George nearly dropped his phone when it suddenly started to ring. He was lucky that he hadn't, as he wasn't sure it would have survived the fall onto the hard, stone floor. Quickly, he glanced around to see if anyone was near, before disappearing into a dark corner.

It was a quiet evening in the club and he and Stuart had just gotten off stage with a moderate applause. Actually, they were lucky it wasn't that busy, as it seemed the changing weather had given half of the people terrible colds, leaving them unable to work for a while (being sneezed on wasn't exactly sexy). But with so people working, George knew he'd be alone here for a little while. Stuart had gone to get changed, John had been ordered by Brian to remain behind his bar and Paul and the other's were tending on everyone. No one had the time to pass by here for no reason, so he'd be alone for a while.

He nearly dropped his phone again, though, when he saw Ringo's name on the screen. He was calling him? Now? It had been almost two weeks since he and Ringo had fought and finally he had started to feel a little better about the whole thing. Why was he calling him now? After such a long time? He had almost given up the hope that Ringo would call him. Should he... answer?

His fingers trembled as he raised them to the screen, unsure and nervous. His heart was thumping in his chest almost painfully and he swallowed thickly as he accepted the call.

There was only silence on the other end of the line, and for a moment George thought Ringo had hung up alright, but then he heard someone curse softly.

"R-Ringo?" George asked carefully, unsure if this emotion he was feeling was nervous, anger, sadness, or happiness, maybe even relief. It remained quiet for a bit longer, save the light sound of someone breathing, irregular and in short breaths, as if the person was building up the courage to finally say something.

"Please..." Ringo's voice finally came, "Don't hang up. Please." George closed his eyes for a brief moment, only now realising how much he had missed the other man's voice, and how much it hurt to hear it so weak and frail, rather than the happy, joyous tone it used to have.

"G-George?"

"Yeah... I-I'm here. Sorry. I just... Why are you calling?"

"I wanted to call sooner, but... I wanted you to know that I am sorry." Ringo stammered, letting out a nervous chuckle before continuing, "I practised this so many times, but yet... now I'm finally talking to you, I can't remember what I wanted to say other than I'm sorry. I- I miss you."

George didn't know what to say to that. He glanced around the corridor again, to be sure there was no one listening and let himself slide down on the floor, letting himself rest with his back against the corner, his legs tugged in, his body curled up.

"I miss hearing your voice. I miss the calmness on your face when you're fast asleep. I miss your smile and they way you used to look at me. I miss our little texts. I miss sleeping next to you, waking up next to you, going to sleep next to you. I miss listening to you, hear you talk about anything that interests you. And god, I missed talking to you. And I'm sorry for everything I said. I shouldn't have lied to you. I should have been honest and discussed it with you. I- I really like you and I don't want to fuck up what we have, or had, or whatever, because of a stupid party."

"You- You don't get it do you?" George replied with a deep sigh, letting his head hang between his shoulder, looking down at the dirty floor on which he was sitting.

"W-what? I told you I was sorry." Ringo said rather forcefully through the phone, obviously not getting what George was going on about. Taking a deep breath, George rubbed his forehead, slowly feeling tears come up again.

"I don't care about your damn party, Ringo. It's more than you not telling me or not wanting me to work at the party. I understand that. I do. It's your party. It's just... I need to know if you're okay with me doing what I do."

"Of course I do!"

"Richie, don't lie to me, please. I- I can't be in a relationship with someone who doesn't trust me. Who feels the need to control me and spy on me every minute of the day because I work in a strip club. I can't be in a relationship with someone who can't see whom I really care about. Whom I really love. And that all those other guys are just clients and that's it. I need someone who trusts me and understand that it is a job and that it matter whose bed I share at the end of the day, who gets to see me without all the make-up, the clothing, the theatre around it. Someone who likes both parts of me. I need someone who sees me as me and not a stripper, okay? And I doubt you're up to that." George rambled on, feeling how his feelings started to get the better of him. His voice started to shake more and more, the exhaustion and sadness shining through like a bright star, impossible to ignore. A lump started to form in his throat as he spoke, but he rambled on, needing Ringo to understand.

"But I do, George! I-" Ringo tried, but George shook his head, cutting him off.

"No, Richie. You always saw me as a stripper. A stripper who you were dating. Not a guy. Not a university student. Not a guitarist. A stripper. I need more than that, Richie. I am more than that."

"I know you are-"

"It's not enough. I'm sorry, but it's not. You don't understand."

"Then explain."

"I can't. I'm sorry."

"George!"

"I'm going to hang up now. I'm sorry, Ringo. I... I thought you were different."

"Geo! No! I lov-"

But George didn't hear any more than that. He pressed Ringo away and laid his phone down on the floor besides him, before burying his face in his hands, letting the tears finally flow.

               He didn't get up after that, not feeling like he had enough strength in his legs to hold him up. He could hardly believe what he had done. He had broken up with Ringo... He hadn't meant to. Or at least, he hadn't thought he would when he had answered to phone, but in the moment it had seemed... right. He still knew somewhere that it had been the right thing to do. He wouldn't have been happy with Ringo, always doubting if Ringo was okay with what he was doing, wondering what he was hiding from him, wondering if what he was doing was because he truly wanted to or if Ringo wanted him to. Eventually, Ringo wouldn't have been able to deal with it anymore. He would ask George to stop, beg him to take any other job, even if he assured him it was just a job.

Only, it wasn't just a job and the lie wouldn't be enough. He'd do what Ringo would want him to do. And he could not do that to himself. He needed someone who understood him. Who knew that he liked his job and realised it was more than just a way of making money. Someone who understood what it meant for him. Someone who didn't doubt he was being faithfully, someone who would trust him or at least talk to him and be honest with him. Someone who wouldn't try to control him.

But still, it hurt. He had loved Ringo. He had been happy with him. But sometimes things weren't meant to be. It wouldn't work between them. Not as long as George had this job. And even if he would stop, he doubted it would end there. Probably Ringo would see something else in George that he didn't like and try to change that as well, and then another thing, and another, until he controlled every little bit of him. No, he did not want that.

               "George? What are you doing on the floor?" George didn't know how long he had been sitting on the floor, staring at the ground and watching his tears fall from his cheeks. He looked up at the voice, not caring what his face looked like in that moment. He tried to smile when he saw John looking down at him with a curious look on his face. The moment their eyes met, John's eyes went wide with worry and swiftly, he dropped onto his knees next to George. This only made George cry even more.

"Geo? What happened? Hey, why are you crying? Are you hurt?" John asked, sounding genuinely worried about his friend. He wrapped an arm around George's shoulder and pulled him closer as he started to inspect his body for any injuries. Touched, George reached for his friend and pulled him against him, burying his face in John's work shirt.

"I-I broke up with him." George answered, his words coming out muffled and in ugly sobs into John's shirt.

"What? With Richie?" John asked, looking down at George, unsure what to do. When he saw his friend nodding, however, he tentatively wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. He had never been good at comforting people, George knew, so the knowledge that he was at least trying, already made him feel better.

Slowly, his crying calmed down, until he was only softly whimpering into John's shirt, taking in his familiar scent and enjoying the warmth that radiated off him. Gently, John started rocking him backwards and forwards, shushing him like one would do a baby. Still, it worked and he blushed in slight embarrassment.

The sound of heels clacking on the stone floor alerted them and George could feel John tense up again him, so he quickly tightened his grip on him, refusing to let him pull away. For a brief moment, John seemed unsure of what to do, so he turned his head to see who it was. When he relaxed again, George already knew who it was.

"W-what happened to him? Is he hurt?" Paul's voice asked as the sounds of his heels stopped. George took a couple of deep breaths, trying to pull himself together, but it didn't work.

"It's him and Ringo. They er... broke up." John answered for him and Paul gasped in response, before also kneeling down besides them. A gentle hand was laid on George's shoulder, making him snivel softly. At least he wasn't crying anymore, though.

"Do you want to go home?" Paul asked him kindly, but George could only shrug. He didn't know what he wanted. What was he going to do at home? There was nothing for him there. But then, what was he going to do here? It wasn't like he could work when he felt like crying every two minutes.

"I'll take him." He heard John say and he felt himself nod. At least he wouldn't be alone. Next, John pulled away and with some help from Paul, they raised George back up to his feet. The youngest looked up at them and started to laugh and cry at the same time at the sight of their worried faces. Quickly, John wrapped his arm around him and pulled him against him, giving him some support.

"I'll go get his stuff. You take him outside." Paul said and John nodded. Paul gave George one last reassuring smile, before hurrying down the corridor to the dressing room. John and George watched him, until he had disappeared inside.

"Come on, George. Let's go home." He said and George nodded weakly as he let himself be taken away by John, feeling grateful to have such wonderful friends. At least they understood.

               Ringo didn't know what to do anymore. He was sitting in the middle of his bed, phone dropped before him in shock when George had hung up on him. He hadn't moved an inch and even now, when he felt a pressure building up low in his belly, he couldn't find the will to get up. It was like he had lost all control over his body. He could only breath and blink. Everything else was made impossible.

He had broken up with him. It was now officially over. Only, he didn't want it to be over. He had wanted to tell George he loved him, begging him to give him a second chance, talk it all out and start over. He wasn't the type of guy who got jealous easily. He really wasn't. But he never had a boyfriend who's job it was to do something so sexual to other men. It was different and a strange feeling, but he still wanted to be supportive and somewhere he did know that George wouldn't cheat on him. He wouldn't betray him. Just because he was a stripper, didn't mean he'd be more likely to cheat than that singer he had dated before. And he had actually cheated on him.

Maybe that was the thing. It had happened nearly a year ago, but it had left his marks and maybe that's why he felt so weird to see George sitting in other men's laps and take off his clothing. It was too real. Only, George wasn't him. George was kind and sweet. Gentle and loving. Funny and smart. Rory had been interesting. Rough and a bit dangerous. He liked the attention he got on stage, and their relationship had been more sexual than romantic. With George it was different.

Wishing he could call up George and share all this new knowledge with him, he stared at his phone. But he knew George wouldn't answer him. It wasn't worth the anxiety. Most likely it was bad for his heart too, this much stress. But he couldn't leave it at this. He loved George. He loved George. Not Gyro Hunkison or whatever that stupid name was. The Fang. He loved... George. Just George. George who also smiled so broadly when he saw him, or who'd steal his food when he thought he wasn't look, who'd listen attentively to whatever Ringo had to say, laugh at his jokes, study all night long for a test and not minding when Ringo showed up with food to help. George who could make him smile and blush with as little as a look.

He didn't deny he was sexy, handsome, gorgeous. He was. But even more so when he was simply himself, hair messed up or with dark circles under his eyes after pulling all nighters. Or when he was asleep next to him, lips still red and wet from their passionate kisses. He looked gorgeous when he was on top of him, moving sensually as he held his gaze and would let out the cutest little sounds until he'd close his eyes tightly and spasm as he gave over to the pleasure that had been building up between them. The way his eyes always shined with love and adoration when he'd open them again and look down at him, smiling drunkenly and softly whispering his name.

Muffin jumped up on the bed and started clawing at his legs, finally breaking Ringo's trance and allowing him to move again. He hissed as her nails dug through his trousers and into his skin. He gently pushed her away, before lifting her up and holding her to his chest. He wiped away some dried up tears with the back of his hand.

"At least I've still got you, darling." He sighed softly and the cat meowed in response. Ringo laughed sadly at that and finally got up from his bed. He pocketed his phone just in case, before walking into the kitchen to feed Muffin. He gave her a little extra just because. No, he wasn't going to give up and him and George just yet. He just needed to find a way to make George listen to him. Just listen. Perhaps it wasn't too late yet.

               The apartment felt cold. He was shivering against John as the latter lead him into the living room and closed the door behind him. He flicked on a light and George swallowed thickly as he looked around the apartment. It looked even more depressing than before. John pulled away from him a little to help him take off his coat and shoes. George let him just because, and waited patiently as John repeated the proceedings with his own coat and shoes. Once everything hung neatly on a peg, John took George by the arm and gently lead him in the direction of his bedroom. George stopped moving as soon as noticed and shook his head as he stared at the closed door.

"I prefer to sleep in Paul's bed. I... I'm sure he wouldn't mind. It's just..." He didn't have to finish that sentence for John to know why he didn't feel like sleeping in his own bed. Too many memories. He simply nodded and George smiled thankfully as John steered them away from the bedroom and to Paul's.

It had been a while since he had been in Paul's room. When they had first gotten the apartment they had often shared Paul's bed, both feeling slightly scared with all the sounds coming from the neighbour's apartments and the street below. Of course, they had been too stubborn to admit it, so they always made up excuses. "It's warmer in my room." "I've forgotten to make my bed." "I spilled my drink." "I don't want to leave." "I'm too comfy." "I want this room too so I'm claiming it now by sleeping in your bed." "Your bed is more comfortable." Soon, the excuses just turned ridiculous and eventually they hadn't even questioned it. Until they had gotten used to it and Paul had Jane sleep over more and more. It must have been nearly five months since he last slept in Paul's bed.

John helped him onto the bed and lit a few lights as George started to undress. He also got his pyjama's from his bedroom and then left George to some privacy as he made him a warm cup of tea to calm down. George was still shaking as he changed in his sleepwear. He wasn't sure why he was so upset as he was. They hadn't seen each other in almost two weeks and it was clear this had been the right decision. Still, did know why he was so upset. He had fallen in love with Ringo. They had been having so much fun together and were so comfortable around each other. And even now he missed him. He missed him already and he knew that if Ringo would call now and beg him to give him another chance, he would. But the phone didn't ring.

                When John returned with the tea, George was already sitting up in bed. He had propped up a pillow behind his back to lean against and keep himself up right. He smiled weakly at John and took the mug of milky tea from him. He took a careful sip, the tea still being hot, and hummed as he felt himself getting a little warmed up. With each sip, his shaking became less and less.

John had taken a seat on the bed as well and he was looking intensely at him, watching his every move, feeling worried. George smiled when he saw him looking and placed the tea on Paul's bedside table. They remained quiet for a while, neither knowing what to say. George didn't want to talk about Ringo just yet. And it was obvious that was all John could think about at that moment.

George looked around the room. It hadn't changed much. There was a small piano on the other end of the room, and George couldn't help but giggle slightly as he remembered the times Paul had rolled out of bed in the middle of he night to creep behind his piano and try to figure out a melody. They hadn't been exactly popular in the beginning. But as soon as the neighbours realised Paul was actually a rather talented player, the complaints had stopped coming. Paul didn't play at night anymore now.

"Are you okay?" John finally asked and George nodded, before shaking his head and finally shrugging.

"I don't know. It's weird, I guess. I- I really liked him, you know."

"I guess." John answered with a painful smile. George smiled back at him, finding it almost cute how clumsy the older man was with trying to make other people feel better. Still, he liked John was here, rather than Paul. Paul could be rather tiring. And he probably would want to talk or take his mind off it, while he actually just needed to do nothing for a moment. John seemed to understand that.

He frowned when he noticed John's eyes landing on something next to him. He turned his head and saw John was staring at a picture of him and Paul when they had gone to Paris a couple of years back. They had meant to hitch hike to Spain, but when they had been in Paris they had decided to stay. Since then Paul had developed an unhealthy love for banana milkshakes.

"He knows." George spoke softly, still looking at the photo. He deserved to know, he reasoned. It was for the best. Paul probably really didn't mean to hurt him with his flirting, but he was, unwittingly. It was best for John to know what was going on. "He knows you fancy him."

"Does he?" John's voice sounded strange, tight, but secretly hopeful. George nodded.

"Hmm. He doesn't know you're in love with him, though. He only thinks it's sexual. I-er... I didn't tell him any differently."

"I see... and does he-"

"No. He... I'm sure he loves you. But he thinks of you as his best friend. Nothing more. Sorry."

"It's okay. I- I sort of knew that. Thanks for telling me though." John whispered softly, finally looking away from the picture and back to George. His face was blank, unreadable and George wished he could do something for him. But he couldn't. And John could not do anything for him.

"Finish your tea while it's still hot. I'll let you sleep. I'll be reading in the living room if you need me." The older man said as nodded at the tea on the night stand. George nodded and quickly did as he was told, as John got up from the bed and went into the living room, leaving the door slightly ajar.