The sound of someone stumbling around in the room awakened Ringo's senses, jerking him away from the troubled dream he had been having. The room was dark, making it impossible to see who was going through his room. He moved to sit up, but found his muscles complaining in protest, making him groan in discomfort. Otherwise, he felt surprisingly good. His nausea had subsided and apart from the slight headache and the aching muscles, he was feeling really good; maybe even better than before he had gone to see George. If George hadn't found a potion to make people purely good, he had made something that made them feel good, which Ringo supposed was worth it as well. He ought to call George, but first, he had something else to worry about.

"Who is there?" His voice was thick with sleep as it wavered, making his nervousness more than obvious. The stumbling stopped and Ringo felt his heart speed up in his chest, until he heard someone sigh. Right away, he recognised who it was, having heard that sigh too many times not to recognise it.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you? I was only seeing if you were still asleep," Paul asked in a hushed tone as he walked over to him. As soon as he came into sight, Ringo smiled at him and shrugged.

"It's fine," he said as he reached out for him, taking his hand in his own and pulling him down to sit beside him on the bed as he leaned in and kissed him firmly on the lips. A surprised moan fell from Paul's mouth at the sudden passion, but he let him anyway, melting into his touch as he parted his lips and curled his tongue around Ringo's. When they broke away, Ringo couldn't stop himself from laughing.

"What's wrong with you? These aren't the side effects, are they?" Paul asked, chuckling along himself, finding it all rather amusing. Ringo shook his head. He forced himself to stop and looked Paul deep in the eye before he spoke.

"I'm fine. I've just missed you today," he said, and Paul smiled at that, before leaning in for another kiss.

"Good," he muttered against Ringo's lips, making him smile.

"Are you coming to bed?" Ringo asked as he broke their kiss, letting his hand slide up to caress Paul's arm. He had taken off his coat and waistcoat, and had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, leaving Ringo to feel his naked skin. The top buttons of his shirt were undone as well, exposing his collarbone and some of his chest hair. The little hairs on Paul's arms stood upright as he caressed them, enjoying how hairy he was. He had always loved that about the other man. He looked back up at Paul, watching how the man's eyes shined at him as they darkened, making it more than clear to Ringo what kind of effect he was having.

"No, not yet. I er... I was going to phone John. You... you look good tonight," Paul said, frowning as he leaned closer to Ringo, studying his face. Ringo blushed under Paul's gaze, and fluttered his eyelashes at him, hoping to be able to take advantage of the situation. He would love to get Paul into bed right now.

"Your eyes - they're brighter, clearer. And your face looks cleaner too, smooth and handsomer. Hardly any imperfections. Your hair is shinier too," Paul said as he reached out to caress Ringo's face, gently cradling his head in hand as he studied him. Ringo blushed even more at the praise and a goofy smile spread across his face, making his eyes twinkle almost unnaturally.

"Seems like George's potion did something right, doesn't it?" he suggested, and Paul chuckled as he nodded, leaning in for another simple kiss, sighing against his lips as his fingers moved through Ringo's silky locks. When he pulled away again, he moved to sit down onto the bed next to Ringo. He wrapped an arm around the older man's shoulders and pulled him against him so he could bury his nose in his hair, taking in the smell of him, humming as he smelled roses.

"Why were you going to phone John? It is a bit of an odd time, isn't it?" Ringo asked, letting his body melt into Paul's. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, before wrapping his arms around Paul's middle and hugging him close. Paul let him, kissing the top of his head at his adorableness.

"He is about to do it, Richie. He says he can't go on like this anymore. He can't lie. Not to Cynthia, not to his son, not to her," Paul muttered in a hushed voice. "I was going to tell him he can't stay here. You were right. He can't do that. He can't leave her. It would ruin them both."

"That it would," Ringo replied with a sigh, rubbing his face in Paul's chest as he felt sleep catching up with him. "But he can stay, if he needs to. He's our friend. We cannot abandon him like that."

"You aren't serious? I thought you said John had to man up, stop moaning and stay with his wife and child. I thought you were of the opinion John either had to break it off with his mistress or keep it to himself like everyone else. "

"I am serious, and yes, that is still what I think, but he probably needs to have some time to think it over and realise what the consequences would be if he were to leave her."

"I did tell him that Japanese woman would cause trouble. I didn't like her from the start."

"Of course, you didn't. But he can stay if he feels he need to. I don't mind," Ringo said, letting out another yawn as he let his eyes fall close. Paul let out a deep sigh and thanked him as he held Ringo close, his fingers drawing circles on his bare back until Ringo fell asleep again, safely in Paul's arms. He didn't notice it when Paul got up after a few minutes and tucked him back in before going downstairs to make the call. Neither did he wake up when Paul slid into bed besides him and curled his arms around his waist to pull him against him, spooning him as he fell asleep as well.

               It was still morning when John turned up at their doorstep, carrying two heavy bags, both in one hand as he held up an umbrella against the rain with the other, which he held on an angle to shield him from the wind. It had been raining and storming all morning. The streets were almost deserted and the sky was filled with dark, ominous clouds, making it easy to imagine it would start thundering soon too. The perfect autumn weather. He shot Ringo a charming grin as the latter stepped aside to let him in.

"Opening the door yourself now, Richie? I hope you didn't have to let your housekeeper go?" he asked, and Ringo grimaced at him as he fought the urge to roll his eyes. John Lennon was more Paul's friend than his and was well aware of their money problems. He was a musician as well, most of the time working by Paul's side, which was how they had met long before Ringo had made his appearance in Paul's life. But unlike them, he still had a small fortune of old money, meaning he could easily support his family and mistress. Paul and he were exceptionally close. They were able to speak without words and often they knew what the other was thinking or about to do before the other knew it himself. Ringo had felt uncomfortable around them at first, as if he were intruding, with their little looks and inside jokes and banter, but Paul had assured him he was wanted around them and slowly Ringo had grown accustomed to John and his relationship to his lover.

But even now Ringo still didn't feel much at ease with John around. John Lennon did not act how he was supposed to. He was angry and jeering, rude and even violent if someone pushed him. He was artistic, open-minded, witty, a good card player and intelligent as well, which Ringo appreciated, but above all he was a skirt-chaser. He loved women. He loved everything about them. But mostly he liked to tease them, flirt with them, woo them and finally take them to his bed. He did not turn away from prostitutes and often visited gentlemen's clubs until the early morning hours, his wife unaware. Ringo didn't like that. He had always believed a man would fall in love with a woman (or another man in his and Paul's case) and stay loyal to them. He had never let his eyes wander since he had met Paul and neither had Paul for as far as he knew. John, however, was even thinking about actually leaving his wife and child! For his Japanese mistress. It was unheard of, a right scandal. But John hardly cared what society thought. He got bored. Boredom was one of the most dangerous feelings a man could get.

On the other hand, he did like John. He enjoyed his company and adored his wife, Cynthia, and his son, Julian. John was witty and intelligent, always eager to teach Ringo something new. He was a great friend, always there for them and giving them a helping hand if they didn't manage to get through the week. Paul loved him, and therefore so did he. On top of that, John's disinterest in society's values made him somewhat accepting of his and Paul's relationship and it felt so good not having to hide.

"Not of yet, John, no. I was just passing when I heard you ring. Now, please come in. It's pouring!" Ringo said as he beckoned John in. The man smiled thankfully as he lowered his umbrella and folded it in.

"Oh, is it raining? I hadn't noticed yet," he replied sarcastically with a wink that Ringo chose to ignore. He let John in and took his coat and shoes from him as they made small talk about the weather. Mrs. Field hurried over to take John's suitcases from him and carried them upstairs to the guestroom she had prepared for him. Ringo had always considered John handsome, with his auburn hair and brown almond eyes and straight nose, but today he did not look good at all. He was oddly pale and had dark lines under his eyes as if he hadn't slept properly for days. His cheeks were sunken, and his eyes were slightly red. He was leaning forward a bit as he stood. Overall he looked terribly tired.

"Paul should be in the living room. I'll be there soon," Ringo said as he pointed John in the direction of the living room. He hadn't been feeling quite right all morning. Not nauseous per se, but his stomach did not feel normal. He was feeling hot and had a strange taste in his mouth. On top of that, his back was aching slightly. Strangely, it had gotten worse as he had stood talking to John. He excused himself and went upstairs to the bathroom. He could hear John going into the living room, where he was heartily greeted by Paul, who was his usual cheerful self, always happy to meet his friends and immediately offering John a cup of coffee, which John gladly accepted.

               Ringo locked the door behind himself and went over to the sink to check himself in the mirror. He frowned the moment he saw himself, fingers shooting to his face to probe and feel. It wasn't anything truly obvious, but there was something off about his face that made him feel uncomfortable. His skin looked greyish, the lines of his face deeper and his usually bright blue eyes more dull, as if a white veil had been lifted before them. His lips and hair seemed thinner. Only, he looked oddly handsomer too. More symmetrical. His eyes seemed to sparkle and even Ringo found it hard to look away. But there was something about him that wasn't quite right - something unnatural.

He splashed some water on his face, hoping he was only hallucinating, which had happened before when he would test one of his friend's experiments. He rubbed his eyes and slapped his cheeks a few times, before reaching blindly for a towel and drying himself. When he looked back up, however, nothing had changed. He took a step back with fright, dropping the towel on the floor and hurrying out of the room. He was probably hallucinating. He had to be. But what about Paul? Hadn't he said last night he had looked different? Shinier hair, clearer skin, brighter eyes? Surely, if it was the potion, Paul wouldn't be affected as well, would he? Then again, Ringo had never understood what was and wasn't possible. His fingers twitched at his sides as he hurried downstairs to join John and Paul. It was probably nothing. Side effects from the potion, or so he told himself. In a few hours, he would be fine and dandy. He just needed to not think about it.

As he had expected, John and Paul were in the living room, sitting together on the larger couch, bodies turned to each other, talking and smoking as they drank their coffee. His own cup was placed on the coffee table by the other couch. He shouldn't think anything of it, of course. Paul wouldn't have meant anything by it. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room, faking a smile and pretending there was nothing wrong with him. Paul looked up at him as he entered, smiling lovingly as he asked how he was feeling

"Oh, I'm feeling quite alright. Only a stomach ache. No need to worry," Ringo said as he took the seat that had been appointed to him without commenting on it. Paul nodded, looking relieved, before he turned back to John. The latter was watching Ringo curiously, as if he could tell he was lying. Ringo swiftly looked away from him and down into his cup, hoping that too was only his imagination. Thankfully, the two friends resumed their previous conversation without paying him much more attention.

"What did you tell Cynthia?" Paul asked, and Ringo glanced up to look at him from the corner of his eye as he took a sip from his coffee. John sighed at the question and put his own cup back down on the coffee table.

"I didn't."

"John..."

"She doesn't need to know. Not yet."

"She is your wife. She deserves to know the truth."

"No, she doesn't. I-I can't hurt her, Paul. I love her," John admitted with a deep sigh as he looked down at a stain on the carpet floor, that to Ringo did not seem especially interesting. He seemed truly lost; unsure of what to do or what to say or how to act. It was rare to see him like this. Normally, John never allowed anyone to see him like this, weak and uncertain. Only Paul got to see him that way, and in extension, so did he, even if it had taken weeks before John had finally allowed him to and had stopped ordering him out of the room whenever he and Paul had been having those kinds of conversations. He still wasn't used to it, however.

"If you love her, then why would you ever want to leave her? You have everything a man could want, John!" Paul asked, reaching out and laying a careful hand on John's knee as he kept a close eye on his face to see if John was comfortable with that or if he ought to pull away. Paul's hand remained where it was, so Ringo supposed it was fine.

"Do I, Paul? You of all people should understand. I love her, but I love Yoko too! She is interesting! She stimulates me. Mentally. Physically. Spiritually. What I have with her is different from anything I've ever felt, Paul."

"So you still do not know what to do? Whether you're going to leave Cynthia or not? Give up your family? What about Julian, John? I thought you said you'd never abandon him like... you know..." Paul started, but before he could finish that sentence, John had jumped up from his seat and was staring down at the younger man with fury reflected in his eyes. Instinctively, Ringo sat up in his seat, keeping a close eye on John, ready to come between the two if needed. He surprised himself. He knew John would never hurt Paul, not really at least, but then why did it feel like his blood was burning? His fingers were twitching against his thigh and he found himself calculating what would be the best technique to attack John, if necessary. What was wrong with him?

"I will not abandon my son, Paul. I am not like... like that man," John spat, and Ringo found himself gripping the armrest of his chair as his muscles tensed, ready to jump up.

"I know you're not. But you have to think this through, John."

"Which is why I am here. To think. I haven't decided on anything yet, Paul. Which is exactly why I do not need to burden Cyn with this right now. It won't help me. It won't help her. I know what I am doing. I'm not stupid."

"I don't want you to make a choice you are going to regret in a few days."

"I won't. I just... need to think," John said, his shoulders slumping, and Paul nodded as he stood up as well. Ringo followed him with his eyes as Paul picked up the coffee cups and started to make his way to the kitchen. His body, that seemed to have realised the danger had subsided, finally relaxed. He swallowed thickly and quickly took a few sips from his drink as he felt himself getting lightheaded, hoping the caffeine would do him good.

"Richie? Would you show John his room? I'll go and see if Mrs. Field needs assistance with anything," Paul asked, but he didn't stop to wait for a reply, leaving Ringo with no real choice. He swallowed thickly as he glanced at John, who hadn't moved an inch.

               Neither man said anything as they made their way upstairs, John following Ringo close on his heels. He could not say he minded the silence. His mind was still fuzzy and he found it difficult to focus on where he was putting his feet as he climbed the stairs. He held on tightly to the railing to make sure he wouldn't fall, fearing he'd break his leg or arm, or worse, his neck. His sight wasn't doing much better. There were dark spots appearing before his vision and the sunlight that was pouring in from the windows seemed brighter than ever before. What didn't help either was that his surroundings seemed to move, if ever so slightly, making him miss a step by accident.

"Are you certain you are feeling fine?" John asked as he grabbed Ringo by the arm to steady him. The touch struck a nerve, and as if on instinct, Ringo pulled himself free.

"Yes. Perfectly," he said and stubbornly continued his path. He could hear John mumble something behind him, but it was too quiet to make out properly, although it sounded rude. He sighed in relief when they finally reached the door to the guest bedroom. He glanced over his shoulder to see if John was still there, before taking a key from his breast pocket and unlocking the door.

Mrs. Field had outdone herself with the room. It was light and airy, despite not having been used for many months, and there was not a speck of dust to be seen. The double bed was made and looked comfortable enough; the pillows were fluffed and propped up against the headboard and a light green woollen bedspread covered the plain white sheets, to give the pure white room a bit of colour. The large window was opened now that the rain had stopped, letting the fresh air in, as well as the wonderful smell of the autumn rain and dried leaves. Next to the bed stood a small bedside table with a couple of books on them for John to read.

"Thank you, Richie," the man in question said as he slipped off his jacket and draped it over the iron footboard. He undid his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves, like Paul always did. For some reason, that agitated him. The man sighed and took a seat on the bed as he began to take off his shoes as well. Ringo remained standing in the doorway, unsure if John wanted him to leave or not. He had just been about to turn around and walk away, when John looked up at him and sighed.

"You know, Richie. You and Paul are lucky, you know," he said.

"Are we?" Ringo mumbled as a reply, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind him.

John nodded. "Yes. You are happy, aren't you? You have Paul. Paul has you. You are happy that way. He is happy that way. You are lucky. Especially for a couple of faggots. It's quite unfair." The word resonated within him, echoed in his mind. Faggots. He had been called worse things - words he'd rather not speak aloud himself - but still it sent a cold shiver down his spine and made his fingers twitch. He bawled them up into fists to restrain himself. He was used to it, after all. It shouldn't anger him. But God, it did, especially coming from John's mouth. Their friend.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, turning to look at John, who merely shrugged, with that little smirk playing on his lips. As if their life was some kind of joke. Ringo mentally slapped himself. What was he thinking! John obviously didn't mean anything with it. He knew that. But then... why did it make him so damn angry?

"You know, you two are queer. You ought to be one of the lasts to find that kind of happiness! I'm normal. I should have that happiness, shouldn't I? Love? Not you. It's unfair. How can a pair of sick queers like yourself find something so pure, while I have to deal with this? Caught between a wife and a mistress, neither giving everything I need. You should be dying in the gutter like most of your kind, or hiding it, trying to be normal, but yet here you are. Here Paul is, even after almost having been caught in that opium den with those boys. The sick fuck. And I am here. I don't deserve this," John spat.

In the back of Ringo's mind, he knew he didn't mean it. He knew how harsh John could be, how mean and hurtful, especially when he was like this, but whereas he'd normally nod and walk away and wait for him to have calmed down, he now felt his heartbeat speed up and his blood rush to his brain. His nails were digging into the skin of his hands, almost drawing blood, but Ringo could hardly feel it. He could only stare at John, anger and irritation at his toxic words clouding his brain, his vision. He tried to control himself; he took deep breaths and closed his eyes for a moment as he counted in his head to calm himself, but with every number, his body only shook more and more.

Finally, his eyes shot open and they met John's. The man was watching him curiously again from where he was still sitting on the bed. Ringo took another deep breath as he kept staring at John, looking deep into his eyes as he heard his heart pounding in his ears, blood rushing and gushing. It was too much. He needed to get away. To calm himself down. If not... he wasn't sure what he would do.

"Are you sure you are feeling well, Richie? You've been acting really strange today."

"Yes. I just need to... be somewhere else," Ringo said, but before he could turn around and do what he had just said, John got up and grabbed his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. On impulse, he started tugging, not liking the way John's flesh seemed to burn into his own, but John refused to let go. If anything, he only tightened his grip and pulled him closer to him so they were only inches apart. John's breath ghosted over his face, suffocating him. His vision blurred and for a moment he could barely see anything. A ringing sounded in his ear, high pitched and relentless, and Ringo started tugging again, trying to free himself, desperate this time as he tried to control his breathing, but all it did was make him even dizzier, make the blood pump even faster, making it rush and gush through his ear, as his hands began to shake and his knees to tremble. He felt the need to throw up and for a moment Ringo thought he was going to faint. Then, everything turned black.

A darkness moved in front of his eyes, darker than black, yet impossible to distinguish against the black background. He felt a cold shiver run through his entire body and suddenly he was back again in the guest room, still standing where he had been and staring John straight in the eye. Everything around him had gone quiet. His body was perfectly still and his surrounding had never been more clear; the light was blinding, but still it could not hurt his eyes. He felt different. Calmer. Solid. In control.

"You're freaking me out," John said, his words echoed through his mind, sounding clear as crystal. Ringo, however, didn't react. John narrowed his eyes at him and leaned in, trying to intimidate him to get a reaction, but Ringo only felt more powerful. "What is this? Some kind of sick joke between you and Paul? Trying to scare me? Why, you have to do much better than that, dear," John continued, and before Ringo knew what he was doing, he had grabbed John by the lapels of his vest and pushed him up against the wall. A loud thud echoed through the room as the back of John's head collided with the stone wall.

"My scaring you is the last thing you should be concerned with, John," Ringo hissed, pushing himself against John. The man started struggling, trying to pull free, but Ringo had a firm hold on him and held him down without difficulty. "Don't ever say anything bad about Paul again, understood!" It wasn't a question. It was an order, said in a dead, violent voice, but John merely laughed at him, agitating Ringo even more to the point where he found himself thinking how much strength he'd need to snap his neck.

"Very funny, Richie. Nice little joke here. I'll play along. I'm sorry, okay?" He pouted dramatically, mocking him.

"Sorry doesn't quite cover it," Ringo growled as he stepped even closer to John, pressing a leg between his to keep him up. John's eyes grew wide at the touch and froze briefly, before he started struggling twice as hard. It was futile and even Ringo was surprised by his sudden almost inhuman strength.

"What the fuck, Ringo?! What's got into you?! Let me go, you flighty queer! I told you I was sorry," John shouted, sounding desperate now and without warning Ringo found himself letting him go. The man fell through his knees onto the floor as he gasped for air as he looked up at Ringo, his body shaking with fear. Ringo's body, on the other hand, was perfectly steady. Not a tremor could be seen. He looked down at John and watched him with pleasure as he saw the fear reflected in his eyes. The man laughed, trying to play it off, but Ringo could see through it. Satisfied, he turned around and started making his way to the door to leave. His hand only just hovered over the doorknob, when he heard John murmur something.

"-must be insane to fall for that."

It was as if something clicked. Not snapped, but actually clicked. As if a connection had been made in his brain that made everything clear, simple and so obvious. For the first time in his life the world made sense. He made sense. John made sense. In less than a second he had been reborn and his mind had been opened, the mess inside having been cleared away and reordered. Everything seemed to be so obvious now. There was no white flash of madness, no chaos or anything unreasonable. Quite the contrary. He turned around deliberately, calm and composed, knowing for the first time in his life just what to do. It was all so clear to him now. John was still kneeling on the ground, watching him with a look of disdain.

"What did you say?" Ringo asked, but when John kept quiet, he stepped closer to him, halting right in front of the older man who only now raised his eyes to look him straight in the eye, daring him.

"That Paul must be mental to love you. You're acting like a madman, Ringo. Maybe they are right about your kind after all."

Before John had even finished the last sentence, Ringo had grabbed him by his shirt and hauled him back up and pressed him back against the wall, just high enough to make it uncomfortable for John, who was staring at him wide eyed in disbelief.

"Quite the contrary, John. I'm feeling quite composed. You however..." Ringo said with a dark rumbling chuckle. "Did I not just tell you to keep your big mouth shut about Paul? My Paul."

"You're fucking nuts," John said. He gasped and groaned when Ringo's fist suddenly collided with his cheek. "You fucker!" he groaned, but Ringo only hit him again.

"Are you done now?" Ringo hissed, leaning in to watch as a thin trickle of bright red blood travelled down the other man's bottom lip. When he looked back up at his eyes, he had to take a deep breath not to hit him again, but he managed to remain calm. John, however, was fuming.

"No! Now, get off me, Richard! You sick fuck! I'm not going to let a little man like you dictate what I can and cannot say. Besides, it's the truth. Or don't you want to hear it? About what a whore your beloved man actually is?"

"Shut up! I'm warning you, Lennon."

"Because he is, you know, a whore. Ready to take it from anyone. The bigger, the better. Don't let his pretty face fool you. The size of your cock is probably the only thing that made him stay, or he would have been off already, finding boys, begging for it. He's a whore, Richie. You better start to fucking see it!"

"You're a dead man, Lennon," Ringo growled back. He bared his teeth, making him look utterly feral, and tightened his grip on the other man, hauling him up and pulling him roughly to him. John gasped in shock, but was still grinning at the reaction he had managed to arouse. Before he knew what was happening, Ringo had hit him again. A nasty crack echoed through the room, followed by a wail and finally the crashing sound of John's body hitting the footboard of the bed. Ringo stood still in the middle of the room, grinning smugly as he watched John's body fall slack onto the floor, blood dripping onto it to form a puddle from where John's head had hit one of the iron bars that were pointing up. The man groaned in pain and Ringo watched as his head lolled back and forth. Stepping closer, he saw John's eyes rolling in his head, unable to focus. He knelt beside him and laid a hand on his wound, smirking as he felt the warm blood slipping through his fingers.

"Y-you're... fucking crazy," John panted, but Ringo shook his head as he smiled down at him.

"No, John. I am perfectly sane. I warned you, but youwould not listen. This never had to happen," he said, pulling his hand away andwiping it off on John's shirt. The other man groaned again and closed his eyesfor a brief moment as he took a deep breath, trying to stay conscious. Ringotutted and slipped his fingers into John's auburn hair, holding firmly onto itas he pulled John's head away from the bed, only to slam it back into it twiceas hard. A crack filled the air and more blood spilled from John's head. Theman didn't even make a sound anymore. Ringo sighed as John's eyes finallyrolled back in his head, his life slowly flowing out of him.