"That'll be eight pound fifty," the cashier said.
Ringo nodded and reached into his pocket. Nothing. He blushed, "Sorry"
Must have been wrong pocket. He felt a tapping- a rather sharp one- on his shoulder.
"Looking for this?", Paul asked, smirking. He was holding Ringo's wallet in his hand. Ringo smiled and snatched it back.
"Thanks, mate," He said.
"Yeah, Rings. I knew loosing your wallet must have been really hard on you, seeing as how you never keep money in your sock."
"Bite me, McCartney."
"No really, Ringsy, my deepest sympathies." Snort,
Paying for his food, Ringo put his wallet in his back pocket and walked out of the store with Paul. Once on the street, Paul was poking Ringo's hand.
"DoOoOoEEw", He made that birdy noise of his.
"Wha'?", Ringo sighed. Paul just repeated the poking.
"What. Do you. Wan'?"
"Hand, Ringy, the hand," Paul said, annoyed.
"Oh…., right…," Surprised, Ringo took Pauls soft hand. It felt so warm, he felt like his own hand was being drowned. It was so strange how paul could feel so part of himself, stupid Macca. Their hearts felt like they were trying to escape. Each tough…. so overwhelming. So crushing, so completing.
It was all about him, in every thought and breath and racing heartbeat. They had exploded, the anger and the fight, and the need, the obsession was pouring out.
When you can't live without someone you have no choice but to care.
Fans walked by, and although they have seen the sight before, they still stared. Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr, how on Earth? It was like an eclipse had passed, as if God had blinked, and in his absence heaven and hell had come together.
"You're always so warm," Ringo commented. Paul smiled softly and squeezed his hand. Ringo's bony fingers dug into the bigger man's soft skin.
"You're just really scrawny."
"No, i'm not!"
Paul rolled his eyes, and stopped walking. Coming to an abrupt halt, Ringo glared at him. As Paul came closer to him, both were so aware that they were breathing each others oxygen. The air was so thick.
Paul put his hands on Ringo's collar bones, and edged into his shoulders that lay underneath the black jacket. Ringo released a heavy breath, and both of them felt their toes twitch.
"You're fucking bony, Ringsy. I just want to get a hundred of you and put them in a pile," Paul deduced, and then extracted his hands and wiped them on his pants.
"Oh seriously, screw you," Ringo sighed, and walked off. Paul followed along because he couldn't be without.
Once again taking each others hands, they clasped on until their knuckles went white and their muscles ached and each others fingernail prints were etched in soft flesh. They needed the feel of each other- and themselves- to the very bone.