Chapter Text
John feels his breath catch in his throat as he stares back at himself in the mirror, and he feels sick.
The pool of doubt in his stomach seems larger and thicker than ever, and he chews his lip as Ringo adjusts his collar. "Alright, mate? You look a bit peaky."
Ringo's dressed neatly in a blue suit himself, the pink carnelian that George had picked for all of them tucked in his breast pocket. John reaches up to fiddle with his own flower, the worry settling as he remembers George carefully pruning them from the garden the day beforehand, beaming at him. "Haven't they grown in so beautifully, Johnny? I told you talking to them helped."
George had rushed in afterwards, almost tripping over their cat, Smokey, as he gathered a vase and put them in with a care that made John's heart swell. What was he thinking? Of course, this was the right decision. George was going to be his and his forever. John finally managed a smile in the mirror, looking at Ringo who clapped his shoulder, beaming back at him as the drummer brushed invisible dust from the sleeve of John's white suit.
"You'll be fine. I felt the same marryin' Paulie. Nearly shat meself when I saw him walking up to me- what the hell was I doing with a man this beautiful? Then he kissed me, and I haven't thought 'bout it since."
"Cheers, Rich." John feels a tiny bit reassured, and he straightens in the mirror, forcing a wide smile, before he sags again. "But Paul and yours' marriage is so bloody perfect. You- I-....George and I aren't like that. We fight, y'know."
Ringo laughs loudly, and John shoots him a confused and slightly offended look. "Oi! I'm bein' serious here, Rich."
The drummer keeps laughing, eventually settling into slight gasps. "You-you think Macca and I don't fight? Christ! Have you met the man? I have to argue with him just to get 'im to let me take the kids to school. Bloody Hell, we argued about what suits to wear today, as well! The man likes to pretend it's sunshine and rainbows, but I can tell you how many times I've slept on the couch this year, and it's more than I can count on my rings."
John laughs weakly, rolling his shoulders back gently. "What a way to assure a bloke, Rich." He pauses, then licks his lips. "Rich? Can I...ask you a question?"
Ringo blinks, but nods, the edges of his blue eyes crinkling as he smiles. "Course you can, Lenn."
"D'yer think Georgie wants me?"
Ringo nearly chokes on his own saliva. "John, mate, he's bloody obsessed with you. I've never seen a man put out a cig and neaten his hair as quickly as George does when yer step into a room. He's been givin' you heart-eyes since we were 20."
John doesn't seem convinced, and he scoffs. "Heart Eyes, Rich? Really?"
Ringo elbows him sharply. "Stop being a wanker. He loves you to bits, and you love him too. That's why you feel all jittery. Because you love him."
"I know I love him!" The taller man protests, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking away from the mirror. "I know."
Ringo nods approvingly. "That's what I thought. Now, c'mon. Or you'll be late for your own funeral at the rate you're goin'."
John scoffs, shoving him playfully. "Shut up, mate. And, yeah....Let's go. I've got a husband to marry."