You walked into the door of your small apartment, quietly taking in the scene before your eyes. It was as formerly stated, small, but it had large windows, that's crimson drapes where drawn on currently. You quiet liked it, and it had always suited you and Geo just fine. Coming home to it as always like walking into another world for you, with it's light purple walls, large windows fitted by floor-length curtains, and many shelves full of books, it was ypur oasis. Not to mention most of your free time with George was spent there.
You sighed happily as you made your way to the recored player and procceded to flip through until you found an Elvis record that suited you and gently placed the needle over the track. It began playing and you sighed contentedly as you sat on the kitchen floor, laying your head gingerly on the cupboards. Although from this particular scene it may not've seemed it, youre life was currently as stressful as hell, work was hard, you had far too little time to spend with George, who was currently your main concern; as he wasn't acting himself at all.
His usual quiet, whimsical, affectionate demenor was nowhere to be seen; and although he had tried with all his might to hide it, he was clearly in a terrible state. He had dark circles under his eyes, he was so thin, not in the same way he had always been, no. He wasn't eating. His usual toned chest and abdomone had vanished, he was only ribs and knee caps at this point. Not to mention that, being a man with a typically high sex drive, he hadn't seemed interested in anything for weeks.
You didn't know exactly what to make of it, but you knew it was bad. This was bad. As if on a cue, George walked in and didn't seem to realize he wasn't home alone. He walked in quietly, shut the door, and sat on the opposite side of the counter from you. He let out a little sigh, then a bigger one, then a sob. You crept quietly around the side of the counter, to see him with his face burried in his hands, and his knees up to his chest like a little boy.
You loved that man, he was so perfect. He was trying so hard to be strong for you, but he couldn't always, and he hated that. He hated that you where stron and quck witted and independant, and that he was just quiet and small, and could hardly do anything to protect you. He knew you didn't need it, he just wished he could if you ever did. And you knew that better than anyone else ever would. You loved that man.
You moved gingerly closer to his shaking form, until you where only several inches away, and called softly, "Hassa, what's wrong love?" he looked up at you, seeming a little dissapointed in himself for being this way around you, "I-I-I can't do it," he hiccuped, "Do what?" you whispered, moving closer, so your knees where touching, "Everything," he whispred, heartbreakingly so, "I can't do everything, I can't be a beatle, I can't write songs, or play guitar or sing. I can't be an adult, I can't have a house or a car. And," he trailed off slightly, "I can't protect you," he strained his voice to get out.
"Oh god Hassa, not everything always has to be okay," you soothed, gently wrappinf your arms around his fragile figure, kissing the crook of his neck softly, "Y/n, Nothing's okay, I feel awful all the time, I feel stupid. I can't even be happy with you, that was one thing I could always do," he whispered, you held him a little tighter, keeping his body close to yours, "Sometimes not okay, is just okay, okay?" he chukled a little at the scentenceand nodded his head, "Okay," he whispered.
And you just stayed there, on the kitchen floor, holding him close to you and doing your best to sooth his fears and saddness. You just stayed there, gently stroking his soft brown hair, wiping his tears with your thumb. You just stayed there, slowly falling asleep, letting Elvis play in the background. You just stayed there.