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"your pa isn't home is he?"
that was the first thing george asked, shutting the door behind him hesitantly. he stood in front of the door to paul's bedroom, his face bright red from running all the way here. even though they'd stopped riding the bus to school together, george harrison and paul mccartney remained good friends. great friends really. when they weren't in school they were at paul's house (bigger, nicer, less noise, no one to baby george and pinch his cheeks) or at one of paul's band practices. they'd been spending so much time together that george's parents had hardly ever seen him home these days. and when he finally did arrive, he'd immediately go to the room he shared with peter, crash face first onto his mattress and quickly fall asleep.
the good thing was, however, that aside from those band practices, they had spent nearly all of their time together alone. alone! what a wonderful word! independence at last! freedom to do and be whatever george wanted. and today, he was going to do the thing he wanted to do most.
he was going to kiss paul.
"why? scared he'll catch you?" paul looked up from the notebook in his hands with a crooked smile.
oh, george was terrified.
paul didn't know george wanted to kiss him. paul couldn't have known, george hadn't told him yet. he sucked in a breath, his throat cotton-dry.
"no."
"right then, c'mere, son," paul jutted out his lip and furrowed his brow, motioning with a big scoop of his hand for george to approach him next to the bed. george took a step. and then, another question came, and escaped from his mouth just as quickly as it'd entered his head:
"where's mike?" paul barked out a laugh, throwing his head back. his shoulders shook with the force. beautiful.
"what's wrong with you today, georgie?"
i like you so much, i like you, i like you. you're my best friend in the whole world. and i like you so much. much more than a girl, much more than anyone, even my mum. i like you so much.
"just curious," he near whispered. paul didn't seem to hear.
"i've been banging out a new song with john," paul says, his voice thick with boyish glee. john. john, john, john. john was all paul ever wanted to talk about. his new older friend john could play guitar and write songs like george had never seen. and on the occasion that paul had let george tag along, the two of them never stopped bloody staring at each other. if he was going to do this...
"why don't you show me one you've been working on, just you."
"how do you mean?" paul raised an eyebrow.
george shrugged, tugging off his rucksack and emptying it out on paul's bed. he'd forgotten his guitar case at home, figuring it'd be much too bulky anyways. he planned to get a lot of movement in today. at least with his mouth. he shook away the thought as he dug around for a pen.
"you know, a mccartney original."
"george," paul groaned, dumbly drawing out the "eo" in george's name, annoyed. he tutted, "he's me creative partner, you know."
"he's like fifty!"
at that, paul laughed again, "he's eighteen!"
"oh, good for 'im, then, he's still bloody ancient!"
"oh, come off it, hazza," paul tried, shoving the contents of george's bag off his bed to take a seat. as he roughly tugged off his shoes, he surrendered, "but alright, sure, i'll show you one of me own."
"a good one this time, yeah?"
"shut up," paul smiled. his cheeks fanned out into beautiful roses and george heard his own breath hitch in his throat. he swallowed and hoped paul hadn't noticed. he took a seat as well, taking off his shoes and then sitting criss cross from paul, their faces only inches from each other. george's eyes bored into the top of paul's head, lovely and hot and dark chocolate brown, which smelled so, so clean. i like you so much. i like you so, so, so much.
paul stretched over, grabbing his guitar from the other side of the bed. george admired his nimble fingers as he played, something which was a perfect blend between sweet pop and earthy rock and roll, rich with texture like mead. and paul's voice! oh george could swim in that slippery alto tone, that little twang he puts on to sound anerican, the beautiful and imperfect trill in his voice when he tries to sing falsetto. george knew his cheeks were growing redder and redder as he studied paul while he played and sang, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.
he likes paul.
he likes paul so much.
he couldn't imagine anyone in the world looking so beautiful while they played guitar, certainly not george himself, who had a tendency to poke his tongue out while focusing on the placement of his fingers on the fretboard. fingers.. paul's pale and slender like a porcelain doll's. they moved with such confidence! how george admired him. and suddenly, the sweet song had quieted down and ended.
"why'd you stop?" george asked.
"the song's over," paul replied.
"i liked it," george shoved against paul's knee with his own, flashing a fang-toothed smile.
"i hope john will like it, too," paul said, and clearly georges attempt at steering the conversation away from john had failed. he frowned.
"i like it," george droned, "i'm here now. what's it matter what john'll think in four day's time?"
paul bit his lip, trying and failing at hiding the huge smile he wore, "what is it about john that gets you all worked up, georgie?"
"well, i've know you longer, is all," he tried, "figure i'm just as deserving of your time as that older feller but you 'ardly seem interested when i'm 'round." he pulled a face, trying to make paul laugh.
it worked.
paul shoved against george's shoulder, "what's that 'sposed to mean, hazza! we're together right now, aren't we!?"
not enough.
george scooted closer to paul, who smiled wide. his cheeks dawned that delightful pink again. i like you. i like you. i like you.
"we are," george started, giddy, "but you've got to know what i mean."
"maybe," paul said, drawing out the syllables. he set his guitar back to the ground where it'd been. george couldn't stand it any longer.
he reached out and tucked a stray brown curl behind paul's ear before sliding his hand down to cup paul's cheek. they locked eyes for a moment, both beaming, both turning pinker by the minute. when paul showed no signs of backing away, george came closer and closed the space between them.
it was weird until it wasn't, to be kissing your best friend. and after it was weird, it was sweet. so sweet! george could die! he smiled so wide he broke the kiss, exploding into a fit of giggles and paul smiled and rolled his eyes.
"what kind of kiss was that!" paul complained and george giggled. "c'mon, do it proper!"
"sorry, sorry!" george tried to calm his laughter, "it's just—"
paul grabbed both sides of his face and pressed their lips together again, cutting george off. george, for his part, closed his eyes and melted, holding onto paul's hands where they were against his face. this felt so new, so foreign and lovely. of course he'd kissed someone before! he and iris had kissed loads of times! but iris was a girl. paul was not.
paul was not.
he smiled again. he didn't understand when or why he had started seeing paul in a new light— it just sort of happened.
"i've never kissed one of me mates before," he whispered when paul pulled away. the two of them were still smiling, red-faced.
paul's lovely eyebrows shot up, that little look of shock george loved, his face still and pretty like a porcelain doll's. "honest!? i can't believe that, really!"
"well, why would i 'ave?" george said, his fangs on display as he spoke, "i didn't think you'd be as open to it as you were, paulie."
at that, paul pouted, "even i've kissed a mate before, geo."
"and lookit you– yer a fuckin' cupcake," george tutted, shaking his head in pretend shock, "i've really got to get meself sorted."
"what's that supposed to mean?" paul smiled and dragged a hand down to where george's lay limp on his lap. he intertwined their fingers, "am i too posh to fancy boys?"
"well, only slightly."
"lucky for you, i fancy just one," paul brought george's hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss against the knuckles.
i like you, george thought again. i like you so, so, so much.