1960– hamburg

john and his mates were in a band, and that band soon had an offer to go to hamburg; to play some shows nightly and earn some money. of course john would go, but he brought you— he couldn’t bare having to spend months without you by his side.

and so, for the first few nights, you, john, paul, george, pete and stuart slept at the pubs and clubs, or on the streets, or at strangers houses. that was until stu got a girlfriend— astrid. she was twenty one and had a small apartment there in hamburg where you guys moved in temporarily.

however, things weren’t going well for you and john. there was a tension between you two. sure, you guys had always been the arguing type, but now it was even worse. you thought it was because he was getting so much attention from all these other girls when he played shows, but he always denied it.

it was the morning— you had woken up to the sound of someone cursing in the small bathroom just outside the bedroom you all shared (bless astrid). you got up from the make-shift bed on the floor and made your way to the bathroom— you needed to take a piss anyways.

when you went inside, john was standing there, using your razor to shave his stubble. you wouldn’t have cared just a few months ago, but now every little thing john did annoyed you, and that went both ways.

“john! that’s mine!” you said, reaching out to try grab the razor from his hand.

john pulled his hand away and pushed you to the side with his other, like you were a little kid. unimportant— “shut it, i’m almost finished.” he said irritably, his jaw tense as he continued.

“i don’t care, john. buy your own.” you complained, attempting to pry it out of his hands again. but he harshly pushed you off him and, in the process, cut your cheek with the razor, the blood immediately forming.

you pulled away and pressed your hand to your cheek, the blood smothering your palm. it was a pretty bad cut. you made an annoyed noise and pushed past john, grabbing some toilet paper.

“it’s your bloody fault. i can’t shave me blimming beard for a few minutes?” john grumbled, not bothering to check up on you, or even look at you. he just continued to look in the mirror— “stupid birds. can’t give a man any peace.”