The Way I Am, Paul/George, G
Title: The Way I Am
Pairing: Paul/George
Rating: G
Word Count: 439
Notes: For cellarfulofboys prompt #5: the music
Paul came sulking back with his tail between his legs, which was a rarity, unless, of course, he was after something, and he nearly always was. George pretended he didn't see him and leaned down to scratch out a couple of lines.
"What's that you've got there?" Paul asked, hands in his pockets, pointing with his chin.
"Nothing you'd be interested in."
"Says who?"
"Right then. Nothing I'm interested in showing you. How's that, then?"
Paul dragged the piano bench over and sat down, one leg on either side, hands back in his pockets. "So first you're upset because I've no interest in your songs, and now you're upset because I have?"
George shook his head and penned in a line. "I'm not upset. Not anymore."
He could see Paul's eyes cast down to the paper, trying to read his hasty scrawl without appearing to do so.
you don't see me crying
you don't hear me sighing
George sighed and rubbed his fingers against the side of his face, the stubble that had long since bloomed across his cheeks in his hours in the studio. "It's about you. About you and me and all this, and trust me when I say it's not anything you want to hear. Not right now."
Paul lifted his eyes to his, and George held his gaze even though he didn't want to, embarrassed by the anger still churning in the pit of his stomach waiting to make its way out of him as words and chords. Trying to become something more useful than hate.
He waited for Paul to push, to argue, to toss some glib comment at him, but instead he cleared his throat and stood. As he passed, he stopped and turned back a bit, and George could just make him out from the corner of his eye as he kept his gaze fixed on the plec he twisted between his fingers.
"I'm sorry," Paul said, voice soft and sincere.
"For what?"
Paul shifted his weight from one foot to the other before answering. "For a lot of things. But we can go into details later. Reckon you've had enough of me for one day."
George felt himself smile, but didn’t say anything.
“Tomorrow, then,” Paul said, and slipped out the door.
Picking up his pen, George added a couple of lines before letting out a deep breath, the fire somehow quenched though the song remained unfinished. But he knew, like Paul, that it would be waiting for tomorrow, and he wouldn’t be able to ignore either.
and I’m thinking of you
and all the things that we used to do
Pairing: Paul/George
Rating: G
Word Count: 439
Notes: For cellarfulofboys prompt #5: the music
Paul came sulking back with his tail between his legs, which was a rarity, unless, of course, he was after something, and he nearly always was. George pretended he didn't see him and leaned down to scratch out a couple of lines.
"What's that you've got there?" Paul asked, hands in his pockets, pointing with his chin.
"Nothing you'd be interested in."
"Says who?"
"Right then. Nothing I'm interested in showing you. How's that, then?"
Paul dragged the piano bench over and sat down, one leg on either side, hands back in his pockets. "So first you're upset because I've no interest in your songs, and now you're upset because I have?"
George shook his head and penned in a line. "I'm not upset. Not anymore."
He could see Paul's eyes cast down to the paper, trying to read his hasty scrawl without appearing to do so.
you don't see me crying
you don't hear me sighing
George sighed and rubbed his fingers against the side of his face, the stubble that had long since bloomed across his cheeks in his hours in the studio. "It's about you. About you and me and all this, and trust me when I say it's not anything you want to hear. Not right now."
Paul lifted his eyes to his, and George held his gaze even though he didn't want to, embarrassed by the anger still churning in the pit of his stomach waiting to make its way out of him as words and chords. Trying to become something more useful than hate.
He waited for Paul to push, to argue, to toss some glib comment at him, but instead he cleared his throat and stood. As he passed, he stopped and turned back a bit, and George could just make him out from the corner of his eye as he kept his gaze fixed on the plec he twisted between his fingers.
"I'm sorry," Paul said, voice soft and sincere.
"For what?"
Paul shifted his weight from one foot to the other before answering. "For a lot of things. But we can go into details later. Reckon you've had enough of me for one day."
George felt himself smile, but didn’t say anything.
“Tomorrow, then,” Paul said, and slipped out the door.
Picking up his pen, George added a couple of lines before letting out a deep breath, the fire somehow quenched though the song remained unfinished. But he knew, like Paul, that it would be waiting for tomorrow, and he wouldn’t be able to ignore either.
and I’m thinking of you
and all the things that we used to do