Chapter 5:

    Ringo slowly opened his eyes, and the first thing he noticed was his throbbing headache. The second thing he noticed was that he was not in his own bed. He thrashed the covers off of him until he could quickly sit upright to look around.

    As his frantic glancing landed on the door, George strolled into the room. Well, more like dragged himself. His hair was haggard and his eyes were drooping.

    Ringo had another thought. Wait a second, what am I doing in George's bed?!

    His face suddenly lit up in a blush. George noticed this and quickly jumped to explaining what happened.

    "Last night you were, er, pretty drunk. I had to drag ye' back to the hotel room and get you cleaned up. But you vomited in your bed, so I slept on the couch and let you use mine.."

    Ringo gave himself a small unsure laugh and a facepalm after hearing the explanation. How could he even think of that?! But also, had he done anything last night? All he could remember was drinking, a lot, over a certain someone..

    He opened his mouth to ask George, but he noticed that he was gone.

    Getting up, Ringo entered the living room, (connected to the kitchen), and noticed George was making breakfast. The sweet aroma of French toast filled the room. Ringo would be normally hypnotized by the scent, but his head was already pounding from the hangover.

    He sat down at the table as John and Paul entered, wiping sleep from their eyes. George was busy serving the toast, and carried it over along with some syrup to give to the rest of the group.

    As George sat down and they all began to eat, Ringo noticed John giving him strange looks, then smiling to himself. George was avoiding his gaze. God Ringo hoped he didn't do anything too embarrassing last night.

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John's POV:
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    Every once in a while I noticed that I would glance at Ringo, and then Paul.

    I noticed this with George and Ringo, but I had already felt it before.

    I wish I had someone that I could turn to like that, not to mention the huge crush I used to have on Paul.. He looked like freaking Elvis Presley! I probably sound like a bird, don't I?

    All 'cause of my stupid feelings..

    I can't tell him, though. Even if Paul is fine with the two of them, doesn't mean he isn't straight as a board. How would he think of me if I told him, how could he write with someone that looks at him that way?
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    Paul looked over at John, who was staring off at the room's many paintings.

    God he wished he could suck it up and tell him.