"Ringo!" George called as he walked through the hotel suite, his scouse accent drawing out the end of the drummer's name, "Ringo where are yeah?"

He finally found him in the living room with John and Paul. Wondering why he hadn't checked here first, George leaned over the couch Ringo was sitting on and tapped him on the shoulder. Ringo looked at him lazily, touring having drained alot of life from him.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"Just wonderin' if you were up for a card game." George shrugged. Ringo sighed and shook his head.

"All I want it to take a nap Joj." He said, laying down and folding his ringed hands over his stomach.

"Oh, well allright then." George said evenly, not looking in the drummer's direction. He righted himself and lazily strode around to sit in the last empty chair in the room. Paul briefly looked up from his place beside John where they were wrighting a song to acknowledge George's presence. Then he looked back down, burying himself in his work alongside John.

George sighed, he'd hoped maybe Ringo would have played with him. Paul and John were always to busy writing. Which was something George wanted to do but they never wanted to let him in. And only John would sometimes help him when he tried writing on his own, he could tell neither wanted to but he did it because that's what a "nice older brother" would do.

And now Ringo didn't want to play with George, leaving him to his thoughts.

Which was a place George really didn't want to be. The months and years of touring and recording whatever John and Paul wanted and just general lack of privacy were begining to take a toll on the guitarist. He felt like a machine, there to smile for photographers and spout, in his opinion, nonsense that only teenage girls would want to read about and play whatever John and Paul wanted him to. The thoughts would nag at him, reminding him that he was easily replacable all the time. Dredging up memories of mistakes he made in practice that day or recent scares the press and fans had given him.

In a word, George Harrison was depressed. He didn't really know what had brought it on, he didn't really know how to make them go away. They could only really be ignored when George was doing something else.

Like playing cards with Ringo.

George cast another hopefull glance that soured when he realised Ringo was fully asleep. The thoughts dancing in his head laughed at him for being so needy and that barred George from trying to get Paul or John's attention. Instead he stood and walked towards the bedroom he was sharing with Paul. Maybe he could take a nap too?

Paul watched George walk out off, waiting for him to close the door before nudging John in the leg.

"What?" He asked, not looking away from a sheet of lyrics he was editing. It just didn't sound right to him...

"You think George is okay?" Paul asked softly, for a moment fearing George overhearing him.

"He seems okay," John shrugged, still not looking at Paul.

"John." Paul groaned.

"What Macca? I can't watch him all the time! He's a big boy, he can handle himself!" John snapped, finally looking at Macca through his thick frammed glasses. Paul merely scowled and returned to his bass before muttering,

"He just seemed a little down."

"Well his playing was crap in rehearsal this morning so he's probably just upset over that."

"But it's been hours. And he was fine towards the end." Paul argued, "I dunno, just a feeling I guess, just something didn't seem right when he was sitting there."

"He's fine Paul, now help me write this last verse and we can be done for today." John said firmly.

2 Days Later

George starred at his forkfull of pasta before taking a tentative bite. Hunger had left him in the last week, only ever reappearing hours later in the middle of the night right when George would wake up. But then it would die off just as quickly and he'd fall back to sleep, sometimes dreaming sometimes not. He never really seemed to remember what he dreamed so he couldn't tell if they were good or bad.

He watched the others eat, John devouring the food like he hadn't eaten in weeks and Paul eating properly, like his mother had taught him to. Ringo was taking a slow drink of his Coke and George briefly accidentally made eye contact with him. Ringo set the glass down and looked over at him.

"You okay?"

"What? Yeah." George said, looking at Ringo like he was crazy.

"Well it's just, you've barely eaten. All day."

"So?" George shrugged.

"That's weird for you."

By now Paul and John were silently watching the exchange and when George rolled his eyes John piped up, " 'e's right you know."

"Will everyone just get off my back? I'm not hungry today okay!" George snapped, getting up and muttering, "I'm going to bed." From there he stomped from the room, slamming the door.

Ringo made to go after him but was stopped by Paul.

"Just give him a few minutes, it'll be easier to talk to him then." Paul said, "In fact maybe I should talk to him."

"Ooh, big brother Paulie goes to save the day." John smirked, rolling his eyes. Paul sighed exasperated at the rythm guitarist before finishing his own dinner and standing up.

"I'm gonna go talk to him. Do not disturb us." He instructed, to which Ringo and John both rolled their eyes.

The room George and Paul were sharing was dark, the moonlight seeping in through the drawn blinds and casting a striped shadow over George's bed, where a George sized lump was hiding under the covers.

"George?" Paul called gently, closing the door behind himself. George barely moved and Paul thought he heard a sniffle. Paul walked slowly to George's bedside and sat down on the side George was facing away from.

Then, without warnng, Paul sighed loudly and flopped back against George's legs.

"Paul!" George cried angrily, sitting up and looking down at the bassist, annoyed.

Paul grinned up at him and said, "Now that I have your attention..."

"What do you want?" George grumbled, laying back down as Paul sat up.

Paul paused, trying to phrase the question in a way that wouldn't put up George's defenses.

"Just wondering what life is like for George Harrison right now." Paul shrugged, "We never talk anymore."

"Well," George said after a few seconds, "You're always busy... writing with John."

"Are you jealous of John?"

"No!" George said quickly, "Just... it doesn't allow for alot of time together like before right?" George wasn't looking at Paul, instead he watched the wallpaper across the room.

Paul nodded slowly, inching closer to George's head.

"So... you do miss me then?" Paul asked.

"Sure?" George shrugged.

"'cause I'm right here Joj, just so you know."

George's voice was getting small, "I do..."

Paul nodded slowly again, trying to think of something else to say. Then he craned his neck to see George's face.

It was empty, void of any light from within. The thin face and high cheekbones had a dark feel to them, like there was something pushing to break free from George's being. Like he was hiding something.

"Joj... I can tell when something's bothering you."

George mentally smirked, could he now? Then what the hell took him so long to say anything? George cast a dry glance at the bassist and said emotionlessly, "Is that right?"

"Well... yeah." Paul shrugged, "So what's bothering you?"

"Paul-"

"And don't go saying there isn't because there must be." Paul said, "You wouldn't give up three meal's in a row if there wasn't."

"I didn't-"

"Not eating the whole meal is giving it up Harrison, so talk." Paul said, leaning over George's thin body to stare at him square in the eyes.

George sighed, feeling the deep cavity in his chest grow with the emptiness that had been filling him for weeks now. Did he really have to talk to Paul? He probably wouldn't understand... and maybe he'd get bored with listening to George's problems... George wouldn't be surprised if he did. He was growing pretty tired with himself personally.

"It's nothing Paul. Really." George said, offering a weak smile as an excuse. A weak excuse. Truthfully George wanted to spill everything to the guy who had acted like a big brother to him since he'd met him. He wanted Paul to hold him, to make the emptiness go away.

But he knew Paul probably wouldn't, so he kept quiet.

Paul rolled his eyes, sighing tiredly, "Georgie," He sidled up closer to George, "I can also tell when you're lying."

George seemed to shrink into himself, looking at the sheets.

"Come on Joj-ie, just out with it. You'll probably feel better." Paul was starting to worry, how serious was George's problem? Had he done something? Was he scared of getting in trouble?

"Umm... Well..." George rubbed the corner of his blanket inbetween his fingers as he talked, "Have you ever just... felt sad?"

Paul furrowed his brow, shaking his head slowly, "Not really... maybe a little after my mom died... but not recently."

"Oh... well..." George shrugged, "I meant... not with any real reason. Just, not happy."

"For absolutely no reason?" Paul asked.

"Yeah."

"George are you not happy?"

George cast a dry look at Paul who let his head fall to the side in a questioning manner. George sighed and sat up, staring at his hands.

"I dunno... just... it's hard to enjoy being always on camera and asked stupid questions and messing up all the time in rehearsal." George said queitly.

Paul smiled, feeling slightly relieved but then feeling quilty over the relief. George hadn't done anything to get him into trouble, but he wasn't happy either.

Unsure of how to handle this, Paul moved to sit right next to George on the bed and threw an arm over his shoulder.

"Well you know what I enjoy?" Paul asked gently, "Hanging out with my little brother and my best friends."

George rolled his eyes, "I'm not that much younger than you."

"You're still younger period." Paul said, "Look Joj, it's allright ok? I promise."

George remained silent, looking towards the window and away from Paul, "I'm not so sure Paul." The gnawing emptiness in his chest was begining to ache. Paul's smile slipped from his face but he didn't move from his position.

"You don't have to be happy all the time Joj." He said quietly, "It's allright to not be happy every once in awhile."

George was quiet, thinking. He wanted Paul to stay there as the thoughts of George being useless and less important threatened to consume him. They were pushing their way up his chest, threatening to break his ribs and shatter his lungs. He wanted it all to go away but that didn't even seem possible.

His lower jaw quivered and Paul felt George's muscles tighten under his arm as his breathing became a little heavier.

"George..." Paul pulled George closer and the guitarist didn't fight. Although everything inside him screamed this was wrong; stupid, maybe even childish. Had to be held like a crying child who just woke from a nightmare? How pathetic. The pain in his chest constricted around his lungs and heart even tighter and George felt something slide down his cheek.

Seeing the tear, Paul wrapped the other arm around George and moved closer so he could get in a more comfortable position.

"I'm sorry." He whispered into George's hair, laying his head against the guitarist's.

George didn't say anything, but he did wonder, how was it Paul's fault George was so useless? Sure he got George in the band... but not much else.

Feeling childish and very uncool, George pulled away, laying back down on the pillow and drying his eyes, this proving to be a fruitless task as the tears apparantly weren't done.

Paul sighed, rubbing his shoulder before reaching into George's bag and pulling out a bottle. He quickly walked to the small bathroom in their bedroom and grabbed the glass by the tap, filling it with water. He shook two pills from the bottle and walked over to George.

"Here." He said, holding everything out to George. George took the pills and gulped down the water quickly.

After returning the glass to it's place beside the tap Paul sat down next to George again, rubbing his shoulder in an attempt to be comforting.

"Any better?" Paul asked, to which he got a drowsy shrug from George.

"Well, just go to sleep then. I'll be here in the morning." Paul said as George's vision faded into darkness.