Ringo Starr Smuts & Maybe Sometimes a Little Fluff

I've Just Seen a Face (fluff- Part 2)

I walked over to the door and looked through the peephole. I smiled when I saw Richard standing there looking down at his feet.

I quickly unlatched the door and greeted him.

"Hello again, Richard!"

I simpered, reaching my hand out to shake his.

"Ello darling! Lovely to see you again. You look- wow."

He says, bringing my hand up to his lips to place a kiss on it. I grinned cheekily, my already rosy complexion blushing even more at his gesture.

"Ready to go, love?"

He asks, curling his arm out for me to hold onto.

I nod, swooping my arm in his. I lock up and we begin to stroll down the dark hallway of the dingy hotel. We stop in our tracks as a small mouse bolts it's way to the lobby.

"Hey, it's not the Ritz but it'll do!"

I joked, trying to make light of the embarrassing moment. I hadn't had much money, and the only reason I'd been able to take this trip is because I'd had some saved in an old shoebox. I had to cut corners where I could, the hotel cost being one of them.

"It's quite alright, love."

He giggles with me as we arrive at the car. He opens the passenger door for me like a true gentleman, then gets in on his side.

As soon as he sits down he reaches into his shirt pocket to fetch a cigarette. He hands it to me, then grabs one for himself.

"I, uh..." I begin, only to be interrupted by his laughter.

"I know you smoke. I remembered the seeing the unsmoked cig in the ashtray at your table."

I smile a toothy grin, touched at the fact that he remembered the details of that day just as I had. I placed the cigarette between my lips and Richard reached over to light it with a match.

He fastened his seatbelt and began to drive, cigarette hanging from the side of his plump lips. I took a long drag and blew the smoke out of the window, then looked over at him. He had such a striking profile.

He caught me staring and smiled, puffing on the last bits of his cigarette before placing it into the car ashtray.

"See something ya like, eh?"

He smirks, unleashing a flurry of butterflies in my stomach.

"As a matter of fact I do, Richard."

"Please, enough of that Richard nonsense. Call me Ringo." He chimed, trying to focusing on the road. I could tell he wanted to look at me.

"Ringo?" I giggled slightly as I found the name a bit silly.

"It's what me mates call me." He chimed.

"Well, here we are. Me humble abode!"

I looked out of the windshield and gasped. His flat was much more posh than I'd imagined. I heard the door handle creak as he opened it, letting me out of the car.

"C'mere me lady." He sang, placing his hand on the small of my back to lead me to the front door. As he unlocked it I gazed around the yard, admiring the well-kept garden.

When he opens his door I'm immediately greeted with the overwhelming scent of marijuana, mixed with traditional tobacco.

"Sorry bout tha" he apologizes as I begin to cough a bit.

"No worries, Rich-uh, Ringo."

I flash him a reassuring smile, and he gives me one back. I adore his grin.

He heads to the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker as I walk aimlessly around the parlor. I am instantly intrigued by his decor. Lots of psychedelic artwork and old records framed on the wall, and crystals sitting nicely atop shelves. It was a very clean and cozy place I could see myself getting used to.

"So tell me Y/N, what made you come up to me the other day at the coffee shop?"

Ringo asked from behind me. I was a bit startled, as I'd been focusing on a painting that hung on the wall. I turned to look at him.

"Well, to be honest... I'm not sure. It's very unlike me. I'm not what you'd call a risk taker, ya know? I just... I felt drawn to you."

He nodded, staring at me with his cobalt blue puppy dog eyes. He appeared to be deep in thought, but encouraged me to go on.

"I don't know, when I saw you sitting there I just had to approach you. I knew I'd never forgive myself if I didn't."

My cheeks flushed pink once again as he came closer to me.

"Well I'm glad you did. Please, sit down."

I obliged, plopping myself down on the orange velvet couch. It felt luxurious, far different from anything I was used to sitting on. Ringo walked back over to the kitchen to pour our coffee into mugs, and returned with them in his hands.

"Here ya go." He said before sitting down beside me. The cup felt nice and warm on my cold hands.

"So Ringo, if you don't mind me asking...what do you do for a living?"

He nearly choked on his coffee as I spoke. I had gathered the feeling that he wasn't used to being asked such a question.

"I take it you're not a fan of The Beatles?"

My brows furrowed inquisitively. Why would that matter? Unless...

Oh God.

Ringo.

Ringo Starr.

I sadly hadn't been very keen on pop culture. I knew of the Beatles, and enjoyed their songs on the radio. However, I hadn't a clue about what any of their faces looked like as I wasn't one to read the papers. Suddenly it all made sense. The mob of fans, the high-class home he lived in, etc. It was all because he was the drummer in the most famous band in the world.

How could I not have known?

But more importantly...

What have I gotten myself into?