Inspired by Music

While My Guitar Gently Weeps

"What the hell are you still doing up?!" A voice demanded from behind George, causing him to jump.

"John," he gasped. "Nearly gave me a heart attack there."

John sighed and made his way to the couch.

"Didn't mean to," he whispered. "But you shouldn't be up this late."

"Why not?" George asked, looking out the window. "You're up."

John let out a laugh.

"I'm older," he smiled. "I'm allowed to stay up later."

"Where's Paul?" George asked, jumping right to the point. John frowned.

"What?"

"Paul," he repeated, turning back around. "I heard him down here a minute ago..."

"He went out, George," John said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Out...where...?" He asked hesitantly.

"How the fuck am I supposed to know?!" 

George stiffened.

"I heard you two arguing down here...that's why I came down."

John huffed and turned away. George debated it for a minute before taking a few steps toward him.

"Is everything alright between you two?" He asked quietly.

"Everything's just peachy, George," he sighed. "Now go back to bed."

"What happened?"

"Nothing that concerns you, Georgie," John muttered and pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it.

"What'd you do?" He asked. John let out a choked laugh.

"I didn't do anything," he said sternly. "You need to learn to look at the facts before you just start blindly accusing people of things."

"What are the facts?" George asked. John never responded to it.

George frowned and awkwardly sat down beside him, unsure of what to say.

"I hope Paul's okay..." he whispered and John smiled slightly.

"Yeah," he said, taking another drag. "Hope the bastard freezes out there."

George elbowed him.

"What!" John complained. 

"What's going on?" George asked sternly. "And before you say it's none of my business, it is. You made it my business."

John sighed.

"Go to bed, George. You have to wake up early in the---"

"NO!" George jumped up. "You can't just expect me to forget about everything and pretend like nothing's wrong. Why the hell won't you just talk to me?"

"You're just a kid, George," John said in a softer tone. 

"Not for much longer. I'm almost 17," He said sternly. "I can handle it. Just tell me."

"I'm just trying to protect you---"

"From what?" George scoffed. "Paul? You?"

"That's it," John jumped up and grabbed George by the collar, backing him up against the wall. George didn't even flinch or tense up when he did.

"You need to learn how to stay in your lane and not get pissed over things that don't concern you."

"They concern me now," George said quietly as John's cigarette butt inched closer to his neck.

"You know nothing," John muttered darkly. "You can't come in here and expect the world to just---" 

"I'm not expecting anything from the world," George frowned. "Just from you."

John sighed and released George from his grip. He went over to the couch and hid his face in his hands.

"Paul's gone," he whispered, his voice shaking. "He grabbed his things and stormed out."

"Did you say anything...?" George asked, going over to him.

"I asked him to stay but he wouldn't," John cried. "He kept going off and I just...I wanted him to stay..."

George frowned and wrapped his arm around his brother, rubbing his back as he cried.

"It's gonna be okay," he said gently. "He probably just needs time."

"H-he hates m-me," John choked out. "J-just like y-you. I-I-I'm trying m-my b-best."

"I don't hate you," George offered a slight smile. "And you've done a pretty good job of taking care of us all."

John sniffled and wiped his face.

"I-I wish mom w-was still here. O-or Rings."

George nodded.

"They haven't left. They're still here with us."

"Yeah..." John sighed, looking up at his younger brother.

"Go back to bed," he whispered with a smile. "You have to wake up early tomorrow morning."

George didn't want to fight so he nodded, wrapping John in one final hug before making his way back upstairs. He didn't go back to sleep though. Instead, he just stared out the bedroom window, waiting for Paul to return.

He never did.