â Ăâ george harrison x southern!reader.
overview. southern-american reader runs in to the beatles at a diner in nashville, tennessee and gets along w george harrison quite well.
a|n. newer beatles fan. decades late to the craze, i know! please try to ignore any inaccuracies.
youâre the last to enter the diner, at the tail end of the line with your 4 friends in front. one might think, after the previous six nights of eating here, you would finally know to brace for the gust of cold air from the air conditioner above the door. despite wearing a coat, the cold air somehow still manages to slither through the material and nip at the skin of your arms underneath.
a pair of windchimes on either side of the heavy double doors announces the arrival of your group, and rattles again and again with the press of each of our palms on the doorâs glass; the door is plastered with peopleâs fingerprints, some of the prints are newer, others older.
at the sight of us, one of the waitresses, a ginger girl with huge brown eyes, starts on two carafes of coffee. weâve created quite the reputation for ourselves over the past week as full-fledged coffee fiends. though tonight, i make my way to the front counter as the others claim a booth the back. the same one weâve sat in all week. itâs so chilly, i can feel the coldness of the tile through my shoes. the ginger waitress is preoccupied with preparing the coffee, baby-blue fingernails tapping on the side of the silver coffeemaker.
âoh, my god! iâm so sorry! i didnât know you were there, sweetheart,â the waitress smiles, and grabs a damp towel off of the counter to wipe her hands.
âoh no, no worries,â i return the smile, âi wanted to do tea tonight, instead of the coffee. if it isnât too much trouble.â
my voice is weaker than usual; i screamed all of the strength out of it at a music festival earlier tonight. my friends and i had heard of a huge festival here in nashville, tennessee with the beatles as headliners. so, without a second thought, we threw our dollars together to cover two full tanks of gas and the nearly nine-hour road-trip from south carolina to tenneessee.
âno trouble at all. actually, i can get that cup of tea for you in a few seconds if youâre alright with waitinâ,â she offers, sifting through a box of teabags.
âthatâs perfectly fine,â i answer, deciding to take a seat on one of the burnt-orange barstools.
âso, whatâd the five of you get into tonight,â she asks, âthe festival i assume.â
âmhm, thatâs the whole reason weâre in nashville. well, for the beatles to be specific. oh! and the supremes! but, iâve seen the supremes too many times to count. itâs the beatles iâve never seen.â
âyouâre lyinâ. youâve never ever seen the beatles in concert,â she asks in genuine surprise, while pouring the fourth and final cup of coffee and wiping the excess off of the side of the mug.
ânope. never,â i confirm, âthe west is where most of their u.s concerts are, and carolina and california ainât exactly an hour or two apart.â
the waitress nods in understanding, stacking the 4 coffee mugs and single cup of tea on a tray. nearly twenty coffee creamers are stacked on the tray, along with sugar and lemon for my tea. âi can take it over, save you the walk,â i say, grabbing the sides of the tray.
âyouâre an absolute angel, you sure,â she hesitates.
i glance at the teal nametag on her uniform. angela it reads, âof course, angela. itâs no problem.â
my use of her name brings a smile to her face.
i make my to the back of the diner and âourâ booth.
my friends are about ten minutes in to a spirited conversation about the beatlesâ set, and susanâs longtime ringo obsession.
âi swear, if ringo starr so much as asked to go out for coffee together, iâd leave harold in a heartbeat,â susan insists, as she distributes the mugs once i set the tray down.
âyour fiance, harold?â i question, smiling at the ridiculous of it all.
âthatâs the one,â susan confirms, and empties four packets of powdered creamer in a mug.
âthatâs a shame. susan, youâre a depraved woman,â rodney, the only guy in our group, declares with that trademark hyena laugh.
âoh fuck off. if a beatle asked your hand in marriage you would decline? the devil is a liar,â she scoffs.
âwoah, ok. coffee perhaps, but marriage?â
âonly a birdbrain thinks to reject john lennon.â
the other two in the friend-group chime in with obviously opposing opinions.
ây/n, seriously if paul mccââ susan starts, until rodney interrupts, âno no, george. itâs george y/n likes.â
âok, even better! if george fucking harrison points to you in the crowd and goes âhey! you there, i want to see you after the showâ youâre declining!?â
iâm laughing so hard at her horrible attempt at an english accent, i canât answer.
so, rodney answers instead, âwhy would he ask for her when iâm right here?â he teases.
i havenât checked a clock in ages. i think weâve been in the diner for the past two hours or so. in that time, weâve spoken to damn near all of the staff. itâs our last night in nashville, and the news spread like wildfire through the workers. in a weird way, itâs like the last night of summer-camp.
right now iâm resting on the table, using an outstretched arm as a cushion for my head. itâs emptier, the night rush is over for the most part. last time i took a look around, a group of seven or so entered through the side door. the faces of the four in the rear werenât as visible as the three in front. the front three were all in suits, while the rear four werenât.
the group took up a table near the counter, and angela started on two pots of plain tea.
i tuned out of my tableâs conversation ages ago, another stupid debate on one stupid topic or another.
âoh shit, we forgot to order the pie!â susan interrupts.
âi got it,â i sit up, glad to take a break from the chaos, âkeylime or pecan,â i ask with a stretch as i stand up and adjust my skirt.
âkeyli- okay, then. pecan,â
âcoconut cream..,â rodney tries. the suggestion is met with immediate rejections.
âyouâre a sick person,â
i chuckle at that last one, âpecan it is, then.â
i maneuver through the tables toward the counter, their noise starts to fade the farther i get.
when i reach the counter, angela is working on refilling the tea for the table of seven.
i slide into the same barstool as before, and pick at my nail polish to pass the time.
âwhat can i get you guys?â angela asks, once those refills are squared away.
âpecan pie if you have it, please,â i say sweetly.
ââcourse, gimme one second,â angela nods.
âtake your time,â i settle in, focusing on a familiar song sounding through the dinerâs ceiling speakers. iâm so occupied, i almost donât catch the voice of the person right next to me, âpecan pie, is it?â it asks.
the manâs accent is an entire world of âdifferentâ compared to the southern ones that flow through the place.
âmhm, itâs really good,â i answer absentmindedly.
a second later, i turn my attention to the stranger, fully prepared to engage in a conversation on pecan pie of all things.
but, good lord i didnât expect the strangerâs face to be the same one i spent the earlier part of my night staring up at from the pit beneath the stage.
my head is turned in georgeâs direction, and my eyes turn slowly to the table of seven. clear as day are the other three beatles lounging at the table with the three men in suits; some sort of staff i suppose. their manager isnât there, i think i would recognize epstein from the pictures in the magazines.
for a few seconds the entire table (and angela, with a knowing grin) glance from george to me, me to george, george to me.
i turn back to george to find heâs still staring at me. heâs leaning on the counter to the right the stool iâm seated on and. john, paul and ringo are failing horribly to hide their teasing smiles, like this interaction is peak humor to them.
âyeah, uh. the pieâs really good,â i repeat and manage to say so clearly and rather casually, even though i said the same thing moments ago.
âiâm sure it is,â george answers, eating up the puzzled expression on my face.
after plenty of rapid blinks and a pinch to the arm i manage to come to my senses, and find that george is rather easy to talk to.
âsouth carolina. i live on the coast sort of, the townâs called charleston,â i answer georgeâs question of where iâm from.
âah, a beach town, is it?â he nods along, now seated in the stool to my right rather than standing next to it. i could swear itâs scooted a tad bit closer than before.
âpretty much; we call it the low country,â i say.
âand you listen to us all the way out there?,â paul chimes in from the table, earning a pointed stare from george.
âuh, yeah,â i chuckle, âsouth carolina isnât another planet, we listen to the beatles like everyone else.â
george slides back into the conversation before paul can speak again, âwhatâs your name, then.â
âthatâs a question to ask a lady at the start of the conversation, not ten minutes in, george,â john teases, prompting grins from ringo and paul.
i manage to suppress my surprised laugh, though the lifted corners of my mouth give away my amusement, âitâs y/n,â i say.
âgot a favorite of us, y/n?â paul chimes in again, to which george mumbles an almost inaudible, âwill you please, paul.â
i glance over to george, the silent indicator that heâs my #1 beatle. at least that seems to satisfy george. a lot.
âwhat about a second favorite. canât pick only one, right?â paul follows up. i can tell paul loves to taunt, quite charmingly might i confess.
âiâd say ringo, i think,â i answer, though the fact that i didnât say âpaulâ doesnât appear to dishearten paul in the slightest; itâs the air of a man thatâs 100% sure heâs on every girlâs mind every now and again.
ây/n, where the hell have you been,â susanâs voice interrupts paulâs interrogation, like the scratch of a record.
âwe send you over for pie and youâre out here fraternizing withââ she starts, though a single glance at their table silences susan in a second flat.
when she finally manages to tear her eyes away from ringo, she peers over with an incredulous expression in her eyes.
âsu, iâm sorry, we started talking and one thing led to another,â i say, starting to slide off of the stool.
âoh no no, donât worry about it,â susanâs tone softens; the pecan pie is the least of our worries.
ây/n, you didnât say you were with friends,â ringo speaks up, and itâs the clearest iâve heard ringoâs voice in the midst of all the overlapping conversations.
âmuch less gorgeous ones,â ringo adds, eyes trained on susan.
i almost laugh at susanâs awestruck expression, and the quickness in which susan settles into the seat ringo pulls out next to him.
âthereâs three more of us, actually,â i point out, âiâll go get âem.â
âoh, iâll go too,â george pipes up. then, at a volume only i hear, âweâll send the rest of your friends over here, then you and i can have your table to ourselves, yeah?â
i nod, stomach twisted into the tightest knot known to man, âsounds good,â i agree.
after george and i manage to shoo the other three, who stare at us (or george, rather) like theyâre in the presence of an extraterrestrial, thereâs only us in the back area of the diner. as the three scramble to the front to catch up with susan, rodney turns around to shoot me a shiteating grin.
i roll my eyes, sliding into the booth only for george to slide in beside me instead of across.
âso, all five of you are friends?â he asks, hands on the table. heâs got a gorgeous ring on the middle finger of his right hand.
âyeah, all five of us. since middle school, actually,â i tell him, my own hands hidden under the table to chip away at whatâs left of my nail polish.
âeven that one there?â, george inquires, turning to point at rodney, whoâs helped himself to a seat next to john. the two seem to already be getting along.
âwho? rodney?â i ask.
âmhm. not your boyfriend?â
âoh absolutely not, we all group rodney into the annoying older brother category.â
that seems to please george.
âno boyfriend at all as of now?â
ânope,â i say, with a faint pop of the âpâ. when i rub my lips together, i can feel a few small specks of glitter in my lipgloss.
âmeans thereâs room for me, then,â george says.
to that i finally let out the laugh iâd tried to suppress earlier.
âwhat? what is it,â he grins, leaning in a little.
i decide to redirect the convo a little, buy myself time to recover, âyour accentâs a lot heavier than i imagined,â i point out.
âmine,â george gasps in faux surprise, âlisten to your own, will you,â he teases, intense eyes drinking in the whole of my face, seeming to spend an extra second or so on my lips.
âmine!?,â i grin wider.
âmhm, itâs a hell of a lot sweeter sounding, especially cominâ from you, iâll give you that much.â
âoh yeah,â he insists, âyou skipped up to the counter and went âcan we get some pecan pie pretty pleaseâ,â he says, with a sorry attempt at mocking my southern accent.
âoh absolutely not, i donât sound like that!â i laugh.
âreally? this sounds pretty case in point to me,â he tilts his head.
âwhatever you say,â i sigh melodramatically.
âi say, iâd love to hear it over the phone sometime. all the time actually.â
i nibble at the inside of my lip, eyes studying georgeâs face.
âi think i can make that happen,â i hum.
âgood good,â he mirrors my smile. then, after a second or two of simply staring at each other, âi mean, i might need a translator, but thatâs no trouble.â
âoh, youâre such an asshole,â i laugh again, mouth dropping open.
george and i pass at least another two hours or so in our booth in the back of the diner; the timeâs coming close to 2:00am, the time the diner closes. now, my friends and the band are the only customers left, though it sounds as if thereâs a full-house. from our peaceful corner, i can hear paul and rodney finishing off their third spirited game of pool with almost all of the staff gathered around. meanwhile susan and ringo stand a little too close for casual near one of the jukeboxes. how the hell susan is going to explain this to harold, her fiance, is absolutely beyond me.
george and i almost sitting in each other in the booth. iâm on the inside, closest to the wall and window where iâm leaning my back against the glass, with legs crisscrossed on the seat.
when angela apologetically approaches the table to tell us itâs time for the diner to close, george gently taps a hand on my leg, a silent (though reluctant) suggestion that we get up.
once heâs up, he holds a hand out to help me up, and doesnât let go as we follow our friends out the door. again, that pesky gust of cold air above the door sends a shiver down my spine.
the parking lotâs dark and awfully humid as a result of the rainfall earlier while we were all still inside. the two groups start to split, the band turning toward their bus while we start toward rodneyâs van.
everyoneâs exchanging numbers and words rapidly, like thereâs so much that they didnât get to say in the diner. i even catch susan and ringo share a hug, and john and rodney a firm friendly handshake. as if to say âi can do one betterâ george pulls my coat tighter around my shoulders and presses a soft kiss to the side of my lips; a few flecks of glitter transfer from my lips to georgeâs; heâs careful, like he doesnât want to go too quick. nonetheless, the kiss is comfortable, like kissing a longtime lover.
on a napkin i snagged from inside, i wrote my number in the same bright red marker the workers use to write the specials of the day, and press it into georgeâs hand.
âgeorge, câmon!â john shouts from across the parking lot, and disappears into the bus.
george slips the napkin into his pocket, âdonât be a stranger, y/n. i mean it.â
i nod, âof course not.â
that same stupid smile is on both of our faces.
âphone works two ways though,â i add.
george laughs and shakes his head as he walks backward to the bus, âiâll talk to you later, love,â he calls out, taking one last look back before climbing up and into the bus.
i shake my head in utter disbelief; thisâll be one insane debrief in our hotel room.
âwhat the fuck just happened to us,â susan giggles, as the five of us rush over to the van all rambling at once, the consequence of a lot of leftover adrenaline.
as the last of the vanâs doors closes, we hear, âwhatâs this, georgieâs got glitter on his lips, hm?â the taunting voice of paul from across the parking lot, no doubt about it.
đź. ; EEQRVâ26. please, feel free to leave questions, comments, or feedback here or in the eeqrv mailbox.
