Work Text:
“Ritchie. Ritchie.”
“Mm?”
“Come see the trees.”
“We’ve seen the whole lot, love,” Ringo turns his groan into a slow exhale of breath. “Can’t choose one?”
“No,” George pouts. “There’s too many.”
This is the truth. A diverse acre of trees shrouds and surrounds them. If Ringo had a better head he’d remember their names, instead of grey-bark and black-wood and walnut because he sees the fruit.
So, instead, he searches for something browner. He wraps his arms around George and moves his hair from his eyes.
And George, sighing, slides into place. “You choose.”
“A walnut.”
“Oh! That’s fab.”