Chapter twelve : 1965 B : ...Than all other pleasures are.

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John stood in front of the bathroom mirror and watched his pale, crestfallen and teary-eyed reflection. He'd never seen himself cry and it didn't happen too often, really. It was odd, very odd. He shook and sobbed silently for a few minutes, uncontrollably, trying not to make any noise, splashing water on his face and rubbing his eyes with a towel in hope of drying them. He needed to go home. He needed to go home, lay down in bed and pretend to be sick until he could face the world again. He had a shudder and fumbled for his sunglasses, hoping to hide his now red-rimmed and slightly puffy eyes. He put them on and walked back into the leaving room, not looking in George's direction. "I'll just go, then. See you around." He took a deep breath, and reached for the door. 

George panicked : he didn't want John to leave! They had to talk about this, right? "You can't go out there, they'll go mad for you." He walked over to John, grabbing his arm and pulling his hand away from the door, staring at the sunglasses he was wearing. "You don't have to do that with me," he whispered, reaching up and pulling the shades from his face. His mate's red rimmed eyes made him feel uncomfortable, ashamed of how he responded to John's confession. "You were crying," he stated softly, reaching out and running his hand down the side of John's face.

John refused to meet his eyes, stubbornly looking down and leaning away when George's hand touched his prickling cheek. "Don't," he warned, his jaw set, face flushing a little in humiliation. George's face fell, pulling his hand back. John blinked quickly to avoid any further crying, wary of making a fool of himself, more so than he already had. "Yeah. You made John Lennon cry like a girlie. Pretty tough of you, I suppose." He offered George a poor little grin, mere shadow of his usual cocky self. "I have to go, George," he said, holding his hand out for his sunglasses. "Can't stay here."

George shook his head, holding the shades behind his back. "You can't have them back". John's lips thinned, curling into the beginnings of a snarl, cut off by George's voice. "Did you mean it?" he asked hesitantly, worried that John would become unrelentingly nasty with him, now. "When you said you loved me?" He looked into his mate's sad eyes, stomach churning, desperately wanting to confess that he'd never stopped loving John, never managed to drown this feeling for him but just buried the emotions deeply, hoping they would not surface.

"Does it matter?" John snapped, irritated. He met George's lovely dark eyes with the best glare he could muster right then, scowling. "You don't want me." He had a shudder, trying to pass it off as a casual shrug. "So, yeah, I meant it." He couldn't look at George but he stood his ground, jaw setting to stand whatever mockery his mate would unleash on him now. "Are you going to laugh again?" he snorted, blinking furiously, almost not daring to breathe anymore. 

"'m not going to laugh at you," George mumbled, briefly looking away as John snarled. "What if I told you I felt the same way?" he dropped John's sunglasses to the floor, sliding his hands onto the sides of his mate's face, making his eyes widen. "That..." John gripped George's wrists tightly, searching his eyes for any sign of deceit or mockery, fighting against the overwhelming hopefulness that was building in the pit of his stomach. "That'd be good," he stated quietly, not quite daring to believe it, eyes half closing when George stroked his cheeks, his mate sighing. Maybe he'd regret what he was about to do, but it felt right in that moment. "I love you, John. I do." 

John's breathing faltered, fingers digging into George's arms as if to make sure he was real, swallowing dryly. "Well, all right," he said, at a loss. And then, "I love you too." He cleared his throat, the tension in his shoulders relaxing a little, his stomach still churning, not quite able to believe that this wasn't some sort of cruel practical joke, yet. He looked into George's dark eyes and smiled, a small but genuine smile, before hiding his face into the crook of his mate's shoulder. "This is fucking awkward. Why is this so fucking awkward?" He prodded George in the ribs, playfully. "T's your fault."

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