Queen & Beatles | OneShots

George Harrison - The Photographer

"I'm sorry but I-" You tried again.

"It's not your fault, love. Y'know how it is though, yeah? With who we are and all." Paul turned to speak to you. The man could not have sounded more patronising if he tried.

The self importance of these men was astounding. You weren't a fan. Not really. You didn't have an issue with their weird head-shaking music but you wouldn't call yourself a fan. If they had let you get a word in edgeways then maybe you'd have been able to clear that up for them. But the man with your words on his skin simply one didn't want to hear it. And the other one already rubbed you the wrong way with how condescending he was.

"Can I just exp-"

"No. Just- I don't know. Go home. Forget about this." George cut you off. He sounded so mean. How could the universe have planned for you to be with someone so mean?

"Geo, settle it down. You sure you don't want to-?" Paul warned.

"I'll pick someone else, I'm not bothered." His words hurt even though you'd never even met him before. Strangely enough, from what you did know about them, you'd always assumed George was the nice one. But now you knew that wasn't true, was it? He was extremely rude.

"Okay." Paul held his hands up in surrender and stepped away.

"Go home, will you?" George still spoke harshly, finally looking at you.

A moment of silence passed in all the commotion and you decided that you really did need to get out of there. Maybe you were dodging a bullet but it didn't make you feel any less rejected and bitter. But those feelings could pass, at least you wouldn't have to spend your life with some jumped up future has been. His temper and manners were red flags enough. But losing your chance at what everyone else got to experience hurt and you'd have to mourn that.

He stared at you for a while, his eyebrows knit together and he looks as if he's going to say something else but before he can, you find your voice.

"I'm sorry to have caused an inconvenience." You gave your most professional demeanour and gripped your camera bag until your knuckles were white as you left the room.

Well, it couldn't have gone worse.

-

The following week was a nightmare for George. He saw her eyes every time he closed his own. They were green and he remembered them like he'd seen them every day of his life. Physically he felt awful too, he felt sick and panicked all the time, like he was worried or stressed. The girl had barely spoken two words and he'd shot her down and taken away both their chances of happiness in 5 minutes flat.

Brian had been on his case about making sure the girl didn't run to the press with her story. The lads were asking questions. And to top it all off, her words had completely faded from his arm. He didn't like that bit. That sadness that washed over him out of no where.

"Well, I have some answers at least," Brian had finally spoken up. The other boys were all ears, finding the drama fascinating. "Her name is (Y/N) (L/N). She's a photographer for Thunderdome."

"Oi, there's some proper vultures working at Thunderdome! That fella in Camden got right up in my face, you're lucky she asked before shoving a camera up your a-" John was cut off.