Nobody Wants To Know Him

XVIII - Two Of Us

Wednesday 27th December 1972
Liverpool, England
10.09am

When John and I went downstairs, we found that Ringo was already there in the kitchen perched upon one of the bar stools having helped himself to breakfast already.

"Ye good, John?" He questioned, a small knowing smirk on his face.

"Mhm." John agreed, flinging open the fridge door before shutting it looking unsatisfied. "______, is just toast alright? I think this lot's scoffed me entire food supply."

I nodded, chuckling. In all honesty, I'm sure John could cook anything and I'd be fine. Especially if he wore that apron.

The leather of the bar stool squeaked as I sat on the one next to Richie, resting my chin on the palm of my head as I watched John grab the bread from the bin before heading back over to the fridge to grab some butter.

As John was buttering my toast, a loud yawn from the doorway signalled another arrival. George walked into the room, stretching his arms out behind him before leaning on the counter in front of us, head crashing onto the table.

"Fuckin' hell... feel like right crap, I do."

Ringo just laughed, patting George on the back. "Shouldn't 'ave drank that much, la. Ye shoulda seen yerself!"

"Got an ibuprofen, John?"

"Y'know damn well where it is."

John passed me my plate of toast, messily sliced down the middle. He sat down on the stool next to me with his own plate.

He was talking between mouthfuls, laughing to stuff I couldn't quite make out. "Paul's always last up, ain't he? I bet the wanker could sleep for days if ye let 'im."

George was now rummaging through John's cupboards, also looking for something to eat. When it seemed he couldn't find much other than toast like us, he huffed.

"Haven't got much choice, 'ave ye Lennon?"

"Yeah? Whose fault is that?"

John shovelled the last of his toast into his mouth before going to put his plate in the sink.

"Y'know what, John," Ringo piped. "Macca, this one, and I will pop down to town later to go get ye stuff. I know what yer like with shopping, Christ, ye wouldn't do it at all if ye didn't 'ave to."

He paused, shooting me a curious glance, smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. "Plus, ye can stay 'ere with _____."

It seems George agreed as he slinked into the seat John was previously sat in. At that very moment, a dishevelled Paul walked into the room, long black hair tousled as he yawned, hand over his mouth.

"Mm, mornin' fellas."

"Look who finally awoke, sleeping beauty." Paul shot George a look as he said that, causing him to laugh.

"Macca, we're goin' shopping for John later, yeah? Get summin to eat and get dressed then we'll be off." Ringo stood up to head to the sink.

Paul began to protest, saying he'd only just woken up and felt like shit from the night before, but as Ringo passed him, he gave him a playful but hard kick in the shin causing the younger lad to hiss in pain.

"Ow, ow- the fuck was that for, Rich?!"

He only giggled in response before walking out of the kitchen, leaving Paul clutching his leg.

______

11.08am

The other three had already left. John suspected that they'd be gone a couple hours since they were hardly ever back in Liverpool - John was the only one that still lived here. The rest had gone off and made their homes elsewhere.