Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Vince had never thought he’d see the day when he’d come home to find Howard taking a selfie.

Or at least, attempting to. Howard did own a mobile, but it was an old brick of a thing with no camera (and, for some reason, it was rotary), so he’d dug an old Polaroid camera out of storage and was stood in the kitchen holding it at arm’s length, pointing it at his face and snapping photo after photo of himself. After each one rolled out of the slot, he’d wait for it develop, frown at it, and either tear it up or toss it in what Vince presumed was the “maybe” pile.

After watching this go on for about five attempts (but which, from the size of the pile of “maybes” on the counter, was certainly not the fifth attempt), Vince finally piped up from the top of the stairs, “What you doin’?”

Howard started, nearly dropping the camera, but recovered with an irritated huff at Vince over his shoulder. “D’you mind not sneaking up on me?” he groused. “You usually sound like a stampede coming up the stairs. Have you suddenly mastered teleportation or something?”

Grinning, Vince strolled into the kitchen, gesturing down at his feet. “I wore ballet slippers out today. They do kind of make you step lightly.”

“Last I checked you’re not a dancer. Why ballet shoes?”

“Came into style about three hours ago, but it’s on its way out now, so I came home so I wouldn’t be seen in ‘em.” Vince’s eyes wandered to the pile of “maybes”, and he reached over to pick them up and look through them. He could hear Howard suck in a breath to protest, but in the end he made no effort to stop him.

“These are awful, Howard,” said Vince. The flash from the camera had rendered Howard’s eyes even squintier than usual in most of the photos. In some of them his eyes were fully closed, while in others he could tell Howard was forcing his eyes to remain wide open. It just made him look like a serial killer.

“Yeah, well, I don’t really have any recent photos of myself, so . . . . ”

“What’re you talking about? What about all those photos we got people to take of us on our trip to Spain?”

“Yeah, I went through those. For some reason in every one of them, I got covered up by the photographer’s finger. Even when I was standing dead in the middle of the frame.”

“What about the ones I took of you?! I took loads!”

“Yeah, at the hotel, while I was sleeping. Not exactly a glamour shoot.”

“Aw, don’t say that. You looked adorable.”

“You drew a dick on my face.”

“He was smiling, though.”

“Took me over an hour to get that washed off in the morning.”

“Yeah, but on the plus side it was an excuse to order room service.”

“Whatever, just . . . don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Vince shrugged. “Not really, no.”

“ . . . Can you have somewhere else to be?”

The smile on Vince’s face turned impish. “Why?”

Hurriedly, Howard said, “No reason.”

“Come on, out with it. The only time you ever want to get rid of me is when you’re doing something weird.” Vince’s eyes scanned the room, but he couldn’t find anything particularly out of the ordinary. No bizarre outfits laid out; no creepy posters hanging on the walls; no disturbing objects lying about, other than the pile of bad photographs. Howard’s laptop was sitting open on the coffee table, but that wasn’t so unusual these days: Vince had gotten him hooked on Cookie Clicker. No, the only unusual part of the whole room was Howard’s pile of unfortunate selfies, and even that was barely notable in the long list of weird stuff he’d watched Howard do over the years without Howard minding in the slightest.

Howard dithered over his answer for a moment before sighing and saying, “Look, I’m just putting together an online profile, and I need a picture of myself for it. That’s all.”

“What, like for Facebook?”

“Er . . . yeah, sort of.”

Vince spread his arms wide. “I can help you!” he pointed out, as if it should have been the most obvious conclusion. “Give me that camera – it’s useless! We’ll use mine.”

Before Howard could protest, Vince had pulled the Polaroid from Howard’s hands, then turned and leaned back against him so that their heads were pressed close together, holding his phone high in the air.

“Vince—”

“Sssh, wait until I snap the picture . . . .” Vince smiled seductively at the camera before tapping the screen, then pulled the phone back down to admire the snapshot he’d taken. He, of course, looked amazing. Howard looked pretty good, too. A little annoyed, but that was pretty much Howard’s default state anyway.

“Excellent. Just give me a second and I can e-mail it to you,” he said, already pulling up his mailbox.

“Well—I mean, it’s nice and all, but maybe that should go on your face-page.”

“Facebook, Howard.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“We could both use it. I switch mine about twice a day anyway. I’d change it more frequently, but, well, you know: I’m a busy man.”

“Well, it’s just, you know . . . I was kind of hoping for a picture of just me.”

“Why?”

Howard dithered again.  “ . . . Well, it’s a page about me, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, and anything about you’s gonna include me!”

“You think so, do you?”

“Course I do! We’re a double-act, remember?”

“Of course we are,” Howard was quick to assure him, “But even some of the happiest double-acts have solo projects. I’m a complicated man, Vince: I need to express myself for the multi-faceted, artistic soul that I am. I can’t have you in the frame pulling shapes and pulling focus. I’m carving out a little corner of the internet just for Howard Moon. You understand, right?”

Vince was pretty sure he understood. Howard was probably planning to write stuff about jazz on his profile, and Vince didn’t really want any part in that anyway, so it was probably for the best to keep his image away from Howard’s profile picture. He could always tag himself in future pictures.

“All right, well, strike a pose, then,” he said, pointing his camera solely at Howard this time with a grin. When Howard did as instructed, Vince corrected, “Actually, no. Don’t do that. Ever again.” He then took the picture right when Howard was in the middle of a sulk. It actually came out looking pretty good, in that sort of brooding, artistic way that Howard only seemed to be able to pull off when he wasn’t trying. Vince had thought for years that Howard would be a lot better at impressing people if he stopped trying so hard to impress people.

“Here,” said Vince as he tapped away on his phone. “I’ll send you the colour version, and then a few variations with different filters. You can pick which one you like best.”

“ . . . Thanks, Vince,” he heard Howard say, softly.

“It’s no problem. I think this might look best in black and white, but sepia tones might also work, what with you likin’ brown so much and all.” Then he chuckled. “Then again, maybe it won’t look any different, what with you likin’ brown so much and all.”

“Are you done?”

“Sent a couple of ‘em already.”

“Good.”  Howard made his way across the room to his laptop to check his e-mail. He was quiet for a moment or two, before pensively mumbling, “I think this one should work, actually.” Shortly after that, Vince could hear a lot of clicking, followed not long after by a lot of typing. Once he’d finally gone through and sent all the filter variations he could think of Howard’s way, he shoved his phone back into his back pocket and looked over at Howard, who had become completely engrossed in his computer.

The curiosity got to him. Vince had to know what kind of jazzy rubbish he was writing. After all, if this was going on Facebook, he wanted to make sure it wasn’t anything completely humiliating. He was going to friend him, after all, and there was only so much he was willing to tolerate being associated with. He wandered round the sofa behind Howard and began reading over his shoulder.

It didn’t take him long to realise what was wrong.

“That ain’t Facebook.”

Howard, startled, leaped from the sofa and turned to face Vince, with the computer screen pressed close to his chest and out of Vince’s view. “You’re still here!” he exclaimed, apparently only just remembering this fact.

“What the fuck is Soulful Soulmates dot co dot UK?”

“It’s nothing! It’s just another social media hotspot!”

“It’s clearly a virtual meat market, Howard!”

“Whoa, there.” Howard was obviously blushing, but was attempting to keep enough authority in his voice to preserve some semblance of dignity. “Nothing so tawdry as that, sir! It’s an online Lonely Hearts connection: a place for sophisticated, artistic souls like myself to find the one who sings the song only they can hear.”

Vince squinted at him. “Why would you want to date someone who’s imaginary?”

“What?”

“There are plenty of real-life singers, Howard. You’re just bein’ selfish by wantin’ to date an imaginary one and have all the singin’ to yourself.”

“Vince . . . I mean I’m looking for someone special. Someone just right for me: you know, a refined, elegant lady with an adventurous soul and a love of jazz. That’s the kind of woman you can find on this web site.”

“Is it.” Vince had his doubts. From the quick look he’d had at the site’s logo, he was pretty sure the only women to be found on that site weren’t so much “refined” and “adventurous” as “creepy” and “in prison.”

“It is, and if you’ll excuse me, I have a profile to finish writing. Thanks for your help with the photograph.” Howard puffed out his chest a little and carried his computer back over to the sofa, whereupon he sat back down and resumed typing. But as far as Vince was concerned, the conversation wasn’t over: it was just getting good.

He flopped down beside Howard, rested his chin on his shoulder and shamelessly read what was being put on the screen. He could tell Howard was uncomfortable: he stiffened a little, and his tiny eyes kept flicking in Vince’s direction, and his typing slowed down. But he didn’t stop. At least, not until Vince started in on the commentary.

“Why’re you talkin’ about your pencil collection?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“I’ve just never heard of anyone successfully pullin’ a girl by talkin’ about stationery.”

“Well, I’m not trying to ‘pull’ the same kind of girls you do.”

“I don’t think the kind of woman you want actually exists, Howard. For one thing, I ain’t never seen a lady out made of cream.”

“Cream is a metaphor, Vince: I’ve already told you—”

“And I don’t think I’ve ever seen a lady who was impressed by the entire history of the elbow patch. Why are you even putting that in there? That has nothing to do with you!”

“What do you mean it has nothing to do with me?! Not only am I profoundly interested in the history of the elbow patch, I’m also deeply involved in shaping its future!”

“Well, fine, but I think you should knock it down a few paragraphs. You’re supposed to keep these things short. If you give ‘em too much information up front, you lose their interest. You gotta keep some things a mystery.”

Howard actually considered this. “. . . You make a good point,” he admitted.

“I dunno why you’re even doin’ this,” Vince grumbled, pulling up his knees and hugging them to his chest. “It’s a bit weird."

“There’s nothing weird about it. Internet dating is the way it’s going to be in the future, Vince: you mark my words. Your pool of options is expanded to encompass the entire globe. It’s about connecting with someone with your words: having real, deep conversations. It’s not just gonna be about going out to the clubs and chatting up the same old lineup of local idiots every night; no, sir. My special someone could be anywhere. She could be in Leeds, she could be in Bristol. She could be in Quebec. She could be in Mozambique. She could be in Antarctica.” He exhaled a gruff sigh before grumbling, “One thing’s for certain: she certainly isn’t ‘round here.”

Vince knitted his brow and frowned at Howard. “How d’you know?”

“How long have we been living here, Vince? If the one who was meant for me was around here, I’m pretty sure I’d have met them by now.”

“Maybe you have. You don’t know for sure. Maybe it’s like in the movies where you’ve already met them but don’t know it.”

“Well, I hope not, if that’s the case.”

“What? Why not?”

“Look at the people we tend to run into. Right now my options come down to a merman and a woman who thinks I’m a male prostitute. And they’re both serial killers.”

Vince snorted. “What, you don’t think you’ll run into the same kind of thing on the internet?”

Howard shook his head. “No, it’s all right, actually. This site filters your results based on the turn-offs you set. Look – there, see?” He pointed at the screen. “That whole list there. Anyone who has any of those words in their profile won’t find me in their search results, and I won’t find them.”

Vince scanned the list. “Fish . . . yesterday’s beef . . . mangina . . . cannibalism . . . Bailey’s . . . hellooooooooooooo . . . Old Gregg . . . .” He then shrugged a shoulder. “All right, looks like you’ve got your bases covered, there.”

“If anything, I think internet dating is the safer option.”

Vince shrugged again. “If you say so.”

“You don’t agree?”

“I dunno.” Vince shook his head and got up, patting Howard on the shoulder. "Do what you want, I guess. I wish you luck, findin’ the jazzy, creamy bookmark-collector of your dreams, or whatever.” He rolled his eyes with a perhaps slightly condescending smirk.

“She’s out there, Vince. Just you wait and see.” Howard was smiling a little at the screen as Vince circled away from the couch towards the bedroom. “We’ll be exchanging sweet nothings within a week.”

“Yeah, sure thing, Casanova.” He turned and blew a sarcastic little kiss in Howard’s direction, but Howard didn’t even notice. He was completely absorbed in his computer screen again. With another shake of his head, Vince carried on into their room to change into some pyjamas and dig his own laptop out from under the bed. He had cookies that needed clicking, which was far more interesting at this point than this latest scheme of Howard’s. He’ll probably forget all about it in a day or two, he figured. Pretty boring, really.

Chapter Text

But Howard didn’t forget the next day, or the day after that. By the third day, Vince was starting to wonder whether Howard was even sleeping: his hair was even more all over the place than usual, and he had heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes.

“How can I not have a single message yet?” Howard lamented on that third afternoon, as Vince and Bollo were putting lunch together. Naboo was setting up his hookah beside him in the living room, and twitched his left eyebrow upwards on casting a quick glance at Howard’s screen, but said nothing.

“It’s only been three days, Howard,” Vince shot over his shoulder with a roll of his eyes. “People probably haven’t even noticed your profile yet.”

“I’ve sent out greetings to dozens of women!”

“Well, what are you saying to them?”

“The standard things! ‘Hi,’ ‘I like your profile,’ ‘I think you’re beautiful,’ ‘I’d love to take you to a cabin out in the woods where you’d never have to see another human soul ever again,’ things like that.”

“Can’t imagine what could be puttin’ ‘em off,” Naboo deadpanned.

“Look, just give it some more time,” said Vince, circling the sofa to set down a sandwich and a mug of tea beside Howard’s computer. “Maybe pay less attention to it for a while. ‘A watched pot gets shy’ and all that.”

Howard’s hand paused on its way to picking up the mug, and he sighed and fixed Vince with a weary, patronizing gaze. “It’s ‘a watched pot never boils,’ Vince.”

“Yeah, exactly. Nobody likes goin’ about their business when they got people just starin’ at ‘em all expectantly. I mean, with a pot, that’s like its one job, and when you’re breathin’ down ‘is neck, it’s like you don’t even trust ‘im to do that right. That’s a lot of performance anxiety!”

“ . . . So you’re saying I should stop looking at the computer because I’m . . . giving it stage fright?”

“What? No, I’m saying it’s just gonna feel more like forever the more you stare at it. Computers don’t get stage fright, Howard.”

“ . . . Right, sure. Glad we got that sorted out.” Howard picked up his mug, sipped at it, and went straight back to refreshing his empty inbox.

Vince shook his head as he rejoined Bollo in the kitchenette. “He ain’t even been workin’ the past couple of days. He just sits in the back of the shop pretending to do inventory, when really he’s sending messages to strange women on that web site.”

“That would explain why sales have gone up recently,” Bollo mused.

“I dunno why he’s so obsessed. Usually when he tries something new and it doesn’t work out after an hour or so of effort, he gives up and pretends he was never interested to begin with.”

Bollo gave him an apathetic shrug before picking up his and Naboo’s plates and joining Naboo at the hookah.

“Vince is right, though, Howard,” Naboo piped up after a long puff. “You should take a step back for at least a couple of days. Play it cool. If someone does contact you within that time frame, making them wait a couple of days before you get back to them sends the message that you’re a busy man with a fulfilling life. It’s bullshit in your case, but it’ll make a good impression.”

Howard pondered this. “Do you think that might be what they’re doing?” he wondered. “Maybe they’re holding off getting back to me so I won’t think they’re desperate?”

“Nah,” said Naboo. “I think they just can’t be bothered with you.”

Going by the sudden smile that spread across Howard’s face as he suddenly and rather ceremonially closed his laptop and hopped to his feet, he’d decided to ignore Naboo’s last comment. He carried the laptop over to Vince, who was standing alone in the kitchenette chewing on his sandwich, and pushed it towards him.

“One week,” said Howard. “Hide this from me for one week.”

“No way!” Vince refused, stepping backward and eyeing the laptop as if Howard were attempting to give him a handful of his own feces.

“Come on, Vince! You know what I’m like when I’m trying to give up on something. I have all the willpower of a roasted marshmallow.”

“Exactly. Last time you told me to keep something away from you, you went mental and set fire to my wardrobe.”

“I keep telling you, that was an accident: I was just looking through your closet and I didn’t have a torch. All I could find was a lighter. Anyway, I don’t see what you’re complaining about – I bought back everything that got burnt, and a few new outfits, too.”

“You shouldn’t’ve been going through my stuff in the first place!”

“Come on, Vince. Please? It’ll only be a week.”

Vince was ready to refuse again, but something in Howard’s earnest demeanour ultimately defeated him. With a truly adolescent-sounding scoff, he took the computer from Howard’s hands.

“Fine, but only because I’m worried your eyes are gonna go square if you keep starin’ at that screen.”

Even as Howard grinned, he teased, “Isn’t that what I told you about Cookie Clicker?”

In response, Vince jabbed a finger in his direction. “You leave Cookie Clicker out of this. Cookie Clicker is pure and good. Not like your weird, seedy activities.” He noticed Howard was already making twitchy, grabbing gestures in the direction of his computer, so he twisted half-away from him while pointing at the stairs. “Look, lunch break’s almost over. Go down and reopen the shop to get your mind off it while I hide this.”

“Right. Yeah.” Howard clenched his hands closed. “Thanks, Vince,” he said before patting Vince on the arm and forcing himself down the stairs to reopen the Nabootique.

When he was gone, Naboo asked, “Where you going to hide it?”

Vince smiled a little sheepishly. “Actually, I was hoping you could help me with that.

Naboo nodded. “Figured as much.”

Chapter Text

As expected, Howard would have barely lasted a day on his own, let alone a week. With his own computer hidden away from him, he took to staring longingly at Vince’s while Vince was using it. Staring led to asking, which led to arguing, which led to wrestling. In the end – rather grudgingly – Vince ended up asking Naboo to hide his own laptop, as well. The next day, he had to give Naboo his phone, too. He spent most of the remainder of the week sullenly watching cartoons and casting resentful glares in Howard’s direction between episodes. Without his phone, he had almost no way of staying up to date on which clubs to go to and what to wear. Even Cheekbone had gone paper-free last year. It was better if he just stayed home. Howard at least had the decency, even through his twitchy withdrawal symptoms, to realise just how much Vince was sacrificing for his sake, and did his best to apologise by making him tea, keeping plenty of sweets nearby, and sitting with him, attempting to make conversation. Vince kept up a silent treatment for a while, but by the end of the week they were laughing together at the latest episode of Kolobos the Crab when Naboo came in carrying a pile of technology, which he unceremoniously dumped on the chair to the left of the sofa. Two laptops clattered together as they bounced upon the soft cushion beneath them, sending several confiscated mobiles raining to the floor.

“Right, week’s up,” said Naboo. “Bout time I was rid of those things. They were throwin’ off the juju in the—”

Before he could even finish, Howard had scooped up his own computer and rushed it over to the kitchen island to turn it on. As its screen blinked to life, the device emitted a gurgling moan.  Blinking, Howard turned to cast an inquisitive look at Naboo, while pointing at his computer.

“Oh, yeah,” Naboo said with a hint of a smile. “It’ll do that now. Like I was saying, its electronic signature was gettin’ all mixed up with the energies in the pocket dimension I had to store ‘em in. You’ll want to watch out for the occasional sneeze, too.”

Howard frowned. “What, so this is permanent?”

“How d’you think I feel?” Naboo asked him. “Now every time I open up my pocket dimension, it starts reciting the prime numbers at me.”

Apparently Howard had nothing to contribute to that, so he just nodded and said, “ . . . Right. Well, thanks, Naboo.”

“Eat a dick,” Naboo replied serenely.

Vince had gathered up his own computer and phone in the meantime. On turning on his phone, it twittered at him like a tiny chickadee. His computer awoke with a pleasant purr. Normally he’d have been pleased with the upgrade, but watching Howard log back into that weird website just made him roll his eyes and curl his lip in disgust. As Naboo left the room, Howard let loose an alarming cry, which Naboo placidly ignored, but which sent Vince leaping off the couch.

“I’ve got two messages!!” Howard exclaimed after his hoot of joy.

“What, from two different women?” Vince asked, perhaps a little too incredulously.

“Of course from two different women!” Howard rubbed his hands together and rolled up his sleeves in an embarrassingly old-fashioned display of anticipation. “I bet this is only the beginning! It’s only been a week and already the votes are in: the ladies can’t resist the allure of the Moon!”

“Yeah, ‘only’ a week,” grumbled Vince, ambling over to lean on the kitchen island beside Howard. “And in that time, I’ve confiscated six phones from you. Where were you even getting them all? We can’t even afford a place of our own without Naboo’s help, and you’re blowing the equivalent of a month’s rent on new phones?”

Howard avoided Vince’s eyes. “I didn’t buy them . . . .” he assured him.

“What, did you steal them?” Vince asked, mouth agape.

“I didn’t steal, sir! I borrowed.”

“From where?!”

“ . . . You know . . . around.”

“No, seriously, tell me where: I need to know which shopkeepers I’m gonna need to go flirt with to set this right.”

“I didn’t get them from shops.”

“What, so you just ripped ‘em out of the hands of pedestrians on the street?”

Howard didn’t answer, which only made Vince’s jaw drop lower.

“I was just bein’ facetious, but that was what you actually did, didn’t you?!”

“Look, it’s fine: I’ll just call up the owners’ friends and have them pick up the phones.”

“You’ve got a problem, Howard.”

Howard grinned and held up his computer. “I’ve got a problem, all right: it’s called charisma.” With a spring in his step, he carried his computer into the bedroom. Rolling his eyes again, Vince decided he needed a drink, and headed on down to the clubs.

Chapter Text

The next day, when Vince got to work, he found Howard slumped over the counter with his fist smushed against his cheek, staring indifferently into empty space. He barely acknowledged Vince’s presence, even as he joined him at their workstation. He didn’t even particularly react when Vince began idly toying with the display items on the shelf behind them, other than what he thought might have been a small sigh.

“Something wrong?” he finally asked when the silence and boredom became too much. “I’m an hour late: you’re supposed to be givin’ me a lecture or smackin’ my wrist with a ruler or somethin’.”

Howard shrugged a shoulder. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?” he said. “You got here. Good enough.”

This made Vince nervous. “ . . . You’re not upset with me, are you?” he asked. “I know I came in late last night, but I thought you were asleep. I was really quiet, I thought—”

Howard waved him off with a heavy, lazy sort of gesture. “Vince, I’m not upset with you.”

“Well, why you givin’ me the cold shoulder?”

With another sigh, Howard pulled himself up and clapped Vince on the shoulder. “I’m not, Vince. I’m just . . . I don’t know. I’ve got a bit of ennui, I guess.”

“You’ve got a bit of Henri? Which bit of him??”

“ . . . Ennui, Vince. It means I’m just a bit bored and gloomy.”

Vince chuckled his relief. “Oh, good. I thought for a second you were about to show me a toe in a box. Henri’s mother would throw a fit. She’d never have me round for tea again.”

“I’m not a mob boss, Vince.”

“ . . . That I know of.”

“If I were a mob boss, you think I’d be working in a shop? Or sharing a two-bedroom flat with three other people?”

“Yeah! No one would ever suspect you! It’d be genius!” Vince poked Howard’s rib cage a few times, grinning, which managed to pull a reluctant smile and chuckle out of Howard, as well. It was short-lived, though, and as his smile collapsed he uttered a flat, “Don’t touch me,” before slumping back down on the counter again.

“Aw, come on. You should be happy! You got those internet girls talking to you last night, yeah?”

Howard’s lips tightened in a closed-mouthed grimace. “Yeah, about that . . . .”

“First message was from someone going by the name of Rona Eleruoy. Turns out that’s just ‘Your Eleanor’ spelled backwards. Her message was pretty much just a large block of text detailing a fairly horrific series of fantasies, ending with an inquiry as to what I’d charge for such an encounter.”

Vince couldn’t quite suppress his sniggering. “What about the other one?” he asked between restrained giggles.

“Someone whose handle was Aquafina. The poorly-spelled message read, ‘I want you. I’m definitely not Old Gregg. I’m Old Gregg . . . G, G, G, G, G.’

“Why all the Gs?”

“I mean he spelled his name with seven Gs at the end. Not entirely sure what his logic was, there.”

Vince didn’t even bother trying to hide his laughter at this point, letting his head droop forward as his shoulders shook. “I thought that site had all those filters in place to keep them from finding you!”

“Yeah, well, Google doesn’t.”

Vince patted Howard’s back even as he continued to laugh at his misfortune. When the giggles finally died down, he said, “Aw, don’t worry about it, Howard. It just means people are startin’ to find you now. Won’t be long ‘til the real thing pops up.”

“Yeah . . . maybe.” Howard didn’t sound very convinced of it, though.

“And even if this idea doesn’t work out, who cares? We just go back to doin’ what we always do.”

“That’s kind of what I’m trying to avoid doing.”

“What? Why?”

“Come on, Vince. Don’t you think it’s getting a bit old?”

“What d’you mean?”

“The way we live. We’re fully grown men still living like teenagers fresh out of school.”

“Yeah! We’re livin’ the dream!”

“No, we’re not. Our lives are going nowhere, Vince. Maybe that’s fine for you, but I want to make something of myself. I want to put down roots, settle down, have a place of my own. Establish myself as a respectable member of a community.”

“Who says you ain’t got all that now?”

“More importantly, I want someone to share all that with.”

“You do! You got me!”

“That’s not really the same thing, though, is it?”

Normally, Vince would have fired right back with an argument to the contrary, but as Howard’s question burrowed down into his ears, he found he didn’t have any words to shoot back. The taller man’s vaguely condescending grimace, and his infuriating refusal to even bother looking at Vince as he carried on sulking away over his stupid internet problems, left him unable to even squawk out a sound of indignation for several long seconds. When his mind did finally kick back into something resembling normal functioning, he half-heartedly threw up his hands.

“No. Guess it isn’t,” he said.

To Howard’s credit, he wasn’t so obtuse as to miss the hard edge in Vince’s tone. He sighed and offered, “Look, Vince, you’re still my best mate: that hasn’t changed. It’s just about time I had something more than . . . sitting around, waiting for my friend to get home from seeing all his other friends. You’ve got your life, it works for you. That’s fine, it’s great. I’ve just outgrown the old days. It’s time for me to start something new.”

Vince shrugged a shoulder. “Sure, whatever.”

“Vince, don’t get like this. This isn’t about you.”

“I’m not gettin’ like anything,” he denied as he stepped around Howard to make his way towards the back the shop. “If you think the life we’ve been livin’ is pointless, then fine, do whatever you want.”

“Vince.”

Vince ignored him and instead went as deep into the back room as he could get and started moving things around, a little more loudly than necessary, just to make it sound like he was being productive. In reality he was just making noise, and probably making a bigger mess of the back room than it had been. It was likely Howard knew this just as well as he did, and maybe even knew Vince knew he knew, but he didn’t follow Vince back there. They both simply spent the rest of the shift sulking in separate rooms.

Chapter Text

Vince had partied a little too hard that night, and spent the following morning with his head in the toilet bowl. For the briefest moment, as he was taking what little pleasure he could get from the coolness of the toilet seat against his cheek, he caught himself thinking the words, I’m getting too old for this. Then, in horror, he pushed the concept right out of his mind, and thought about zebras instead.

Zebras were well wicked.

Unfortunately, he got hypnotised by the stripes, which made him all dizzy again, and it was back to throwing up, soon enough. Shortly thereafter, he heard Howard knock on the door.

“You all right in there?”

“Yeah,” croaked Vince.

“You sure? Sounds like you’ve got some sort of virus.”

“I just drank too much,” he groaned back, knowing it would earn him no sympathy but unable to muster the energy to care.

There was a pause from the other side of the door. “Vince, you don’t get hangovers.”

“What?” Vince’s head was hurting, but it was almost better than when the room was spinning.

“In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never had a hangover, no matter how much you’d had to drink.”

“So?”

“So either you’re not hung over, or . . . well, maybe it’s time you start toning it back, yeah?”

“Sure, whatever.”

“I’m just saying, we’re not as young as we used to be.”

“Speak for yourself! It’s fine, I’ll be at work in an hour.”  He tried to push himself up in hopes of starting a shower for himself, but no, that was a bad idea. He laid his head back down on the toilet seat and conceded, “Maybe two hours.”

“Vince—”

“Can you stop talkin’, please? It hurts when you talk.”

Another pause was followed by a much softer response that Vince could barely make out.

“Look, stay at home today, all right? Business has been slow lately anyway, and I’m not fully convinced it’s not a virus keeping you in there.”

“It’s not a virus!”

“Fine! Just stay home, all right?”

“Fine!”

“Fine.”

He heard Howard make a huffing noise and walk away, but about two minutes later he heard his footsteps approach the door again, and another tentative knock.

“ . . . You gonna be long in there?” Howard asked.

Vince groaned, flushed, and dragged himself to the sink to gargle and wash up. He avoided eye contact with Howard as he exited the bathroom and stumbled back to bed, figuring he’d only find him looking concerned, and he didn’t want to think of Howard as a source of comfort right now. He wanted to be annoyed with him. He was sick: he was entitled to be miserable and stroppy if he wanted to.

When Howard had finished up in the bathroom and come back into the bedroom to find a cardigan, Vince pretended to be asleep. He couldn’t really sleep, though. He was pretty much up for the day, even if he was still too lightheaded to actually get out of bed. He listened to Howard putter around the flat for a bit, but got bored before Howard wandered downstairs to open the shop, so he pulled his computer up from under his bed and played Cookie Clicker for a bit, and caught up on Cheekbone’s newsfeed. He found he wasn’t really paying attention to any of it, though. His thoughts kept wandering to yesterday with Howard.

Why am I suddenly not good enough company? He kept wondering to himself. What, he thinks he’s outgrown me? Just ‘coz I like actual good music, still? Just ‘coz I don’t think you’re supposed to start smokin’ pipes by the fireside once your age gets to a certain number? Fuck that, I’m a joy to live with. Naboo and Bollo tell me so all the time. Howard’s the ballbag. I shouldn’t even be upset about it. He can go off with some boring lady if he wants to. I’ve got plenty of friends.

None he liked spending time with as much as Howard, granted. None that didn’t irritate him to be around for more than a few hours a week. None that didn’t look at him funny or think he was joking whenever he’d start talking about his childhood in the jungle with Bryan Ferry. There was still Naboo and Bollo, even if Naboo often had to go take Bollo off on Shaman-y business and usually wouldn’t let him come along. There was still Leroy, even if he’d gone off and got married and was real busy being a dad, these days. Like Howard wanted to be, he imagined. Howard would probably be a good dad, too.

Fuck it. Nobody felt as much like home as Howard.

Stupid Howard.

His eyes wandered across the room to Howard’s bed. He could see a familiar, grey plastic corner jutting out from under the pillow, where Howard tended to store his computer when he wasn’t using it. It was actually a little surprising that Howard hadn’t brought the computer down with him again today, but he supposed he was still feeling discouraged about his lack of response from anyone who wasn’t already stalking him. Probably a good sign, really. Maybe Howard would give up on this whole thing soon, Vince thought, and then he wouldn’t even have to worry.

Or someone might actually contact him.

Nah, that wasn’t going to happen.

It might, though.

Better make sure.

He rolled completely out of bed and crawled over to Howard’s, still feeling a little nauseous but mostly just feeling lazy. Before he even thought to consider the ethics of the situation, he already had the computer open on his own bed with the browser open to Howard’s new favourite website. He already knew the username Howard was using on the site, and as for a password, well . . . Howard used the same password for everything.

JazzMaverick1234.

Vince still found the design of the site pretty atrocious, but it was at least user-friendly enough for him to find Howard’s message inbox within seconds of logging in. It was here that he began to feel a little bit like maybe he was doing something wrong, as he discovered that Howard had actually received quite a few more messages from women than he’d let on . . . except that all of them had subject headings like, “Leave me alone,” and “Quit messaging me, you creep,” and “How did you find me? I thought I blocked you,” and “If you contact me one more time, I’m going to the police.” It made him feel a bit embarrassed on Howard’s behalf, but it also made him wonder what on Earth he was doing to offend all these women so much, so he started going through his Sent Messages folder.

Typical Howard stuff, really. Boring, a bit weird, but mostly innocent stuff that could be interpreted in ways that weren’t so innocent based on wording, followed by panicked follow-up messages that only managed to dig the hole deeper. Of course a bunch of strangers might just think he was a creep. They didn’t know Howard, so they wouldn’t see it as just awkwardly, stupidly endearing, the way Vince did.

Stupid Howard.

Vince was still upset with him.

But also felt bad for him.

Though, it was a little funny.

He didn’t know what to feel like, actually; so when an idea suddenly came to him, he wasn’t sure what it was motivated by. Pity? Malice? He couldn’t tell. It made him smile, though, and it was too exciting – and funny – for him to stop and think about how right or wrong it was. That might mean he’d have to not do it, and that was just out of the question.

It took him a while: he had to switch back to his own computer and Google pictures of “elegant ladies” and “sophisticated women” for a while and create a composite photo from his selections in Photoshop. The end result was a blandly attractive woman who basically looked like what Howard would probably look like if he’d been born female. Granted, her eyes were bigger. And blue. He just thought blue eyes suited her better.

Vince was pretty good with Photoshop, but he was no professional, so he hoped Howard wouldn’t notice the slightly blurry and distorted edges here and there.

The next challenge was the whole process of setting up an account. First he had to create a throwaway e-mail address for her, because there was no way he was associating his own e-mail address with that site. Besides, Howard might find out it was him. Once he’d set up [email protected], he got started on her Soulful Soulmates profile.

Oh, right, she needed a name, didn’t she?

Tricia was an old standby, but Howard would suss that out right away. A few more names came to him, but they all sounded like the kinds of names that a younger, trendier girl might have. This woman had to have a more classy, mysterious sort of name. Like his own name, actually. Vincent Noir was well mysterious, but maybe not a good name for a lady.

Well, maybe the Noir part.

Noir . . . Noira? Nora!

Nora what?

. . .

Smith. Done.

The rest was fairly straightforward. He just had to set it up to show she was turned on by basically everything Howard was and everything Howard liked. Jazz. Stationery. Dictionaries. Gouda. Tweed. Elbow patches. Then he threw in a few random other things like coin collecting and aquariums, just so Howard wouldn’t get too suspicious. He filled out her bio with a simple statement about how she was just a lonely individualist in a cold, cruel world – making sure to run it through spell check before publishing, because some of the words he used were really big. He didn’t really go into too much detail, because that would take too long and take away from her air of mystery.

It was a little past noon before he finally finished. He could hear Howard coming up the stairs for lunch, and quickly stowed Howard’s computer back under his pillow before leaping back into his own bed and stuffing his own computer under the sheets with him, just before Howard poked his head in through the bedroom door.

“How you feeling, Vince?”  Howard asked.

Vince kept his eyes on his knees to hide any guilt that might be sneaking its way onto his features, and merely shrugged.

“You want anything to eat?”

Vince shook his head.

“Still feeling sick?”

Vince shrugged again. With a slight sigh, Howard gave up.

“All right. I’ll check back in with you after work.”

When the door closed, Vince stuck his tongue out at it.

He finished posting Nora’s profile on that creepy, creepy website, and then set about actually composing a message. Once again he made good use of spell check, because a classy lady like Nora didn’t make spelling mistakes.

Dear ManOfAction,

I discovered your profile today and I found myself instantly intrigued. It’s so rare to meet a man with such rugged good looks who also appreciates a finely-crafted writing utensil as much as I do. I hope this correspondence finds you well.

Vince had seen that last sentence used a lot in letters in movies. It sounded good, so he threw it in.

I also hope that the riff-raff populating this unseemly web site haven’t discouraged you too much.

Nora was well posh. He’d had to pull out one of Howard’s thesauruses for this job.

I myself find myself disillusioned with what I have seen here, with the exception of you. To be frank, I’m not even sure I’ll want to sign back in again after today, but I wanted to send you a letter expressing my esteem and admiration before I wave adieu to this avenue of social connection. It is lovely to have found you, dear ManOfAction. It gives me hope that I may yet find my Soulful Soulmate somewhere out in that big wide world.

 Yours sincerely,

JazzyRebelette

Feeling a bit naughty, Vince sent off the message, then logged out of Nora’s account and switched back over to Cookie Clicker.

That should drive him bonkers, he thought to himself. The perfect woman reaches out to him, only to disappear forever right after.

He realised his tummy was rumbling up a storm, and so he finally got out of bed to get himself something to eat. He found a note on the fridge from Howard.

Vince,

I made you some soup. It’s in the fridge if you’re feeling up to it. You can heat it back up in the microwave if you find yourself hungry before suppertime. I also picked you up some strawberry bootlaces if you think you can handle sweets. They’re on the counter.

- H

Vince felt a sudden stab of pain in his stomach, and it wasn’t from hunger or nausea. He pulled the soup out of the fridge and reheated it, then stood eating it in the kitchen feeling a little torn.

Maybe I can just log in to Howard’s account and delete the message. Then nobody’d ever have to know about it.

But there was still a part of him that wanted to go ahead with it. Just because Howard was nice didn’t mean he wasn’t still a ballbag who was planning to abandon him. Besides, maybe he was doing a good deed, after all. Howard would get a bit of an ego boost out of it, so that would make up for the soup. And maybe Vince could just be really nice to him now. Then maybe Howard would just change his mind. After all, once you meet someone who’s perfect for you, it pretty much ruins you for everyone else, right? Then he could give up on this whole quest for finding someone else to spend all his time with, and just keep spending all his time with Vince, instead.

It’d be fine. He’d just have to never use Nora’s account again.

Chapter Text

It was a month later, and he’d been playing Nora just about every day of that month.

He really hadn’t meant to. He’d never expected it would get this far! All he’d ever wanted to do was just toy with Howard a little, but then, a few days later, he got curious. He wanted to know how Howard had responded, so he’d checked Howard’s computer again while he was out getting groceries, and looked at his sent folder. He’d sent a total of five replies to Nora’s message over the span of five days: the first one had actually been a pretty reasonable-sounding greeting and encouragement for her to stick around, coupled with a hopeful appeal for further communication. The second had been a simple, “Did you give any thought to what I said in my last letter?” The third and fourth were basically just a lot of begging, which was kind of funny but nowhere near the level of comedy Vince had been expecting. Then, the final message was a rueful, “Well, all right. Farewell to you, my mysterious and beautiful Jazz Rebelette. I hope someday our paths cross again.”

He was actually kind of impressed that Howard had been able to keep all that to himself, as far as his interactions with Vince and their flatmates had been concerned. It was basically one big emotional rollercoaster ride but he’d completely kept a lid on it. It was actually kind of anticlimactic.

Kind of unsatisfying.

What, wasn’t Nora good enough for him, either?

So he’d written back, claiming to have stopped back in just to see if Howard had replied and having been so pleased to find that he had, but saying once again that she just didn’t want to continue on with this web site anymore, because it was beneath her. Then, because he couldn’t resist, he added that Howard could contact her via e-mail if he really wanted to, and gave him her e-mail address.

Then he deleted her profile, because Howard wasn’t the only one who’d been sending her messages, and that website really did just make him feel unclean.

He’d wondered if Howard would even receive the message if he deleted the account associated with it, but his answer came later that night when they were settling into bed, and Howard was checking his inbox while Vince pretended to pay attention to his video game. He heard a distinct gasp from Howard, followed by a few clicks, and then a whole lot of typing. When he was pretty sure Howard would be fully engrossed in writing, he snuck a peek in his direction, and couldn’t hide a bit of a smirk on seeing the joyful smile on Howard’s face. That was the face he made when he had something to brag about.

“What you writing?” he asked Howard, feigning complete ignorance.

Howard blinked, suddenly jarred out of his thoughts and back into the real world by Vince’s voice.

“Hm?  . . . Oh, nothing, just an e-mail.”

“Yeah? To who?”

“To whom.”

“Who’s Hoom?” Why would Howard lie?

“No, what I mean is—never mind. I’m just writing to a woman I met on that website.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s she like?”

Howard paused a moment, then smiled again.

“She’s perfect.”

Vince grinned back. He hoped he didn’t look too evil when he did.

From there, it just kind of kept going. The letter Howard had written to Nora had actually been really nice. He’d been expecting Howard to fall all over himself and get all creepy with her, but he was really respectful. He got a little overly wordy about elbow patches again, but he asked about her interests, he complimented her on more than just her looks, and he asked about her life and her aspirations and . . . .

And, oh, this meant Vince actually had to make up a life and aspirations for her.

So he did, slowly but surely, revealing only little tidbits of information at a time – as much as he figured he could get away with. In all honesty, her character started to shift, over time. He ended up having to admit to Howard about a week in that she really didn’t know much about jazz at all, but that she was really interested in learning, especially from someone who clearly knew so much (he figured he could just skim those bits of his letters if he really needed to learn anything from them). Her language got a little more informal over time, because he couldn’t keep it at that level. It was hard. He excused it as subtly as he could by claiming it was because she felt so comfortable talking to him.

And all the while, in real-world time and space, Howard was just the same old Howard. Back to obsessively checking his laptop every night, but otherwise, he was just Vince’s best friend, in every way. He was even back to watching cartoons with him again.

He ran into a bit of a panic around the second week in, when Howard asked to see more pictures of Nora, and he had to write back claiming that she was very shy and didn’t like taking photos of herself. When Howard insisted that she was stunning and the camera loved her, he had to admit that the picture had been heavily Photoshopped, and that it wasn’t an accurate portrayal of her, and that she’d really prefer it if he just dropped the subject. There was no way he’d be able to create another, accurate picture of Nora in a different pose and setting. Something in the details would always be off and Howard would figure it out.

Howard, in a gentlemanly gesture, agreed not to press her further for it, and said her looks didn’t matter to him, anyway. “It’s what’s inside that counts,” he’d told her.

He’d said that to Vince once, too.

So their exchanges carried on for a while after the photo scare, with Howard opening up to her more and more, claiming he felt really comfortable with her, too, since they’d been talking for so long. And they really had been: Vince was learning things about Howard through Nora that he never admitted to anyone: not even Vince. He’d actually felt a little uncomfortable reading some of the letters. Vince wasn’t used to seeing Howard openly admit to his insecurities and human failings: he was more used to seeing him throw up a shield of bravado and reassure Vince that he was in control, and knew exactly what he was doing. With Nora, he’d admit to feeling like a failure sometimes, or questioning his own judgment. It just seemed to naturally come out in conversation with her, just the way some of Vince’s own insecurities would sometimes come out through Nora: sometimes he’d admit that he – or she, rather – suspected that most of . . . her . . . friends didn’t really like her all that much, but just thought she was a good social connection to have. Howard wrote back that she was probably perfectly well-loved by her friends, since she was so charming and sweet: it’s what made her a good social connection to begin with.

I’ve found in my personal experience that people tend to let you know when they don’t really like you, Howard had written. I don’t have a lot of friends at all, really. Just the one, if I’m really honest. Well, two, now, including you.

Vince bit his lip on reading that. No, he thought to himself, still just the one.

He was kind of surprised by that, though. Surely Howard counted more than just one person as his friend. He was pretty sure he was talking about Vince, since they’d been getting along well enough lately. But what did that mean for Lester Corncrake? He decided to ask him later that day, at dinner.

“Where’s your crazy jazz friend been, lately?” he asked, seemingly out of the blue. “The one who’s just a head, ever since that party.”

“Lester?”

“Yeah.”

“I already told you, didn’t I?”

Vince scanned his memory, but came up blank. “Better tell me again,” he said. “You know what my memory’s like.”

“I know what your listening skills are like,” Howard grumbled, which left Vince feeling rather sheepish at first, and then a little indignant on further thought. He listened! Most of the time! He was one of the few people who actually did listen to Howard, and that could be hard work!

He decided not to start an argument over it, though. He wanted to actually find out what happened with Lester.

“I don’t talk to him anymore,” Howard told him. “Bastard ripped me off.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I’d shown him one of my latest compositions. He’d dismissed it as too cliché, so I threw it out. Then he snuck it out of the bin and took it with him on his trip to Xooberon – the one he was going on so he could get that procedure to give him tentacles. Anyway, the surgery was a success, and soon after that he held some sort of celebration for it, where he played my song on the piano. It was written for multiple instruments, but he could play all the parts at once with his extra appendages. He got famous with my song on another planet where the law can’t touch him. I didn’t even know about it until Naboo came back with a ticket stub.”

Vince was surprised he hadn’t picked that story up before. Surely he’d have remembered a detail like Naboo enjoying jazz. In any case, he was genuinely angry about it now. “What a dick,” he said. “I never liked him, anyway. You should really look into intergalactic law. There’d have to be something you can do.”

Howard shook his head. “I can’t be bothered, Vince. More trouble than it’s worth.”

Vince frowned at that, but then offered Howard a smile. “Least you know your song was good, now,” he said. “You might not get the credit for it, but you know lots of people liked it. Now that there ain’t anyone around who can steal ‘em, you can write other songs – even better songs! And you’ll get famous for those, instead.”

Howard chuckled softly. “Maybe so, Little Man.”

“I believe in you, Howard.”

“Thanks, Vince.”

For a quiet moment they just beamed at each other. Then Howard looked down at his plate, noticing he was finished with his pie, so he washed up and retreated to their room to check for a message from Nora. Vince knew Howard had one waiting for him, like every other day: he’d written it up quick at lunchtime. It should make Howard feel even better: Nora was full of compliments in that one. He’d actually wondered if he was laying it on a little bit thick, but he’d been in a good mood. He liked being able to say really nice things to Howard without Howard thinking he wanted something. Besides, it was only fair: Howard had been sending her extra letters throughout the past few days, and all of them were romantic poetry. They were kind of weird, but still sweet. It gave Vince butterflies in his tummy. On Nora’s behalf, of course.

A few days later, Howard had very tentatively asked if, perhaps, Nora might like to meet him for coffee sometime soon.

I feel like I can really trust you, he’d told her, And I hope you feel the same about me. I’d love to talk to you in person. Maybe hold your hand, if you’d like.

Fuck, Vince thought to himself, looking over at Howard in the next bed, sleeping away with a contented look on his face. He’d really let this go too far. Couldn’t they just keep saying nice things to each other over the internet? Vince liked that, it was a good system. Now he needed to come up with a believable excuse for why Nora wouldn’t be able to meet him.

My dear Howard,

As much as I would love to meet you, I just can’t right now. Partly it’s that I’m very busy with work at the moment, but also I’m just not brave enough. I’m afraid that if we were to meet somewhere in person, you wouldn’t like what you saw. I know you’re a nice man with a good heart, but it’s just not something I think I can do. I hope you understand.

Nora

There. It was true enough. He was pretty sure Howard would have a lot of arguments against it, but he knew if Nora held firm, Howard would relent – at least if he wanted her to keep talking to him. It would be fine, for the time being. And maybe Howard would just give up on Nora outright, and then Vince wouldn’t even have to worry. If that happened, Vince thought, he’d start saying really nice things to Howard in person, instead. He liked that part of this whole situation. Howard might think it was weird at first, but maybe he’d find it comforting after letting Nora go. Who needed Nora, anyway?

Chapter Text

As it turned out, Howard seemed to need Nora. And Vince needed Nora to keep up this special, different, secret connection he’d forged with Howard. That, and he liked knowing that as long as Howard was interested in Nora, he wasn’t going to abandon her or him for some other girl. It was a lot more complicated than he’d ever planned on things being, but it was working.

Maybe a little too well.

Their conversations got increasingly deeper, to the point where Vince was finding it difficult to come up with passionate interests for Nora to talk about with Howard, so he had to default to talking about some of his own. Cosmetics and hair care products, for example. That subject was safe enough: it was a perfectly average interest for a lady to have, yeah? Animals, too: who wasn’t interested in animals? Electro music was eventually brought in when he honestly couldn’t fake enough interest in or knowledge about jazz to converse about it in the kind of depth that Howard seemed to be wanting. He figured that’d be okay: lots of people liked electro.

Howard seemed to buy into it well enough. He even started mentioning Vince, finally. Vince had been starting to wonder if Howard was ashamed of him or something. But he referenced Vince in relation to anything that went too far out of Howard’s sphere of interest, saying things like, “A friend of mine is very deeply interested in electro,” and “I’m afraid I’m no expert on root booster, myself, but my friend Vince is quite the connoisseur.” It was nice being included, even just a little.

Howard eventually brought up the idea of moving to telephone conversations, rather than solely e-mailing one another. Vince actually yelped out a squeaky little “No!” when he read that one, prompting Howard to look up at him from the kitchen stove and ask, “What’s wrong?”

“What?”

“You kind of . . . quietly screamed?”

“I did that out loud?”

“Either that or we’ve spontaneously developed telepathy.”

“ . . . Better check on that one. What am I thinking of right now?”

“Elephants.”

“ . . . That was an easy one. What number am I thinking of?”

“Thirty-eight.”

“Spooky.”

“Not really. It’s the entire subject of the sculpture Bollo bought earlier this afternoon. You were staring right at it just a second ago.” Howard pointed at the small, porcelain statuette sitting on the end table next to the sofa. The number thirty-eight had been lovingly rendered in Times New Roman font.

“All right. What sound am I making in my head?”

Howard’s brow furrowed as he thought about that one. “Kind of a . . . pinging noise?”

“What? No. I was going, hhuuuuuuuurrrrgghuuuaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllgh.”

“Guess it’s not telepathy, then.”

“Good. You already know too much about what goes on in my brain.”

“More than I ever wanted to know. So what’s wrong?”

“What?”

“Why did you go, ‘No!’?”

“Oh, that. They raised the price of my favourite conditioner! Can you believe that?”

“I can, actually.”

“It’s criminal, is what it is . . . .” As soon as Howard had clearly lost interest and turned back to his cooking, Vince’s mind returned to damage control. There was no way they could talk on the phone. Even if Vince could convincingly make himself sound like a completely different person, he had no phone number to give to Howard that wouldn’t be immediately recognisable, and even if he bought a whole new phone specifically for that purpose, it’d be pretty hard to explain why a phone in Vince’s possession started ringing every time Howard tried to phone his girlfriend.

Vince had never actually thought of Nora as Howard’s girlfriend before, come to think of it. That was weird. But technically, he supposed she was, in a really chaste, long-distance, imaginary kind of way.

Glancing up at Howard every few seconds, Vince fabricated Nora’s reply.

Darling Howard

While Im sure your voice would be music to my ears, I have a terrible fear of telephones because my grandmother was accidentally killed by one when I was a child. Maybe we could do Skype instead? I dont have a microphone on my computer, but we could send messages to one another and it would be alot quicker than email.

Nora

Vince exhaled heavily as soon as he clicked “Send.” It would be enough to hold Howard off for the moment, but he’d have to do some prep work. He pulled out his mobile and got to work setting up a whole separate Skype account on it for Nora, making sure to set all notifications to silent. Then he had to go lie down, because all this strategic thinking was taxing his brain to its limits.

Chapter Text

Vince really liked Skyping with Howard.

He could curl up in an arm chair with his mobile in the same room as Howard and talk to him as Nora without Howard even knowing, at least so long as he kept all his little smiles hidden, and contained most of his giggles. Their text conversations were a lot like his and Howard’s real-world conversations, actually: a lot of banter and reminiscing. The subjects were different, but the rhythm and feel were the same. Only difference was that whenever Nora would say something a bit flirty, Howard would actually flirt back!  It made him blush, sometimes. He wasn’t used to Howard flirting back. Sometimes, when he thought he could get away with it, he’d just sort of let himself smile at Howard across the room before typing up a reply. He’d see Howard smiling, too: down at his computer screen. He liked knowing it was him making Howard smile like that.

One evening, while Howard was out shopping, Naboo sat down next to Vince. He sucked thoughtfully on his new pipe, and after exhaling a large cloud of skunky smoke, asked him, “So. How much longer you think you can get away with it?”

“Get away with what?” asked Vince.

“Pretendin’ to be Howard’s dream girl.”

Vince started, and guiltily stuffed his phone under his seat cushion. “You know about that?!”

“I’ve been watching the two of you textin’ back an’ forth for nearly a month now. I can read Howard’s screen. It’s pretty obvious, really.”

“Oh . . . .”

“It’s pretty creepy, to be quite honest with you.”

Vince chewed his bottom lip. “D’you think Howard’s starting to figure it out?” he asked.

“Howard’s desperate for attention, and he’s an idiot. You’re craftier than you let on, when you can be bothered. It’s an effective combo, but it’ll only get you so far. You’re weavin’ a dangerous web, Vince. You’re gonna spin yourself in knots.”

“What do you expect me to do? Howard’s really attached to this girl, now. I can’t just suddenly make her chuck him. It wouldn’t make any sense. She’s been too nice to him.”

Naboo shrugged. “Maybe you should tell him the truth.”

“Yeah, right! He’d never want to speak to me again!”

Naboo’s brow furrowed slightly. “I’ll never understand why you think that’s a bad thing.”

“Don’t you have any better ideas?”

Shaking his head, Naboo stood up again. “Sometimes, I can’t be the one to give you the answers. You got yourself into this mess, so you gotta figure your way out.”

Vince gripped the sleeve of Naboo’s dressing gown before he could make his meaningful exit, and ruined it completely by asking, “What about potions? D’you have, like, some kind of potion that can turn me into a woman for a few hours a night? Just something temporary: I don’t want to be a girl all the time, just enough of the time to keep Howard happy.”

“. . . That’s weird, Vince.”

“That’s not a ‘no’?”

“Weird and sad and very wrong.”

“I can pay you.”

“Let go of me; you’re creepin’ me out.” Naboo yanked his arm free of Vince’s grasp and hurried to his room, casting a final, disturbed glance in Vince’s direction before shutting and locking the door behind him.

Not long after their exchange ended, Howard came home, and Vince chose to put the whole discussion out of his mind.

He was chatting with Howard in their room that night while simultaneously carrying on a verbal argument with him about which would be better: spending your entire life in a hamster ball or having the ability to teleport everywhere except you always show up naked at your destination, because clothes can’t teleport. Their verbal argument wound down as they settled into their beds and became more absorbed in their internet conversation, but even that began to slow down as they each got sleepy.

I think it’s about time I went to sleep, wrote Howard.

I should too, Vince tapped into his phone.

All right. Sleep well, then, Little Bunny. Howard always called Nora that, partly as a reference to her seeming shyness, but also because of a conversation they’d had in which Nora told Howard that she’d just had carrot cake for the very first time that day and loved it, especially how the baker had made little decorative carrots with the frosting. This was actually a story from Vince’s day – he didn’t like carrots, and had always figured carrot cake would be terrible, but had been feeling adventurous. He’d given the story to Nora, though, for lack of anything better to talk to Howard about.

Good night handsome. Vince hadn’t come up with a more creative pet name for Howard yet. Handsome did the job. It was true enough; especially lately. Ever since Nora had come into his life and started puffing him up with compliments, he was standing straighter, smiling more, and speaking with genuine confidence instead of just pretentiousness. The good qualities he’d always had were amplified now, just a bit. Vince was really proud of him.

He figured the conversation was over at that point, and was just curling up onto his side and about to shut off Skype when he saw another message come in.

Love you.

Vince blinked a couple times at the screen, making sure he was reading that right. Then he, very cautiously, glanced over his shoulder at Howard, who had very quickly shut his laptop and was now staring at it with a troubled brow and wringing his hands.

Hurriedly, before Howard could notice him staring, he turned his attention back to his screen, and just stared at the words. Behind him, he could hear Howard slowly settle down under his own covers, breathe out a deep, shaky sigh and, eventually, begin snoring.

Vince couldn’t stop grinning like an absolute idiot. It was all he could do for a long while. Finally, as sleep was starting to tug at his eyelids, he regained just enough sense to reply.

Love you too.

He logged off and turned to put his phone on his night stand, then laid smiling at Howard until he fell asleep, waking the next morning with a start at a whoop of joy from Howard’s side of the room.

“Whathe . . . ??” Vince slurred.

“She said she loves me,” said Howard, grinning from ear to ear as he gazed in awe at his computer screen. He shook himself and looked apologetically in Vince’s direction, adding, “Sorry, Vince, I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s just . . . wow.”

Vince’s heart swelled up as big as it had last night. He smiled dozily. “ ‘Sall right. That’s great, Howard.”

He didn’t think Howard even heard him. He just sat there gazing adoringly at his computer screen, and carried on doing so for most of the rest of the day.

Some time later, while they were exchanging messages in the living room again, Howard finally seemed to take notice that Vince was actually in the living room with him.

“You’ve been texting a lot, lately,” he observed. “Who’re you even talking to? New girlfriend?”

Vince looked up from the line of poetry Howard had just sent him with a bashful smile. “Boyfriend, actually,” he said.

“Oh,” said Howard with a slight nod. “Well, y’know, just don’t break his heart too thoroughly, all right? When you get bored of him, break it off gently.”

Vince took mild offense at that, but he was in too good of a mood to really let it sink in. He just wrinkled his nose at him, then looked fondly back down at his phone.

“I ain’t never gonna be bored of this guy,” he said. “Not ever.”

Chapter Text

Vince had a problem. He was jealous of himself.

Deeply, bitterly, horribly jealous of himself.

It had started to set in shortly after Nora and Howard had started regularly saying “I love you” to each other. One afternoon, just before heading out to visit Henri’s mum, Howard had followed him to the door to ask him to pick up some jam on the way home. After agreeing, he waved goodbye over his shoulder at Howard, and, without thinking, said,

“Love you!”

There was a brief and awkward pause. Then Howard chuckled. He laughed at that.

“Think you’re mistaking me for your dad, there,” he teased.

Vince’s face fell, but he covered with a forced chuckle of his own. “Wouldn’t be the first person to make that mistake, would I? You certainly look the part.” he shot back.

“That’s my look, Vince: mature and distinguished.”

“More like weathered and outdated. See you later.” He trotted off down the street, allowing himself a sulk once he heard Howard shut the door. Who laughs when someone says “I love you”? Really, now. He could’ve at least said it back. That would’ve been the polite thing. Howard was going to have to learn a lot more about social graces if he wanted to keep Nora happy.

He’d have said “I love you” back to Nora.

Then there was the issue that Howard had started spending less time with him again. He hadn’t noticed at first, because he was spending time on chats with Nora, and since Vince was Nora, it had all seemed the same at first. But he finally started to notice that Howard never wanted to watch cartoons, or throw satsumas at one another, or even crimp all that much anymore. He spent all his time with his fucking laptop. Even when Nora wasn’t online, Howard was waiting for her to sign on, or working on a new love poem for her, or looking through their chat history for hints on where she might be living.

“Judging by this message from November,” Howard murmured, pointing at his screen for Vince’s benefit, despite the fact that Vince was trying very hard to make his disinterest visibly obvious, “she goes to that same bakery where we found the banana bread Bollo likes. She has to be somewhere in Camden, then.”

“I think she’d be pretty put off by the fact that you’re trying to find out where she lives,” said Vince, irritably. “If she wanted you to know, she’d just tell you.”

“Well, I just figure, maybe if I can sort of . . . accidentally bump into her, outside her front door, maybe it’ll help her get over her shyness. Force her to confront her anxieties.”

“Or it’ll just tell her you’re creepy and can’t be trusted. Besides, there might be a really good reason why she won’t let you see her. Maybe she’s really ugly.”

“I don’t care what she looks like.”

“Bullshit. You’re just as shallow as anyone else I know.”

“I am not!”

“Yeah, you are; otherwise why not date Eleanor? She saved your life, and she’s clearly interested in you, but you’re completely put off.”

“My lack of interest in Eleanor stems from the fact that she clearly only wants me for my body, and gained most of her wealth from a suspicious series of dead husbands. That, and I’m fairly certain she’s related to Bob Fossil. Bad enough he used to be my boss, I won’t have him for an in-law. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now, because I have Nora.”

“That’s another thing. How do you know ‘Nora’ isn’t Eleanor?”

“What?”

”Rearrange the last four letters of Eleanor’s name.”

“. . . It’s a coincidence.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Howard huffed, but after a pause to think, he said, “Their personalities don’t seem at all alike . . . but if it turns out they are one and the same, then it doesn’t matter: I still love her.” His attention shifted back down to his computer screen, and he waved Vince away. “Now, quiet down, yeah? I’ve got more research to do.”

“Can’t it wait? I’m bored.”

“Well, go talk to that boyfriend of yours.”

Vince scowled, just slightly. “I’m a bit cross with him, at the moment.”

“Oh, yeah?” Howard asked in that distant tone that Vince recognised as Howard’s ‘I’m not really listening’ voice.

“Yeah. He doesn’t pay enough attention to me.”

“ . . . Good, good.”

Vince gave up with a huff and stormed off into their room, shutting the door with enough force to shake the walls. He flopped on his bed and checked his phone. There were new messages for Nora, of course, and as soon as Howard noticed she was online, there were immediately more.

Howard Moon: Nora, hi.

Howard Moon: Listen, I was wondering: would you be comfortable with sharing your mailing address with me?

Howard Moon: I don’t mean to be pushy about it.

Howard Moon: I’m not trying to stalk you or anything. :)

Howard Moon: I’m just thinking I might like to send you a little token of my affection. :)

Howard Moon: Or even a Christmas present, at Christmas time.

Howard Moon: You know, just to have it on hand, when the season rolls around.

Howard Moon: Even a PO Box?

Howard Moon: I promise it’s not a letter bomb or anything.

Howard Moon: Or anthrax.

Howard Moon: I wouldn’t even know where to get anthrax.

Howard Moon: Well, maybe one person, but I wouldn’t ask him.

Howard Moon: I know those sound like suspiciously specific denials, but I really don’t want to send you anything that would kill you.

Howard Moon: Bearing that in mind, you might want to inform me of any allergies you might have.

Howard Moon: Peanuts, for example. Are you allergic to peanuts? I can’t remember if you’ve said.

Vince watched Howard’s messages pop in one after the other with his face slackened in misery. When Vince wanted to talk, Howard couldn’t be bothered; meanwhile Nora had yet to say anything and Howard couldn’t wait to hear what she had to say. It was all about Nora, now. Howard had abandoned Vince for her – maybe not physically, yet, but emotionally. He’d abandoned Vince for Vince, but he could never know it was Vince, because then he’d really abandon him.

What was so special about Nora, anyway? Nothing. She was just a figment of his and Howard’s shared imaginations. Most of her experiences were Vince’s experiences. Her memories were Vince’s memories. She was stealing his life and his best mate and she didn’t even have a real heart to care about it. She was just an evil, imaginary fairy here to steal away everything Vince loved.

Well, two could play at that game.

Nora Smith: It doesnt matter

Howard replied almost immediately.

Howard Moon: Of course it matters. I’d never forgive myself if you went into anaphylaxis over something I gave you.

Howard Moon: What about jewellery? You don’t have any nickel allergies or anything, do you?

Howard Moon: I could get you gold, of course, but…well, money’s a bit tight at the moment.

Howard Moon: Don’t you worry, though: it’s a temporary state of affairs. Howard Moon is a rock-solid provider.

Howard Moon: Or contributor.

Howard Moon: I’m not trying to imply you can’t earn a living on your own, of course. I’m a strong believer in the feminist movement.

Howard Moon: So anyway, by “It doesn’t matter,” did you mean you don’t actually have any allergies, so it doesn’t matter what I send you?

Nora Smith: It doesnt matter if you send me anything. I wont be here to get it

Howard Moon: Oh. Are you going on a holiday?

Howard Moon: Where to?

Howard Moon: For how long?

Howard Moon: Will you still have access to the internet where you’re going?

Howard Moon: Just curious. :)

Nora Smith: Im sorry howard. I cant go on like this

Howard Moon: Go on like what?

Howard Moon: Bunny?

Nora Smith: I cant do it anymore howard

Nora Smith: The world is too cruel

Nora Smith: You were wonderful but i just dont have it in me to keep going

Nora Smith: Iam going to kill myself goodbye

Vince signed off quickly. Lacking pockets, he shoved his phone down the back of his y-fronts. There. It was done. Howard would be sad for a while, but he’d get over it, and then he and Vince would go back to normal again. Maybe Howard would take a vow of celibacy in her honour. It seemed like the kind of noble, romantic gesture Howard would go for. It’d be perfect.

There was a crash and clatter outside, and then Howard burst through the bedroom door.

“VINCE!”

“What?”

“Vince, you’ve gotta help me! It’s Nora! She’s gonna do something drastic!”

Vince got out of bed and hurried to him. He looked terrible: his eyes were bigger than he’d ever seen them, and he was pale and hyperventilating. “All right, calm down! What’s going on?” He knew full well what was going on, of course, but he couldn’t let on. He just hoped he didn’t look too guilty. Or that, if he did, Howard wouldn’t notice.

“She said she was gonna kill herself, then she signed off! I don’t know what happened! I don’t know if it was something I did, or something she wasn’t telling me about . . . maybe she’s in some kind of financial trouble, I don’t know, but I need to help her before it’s too late!” He gripped Vince by both shoulders, pleading with his uncomfortably wide eyes. “Please, Vince, you have to have some way of finding her. You know everyone in Camden: surely you at least know someone who knows her! Can’t you poll your friends? Ask if they know a Nora Smith, and where she lives?”

Genuinely apologetic, Vince cringed and gently placed a hand on Howard’s shoulder. “Howard, that’s a pretty common-sounding name. I wouldn’t be surprised if in the phone book alone there were hundreds of Nora Smiths.”

Howard’s eyebrows shot upward. “The phone book. The phone book!” He barked out a desperate laugh and pressed a grateful kiss to Vince’s forehead, ruffling his hair in the process. If he didn’t look like he was on the edge of a psychotic breakdown, Vince might have thrown a fit over it, but he was too worried . . . and surprised.

“Ohh, Vince, you might only have one brain cell, but he’s a genius!” Howard said by way of gratitude as he flew back out of the room to find the phone directory. Vince stood in the middle of the bedroom for a moment longer, rubbing the spot on his forehead that Howard had kissed and chewing on the inside of his lip. Once he started to hear Howard yanking drawers open, tossing papers around, and flipping chairs and tables over in his search, he hurried out into the main room after him.

Howard did find the phone book. Beside the phone, where it always was. He flipped violently through its pages until he found the section he was looking for, then made a dash for the stairs, grabbing his own oversized mobile along the way.

“Where’re you going?!” Vince rushed after him. “Howard!”

“I’ll call every one of these numbers!” Howard explained, breathlessly, as he threw on his coat and began dialling the first number on his phone. “I’ll visit every address in here, if I have to. I’ll find her, Vince! I’ll stop her!”

“Howard, wait!!”

Howard was already throwing open the door when Vince reached the bottom of the stairway, and by the time he got outside Howard was already three doors away and gaining speed.  “Howard!!”

He ran after him, but Howard was taller and had longer legs and a bigger stride, and his shoes weren’t as awkward to walk in as Vince’s boots. Howard disappeared around a corner, and by the time Vince turned the same one, he could see his friend disappearing into the back of a cab. It drove off before Vince could flag it down. As he watched it shrink into the distance, it felt like a little piranha was chewing on his chest, while muttering to itself about what a horrible person he was. He reached up and yanked the ornery little fish off himself.

“Oi. How’d you get there?” he asked the piranha.

“I jumped,” it explained.

Vince tossed the fish away. Then, slumping, he walked home.

Chapter Text

A few hours later, he finally saw Howard again.

A few hours and a few thousand Euros later, rather.

As soon as the bars slid open and Howard walked out of the cell, Vince met him just outside it.

“Howard! What were you even doing?! You don’t go breakin’ into people’s houses!”

“I had to! Nora’s life was at stake!” Howard’s entire body was tense. His shoulders were in a terrible hunch, and he was giving his forearm a pretty nasty burn. “I couldn’t find her, Vince. I tried. I visited so many places, called so many people. The only Nora Smiths I met were mostly happily married women who had no idea who I was . . . that and the nice old lady with Alzheimer’s. Her son was the one who called the cops on me.”

“You threw a brick through her bedroom window and climbed in like a night-time predator! Of course he called the cops!”

“I know what it looked like, all right?!” Howard snapped. “I didn’t care about appearances! I was trying to save the woman I love!”  His expression sank even more into misery, and he added, quietly. “I guess ‘loved’, now. It’s been hours. I imagine she’s already done what it was she was going to do by now.”

“No, Howard. That’s what I’m here to tell you! I got on your computer when I got home and I kept an eye out for Nora, thinkin’ maybe she’d change her mind and get back on and she wouldn’t have to worry. And she did, Howard! She got back on an’ she left you a message!”

There was a tiny spark in Howard’s eyes, and he lifted his head slightly. “What? She did?”  Then he grabbed hold of Vince’s forearm. “What did she say?! Did you talk to her?! Did you keep her talking?!”

“I told her I was your roommate and you was out lookin’ for her. I told her the world wasn’t so bad, and not to do anythin’ to herself ‘coz it would break your heart. She doesn’t want to break your heart, Howard. She loves you, even if she doesn’t always love herself. She’s waiting for you.”

A tear slid down Howard’s cheek, and he pulled Vince into a tight, long embrace.

“Thank you, Vince . . . .” he choked. “Thank you, so much. You’re a good friend. The best.”

Vince was crying a little, too, but he doubted Howard noticed. He just enjoyed the hug as long as he could. He didn’t even mind that Howard was stroking his hair. It was comforting, actually. In a really painful way.

Howard finally broke the hug and wiped his eyes. “Thanks for bailing me out, too. I’ll take care of the rent for the next little while, yeah?” He forced a lighthearted chuckle.

Vince just made himself smile and didn’t say anything for or against it. He didn’t think Howard could really pull that off, but it’d be nice if he could try.  “Let’s get you home,” he said instead, and Howard nodded in agreement. As they made their way out of the holding area, Vince’s hand sought out Howard’s, and clutched it. Howard didn’t pull his away. Not for the whole way home.

Chapter Text

Howard and Nora’s first conversation after the incident was a hard one, but it had to be had.

Nora Smith: Im really sorry i worried you. Im sorry you ever met me really

Howard Moon: You should never be sorry about that.

Howard Moon: Well, maybe the first one. But I’m not angry with you. Just still worried.

Nora Smith: Howard theres so much i havent told you about me. Its why I dont let you come over or see my picture or anything

Howard Moon: So tell me those things. You know that I love you.

Nora Smith: You love what you think i am. you dont love the real me. I want you to love the real me

Howard Moon: Well, how can I if you won’t share with me?

Nora Smith: Im scared. I dont think you can love me for who i really am

Howard Moon: How will you know if you don’t at least give me a chance?

Nora Smith: Im not the lady in the picture you saw in the profile. not at all. its not even just a photoshopped picture of me. its a photoshopped picture of someone else

Howard Moon: I’m fine with that.

Nora Smith: I dont like jazz at all. i think its really boring and i usually just skip over any parts where youre talking about it. i only pretended to like jazz because i wanted to impress you

Howard Moon: I’ve kind of gathered that by now. Besides, you’re not the only one. My best friend, Vince, he does the same thing. The part where he doesn’t really listen to me when I talk about jazz, I mean. He’s never really pretended to like it. He’s still my best friend. He’s a great guy, really. I think the two of you would really get on. You have a lot in common.

Nora Smith: :)

Nora Smith: you probably wouldnt think im very pretty

Howard Moon: I’d bet you’re wrong on that one.

Nora Smith: my name isnt really nora

Howard Moon: So what is it?

Nora Smith: im scared to tell you!

Howard Moon: Why?

Nora Smith: you wont like it

Howard Moon: A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

Nora Smith: Im not a rose though

Howard Moon: It’s only a metaphor.

Nora Smith: no i know. Im working with your metaphor

Howard Moon: I don’t follow.

Nora Smith: look theres a big reason why i dont think youll want me if I tell you the truth.

Howard Moon: Well, you’re kind of past the point of no return now. I already know you’re keeping something from me. It’s going to come out eventually.

Nora Smith: not if i just quietly disappear. I can just leave you alone and never bother you again

Howard Moon: I would really hope you wouldn’t do that. At least give me the closure first. Let me know what’s eating away at you. Have a little faith in me. I’m a pretty open-minded guy.

Nora Smith: i dont think youre this open minded

Howard Moon: Please?

Nora Smith: fine

Howard Moon: ?

Vince took a deep breath.

Nora Smith: im really a man.

There was a long silence from Howard’s end. He couldn’t see Howard: he’d left him alone in the living room and gone into the bedroom to play the part of Nora. It was too scary to do it in the same room, but now he sort of wished he’d been brave enough. He had no idea how Howard was taking the information. Maybe that was the last piece of the puzzle. Maybe he knew, now, that he’d been talking to Vince all along and was about to storm in and go at him. Vince would probably let him. He felt horrible.

He shook himself out of his self-loathing when he noticed a new message from Howard.

Howard Moon: Okay.

Vince blinked.

Nora Smith: okay what

Howard Moon: Okay, you’re a man.

Nora Smith: what, you dont believe me?

Howard Moon: No, I believe you. I’m saying it’s okay.

Nora Smith: i know its ok! Im very ok with being a man! Ive been one all my life!

Nora Smith: except for when i was a boy, but very little changed between then and now

Howard Moon: And I’m okay with you being a man.

Nora Smith: but you dont love me anymore

Howard Moon: I never said that.

Nora Smith: what so youre saying all of a sudden you like men now?

Howard Moon: I’m saying I like you. I’m willing to give it a go if you are.

Vince wasn’t sure how to feel about this. Part of him was sort of, maybe, a little bit hopeful. But another part of him had some serious doubts. Yet another part of him was angry. He tried to keep that part contained.

Nora Smith: ill be honest. you never really struck me as someone who swings both ways

Howard Moon: I’m full of surprises. :)

Howard Moon: Seriously, though,

Howard Moon: There aren’t a lot of people I’ve loved in my life.

Howard Moon: There aren’t a lot of people who’ve loved me, either.

Howard Moon: In all the years I’ve lived, I’ve only truly loved one other person besides you. That person wasn’t someone I ever expected. I learned from that experience that you don’t ever really choose who you fall for. Yeah, I think it’d be nice to live my childhood fantasy and be the well-respected explorer-poet-novelist with the beautiful wife on his arm, but dreams change. The heart wants what it wants. My heart wants you. Or at least to get to know you better. The real you. Maybe you’re not who I thought you were, but I think at least some of our conversations were authentic.

Vince nodded at his phone, even though he knew Howard couldn’t see it.

Nora Smith: They were. everything i told you about my day, or about my experiences or my feelings for you

Nora Smith: ESPECIALLY my feelings for you!!!

Nora Smith: that was all true

Nora Smith: mostly

Nora Smith: i changed a few details here and there, but the general idea was the truth.

Nora Smith: i swear.

Howard Moon: Meet with me.

Howard Moon: It doesn’t have to be at anybody’s home. We can meet on neutral territory. There’s a nice caffe near my place. I can send you the address.

Howard Moon: Would you do that?

Vince hesitated.

Nora Smith: I dont know. Im still kind of scared you wont like what you see.

Howard Moon: We’ve come this far. You know me. Even if I decide maybe this isn’t going to work out, I’m not going to be rude about it. I won’t humiliate you. I know what that feels like.

Howard Moon: From our conversations, though, I can’t think of much that could put me off about you.

Howard Moon: Unless you’re underage. Are you underage? I never really thought to ask. I’m afraid that would have to be a dealbreaker.

As quick as he could, Vince covered his mouth and nose with his hand to muffle his laughter.

Nora Smith: Im definitely of age. Older than id like to think about really.

Howard Moon: That makes two of us. :)

Howard Moon: So?

He couldn’t answer right away. He knew what the answer would have to be, but actually saying it – committing to it, making it real – was the hard part.

But it had to be done.

Nora Smith: ok. Ill meet up with you.

Hearing the quiet little “Yes!” in the other room made him smile for a moment, but then the anxiety closed in on him again. Howard might have been happy for now, but he wouldn’t be tomorrow.

But if he was going to lose Howard, he might as well do it on his own terms.

Chapter Text

He was late. That was nothing new, though he supposed Howard wasn’t expecting it from Nora. Or whatever his name was.

It was Vince. He could be Vince now. Just Vince.

It wasn’t like he was trying to be late. He just had a really hard time coming up with an appropriate outfit. What says “I really love you and don’t want you to hate me even though I’ve been lying to you for months about being your imaginary girlfriend,” and goes with an opera mask?

He eventually settled on an outfit made up of selections from his Goth section, complete with hooded cloak and leather gloves, to cover up as much of his identifying features as possible. Cloaks weren’t exactly in at the moment, but it had the benefit of never having been seen by Howard before, and he might be able to pull it off as a retro look.

By the time he got to the caffe, though, it was getting close to closing time. Howard was the only one left inside, besides a rather impatient-looking barista at the counter. Howard was looking pretty impatient, too, but more in a sad sort of way. He probably thought he was being stood up, or at least that Nora had chickened out.

It was tempting to just go with the second option, actually. When Howard glanced back at the door, Vince ducked back, only peeking back inside when he figured Howard would be looking away. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been spotted.

He had to do it, though. He knew he did.

With a deep breath, he carefully pulled the door open and stepped inside.

Howard looked back up from his table on hearing the door open, and from what Vince could tell, he was probably a little disturbed by the costume. The cloak was floor-length, and he kept it folded around himself, hoping Howard wouldn’t be able to pick up on too much about him right away, like the way he walked or anything. He had to take this slowly, just for his own sake.

The walk over to the table seemed to last centuries, especially with Howard’s eyes on him the whole time, but eventually he made it to the chair across from him and, with some hesitance, finally seated himself.

“ . . . Nora?” asked Howard, cautiously. So far, so good. Sort of. Vince nodded in confirmation.

“Still a bit anxious?”

Vince nodded again, more vigorously this time, wringing his fingers in his lap.

“Hey, it’s all right. You know what? I’m proud of you for coming this far.” Howard’s voice was so gentle, and he smiled at him supportively. It was weird. It just made Vince feel worse. He didn’t even want to meet Howard’s eyes, for fear that Howard would recognise them behind the mask.

Howard held out his hand, palm up and fingers slightly curled. An invitation to take his hand. Mister ‘Don’t Touch Me’ was offering to hold his hand. He took it, and did his best to keep his eyes from watering. Might as well enjoy it while I can.

“There you go,” said Howard. “See? You’re all right. I can already tell one more thing about you that I like: you’re warm-blooded.” His face turned quite serious for a moment, and he added, “It was a concern of mine.”

Vince laughed a little, but breathily, being very careful not to actually let Howard hear his voice. He didn’t know why he was drawing it out, though. He knew what he had to do.

“And you’ve got a sense of humour,” continued Howard. “Always a good thing.”

Vince squeezed his hand. Then, after a moment of shifting in his seat, he pulled his phone out of the pocket on the inside of his cloak, and set it down on the table.

Howard eyed it. “Oh,” he said. “Is that . . . your phone?” He looked up at Vince. “Did you just buy this? Are you trying to get over that fear of telephones?” Vince said nothing, instead just pushing it closer to Howard and unlocking the screen for him. Howard, apparently taking the hint, picked it up with his free hand while saying, “That’s really good. See? You’re doing great.”

Vince waited, nervously trailing his thumb back and forth over Howard’s fingers as he did so.

Howard read what was on the screen. The most recent messages exchanged between the two of them on Skype.

“Wow, you’ve got the hang of apps pretty fast, haven’t you?” Vince could hear a touch of nervousness in Howard’s voice. It got even shakier when, a few seconds later, he added, “My friend Vince has the same phone.” And then, a few seconds after that, “You’ve even got the . . . the same scratches on it. From dropping it, I imagine . . . .”

Vince sighed, and removed the mask.

For a long few seconds, Vince and Howard stared at one another across the table.

Then Howard rolled his eyes and tossed the phone back into Vince’s lap. “Dammit, Vince! This isn’t the time for one of your pranks! Nora could be here any minute now: I don’t need you here scaring him off!”

Vince gawped at him for a second or two before prodding, “Howard.”

“What?” he hissed, looking back at the door.

“Have you seriously not put it together yet?”

“Put what together?”

“Howard, I’m Nora.”  He waited a beat, then added, for clarity, in a quieter voice, “I was from the beginning.”

Howard had still been looking at the door when Vince made his confession, and for a couple of beats longer he continued to do so. Then, with a terrifying slowness, he returned his gaze to Vince.

“I’m sorry, Howard! I did warn you that you wouldn’t like the truth! I’m sorry!”

Howard sat like a statue for another uncomfortably long span of time.

Then he threw his (cold) coffee in Vince’s face and left the table, and the caffe soon after.

Vince remained seated, spitting out the bitter liquid and wiping it from his eyes. On the whole, not actually as bad as he’d been expecting. He’d been preparing himself for a lot worse. Not that that didn’t mean a lot worse wasn’t still to come, mind; but still, not the end of the world.

Yet.

He sighed, and then he looked at you.

“I guess I ought to go after him, yeah?” he asked you. And you nodded. Or perhaps you just smiled, because you found it an unexpected pleasure to be included in the story. Or, maybe you were a little unnerved by it, and wanted things to just get moving along so you wouldn't have to be involved in this any more than you already were. In any case, he figured you probably agreed, and so he got up and ran out after him.

The shoes he’d chosen for the meeting had been a bit more sensible, with decent traction. Catching up to Howard was easier this time around, though he still had to shout after him.

“Howard! Howard, wait! Please?!”

Howard did slow down, much to Vince’s surprise, and actually - eventually - turned and waited for him. When Vince reached him, breathless, he tried to speak; but Howard cut him off.

“Did you mean what you said?” Howard asked, sternly.

“What?”

“Did you mean it all? I know the background stuff was a lie. I don’t care about that right now.” He took a step forward, actually intimidating Vince a little bit and making him take a step backward in response, and he asked again, “Did you mean what you said about how you felt? Did you, as Nora, or whatever you want to call yourself . . . were you sincere?!”

Vince was terrified, but he could manage a nod. Then he waited, again, as Howard’s mouth twitched and contorted in unreadable curves and lines.

And then Howard pulled him forward, and kissed him. Roughly, fiercely, and deeply. It was nothing like that kiss they’d had at that party so long ago. That had been full of confusion, and maybe a little tentative exploration. This, though, was fiery. Passionate in a way Vince had never experienced with anyone before, let alone with Howard. It still suffered from a lack of technical skill, but more than made up for it in feeling. With one hand still clutching Vince’s upper arm, the other went to Vince’s face and cupped his jaw.

. . . He was a little turned on by it, all told.

Snapping out of his surprised stupor, he figured he ought to prove his claim, and began kissing back with equal fervor. So there they were, in the middle of the pavement, all over each other like a pair of teenagers. They lost their balance slightly and stumbled into the side of a building. The impact was enough for them to break apart and look each other, panting, in the eyes.

“I am still angry with you, you know,” Howard rasped, all swollen lips and red cheeks and mussed hair and stern, sexy voice.

“. . . Fair enough,” said Vince. He paused a moment, eyeing Howard up, before asking as politely as he could, “Think you could channel that anger into kissin' me some more?”

Howard seemed to be enjoying the view from his end, too. He took a moment to study Vince’s face before replying, “ . . . Could do,” and returning enthusiastically to Vince’s lips.

Up above, far above, The Moon gazed down at the Earth, and happened to catch sight of the two lovers. He smiled serenely at them, and then looked over at you.

“Aw, that’s nice,” he said.  “I like that.”

You weren’t sure why you were suddenly in space, but you went with it, because you had no other choice.

“Happy ending,” sing-songed The Moon. “A happy ending for Vince Noir, and for the ballbag, too. It’s nice.” He grinned, but the grin slowly faded as he continued to observe them. His teeth remained bared, but now in more of a grimace. He started to wince away a little bit.

“Ohh,” he said, tearing his eyes away and looking at you again. “When you are The Moon,” he explained, “Sometimes, you see some things that are things you don’t want to be seeing. When that happens, what I like to do is ask a friendly cloud to come and cover it up for me, eh-heh heh heh. There we go. Much better. Thank you, friendly cloud.”

An awkward silence fell between you and The Moon. He looked around him, at the stars and asteroids, and Jupiter off in the distance, who was sleeping.

“Ehh, so, ehh . . . .” he said, “Do you like spaghetti?”

You conveniently remembered you had a thing, and politely excused yourself, because it was a pretty important thing. The Moon understood. He had things, himself. Things with Jupiter, later.

Satisfied that all had been settled to your general approval, you came to the story’s end, and settled back into your favourite chair, or perhaps your bed, or at least someplace familiar to you back on Earth, which, while perhaps not as beautiful, was preferable to space in terms of comfort. You wondered what Vince and Howard were up to now, and what their future had in store, but decided to give them their privacy, at least for the moment. There would always be more stories later, after all.

As long as there was life, and there was love, there would always be more stories.