Keep Making Trouble

by BluestJayy

Chapter 15: Do You Still Love Me Like You Used To?

Summary:

Howard and Vince begin to fix things together.

Dan and Jones creep down the stairs, their overwhelming presence in the flat deflating slowly with each step. Howard listens to the pad of feet, Jones walks a lot softer than Vince, he notices now. It could be because of his footwear choice, or perhaps just that Jones has made it his life’s mission to not be noticeable while Vince is the opposite. Howard even hears the limp he had observed on Dan following closely behind Jones’ tiptoeing like a well-trained spaniel. The door closes, and it smacks of finality. The colliding worlds separate once and for all; everyone is back where they belong. 

Any suggestion of the doppelgangers has dissolved into the air like spectres into the night, and Howard is underwhelmed by what is left behind. 

He has assumed that Vince’s return to his rightful place, brushing shoulders with Howard, standing so close that he can hear the younger man’s slightly rapid breaths, will sort of… click everything back into place. It is supposed to be the logical conclusion to the whole event. A sense of relief. A sense of belonging. 

Howard does not feel like he belongs. Worryingly, he has never felt more displaced than he does at the moment. 

Permeating the air is the distinct sensation of estrangement. It’s uncomfortable. Howard has been living with an unfamiliar body for the best part of a week and he’s never felt as out of place as he does currently; in the silence of his own flat with his best friend of twenty years. It’s startling. Vince should be the embodiment of familiarity but thanks to the shenanigans of the cockney twins all of Howard’s wires are crossed. His carefully compartmentalised emotions, his easily defined universe, are all upside down and inside out. Boundaries are blurred, lines have been scrubbed out and crossed, and any sense of normalcy left the flat in the pocket of the velvet jacket Jones was wearing--a jacket that was once Vince’s.

It does not escape his notice that Jones has apparently run off with Vince’s voice too. Because while the younger man had practically kicked the bedroom door in and demanded to talk earlier, now that there isn’t the safety net of another two people, Vince seems to have run out of things to say. 

In an effort to stop himself from drowning in his own discomfort, Howard moves. He does what he always does when he can’t stand the sound of his own thoughts or bear the weight of Vince’s wide blue eyes; he keeps busy. The pot of tea he had been brewing previously is still sitting on the side, probably ruined now. Vince doesn’t like his tea too strong and the bags have been stewing for a considerable time. Best start again. 

Teapot emptied, kettle refilled and set on the stove to boil, Howard moves around the kitchen with a kind of practised ease that comes with hours of using menial tasks as a coping mechanism for his lack of control. And it’s painfully obvious exactly what he’s doing, he can tell because Vince is tracking his every movement with the kind of knowing and yet sympathetic stare that most people would only receive when ill or down on their luck. It’s like Vince pities him and doesn’t know how to help make the situation any better. 

Ignoring him, Howard dutifully moves to tuck away their spare mugs, the guest mugs, since there are now only two of them and not four. An act that is not that unusual, until it is. Because Howard moves to add sugar, to prep the mugs for the water, and he realises that he’s made a jarring mistake. 

He’s put away Vince’s mug. 

Which might not seem like a large deal. But when you consider that Howard and Vince have preferred mugs, ones that they almost always drink out of and have done for years, then it seems worse. 

Vince’s mug, the one Howard almost always sees him holding unless it desperately needs a wash, is a pink and purple monstrosity. It’s got misshapen polka dots and crude stars. Vince painted it himself in his teen years. Normally, in the process of making tea, that imperfect and colourful item sits next to Howard’s preferred cup. His is a nice muted tartan, the lines neat and in hues of navy blues and forest greens. A respectable cup. 

So the fact that he looks down to see his own mug parked next to one of their bland guest cups instead of Vince’s usual mug takes him by surprise. To confirm what he’s done he peers up into the cupboard and sees, perched innocently, Vince’s hand-painted mug. 

Vince’s mug that Jones has been drinking out of for the past few days. 

It’s a completely stupid thing to push him over the edge, but Howard appreciates patterns and routines. That cup was Vince’s and its other half was Howard’s cup. That was how it went. As sure as the sun would rise each morning, Howard and Vince would use their favourite mugs. 

And it says something, at least it does to Howard, that when going to make them a refreshing warm beverage he has attempted to give Vince a run of the mill boring mug that they stole from a bed and breakfast in Salcombe. 

Howard has broken a pattern and he did it because he does not see Vince fitting into that particular pattern right now.

Which is distressing. 

Arguably the most in character for him to do is to pitch a fit over something minor--that’s a recurring theme he’s happy to stick to. Balances out the irregularity, even. 

The frustration overcomes him so much that he digs his nails into his palms harshly, snatches Vince’s actual mug and snaps the cupboard door shut with a bang . Out of the corner of his eye, Howard sees Vince flinch, there’s a brief feeling of guilt but it doesn’t linger. Like the master of deception he is, Vince covers his features in a veil of confident aloofness. It reminds Howard that a lot of things haven’t changed, and that’s not necessarily a good thing. 

Vince steps further into the kitchenette, and Howard is at least impressed by his bravery. 

“Bit weird being back if I’m honest.” Vince starts gently. He’s eyeing up Howard cautiously and it’s a drastic change from the insistence of their chatting previously. “You should have seen Dan and Jones’ flat, Howard, would have driven you up the wall, the mess of it.” 

Howard wants to engage. This is, after all, their normal. Strange things happen and afterwards, they make a cup of tea and talk about how bonkers (yet exciting) it was. This doesn’t feel remotely the same as the other times. Howard is mentally cycling through his Rolodex of typical responses, of the things they’d tease about, joke about, and nothing seems to fit. 

This time their adventure had been able to talk back and as much as Howard is used to playing a sort of bumbling cowardly character, he finds that he doesn’t want to be anymore.

Jones is one of the bravest people Howard has ever met, and so is Vince--to be honest he didn't know Dan well enough to comment on his courage but some of the things he had said, hovering over Howard’s shoulder with his voice a low growl. It all simply adds up to one conclusion… Howard was perhaps a little bit sick of being at the bottom of any given food chain. He wants to break the cycle before it’s too late and all it takes is the mixup of a mug. 

Howard drops the teaspoon against the counter and sighs with as much defeat as he’s ever been capable of mustering. He looks up, Vince meets his eyes, and all the sunshine he had been forcing onto his features melts away. There’s just the chill of a rather sad man left behind. They’re both tired, apparently, both ready for a change. 

“Come on then you big lump, I’ll meet you up there.” Vince gently nudges him out of the way and takes over the process of tea making.                                                                              

Howard doesn't need to clarify what Vince means. He simply sets off for the back of the flat, for the skylight, and for the roof. 

***

People say a lot of things about Vince Noir. Howard has heard a lot of it, being that he has a talent for being stood right behind Vince and therefore invisible; concealed in the little man’s shadow no matter that he is several inches taller and broader. 

Vince is referred to as a trend-setter. As cool. Howard has heard, more times than he is actually comfortable with, people calling Vince sexy and attractive and pretty. It’s all very good at defining who Vince is on a surface level, and they’re all assessments of Vince’s physical character that Howard would wholeheartedly agree with. Vince is pretty. He is cool. 

And somewhere in his early twenties, Howard had come to the startling conclusion that yes Vince is also a bit sexy. 

But there’s also a lot of things that Howard says about Vince. Publicly and privately. In public, Howard will refer to Vince as his little man. His naive sidekick. Comic relief is Vince Noir, he is full of witty jokes that often blur the line between intentional ignorance as to how the world around him works and genuine innocence to it. 

In private, the confines of his own head and once to Lester when he had too many whiskeys after the whole Fox ordeal, Howard will call Vince his soulmate. 

Which is a sentiment almost as old as their friendship, and well worn. Because here’s the thing, the thing that he’d been trying to put into words for the past few days as Jones prodded and poked about their relationship. Howard has never been anything but sure that he loves Vince. It was simply a fact of life for him and had been for some time. Just a fact of life. Yeti’s hate Malt Loaf. You don’t go fishing on Black Lake during a full moon. Howard loves Vince. 

The predicament they had found themselves in as of late had nothing to do with Howard having a crisis over his feelings, or, even, his uncertainty that Vince may potentially feel the same way. He thinks, quite confidently, that they have both known for a while how they feel about each other. 

Because while there is an awful lot of things that people can say about Vince Noir, no one can say he’s stupid. 

Howard knows because he often calls Vince stupid when he’s feeling particularly mean. He knows how deep that barb cuts the little man, being that Vince joined school late and with no real reading or writing skills, that he still can’t spell all that well and on a good day gets confused after counting to fifteen. Howard knows more intimately than anyone what a source of deep-rooted embarrassment it is for Vince that he isn’t as traditionally smart as others his age. 

No matter how often growing up Howard had insisted that Vince is clever, he is just clever in his own little ways, Vince wouldn’t believe him. Vince preferred to declare books were boring and that’s why he hated the library, not because the thought of all that activity he couldn’t participate in intimidated him. 

And look, Vince isn’t a genius by any stretch of the word, that much is obvious. But he does harbour a niche kind of intelligence that even Howard is jealous of, that he has to belittle sometimes to make himself feel better. 

Vince’s cleverness is rationed like supplies during a war, meaning he usually saves it for when it’s needed the most, and in the wake of him siphoning off his common sense, it leaves him doing some very silly things without even realising it. 

Like now. Vince is trying to climb through the skylight despite him having two mugs of tea in his hands. One in each fist, and Howard watches the dark crown of his head (still infused with the sharp red of another person’s style) hover unhelpfully in the square of the hatch for at least five minutes before he gives himself over to the fact he’s going to need to help. 

Howard scoots across the tile with an affectionate sigh and relieves Vince of both mugs so he can scramble up, and before long they’re settled shoulder to shoulder on the roof. Vince takes his cup back, and Howard realises he had in fact kept the pink and purple monstrosity that Vince likes to use, and he had stuck with Howards traditional mug. He is, intentionally no doubt, forcing them back into the habits that Howard was distraught at breaking.

They sip their teas in silence for a moment, Vince lets the air settle. It is just after noon, so the sun is still high in the sky, but it is also Autumn, and any light it is giving off has been dulled by the presence of clouds. The chill in the air doesn’t dissuade them, though. If anything, the occasional shiver they’re both giving grounds them, Howard is reminded that despite everything that has occurred in the past few days, the past few years, there is always this. Vince, a cup of tea, and the safety of their roof. 

“It doesn’t change as much as you think it does,” Vince starts, and Howard is unsure if he means Jones and Dan’s existence or the mugs, or something entirely different.

“Well, you said that about living with Naboo and look how that turned out.” Howard quips half-heartedly. 

Vince turns a gentle and all-around relieved smile on his pale features like he’s glad to know Howard is at least still talking to him--Howard wonders how Vince could ever think he wouldn’t be.  

“Say what you like about Naboo, he gives us a pretty genius deal on the rent.” Vince reasons, his gaze sliding askance and doing nothing to conceal his underlying guilt. This kind of guilt is usually on display when he’s keeping a secret. 

“He doesn’t charge us rent,” Howard says before his mind can stop his mouth from unveiling one of the few things they don’t talk about in this friendship. 

Vince snaps his attention back to Howard with wide scared eyes. “Not in the traditional sense.” 

“Not at all , Vince, I’m not daft you know.” The fear previously on Vince’s face instead melts away into sadness. He clearly isn’t interested in defending himself anymore, and once again, Howard regrets shattering this careful illusion that has been building between them for years.

“How long have you known?” Vince asks, a hush of a whisper so quiet that Howard has to strain to hear it over the whistle of the wind in the air.

Honestly, he’d known since they moved in. Vince had volunteered to take care of the rent arrangement with Naboo, and that was suspicious in and of itself considering the words ‘bills’ usually made the little man nauseous. 

That had been the first clue but the second was that Vince is not as subtle as he likes to think he is. Every month Howard hands Vince his half of the supposed rent money, and every month Howard would find various sums of cash stashed away (in his own sensible piggy-bank, in his wallet, even stuffed into the pockets of his corduroy jacket as if he had simply forgotten it was there) totalling, would you believe it, exactly how much rent Howard usually pays. In typical Vince fashion, his common sense was a little lacking in that, he often assumed Howard simply wouldn’t notice the money reappearing. 

“Since forever,” Howard breaks him to it like bad news and Vince takes it much the same. Shoulders dropping and the light behind his eyes dimming to something akin to grief. Like he was coming to terms with the loss of something important. 

Another nail in the coffin of their friendship, maybe.

“And you never said anything,” Vince sips his tea--if possible--sadly. His eyes dance away and up, seeking distraction in the clouds. “Probably thought I was a right idiot this whole time.” 

“I didn’t,” Howard insists. “I don’t ,” And he doesn’t just mean the rent, though it’s uncertain if Vince understands that. “You’re not an idiot, Vince, and I do appreciate the effort but…” 

The problem with saying but is that Vince now expects him to finish his thought and frankly Howard isn’t quite ready to display that level of honesty in the admission that wants to tear itself free of his throat. So instead he goes back to sipping his tea and so does Vince. They feed off each other's silence for a very long time. They just sit, Howard listens to the world live around him, the wind singing, the earth breathing. Beside him Vince starts swaying back and forth, chewing anxiously on his lip. He’s shivering a little bit, and Howard realises he’s climbed out here on the roof in only his thin blouse. In the middle of autumn. 

“We should go back in,” Howard says, ever the coward. 

Vince looks at him, expression conflicted, and Howard can see the denial burning in his gaze. Which is how it would normally be. Howard is the one who postures bravery and talks down to Vince but he’s very rarely the driving force behind the action. Vince seems to be the one who underneath layers of false naivety guides them in the right direction. He finds solutions, he saves Howard time after time. That’s Vince. The real man of action. 

So naturally, Howard expects that Vince will do the same now. Howard will try to run away from this and Vince won’t let him, surely. Except he doesn’t. He looks at Howard and at that moment he looks so much like Jones had upon sitting next to Dan earlier. Sad. As if realising nothing had changed. Howard had only had the bravery to snap at Dan because both doppelgangers look hurt at his attitude. 

And now Vince is feeling the same. As if he has gambled every last penny he owns on a horse only for it to fail at the starting gate. 

Vince nods solemnly, silently, and turns toward the skylight and Howard... Howard sees his life flash before his eyes almost. The day he met Vince, the kid followed him around the school playground begging to be his friend. The person who had literally gone to hell and back for him. The supposedly self-involved man who had been so scared of losing what they had that he’d met his doppelganger and his first thought had been using it to save Howard. 

And all he sees at that moment is Vince being hurt and turning away from him so for once he acts. He reaches out and snatches Vince’s wrist, tugs him back around to face him and in the same moment tips himself forward. 

It would have been the perfect declaration of romantic intent, another kiss on the roof like their last but done right this time, except the move must startle Vince because he leans back with a cry of ‘what you doin!’ and nearly goes tumbling off the tiles. Howard has to snatch him not only by his wrist but drop his mug so he can snag a handful of the blouse too. 

They scramble Vince back to a stable place on the roof. Distantly, Howard hears the crash of his mug hitting the street below and shattering. Vince is breathing panicked breaths against his chest where Howard has bundled him to keep him safe. 

They stay, Vince trembling, Howard with his nose tucked into the sweet-scented strands of Vince’s hair. They’re heaving adrenaline-fuelled gasps against each other. 

Just long enough for Vince to get over the shock of nearly being kissed and nearly dying in the space of a few minutes passes, and then the younger man is detangling himself (very carefully) and smacking Howard’s arm in annoyance. “What the fuck was tha’!” He demands, the rough cockney tones signalling his anger. 

“A gesture?” 

“A gesture? Christ Howard, you could have killed me!” 

“Obviously that wasn’t the intention!” Howard snaps back, now getting annoyed with how annoyed Vince is. 

“What was the intention then, revenge is that it?” Vince seethes. He jabs a pointed finger at Howard’s chest. “Cause I did it to you so we’ve gotta make it even?” 

Vince seems to think this is the most likely solution and Howard wonders if he has spent time thinking this is what Howard would do to get back at him. Wonders how long Vince’s character has been festering with unnatural paranoia, poisoning his blood. “No, Vince--”

“Cause that’s low even for you,” Vince's features are twisting in pain and Howard honestly doesn’t know where he went wrong. He had thought this would be what Vince wanted from him, Jones all but said as much. Showing versus telling, he was trying to show! But Vince spits at him, “You big bastard .” 

“Vince, that's not what I was doing!”

“Then What?”

“I was trying to show you that I…” Howard stalls, the wind has been taken from his sails. “I..”

Vince huffs at him. “Always were a shitty liar.” He’s sniffling god he’s sniffling. “If you have something to get off your chest just say it, don’t pussyfoot around your revenge--”

“I love you!” Howard yells, Vince clicks his jaw shut so hard his teeth click. “Brian Christ , when did you start being the paranoid one? Is it so hard to believe that I just wanted to say--to express my feelings. My feelings being that I love you. A little bit.”

“A little bit?” Vince rasps, still, in shock, he finds the weirdest part of that confession to focus on. It’s strangely relieving. More like the Vince he knows. 

“Quite a lot actually.” 

Vince thinks for a moment, Howard can practically hear the cogs turning inside that pretty little head of his. Can imagine the Brain cell running panicked circles round and round in his sparkly office while the ever-unruffled secretary does nothing to assist. 

Then, Vince once again slaps Howard on the arm. Sharp and startling. “Who tells someone they love them by knocking them off a roof!”

“I do, sir!” Howard announces loudly back. “It’s shocking, it means you’ll never forget it. It imprints in your mind--lots of people would kill to be where you are.”

“I’m sure they would,” Vince rolls his eyes but at least it is starting to look like the Vince he knows. Fond and affectionate. There’s colour rising in his cheeks and small happy creases pinching at the corners of his eyes. 

Motionless, Howard waits for whatever comes next. Nothing does though, Vince looks over each shoulder and then says. “Come on. Peeping Peter across the road will be having a field day, let’s have the rest of this chat inside.”

That Howard can agree to. 

***

Sliding back into the flat is somehow less intimidating now that Howard has started constructing a bridge over the gap in their relationship. Vince drops down first, heels clicking against the little step ladder they use to hoist themselves up. Howard shuffles down afterwards. It isn’t until he has latched the skylight closed and trailed after Vince that a realisation hits him. 

Vince is rinsing his mug in the sink, his purple and pink monstrosity, and Howard looks down to his own hands where he at one point had also had a cup. “My mug!” He announces with all the air of coming to a startling conclusion. “I dropped my mug!”

Vince looks at him over his shoulder, eyes darting to Howard’s conspicuously absent hands and then back in the direction of their bedroom and the roof hatch. He seems to remember how Howard had dropped it in order to snatch at Vince’s body. 

“Oh, Howard… I’m sorry.” And he genuinely is too, Howard can see it etched into his delicate features. Vince looks like he is perhaps bracing himself for Howard to once again lose his mind, seeing as the mugs had been the straw breaking the camel's back in the first instance. “I’ll get you a new one.”

“I’ve had that since we left Leeds.” Howard whines, and it’s part of the reason he had been so bothered about it earlier. There was history in those mugs, weird but important history. “That’s fourteen years Vince, not even a chip." There’s a snap. Vince’s sympathy is clouded over with guilt, a veil dropped over him like a shadow. Howard’s stomach drops, he thinks he already knows where this is going. “Don’t say it--”

“We’re doing confessions, aren’t we?” 

“Vince, stop it--”

“That's not the same mug you left Leeds with.” Vince pauses, possibly for dramatic effect or simply to will himself to say what he needs to say. "I broke it… And replaced it."

For a moment, Howard stalls. He had known that was coming. Doesn’t make it any less startling to hear from Vince’s mouth. Confirmation of the dissociation between the image of their relationship and the real thing hurts. It’s like standing on either side of a canyon and reaching desperately for each other and being certain you will never be able to meet in the middle. A gaping canyon of lies. "You replaced my mug?" 

"Six times," Vince admits, his voice is small.

"Six ti-- how?"

Vince kicks his feet against the floor anxiously. Shrugs his shoulders and looks at his own booted feet. Howard is reminded of him as a child, trying to avoid being scolded by utalising his big blue eyes and hesitant smiles. "I just broke 'em. It happens."

Irritatingly, Howard does sort of understand. He has been in similar situations plenty of times. He's spilt something on a cassette tape or accidentally swapped an accessory for a bag of magic beans. Once he'd hoovered up a whole eyeshadow palette. The natural thing to do is replace them. So he's really in no position to throw stones about this particular grievance. 

Never stopped him before though. Howard Moons glass house was shattered years ago, leaving him perfectly capable of throwing all the stones he wants. "So, you lied?" 

Shockingly (Howard feels his heart jump and thinks it might just be the end--of them? Of him? Both, they go hand in hand those endings) Vince looks him straight in the eye and nods. It deflates Howard's annoyance immediately. As much as Jones has been drilling honesty into him the past few days, he had assumed he would be the only one coming back to this pair having learnt lessons. Maybe he is wrong, maybe Vince is returning wiser too. 

Howard feels the need to match him. "Been a lot of that going on lately hasn't there?" 

No denial comes, and Howard can’t think of how they’re supposed to start a conversation like this one. So he tries behaving somewhat normally. He shuffles off in the direction of their sofa because doing this in a place of comfort makes sense. Vince follows him like an obedient puppy, of course.

Howard settles onto one side of the sofa, and Vince comes to perch comfortably on the other without a second thought. He tucks himself into a small shape, as he has done since he was a child and was worried about being in trouble. This is always how Vince has dealt with negativity, as long as Howard has known him. He makes himself small like it won’t be able to target him.

Now he tucks his knees to his chest and wraps his arms about them, peering up at Howard with his shy eyes. 

“Is it time to be ducks?” He asks, and it’s amazing how Vince manages to be a walking spectrum all by himself. The kind of man who parties into the early hours of the morning and yet also someone who speaks with the attitude of a ten-year-old. Who recounts references from their earlier conversations with a toothy yet anxious grin. 

“I think so.” Howard agrees, and he’s no idea how to lead--but it’s clear Vince expects him to. He’s sitting there silent, just waiting. Waiting so long Howard eventually has to say, “You’ve been quiet since you got back.” 

Vince shrugs one shoulder, blinks up at him. “Jones said I needed to hear you out.” 

“Oh did he,” Howard rolls his eyes fondly. Granted he did tell Jones he was going to tell Vince everything, but saying and doing were two different beasts. “I wish I’d known that I would have prepared better. Written a speech or…”

“Or a cream poem?” Vince suggests shyly. 

Howard manages a little snicker. “No. My cream poetry days are well over, little man.”

“Shame, they used to be quite funny.” 

Howard leaves the retort he could bite and instead tries to continue on his trend of being a man of action. “Not really sure where I’m supposed to start, to be honest.” 

“The beginning?” Vince says, and he isn’t even looking at Howard anymore. He’s picking stray fibres off his fabric-covered knees. 

“The beginning.” He repeats, clarifying Vince knows exactly what he’s asking for. 

Vince peers up from beneath his lashes and nods his head. “Just like the old days Howard. All our stories have beginnings, middles, and a happy ending.” He takes a deep breath, and Howard finds himself matching the action. “So we start at the beginning.” 

It makes total sense, in their world, this is how they do things. Tell stories. They overcome a problem with almost unbelievable amounts of luck, forget the lesson they supposedly learnt the following week, and they’d do it all again. Adventure over and over and over, cataloguing the tales between them like they were bookends holding up a whole library.

They’d just been stuck in something of a between time. It makes a lot of sense and yet Howard still finds a lump in his throat and a wry smile on his face because Vince says it with such certainty, such confidence, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Because of course, he did. 

And because he can’t stand the small, scared look on Vince’s face he does exactly as he’s told. He starts at the beginning of this particular tale. 

“After the island, with Milky Joe…” He starts, pauses, waiting for Vince to interrupt but it doesn’t appear that’s going to happen. So he continues. “When we got back, I think that’s where the beginning is.” 

Shockingly, Vince nods his head in what appears to be agreement. Howard swallows thickly. 

“Something changed.” Howard continues, he thinks he is being incredibly brave if he was being honest with himself. “But I don’t really know what it was.” 

“A lot, I think,” Vince mumbles, but he doesn’t elaborate. He seems to be following his word in letting Howard talk. Howard hates that a little bit because he’s not used to being the real problem solver. 

Howard clears his throat. Tries to engage Vince a little more so he feels less like he is bearing his soul. “Why did you ask to break up the band?”

“I didn’t, not forever anyway,” Vince says quietly. “I just thought, after what happened, we needed some time not… doing everything together.” 

Howard takes that information at face value, casts his eyes away as if in shame. “Right. Okay.”

“No, Howard…” Vince sighs, he shifts anxiously. “I don’t mean like that I mean… this is why Jones said you should talk first. Because I can’t do words like you can.” 

“Fine, I’ll talk then.” Howard sits straight and gets ready to pour his heart out. Vince similarly shifts his posture, ready to listen. 

Howard talks. 

“I was a bastard on that island. But so were you.” He says firmly. Doesn’t miss the way Vince flinches but it feels good to say it at least. And once he’s started he can’t stop, he doesn’t want to stop. “And then we got home and you kept being a bastard. Well. You sort of did, sometimes we were fine, and other times we weren’t. I had no idea when I was going to get the Vince who spray paints vicious rumours about me on the shutters or when I would get the Vince who wants to have a satsuma fight. It’s unfair.”

“I know,” Vince rasps. 

“Being mad at me is fine, Vince. We get mad at each other, that’s half of our history is bickering. I just wish you’d tell me when you are so I can fix it.” Howard rounds out his rambling with a sharp inhale. “It’s hard to fix when I don’t know what’s broken.” 

Thus far Vince had been doing pretty well at hearing him out but at this point, he twists his features into annoyance. “You’re not that oblivious Howard,” Vince says lowly. “You surely must know some of what’s broken.” 

He’s got him there. 

“My point still stands,” Howard says. “That if you don’t talk to me I can’t fix it. Punishing me but also not talking about it gets us nowhere.”

“As if you don’t do the same thing!” Vince accuses sharply. “You pissed off with a coconut first, Howard. You decided to get so annoyed with me that you built yourself a whole new friend. So let’s not pretend I’m the only one who's in the wrong here.” 

Annoyingly he’s right. But Howard has never claimed to be anything other than a bit of a hypocrite. “The difference is, Vince, you… You go too far.” 

“ I go too far?” Vince’s voice shoots up with his indignation and Howard flinches at the sheer volume of it. “Bloody hell Howard I knew you were up your own arse but this is taking it to a whole new level.” 

What do you even say to that? Howard has no idea. He stares down into his lap and fidgets with his fingers. Vince wanted him to talk, but his talking was just getting him yelled at.

They sit in silence for a large amount of time. Howard doesn’t look up but he can feel Vince’s eyes boring into the side of his head. The air is tense and warm. Howard feels like he’s climbed inside an oven, claustrophobic. Tight. 

Silence for another few minutes and then Vince sighs. The air between them deflates. 

“Sorry.” He clears his throat and Howard swallows thickly. 

“It’s okay. Think I deserve it.” 

It’s amazing how quickly they have gone from declarations of love to a tense environment. 

“This is why we never talk about serious things,” Vince mumbles sadly. 

“There surely must be an easier way,” Howard grumbles back. “People do this stuff all the time and somehow stay in lo-- friends.” 

The mistake doesn’t go missed. Vince crackles like a livewire. There’s confusion and hurt and anger fizzing between them, only being contained by Vince’s low sense of shame at their shared guilt. He doesn’t say anything though, he just forces himself into stillness and blinks at Howard. “Maybe we start fresh.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I have been using Jones’ shampoo for a week and I need to fix that.” He smiles softly. “Let me shower, you can… whatever you do on a Sunday usually. And we’ll reconvene in an hour. Give us a chance to think about things?” 

“Okay.” Howard agrees, because how can he do anything but? Vince has all but set his boundaries. 

Vince nods, ensuring they are both agreeing to the same plan going forward. Howard forces a smile onto his face and then nods in return. He tries to pretend he doesn’t feel nauseous watching Vince walk away, tells himself the sound of the bathroom lock clicking into place doesn’t make him dizzy. 

Just get on with his Sunday. Right.

***

What Howard chooses to do with his separation time-- and isn’t that hilarious, that they have just returned to one another and somehow need space already--is to go for a walk. They don’t necessarily need anything from Tesco (unless they have suddenly started selling relationship elixirs--Naboo stopped stocking those months ago after a terrible stalking incident) but strolling to the end of the street and back again feels more productive than sitting on their sofa with his leg bouncing and his heart doing its best to break free of his chest. 

So he walks. 

The entire way he tries his best to do what he’s supposed to be doing during this time, formulating the right words to say to Vince. The initial try hadn't gone as well as either of them had hoped, being that they ended up just yelling at each other a little bit. This time he needs to be more logical, approach it from a different angle. 

Maybe leading with an apology would be a better place to start... but even then that feels counterproductive. Jones had said as much to him too. That he couldn’t keep shouldering the blame and letting Vince get away with it. Howard was under no illusions that he definitely had things to apologise for, but taking his own advice should likely be at the top of his priorities list too. 

If he wants to be in your life then he has to take responsibility for his actions. 

So now comes the part where Howard does that; makes Vince take as much responsibility for his actions as Howard is trying to take. Easy right? Somehow, he doesn’t think so.

Upon arriving at Tesco, Howard still enters, despite them not actually needing anything the more time he can waste with this faux-productivity the better. Vince was known to take long showers and Howard would be damned if he was going to let himself be trapped in anxious limbo with Vince’s karaoke voice as a soundtrack. He walks aimlessly up and down the aisles, content to do so for a considerable amount of time going forward but then there is a girl. Pretty Shop Girl, Howard calls her whenever he references her to Vince. He asked her out once, and now he always tries to avoid her shift patterns because otherwise he was threatened with being banned from ever shopping here again. 

Howard stalls, spots her, she spots him, and before she can open her mouth and scream for reinforcements, Howard squares his shoulders and reaches for a packet of Strawberry Bootlaces. “For my boyfriend.” He explains and then turns on his heel and struts off. 

In all honesty, Howard doesn’t know why he did that. Called Vince that. But maybe it had something to do with the humming in his blood, leftover from the rooftop and the bickering: I’m a man of action, it screams. Howard agrees, but he’s not sure why lying to Pretty Shop Girl about his relationship status with Vince has anything to do with it. 

At least, he doesn’t know until he goes to checkout and Sleepy Eyed Susan (friends with Pretty Shop Girl) blinks down at his purchase and asks, “Lovers tiff?”

“Sorry?”

Susan (Howard isn’t even sure that’s her name, to be frank, but he’s rolling with it) grabs for the packet of sweets and scans them. “We see you in here all the time after you’ve had a tiff with your wife,” Susan explains as if this were simple math. “At least I reckon that’s you, isn’t it. I’m not sure,” Howard stands stock still, forever a victim to his bland features it seems. “Hmm, maybe I’m wrong. Anyway, if it is you or isn’t you, someone like you is always in here buying sweets for his Mrs when he’s upset her. Quite sweet really, wish my husband made some sort of effort to do little things like that. That’ll be 89p, love.” 

It’s been a week full of epiphanies and you’d think that Howard would have run out of realisations to suddenly be having. Regardless, he has another one tucked in his mental sleeve and now is the time to release it. He throws a whole fiver at Susan, snatches the sweets off the counter and hurries out of the shop long before he can gather any change. 

It’s not about the fighting. Or it is. Sort of. 

***

Scuttling back to the flat, Howard lets himself back in with shaky fingers pressing his key into the lock. His rapid feet carry him up the stairs unevenly, desperate as he is to try and be back in the place Vince left him before the younger man emerges. The last thing he wants is for Vince to already be out of the shower because then there is a significant portion of conversation that will have to happen before Howard can get to his part.  

Howard reaches the top, swings his weight on the bannister, like Vince often does when he comes home sugar high and perfume drunk, and comes face to face with Vince. A furious Vince. The dark strands of his hair are still dripping wet, not even encased in a towel, he has pulled on some pants and a t-shirt that clings to the contours of his body like it feels the need to personally demonstrate everything Howard has spent years stealing furtive glances of as they shared living spaces.

And this is what he had been hoping to avoid, because instead of just saying what he needs to say Howard finds his skin aflame. Even like this Vince is hands down the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and why has Howard never told him that, why-- Christ, there’s a drop of water skirting across his sharp jawline, down his throat, disappearing into the collar of his shirt-- 

“Where the hell have you been?” Vince screeches. 

“Uh--”

“I came back and you were gone, and your phone just--” Vince is waving his own mobile around, and Howard realises that he must have been trying to call. “And you didn’t leave a note or yell through the door or…” 

Vince is panicking. Not inconsequential ‘how am I going to make these trousers fit me’ panicking. Real panic. The rare kind that only ever seemed to happen in the face of something Vince couldn’t laugh off. Big things. Vince has managed to giggle his way through being stranded on islands, meeting grim reapers, being threatened with death, mostly because his insides aren’t manufactured to deal with things that the general population would call ‘concerning’. Vince’s brain has constructed its own version of concern and this? This falls very high on Vince Noir’s hierarchy of stressors. 

Howard drops the sweets in his hand to the floor and crosses the room in two firm steps. He isn’t thinking, he’s just acting. Large hands settling on Vince’s upper arms just as his thin body sways dangerously. And while Howard has some idea of what’s happening, it’s familiar but new and he isn’t entirely sure how he’s supposed to combat this. This isn’t like Vince he has ever known before, and that's when it hits him (these epiphanies were reproducing like rabbits inside his head).

This isn’t a Vince he has ever known. And that’s the whole fucking point. 

“I’ve got you, little man.” He slides his arms around the fragile trembling shoulders, and Vince wraps his arms around Howard's waist, he sways again, pressing his face into Howard’s chest and letting out a shaking breath. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

This has Vince shuddering something that sounds like a sob, and his knees give out. Howard lowers them both to the floor, Vince bundles into his lap, he presses his nose into his hair and shushes him gently until the trembling stops. 

***

It can’t be more than half an hour. Not that long at all in the grand scheme of this whole week. But Vince takes several deep breaths, the very being of him shuddering apart and reforming again in the space of Howard’s arms. 

Dan had been right. 

Before Jones and Vince had re-emerged he had said--

“I’m sorry.” 

Howard’s thought process is cut short by Vince shifting awkwardly (and awkward doesn’t suit him, it’s too big for his frame, hanging off of him like one of Howard’s corduroy jackets and washing him out, making him dull) out of his lap. He thankfully doesn’t go far though, he just lands his bum on the wood floor and shuffles a little out of the way. He sits with his legs crossed beneath him and blinks at the floor rather than look at Howard. “Didn’t mean to get all…” He hasn’t got the words for it, but his hands clench and unclench in front of him in demonstration and Howard knows exactly what he means. 

Touchy. 

“It’s fine,” Howard says, and it’s perhaps the most convincing thing he’s said in his life. It really was fine. “You thought I’d left?”

Vince darts a look at him, guilt and shame and sadness pooled in his eyes and making something sickly gather at the base of Howard’s lungs. “I just… Called for you and you didn’t answer and when I came out you weren’t here and… You never normally go anywhere without telling me.” 

And Howard knows what he means. They’re sinfully co-dependant to the point Vince almost always knows where he is, even if he thinks he doesn't. Even if Howard thinks he’s done a good job of escaping, of joining the bin men and disappearing into alleyways, Vince would always find him. It was like he was a walking compass and Howard was his true north. So when he’d come out and Howard was conspicuously absent that must have been… not fun. 

“I just went to the shop.” 

“It didn’t feel like that.” 

Vince is staring him straight in the eye, trying to convey something and Howard is struggling to decipher what it is exactly he’s getting at. And this is the same thought he had been having earlier before he had been preoccupied holding the pieces of his best friend together. That somewhere along the line, he had stopped being able to translate Vince’s looks. 

Somewhere along the line, Vince had changed, and so had Howard. And that wasn’t a bad thing. People change, they age and they grow, but the problem was that Howard had been so wrapped up in his Vince. The blonde naive child who worshipped the ground he walked on. Howard had been trapped on interpreting all their habits as if they were exactly the same as all those years ago without considering the new context.

They still bicker, and Howard still purchases treats as a form of apology. The actions remain but the context has shifted. 

In simpler terms, he hasn’t really been giving this new version of Vince the room he needed to breathe. 

“You… I don’t know what you mean.” Howard admits, and it feels horrifying to have said that out loud but also a little bit relieving. To admit in some capacity that he’s been really trying to understand, not just now but everything from Milky Joe until the last tear Vince has shed a minute ago. 

To admit he’s been failing. 

And to his credit, Vince doesn’t look so much annoyed by the admission as he does, perhaps pleasantly surprised. Like maybe he is coming to a similar conclusion. That all this time they have been trying to speak in a language they’ve grown out of, that Vince has too been doing his best to carry on as if they were still at the zoo and fluent in each other’s existence. But maybe they need to learn this new language together. 

“It’s daft,” Vince starts, but Howard rolls his eyes at him (fondly) and that seems to be enough to convince him to speak up. “I just… if there’s anything I’m always certain of it’s you.” Vince admits shyly. “All the time, even when we’re fighting. You’re like… some sort of very annoying song that’s stuck in my head all the time and even when I’m doing other, better, things, you’re there… you know?” 

Howard nods because he does know. Of course, his metaphor had been a bit more intellectual. Insisting that compasses and true north were a better way to categorise it, but naturally, Vince probably doesn’t know what a compass is--he goes to music. 

Howard still understands that part of him at least, and he chooses very resolutely to not look too deep into what Vince might be confessing. 

“The only time I’ve ever… not known. Well, I woke up and your half of the room was empty and Naboo was getting mad because he was having to run the shop while I slept and I remember making a joke, the first thing I did was make a joke… I joked you were probably hiding at Lester’s because you were too scared to admit that you didn’t really get offered a part. Because things… that doesn’t--” 

Howard doesn’t force him to finish the sentence. He already gets where this is going. He reaches out and (a little awkwardly) lands his hand on Vince’s bare kneecap. Vince shivers under his touch and he isn’t sure if it’s because he’s still damp from his shower and hanging about in their not very well heated flat, or if it’s the vulnerability making itself known. 

“You hadn’t said goodbye,” Vince whispers this directly to the floor. “And it was like the music had just stopped. I couldn’t hear it anymore, because we always fight, ‘oward, and we wind each other up and that’s fine but you’ve never not said goodbye.” 

He’s right of course. Howard always lets Vince know where he’s going to be in some way. Even if it’s a knock through the bathroom door while Vince showers and a quick call of “I’m going to the shop.”, usually Vince screeches back that he’d like to shower in peace, but it’s a ritual. The same as it is for Howard to loudly announce his intention to storm out just so Vince knows he’s going. He’s left notes all over the flat before if he creeps out for an early morning walk and is worried about Vince waking up to find him missing. 

He always says goodbye. 

And the last time he didn’t, he was gone for good. Or at least he was supposed to be. 

“You thought I’d run away again?” Howard clarifies, and Vince gives the smallest most pathetic nod Howard has ever seen. Howard’s rituals had been shattered with mugs, and Vince’s had been shattered with the lack of a word. “Vince, I’d never…”

“But you did.” It’s not even harsh. It’s just sad. “And I think I’m the same as you now…” Howard cocks his head to the side, questioning. “I don’t understand anymore.” 

The weight of that hits him in the chest. Nearly bowls him over. But not as much as the realisation that Vince is crying. Because when Vince cries it is a spectacle. It’s something to sit up and pay attention to and half the time that is the goal. It’s part of a tantrum or a way to get his own way. But it isn’t a spectacle now, there’s just a single tear slipping down his cheeks and Howard has to resist the urge to reach over and brush it away. He’s only ever seen Vince cry like this once before and it was on the bathroom floor of the keeper's hut when he was told they had to leave. 

Howard had made himself sick holding in his own sobs because if anyone deserves uninterrupted happiness it was Vince. 

Now Howard is just as useless as he’d been then. 

“So much for letting you talk,” Vince says, devoid of humour. He scrubs at his own cheeks with the back of his hand and clears his throat. “Jones is gonna be pissed I didn't do what I was told.” 

“You rarely do what you’re told.” Howard supplies, and it’s enough to drag a small hesitant smile from Vince. 

“I want to be able to understand again, Howard.” And it sounds like a question. Howard nods like he’s agreeing. “I want to be able to hear your stupid annoying song everywhere I go again.” 

It’s a declaration as much as Howard’s one on the roof had been, but it isn’t the end. He knows it isn’t, otherwise, he’d feel a lot more whole than he does currently. “What kind of song is it?” He asks, curious. “Jazz?”

“Absolutely not.” Vince cries, outraged, he even goes as far as to pretend to vomit. “Ugh, that’s disgusting. I’d have taken a swim in the Thames by now if it was that.” 

“Then what, if you tell me it’s some electro rubbish I’m going to take a swim in the Thames.” 

Vince hiccups some wet giggles, the first bit of happiness that has genuinely passed between them since they got back home together. It’s a light at the end of the tunnel. “No, it’s… Do you remember that one song you played once, years ago now? We were hanging out at your nan’s house and you tried to get me into your awful music.” 

It is probably incredibly telling that Howard does in fact know exactly which song Vince is talking about. But it isn’t all that surprising. Howard’s memories of Vince are filed away very organised right at the front of his mental storage space. All are easily accessible, labelled properly, in chronological order, and they’re visited frequently. 

Carefully, Howard, with a voice rough from his silence, start to hum the most distinctive few notes he can remember. Vince’s smile gets a little more real. Then it drops with some kind of dawning horror. “Wait…. That’s not Jazz is it?” 

“Not in a broad sense of the word.” He tries to behave as he normally would. Tilts his chin up as he knows better, makes sure to lace his tone with a seasoning of condescension. “It’s really more of a Soul track but they both have roots in Blues. Jazz took a more improvisational--”

“Howard, I literally do not care that much.” Vince is giggling as he says it. “A yes or a no would have been fine.” 

Howard pinches at the skin of his thighs and Vince wriggles away screaming. The silence settles on them again. “No, it is not a Jazz track.” 

“Good.” Vince looks around the room and then down at himself. “Okay, I need to go and get dressed. I’m cold. Get the kettle on again and maybe I’ll let you get two words out. Or Jones will kill me.” 

Howard nods his agreement. He watches Vince press to his feet and saunters off back to their shared bedroom. Under his breath, he is singing what he has called Howard’s song. “Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone.” 

***

All things considered, it shouldn’t be anything other than easy. Now that Vince has gotten some of it off his chest, he was bolstered with bravery. Howard gets up from the floor, scoops up the abandoned sweets he had originally brought as a peace offering. He moves to fill the kettle once more and generally, he feels warm all over. From the bedroom he can hear the familiar sounds of Vince getting dressed, can hear him humming their song under his breath and Howard thinks it’s one of the most fitting tracks he could have chosen, even in his youth. There truly was no sunshine when Vince was gone. 

It’s coming back though, slowly. Howard looks down at his hands, and he remembers touching Vince with some semblance of confidence, how that had felt. It reminds him a little how easy it had been to touch Jones, which reminds him of the fact he may have to tell Vince about their little bit of cuddling. Jones had indicated as much. 

He’s peeling his jacket off his shoulders when the memory hits him like a tonne of bricks. 

“They did something intimate.”  

Now, Howard and Vince have very different methods when it comes to putting two and two together. Vince will try to do it too quickly, miss the point entirely and get five, and then later will come to the correct conclusion through trial and error. Howard, on the other hand, will lie and say he’s got four before he has even tried to do the math. Then it will hit him later when he’s had time to really consider the equation in great depth. 

He hates that the solution creeps up on him now, right as they’re seeing the light at the end of this argumentative tunnel. 

He should be clear. The two sides of the equation are thus: on one end is Jones and his whispered confession that Vince would have something to tell him, that Dan and Vince had not had sex but physical things had occurred to the same level as Jones and Howard’s own cuddling. On the other end, was Dan. 

Hushed words spoken to him from across the room that had almost made Howard drop the sugar bowl. 

“Don’t be angry at him.” Dan had said, the first but not last words they’d said to each other while the cockney doppelgangers hid away in the bedroom. “Whatever he says it was my fault, I should never have--” 

At the time, Dan cut himself off with what Howard thinks must be guilt. They’d moved on fairly quickly, sharing hushed words so the others couldn’t hear them actually engaging in civil conversation. 

Howard hadn’t figured out that the two pleas for his patience would be connected but now he does. 

Now he’s come to the conclusion that Jones didn’t tell Vince about their cuddling because Jones understood it would likely crush Vince to learn of Howard being so adjusted to casual contact. And Dan was warning him about the one thing Howard would not be able to stomach Vince doing with Dan. 

Before he knows what he’s doing, Howard hurries into the bedroom, catching Vince with his hair pinned up and the straighteners halfway to his head. They meet eyes in the mirror and Howard just spills it. 

“You kissed him didn’t you?” Vince’s eyes tell the story. Howard feels nauseous. “Dan. You kissed him.”

There’s going to be a discussion, Howard knows because Vince flicks his straighteners off. He would never leave his hair half styled unless it was urgent. And that in itself is terrifying. There’s a story . 

“Jesus Christ,”

Howard doesn’t mean to clutch the shirt over his heart like a swooning lady, he doesn’t mean to stumble back a few steps, back out of the room. It’s dramatic, it’s incredibly dramatic, but so is most of their lives, to be quite honest. They make a living being rather over the top in every sense of the word and Howard likes to pretend he rises above it but in reality… he doesn’t. He is on some occasions more dramatic than his immature best friend. 

Vince scurries to his feet, reaches out with trembling hands to steady him and Howard in turn reaches back. It’s like his body doesn’t know what it wants right now; his hand's fist in the flowing material of the sheer blouse Vince is wearing, but his feet still appear to be trying to run. 

“Howard,” Vince says, but it sounds rather distant to the ringing in Howard’s ears. The sound of betrayal? No, even that seems like too strong a word. Hurt? No. 

The best word for it is probably inadequacy. 

“They didn’t mean anything,” Vince insists. 

Howard stops long enough to really think about what he just heard. “They?” Vince blanches a further pale colour and Howard feels his insides tearing. “You… They? ” Howard disengages from Vince but his feet stop moving. Now his body parts are moving in two different directions. His hands are retreating but his feet are moving forward. “It happened more than once?”

There’s a tiny little voice, in the back of his head, that sounds a little bit like Jones, and it’s telling him that he’s overreacting. But Howard’s temper has always had a habit of blinding him in the worst way possible. Just like it’s doing now. 

Vince’s eyes are a heady mix of annoyed and ashamed. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then tell me how it was!” Howard demands, and his voice raises just enough to make Vince flinch. 

Which is around the time Howard realises he’s stumbling into actions he can’t take back. 

He pauses, takes a deep breath, and rethinks his approach. He still isn’t happy, he can feel the annoyed tension sparking between them like an exposed wire. Howard’s not the only one annoyed now, he’s dragged his negative mood into the bedroom and shoved it into Vince’s lap and made it his problem. 

“The first time he thought I was Jones,” Vince explains, a slight hardened edge to his tone. 

Howard nods. Okay, that one he can let slide. It still stings, quite a lot, but what could the man do? “And the other one,”

Vince looks sheepish, then he rolls his shoulders and in a moment of what Howard assumes is a rare spate of him owning up for his own actions he admits. “Dan initiated and I didn’t stop him.” 

It hits him like a slap. Which really, Howard knows it shouldn’t. Vince was his own man, he was single, he could do what he liked. But something about this was just different. Vince went out week after week and would stumble home in the mornings bragging about this girl and that boy, drunkenly boasting about his heartbreaker status. But somehow, Howard could separate that from his Vince. He could lock it all up because in the morning a doe-eyed innocent slip of a man would wake up and call the night boring, and Howard would chalk it all up to being stories. 

He would never let himself consider whether they actually were stories. Because truthfully, imagining Vince with his hands on someone’s hips and their mouth on his… It is devastating.

Separating this from Vince, though, is going to be impossible. For a lot of reasons. Mainly because the face he kissed is identical to his own. Maybe because he’s stood in front of Howard now, owning the action--like he isn’t even sorry for it. 

Or maybe it’s because of the discussion they had not ten minutes ago. The one where Howard had thought they’d come to an understanding. That he thought had been them finally admitting their feelings. And now he feels like Vince has somehow gone behind his back. 

Howard thinks several times a day about Vince kissing him on the roof and now another version of his face beat him to their second try. 

“Okay.” And both of them know that it’s quite clearly not okay, because the tone is all wrong. “Right.” 

Nothing happens though. Howard stands there, unhappy with this new development. And Vince watches him stand there, also unhappy with this new development. 

Then Vince opens his mouth wide in outrage. “Stop thinking about it!”

“I’m not thinking about it!” Howard lies, he absolutely was. He couldn’t help it. He was wondering where it happened, how did Dan kiss? Probably a damn sight better than Howard. Vince said he hadn’t stopped it. How long had it gone on for? But despite his denials, Howard’s cheeks go beet red and he can see it in Vince’s gaze. He’s been caught out. 

“You are!” Vince’s initial annoyance transforms into something like fond amusement. Howard usually would be fine with that but it feels too Raw (with a capital R).

Too much like Vince telling him he wasn’t as good as Harold Boon because his eyes were too big. Like Vince pointing out that he has never had women clambering for him before they left for the island. Vince, generally, giggling with his mates over the sad affair of Howard Moon as a man. 

He asks, quite politely, “Stop it, Vince.” 

But as ever, Vince misreads the tone of the room. He was never that good at reading.

“C’mon you big perv,” Vince needles. “You’re definitely thinking about it.” 

“Vince--”

“Christ Howard, I knew you was desperate but that’s a bit weird, innit?” 

It feels a lot like the straw on the camel's back. The straw being Vince’s tendency to push and push and push until Howard could take it no more and the back being Howard’s tendency to dance around his feelings for the sake of appeasing Vince. And it all has to end now, no matter what the outcome. 

“Vince, I asked you to stop it.” Howard snaps. Vince does not take kindly to this. “Is it so hard for once in your life to not make me out to be a joke?” 

“I don’t--”

“Yes, you do!” Howard turns on his heel like he might walk out of the room but he finds himself just as fast turning back. It ends up looking like a pretty stupid three-sixty turn but he refuses to keep walking away from the discussion. “Don’t think I don’t hear you, laughing it up at the state of me. Giggling in that circle about the virgin Howard Moon, do you think I’m that stupid?”

Vince sputters for a moment as he might apologise, and then his face shutters over in straight-up fury. “I’m beginning to think you are, yeah.” 

It’s like pouring kerosene on a dying fire. They know each other too well for this. They know exactly where to swing to land the worst of punches. They know where to dig their fingers to find bruises and where to pick at healing wounds. 

“Don’t be a brat, Vince.” 

“Me?” He squeals. “I’m not the one getting his knickers in a twist over a kiss!” 

And he may not have said it word for word, but the intention was there. “Oh, just a kiss was it?” 

Somehow, they’ve managed to turn a fight about recent developments into a fight about old ones. And this is a topic that is simultaneously well worn but also new. Because they’ve never talked about it out loud, in specific terms. But it’s been there.

Vince blinks at him. “Please, don’t do this Howard.” And while it should be yelled, after all, that’s what they're doing, they’re fighting, which means yelling. But it’s not yelling. Vince whispers it like a plea. He’s begging. And it winds Howard up more. 

“No, you don’t do this.” Howard bites. “Playing the victim was cute when you were ten Vince, but you’re an adult and you need to learn that your actions have consequences. They hurt people.” 

If he wants you in his life he has to start taking responsibility for his actions

“Did you ever wonder why we fall out all the time? Why I wanted to draw a line in the sand on that island.” Howard demands, and Vince is biting his lip, but with fury, trying to stop himself from retaliating. “It’s because you’re a bitch Vince. A vicious, mean spirited, bitch.” 

“Because I have to be!” Vince screams, and this time he goes storming off. He struts further into the room like he just can’t stand to be still. Howard is hot on his silver heels, he won’t let them be more than an arms-length apart. In some ways, he thinks this is because he is scared that if they don’t finish this then they will never come back from it, and keeping Vince in his eyeline is the best way to ensure he doesn’t runoff. Other than that, he just thinks because after being apart from him for so long, Howard doesn’t really want to be that far away from Vince even if they are screaming at each other. 

“ Have to be?”

“Yes Howard, I have to be.” Vince turns to address him again and seems startled by Howard’s proximity. “It’s the only way you pay any fucking attention to me anymore!”

“And who’s fault is that!”

“Yours, you great twat!” 

Howard drags his hand over his face like he’s dealing with a child. “No, Vince. It’s yours!” He starts counting the points out on his hand. “Ending the band, Spending every night of the week whoring yourself out to Camden, choosing items of clothing over me, and  stealing my first kiss! ” He practically screeches the last point, and he’s suddenly glad that Naboo had used a soundproofing charm on this flat some months ago. The whole of Camden did not need to hear this destruction of a friendship. “It’s pretty fucking hard to pay attention to someone who makes it their business to never be around me! Who makes it their life's mission to make me miserable.” 

“I don’t have to do anything there, you’re already misery incarnate, Howard.” Vince snipes. “And don’t play dumb, why do you think I did any of those things?” 

“Because you’re a sociopath in dolls clothing?” 

“No, you absolute bastard!” Howard barely dodges a bottle of perfume, it comes careening at his head and shatters against the wall. The air is choking with Vince’s scent and it just drives the stakes higher. “Because you set unrealistic expectations of the world around you and I am always trying to play catch up!”

It makes zero sense to Howard when his experience of the world was the polar opposite. “What are you talking about?” He’s seething, he cannot believe Vince and himself have been living in each other's pockets for the best part of their lives and still experience two very different realties. “Have you missed the past twenty years where my character arc has been abject humiliation?”

“It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy though Howard!” They’re still screeching, Vince is vibrating with energy, constantly shifting his weight on his feet and jamming his finger at Howard, if they were any closer it would be prodding him in the chest. “You are your own worst enemy, you set your sights so high and no one, not even you can achieve it! You spent years mooning over Gideon because you couldn’t just have a friendship with her, you had to decide love, at first sight, was the only option, you can’t act because you set yourself up to be the best at it, you just fail because you make yourself fail and somehow that’s now my problem!”

He can't even rebuke, apparently they’ve reached the point of arguing where Vince loses his filter too. “I couldn’t keep up anymore, Howard! Every other day there were new ways for you to punish yourself and so I thought fuck it if you can’t beat them join them and guess what? It worked! You’ve never paid more attention to me than when we were fighting and so I just kept doing it.”

“That's insane!” Howard yells. “Do you hear how insane that sounds?” 

“More insane than telling me you’re in love with me when you spend all your time putting distance between us!”

Howard takes an automatic step forward like he’s defying exactly what Vince is accusing him of. “I put distance between us because I have to, Vince, to keep myself sane.” 

“What does that mean?”

“It means that breaking hearts is what you do for fun, little man,” and he hates how he spits the nickname with venom, like it’s something disgusting. A foul taste in his mouth. “You treat people like they’re games and I’m tired of not knowing the rules, I’m tired of being the one to lose all the time.”

“I--”

“Don’t think I don’t remember every time you’ve stumbled home at 3 am and told me about all your conquests,” Howard growls. “And how awful it makes me feel that I’m another notch on your bedpost,” Howard pulls a hand through his hair. “I… half the time I don’t even recognise you anymore! Overnight you went from my best friend to…”

“To what?”

“To someone I hate!”

Before he registers what happens his head has snapped to the side, his cheek is on fire and Vince is staring at him with fury in his eyes. Howard reaches out and snatches Vince’s wrist still hanging in the air. And they both come to the same conclusion. Howard sees it dawn in Vince’s eyes and they tip into each other like it’s the only possible solution. They meet in the middle, Howard is clumsy because it’s only his first-ever kiss (roof surprise notwithstanding), and to be honest this doesn’t feel like what kissing should feet like. He’s still holding onto one of Vince’s wrists, almost bruising. They stumble back clumsily, Vince’s free hand tangled in Howard shirt and pulling him. They crash into the dresser and it rocks on its legs with the force of it. 

There’s a tongue in his mouth and teeth on his bottom lip and Howard has no idea what he’s doing except that Vince has somehow taken control. 

And then it just… stops. It slows to a natural stop. Vince draws away and shakes his head. “Just a kiss, Howard.” 

The exact wrong thing to say. Because what Howard hears is, he has once again been taken for a ride with his mouth. He has once again let himself be used for Vince’s gain. “I cannot believe you.” 

Vince gapes like he isn’t sure what went wrong. 

“I’m not your toy!”

“I never said you were.” 

“Christ no wonder you have to slut around to get people to like you if this is how you treat them.” 

It hits the air like a slap and even Howard can’t believe he’s said it. Vince stares at him, for a moment wide-eyed and there’s not fury there anymore, not like there had been a second ago. Instead, it’s just distress. It’s the same kind of look that Howard imagines people have as they finally stop thrashing in the water and let themselves succumb to the waves. Letting themself drown. 

“Get out,” Vince whispers. 

And for once in his life, or for the third or fourth time tonight, Howard wants to be the brave one. “No.” 

“Howard, please get out.” Vince is begging. “This isn’t going to end well, one of us is going to say something we’ll regret.” 

“Bit late for that.” Vince looks at him like he doesn’t understand what's happening and Howard says. “I’d regret walking away more than I’d ever regret fighting with you. It’s better to die trying than to fail and always wonder what would have happened.” 

Vince just blinks at him and then sets his hands on his hips, uses his sleeve to brush away watery streaks on his cheeks. “You just told me you hate me, Howard, I’m not sure there’s much trying left to be done.” 

“That’s awfully pessimistic of you.” 

“Well, it’s easy to lose your sunshine when the person you’re in love with can't stand you.” 

“I never said… I--” Howard knew what he was trying to say but it just wasn’t coming out correctly. 

“Howard? I’m done with this conversation for now.” Vince was, he turned his back, went back to his dressing table. 

“You can’t just decide you’re done.” 

Vince says nothing. Just turns his straighteners back on. 

Well then. If this is how they’re going to play it. Howard sits on the edge of his bed and settles in for the long haul. 

***

“It isn’t supposed to be like this.” 

Howard looks up from his book. Apparently, after only an hour of hanging around Vince's silent treatment has run its course. Howard is sitting up against the headboard of his own bed, directly opposite from where Vince is still preening into his vanity mirror, in his lap is a copy of 'Trumpets in Manhattan'-The third instalment of his Jazz Detective series--but he hasn't taken a single word in since he picked it up. It was more a prop in this act of defiant remaining.   

Now, Vince is just staring at him in the reflection of the mirror. Howard meets his gaze with a shiver running down his spine.

“What?” 

Vince blinks slowly. “Love. It isn’t supposed to be like this.” 

And Howard supposes it's something of a victory that they are openly using the L-word. Like that isn’t the problem anymore. Being in love was not up for discussion, what was up for discussion was whether or not they could make this work, whether or not the people they are now could survive this. 

“What’s it supposed to be like, then?” Howard asks gently, just glad that the yelling part of this evening was over. 

To his credit, Vince actually considers this question very carefully. His eyes dart over to the drawer on his vanity table, one Howard has never seen him open, one Howard has never seen into. Then Vince says. “It’s supposed to be fulfilling. Like it completes you, isn’t it?” 

Howard for once is not afraid to admit he has no idea. “I don’t know.” 

This draws a tiny tiny smile from Vince. “Thought you had deeper and more full relationships in your mind than I’d ever dream of?” He quotes back, and it’s certainly brave of him to reference that kiss being that it is what kicked off this whole mess. 

“Well, you’ve made some rather excellent points about my ability to look at the world…” Howard hovers over the words but then sighs. “Unrealistically.” 

Vince turns in his chair, actually looks Howard in the face rather than in the reflection. “Then what do you think it is?” 

“Hm?” 

“Love, is it supposed to be like this?” Vince swallows thickly. “Painful.” 

This is a discussion that’s going to take more of his attention. So Howard shuts his book and sits up straighter on his bed. Regarding Vince as, not a naive child, but an equal in this relationship. “I think that depends on who you love. But it being painful, difficult, doesn’t necessarily mean it’s wrong. It just means that maybe something needs to be fixed.” 

Vince tries to wrap his head around it, he’s clearly running this all through his head like a complicated math problem. Howard smiles affectionately at him and tries to rephrase in the endearing way Vince has of understanding the world. “Okay, do you remember when you brought home that Rah-Rah skirt from the vintage place?” Vince’s gaze is sparkling. “But when you tried it on it was too tight, cutting into your hips and making it hard for you to breathe?”

Vince nods. “Left proper red marks on my sides, it was awful.” 

“But you loved that skirt,” Howard points out, and with understanding, Vince nods along with him. Finally getting the point. “So you didn’t give up on it.” 

“I altered the fit, took me forever as well cause the stitching was well dodgy but I… I stayed up all night and spent days looking for the same colour fabric so I could add some length to it and…” 

The point must have gotten through. Vince looks away sheepishly. 

He’s picking at his own nails as he mutters. “You said you hated me, Howard… You… and I hit you.” 

Howard tries his best to find the words he couldnt before. “Not you, per se.” He ventures. “I meant what I said on the roof, little man. I love you. You’re Vince, sunshine child, I just don’t like the parts of you that have come out of the woodwork recently.” 

“But what if that’s who I am?” 

“I don’t think it is.” Howard smiles softly at him. “I think you were altering the skirt to fit, but haven’t quite got it right yet.” 

Vince seems to understand what he means. That yes, people change, and Vince had been trying to change too, but he’d gone so far to the extreme that he’d lost himself. 

“And if it;s any consolation, I’m not that much of a fan of who I am these days either.” 

At this, Vince gets up, crosses the room and climbs onto Howards bed. They sit, facing each other but not touching and Vince says. “You’re very different too, you know.” 

“I know,” 

“And I don’t… I don’t want us to be who we were at the Zoo--” and Howard thinks it's very telling they both know those are the days they’re craving. “--because in our own ways we were miserable there, Howard. I didn’t know who I was yet so I just became your sort of… sexy shadow.” Howard chuckles, and Vince smirks. “And you… You were so busy trying to be someone Gideon would love that you wouldn’t let yourself breathe.” 

“I agree,” Howard says diplomatically. “But since the island we’re….” 

“Worse.” Vince agrees. And then he takes a deep breath and admits. “I got kicks out of pissing you off. I enjoyed it. I wanted to make you suffer because at least then I’d feel like, I don’t know. We were suffering together?” 

“Sounds like we’ve been stuck in a bit of a vicious circle.” 

Carefully Vince shuffles a bit closer. “Can I… can I have a hug, Howard?” 

Howard rolls his eyes as if he was silly for even asking and pulls the little man into his arms. 

***

This time their silence is comfortable. 

Vince sleeps. Howard holds him, just like he’d managed to do with Jones, and spends the following few hours mentally congratulating himself at how simple touching Vince seems to be. How it doesn't feel like any other contact he has been forced to engage in before; it isn't uncomfortable or sharp like touching strangers. It isn't even rough like when he is forced to hug family members or put up with overly affectionate friends. It's just, familiar and soft. Howard lays them back on the bed and carts fingers through Vince's shorter hair where he has pillowed himself on Howard's collarbone.

During Vince's nap, Howard, naturally, puts a great deal of thought into how much they have left to wade through. At least a few of the big issues were out of the way, why Vince was behaving the way he was, Howard admitting his feelings, them both understanding that their anger for each other was poisoning their friendship and they needed to cut it off before it got too bad. But there was still some questions lingering in the back of Howard’s head. Questions about Dan. And Jones. About Vince’s intentions from here on out. 

Howard needed full verbal reassurance that this time, they would fix it. 

Vince snuffles awake just after 6pm. Howard barely manages to think that he probably won’t sleep tonight thanks to his few hour nap, because his senses are overcome with the experience of Vince waking up. It’s not something wholly new, Howard and Vince have been sharing rooms since they were young, Howard knows what Vince looks like when he first wakes up but this is different, this is a new angle. A close up. And it steals his breath. 

Slowly, those blue eyes blink open, and for a moment they’re hazy and unfocussed. Then, as if annoyed about being awake in the first place, he fists his hand in Howard’s shirt and buries his face in his chest. A low whine in the back of his throat. Howard chuckles, and the sound brings a smile to Vince’s face. Howard draws his thumb over the rise of a cheekbone and Vince opens his eyes once more. 

“This is the longest you’ve tolerated cuddling me,” Vince whispers it like a secret; like he’s afraid if he raises his voice any louder the world will shatter around them and Howard understands his worry. He still feels like they are in a delicate place with one another right now. That one wrong word would start the screaming all over again.

“Least I can do.” Howard mutters back, and just like that the smile on Vince’s face goes from warm to strained. It’s a flicker, but the sadness is there behind his eyes. “Vince?”

Howard’s put a foot wrong somewhere and Vince doesn’t reply to the questioning tone, just tucks his face back in Howard’s chest and he thought they had covered this. Sighing he manoeuvres their positions. Encourages Vince onto his side and shimmies down the bed until Howard is also lying on his side facing Vince. 

“If I have done something to upset you, Vince--”

“You haven’t.” 

Howard stops in his tracks and raises his eyebrows. He simply repeats himself. “If I have done something to upset you, then I need you to tell me. The reason we are in this mess is because of us not talking.” 

Vince seems to think on this a moment, and something must trigger him to agree, he gets the faraway look on his face that reminds Howard of him thinking back on something. “I don’t want this if you’re doing it out of your own sense of guilt.” 

And immediately Howard grins. It is progress at least, Vince actually taking initiative and explaining what was going on inside his colourful imagination. “Firstly, I am enjoying this, I am not doing it just to make you feel better, that’s just a bonus. Secondly, thank you.” Vince smiles sheepishly, and Howard adds, “If you’d done that after Denmark then we may not be in this situation.” 

Which is one of the things he’d been thinking about while Vince slept. That he needed to pry this door open and let Vince say what he needed to say. 

“I can do that now if you want,” Vince says it like he’s joking, but Howard isn’t. 

“Okay,” Howard says, but he disengages from the bed. “But first I insist we eat something. You’ve been home since midday and from what Jones said you haven’t been eating properly over there.” 

On cue Vince’s stomach rumbles, and Howard leads them to the kitchen. 

***

At Vince’s request, apparently he’s been thinking about them for days, Howard makes them cheese toasties. It’s cresting 7pm, and Howard can’t believe it’s been nearly seven hours since Vince returned home and they still aren’t anywhere close to having talked about everything. 

Howard refuses to let them talk about it while they eat, though. He sets their plates down opposite each other on the table and decides some normalcy is called for. He fills Vince in on what’s been going on in the shop, even making regular reference to the Jazz club and to his Jazzercise classes. Vince, of course turns his nose up at the mention of it but still, Howard doesn't feel so offended by his dismissal. More, enamoured. He tells funny stories about what Naboo and Bollo have been up to, about where they are now (still dealing with the Snap Dragon's in Dennis' back yard--but Howard thinks that's code for avoiding all this human drama). Vince similarly feeds back with Leroy stories and chat about his nights out, most of which Howard has heard already but he really doesn't mind listening to Vince repeat himself like an overeager toddler. 

They avoid Denmark, they somehow even manage to avoid talking about the roof, or their declarations. Instead, they finally sink their teeth into a topic that while equally as turbulent, seems to be less dangerous. The current might beat them around here but it wouldn’t drown them, not as the rest would. 

Vince says, “They’re in love, you reckon?” Though it’s with the kind of knowing smirk that means he is purposefully asking an obvious question. 

Howard doesn’t need to ask who he means but he still does. It’s like learning how to talk to each other again. “Who?”

“Dan and Jones.” 

“Is that a question?” Howard chuckles lowly. “You saw how they were all over each other earlier.” 

Vince grins at him, like he knows something Howard doesn’t know, and he supposes he does. Still, Howard enables him anyway. “Go on then, you little Vixen, what secrets did you steal with your kisses.” 

Vince at least manages to giggle at the referenced kiss this time and he shoves the last of his food in his mouth, talking with his mouth full in a way Howard has been trying to get him to stop doing since their childhood. “You know how we have like… Crimps?” 

Howard narrows his gaze in confusion, not entirely sure where this line of conversation is going. “I think so.”

Vince pauses, tilts his head to one side like a puppy hearing a high pitched sound, and then scans his eyes over his face carefully; he seems to sense Howard isn’t quite following him. “I just mean that we have our thing, don’t we. The thing that’s just ours.”

“Yes…”

“Theirs is touching,” Vince explains. “That’s... That’s why I said it was just a kiss with Dan. It would be like if I found out Jones had crimped with you, I’d be mad, for sure, but I’d also know Jones probably wouldn’t know what he was doing or what it meant or…”

Howard pushes his plate away from himself and sighs heavily. Apparently they were back to talking abut this. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did,” Howard concedes, but follows it up with. “But you would have done the same.” 

“Oh absolutely,” Vince says with a smile.

Which seems like the perfect time to just blurt, "Jones and I didn't crimp but we cuddled."

For a moment, Vince laughs like it's a joke. Like he's about to burst out with 'good one Howard, now back to what we were talking about', but the longer he laughs and Howard says nothing to confirm this theory, the quicker Vince seems to come to the conclusion that this is not in fact a joke. Vince's laugh dies down, he darts his eyes away, looking around the table, like he's desperately trying to find anything else to fous on but there is nothing. His food is finished, his tea is finished. There's just the hurtful reality of what Howard has said. 

"Then you really did overreact to the kissing." He mutters towards the stained and chipped wood of their table. 

Howard swallows thickly. "I did. Considering."

Another beat of silence. The only thing that could be considered progress about this situation was perhaps that Vince isn't trying to mask anything. He isn't forcing a smile onto his face or shutting himself off and pretending everything is fine. When he looks back up to Howard there is genuine sadness in his eyes. But at least he's trusting Howard to see it this time. "Makes sense how you were happy to let me sleep on you if you've been practicing."

"I-- It wasn't just me practicing," Howard explains, and the shame in his tone is genuine. "He needed it, I guess. Comfort, he was upset." 

This make the sadness evolve to hurt. "You... You were willing to cuddle with him because he was upset? Howard..." He stalls, clenches his tiny hands into fists and clenches his jaw like he is willing himself to be brave enough to say it. Howard, as much as he doesn't like being scolded, knows that whether they can stick to the rules of their previous discussions will make or break this relationship. Vince needs to tell him what he broke so he can fix it. They need to be honest. "Howard you haven't cuddled me like that in years and I'm always too scared to ask but I--sometimes I need you."

And without even blinking, Howard replies. "So from now on I will do my best to be there when you do and I.. I am sorry. About cuddling with Jones. It was a bit bad of me." 

Hell of a promise, but one Howard has no regrets making, even if he knows for certain he's going to make plenty more mistakes going forward. That they both will. 

It's the right thing to say, even a quickly made, simple in the grand scheme of things promise, Vince is once again glowing like a ray of sunshine between the rain clouds. 

Unlike Howard's volatile reaction and rather dificult come down, Vince takes the apology and promise to do better at face value. "Okay, then." He beams. And that's that. Howard can't help but exhale heavily on a laugh, disbelieving. Because it was the Vince he knew but not quite in the same way. 

The Vince who trusted him implicitly not to hurt him, and yet, also was grown up enough to stand up for himself when Howard did inevitably do just that.

God howard loves him. 

“Anyway," Vince chirps, giving Howard a look that seems to scold him for interupting. "That was probably just their way of saying hello, all that snuggling they did on the sofa before."

And that's interesting to consider (especially since Howard's brain is fogged up with his affection for Vince and his gorgeous smile), that some people might use intimacy as a way to communicate the way he and Vince use crimps and meaningful looks. As a kind of secret language that is just theirs all by themselves. That being said, Howard doesn't spend a whole lot of time considering intimacy in the real world at all, it's usually confined to his romatiscised daydreams. For Howard, intamacy is something reserved for your wife. 

"So... they are a couple then?" Howard feels like a toddler trying to make sense of an adult world. Especially when Vince giggles sweetly at him. 

"They were, once," Vince imparts this like sacred wisdom but Howard has a memory spark to life in his mind like a lighter being flicked. Of Jones alluding to the fact, they were once fu--lovers. "But from what I can tell it all fell apart. Couldn't quite work out why."

"Jones tried too hard to change him," Howard says--adding another epiphay to his pile, but this one he can share out loud with Vince. "He said something to me, that he thought the relationship would make Dan happy and it didn't."

Vince, eyes also widening in distressed understanding. "It did, it did make him happy it just didn't make him sober."

A few more pieces of the Jones puzzle slot into place. Dan, an addict, and Jones who couldn't fix him. Howard feels a little more heartbroken for his missing friend. 

"You and Dan were talking." Vince announces, a complete tangent to their previous discussion. Howard snaps his head up, brow furrowed. "Earlier, you know? Came back and you looked all cosy, having chats of your own."

They had been, but Howard hadn't necessarily assumed Vince cared since it had not yet been brought up. "I wouldn't call it cosy."

"What were you talking about, though?" 

Howard considers for a moment, not sure what might be what Vince wants to hear. It can be quite difficult to discern what might be considered useful information--especially to someone like Vince. "He told me not to be angry at you," he says honestly. "I didn't know what for until about two hours ago--" Vince blushes beet red. "--But I'm assuming it was this."

"Thats it? He told you not to be mad at me?" 

Howard nods. "And then I asked him some things. About Jones. About him."

Vince's eyes are sparkling with curiosity. Howard could spend hours filling in on Vince the things he had learnt or at least assumed about Dan from that conversation, but they had time later for that. For dissecting their doppelgangers lives with interest. 

"I wanted to know if he really thought all those things about you," Howard says, this honesty thing had been working so far. And when Vince just blinks at him Howard elaborates. "He doesn't, by the way, which was good because as much as I'd like to think I'd defend your honour I'm fairly sure Dan would crush me like an empty can." 

Vince starts laughing again and Howard hears it like music. "Dan couldn't hurt a fly, he's a lot like you in that way."

"How dare you, sir, I am legally classified as a weapon. A weapon of mass destruction." Howard sits up straighter as he brags, puffs his chest out just to watch Vince snicker at him.

"Weapon of mass dysfunction."

And then the conversation lulls to a natural stop. Howard is still waiting to hear about Vince and Denmark, but maybe they don't have to do this all of this tonight. Maybe the whole lesson he should have learnt was that they were never going to be able to fix this in a day. Even their other adventures never began and ended in a single day. They can afford to call it a day on all of this. 

"I think we've earned an early night."

Vince agrees with a shy smile. 

*** 

It comes much later. They work through their nightly routine slowly, stopping every now and then to smile at each other like they are hesitant children just making friends again, uncertain of where to step or what to say. It makes Howards inside buzz like happy fireflies.

Howard, as many would expect, is finished his nighttime routine a lot sooner than Vince. Since the younger man had gotten all made up before taking a nap on Howard (the logic of Vince needing to be fully glammed up just to lay about the flat will never be something Howard understands). He has to pre-straighten his hair for the morning and remove all his makeup and then moisturise and he's making all these sensual little gasps and pleased moans at how good it feels to be back in his own routine. Howard feels like he's watching a arthouse film only more engaging. It's awe inspiring.

At some point, Howard must drift off to sleep. Or a least doze. Because he seems to blink awake and Vince is hovering in between their two beds looking back and forth with confusion. Like he doesn't know where he belongs. 

"Vince?" 

Vince blinks over at him with wide wet eyes and Howard flips his duvet back for him without a second thought. 

Vince gasps a delicate shocked, overall happy noise, and slides into the bed beside Howard. 

***

"Howard?" 

Howard stirs slowly, blinking away his disorientation from sleep and turning his head to see Vince. He looks almost dreamlike in the low light of their bedroom. Howard doesn't know what time of night it is but the only light is filtering through from a dull street lamp outside their still open curtains. They are both laying on their sides facing each other. Vince is blinking up at him and the moon catches his eyes and make them look like serene oceans, Howard is halfway still asleep and he wants to take a swim in Vince's depths. 

"Howard, I didn't want to go to sleep without saying it." 

"Wha--" Howard finally realises that this is reality and he turns to try and get a peek at the clock on the bedside behind him. "You haven't been to sleep yet? What time is it?" 

"Five am," Vince answers, but moves on quickly as if that was the least important thing about right now. "I kept trying to sleep but every time I just kept thinking that, you know, I never said it and then we avoided Denmark and I think you were just doing that to keep me happy and I don't want you doing that so you shouldn't do that either and--"

"Vince, breathe." 

Vince pauses, takes a few deep breaths, Howard watches his chest rise and fall until he's satisfied and then nods for Vince to go on. 

"You're right--" And Howard will be committing that sound byte to memory, thank you very much "--I have been punishing you since you got back from Denmark. Unfairly. Sometimes you did deserve it, let's be honest, you did leave me. But also, I don't think you made the choice to leave with the intention of upsetting me. You're just not built like that, to hurt people. So I am--was--really mad at you, but I don't think I am anymore. Not after this because, and I know you think I'm stupid, but I think it really helped, seeing Dan and Jones side of life and how they're in love, but hurting each other... they're exactly like us and..."

Howard blinks at the tirade of words Vince has just thrown at him. He knows what Vince is saying but none of it matters. The thing Howard hones in on in. 'They're in love' and 'they're exactly like us;. 

"Vince did you just--" Howard looks over each of his shoulders like he's waiting for the punchline to creep up on him. "Did you wake me up at five am to tell me that you..."

"That I love you?" Vince is suddenly sheepish. "Yeah. I realised I didn't say it, not properly, and I know this whole thing isn't over yet. I'll probably still be a bitch sometimes. I know you're going to keep forgetting that we're trying to do the honest thing. We're... It's gonna be hard for a bit I think." 

Howard nods along.

"But it was also really hard to make that skirt fit and in the end, I got a pretty sick outfit out of it." 

Howard breaks into a huge grin, Vince open his mouth to no doubt keep waffling on about god knows what--some complicated fashion metaphors probably--but Howard isn't going to wast any more time not showing Vince what he's feeling. He cups one large palm around the back of Vince's neck and pulls him across the bed to catch his lips in a kiss. 

He plans on making it the first of many real kisses. 

Notes:

I hope the length of this chapter makes up for how long it took me to write it. Y'all I cannot apologise enough, unfortunately, things are getting in the way of writing right now but I swear to you this fic will be finished! I will not leave it unfinished. 2 chapters to go, and I am honestly so moved that people are still leaving kudos and comments and telling me how much they're enjoying it. Thank you so much, and I will hopefully see you again soon for the next chapter.

Notes:

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