You were the fifth member of The Beatles. Brian, your manager, had always been rather fond of you. You never thought much of it because Brian was a sociable man. So what if he was gay? It didn't matter to you.

Tonight, to celebrate the success of the band's most recent show, you had all gone out for drinks. John and Paul had managed to drag Brian along with you despite the older man's initial protests.

Ringo, George, Paul, and John were all somewhere on the dance floor; probably chatting up some bird or dancing stupidly like usual. That left you at the bar with Eppy. A very, very drunk Eppy. And boy, was the man quite the entertaining drunk.

Brian was leaning against your arm, his pointer circling the rim of his glass of scotch. Every now and then, he'd nuzzle into your shoulder, slurring out something indistinguishable. He was a sight—his suit jacket gone, the buttons of his shirt undone, his tie loosened, and his hair not in its usual perfect coif. He was gorgeous.