At a glance, he was an average man in an average bar. Head down, unbuttoned shirt, empty glass in front of him. But if you looked closely, there was a lot more to this man. You'd see a sad man. A depressed man. A broken man.

His face was blanketed by his chocolate curls, his forehead resting against the edge of the bar. He smelled of whiskey, vodka, Bourbon...A combination of the many alcoholic drinks he had consumed that night and previous nights. However, it was his eyes. His eyes that spoke of the pain he was enduring.

Eyes that once were happy, cheerful, bright. But these eyes now were sullen, dark, and sad. They were hazel, with small spurts of green, but they now were dark and cloudy. His eyes had seen too much. Too many memories and too many stories. The many years of happiness he had seen with those eyes. But now all he saw was despair.

And what had caused all of this? What brought him so much hurt and so many tears? The answer was simple. Love. Love had brought him this pain. It was the one person who brought him so much happiness who eventually brought him to his current state of melancholy.

He looked up at the clock, the hands blurred from tears and alcohol, but he could still see the time was 12:46 a.m. Sighing, he allowed a few more tears slip down his cheeks and fall onto the bar. He reached for the bottle of cheap vodka he had bought almost two hours ago, but the bartender had already taken it away. He bought it and drank it slowly. Slow enough that every sip burned. He wanted to get drunk and he wanted to get drunk slowly. Slow enough that it hurt, so he would feel something more than sadness.

Letting out a shaky sigh, he looked again at the clock, seeing it was now 12:47. He considered going home, but what was the use? His small flat was dirty, cramped, and dark. Not much of a contrast to the bar at which he currently was seated, but at least there were people here. He didn't accept any help from these people, though, he wanted to wallow in sadness and self-pity. He wanted to feel the pain, to feel every ounce of hurt that he had brought upon himself.

He looked around the dimly-lit barroom, seeing the usual suspects that occupied the joint this early in the morning. A few cheap hookers, a few drunks, and a few people much like himself. It was like this every night, when the people on their way from work went home. They bought their drinks and laughed and talked with their friends until it was time for dinner. So, they went home to their wives and children, leaving the filthy and the dirty. The people who didn't deserve to live or didn't want to live. And that was who Brian was. A man who didn't want to live.

Brian was about to once again rest his head against the bar, but the sound of music playing from the jukebox stopped him. It wasn't just any sound, not just any song. It was the song. The song that brought him back to a million years ago, to a time when things were better...happier. When he was happy and his world was happy.

It's late in the evening
She's wondering what clothes to wear
She puts on her makeup
And brushes her long, blonde hair

"Let's dance!"
Roger's smile grew when he heard Brian's words, and immediately stood to join his lover. Wrapping his arms around the taller man, Roger gazed up into Brian's eyes, swaying softly to the familiar song. Brian rested his hands on Roger's back, leaning down so their foreheads touched. It was such a beautiful moment for the two of them, just them in their bedroom, candles lit, the soft music emanating from the radio. It was just Roger and Brian and no one else.

Roger soon rested his head against Brian's chest, feeling the beat of the older man's heart.

"How did I get so lucky? What did I ever do to deserve the love of the most amazing man in the world?"

Brian simply smiled, kissing the top of Roger's head. "I ask myself that everyday."

The song ended, bringing Brian back to reality. The memory of that night, two years ago, when he and Roger had danced to Clapton's Wonderful Tonight, was one of the happiest nights of Brian's life. They had a nice dinner and danced until two in the morning. Just him and Roger. That was all they had ever needed.

Brian reached for his empty shot glass, tipping it back in search of one more drop. Frowning when he discovered it to be dry, he set it down on the bar with a heavy sigh. Brian had expected himself to cry, but he was all out of tears. Every time he heard that song, he was brought back to 1977, before everything turned sour. Before he had torn out Roger's heart and, eventually, his own.

Brian turned to the jukebox, his eyes widening when a hooker went up to it and deposited a coin. He knew that whatever song she chose, it would have a happy memory behind it. Her dark, makeup-clad eyes skimmed the song selection before she punched in the number and returned to her seat in the back. Brian stared mindlessly at the bottles of booze carefully lined up on the shelves behind the bar as he heard the all-too-familiar melody.

Please allow me to introduce myself
I'm a man of wealth and taste
I've been around for a long, long year
Stole many a man's soul and faith

"Mind if I spend the night?"

The sound of Roger's soft voice echoed in Brian's ears as he watched the younger man shivering in his doorway. It was rather late that night and it was also pouring outside. Roger was soaked to the bone, his thin t-shirt clinging to his body while he huddled up to try and keep warm.

"Of course you can, Rog, c'mon in. I'll get you some dry clothes, you must be freezing."

Brian led Roger inside his tiny flat, gesturing for him to sit down at the kitchen table. As soon as the blonde was seated, Brian went into his room and grabbed a fresh change of clothes and a warm blanket for Roger.

"These should fit, but if they don't, I'll get you something different." Brian said with a smile as he handed Roger a pair of pajama pants and a black t-shirt.

"These should be fine, thanks. I'll change in the bathroom." Roger stood, still shivering despite being in the warm flat, and went into Brian's bathroom.

Brian put on a kettle for tea and turned up the heat, even though he was already quite warm. He poured the hot water into two mugs and added a tea bag to each. When Roger emerged from the bathroom, he quickly wrapped himself in the fluffy blanket and curled up on Brian's couch.

Brian picked up the mugs and took them into the living room, pausing to smile at the man buried under a blanket on the sofa. Roger had attempted to towel-dry his hair, but it was still damp and stuck to his forehead. His baby blue eyes looked up and locked on Brian's for a split second before landing on the mugs, a smile crossing his face.

"I'm still a bit chilly, thanks for making some tea."
Roger grinned and accepted mug, bringing it to his lips and taking a small sip.

Brian sat beside his friend, drinking from his own cup before setting it on the coffee table. He turned to speak, but was interrupted by a loud clap of thunder, a bright flash of lightning, and the lights flickering. Raising an eyebrow, Brian leaned back against the couch and once again turned to Roger.

"So, what were you doing out so late?" Brian asked, curious as to why Roger had been walking in the rain at nearly 11 o'clock at night.

Roger simply shrugged, looking down at his cup of tea. "I was bored, so I went for a walk. It started raining, and I was closer to your place than I was to mine, so I just dropped by." Roger turned away and looked out the window, not because he wanted too, but because he didn't want Brian to see him blushing.

Unbeknownst to Brian at the time, Roger had purposely went out in the rain, risking getting a cold, just to visit Brian and hopefully be allowed to stay for the night. He wasn't sure why he did it, but a little voice inside his head told him, "Why not?"

Brian stood up and went over to the radio, flipping through a few stations before finding one that was playing music. He didn't recognize the song, but he left the station on and returned to his seat beside Roger. The drummer had now leaned his head against the back of the couch, his eyes closed, so Brian took the opportunity to watch him. His wide eyes traced over Roger's chin, jaw, lips and nose, memorizing every line and curve.

He wasn't sure why he enjoyed doing this, but there was something about Roger that Brian just couldn't put his finger on. The pair had been friends for a while, and soon became best friends. They weren't very similar, but yet, Brian instantly felt a connection with Roger the first time he met him. Brian felt as if he'd known his new friend for years. The way he could so easily talk to him, how they got along despite their differences, and how Brian always had Roger in his thoughts. It was always Roger this and Roger that, always about Roger.

A low rumble of thunder woke Roger, and he looked around quickly, remembering where he was. Brian looked away from his friend, pretending to have been looking at the blank television the whole time, but he knew that Roger didn't buy it. Without any words, Roger leaned over the arm of the couch and switched off the lamp, ridding of their only source of light. He gathered up part of the blanket and cautiously draped it over the guitarist, scooting closer to him.

Roger leaned his head on Brian's chest, curling up beside him. Brian, of course, was taken completely by surprise, but nonetheless, was going to enjoy this moment for as long as it lasted. He wrapped his arms securely around Roger, resting his chin on the top of his friend's head.

It wasn't a moment they shared often, hell, they had never been that close to each other during the 3 years they'd known each other. But Roger loved the feeling of Brian's arms around him, and Brian loved having Roger cuddled up against him. Each man felt safe.

After a few minutes, Brian thought Roger had fallen asleep. They younger man's breathing had slowed, his eyes were shut, and he looked so peaceful. Brian turned his attention to the radio, smiling when he heard Sympathy for the Devil by the Stones begin to play. He soon discovered that Roger wasn't asleep, when he felt a pair of warm lips press against the fabric covering his chest. Looking down, Brian saw nervousness and fear in the drummer's eyes. As if he was unsure of his actions.

Brian, however, wasn't going to complain. He instead leaned down and placed a soft kiss on Roger's forehead, smiling at him in the darkness.

"Brian?" Roger asked in a quiet, sheepish voice.

"Yes, Rog?"

"Are you certain it's alright for me to stay tonight?"

Brian gave Roger a reassuring squeeze before whispering, "I'm positive."

Remembering that night, Brian wondered why he was so shy. It was almost as though he was scared to show his affection. Guess it doesn't matter now, Brian thought, shaking his head. That night in '72, Roger and Brian fell asleep in Brian's bed, arms wrapped around each other. Safe and secure and away from the rest if the world. It wasn't long after that night that the two started dating.

Reaching into his back pocket, Brian yanked out his wallet. Opening it, he found the picture of Roger that he had kept there for nearly four years. Roger was smiling, his soft hair messy from driving with the windows down. His blue eyes shined like the sun, happy and bright. Brian propped the picture up against the empty shot glass, looking into Roger's eyes.

Brian rested his head against the bar, tears finally coming back. A flood of happy memories poured into his mind, memories of starry nights, warm blankets, soft kisses, I love yous, caresses, calloused hands roaming across soft skin..

Then another flood of memories came. This one consisted of fights, angry words, tears, heartaches, and the day that Brian said he was done.

Why am I such an idiot? Why the hell didn't I see how much I was hurting him? Brian thought as he looked up once again at the clock. It was two minutes to 1 in the morning. He wondered what Roger was doing. Was he asleep? Was he crying? Was he in some stranger's bed?

Only thinking these things made Brian even sadder, as if it were possible. He thought about going to see Roger, and maybe trying to apologize. He immediately shook the idea out of his head, knowing that Roger would most likely not even answer the door.

So Brian just sat there, resting his head against the bar, tears pooling on the cheap wood. Would he ever go back? Would he ever see Roger again?

Brian sniffled, closing his eyes and whispering against the cool bar.

"I'm sorry."

Yeah idek what this is. I guess it's a one shot but maybe I'll do another part but it rogers pov if anyone actually likes this. But I just got the urge to write this so I did and it ended up being 2300+ words of what-the-hell-is-this