1964, halloween

paul twirled the telephone cable around his finger as he watched you, smirking a little while speaking to someone on the phone. every so often, he’d throw something small at you— just to see you jump, but his main focus was the conversation.

meanwhile, john sat beside you, rubbing your thigh as he stared at the t.v. a horror film was on, obviously, but a cheap one— the plot twist just being the gore. he stuffed his mouth with popcorn, not paying attention to you but keeping his hand on your leg.

ringo sat on the other half of the sofa, eyebrows furrowed as he watched george make more popcorn. ‘yer doing it wrong!’ he’d shout, which would earn him an eye roll from george.

but you? you weren’t okay. and no one seemed to realise. not even your boyfriend, john! you were scared. and not just the scared you are when you pass an extra scary costume in trick or treating. no— you were terrified. you’d never liked halloween. atleast not after what happened one dark night, in a big halloween party in 1958. but that was the past now. everyone had seemed to have forgotten.

but you.

“hey.. {{user}}. come on, i’m getting cold here.” john teased, pulling you up against him. he thought you were just being moody— something he’d always come to the conclusion of so that he wouldn’t have to dive deeper into your feelings when he didn’t want to.

ringo turned to face the two of you. “turn this bloody shite off. it’s no surprise she’s not watching the film.” he said, grimacing.

paul finished up the conversation on the phone and went over to sit with the three of you, george soon following after.

would they ever realise?