𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘽𝙀𝘼𝙏𝙇𝙀𝙎 𝙄𝙈𝘼𝙂𝙄𝙉𝙀𝙎

𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 • 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 • 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

the snow fell steadily outside, painting the harrison house in a soft, muffled quiet. except, of course, the house itself was anything but quiet. the air inside hummed with the energy of christmas eve: the sharp clang of pots and pans from the kitchen, bursts of laughter from relatives gathered in the sitting room, and the occasional thud of small cousins charging up and down the hallway. sara and i had retreated to her bedroom, claiming it as our safe haven, where the chaos couldn't reach us—at least, for a while.

she was perched on the edge of her bed, her face lit up in that way it always was when she was talking about something—or someone—important. she toyed nervously with the loose thread on her sweater. "you don't think it's weird, do you?" she asked suddenly, looking up at me.

"weird that your uncle is george harrison? or weird that you're obsessed with his bandmate?" i teased, lying flat on her carpet and staring at the ceiling.

she threw a pillow at me. "don't say obsessed."

"fine. 'mildly preoccupied.'" i caught the pillow and grinned.

"you're impossible." she flopped back onto the bed and covered her face with her hands. after a beat, her voice emerged, muffled. "but seriously. it's not weird, is it?"

"it's not weird," i said, though the faint flush creeping up her neck told me she wasn't convinced.

she groaned and sat up again, folding her legs under her. "it's just... he's john lennon. and he's here. in my house. tonight. and what if he thinks i'm some kind of idiot? or worse, what if he doesn't think about me at all?"

"sara," i said, sitting up to look at her. "you're being ridiculous. they're just people."

"people who happen to be the most famous band in the world," she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"famous and single," i added with a smirk.

she rolled her eyes, but i saw the flicker of hope in them. "yeah, well, single doesn't mean interested."

"you don't know that," i said, leaning back on my elbows. "for all you know, john lennon could walk through that door and declare undying love for you right now."

"you're insane," she muttered, but she was smiling now.

"let's go downstairs," i said, standing up and brushing off my skirt. "say hello. act normal."

she gave me a panicked look. "normal? what does that even mean?"

"it means don't hide up here all night."

before she could argue, her mother's voice rang out from the bottom of the stairs. "girls! come down and help with the drinks, will you?"

"we're coming!" i shouted back, grabbing sara's hand. "come on, before she yells again."

downstairs, the atmosphere was electric. george was the first one i saw, standing by the piano with a glass of mulled wine in his hand. his face was soft with a kind of quiet amusement, like he was already half-expecting the chaos to unfold.

john was by the fireplace, leaning against the mantle with his hands in his pockets, his dark eyes scanning the room like he was both part of it and completely detached. paul was chatting with sara's cousins, who were giggling far too loudly at something he'd said. ringo, meanwhile, was crouched by the christmas tree, adjusting an ornament that seemed to be bothering him.

"there you are," george grinned, his voice warm as he spotted us.

"hi, uncle george," sara said, though her voice wavered slightly. i gave her a quick nudge, and she stood a little straighter.