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It’s daft and illegal. But what else can they do?
“With this ring,” Ringo wrestles it off with difficulty, “I—ow— ask you to be mine.”
The potted plant stares back at him. Ringo sighs.
“Light of my life,” he begins again, “Fire of my soul… eew.”
“My funny valentine… sweet comic valentine..” he sings, hating himself, “you make me smiiiiiiiiiiiiiile with my heart—”
“George, would you make me the happiest man alive and… and…”
He sighs again as he drops his hand.
It’s daft and illegal. But maybe, just maybe, it’s just him.
“I love you,” he says to the plant, dejected. “I don’t know if I can ever tell you how much.”
The plant, of course, remained just as it had been.
“Even if we can’t, ye know, ever make it official, I wouldn’t mind,” Ringo rolls the ring between his fingers. “And I hope you won’t too. Cause if we could just stay together, I’d have reached it all. I’d be happy forever and I promise I’ll make you happy too an’ take care of you till my last breath and—”
The ring flies out of his hands. Ringo curses. It falls, rolls, lands with a clack against the door that had not been ajar when he’d entered.
Ringo all but screams.
“...really?” George says as he moves more of his head in. “Yer leavin’ me for a fern?”
“I— uh—”
“I’m hurt and disappointed,” George laughed even as his gaze dropped upon the fallen ring. “Thought you’d at least pick somethin’ with flowers.”
“How long have you been standin’ there??”
“I heard nothing,” George lies, eyes darting sharpish to every corner of their living room. The table lit with candles, the fireplace with crackling logs, the new arrangement of roses and lavender on the mantel that’d been ordered in some burst to make it all mean so much more. “I can come back in ten?”
“No,” Ringo says. He’s too aware of the tears that prick his eyes. “Come here, please?”
And George comes to him. If there was any doubt George might not return his affections, they dispel when he’s pulled into a tight hug that becomes a sway, a gesture that rocks him to calm and fills in for him all the things he can’t say out loud.
“When did ye get the flowers?” George whispers in a kiss to his brow.
“Today,” Ringo closes his eyes. “Had to come back early to sign for it.”
“I see.”
Ringo shuts his eyes tighter.
“Is it one of your rings?"
“Thought it’d be more special than some new one.”
“I think so too.”
Ringo dares open his eyes when George presses it back into his hands, gently curling his fingers inwards to conceal it. He needn’t worry. He never had to worry.
“Alright?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” George moves to cup his face. “Ask me.”
Ringo stares at George in the fire-glow and is floored by the fullness of his own heart.
“Marry me,” Ringo says breathlessly.
“Yes.”