1957, in a van after a gig

john loved you; you were sure of it. sometimes he just didn’t act like it.. especially now. he was going through a hard time with his uncle dying and his mother lying and so much more. but everyone goes through hard times.

you sat on his knee as he smoked a cigarette. paul mccartney, a new member of this band, had brought his own mate, george harrison, to see if he could join too. john watched carefully as he spoke.

he was a sarcastic boy, this george, and obviously a little younger than all the other guys. but you knew before he even touched john’s guitar that he’d be good.

“come on george, show ‘im.” paul said in his scouse accent, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“what, yer magic tricks?” john replied sarcastically, obviously not thinking george would be any good.

“nah, i’ve left me cards at home.” george retorted sarcastically, a smirk on his face.

john went quiet for a bit, watching george with slightly furrowed eyebrows and his cigarette between his lips.

“go on then.” he finally said, grabbing his guitar from beside him and leaning over, passing it to george, before putting his hand back on your thigh.

all the lads in the van watched, and you did too. you had a little smile on your face— george was cute. but it quickly left your lips as you felt john’s grip tighten on your thigh, and his gaze on you for a moment.

george began playing, and it was good. really good. when he finished, john took the guitar back. he looked serious and judgy, but you knew deep down he was jealous. he always was whenever he saw other guitar players. he wanted to be the centre of attention, not some fourteen year old.

“that was alright.” he grumbled, taking a drag of his cigarette and looking away, but his hand on your thigh was still gripping you.

“don’t really want a kid on me stage though.”