all things must pass » the beatles, queen and the backstreet boys

28- George Harrison

"You think we'll have a future that doesn't involve all of...well, this?" I gestured wildly behind the overgrown bushes.

George's eyes trailed my line of vision, falling on the girls that never seemed to tire of waiting for him, frantically waving at him and hollering a mix of filthy requests and declarations of love. He'd told me before (more than once, really) that despite feeling flattered to have received all this...unconditional love, he also yearned for more privacy and less objectification.

With a shrug, George waded a bit in my direction, the water ripples reflecting the sun like a freshly-sharpened crystal, almost blinding me and causing me to shade my eyes with my hand.

"I don't think it'll last much," he honestly spoke in a nonchalant tone, "I mean, the damage is done, our best years have gone to waste," he sighed in slight annoyance, leaning back against the poolside wall, his glistening torso now tanning in the sun, "But the music business doesn't last long. 's always changin' up every few months."

"I don't think our best years have gone to waste," I quietly admitted, inching closer to him as I indulged in resting against his (still somehow warm) chest, "Least you're doing what you love every day."

Again, another shrug, as an arm slung itself around my bare waist.

"We've gotten married too," I smiled softly, before glancing back at him to see his own grin mirroring mine, "Moved into a new house. I got a new job. You became a world renowned rockstar, who's all mine," I smirked at that, placing my hand on his chest and drawing figures with the water that dripped off my finger, "I think that makes these the best years, actually."

His blush prominent for a few moments, he watched a couple splash their baby daughter at the other side of the pool, cooing words of praise to the adorable girl as she babbled joyfully at their joyful countenances, her huge sunhat drooping over her eyes in the most adorable fashion.

"I know you'd like something like that," his voice was even quieter than usual (mind you, George probably had the quietest voice of all the lads), "And I just... feel bad I guess?" he trailed off, those deep eyes of his glimmering with an emotion I couldn't exactly pinpoint.

"What on Earth could you possibly feel bad about, Georgie?" I chuckled, a little incredulously, "It's not like it's entirely unbearable."

"Well, we can't go out on dates without bodyguards and a limo, and I know you hate being tracked like a child," he reached behind him to take a sip of his martini, before frustratedly dragging a hand through his wet mop-top, "We're always being spied upon, and everyone has their noses in our own fucking business."

Hoisting me up on his lap to turn and face him, his eyes burned with a mix of passion and deeply-buried anger, "New rumors every other week... 's not exactly the best lifestyle. I wouldn't feel gear if you began to trust me less because of some shit a person wrote to make some easy cash."

Shaking my head at the silly thoughts that seemed to have invaded his brain, I gently kissed him for a few moments longer than was normally acceptable in public, taking the time to show him that none of that mattered, cradling his aphrodisiac face in my hands, thumbs brushing his cheekbones fondly.

"Don't worry your pretty head about things like that," I whispered in his ear after pulling away, leaving a small kiss on his jaw before resorting to hugging him as fiercely as I could, trying to seal the cracks of doubt that filled his heart.

"As long as you're still George, none of this should matter," he was silent, but his heartbeat against my ear urged me on, "I fell in love with you, not the conditions that envelop us. And you ought to know that I'll continue loving you, whether you die famous, or even if this all ends right now."

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