rèver.

george harrison - rise and fall.

january 7, 1969. 

the day george bardged into his house, with an unexplainable expression on his face.

he looked so lost, but pissed off at the same time.  he had two of his guitar cases in his hands, ones probably from the studio they were at.

i looked at him as he sat on his breakfast bar, hand on his forehead.

'you alright there?'  i asked, almost scared to do so.

he laughed, shaking his head, 'not really.'

i sighed, standing up from the couch and taking a seat next to him.

'you want some tea?  biscuits, maybe?'  i offered, not wanting to bug him too much.

'that'd be nice.'

i nodded as i got up.  i put some water in the kettle and waited for it to steam, then proceeded to grab the small container of biscuits george liked.

i set the biscuits next to him, returning to the seat i once was in.

'may i ask what happened?'  i asked cautiously.

'you're my closest friend, i guess you oughta know.'  he ran a hand through his hair, turning the chair towards me.

he stared right into my eyes, 'i left the band.' 

i raised a brow at that, 'you what..?'

'i left the beatles.  i'm done.  i told them to fetch a new guitarist and everything.  gosh, knowing them they'll probably call in eric!'  he laughed at himself, holding his head in his hands.

i gently rested my hand on his shoulder, 'george, they won't get rid of you that quickly.  hell, you've known them the last decade of your life!  i don't think they could do that so quickly and not see that it's so out of place.'

'yeah, but all things must pass.  or i guess not, they hated that song anyways.'  he scoffed.

'what the hell has gotten into you, george?  what's all this moping about?'  i asked, bewildered at his statements.

'what's gotten into me?  no, you should be asking what's gotten into them.  they don't even listen to me now for heaven's sake!  it's like they don't even acknowledge me anymore.  and for fucks sake, they hate the things i write.  not "rock and roll" enough for those lot.'  he said,  gripping his feathery brown hair.

i took my hand back to reach my other, trying to process the new information.

i took a deep thought before speaking, 'is it cause of john and paul?  because ringo left too because of them, yes?' 

'it surely is.  john and paul, gosh they're some of my closest mates, but we just can't make music together.  we're all figuring out the things we like; it's all breaking down.  it just pisses me off because they're like two minds combined, while i have to plead to have a song on the damn lp!'

i frowned, 'i'm sorry, geo.  i wish they could see your potential...you're talents.  they're gonna be lost without you, y'know.'

'will they though?  eric would fit in much better... he can do solo's that round up together real nice, he can make up all this stuff and it still makes sense!  i can't, i can play notes, chords, and whatnot, but i cannot do that type of "random" fingering shit.'

'you've gotta stop comparing yourself to him, george.  you're talented in so many other ways.  guitar playing isn't about how awesome a solo is or super god-speed like playing.  it's about the beauty of it, not all of it is hard rock.  you're talents in guitar stand by playing things so naturally.  plus, you can always learn how to do other tricks if you please.'  i finished, leaning onto my hand and gazing at the man in front of me.

george's eyes seemed to of glittered in that moment, his mouth agape.  as if it were realization, or just anything really.

suddenly, he leaned forward, wrapping his lanky arms around me.

his hugs were always comforting; they made you feel enlightened and secure.

i returned the hug, rubbing his back softly.

'y'know, maybe that's what i needed to hear.'  i felt his jaw move with every word he said.

i smiled, 'i hope i enlightened you?'

he laughed onto my shoulder, 'you always do.'

the rest of that evening was spent between tea and biscuits and songs to be heard in the future.

an:  i wrote this after watching the first part of get back when it came out💀