temporary fix || george harrison

28%

GEORGE SEARCHED for hours, only to come out fruitless. Now on his fourth hour of desperately seeking Juliet, he'd come to the rapid logical realization that she'd probably gone home.

Yeah, that's it, she just took a walk, got distracted, and probably went home before George could notice.

Juliet's going to be home, sitting on the couch, with her little dainty feet propped up on a parcel, tuning into the Telly the guitarist convinced himself. Even though it still didn't quite settle right in his stomach.

With a bated deep breath, and a much lower blood pressure, the youngest Beatle turned sharply on his healed boot clad foot, and headed back to the flat.

_

"What the fuck am I gonna do? For the love of Christ, I am royally smacked in the arsehole, Paul!" John cried out, slamming his hands on the kitchen table as Paul pinched at the bridge of his nose in irritation.

Not only was the bassist vexed at Juliet for leaving the way she did, he was also perplexed as to why his mate's girl left. Surely their relationship was new and still fresh, but they could've worked it out with a chat?

"John I dunno what to make of it. She left. That's what we tell the poor bloke." Paul stammered as he saw Ringo mosey out from the loo, looking as distressed as ever with his baby blue eyes blown wide.

"Sorry lads, when I get all twisted, I piss like a racehorse." Ringo chortled, to which John hissed at. The shortest of the Beatle clan winced at the less than friendly reaction of his mate, and took a silent seat at the table they congregated at.

"Paul, you've known George longer. How would you suggest we might handle this shitstorm?" Ringo asked Paul as he took a large gulp from his rather early cold bevvy. It's got to be happy hour somewhere, didn't it?

"Yeah, but be that as it may, you wanker, I am not going to be the sod off lad that reveals unto George of his misfortune."

"What misfortune of mine?" Paul nearly choked on his beer. John let go of his cuppa, and the sound of shattering porcelain echoed across the cluttered flat.

Ringo tensed up, the muscles in his jaw rippling as he bit his tongue. No Richard, this isn't your quarrel. This is John's miserable duty.

"Oh! Lookie who's back for a kip, yeah! C'mere Georgie Porgie, crack open a bevvy. New edict that I am instituting in this flat! Happy hour is all day, everyday. Here, there, and everywhere!" John rambled about as George's face fell suddenly sour.

Deep inside the youngest Beatle's very sinewy body, George knew what was about to be said. What was about to become his new reality. But his mind denied it; he denied the earth shattering news he was most surely going to receive in the next few moments.

"John, what misfortune?" George repeated once more, shrugging off his overcoat onto the floor, not giving a single damn of the destruction he was about to lay waste to.

The men in the room refused to utter a single word, the silence enveloping them in a merciless vice. A boa constructing the very soul of their being; George felt his own heart shrivel up into an empty husk of betrayal.

The silence was enough to explain it all. It paid enough due than words ever could to the solemn Harrison.

"Mate, I'm so sorry. She just... left." John, the once very articulate and loquacious man found himself without the English language at his comfort and ease at the very moment.

Paul stood up slowly to broach his oldest pal, offer him some fragment of care, but George only just sealed his mouth tight with the melody of his own broken heart trapped inside.

If there was a day George could ever curse music for even daring to sound so sweet on the tip of his tongue, it was today.

He'd a song in the forefront of his mind, for his sweet Juliet. Do you want to know a secret? Albeit they be false lovers, the feelings he harbored for the bird out of time were as tangible and sharp as a rose's thorn.

The sullen creature had slowly made his ascent to his room with a dull thud of his door, the heart shattering sounds of his wretched groans of agony a sign of his misery.

How could she do this to me? I thought she was coming back, my Juliet. George thought bitterly as he silently tried to reign in his weeping, scolding himself for even believing a girl like her could ever love the likes of him.

It was an act, a sham. A great comedy of errors. But the white mark she'd cast upon the flesh of his heart was irreversible- permanent. If she was really from the future, how did she know for sure if this was the way it was really supposed to be? Maybe that was just her perception of her own future without him in it.

What if they were actually meant to be together? In the future that was really destined to be?

Enough of this, George. She fuckin' left. That's it. The young man thought as he slowly pulled open their shared dresser drawers, revealing small, almost unnoticeable objects missing of Juliet's.

He concluded that she wanted to leave without a trace, and if that was the legacy she wanted to leave behind in her absence then so be it.

Stepping backwards to collapse onto the bed, George felt the slightest noise of paper underneath the sole of his boot. In curiosity, he bent over and lifted his foot to reveal a note.

In none other than the beautiful Juliet's own hand.

George... please forgive me. Don't think of me. Don't miss me. You'll always be in my heart, even when we're separated by decades. Generations. I love you.

-J

"Oh god, oh god." George wailed, holding the note up to his chest. Juliet left to protect him. To shield him from the horror that was her life.

And the worst part was that what George had feared the most, was true. Juliet did love him back. And she abandoned him before he could say it back. Juliet fled their niche before they could even share a kiss; an intimate moment in the language only lovers knew how to speak.

" 'M going to find you, doll. 'M not gonna let you sacrifice yourself for me. My poor Juliet..." George whispered to himself with conviction, clutching the note close to the concave of his chest.

I'm going to find you.

_