Anxiety | Starrison [❓]

t h r e e

hi i'm george harrison, i love gardening--- no no no. sup, i'm george---- no! ugh!

"i play guitar."

"oh," if possible, ringo seemed to be more interested in the taller lad. "what songs do you play?"

he shrugged, eyes going to his half-empty shot glass.

"jus' some rock, tha's all."

"something tells me you're the indie type." ringo said, raising his cup to his lips.

"y-yeah, actually---"

"i knew it!" he giggled triumphantly, giving george the impression that the influence was getting in. "so that's why you're different."

george frowned. "is different.. bad?"

ringo pouted. "i didn't say that. what i meant was that you're special."

he flushed. "s-special?" george was many things but not special. "how so?" he asked warily, drinking from the shot glass.

"you don't like partying." he said in "a matter of fact" tone. he rested his face on his palms, making his cheek chubbier. "and you're an idie guy. not everyone likes indie." a smile formed in his lips. "and you're pretty nice for a shy guy."

george spluttered, making an unattractive mess on the tabletop. when he coughed, he felt ringo pat his back.

"was is something i said?" ringo asked nervously, lips curled down in a slightly anxious frown.

"actually..."

"george!"

he groaned. "paul."

ringo grinned at the doe-eyed man. "hey macca."

"hi ritchie!" he giggled--- jesus christ--- "how's the party?"

he beamed. "it's pretty great!"

"well if you excuse us," paul smirked at the younger, making him gulp. "i need to talk to georgie here about something."

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"you like him!"

george turned, not wanting paul to see his red face. instead of facing him, he pretended to dry his hands on the drying machine in the bathroom.

"i don't," he stuttered, cheeks burning as he heard paul's laugh echo in the bathroom. "i-i don't---"

"oh my god you do!"

"s-shut up, paul." he grunted, crossing his arms.

"listen," paul began. "it's obvious you like him, why don't you go turn things up a bit?"

george furrowed his eyebrows. "meaning...?"

"ask for his number, you daft sod."

"i-it's not as simple as it sounds!"

"i ask for birds' numbers all the time, geo." paul stated.

"well, that's because you're an extrovert!" george started fidgeting with his shirt. "shit, what if he'll think of me as a creep? a weirdo?"

"trust me," paul patted his shoulder. "he won't. am i ever wrong?"

george was about to open his mouth but then decided against it. because nothing would tire him more than to speak a whole list of the moments paul was completely, wholefully wrong.

<><><><><>

"okay," ringo grinned. "here. text me, yeah?"

"y-yeah," george stammered, chest swelling up. he actually did it! and for the first time in ages, paul was actually right!

ringo's lips curled up in a cute smile. "see ya later, george."

oh my god. george thought, heart beating so fast he thought it would explode in his chest. oh my god h-he remembered my name!

this was a big deal to george. because of his mannerisms and his little weird quirks turned people off. and once george met them, they dissapeared off his social life as quick as they came.

but the fact that he had a cute, and nice boy's number in his phone seemed to erase all that.

and the only problem now was the anxiety taking control once again, george's shaky fingers being the proof of it.

what will he text him?