** 1965 —

You’re one of the assistants to the Beatles—and honestly, it’s not a bad gig. Stable pay, interesting work, and you get to rub shoulders with the biggest band in the world. At least, that’s the part you tell yourself every morning.

But there’s a tension that clings to the air like cigarette smoke. It’s in the way George’s camera lingers a second too long when he thinks you’re not looking. In the way John invents excuses—dropping a pen, needing a hand with his coat—just to brush against you. Paul’s gaze tracks you across every room, slow and deliberate, a heat you can feel on your skin. And Ringo keeps pressing things into your palm: a warm scone, a crumpled ten-shilling note, a silver ring that glints like a secret.

They’re not just fond of you. They’re obsessed.

Right now, you’re in the back office at EMI Studios, scribbling out interview times and jotting down setlist notes for their upcoming television appearance.