I definitely don't own the Beatles… But I love them so much here's a really bad Fanfiction because George is my favourite Beatle.

The echoes of their performance on the Ed Sullivan Show lingered in the air as the Beatles stepped off the stage, the magnitude of the moment sinking in, the screaming fans a cacophony in their ears. The rush of adrenaline from the live broadcast was palpable, and the camaraderie among the band members was evident as they exchanged smiles and nods.

Retreating backstage, George felt a sense of relief at having played just as he had remembered all those years ago, he observed he even played better. Likely due to his extra years of practice and playing. The persistent headache had faded into the background amidst the euphoria of the performance. Brian Epstein approached the band with a beaming smile, a mix of pride and relief evident in his eyes. "You lads were fantastic! The whole nation was watching, and you didn't disappoint. This is a pivotal moment for the Beatles," he exclaimed, shaking each of their hands.

As the excitement of the Ed Sullivan Show continued to reverberate through their lives, George found himself drawn to the solitude of his hotel room. The weight of this second chance pressed heavily on him. Alone with his thoughts, George reflected on the journey so far. The performances, the encounters, and the subtle changes in the dynamics between the band members occupied his mind.

They eventually clamber back into the car, girls and boys screaming pushing against police officers. George had taken his seat next to John again, almost absent mindlessly. As he sat by the window, gazing at the city lights below, a soft knock on the door interrupted his contemplation. John entered, a half-smile on his face as he closed the door behind him. "Quite a performance, wasn't it?" John remarked, taking a seat beside George.

George nodded, "Yeah, incredible," he stated bluntly.

John's expression shifted slightly. "Okay seriously mate, what's up with ya?" he asked, his voice filled with a jumble of worry and annoyance. George just pulls a face and, sighing while looking out of the window.

Ringo sensing the tension reached over and placed a comforting hand on George's shoulder. "We'll figure it out, Georgie," he reassured, the unwavering support in his eyes reflecting the depth of their friendship.

Arriving back at the hotel, night soon began to deepen and the buzz from their momentous performance on the Ed Sullivan Show slowly faded within the confines of their room. They found themselves seeking solace in a haze of smoke and conversation.

John, Paul, and Ringo sat comfortably, passing around cigarettes and engaging in casual banter, the air thick with the scent of tobacco. Yet, amidst the relaxed atmosphere, George sat apart from the group, a slight distance between him and the cloud of smoke that enveloped the room. The smell of cigarettes brought back nasty memories of his death from cancer.

"I'll pass on the smoking tonight, lads," George remarked softly, declining the offer of a cigarette that Paul extended towards him.

Paul raised an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flashing across his face. "You're not joining in? That's unlike you, Georgie," he commented, noting the departure from George's usual participation in their late-night rituals.

George offered a faint smile, attempting to brush off the deviation from his norm. "Just not feeling up to it tonight, you know?" he replied vaguely, trying to avoid drawing attention to his reluctance. He felt a growing sense of unease, a disconnection from the carefree camaraderie that usually characterized their downtime.

"I'm alright, just a bit tired, I'm just going to take an early night," George replied, offering a reassuring smile that did little to dispel the tension in the room.

As the smoke filled the air and the conversation continued, George's sense of isolation within the group deepened. The unspoken tension surrounding his mysterious return and his physical discomfort heightened his feelings of detachment from the ease of their camaraderie. With a heavy heart and a lingering sense of unease, George sought solace in the quiet corners of his mind, wondering if the mysteries that surrounded him would ever find their answers and if the connection between him and his bandmates would transcend the uncertainties that lingered between them.

The night waned on and the Beatles found themselves winding down after the excitement of their performance on the Ed Sullivan Show, a subtle tension lingered in the air. George's uncharacteristic behaviour had not gone unnoticed by his bandmates.

John, Paul, and Ringo exchanged knowing glances, a silent acknowledgment of the shifts in George's demeanour that had become increasingly apparent in recent days. The air in the room was thick with unspoken concerns.

"I can't shake off the feeling that something's bothering George," Paul finally spoke up, breaking the quiet lull that had settled over them.

John nodded in agreement, his brows furrowed. "He's been acting mighty odd lately, keeping to himself, actually sitting next to me in the car and now declining to smoke. It's not like him," he added, voicing the observations that had been weighing on his mind.

Ringo, ever the sweet one, chimed in. "I've noticed it too. It's like he's here, but not really present, you know?" he remarked, echoing the sentiments shared among them.

The Beatles exchanged concerned glances, grappling with the implications of George's behaviour. "Should we talk to him about it? See if he'll open up?" Paul suggested, the worry evident in his voice.

Ringo hesitated, "He might not want to talk about it, but maybe showing some support could help," he mused.

In the dimly lit hotel room, George lay on his bed, a heavy sense of guilt settling upon him like a shroud. The conversation among his bandmates, their concerned whispers barely audible from the adjoining room, reached his ears.

As he listened to their hushed tones discussing his peculiar behaviour, a pang of guilt pierced George's heart. The weight of their unspoken concerns bore down on him, amplifying the disorientation and unease that had plagued him since his inexplicable return to the past. He had tried to not make his friends worried, but realised he may have only been making it worse.

"I'm such an idiot," George muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper, as he buried his face into the pillow. He chastised himself for causing worry and disruption within the tight-knit circle of their friendship.

He wished he could alleviate their worries, explain the inexplicable circumstances, but the nature of his return rendered him helpless, trapped in a time and reality that defied comprehension. The voices of John, Paul, and Ringo discussing his oddness continued to reach him, George couldn't help but feel a pang of self-blame.

While these thoughts swirled in his head, he slowly drifted into sleep, a vision of Olivia and Dhani smiling penetrate his mind.

Despite the camaraderie and the bond they shared, George felt a sense of isolation, as if he was an outsider in his own story. The echoes of their concern reverberated through the room, amplifying the dissonance he felt within himself.

With a heavy heart and a mind weighed down by guilt, George lay in silence, questioning the complexities of his return and the impact it had on the band's unity. As he wrestled with his inner turmoil, he yearned for a resolution to the mysteries that plagued him, longing to bridge the gap between the past and the present, and to ease the burden of secrecy that threatened to fracture the harmony of their friendship.