Work Text:
George sat on the bus after school. It had gotten pretty crowded by then so he'd found himself with an older boy he didn't know sitting next to him. He didn't mind though, the boy was keeping to himself and George was content with looking out the window. He had noticed, though, that the boy had gotten out a notebook and was humming to himself. Deciding this was interesting, George turned to sneak a glance at the page. Surprisingly, he found that there were no words there, only letters written out in some apparent pattern, though what it was George didn't know. He furrowed his eyebrows trying to make sense of it as the boy continued his humming, stopping occasionally to scribble down another letter.
"What're you up to?" George asked curiously, leaning over to get a proper look at the book propped open on his neighbour's knee. The other lad startled, snapping his book shut instinctively.
He hesitated before answering, "Well, it's a bit silly but I was writing out the notes to a song I'm learning." At George's raised eyebrow, the boy followed up with, "Like practicing but without the piano, y'know?"
Oh, makes sense.
George's eyes widened at the realisation, "You play an instrument?" he asked excitedly.
"Well, not really, I only just started learning the piano." he admitted with a small laugh. "I do sing in the church choir a bit though."
"That's still really cool though," George said, forgetting himself slightly. This boy was unlike anyone he'd ever met before. George didn't personally know any musicians to compare him with but he was sure other people didn't practise like this. "I'd love to be able to make my own music," he said, mostly to himself.
The other lad smiled at him and shrugged, "Go for it then."
George nodded then faltered, searching for something else to say. Now that he had someone interesting to talk with about his vague dreams of making music, he found all words had left his head. He'd never seriously considered playing music himself before, it sort of seemed like something that other people do. Yet here he was, sitting next to a boy just like him who did play music already, encouraging him to try it. Maybe that meant George could do it after all.
"I like singing too but I've never actually considered playing an instrument before," George said, looking down at his hands sitting in his lap. "I mean I've thought about it, I'd love to, but it never seemed like a real possibility, y'know."
"I think I know what you mean," The boy nodded slowly as he spoke, like he was carefully considering what George had just said.
"I want to play the guitar," George said, then held his arms out to grip an imaginary guitar and strummed the air. "What do you think, does it suit me?"
A big laugh erupted from George's neighbour, hitting him in a strange way that warmed his heart unexpectedly. He was right, this boy was definitely different from anyone else he knew.
"I think the birds won't be able to resist you," the boy said, giving George a friendly knock on the shoulder. "I'm Paul McCartney by the way."
George held out his hand for Paul to shake, meaning it somewhat as a joke.
"George Harrison," he grinned at Paul as they shook. Their eyes met and George felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was as if he'd just been struck by a jolt of lightning. Though they'd only just met, he suddenly felt like he knew Paul and like Paul knew him right back. He gazed into Paul's eyes for a beat, taking in their details. They were a soft hazel colour, hooded with a heavy eyelid and yet somehow still huge at the same time. George thought they were the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen.
Then he caught himself; he let go of Paul's hand quickly. He shouldn't be thinking of another boy like that, it wasn't right. Even so, they still hadn't broken eye contact, and it felt as though there was an invisible bridge between them. A wire connected them, one that now held the lightning's energy.
Paul looked at George expectantly, like he thought he might say something. Instead, George said nothing, he simply searched his new friend's face for some sign that he'd felt this connection too. Though nothing about Paul truly betrayed that fact, George was certain he had. He just knew somehow.
"Did you feel-" George started before realising that probably wasn't something you should ask people. He wasn't even quite sure himself what he was asking. "Nevermind," he said, turning away from Paul to look back out the window. His cheeks were hot and quickly reddening with embarrassment. George was acutely aware he was coming off extremely strange.
"Sorry," he mumbled, not looking back.
"'S okay," he heard Paul answer, followed by the sound of shuffling and paper moving.
That was it. He'd fucked it. Paul had gone back to writing in his notebook. Whatever this encounter was, whatever it had been, it was over - along with everything it was supposed to mean. Everything it could have meant. George felt numb all over. Maybe he was overreacting in feeling like this… Yes, he was definitely being a bit drastic. Outwardly, it would seem silly, but nothing had ever felt more serious to George.
“So, if you were to have a guitar, what would you want to play?” Paul asked. George turned back 'round to see that the other lad had shut his notebook back over and was looking at him with kind eyes. Maybe Paul was just humouring him. Maybe he just wanted to be nice to the younger boy who'd gotten flustered shaking his hand but George found that none of those potentialities mattered to him. For some reason, Paul wanted to keep talking to him and he couldn't have been happier.
His darkened mood forgotten, George rattled off a few artists he was inspired by. As they talked, George found that their conversation adopted a comfortable familiarity - the kind you'd have when you chat to someone you've known for years, not a boy you just met a few minutes ago.
"My stop's coming up," Paul interjected after a while. He frowned slightly to himself before perking up and asking, "Hey, do you take the bus in the morning too?"
"Yeah," George nodded.
"Great!" Paul smiled, "I'll see you tomorrow then."
"Gear," George said as Paul shoved his notebook back into his bag. "See you tomorrow," he agreed.
As George watched Paul walk up the street from his vantage point on the departing bus, he felt different. The world had changed, something new had happened. George couldn't quantify it, he barely knew it was there, but it stood strong in his mind all the same. It was like he'd been looking through a closed window all his life and meeting Paul had opened it a crack, just enough to let the air in. It was dizzying to feel after all this time indoors. Maybe one day the window would open wide enough to fall through. What would happen to him if he did? At least for now, he was excited just to see Paul again tomorrow.