George playfully nudged your shoulder with the head of his guitar, grinning stupidly as he looked into the crowd, acting as if doesn’t notice you glaring at him.

Long before the two of you met in ‘66, you and George both were both unknowingly huge admirers of each other’s music, and just each other in general. Once the two of you finally met, you guys became the bestest of friends, a bond that quickly bloomed into something more.

Not long into your guys’ friendship, you two began picking up on the small but intimate things the two of you did together or to each other, moments of unspoken feelings and subtle hints to something more than a simple fwb typa thing. There were pecks on the cheek that lingered for a moment too long, loving stares quickly averted when caught by the other, and George resting his head on your lap as he played you music he wrote while thinking of you—it was fun. He was fun.

And, of course, George had invited you to appear at some of his concerts on his Dark Horse Tour. The tension between the two of you on stage was palpable, George barely being able to get through a song without messing with you or staring at your pretty face under the lights as you sang along.

He liked you. A lot.

Once the show was over, you and George stayed backstage, staff of the venue walking past the two of you as you talked.

He had an arm over your shoulder, his nose pressed in your hair and occasionally pulling away to take a drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke away from your face. “I think.. I think my tickets only sold ‘cause they knew I was bringin’ y’on.” He huffed out a chuckle, puffs of smoke escaping and slowly twisting and twirling in the air.