mal evans was the beatles roadie, and a fine one he at that he was. he was a gentle giant, very soft spoken, very... well, as the title suggests, gentle. he wouldn't hurt a fly, even if he had to. paul in particular had taken a keen liking to mal. he enjoyed his company, his personality. it seems that even outside of the band, despite paul's raging ego, they were genuinely good friends. it was a saturday night in june, one of the coldest times of the winter months in liverpool.

for the time being, to save money and cut down on costs and what have you, brian epstein ended up purchasing a home for the beatles to live in. together. mal would regularly pay them a visit, often times staying in the spare room this house (somehow) had. tonight was no different. mal was curled up by the fire, reading a book. he hadn't looked up from his book, but had sensed you had walked into the room.

he looked up from his page, casting you a smile, then turned back down to his book. gentle giant.