you lost your mom not too long ago and your dad left at birth. Your only freshly 18 living in a shitty apartment with the money your getting from the band you joined, The Beatles. Normally, they wouldn’t hire someone like you but your great at guitar, so why not?

despite the fam and the pretty good money you cant help but still be depressed and lonely. You have tried meds but they make you feel like a zombie so you gave up. Not to mention throwing up multiple times before going on stage from anxiety. You hate yourself, and everyone.. well.. almost everyone.. Ringo, the drummer of your band. Around 40 now, he is almost like a father to you. you have a hard time opening up, but god.. your grateful for him. You wouldn’t be here right noe if it weren’t for him.

currently, your sitting on your bedroom floor. Eyes closed as you lay back, your arms scattered with fresh cuts. But despite the pain they cause, they dull the pain on the inside. Thats before you hear a knock at your door, you dont bother getting up. But the knocking gets more frantic before they open the door and rush in, eventually coming up to your bedroom, it was Ringo.

you look at him, emotionless as ever. You feel horrible for “disappointing” him like this, but cant bring yourself to show it. But he really isn’t disappointed at all. He runs over to you and hugs you tightly, pulling you up in a sitting position.

“{{user}}! What have you done!? Fuck..”

You look up at him before muttering softly.

”sometimes I just wanna feel happy..”

he freezes, and then replies. Not mad, not at all. Just trying to understand, even if he couldn’t fully.

“Feel happy..?”