Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

All Vince wanted to do was cry. Over a decade of being hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Howard, completely gone to shit. He always told himself that he could live without him, but fuck Vince if Howard wasn’t his whole world. At this point it had been three weeks… five weeks… Vince couldn’t keep track anymore. Howard leaving made Vince feel lost, alone, and utterly useless. For the past decade, Vince was glued to his side, making him laugh, saving his life, and coming home to him at the end of everything. Despite how angry he was, there was nothing that could keep him from feeling melancholy over their entire friendship.

And God, if they hadn’t had a friendship for the ages. They understood each other instantaneously and no one could come between them - Vince supposed they hadn’t needed someone to come between them. Howard destroyed 10+ years of… whatever this was with no help at all. He couldn’t even think about what they could’ve been without bawling his eyes out. From rejections to kisses, their entire relationship confused him to no end. Of course he knew what he wanted, had wanted since college, but Howard always found a way to throw a wrench in his confessions. At the end of the day, Vince just hadn’t wanted to lose him either - fat lot of good that did him now.

For fear of his mascara running, he wiped his thumb under his eye and looked in the mirror. He looked fucking gorgeous - downright tragic. The pettiest part of Vince’s brain told him that if Howard were here, he’d be crawling back just at the sight of him. Every thought he had somehow related back to Howard and all it did was make him feel even more sick.

He fixed the collar of his halter neck in the mirror and adjusted his hair for the last time. Looks were everything when you were trying to be a singer.

Well, I guess he could say he was a singer at this point. He did one little show with Leroy at the Velvet Onion not long after Howard left; Leroy said it might make him feel better. “Even if we do fucking bloody awful, maybe you’ll be able to, I don’t know, sing away some of the hurt.” Vince had told him he was well corny, but went along anyway; who knows if he was right, but the venue asked them to perform the next two nights… and subsequently several more nights over the next few weeks.

Tonight was the first night he was singing without Leroy. He knew he could do it, but it left Vince feeling more raw and vulnerable than he had felt the first time. All of the pain was bubbling to the surface without the comfort of Leroy to tamp it all down. His jumpsuit felt both too tight and too loose, the sequins too abrasive, but not shiny enough. He knew he was going to cry on stage.

He ran the baby pink chiffon scarf tied on his wrist through his fingers, trying to calm himself down, when one of Leroy’s lanky, leather clad friends popped their head through the curtain.

           “Showtime, darlin’” they chirped, and bowed back out.

Vince sighed and stepped up right by the curtain. He could do this, he’s been doing this for weeks. All he had to do was not worry over Howard and to let all of those feelings out in the songs, just like he had in the weeks before. Straightening himself, he pushed the curtain out of the way and stepped up to the microphone and stool. He stayed standing and took one last deep breath.

           “Cheers, everyone.” he gave a small smile and a nervous laugh. He just couldn’t muster enough showmanship to do Leroy’s usual introduction for them - most of the audience already knew him anyway.

The backing band that Leroy got him was good - great even - not the same as playing with your long time friend, but he had to admit, the soft strum of the guitar through the amp had him singing himself into a dream world. The soft, harsh words of the song reached into his gut and twisted up his insides. Putting both hands on the microphone, he sang as hard as his voice would let him, putting as much of that hurt into the song as he could.

Every song went the same way, transporting Vince somewhere else, with his whole heart being poured into every word. Had Howard been here, Vince thought, there was no way for him to not know that this was about him. Singing songs about love and betrayal, standing solemnly in black sequins, there was no way he couldn’t see.

For a moment, Vince thought this might be how Howard was in his Jazz Trances. Unaware and entirely invested. He was all too quick to dismiss this; this was his night. He couldn’t give Howard even a remotely warm place in his mind. If he needed to forgive him, that was for the future, not for tonight.

Mid song, in his periphery, he thought he might have seen a beige coat over a hideously green floral shirt; This wasn’t the first time he thought he might’ve seen Howard out and about, but he was desperately trying to keep focused. His addled brain was reaching for tangents and things that weren’t really there as a distraction, he just needed to focus on the songs. Vince shut his eyes for a moment in an attempt to clear his mind.

The current song finished and his eyes fluttered open, ready to transition to the next. He turned to his left to check that the band was on the same page, when he saw it again; the horribly beige corduroy jacket that Howard bought whilst forced to shop at Topman and the green Hawaiian shirt he picked up from a charity shop. Just above all that mess was Howard’s face, sporting the same scruff and mustache, framed by much too grown out wispy hair. His expression was strange; from the mic, Vince couldn’t tell if he was smiling or crying. Howard was at his show.

His voice waned at the opening lines of the next song and he shakily took a seat on the stool, eyes still completely locked on Howard. Of course Leroy had to convince him to cover one of Howard’s songs; he said it would be cathartic. It was before, but now it was just a cruel joke.

Vince was still staring and he saw Howard duck his head to stare at the floor and run a hand over his face. He took a shaky breath and wiped at the tears running down his cheek and kept going.

Vince never liked this song. The only reason he knew it was the nights when Howard would practically run a hole through his little record of it in a matter of hours. It was too sad for Vince; any song that could make the sunshine kid a little gloomy was not allowed in his rotation. Of course, that changed when Howard left. There was no stopping him from becoming a one person hurricane after being abandoned. It was supposed to be the song that he could make his own, to dispel the heartache, not the song that he has to quiver through in front of the man himself.

He plucked the mic from the stand, which had draped across his person from his sudden decision to sit down upon seeing Howard. The stand was righted and he let his fingers tangle the mic cord to let out even an ounce of his nervous energy.

The first time he listened to this song after Howard had left was in a bout of nostalgia; Leroy had said it was much too soppy to be nostalgia, that it was closer to utter Victorian yearning. Vince had wrapped himself in one of Howard’s moth-eaten sweaters he had nicked on cold nights and flipped through the similarly abandoned records. He admittedly hadn’t even known that the record he picked up was this one; horrifically, the dreaded sadness of it spoke directly to his situation.

He hadn’t been too tragic in light of what happened. Maybe, if Leroy hadn’t been there, he would’ve been much worse, but here he is, singing at a real venue with a familiar audience, all without Howard even knowing. Sure, he had to halfway move into Leroy’s flat because being in the flat he shared with Howard was sometimes all too much, but he could have been worse… right.

Vince couldn’t take this any more. He got through one song with the one man he couldn’t bear to see in the audience; he wasn’t going to put himself through this any longer.

           “Alright, that’s all for tonight, thanks very much everyone.”

He quickly whisked himself backstage, leaving behind a confused band and (hopefully) disappointed audience. Once sat in his usual seat by the mirror, he groaned out a sigh. He truly thought he might throw up. Scrambling for his mobile in his jacket pocket, he dialed Leroy.

           “Alright, Vince! Done a bit earlier, eh?” Leroy sounded hopeful, but Vince knew he considered the possibility of him getting cold feet.

           “Leroy, he’s here.”

           “Who’s there, darlin’? Everything ok?”

           “Howard is here, you muppet” Vince needed to breathe. “What do I do?!”

           “Oh shit, Vince,” He clearly hadn’t considered this. “Listen, it’ll be fine, just stay backstage, don’t-”

The band members finally stepped through the curtain.

           “Ey Vince, someone’s asking to see you, I think” the guitarist gestured to the stage. “We told him you weren’t seeing fans or nothing, but he’s already gone to the door-”

           “Fuck, Leroy!” Vince dropped his phone and ran to the door. Howard couldn’t even let him have this; there he was crying his heart out and he couldn’t get the message that Vince was fucking pissed. He threw the door open to reveal the jazz freak himself. The Cream Poet, the Man of Action - shit lot of good all that was; Vince was so angry he didn’t even notice Howard’s red eyes.

           “Howard, what the fuck-”

           “Vince-”

           “No - get lost, Howard!” Vince wished he could manage something more profound or forceful, but truly he just wanted to be away from all of this. “You can’t just come back from fucking Denmark and expect it to be just as it was! It can never be the same and it’s all-”

           “Here.” Howard held out a small, polaroid album covered in various stickers. Vince’s polaroid album. He had gone through about a thousand polaroid albums in his lifetime, but this particular one was from a few years back - they’d just moved in with Naboo, Vince’s hair was blonde, until suddenly halfway through the album it turned jet black, and Howard still wore the occasional t-shirt. Back then, they fought rarely, and if they did it could be resolved as easy as making the other a cup of tea.

           “What the fuck-”

           “I’ll go just-” Howard sighed. “Just take it.”

           “Why do you have that?” he spat. Vince was looking at him like he’d gone completely mad; fair enough, it seems he might have.

           “Well, just, I had to - you know, I knew you wouldn’t - um - Please, I can’t fix everything but I can fix this, please just take it.”

Vince wiped at his eyes again and took the little book from Howard’s outstretched hand, looking him up and down, suddenly less in a blind rage, and more confused.

           “You are so weird, Howard.” he said, holding the album to his chest.

Howard’s eyes misted and he huffed out a laugh, but steeled himself.

           “What do you want, Howard?” It's true, Vince was easily distracted, but not about this; he has a month’s worth of questions and if Howard was going to be here, he was going to answer them.

           “To see you, Vince, that’s - that’s all really, I - I missed you.” Howard was wringing his hands and shifting his feet.

           “Could’ve called, Howard,” Vince was glaring daggers at him. “You left... with no explanation. What, I’m ‘sposed to forgive you because you miss me? You didn’t come home because I missed you.”

           “I-”

           “Just stop, Howard, I’m going home.” he opened the door again.

           “Vince, wait!”

He spun around in the doorway, exhausted out of his mind, but incapable of letting Howard get the last word.

           “Howard, go home.”

           “We have the same home, Vince.”

           “I… I’m not staying there right now.”

           “What- where are you-”

           “Not your business,” Vince said. “Goodnight.”

Vince shut the door without another word. Howard may or may not have protested, but truly, Vince really couldn’t do this now. Backstage was entirely empty. The band must’ve packed their gear and left from the stage. Poor guys, they seemed sweet; he wished they could’ve met on a different night.

He picked his phone up from the floor where he had dropped it and saw 11 messages and 4 missed calls from Leroy, asking what Howard wanted and why he was there. Even now, Vince barely even knew. Howard had… missed him - that’s all he let him say. Setting down the small album, he covered his face with his hands.

What the fuck was that. The whole night just didn’t feel real; Howard was really back in Camden. He didn’t know how long he’d been here or why he hadn’t called for the past month - one odd gesture later and Vince still wasn’t sure if Howard cared at all about leaving him. He pulled on his red velvet blazer, gathered his things, and left the venue, giving the leftover guests shy smiles and waves, pretending he didn't notice Howard lingering by the bar.

Pushing the door open, he closed his eyes as he let the cold air hit him. Out of everything he expected to happen tonight, this was at the bottom of the list. Vince was obviously an idealist - of course he’d imagined Howard eventually being at a show, crying, begging for Vince’s forgiveness, and finally professing his undying love. Things were different in his dream world though; there, Howard always said the right thing, which in reality was absolutely not the case. Vince turned down the pavement and walked towards Leroy’s flat.

His whole body, from his coiffed hair to his toes felt wrong. He and Howard didn’t fight - well, they did, but never about something real. No matter what, they always forgave; they were so codependent that being upset with each other for longer than a day just wouldn’t last. One of them would start a crimp, bring the other a tea, or even just make eye contact with a look that they both knew meant I’m sorry. Communicating had been so frustrating and yet the easiest thing for them; no one understood them like they did each other. Now, Vince had to cope with losing that.

His addled brain could hardly cope with the fact that Howard had taken his photo album - had he not taken it to fucking Denmark, Vince would be entirely unbothered. Was it Howard’s way of justifying for himself that he didn’t abandon Vince because he brought along a memento? Did he do it in an attempt to piss Vince off? In reality, Vince hadn’t noticed at all that the thing was even missing, but had he known it was taken and never returned, he would’ve been broken up over it. Those were some of his best memories with Howard - who was his best friend. Vince had been all small and wiry and blonde, completely clueless half of the time, and entirely in need of Howard. Howard had been handsome as always, just younger, fewer wrinkles and shorter hair, wearing rattier clothes and looking a bit unwashed, but to a younger Vince he had looked like a walking dream. He really had been Vince’s knight in shining armour in those days, keeping him out of trouble and caring more than anyone ever had.

Vince was shaking at this point and he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or the sobs that fought their way out. He wrapped his arms around himself, clutching his mobile and the album in one hand. His shoes clicked against the pavement as he walked to the tiny stoop of Leroy’s flat where he reached into his pocket to grab his keys. Reaching into his right pocket - empty - same goes for the left. He patted down his jumpsuit (silly, the thing can’t hide anything) and started to really cry.

Tears that were waiting to come finally spilled down his cheeks as he leaned against the locked door. He can imagine the keys on the floor by his seat backstage - the venue must be closed now, he thought, or at least would be by the time he could scramble over there - who knows, really, but Vince just could barely keep it together to stand, let alone walk back in the damp cold to be potentially locked out. The only thing he could think to do with his clouded mind and relentless tears was call Leroy.

The tone rang on… and on… and ever on… until finally he got sent to voicemail. Shit. He scrolled through his contacts - a shockingly short list. He scrolled near the bottom and saw Naboo’s name. Naboo used to be his first call for getting him out of scraps, but things had become strange between them since Vince had left. It was like Naboo knew everything and nothing all at once, but it left Vince feeling oddly understood and utterly afraid to call at the same time. His only other option was Howard. Naboo he could talk to without bursting into tears again, but of course he did want to call Howard. He wishes he could call Howard and not cry and that Howard would come to his rescue again, running down the block, keys in hand, and everything would go back to normal.

From his place, now slid down to sit against the door on the cold cement, he could see through his tears, a figure jogging down the footpath. They stopped not far from the path to the door, under a streetlamp.

           “Vince!” Howard called out.

Vince jolted up, futilely wiping under his eyes and stepping to the very edge of the stoop. Just as always, Howard could practically read his mind, but not quite. His hands shakily balled into fists in a small effort to make himself feel even a touch stronger.

           “Why did you follow me home, Howard?” he croaked.

           “I didn’t follow you home, I- uh,” he took a step closer on the pavement. “The manager said he found your keys backstage, I-uh… told him I could get them to you.”

Another step forward. Vince was still crying as he looked at the points of his shoes hanging off the step. He could barely manage words. Howard slowly made it all the way to where Vince was perched and held out the keys.

           “I, uh… ‘spose my job is done then…” he looked up at Vince with drawn up eyebrows and a hesitant smile on his face.

Vince’s shaky breaths filled the space and he numbly gazed at the keys in Howard’s hand. His hand reached up, but couldn’t bear to take the keys and end the moment. Vince felt that as long as he didn’t speak, this could be just like his own delusion, that everything could go back to the way that it was. If he spoke, nothing could stop him from saying something to let out the pain he was feeling and his perfect little dream would be shattered.

Howard placed the keys in Vince’s palm and gently curved Vince’s fingers over them. Holding on while Vince sniffled Howard said.

           “Goodnight, Vince.”

He turned away to leave, hand still holding contact. Vince let out a gasp and put his hand over Howard’s.

           “Howard.”

The man in question turned around with a hopeful shine in his eyes and what looked like tears welling. His breath was caught as he waited for Vince to continue.

           “You left, Howard.”

           “I-I know Vince,” he said earnestly. “I’m so sorry, I-”

Vince shook his head hard, releasing Howard’s hand to hug himself. Suddenly, he felt like that spindly, blonde version of himself that looked at Howard like he hung the moon and stars. He was so vulnerable and full of anger and love for the man in front of him.

           “I want to forgive you, Howard,” he sounded strangled, tears continuing to spill out of his eyes. “I just don’t think I can.”

A tear escaped Howard’s eye as he looked at the ground, hair falling in his face. It had grown nearly out to his shoulders and Vince couldn’t help but think how he hadn’t been there to cut it for him, as he had for so many years.

           “You know I love you, yeah?” Howard muttered, looking up into Vince’s bright blue eyes.

Vince let out a half laugh, half sob, running his hands over his arms to comfort himself. Love was an understatement for them. He was always of the belief that they teased each other relentlessly to distract from the utter devotion they showed each other.

           “It’s the only thing I’d known for a long time, Howard, yeah, I know.”

           “Will we be-?”

           “I don’t know.”

           “If you need anything, I-”

           “I know, Howard.”

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t missed talking to Howard. There was nothing like it, for Vince, hearing his voice, being able to know exactly what he would say, seeing how his mind worked from the outside.

           “Guess this is it, little man.” Now Howard’s breathing was shaky too.

           “For now, yeah… yeah it is.”

           “Goodnight then, Vince.” He gazed at Vince with all of the caring that one man could.

It took everything for Vince to not vomit from the anxiety and heartache that he felt. His heart told him to bring Howard inside and let him make him a cup of tea and take care of him until he calmed down enough to sleep. His logical brain didn’t usually win him over, but he couldn’t find it in himself to forgive so easily.

           “Goodnight, Howard.”

He watched Howard walk back down the pavement before he turned to finally unlock Leroy’s front door. He tossed his things to the sofa and collapsed onto it, finally letting all the pain of the night out in sobs, getting the miserable catharsis that he needed since before he even stepped onstage.

His wailing continued for what felt like a lifetime, but eventually the tears subsided. He needed food and probably 12 hours of sleep, but he could hardly bother to take care of himself. After finally removing his shoes, he padded to the kitchenette and poured himself a glass of water which he took back to his bed. He stripped and changed into whatever clothes were on his floor then crawled into bed, holding the glass in both hands. The night still hadn’t entirely caught up to him, but his brain processed enough to remember.

Leroy.

Vince scrambled for his mobile on his nightstand and opened their thread of messages. He’d left the poor man hanging for over an hour - not that this was unusual for how they talked, but given the circumstances… he figured he ought to send him some sign of life before he slept the next day away.

so much happened mate cant rly type it all out

tell u tomorrow xx