Ringo stepped around the study as he waited, manoeuvring carefully through the mess, not wanting to accidentally knock something over and break it, remembering what had happened the last time he had accidentally broken something. Still, it was worth the trouble. George's study had always fascinated him, ever since he had first set foot in it some years ago when his friend had only been an eager and somewhat overenthusiastic student. The room had something magical about it in Ringo's eyes, even though George would laugh at him for thinking such a silly thing. Magic didn't exist, after all. But to Ringo, everything George did up here was magic: something wonderful and enchanting, but also dangerous and somewhat frightening, but in a good way. He always liked coming up here.

The room itself was plain, with tall grey walls and a beautiful, but common, bay window, beneath which a large mahogany desk was placed. It was not, however, the room that was magical, but what was inside it. One wall was completely covered in bookshelves, filled with thick, leather-bound books in all kinds of languages, mostly Latin, with drawings and equations and strange scribbles in them, telling stories and sharing knowledge that were so far out of his reach. He could only fantasise about what they would say. He had looked in them, scanned through them, and studied each of the drawings inside. In the margins, he often found little notes in his friend's hand, but those were just as unreadable as the rest of the book. He was certain he had once seen one written entirely in runes.

All the other walls were covered in notes and maps and drawings, some of animals, some of the human body, some of leaves and trees, and even pine cones. Some looked specifically medical, with little lines pointing to specific parts of the body and naming them, often in Latin, though sometimes they seemed to describe a specific medical procedure. Ringo did not like looking at those for too long. They creeped him out.

Against another wall stood a small fireplace with two comfortable armchairs around it. Half-burned pieces of paper were scattered across the blackened wooden flooring and the rug beneath the chairs had seen better days too. Furthermore, the room was filled with stacks of books, papers and documents, unopened letters, and notebooks. A large globe stood beside the desk, the latter of which was full of even more papers, pens, pencils, ink bottles, scissors, and other strange-looking equipment of which Ringo could only guess the use, bottles, vials and test tubes, candles, and gas lighters, as well as many more things. Beside the desk, pushed up against the other wall, stood a chemistry set and two large glass cabinets with all kinds of things in there: more bottles, jars, syringes, nuts, bolts, screwdrivers, matchboxes, tubes, books, rolls of paper, models of the human body: you name it and it was there. Half of the things, Ringo still didn't know what they were. In the middle of the room stood a few glass tables with metal constructions on them, animatronics, but also clocks, watches, and even a small steam engine George had tried to fabricate on his own. To say he was more than a little enthusiastic about anything having to do with science would be an understatement.

His said friend stood by the desk, working diligently and in silence on his latest invention. What he had been working on, Ringo didn't know yet. He hadn't told him anything about it yet, and had simply ordered him to take a seat and wait until he had finished. The light coming from the tall bay window surrounded him in a bright aura of light. His hair shined in the sunlight and the pink liquid in the test tube he held in his hand shimmered back at him. Ringo couldn't see his face, but judging from the appreciative noises that would sometimes escape the younger man's lips, he was getting there. Or Ringo hoped so. He had been waiting for nearly two hours, and even then a magical place such as this one began to lose its impressiveness.

He had been called up that morning by George's fiancée, Pattie, asking him if he could come in that afternoon after lunchtime, since George had been on the brink of making a breakthrough and he didn't like to wait for his test subject. At first Ringo had thought about declining. He had planned to go out for lunch with Paul and his brother, Mike, but Paul had assured him it would be alright. They needed the money after all - 10 pounds was a lot of money - and Mike wouldn't mind. Now, however, it was getting late and he still hadn't tested anything, which meant he easily could have gone to the luncheon. At least George's fiancée had made him something to eat.

A call of his name brought him back into the room and out of his thoughts. He turned around to his friend at once. George beckoned him over, his lips curled up in an excited smile that almost scared Ringo. After all, he didn't have a clue what his friend had been working on for so long, and although he was eager to find out, he couldn't help but to feel a little hesitant. He nodded and walked over to George, careful not to accidentally knock something over. Miraculously, he managed to cross the room without a single incident.

"Do you know what this is, Richie?" George asked him when he was close enough, dangling the test tube right before Ringo's eyes. The pinkish fluid was sparkling now. He looked up at George and simply waited for him to explain, knowing his friend wouldn't actually want an answer. He never did.

"This, my friend," George continued, "is what shall grant me the respect of every great man in London - no, the whole of England, if not the world. This, Richie, is what shall earn me my fame, my fortune, my name. This is what bright young men will be studying for decades to come, I promise you. Even Queen Victoria herself will speak of me."

Ringo eyed the little tube curiously, not sure how something that little would earn his friend so much respect in such high places. It was, after all, just some liquid, even if it did sparkle. Still, he knew better than to say anything like that to his friend, and he knew his friend had the tendency to be rather over dramatic when it came to something he was proud of, so he only hummed in fascination.

"What is it?" he couldn't help but ask, and George blinked stupidly at him for a second, before composing himself with a short nod. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"It is a potion of my own invention, and when I say my own invention, I mean my own invention, that will be the end of all the despair and cruelty in this world. The end of crime and all those ugly animalistic parts of us that we try all too hard to suppress, often with great difficulty, even more often with failure. This," he paused for dramatic effect, "is what will rid you of those urges."

"I - I still don't understand," Ringo said, looking from the test tube to George and back again. Luckily, George only smiled, seemingly having hoped for such an answer.

"The way I see it, the human soul has two parts, you see. One part is the good part. It contains our ability to feel love and see beauty in all things. It is what makes us kind and polite. What keeps us, mainly, good," he explained, and Ringo nodded to say he was following. "The other part, however, is our malicious part: the darkness that crawls within us. The hate, the despair, the urges to do bad, and to always take the easy way out, even if that means hurting someone, or ourselves. It is what causes wars and crimes, pain and suffering. It is what makes young boys bully other children. It is what makes us animals," he paused again, and Ringo nodded to say he was following, "Now, say we take that part and we pull it out. Out of your mind, so you're left with only the first part. The good part. It would end most, if not all, of our problems!"

"But where would it go?" Ringo asked, not yet fully understanding, although he could see why his friend was so excited. If this would indeed work, that would be wonderful. Now, however, George's face fell and he frowned at Ringo.

"Where would what go?" he asked.

"The dark part. The part you 'remove'."

"Go? Richie, it doesn't go anywhere! It's gone. It is not a physical thing. It's chemistry!" George explained with a light-hearted laugh, grasping Ringo's shoulder and squeezing reassuringly as he shook his head. Ringo smiled back at him, but he wasn't really convinced. Then again, he wasn't the scientist, so George was probably right. He knew what he was doing.

"Just drink it. There's nothing in it that should kill you. Most it can do is give you headaches and slight nausea. Oh! And potentially some hair loss, but really nothing serious. I tested it on a few rats and they're all alive and well. Except for the first, but I changed the entire makeup of the potion and none died after that," George said as he offered him the potion. Ringo, however, looked up in shock at the mention of hair loss, knowing how much Paul loved to run his fingers through his hair and bury his nose into it - he had told him more times than he could count. Never mind the public shame he would have to endure. 10 pounds was a lot of money, but was it worth losing his hair for?

"It will grow back," George quickly promised him with a light chuckle.

Taking his word for it, Ringo took the test tube from him and inspected it. It did look pretty. George briefly turned away to grab his notebook and a pencil to take notes of Ringo's reactions to the potion. Ringo waited for him to be ready, before uncorking the tube and putting it to his lips. He glanced at George one last time, and when his friend nodded, he tipped it back and let it all slide into his mouth.

It was horrible. It tasted coppery and salty, perhaps a little rotten, like eggs or milk, or even rotten fruit. But there was something in there that reminded him of his mother's lemon cakes. It was just a hint, but it was enough to keep him from violently gagging and spitting it out. It was disgusting. His entire body shuddered at the taste and he squeezed his hands into fists as he forced himself to swallow. As soon as he had, the nasty taste left his mouth, but was almost instantly replaced by a bitter aftertaste, which wasn't as disgusting, but still unpleasant. He looked up at George, wanting to get angry at him for not even giving him a warning about the taste, but before he could, George was grabbing his jaw and pulling his mouth open, inspecting his tongue and teeth, as well as his lips, his gum, the roof of his mouth, and the insides of his cheeks. By the end of it, his mouth felt so sore, he didn't even want to speak anymore. George scribbled something in his notebook and occasionally glanced at Ringo, as if he were waiting for something to happen.

In all honesty, Ringo didn't feel that different. If it wasn't for the taste in his mouth and the nausea it caused him, he would have thought he'd been drinking water. He reached up to poke his own face, but George quickly slapped his hand away before he could.

"Don't move. I need to see everything that happens. Now, how do you feel?" George told him sternly, stepping closer to study his face from up close. Ringo tried not to move as he let George inspect him, feeling himself getting self-conscious from being looked at that closely. George had never been this meticulous with his testing before.

"Not very different. Nauseous, although that's probably from the horrible taste," he answered truthfully, and George nodded as a frown appeared on his face. He didn't seem happy. He briefly turned back to his books to look at something, before he got back to Ringo.

"Yes, sorry about the taste. I should have warned you. Now, the potion might need some time to be fully absorbed in the blood," he said as he grabbed Ringo's jaw again, forcing his mouth open once more. This time, Ringo let him, his body moving pliantly now he had been expecting it, making the experience far less painful. His friend looked worried, and Ringo wondered if something had gone wrong or if it hadn't worked. He didn't dare to ask.

"Just have a seat, wait for thirty minutes. We should start to see something happening by then," George said with a resolute nod as he finally let go of Ringo's face. Without another word, he snatched the test tube from Ringo's hand and turned back to his desk. Knowing George wouldn't listen to him now, Ringo simply moved to the fireplace to sit down, grabbing his stomach.

"Can I have some water?" he asked as he sat down, only to be disappointed when George muttered a "no". He had hoped it would help against the foul taste.

"Better not. I'm sorry, but it might mess with the potion. I'd rather not take any risks," George told him and Ringo nodded with a defeated sigh as he sat back in his chair and waited.

               Time went by far too slowly for Ringo's liking. There was nothing to do for him in George's study. Sure, there were books to read, but he couldn't understand most of them, seeing as they were in Latin - a language Ringo had never had the privilege to learn. There were pictures on the walls he could look at, but soon he grew weary of that as well, knowing them all by heart already.

So, he spent his time trying to imagine what Paul was doing at home. Would he be back from lunch yet? Ringo didn't have a clue what time it was, but judging from the soft growls that emerged from his stomach, it was quickly approaching teatime. He hoped Paul had managed to cancel all of his appointments that evening. He always did when Ringo was going to see George to test a new invention of his, seeing as Ringo got sick too often afterwards and needed someone to look after him. Of course, their housekeeper would, but Paul liked looking after him, and Ringo liked having him around. He hoped he would be alright this time, however, so he and Paul simply had some time to spend together. Just the two of them. They had rarely had that lately, with Paul's performances.

Paul was a musician, and one of the best ones out there. Or at least, according to Ringo. He played concerts mostly, but what he earned with them wasn't enough to support the both of them. Not for the lifestyle they were trying to uphold. He had composed a few smaller pieces as well, and although they had sold well, the money he made on them wasn't enough by far. So Ringo was more than glad to test out George's inventions every so often for a small fee (all very hush hush, of course. If anyone ever found out George was testing on human beings, he would be ruined). It got them through the days, as long as they'd spend their money with care. Still, he wished he could be more of a help. But his education had been limited, due to illness in his childhood, so there was not much around for him to do without attracting attention. Paul promised him often that it didn't matter, but sometimes Ringo wished he could give Paul that particular watch that caught his eye in a shop window or a new suit from a more expensive fabric, precisely measured and tailored to his form. He would look gorgeous in one, but they simply didn't have the money for it.

Sighing, he opened his eyes and wondered how much time had passed already. George hadn't told him he could go, but surely those thirty minutes would have passed by now. He stood up, straightened out his clothes, and grabbed his jacket from the back of the armchair. He walked over to his friend, who was still working. At what, Ringo did not know, for he did not bother to look and find out, knowing it wouldn't make sense to him.

"George, may I leave now? Nothing is happening and I er... I don't feel very good. I think it is the side effects," he asked, only to be waved away.

"Yes, yes. Keep me informed if anything changes. Leave me to work," he all but scolded, sounding almost annoyed that he hadn't left sooner. Ringo only chuckled at his friend's behaviour, knowing how he could get when he got invested in something. He wished him a good afternoon, before manoeuvring to the door and leaving. George didn't even say goodbye.

               By the time Ringo stepped out of the coach in front of his London home, he felt the extreme urge to throw up. His stomach was twisting and churning as he gagged and gagged, his hand grabbing his stomach. He couldn't even stand up straight. He didn't wait for the housekeeper as he hurried inside and slammed the front door behind him as he quickly shrugged off his coat and toed off his shoes, leaving them on the floor for said housekeeper to pick up as he rushed through the kitchen door and went straight for the sink, pushing Paul aside, who was making himself a cup of tea. He heaved over and gagged again, opening his mouth as he waited for it to come, tears burning in his eyes until finally...

"Oh dear! Are you okay, love? What did he make you drink this time?! You look awful," Paul exclaimed as he watched his partner empty out his stomach in the sink. Ringo wished he could say something in return, but he only started throwing up again, his body heaving over the sink. Paul rushed over to him and gently pushed his hair out of his face as he rubbed soothing circles down his back. The older man moaned in discomfort and opened the tap to wash away the vomit, before he went again, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"Is everything alright, Sir?" a woman's voice sounded from behind him. He coughed and wiped some tears from his face, before nodding.

"It's alright, Mrs. Field. He's been seeing Mr. Harrison again. Could you please make yourself useful and bring me a damp towel? Thank you," Paul said, and Ringo sighed as he heard her footsteps move away. Paul moved a few more strands of hair out of his face and Ringo hummed as he leaned into his touch, making Paul chuckle.

"Are you alright now?" he asked, his voice soft and affectionate. Ringo nodded, wiping his mouth and washing his hands and face, before turning off the tap. Mrs. Field's footsteps approached again and Ringo saw her enter the kitchen from the corner of his eye. She was an older lady with greying black hair, but was still agile and quick on her feet. She wore a pair of round spectacles and always wore the same black dress with a white apron, despite both his and Paul's assurance that she was allowed to wear something of her own if she wanted. Her face, which once had been pretty, was decorated with deep lines and she always looked serious, which Paul had told him was simply how she looked when she was at ease. She handed Paul a damp towel as she glanced at Ringo, worry spreading over her face.

"Thank you, Mrs. Field," Paul said as he took the towel, dismissing her with one last nod. She nodded in reply and disappeared into the hall again, probably to clean up the mess Ringo had left behind. He turned to look at Paul as he leaned against the kitchen counter, catching his breath. Paul smiled at him as he reached up and began to clean him with the towel, gently and lovingly as he looked deeply into his eyes. Ringo smiled back at him, already feeling much better now he had Paul to look after him.

"Now, tell me," Paul said as he wiped the sweat from Ringo's forehead. "What did George do to you this time? I had told him to start seeing you as a human being, rather than a life doll."

"It wasn't anything bad, Paul. It was only some potion. The taste was horrible, but I doubt it even worked," Ringo said, shuddering as he remembered the taste, but Paul didn't look too convinced. He worried, his bottom lip between his teeth as he put the towel aside on the kitchen counter. He cupped Ringo's face in his hands, angling his face up, before placing a kiss to his forehead.

"It wasn't the potion that would supposedly remove all the evil from you, was it?" he said in a gentle voice, laughing when Ringo nodded with a frown, not understanding how Paul could have known about that, seeing as he hadn't even known about it, and he was working with him.

"George told me about it last week when he came to watch me perform at the theatre," Paul answered his unspoken question.

"You don't believe in it?"

Paul regarded him for a moment, before shaking his head.

"Only a fool would believe in such a thing, Richie. I love the man, you know I do, but it's absurd to think you could somehow 'remove' someone's evilness. It's nonsense!" he said, and Ringo bit his lip as he thought about it. The idea had sounded wonderful to him, like a magic trick: unexplainable, but incredible and awe-inspiring. But perhaps Paul was right and that was all it was: a magic trick. Not real.

"I'll be seeing him this Sunday and I'll tell him how awful you felt. Maybe he will pay you extra," Paul continued with a wink and Ringo nodded. Paul wrapped an arm around his shoulder and guided him through their house to the bedroom, so Ringo could lie down for a little while and rest.

               The house wasn't much, but it was the best they had been able to afford in the best part of London. It was a mere two-bedroom apartment, but all of the rooms were spacious, light and airy. Mrs. Field lived only a few miles away in the cheaper part of town, so she did not mind travelling to and from work, as long as they paid for the expenses, so they kept the second bedroom as a spare guest room. They had thought about taking in a ward, but had quickly decided not to as they did not have the financial means to support themselves and a child, and because it would attract too much attention, two men taking a child into their home. For Ringo the decision had been easier, but Paul had always dreamed of having a family - another thing Ringo could not give him. They had bought the apartment two years ago, about six months after they had met. In a way, they were lucky. The people in London were so stuck up and obnoxious about all things different, they simply pretended homosexuality didn't exist. So, two men sharing an apartment together? Nothing out of the ordinary. As long as they didn't do anything inappropriate, they would be in the clear - like taking in a ward.

They had met through George too. Paul had been a friend of his since they had gone to school together as young boys, and even though Paul had been a year older, they had hit it off immediately and they had been almost inseparable since. Both had been good students, but whereas Paul had decided to follow his passion and work in music, George had followed the academic path. He had made quite a name for himself. He had started to earn well, and when he had his first work published, he had invited Paul along to the presentation. He had met Paul afterwards at the party. Ringo himself had worked at the university at the time, cleaning and volunteering as a test subject even then. He had met George in his first year and they had become friends right away. He had even felt like an equal, despite their differences in social standing.

Meeting Paul, however, had been different. Right away Paul had seemed exceptionally charming and polite. He had been well-dressed and a great conversation partner, being happy to talk to anyone about anything, and being well-informed about all subjects imaginable too. He had appeared to be more important than he was, which, combined with his stunning good looks, had intimidated Ringo. He had spent the evening watching him, following him with his eyes wherever he went, until he had lost sight of him, only to be introduced to him by George as his best friend. The mortification Ringo had felt in that moment, he still felt at times, when Paul was around other people, holding up that mask. He had learned to love that mask, however, as much as he loved the man himself.

Their relationship had started quickly after the party. Paul had been on his mind more often than not and finally, after a few days, he had met him again, this time at George's home. He had been different. More open, calmer, more approachable. More like himself, as Ringo now knew. They had started talking and had decided to meet up for dinner the next day. When it had been time for Ringo to leave, Paul had offered to walk him out, only to kiss him by the front door, away from prying eyes. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel that first press of Paul's lips against his, the smell of his cologne invading his nostrils, dazzling him.

As they reached the bedroom, Paul moved him to sit on the bed and helped him out of his clothes, which he folded neatly and placed on a chair in the corner of the room as Ringo laid down on their bed. He watched as Paul moved around the room to close the curtains, before walking back to him and sitting down at the side of the bed. He pulled the covers up for Ringo, tugging him in like a mother would, before leaning down to kiss him like a lover.

"I'll be in the living room if you need me. Just shout," he whispered as he pulled away and ran his fingers lovingly through Ringo's hair, smoothing it. Ringo nodded and smiled at him as he closed his eyes, only then realising how tired his was, despite feeling much better after having emptied out his stomach. He felt Paul's lips pressing against his temple, before the man pulled away and got back up, leaving Ringo to rest.