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George hadn’t even been planning on saying anything. He was just eating at the table while Paul bustled around the kitchen singing songs to himself, and George just blurted it out.
“You make me really happy.”
Paul froze with a glass in his hand. “What?”
“I dunno,” George mumbled, swirling his spoon around his bowl. “The way you do everything is just so…happy. An’ it makes me happy, too.”
A faint blush appeared on Paul’s cheeks and spread to the tips of his ears. “Like what?”
“Like, you’re always singin’, all the time. Not just when we have to. And half the time they’re not even real songs, it’s just nonsense.”
“Thanks,” Paul said sarcastically.
“No, I mean…” George set his spoon down. “You don’t even have to know the song, but you still sing it because you feel it. You’re overflowing with music. And I don’t know how you do it.”
Paul gave him a very confusing look, and George was sure he had said something wrong. “I don’t think I’m saying it right—”
“No. You’re—that’s—” Paul wrung his hands together, looking everywhere but at George. “You really mean that?” he finally whispered.
“Course I do.”
Biting his lip, Paul slowly looked at George. “Wow, I…thank you.”
George smiled back at him, but his smile fell when Paul continued standing still. “Are you gonna come over here and kiss me or what?”
“Oh. Right.” Paul giggled nervously as he rushed to George’s side a bit too quickly and mushed their lips together with a little too much enthusiasm.
“You’re a mess,” George teased against Paul’s lips.
“Whatever. You love it.”
George wrapped his arms around Paul’s shoulders and pressed their foreheads and noses together. “Yeah. I do.”