Be Happy, Baby [Slash]

Be Happy, Baby [slash] Ch. 10

And here, my dear, is chapter 10. Enjoy :)

CHAPITRE DIX

Evening of the Fiore’s

George awoke slowly, his eyes trying hard to focus on the real world. At first, he wasn’t quite sure where he was as he tried to blink away the blurriness. He swiveled his head around and looked at the bed next to him and found that it was empty.

The guitarist tried to sit up but immediately regretted it when it felt like someone hit him in the head with a sledgehammer. He lay back down and squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth in pain. How much did he drink last night? This hangover had to be one of his worst. His face suddenly throbbed like it was swollen or something so George brought one hand up and it felt his mouth. He immediately felt sick when he pulled his hand away and saw fresh blood coloring his fingertips.

George sprang from the bed and dashed to the bathroom, ready to dispel the last amounts of alcohol in his blood stream. He heard the door to their suite swing opened as he vomited into the toilet.

“Oh, hello..” John poked his head into the bathroom. “Ewgh.”

George lifted his head from the toilet and glared.

“What? S’not my fault little Georgie drank too much.” John grinned at him condescendingly. “Want me to go get Ringo?”

“No!” George would die of embarrassment if Ringo saw him like this. It’s not like he never has before,  just not recently. Hangovers aren’t the sexiest things in the world, after all.

“Want some brekky then?”

George heaved and started throwing up again.

“So… no?”

“John…” George moaned, tears streaking down his face, his throat buring from the bile. Thank god they didn’t have anything to do today, at least not until this evening. Hopefully he’d feel fine by then.

“Okay, okay. Only joking. Yer not the only one who had a shitty night y’know George.” The older man muttered, walking away from the doorway. “I’ll be back.”

Once his stomach settled, George slowly stood up from the bathroom floor on shaky legs, his head and face still throbbing, and caught his reflection in the mirror.

Good god, he looked awful. His eyes were swollen for some unknown reason and there was a cut right down the middle of his lip. There was some shit-he-didn’t-even-know-what in his hair, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. What the heck happened last night?

George decided to take a much needed shower and then just go back to bed. He looked at the clock on the wall when he lay back down and was shocked to see that it was only 5 in the morning. He was definitely going back to sleep.

So the young guitarist spent most of the day in and out of consciousness, allowing John to occasionally bring him tea and some ice for his lip but food was out of the question. He dreamt mostly of a certain little blue-eyed drummer, which was just fine with him.

By the time he was feeling better, the day was long gone and dusk was just starting to settle. He sat up slowly like a zombie rising from the dead.

“Welcome back.” John said from the little desk in the corner, his feet propped up on the nearby couch. He had his guitar in his lap so George assumed he was working on a song but he seemed to be a little dressed up for just lounging around the hotel, decked out in a tux.

“What time is it?” The younger man rubbed at his eyes sleepily.

“7.”

“In the morning?”