The brightness of the screen hurt his eyes, but George didn't care. He merely wiped away his tears with the back of his hand as he continued to stare at his phone in the dark. He had heard Paul come home from the club about half an hour ago, but he had pretended to be fast asleep when he had opened his door and whispered his name. He didn't feel like talking. Not when he knew it was probably about Ringo anyway, one way or another. Or about his unhealthy lifestyle which he had taken up since he had left Ringo's apartment. Fortunately, Paul hadn't tried to wake him up, probably already feeling happy that he had been asleep at a reasonable hour.

Not that he had actually been asleep, of course. As soon as he had heard Paul's own bedroom door close, he had picked up his phone again, unlocked it and looked at pictures of him and Ringo, which they had taken throughout the week. A few were particularly naughty, but George didn't look at those. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, of course. It hurt to be looking at these pictures, of them happily together, neither realising that they'd be fighting and sleeping alone in their cold beds only a few days later. Still, he stared at them, fighting back tears and trying to ignore the pain in his stomach.

The lack of sleep was getting to him, though. He slept mainly during the day, between and during classes, meaning he'd be awake during the nights, but even that last seemed to change. His eyelids were heavy and he felt tired and sleepy, and he wanted to go to sleep, but he couldn't. It was like his body refused, no matter how tired it was, only to collapse the following day.

Sighing, he put his phone under his pillow and curled up under his covers and hugged his pillow as he closed his eyes, trying to catch some sleep. This couldn't be healthy, and Ringo wasn't worth ruining himself for. Probably, he didn't even feel upset about what had happened. It wasn't like he thought of him as anything more than a pretty thing to look at and play with, who he tried to control like he were his pet. Nothing more than a stripper, who he had managed to wrap around his finger. A tear hit the pillow and slowly, he felt himself drifting away. Finally.

               Ringo was staring out of his window and into the streets, holding his phone tightly in his hand. He swiped over it with his thumb, almost stroking it. Paul's words still hadn't left and were echoing in his brain. He wanted to apologize. He did. He wanted to explain himself and let George know what he actually meant to him. He had thought he had known how he felt about him, but obviously he had thought wrong. And now he was scared to call or text to other man. He wished he could simply go back in time and fix it all, talk to George and let him make the decision himself. But the chance of that happening was incredibly small. He should have thought of that before. He shouldn't have made the decision for him, but discussed it with him to come to a decision together. But instead he had fucked everything up. He doubted George would even want to listen to him if he called. Probably, he wouldn't even answer.

Still, it was worth the shot, right? If he didn't do anything, he would never make it up with him. And he did want to make it up with George. More than anything. But he was scared. He knew he had hurt George. He hadn't realised how much this job actually meant to him and he had been shocked by how hard George had taken the news and his dishonesty. He wasn't going to lie to himself. Not saying anything was the same thing as lying. He had made George believe he was okay with his job and him stripping for other man. He had made George believe he wanted him there at the party. This was just as bad as explicitly telling him. He knew that now.

Closing his eyes, he reached for a bottle next to him and raised it to his lips. His intention had been to drink some extra courage and finally call George, but now he was four bottles of beer further and his knees were still knocking together at the thought of dialling his number. No, this wasn't working. And now he'd have to go to work in the morning with a hangover and a horrendous headache. He finished his beer and leaned back into the couch, letting the bottle drop form his fingers and roll onto the ground. He sighed deeply and laid his arm over his eyes, wondering why he was such a coward.

               George put his packet of crisps aside in favour of his bottle of whatever it was- he hadn't exactly checked when he had bought it. It was alcohol and that was all George needed to know. Eric Clapton was playing in the background in a faint attempt to cheer him up and a pile of music magazines lay scattered on the ground in front of the couch. The curtain were drawn shut, engulfing George in a comforting darkness. The fireplace was burning hot, and George had flicked on a small light on the side table next to the couch, which together lit up the room just enough to see and read. Still, the room looked positively depressing and did nothing good for George's mood. Neither did the alcohol, but at least it made him feel numb, which was better than nothing.

He could hear someone messing with the lock on the door, the rattling of keys that bumped against the door interrupting Eric's voice. George groaned and rolled over onto his side and pulled the ragged blanket higher up to cover himself, putting out his cigarette in a bowl on the coffee table, knowing Paul wouldn't approve. Finally, the door opened and with some hassle, Paul stumbled inside, carrying two heavy bags of shopping.

"Shit! It's dark in here!" Paul exclaimed as he kicked the door shut with his foot and walked into the kitchen with the two bags. George didn't react and took another swig of his drink. Paul came back almost immediately and took off his coat as he walked over to the windows. Without warning, he pulled the curtain open, allowing the sunlight to pour into the room. George groaned from the couch and quickly pulled the blanket over himself to shield himself from the brightness.

"What are you doing?!" Paul asked as he turned back around. George peeked up from beneath the blanket and saw Paul staring at him, seeming surprised and a bit stunned. George shrugged, not saying anything. "Are you drinking?"

"Yes."

"What on earth for?!"

"To get drunk."

Paul bit his lip at the answer, as if he was thinking really hard about something. George knew, though. He rarely drank, and especially not in the middle of the afternoon on a Thursday. And he never drank for the sake of getting drunk. Eventually, Paul sighed and walked over to his friend, gently taking the bottle from him. George whined, but didn't try to stop him. When Paul took a sip from the bottle as well, though, he frowned. That was the last thing he had expected Paul to do.

"Eww! What is this stuff?" His friend asked, pulling a disgusted face as he searched the label for a name of what he had just been drinking.

"Don't know. Didn't care enough to find out." George answered with a shrug, reaching with his hand for the bottle, but Paul didn't give it back. Instead he let himself fall down onto the couch next to him and took another sip, shuddering at the taste of it.

"I thought you were out with John?" George asked as he grabbed his packet of smokes from the ground to light one. Paul didn't comment on it.

"Yeah." George couldn't help but chuckle.

"That's it, is it?" He asked. Paul chuckled as well and turned to look at George with a reluctant smile. His eyes fell on the ciggy between George's lips, but again didn't say anything. George frowned, wondering if there was something wrong.

"Did something happen?" He asked, but Paul shook his head.

"Nah... Just miss Jane, is all." He answered and George gave him a sympathetic smile as he offered Paul a ciggy as well, which Paul accepted. Jane had left for a two-week holiday with her parents. She had asked Paul to come as well, but Paul had refused seeing as how George was feeling with the trouble between him and Ringo. Of course, George had tried to make Paul go anyway, knowing he'd enjoy it, but he had insisted to stay.

Paul thanked George for the ciggy and raised it to his lips to take a large drag, closing his eyes as he felt the nicotine calm his nerves. "Fuck, I missed that." Paul sighed with a soft giggle, enjoying the long-missed habit of smoking away his nerves and feelings.

               "He still didn't call then?" Paul asked as he took another drag from his ciggy. It was his second one and the bottle of booze lay almost empty between the two friends as they sat on the couch together. George shook his head, glancing at his phone again, just in case he had gotten a text, but there was nothing.

"He came to the club, you know. That night you didn't come to work." Paul said softly as he blew out the smoke in circles, watching as they floated up in the air.

"Really?" George asked, looking up at his friend, eagerly wanting to know more.

"Yeah. I... I think he cares about you." Paul continued softly, eyeing his friend carefully, wanting to know his reaction before continuing. When George only scoffed, he decided to continue. "I think he's sorry. He seemed pretty upset-"

"If he was so upset, then he would have called, don't you think?!" George snapped, reaching for the bottle again, but this time, Paul beat him to it, quickly moving it out of his reach.

"Would you have answered if he had?"

"No, but-"

"Well, maybe he knows that! Maybe he's scared about how you might react if he tries to call. He seemed damn scared when I saw him. Stammering and all. Didn't even dare to enter the damn club to see if you were in!" Paul told him, interrupting his friend. George looked down at his hands, looking annoyed, but he kept silent, which Paul supposed was something.

"I'm just saying... maybe you should give him a change. See what he has to say." Paul tried, placing a kind, supportive hand on George's arm. The younger man sighed, but didn't agree or disagree, nor did he try to remove Paul's hand.

"He lied to me. He tried to control me. I won't let that happen, Paul. You of all people should know that."

"You don't have to." Paul replied, and sighed in relieve when George nodded his head slightly. The record finished and Paul got up to turn it on again, but George stopped him and grabbed another record from beneath the pile of magazines. It was Bob Dylan. Paul frowned, but put it on anyway without asking about it. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what it had been doing there.

               Paul had grabbed a couple of cokes from the fridge, claiming he couldn't drink anymore of that disgusting drink George had bought, and George couldn't agree more, even if it meant not drinking any more alcohol. He was already pretty drunk, anyway, and for some reason he didn't feel like drinking that much any more.

He felt a bit better now. He and Paul had been sitting together for what seemed like hours, simply talking and listening to music in comfortable silence, and especially after they had spoken about Ringo, he felt better about himself. He wasn't sure whether to believe Paul or not, but the idea that Ringo was feeling down and insecure as well, was a comforting thought. Perhaps he meant more to Ringo than he had thought. If Paul was right of course, which was still doubtable.

Hunger was their next problem, though. Both were too drunk to cook anything, so they decided to order pizza instead, which turned out to be a whole lot of hassle, but one way or another they had managed and right now they were sitting in front of the couch, each holding a large slice of pizza (pepperoni with extra cheese), cokes on the table, as they watched a movie. Neither knew what movie it was though, or what was actually going on, as they kept making stupid jokes and remarks about what was happening, sometimes leading to strange discussions.

"It doesn't make sense, though, does it? Like... why would you robe a restaurant?"

"They just explained that. It's because people won't expect it."

"But then how are they going to take everything with them?"

"In the bag!"

"What bag? You can't take food in a bag. It gets all disgusting and everything is thrown together!"

"Food?"

"Yeah, if you're robbing a restaurant, you're going to steal food right?"

"No! They want money, you dumb fuck! That's why they're taking all the wallets! They're collecting the wallets with money and credit cards and put them in the bag to take with them! They're not going to steal food!"

"Oh! Oh, yeah... yeah, okay, that makes a lot more sense."

George burst out laughing at that, spilling his drink on Paul's lap, making the other man shriek and jump up in fright, not having realised what had happened. As soon as he noticed, though, he started laughing as well.

"Git." Paul shot at his friend as he stumbled over to the kitchen to clean himself. Quickly, George stole a few bites from his slice. Thankfully, Paul didn't notice it when he sat back down, and simply continued eating as they finished the movie.

               "You know, if I were going to robe a restaurant, I would do it with John." Paul said with a deep sigh as they watched the credits roll down the television screen. He reached for his empty glass and tried to drink some, laughing at himself when he realised what he was doing. He quickly put it back down.

"Ah, I don't know. I mean, it's the obvious choice, but he's too reckless, you know." George said as he stretched himself out with a loud yawn. "Nah, I'd chose Stuart. He's so mysterious, I swear, he's some kind of criminal mastermind of something. Being a stripper is just a cover." He continued, chuckling at the thought of Stuart as someone like the Godfather. Paul chuckled along with him, but shook his head.

"No. I'm sticking with John. Me and Stuart will start fighting halfway through and get arrested for sure. Then again, John might get distracted halfway through and won't be able to stop staring at me arse." Paul said, giggling drunkenly. George laughed along at first, until he realised what Paul had actually said and what it implied. He looked up in shock and stared at his friend. When Paul noticed, he started laughing even more.

"Come on, Geo! I'm not stupid. I know John wants to sleep with me."

"You... do?" George asked, hardly believing it.

"Oh yeah. I mean, it's kind of obvious, you know. I've seen the way he looks at me. He's not as subtle as he might think. Or you, apparently."

George was still staring at him, not knowing what to say. His hazy mind was trying to work out how to deal with this situation, but the alcohol kept him from figuring it out. When he realised his jaw had dropped, his quickly closed his mouth.

"Besides," Paul continued, "It's fun teasing him. Seeing how far I can push him and stuff, watch him stammer and blush whenever I say or do something suggestive. It's fucking hilarious!"

"Would you? You know... Sleep with him?" George finally heard himself answer. Paul's laughter died down a little as he frowned, thinking hard about the question. Finally, after a long moment of silence, he shook his head.

"He's my best mate," He explained and George swallowed thickly at that, the words hurting slightly, "I wouldn't ruin that. Besides, it's not like he's actually in love with me or anything. It's just sex and some playful teasing, anyway."

"Right..." George mumbled, unsure if he should tell Paul the truth or not. But before he could make up his mind, Paul spoke again.

"No, and I don't feel that way about him, anyway. And I got a lovely girlfriend, so why would I?"

"Would you ever? With anyone? A guy, I mean?" George asked softly, looking at Paul from the corner of his eyes. Paul chuckled at that and rolled around onto his knees, as he started to crawl back up onto the couch like a cat. George watched him, curious now for the answer. When their eyes met again, George hauled himself back onto the couch again and let Paul lay down besides him, his chin resting on his chest. He looked at George a while longer, making George feel slightly unselfconscious under his calculating stare.

"I'm not sure..." Paul finally answered, talking slowly, as if he wasn't even sure that was his answer in the first place, "I don't like men that way, but... working at the strip club, you can't help but get a little curious, right?" George nodded at the answer, not sure what else to say.

"Do you want to watch another movie?" Paul asked, and when George shook his head, he nodded and lay his head down on his chest, relaxing against him as he yawned.

               They lay curled up together on the couch for the remaining of the evening, falling in and out of sleep, as they listened to music or simply enjoyed the quiet. It took them an hour or two before one of them spoke again.

"You shouldn't tease John so much." George croaked out, being unsure if Paul was actually awake and could hear him. Paul remained still against him, his breathing calm and unchanging. George remained silent for a bit longer, but still Paul didn't move. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes again, thinking Paul was asleep. Then suddenly, he could feel Paul's arm tightening around him, holding him a little bit closer.

"I know." He whispered, and when George opened his eyes again and looked down at his friend, he wasn't sure what was going on in his mind. His eyes were wide as he stared at nothing, his lips slightly parted. Instinctively, George held onto him a little tighter as well. Things weren't going very well for any of them, he decided. He could feel a pair of tears burn up in the corner of his eyes and he felt like he needed to say something, but didn't know what. Then finally, as one of the tears rolled down his cheek, he knew.

"I... I think I love him." George stammered, taking in a couple of deep breaths as he felt his throat tighten and the idea, making it hard for him to breath properly. But then he felt Paul's hand rubbing his chest, comforting him and he closed his eyes, letting it all go.

"I know you do." Paul whispered, not saying anything more as George softly cried. He only held him, comforting him and being there for him, knowing this was a good thing. And George knew it too.