ZED got home that evening feeling more than a bit dead on his feet. With a sigh of satisfaction, he flopped face first into his bed. Every muscle in his body ached, his limbs sinking heavily into the comforter as he fell into a deep sleep.

The overtired assistant was forty-five minutes into an extremely pleasant dream when his mobile blared. Groaning loudly, Zed fumbled around before finally finding his mobile. With more than a bit of annoyance behind his words, he clicked to answer. 'What do you want?!'

His boss responded with horribly slurred speech. 'Now is that anyway to speak to your boss, Piggins?'

At the sound of his employer's voice, Zed sat straight up in bed, causing his head to pain horribly. 'Sorry, Sir, I didn't realise—'

'Oh, never mind that, never mind that, now. Look, I need you to come over. I need to ask you a question.'

'You— you can't just ask me over the phone?'

'No 'cause you have to see it, innit?'

'Sir, are you— are you drunk?'

'What? Yes, of course I'm drunk, Piggins! Whatswrongwithyou? Now, hurry. Come over, now. You gotta see, okay? Come over.'

Twenty minutes later, and against his better judgement, Zed found himself in front of his employer's townhouse. He knocked several times, with no answer. His worry increasing, he finally used his copy of the key to enter the multi-million pound estate. When he had first stepped foot inside only a few weeks prior, Zed remembered thinking it was one of the most beautiful and serene places he'd ever seen. But now, as he pushed open the door, he was met with booming rock music and the stench of stale alcohol. Covering his ears, he followed the deafening sound into the living room where he was met by the sight of his boss, standing on the back of his sofa as he brandished an artist's paintbrush in an assault of the wall. Zed’s jaw dropped at the sight of the previously pristine white wall was now covered in wide, purposeless brush strokes of deep purple, blue and red.

MacIntire turned, his grin heavily lubricated by drink. 'Pickering! So happy you made it!' He hit a button on a remote, quieting the music. 'What do you think?' He jumped from the back of the sofa with a stumble, putting an arm around Zed to steady himself. 'I've decided to become a very famous artist, just like Ally! What do you think of my first painting? I call it—' He struck a pose, wobbling horribly. '—“Drunk Guy Paints On Wall”.' He started giggling madly, grabbing Zed by the shoulder.

Dumbfounded, he stared at the man who only vaguely resembled his boss. 'Sir? Are you all right?'

'Of course I am! I'm drunk! You should be, too. Here! Have a beer!'

Zed looked at the proffered bottle with suspicion. Surely, this was a trick. Finally, he shrugged, unscrewing the cap and throwing all caution to the wind. 'To hell with it. You're so pissed there's no way you'll remember this in the morning.' He took a large swig, eliciting a cheer from his boss.

'Hey, Pickering, what day is it?'

'Well, as of eight minutes ago, it's the thirty-first of August.'

Without warning, MacIntire broke into song with all the grace and pitch of a dying walrus. 'Ha-ppy Birth-a-day tooooooo meeeee!' He downed the rest of his bottle before smashing the empty against the wall and grabbing another.

With a chuckle of disbelief, Zed raised the bottle to his lips. 'Happy birthday, Sir.'

'Oh? And what's happy about it? Thirty-five years old and I've peaked. There's only one step up between me and retirement. I have no spouse, no kids, and nowhere to go from here. I might as well just die right now.'

'Well, Sir, you do have your painting...' Zed cringed at his own joke, but MacIntire laughed.

'True. I can always fall back on that.'

'And, you have Ally.'

MacIntire frowned, taking another drink. 'Maybe.'

‘Maybe, Sir?’ 

But the man didn’t answer. Instead, both of them remained quiet for a long time, just staring at the wall and drinking. Finally, his boss turned, his speech horribly slurred. 

'Why do you stay, Pickering? I mean, why do you stay as my assistant? You should be in my shoes by now. Same education and emphasis in school, both top of our class. The only difference, of course, being that silver spoon shoved up my arse, as you like to say.'

A deep shade of crimson settled into Zed’s cheeks. 'I— I didn't mean—'

'Oh, yes you did. Every word. It's fine, really. I like a man who's candid. Another thing, I think, that separates you and me.'

Zed sighed loudly. MacIntire was so completely smashed, there was no way he’d ever remember this evening, let alone that Zed had ever even been here. He was never going to get another opportunity like this, so he might as well go for broke. 'No. What separates us is much more than that.'

MacIntire looked more than a little intrigued as he sat down next to Zed. 'Go on.'

'Your “end all be all” is work. That's it. Not family, not friends, no outside hobbies. Just work. Of course you got this far this early. You've done nothing but try to get ahead! You don't take time for yourself or Ally or anyone else. It's like you think a dinner once in a blue moon is enough to sustain a relationship, and it's just not! I've worked for you for almost a year now, and I'm pretty sure you don't even know my first name.'

'Yes, I do,' he said after a long moment of thought. ‘It's— Harold! Harold Higgins!’

Zed groaned loudly, removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. 'That's the male lead from My Fair Lady.'

'Oh, right. I thought it sounded familiar.' He laughed. 'But that doesn't mean I don't like you! I wouldn't have promoted you if I didn't like you. Besides, my mother told me she'd kill me if I ever fired you.'

'You're kidding,' he said with a chuckle.

'Nope. Said you were good for me. And she's right—' He scooted closer to Zed. 'You are. Good for me. You help me to see where I’m going wrong. And you keep me right. So— very right.'

Before Zed knew where his employer was, MacIntire had leaned in, kissing him deeply while humming into his lips. All thoughts ceased as he tried to process exactly what was happening. It was shocking, yes, as the man who intimidated him so much pressed against him. But, surprisingly enough, it wasn't altogether unpleasant. His touch was soft but confident, sending sparks down Zed's spine. A gentle hand rose to the back of his neck, tracing circles into the short hairs there. Though the smell of beer was thick, it was somehow overridden by the tenderness of the action. It had been so long since he'd been really, properly kissed. It was intoxicating. It was invigorating. It was... wrong! So very wrong!

Finally, Zed pulled away, not allowing himself to succumb any further than he already had. 'Mr MacIntire, what—'

'Oh, I think we're past formalities, now, don’t you? Call me Mac.'

'Mac, I—' But he was silenced by yet another alcohol-tinged kiss. Zed felt himself slipping into his boss’s arms, again, moaning into his lips. It was several moments before his brain rebooted, bringing him to his senses as he pushed his boss away. As he stood, his stuttering was worse than it had ever been before.  'I— I'm not— I can't— you're— so— and I— I'm not— what— that's not— I don't—'

All too soon, MacIntire seemed back to his old, lofty self. 'Oh, good heavens, Pickering, it was only a kiss! Look, just—' He stood with some difficulty, waving at the door. 'Just go home. I'll see you in the morning, yeah?'

And, with that, his boss stumbled upstairs, leaving him dumbstruck and alone.

THE young Welshman had barely slept that night. The feeling of his boss's lips against his own had stayed with him well into the morning. He wasn't sure how much MacIntire would remember, if anything at all. But it was something that he would not soon forget.

By the time that MacIntire made it into the office, it was well after ten, but he didn’t sit as Zed offered him his coffee. Instead, he grabbed his briefcase from the desk, looking anywhere but at his assistant. 'I'm leaving for France in half an hour. I'll return Monday, mid-morning.'

The words cut through Zed like a knife. 'You— I don't have anything on—'

'Last minute business meeting in Paris, very high profile client. I expect you to keep track of my affairs while I'm gone. I believe there may be a board meeting as well. Be sure to take thorough and sufficient notes—the secretary never does.'

Zed's heart was doing backflips as he spoke. 'Yes, of course. But— I was ho— hoping we could talk before—'

'Talk about what?' MacIntire’s head raised, but he didn’t face Zed, almost as if he were viewing him solely from his peripheral vision.

'I— I don't know how much you remember, but last night—'

'I remember everything, Mr Higgins.'

Zed’s breath hitched in his throat. 'You— you do? Then, I just wanted to— we didn't really have a resolution after—'

MacIntire sighed deeply, rolling his eyes. 'A gay man and a straight man kissed, Mr Higgins. How exactly do you imagine that ends?' He fixed him with a brief, but very meaningful, look. 'Now, if you'll excuse me...'

The CFO strode quickly from the room, leaving Zed alone with his dizzying thoughts.