The Autograph : George Harrison x reader

part 8

so sorry it took me forever to update lol

A red car rolls to a stop behind us, its arrival breaking the stillness of our predicament. The driver, a rugged man with a purposeful gait, exits his vehicle and walks towards Ringo. A silent exchange of glances between Ringo and John sparks a reaction, and John unfolds himself from our car to join the roadside.

Their conversation is a silent film to us, their words lost to the wind. The man retrieves a fuel container from his car. In Paul's voice cuts through the silence "This is so fucking embarrassing."

The situation escalates when John, seems to cross an invisible line, drawing the man into a vocal tempest that, while muffled, still carries a faint edge of discord to our ears. This unexpected outburst sends ripples of concern through George and Paul, compelling them to step out and brave the brewing storm.

I'm left alone, cocooned in the car's interior, as George's parting gesture—a kiss on my forehead—seals his words, "Stay right here," a command laced with care and a promise of swift return.

Peering out the window, I'm immediately drawn into the drama unfolding outside. The boys are in a heated exchange with a man who, to my surprise, is one of Dad's mates. Instinctively, I crouch down, hoping to stay out of sight, but their voices, laced with tension, still reach me. John's adding fuel to the fire doesn't help. Suddenly, the door swings open, and there stands George, looking puzzled. "What're ya doing down there?" he quizzes. I mumble something about tripping, my gaze shifting back to the scene outside.

Through the front glass, I see Paul gently guiding the man back to his vehicle, his movements calm, apologetic. The man's car pulls away, and Paul turns back with a victorious grin, gas can in hand. "How on Earth did you manage that?" John blurts, disbelief coloring his tone as he exits the car. Paul just chuckles, "Didn't convince him. I just nicked it from his car when he wasn't looking. The poor bloke didn't even clock it."

Paul fills the tank and slides back into his seat, sandwiching me once more between himself and George. "So, Ringo, how much road's left?" John queries, the car rumbling to life beneath us. "Roughly three hours," Ringo estimates. A collective groan from George and Paul fills the space, perfectly synchronized. John steers us back onto the asphalt, and the boys fall into the familiar rhythm of their songs. I rest my head against George, his arm finding a gentle perch around my shoulders. My ear is cradled against the steady beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his breathing a lullaby. Enveloped in this living melody, sleep begins to pull me under like a soft tide.

I was abruptly woken up by the sound of crashing clutter, I quickly raise my head and witness Ringo and George struggling to retrieve Ringo's drums from the back. I rub my sleepy eyes and step out of the car, eager to lend a hand. "Do you need any help?" I offer, wanting to be useful. George, gestures towards a nearby bench. "No, love, I don't want you to hurt yourself. Just go sit over there," he directs me towards the bench by the curb. I comply, settling down and observing Ringo and George wrestling with the drums. John and Paul emerge from the building were parked in front of , accompanied by a couple of men. "George, Ringo," Paul speaks up, "these men will take care of that." Ringo, gasping for breath, exclaims, "Why didn't you tell us that sooner?"

I follow Paul into the building,  he gives me a tour of the venue where they'll be performing tonight. "So, Y/N, you can sit back here and have a great view of the whole show," Paul says, leading me backstage. "We'll be on in about an hour." I nod enthusiastically, taking in the backstage area. George appears behind me, his hands gently wrapping around my waist. "Did you see all the people outside, Paul? It's bloody ridiculous," he exclaims, amusement in his voice.

Before Paul could even get a word out, the heavy stage curtains swept shut with a swish that cut through the bustling noise backstage. "They must've started to let the audience in," Paul remarks. The crew and the boys kick into high gear, a symphony of movement as they hustle to put every last detail in place. There, in the midst of the controlled chaos, I find solace on a solitary chair. George flits by, stealing moments for fleeting kisses, each one a small spark of connection in the whirlwind. Suddenly, a stagehand cuts through the commotion, his voice firm, "Five minutes 'til showtime!" The announcement sends a ripple of urgency through the air, and the boys take their places. I'm perched on the edge of my seat, heart racing with anticipation. Then, with a grand flourish, the curtains part, revealing the sea of eager faces beyond. A tidal wave of cheers and screams crashes over us, the sheer volume of adoration almost tangible in the air.