you expect me to do about it?" John mumbled around the cigarette, before pulling it out of his mouth. "Just let him cool off. He probably needs a good fuck." The memory of earlier in the day when May stumbled upon him and Yoko in the bathroom caused John to grin. He lit a match, hovering it over the end of the cigarette, until a billow of smoke emitted from it.

"May's nice, she doesn't bother anyone," Ringo interjected, having heard bits and pieces from where he sat on the table, finishing off his drink.

Paul calmed down a bit, the tea girl was very young after all, she wasn't out to get them or anything, just doing her job. He had met worse seventeen year olds back in the day, all over him, grabbing him and pulling on his clothes and hair. It had been a laugh, but very up close and personal.

"Yeah," Paul sighed. "She makes a good cuppa too," he smiled weakly, and the mood remained at a concentrated agitation which they could all endure.

****

Apple Dining Room.

George entered the dining room quietly, immediately noticing May and Sam sitting together. He wasn't bothered by it as much as he thought he would be. George took a seat near the entrance, his back towards the giggling pair. He had been avoiding May to some extent throughout the afternoon, and therefore didn't want to attract attention. And it had been easy to do that whilst working in the studio, but now he finally realised that he couldn't steer clear of her forever. The night before had been a bundle of feelings for George; fleeing her place wasn't his best idea, but it was an impulsive decision, and because of it, everything seemed a blur. The colours of last night were what he remembered best and how he distinguished the memories; the pink of her skin and honey in her hair from the amber lamp on her bedside table...to the tanginess of her taste, like oranges, and black of the night. The last few shades are the light and dark blonde tones of Pattie's hair as he climbed into bed. The colours were extraordinary to him, very hazy and cloudy, but still a thrill. And it was that thrill that made George desire May even more.

A chirpy, "Afternoon, George!" caused his heart to jump.

George looked to his left to see Sam leaving and giving him a small wave goodbye. George returned a smile, but was edging with nerves, as it registered that he would now have to speak with May since her lunch buddy had left. He wasn't sure how she was going to react to his apology for his abrupt departure. Nevertheless, he took a risk and began to approach May's table.

He first noticed the newspaper next to her, and then her concentrated stare, as she looked out the window. He squeezed her shoulder, and felt her muscle twitch from his sudden appearance at the table.

"Hi," May greeted him, as her eyes ran up his body, landing on his face.

George gave a small smile. "Hey, can I sit?" he asked, gesturing to the empty chair opposite her.

She paused, thinking perhaps...before answering a quiet, "Yes,"

George took a seat, but noted how May swiftly flipped the newspaper over, as if she was covering up whatever was on the other side. She folded her hands together, on the table, peering over at him a few times, but mainly looking down at the table.

"May? I want to apologise for leaving like that last night," George began, hoping his words would create some response from her, but they failed to. He continued, "I know it wasn't fair to you, and you probably have many questions as to why-

"It's fine." she interrupted, her tone snappy and impatient.

"Is it? Because you won't even look at me," he explained, eyebrows furrowed.

May gave him eye contact for a few seconds, before focusing on his hair, then the collar of his dark blue shirt, and finally his light brown scarf...anything but his eyes.

"There. I'm looking at you," she breathed, finally considering his explanation, replying with a simple, "It's fine."

May's blasé attitude was exhausting to George because he felt nothing had been resolved, and that he needed to apologise again...but that would look ridiculous, so he kept quiet. He wanted a drink, a whisky or something strong. Instead, he studied the dining room and vacant tables around them.

"Since when do you read about the prez?" George asked with a smile, gesturing to the folded newspaper next to her, a picture of newly elected President Richard Nixon.

May glanced at the newspaper. "I don't." She crossed her arms.

"Okay, then," George said through a sigh, collecting the newspaper and flipping through it.

May silently watched as George gradually read through the paper, his hesitancy apparent as his hand lingered near the corner of a certain page, as the photograph of him and his wife stared back at him. It was from a few night's ago, when him and Pattie attended a public dinner, nothing too fancy, but enough to land in the tabloids. George's tongue grazed his bottom lip, and when his eyes connected with May's, she quickly looked down at the table. George observed her a moment longer, before folding the newspaper and propping it on the empty chair next to him.

"May, dear..." he gently called her. She didn't respond. George's hand slid across the table, to clutch her's, but she moved it before their skin even touched. "You didn't happen to read that article, did yer?"

May didn't budge, and George was growing impatient.

"Please answer me, May. Did you read it or not?" he asked, urgency in his voice.

She replied with a weak nod.

"Is this why you're so upset with me?"

"No." she answered back hastily, that it startled George. Her eyes locked with his, annoyance in them.

He smirked, "Well, I beg to differ,"

May's agitation grew at that, and George could sense it.

"That was a joke. But, yer know it's just an article, right?" he tried to confirm with her, but she didn't seem to understand. "It doesn't mean shit, May,"

"It's a photo of you and your wife - how can you say that?!" she exclaimed, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

George ran a hand through his hair. "You can't be so sensitive to these things, May. It's just a silly newspaper,"

The short newspaper clipping of George and Pattie had impacted the seventeen year old. It was pointless to lie about it, but May didn't want to appear weak, which was ironic because that was exactly how she looked. It was an unwanted reminder that George was supposed to be unavailable, and yet he acted as if he wasn't, openly flirting with May and...kissing her. It added another reminder - May was to be marrying someone else.

"We kissed, George," she hissed across the table.

"And now you regret it or somethin'?"

Her cheeks blushed from the irritation and now this petty argument. George was beginning to wish he had stayed in the studio. As her silence persisted - in thought or not, George couldn't determine - he decided to leave, and as he got up from his chair, he heard a soft and shaky,

"No, I don't regret it."

****

"Christ, George! It's fuckin' freezing up here!" May shrieked, wrapping her jacket tighter around her body.

"Well...get closer to me, silly," George smiled, and opened up his arms, as May snuggled into his chest, and she felt a warmth wrap around her waist.

They stood on the rooftop of the Apple building, escaping the cameras and business of the studio, wanting to spend some time with each other, hoping to forget their prior disagreements. George was bundled up in a thick, woolly blue coat, whereas May wore George's black jacket which he had lent her Saturday night. She usually kept the jacket in her school bag, intending to give it back, but it somehow always stayed with her, as if protecting her.

It was freezing on the rooftop, but they persisted with the cold, as they lay on its wooden covering, snuggling up together, trying to stay heated. May had followed George up here after their short time in the dining room. He had said that there was somewhere he wanted to take her. So May made the excuse to Steffie that she was accompanying George as Mal restrung his guitar, in order to make their escape to the rooftop.

"I'm sorry, George, for acting so moody before. It wasn't you..." May said, turning in his arms so that they were facing each other.

She felt the need to apologise and give a reason for her behaviour - without telling him the actual reason.

"I had a fight with Peter this morning and I was still thinking about it when you came in. I'm sorry," she continued, a small smile on her features.

How easy it was to lie surprised May. She normally would laugh or crack a smile when she lied, but this was so natural. Perhaps because it was the half truth - she had been thinking about Peter and they were going through some sort of falling out, as Peter hadn't returned home yet.

"Oh, did he come back today?"

"What?" she questioned, confusion and panic flashing in her eyes. George couldn't possibly know what happened at the party and how Peter did not return with May.

"The business trip? You told me in the car last night, that's why he wasn't home..." George chuckled. "Did you have too many glasses of wine and forget?"

"Oh..." she breathed, forcing a smile. "Yes, yeah, of course. He come back this morning, yeah," she nodded.

May's heart settled down from its rapid beat as she realised that she couldn't keep up this dishonesty. It was hard to maintain, and once she began to lie, the lies only piled up. May tried to reassure herself that this was all okay by labelling them little white lies that anybody could have told.

"Oh, but everything's okay now? Or not?" he asked, concern genuine in his voice.

George's hands tightened around May's waist, bringing her in closer, their stomachs flush against each other.

"Yes...I'm okay now that I'm here," she answered softly, looking into his eyes, her lips red from the coolness of the wind.

George's hair flicked into his eyes, but he didn't bother to move it, just sort've squinted so that he could still see May. There was more for her to say, but she was too shy and insecure to share it with George. In such an intimate hold with him, it seemed inappropriate to talk about her fiance, so she left her mouth shut and enjoyed the closeness with the guitarist she had grown so fond of.

May sighed, moving in his embrace, so that she was on her back, with George lying on his side, an arm lazily hung over her stomach.

Whilst reflecting on the stressfulness in the studio sessions, in meetings, and his everyday life, George contemplated giving voice to his worries and sadness, but it wasn't that simple. May appeared to share her troubles so easily to him. But if George couldn't tell his wife of his frustrations, how was he supposed to tell a seventeen year old girl of them? And better yet, expect her to understand... Another factor was that George was sick and tired of talking. It was always 'Beatles this' or 'Beatles that'; May didn't expect that of him - or at least she made out that she didn't. She might ask a question or two about the album or film, but she didn't pester him about his fame, and he was thankful for it.

They yearned to share their thoughts and emotions, but it was so complex within themselves, that it was hard to express it to another person. They wanted to talk and sort out these inner issues, whether it be about a band or marriage or deteriorated friendships. But in the end, the bullshit was pushed aside - just like it always is - and they discovered the freedom of being in each other's arms.

"May?" George whispered, his voice husky. She met his gaze, her cheek rubbed against the smooth, cold wooden boards of the rooftop.

"You don't regret the kiss...well, I don't either."

Her fingers went to brush the hair out of his face and as she did, she moved onto her side, falling deeper into George's warmth. His brown eyes didn't budge from her's as the back of her hand traced down the hollow of his cheek. Their lips met in a soft peck, and May's hand gripped his shoulder, as they moved into a more passionate kiss. George's hold on her lessened as his hand moved from her hip, growing closer to her bottom, her grey, school skirt rising higher and higher, the icy breeze rolling onto her upper thighs. She was lucky to be wearing black stockings, but it did nothing to shelter her from the freezing temperatures.

George kissed the exposed parts of her neck, mostly near her jawline and ear, tickling her skin in some places, causing her to smile. He closed his eyes, continuing to kiss her neck, her scent overpowering everything else. May smelt of flowers, like a wild rose or an orchid, with the sweetness of pear or oranges. It was a sharp contrast to the vanilla and lavender of his wife's perfume. May's smell had such a saccharine element to it, that he felt as if he could just take a bite out of her, truly make her part of himself.

"You smell wonderful," George mumbled, as his eyes opened, his fingers drawing a circular motion on her hip.

George was mesmerised by May, her complexion fair and pure snow, that she reminded him of a nymph from a Pre Raphaelite painting, like the water nymphs tempting Hylas in John William Waterhouse's artworks. Graceful and petite...wrapped up in his hold as if she belonged there all this time. George hadn't been the most monogamous partner in his marriage, but the affairs had been brief and "part of the fun". Nonetheless, he soon wondered if it would ever be possible to let go of May.

****

I don't like you,
But I love you.
Seems that I'm always,
Thinking of you.

It was after dinnertime, which was significant to May because it meant hometime. George and May hung around the dark corners of the Apple hallways, with George trying to prolong her stay by suggesting she join him in the studio to "see how things are done". An hour before dinner, May had been granted access into the studio to watch the Beatles jam old numbers, such as "You Really Got a Hold on Me" and "Besame Mucho", the latter being her favourite track they ran through. She sat on the floor, at George's feet, gazing up at him as he play and sang, a smile here and there. It was unclear to May if the rest of the Beatles minded her presence during the session, but George certainly didn't make a fuss. He didn't even warn the others; simply guided her to where she should sit, informed her not to make noise, and occasionally asked her to light him a cigarette.

That was now over, and May wanted to go home. She had overheard from Paul that he wanted to rehearse one of his numbers, which meant the boys would probably have another late one. May would've waited around, but she had school the next day.

"C'mon, June...stay..." George murmured in her ear, his hands on her hips, gently pushing her until her back hit the wall.

His name escaped May's lips in a breathy whimper as his hands lifted the hem of her shirt, his fingers on her warm skin, touching her lower back. He kissed her sloppily, eyes closed, tasting the peppermint on his tongue from the mint sauce he had with his vegetables at dinner. His name once again was the only word she could breath out...George...and May was surprised at how it came out in such a natural manner, as if she had been sighing his name for years. Her fingers combed through his hair, slightly oily and thick. George hummed in pleasure, his kisses focusing on her neck, like they had earlier in the day, and she ran her hands down his orange tinted scarf to the collar of his shirt and then finally gripped his shoulders, tightly.

"Yer still thinkin' of leavin'?" he whispered in her ear, his accent thick and words lazy, and he wetly pecked her jawline.

"George..." she muttered in an uncertain tone, as if to push him away, but physically she brought George closer, her hands snaking around his waist.

His breath was cool against her skin, slightly tickling her, and she shivered, as she kissed him again, moaning as soon as his hands travelled to her bottom, squeezing gently. May wasn't able to please him that much with her hands. She was lost in how good his touch was, that her arms were left to rest along his waist, grazing his belt.

"Yer still wanna go?" he drawled in her ear, as he unbuttoned the last button of her school blouse, and his hand sprawled against her stomach, as he kissed her, slowly and deeply.

A clearing of the throat prevented May to respond, and as she turned to pull away from George's kiss, she caught a glimpse of Mal standing a few steps away from them in the hallway. George didn't turn to look.

"Uh, George?" there was a pause. "Paul wants to get started, so do the others..." Mal explained softly.

May froze in George's arms, embarrassed and refusing to acknowledge Mal. She noticed his jaw tighten, and so did his grip on May, that it hurt.

George turned to Mal, his hands not leaving May's skin. "Give me five minutes—Paul can wait that long."

Mal eyed the cosy couple, taking particular note of George's bony fingers planted firmly on May's ass, refusing to budge. George kept his glare fixed on his, and despite Mal understanding that this was the way things were, it was still a bitter pill to swallow occasionally. He had witnessed the sexual relationships between the Beatles and women on tour, and now in the studio. All Mal could think was, of course it was a Beatle that May was trying to impress...

"Yes, okay." Mal nodded, quickly disappearing down the hall to the studio, away from the intimate scene.

"Well..." George sighed, noticing her reddened cheeks.

May cleared her throat. "Who knew Paul would be such a mood killer?" she smiled.

He grinned, "Well, yes." he said, as his stare ran down the front of her blouse, to his hand on her abdomen. George softly tapped her stomach, before straightening up, his hands by his side. "I guess you better be heading off?"

"Yes, you're right...it's gotta be about eight, and it's freezing out there." May glanced out the window opposite her, the glass peppered with rain drops.

"Hmm...yeah," George agreed, his eyes darting from her eyes, to her lips, her neck, then back to her eyes.

George leaned in, his hand on her shoulder, and kissed her lips. It was the softest brush of lips, a feather's touch, and it left her wanting so much more.

It was the only thing she could think of as she walked home.

****

Peter and May's Apartment.

As May reached the apartment, the lights streaming through the curtains caught her attention. Peter. If it hadn't have been so cold May would have waited outside longer, figuring out what to say to him. Instead she opened the front door like any other day, and was confronted with Peter sitting on the couch in the living room, his back to her. May put the keys down on the table near the front door, her school bag falling off her shoulders and landing next to the table's wooden leg.

"Peter?" she called.

May watched as Peter stood and faced her, walking to her instantly. He took her in his arms and kissed her. May looked at him with wide eyes once Peter pulled away.

"I didn't mean it."

That's all he said, before leading May to the bedroom and undressing her. He made love to her - gradually and with ease. It was the slowest he had ever been, and although his movements were careful and loving, the moans that escaped her were not for the person on top of her.

After they finished, they lay next to each other, sticky and sweaty, the bed sheets strewn at the end of the bed, their bodies completely bare. Peter leaned over, pecking her cheek.

"May, I'm sorry. I'll never leave you again."

His lips grazed her cheek once more, and she looked at Peter, noticing the tears in his eyes. May was surprised at the vulnerability Peter shared - even more so when he didn't brush away the tear that fell just underneath his eyelash.

"Can we forget the whole thing?" he proposed, taking her hand in his.

His grip was so firm, that her engagement ring dug into her skin, leaving an indent. It ached terribly.

"Okay," she quivered, and May was unsure if she forgave him in order to stop the ache or because she was left with no other choice - he was crying for goodness sake. She felt forced to accept his apology, whether she wanted to or not.

May thought of her mother, scolding her. Her mother was quite old fashioned and Roman Catholic - not too strict, but enforced the Catholic teachings when necessary. The fact that May had, had sex before marriage would have disappointed her mother, but not enough to get her into that much trouble. However, May didn't want to imagine what her mother would be like if she discovered that May could only think of George throughout the entire act. George's touch felt like it was engraved into her skin, that anyone else's attempts only skimmed the surface - it was never as deep as his.

Peter grinned, kissing her softly.

"Oh gear, May! I love you." he smiled, before kissing her again.

May didn't return the 'I love you' back. She could only manage a mumbled "luv you" into his chest as he made love to her a second time.

****

30 July, 1970 - Thursday Morning.
Peter and May's Home.

It had almost been a month since May posted the letter, and still no reply from George. She had slimmed down the chances of him ever responding by 50% after the first week of posting it. But May had taken a risk, and was now required to play the waiting game.

She was still half asleep, sipping her coffee now and then, as Peter touched her arm, and she flinched - but not enough for him to notice. He excused himself from breakfast to have a shower. May nodded, observing the pink embroidery around the edge of the white table cloth.

A knock at the front door startled her, immediate speculation on who could be visiting this early. She figured it was a co-worker of Peter's. May tied her robe tightly around her stomach before opening the door, and she almost screamed when her eyes connected with his warm, deliciously sweet brown ones.

He smiled. "Hi, June."

****

Hylas and the Nymphs - John William Waterhouse (1896)