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They’d gotten the tiny flat for their shared gap year, via Howard’s meticulous spreadsheets and Vince’s charm. A home base they could keep to while Howard went through jobs like a skipping stone. Trading in one muck-covered uniform for another one. Coming home smelling of rubbish, then mud, then tar, although once he did get a nice library job. That didn’t last though as he got into an argument over feathered dinosaurs that went far above the desired noise level. Which was too bad since Vince felt he really belonged in a library, or maybe a secondhand shop. On his end Vince went for a very different quality of job, he could never understand why Howard put himself through the wringer when there were much simpler things to do.
Thing was, when they’d gotten the flat there was a mutual knowledge that it was in fact, incredibly, tremendously, monumentally small. Really it was meant for one person. A single starving student who didn’t care that the kitchenette was just the right size that if you brought in a toaster it would suddenly feel cramped. The rooms, of which there were about two, fit together like the builders thought they were playing Tetris and had never been in the 3D world. Trapped in a quasi-real world of multi-colored blocks and all they knew was they had to stick them together as close as possible. The kitchen in question, a kind of tiny hallway with appliances, connected to the main room with a couple of rectangular windows that did fuck all seeing as they were facing another building. They’d decided a table was something they could both live without, eating their dinners on the ratty leather sofa with their elbows bumping. Where the minuscule nature of the flat was most pronounced, was the bedroom.
At first, Vince had staged a protest, thick sharpie on cardboard included, of the cramped excuse for a living space. It was worse than the dorms they had just inhabited, a ridiculous downgrade.
“What’s the point, Howard? I mean I was lookin’ forward to a nice place. This one ain’t even big enough to be my wardrobe!”
“I think you’re doing the place a disservice. Yes, it may not be a palace but it has...other features,” his voice whittled away at the end like he wasn’t strong on the argument himself. Lord knows who he was arguing for.
“Other features?” Howard nodded, taking a bite of his takeaway. “Really, like what, it’s a shit car as well?”
“No, look- for one it’s a financial advantage, two it’s close to many potential places of employment.”
“It’s tiny Howard!”
“Well, it’s this or the place by that fish market.”
Vince paused, playing a tiny game of football with a potato on his place dejectedly and his mouth scrunched to the side in thought.
“I guess it can’t be that bad, s’just cozy yeah?” The place by the fish market would turn a man’s stomach from miles away, nothing would be able to keep out the smell of discarded fish guts. The shouting of salty sea-faring men trying to sling their slimy wares made his skin crawl and he shook his head to remove it. Not the kind of noisiness that he fancied.
“You could certainly think of it that way.”
So he started thinking of it that way instead, not cramped but cozy. Nowhere could be all that bad when they were together.
They did their best to arrange the furniture in a way that didn’t crowd them out. Leroy dropping by to help Howard move the heavier items. Cursing and bumping into the close-set walls while Vince set to work on the real decor of the house. Holding up rummage sale frames, streaky oil paintings by his own hand, and various posters. There wasn’t much wall space but where there was, something had to be hanging. Blank space was much too depressing. It took much longer than it should have. Howard could be very distracting without even trying. Vince couldn’t keep his eyes from darting over, the tendons strung tighter than a guitar string in his forearm, shoulders squared, beads of sweat curling the edges of his hair and sticking to his rosy face. Then quickly reigning himself back to his work, focusing very hard on the water lilies painting in his hand.
He holds up a flimsy poster on rough toothy paper, the corners are tattered and marked with holes from tacking it to venue walls. The thing had been on one such wall that definitely didn’t deserve to have it. Judging from the nonce who had justled him, spilled beer down his front, and slurred something Vince wished he hadn’t caught. No, that place didn’t deserve this poster at all. Only problem was, he couldn't reach the stupid thing, not without a chair. But he had a better idea. He’d returned to the corner of the stinking place where Howard was holed away with an ashtray looking somehow simultaneously very cool and clumsily out of place. Howard’s eyes had gotten a little twinkle to them as Vince told his tragic story of the rude man and the great poster he couldn’t reach. Poster successfully torn down, Vince tucked it safely away in his purse as they both legged it into the night, Howard tugging his sleeve to ask what the band was.
The last piece of furniture hits the creaky floorboards with a thud, sending little dustmotes skittering away frightened. A queen-size bed that barely left enough room to stand between the mattress and the shared closet. Signifying that the place was complete and ready for action. The thud resonates all across the house and through Vince’s knees from the bright yellow rug up into his scalp and makes his hair stand on end. He pats it down, as if it really were standing up like a cartoon character zapped by lightning.
“There’s something else about this one,” Howard had said gravely as they walked from the curry place, the bell on the door and the waiter's farewell still hung in the air.
“Does it have mice? They’re alright aren’t they?”
“Mice would eat us out of house and home, Vince.” He opened his mouth to protest but Howard continued. “Even if they’re quite good for conversation and sing nice little songs. Doesn’t matter, in any case, it’s not mice.” Again, he neglected to get to the point, stepping around it like avoiding the cracks in the pavement beneath them. Vince could see he had to take things into his own hands, as usual.
“Alright, well what’s the problem then?” He whined, Howard was still quite focused very hard on the signpost ahead.
“Well, it’s quite small-”
“Is it really-”
“-Shut up-it’s very small, so there may be issues with the sleeping arrangement.” Vince snickered at the business voice he’d put on, bumping into his shoulder in a stumble. Howard looked down at him, finally away from the signpost.
“Sleeping arrangement?”
“Yes,” Howard answered gruffly then looked back up at the signpost. “There may only be room for one person in the bedroom. I of course will take the sofa-”
“The sofa?” Vince stopped them walking with one final stomp in his sneakers.
“I assumed you’d-”
“That thing’s not big enough for you, ya numpty.”
Howard blinked at him, brown eyes turned black by the dim lighting and the cold coloring his unshaven face. A puff of breath swirls in the air between them and Vince pulls his flimsy jacket tighter. “I could take the bedroom?”
“You’re joking, I am not sleeping on a sofa again, Howard.”
Howard sighed loudly, fidgeted his hands around the receipt in his pocket and came to a conclusion. “Well I guess we’re bloody sharing the bedroom then, sharing a bed I mean.”
Then a lot of emotions went through Vince’s body, all scribbling around in his blood like anxious bees. And sometimes butterflies. Smug satisfaction, he’d won and Howard wouldn’t be doing anything really idiotic like sleeping on the sofa, and neither would he. Bright excitement that he would be in a bed, together, with his best friend in the world. He can’t remember the last time they’d done that. And then alarm, that he would be sharing a bed with his best friend in the world who he was totally, incredibly, droolingly head over heels for. In the end, he had to laugh, all of it out at once. Then jump to the next square of sidewalk and jump to the next thought.
“Don’t sound s’down, Howard. It’ll be just like when we were nippers, yeah?”
“Only much more crowded,” Howard grumbled, but Vince caught the way his lip curled up at the end.
The memory disappears in a plume of tangerine color smoke when Leroy walks into the main room dusting his hands off.
“Ooo, I like that one, Vince! S’that yours?” he gestures with his chin to one of the pieces he’d decided should be hung up.
“What? Who d’you think I am, that’s a Monet ya lemon twist,” Vince jabs, laughing as Leroy rolls his eyes.
“Alright, nevermind. I’ll be going then,” he sighs, wincing as he takes down his luxurious Brian May-Marc Bolan kind of mane and shakes it around his face. A resemblance that makes Vince ponder dying his hair dark, so they’ll look like a Brian and Freddie duo everywhere they go. He leaps up from the floor and gives him the usual hug and kiss goodbye, a Vince Noir special.
“Cheers, seeya.”
“Goodbye,” Howard emerges afterward to walk him out the door and leans there in his sweat-stained shirt waving goodbye. It definitely shouldn’t make Vince’s face burn the way it does. Suddenly he wishes he’d had stayed longer, Leroy always makes him sensible. Since they first met, Leroy’d been the smart one, before he was even called Leroy he’d been the smart one. And the only one who seemed to tolerate being a third of two halves. Not to mention the outpouring of tears he’s cried about Howard onto their friend’s shoulder could fill the Themes a hundred times. Not helping one bit that he’s nearly the same size, that when he buries his face in Leroy’s chest it’s soft and broad the way Howard’s is. Bugger.
In no time the sun is setting, and after organizing the records shelf by artist, by title, and by ownership, Vince finally relents to sleep. It’s no use avoiding it. He can hear the quiet snoring in the other room like a rumbling siren calling him. Pulling his eyelids down like shop shutters and yelling it was time to close up. Pointedly avoiding the glare of the clock, he gets off the floor and pads into the bedroom. Shoving off every feeling of excitement that was tugging on his flares like a batty dog. It’s a relief when he tiptoes in to find Howard turned away from the door, facing the wall and out cold. He stays there, chest moving gently up and down as Vince undresses and redresses and then finally stands in the middle of the room in his shorts. Well, the middle of the room really would be in the middle of the bed. The middle of the space that’s left in the room.
Just like when they were small.
With one final nervous fidget, he lifts the duvet and slides in, shivering as he adjusts to the pocket of air already toasty from body heat. Howard’s always been a good source for that, built like a furnace even when it was cold out. It would always linger in his clothes and when Vince wrapped a big tweed coat around his shoulders it kept him warm like magic. Enchanted with Howard’s own flavor of magic. No matter how much he liked whinging on about reality and the bleakness of it all, Howard held heaps of magic. With the added feeling of that magic, he’d be out immediately. But it’s a new place, and his mind takes a sled down a slippery slope going a hundred miles an hour and suddenly he’s thinking about all the things he certainly doesn’t want to be thinking about. Piling up around his frazzled brain secretary who’s attempts to organize any of it end in the stomping of her clicky red heels and a tiny sign reading “I quit!” It’s all a jumbled mess like every thought is coming in at once, no one to file it the right way, all talking at once. Why’s this that way? What’s he doing? Why can’t he-
The body across the way shifts and suddenly everything’s quiet.
Probably woken him up with his brain mail being so loud. Then it’s warmer, warmer, he nearly turns around before the body is on him, so close he can feel breath tickling at his neck. Close enough to sling a clumsy arm around his middle before settling in. For a wink of a second, his brain secretary is back to fumble for an answer, until all the papers floating around are snatched out of the air and smacked on the desk to reorganize. Very difficult to think straight when his heart is banging out a rhythm Charlie Watts would go bananas over. He’s going bananas himself.
“Howard?” He chances a whisper.
No response.
Howard is too busy snoring unbothered into the back of Vince’s hair to reply. One big hand hanging just in front of Vince’s tummy, chest brushing across his shoulder blades and his belly moving with unconscious breath on his back. Without thinking he nestles in and feels dizzy on the familiar smells of Howard. The earthy smell of his bar of soap worn to a sliver, aftershave, and the smell he finds when he nudges his face between Howard’s neck and his bony shoulder in a hug. But those are nothing like this. Nothing like being so close he can practically feel his heart beating in just his shorts and ratty shirt. They’ve always been like this though, touchy-feely. It had taken Howard a little while to let Vince in, but once he was in he could never leave. Being allowed into his friend’s space, into his trust, always felt natural. Like putting on an old jumper knitted with all your favorite colors. Even when it was the first time. He felt special, like when your mate has a grumpy old cat he claims “hates everybody” and it hops into your lap and settles in to purr. By now it was easy to lean into each other when they were tired, to hug hello and goodbye, Howard even allowed holding hands sometimes, but not too long. Said it made his hand too warm, and that must’ve been true because his cheeks always looked rosier.
Having his daydreams come true though isn’t a very relaxing feeling, no matter how comfy it is. No matter how it makes him feel like a tiny field mouse curled up in a den made just for him. His heart won’t stop racing and his brain’s started up again. Should he wake Howard up? Will he be upset that he did? Or maybe that he didn’t? Vince isn’t one to think too much about things, takes things as they are. Overthinking was Howard’s gig anyway. But when it comes to Howard it was difficult not to. Not when he cares so much it makes his teeth hurt. When he can’t tear his eyes away, stuck like lolli on carpet to that frustratingly handsome face. Watching the hollow of his cheek move as he talks, the way his eyes scrunch up in a laugh that Vince himself caused just to hear it.
Waiting for Howard to move proves to be quite a boring hobby though, even compared to that game Howard had tried to teach him once that involved a lot of maths and tiny wooden figures. Boredom in this case though leads to sleep.
The next morning Vince scrambles from the bed, awake with strange adrenaline, and glances back to the mattress.
Still asleep.
The Vince Noir luck swooping in to wake him up before a conversation he frankly doesn’t want so early. A patented parachute for this kind of thing. He yawns, rubbing his eyes as he begins getting ready for the day. Going out for coffee definitely being a vital part of that day. Maybe Leroy’d be in.
Howard wakes squinting into the harsh morning sunlight that’s slanting through the blinds. He groans, rubbing a hand over his face and scratching at the stubble. Could certainly use a shave and a nice morning cuppa. Halfway out of bed with his shoulder sore from heaving furniture up flights of stairs something stops him still. No one else was in the bed, not even in the bedroom. And the plain silence of the flat that dulls his ears says he might be the only one in the flat too. Vince was not an early riser, more of a night owl, though he’d correct Howard and say he was a vampire, not a bird. Though that was ridiculous, Vince was far too full of sunshine to ever claim such a title. Even his hair was bright and golden. Rosy round cheeks did not speak of coffins and cobwebbed castles more of pink lady apples and dripping honey. Even when he donned an all black ensemble and smeared dark makeup around his eyes there was that sweet toothy grin giving him all away.
One look around their mostly unpacked bedroom tells him all he needs to know. Various shimmery garments made of fabrics Howard couldn’t even pronounce strewn about. The bathroom is a similar story, with half-open tinctures and sprays haphazardly piled on the sink and half out of the medicine cabinet. He sighs, somehow he’d forgotten that for all Vince’s fussing over certain things being perfect he could leave quite a mess in his wake. Like part of his colorful whirlwind of a mind leaked into the real world. He bends down and picks up a delicate purple flacon with a swirly label that reads “Devine” and brings it to his nose. Floral and somehow like warm sheets from the laundry line, fluttering lashes and chipped nail varnish. He shivers and puts the thing down so hard it falls and he fumbles to replace it. That’s about enough of that. He sorts through and begins his own morning routine.
“Vince?” He knows there will be no reply, but just on principle he calls out. Why or more how the hell had Vince woken before him? He frowns into his steaming tea. Could be that he’d gone to stay with someone. That he’d took one look at the bed and thought it would be better to just go out rather than try it. Though he seemed so excited to share the bed when he’d mentioned it. Even when he was dreading the idea as soon as it came out of his mouth, thinking Vince would refuse outright. And when he hadn’t, well, something inside him lifted, made him feel small again when he’d beamed up at him in the cold light and tugged on his jacket sleeve till they were walking back arm in arm. His excitement had always been terribly infectious. Too infectious sometimes, in fact, it could have really clouded up his judgment. Another thing Vince could do quite easily. It could be it’d gone completely different, that he was all wrong. Whatever it was that lifted began floating back down, sinking into his stomach. Maybe he’d been too hasty about getting this flat.
A quiet sound from the floor pulls him from his thoughts, like a fluttering leaf. There between his slippers there’s a scrap of yellow paper laying plainly on the floor.
‘Gone out wif Leroy, b back soon
-Vince x’
That certainly explained the where. Leave it to Vince to stick a note to the bottom of his mug rather than simply leave it on the counter. Out of curiosity, he turns
it over to reveal scribblings of colored pencil and pastel, like he’d torn it off some of his art. Not as if there’s a notepad he’d placed in plain sight on the counter specifically because of this kind of habit. He laughs and mourns that some strange art piece has lost a corner. It’s only right next to the coffee maker. Not as if it mattered much to him. He tucks the communique in his pocket and checks the clock, should be getting on to work soon. Can’t lose this one already, the last one only lasted a week.
After a few days in the flat things start to feel less cramped and more cozy. Slowly being broken in like an unyielding leather shoe that’s definitely not the right size but it’s what you’ve got. Then one day it fits to your foot, the perfect shape, and you can’t believe it was ever uncomfortable. Mornings in the kitchen become a clumsy dance around on the stained off-white linoleum. Howard rolls from the bed every day more perplexed that it’s empty and readies himself before heading for the teapot already warmed by Vince. Who’s straw-colored mop is stuck up in the back and his face lined with pillow folds. A sight that used to mean he had knocked on Howard’s door in the wee hours of the night and slipped in without an answer. Once in a blue moon, it meant that the rare mishap had taken the sunshine kid and Howard was the only one who knew how to fix it. Now it only meant they lived together. Still, he can’t help feeling uneasy when he sees the barest hint of red around those robin blue eyes. He’d keeps quiet, for now, but files it away for when he feels it’s needed. Just next to the vault where he locks up the feeling of Vince’s back brushing against his chest as he reaches across for the plates. Morning’s are too fragile to bring up the worries that plague the remaining day. They say good morning and laugh together until it’s time to go their separate ways, and then the dance is over.
Late in the day Howard trudges up the endless flight of stairs, makes a beeline for the shower, and collapses into bed with a sigh. Out the window, the streetlamp shows the silver streaks of rain just beginning to drizzle and frowns. He thinks of Vince coming home shivering, his hair hanging down looking like a wet bird. The cold had always gone right through him, his twiglet arms. Was he wearing a jacket this morning? Didn’t matter anyway, none of his jackets were made to be jackets. A way to keep crows out of your garden and frighten nannies, maybe, but not a good jacket. Always ended up with Howard’s slung loosely over him after complaining about the cold through chattering teeth no matter how many times Howard told him to wear a jumper. It’s always an “alright, mum,” with a blue ribbon of an eye-roll. Again he sees the sad sopping image in his head.
Suddenly the dry warm duvet doesn’t feel so comfortable. The wet bird in his brain stares up at him with a cartoonishly sad face, looking on the edge of tears. He leaps out of bed for his robe.
“Bugger,” he grumbles only to himself.
Relief washes over him as he hears the telltale pigeon-toed walk up the last few steps and the jingling of keys in the lock. Even then, he rushes to open the door and Vince nearly falls into him with a surprised sound.
“Shit, sorry,” Howard holds his hands out as Vince rights himself and brushes back the fringe from his face. “You’re dry.” Oh well done, very observant.
“Yeah? So’re you what’s your point?”
“Point is…” there isn’t really one. Vince sets the leopard print umbrella aside and hangs his flamboyant jacket on the coat rack then stands there waiting for a reply with his head cocked to the side. “Point is I’m tired.” Certainly wasn’t what he was going to say but who’s counting. He begins walking back to the bed and feels relieved to hear the tip-tapping heels close behind him.
“So’m I,” he flops backward onto the mattress and starfishes on it, somehow taking up the whole space while being the size he is. “Totally knackered.”
“I’d like to sleep on that bed too, ya know. If it’s not too much trouble.”
The bed starfish remains unresponsive, already looking asleep until he opens his mouth again. “I’ve got to take off my boots…” he mumbles so badly Howard nearly doesn’t catch it. Worry tugs at the back of his brain again, a slowly rising feeling upon seeing him so tattered. The things beneath his long curled lashes certainly didn’t qualify as bags, not even handbags, but they were more prominent. The striking golden of his eyelids looked a bit less vibrant.
“Have you been feeling alright?” He bends to unzip one long shimmery boot and then the other, Vince makes no protest.
“Course I have, I went out didn’t I?” If only he could see the very stern look pointed his way. As usual, he doesn’t have to as he sighs before Howard can even get a word in. Sensing the powerful stare through some strange connection Howard sometimes forgets. “Look, I’m alright I’d just like to have a little sleepy and then-” a yawn interrupts him. “-then I’ll be fine.”
Howard contemplates for a moment, not wanting to drop it. On the other hand, rest is even more inviting after it’s been interrupted. The ache in his legs is starting to wear him down, and the bed is calling him back to where he was before the rain. He drops the boots on the floor. “Alright, bunch up.”
With a scratchy whine, Vince rolls over to his side and curls until he’s nearly a ball. Looking like a woodland creature, something that shouldn’t have to put up with being tired. Howard sighs out the heavy feeling on his heart and smiles to himself as he throws the blankets over his friend and gets into his side.
“Goodnight, Vince.”
A few moments pass.
“G’night Howard,” comes the sleepy reply.
Time is a funny thing when it’s night. Howard swears he only blinked, but the clock on the wall says otherwise. Ticking louder and louder as he’s dragged back into the waking world. He grimaces, about to reach up to rub his face when he realizes his arm is definitely not moving. That thought alone should make him go into a panic, but it doesn’t. Instead, a slow dawning breaks on him as he becomes aware of the warm and bony body that’s made his arm fall asleep. In a vague kind of cloudy way, he knows this body very well. Even with one foot still in a dream. The sharp elbow tucked under his arm and the hairy legs brushing against his kneecaps where his pajamas have rumpled up in sleep. Legs he’d watch kicking a football around a field with skinned knees and grass stains. He leans forward and finds a subtle sweet smell, like biting into a fresh summer peach. Letting the juice roll down your chin because the sun is out and you’re young and you don’t care that it gets on your nice pressed uniform. Even the sound of the breaths, he knows them, has heard them in his subconscious as he falls asleep. In sleeping bags, in rooms smelling like angst and liquor, in this bed. He knows them.
“Vince.” He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, and thankfully Vince has always been a heavy sleeper. And brimming with affection. Always wanting to sit up against Howard, hold his hand, he even tried to kiss him on occasion. This was no different, just another time for contact that he seemed to need so much. And who was Howard to argue against it when he feels like he’s caught in a cloud? So, he shimmies in closer, curls his hand in tighter, and forgets the numbness in his arm.
To say Vince has not had a good night’s sleep would be a massive understatement. Trying to wake up before Howard every day has proven to be not only nearly impossible but it’s making him a little batty. No matter how much his body is screaming at him to sleep until noon he pries himself away and goes in search of caffeine. It’s making his brain fizzle like popping candy.
“So how’s living with Howard aye?” Leroy asks between blows on his coffee that he’d paid for even though Vince put up a fight.
“S’alright,” he says into his own paper cup. Fragrant steam hits him as he pries off the lid. Which never ends well, he’s always spilled just a little but they never put enough sugar in. You’re not actually meant to taste the coffee, everyone knows that. He tears into a sugar packet as Leroy watches him like a glamorous bird of prey.
“Alright? He’s your best mate-our best mate-what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just meant it’s good, it’s alright ya know?” He can hear the defensiveness leaking into his own voice and hits a big red button in his brain to smile.
“Vince.”
He winces. They both know full well Leroy’s not just some tool on the street he can distract with the usual glimmer and glamor. Knows how to do this little game just as well as Vince and probably better.
“Sorry.” He lets his face relax and finally looks up to see his friend’s brow is wrinkled in a mix of worry and annoyance. Might as well have an apron on and his arms crossed. “It is good. Just…”
“Just what,” he asks quietly.
“It’s stupid, can’t we just leave it?”
Leroy gets a look, chewing on his lip and staring Vince down through his purple tint shades like he’s trying to laser into his brain and read it like the back of a cereal box. Then he really does cross his arms. The wind is whipping up and Vince wishes he had his leather jacket on like the one sitting across from him, they really should have sat inside the cafe for that matter. He knows it’ll come out sometime, or that it’ll go away. He sighs long and Leroy’s face softens, knowing he’ll answer.
“I told you we’ve had to have one bed yeah?”
“Right.”
“Well that’s no problem, right, we’ve shared ‘em before n’ it saves space and all.” Leroy nods along in the pause. “That’s no problem, it’s just Howard’s um, he’s quite a clingy sleeper I guess.”
A barely concealed laugh makes its way out of his friend’s mouth before he claps a hand over it.
“Oy! S’not funny!” Vince barks but he can’t stop the laughter bubbling up his own throat as he watches Leroy squirm to keep in the fits of giggles. “This’s makin’ me lose me beauty sleep, it’s serious!”
“I know, I’m sorry darling,” he laughs looking sympathetic and cocks his head. “Aw my poor Vincey, your poor little heart’s going to burst isn’t it.” He reaches across the table and Vince welcomes the comfort he didn’t know he needed so badly. Of course Leroy knew, he had a way of sniffing these things out even before Vince did.
“Yeah,” he whines halfheartedly, feeling silly for being so wrapped up in it. So wrapped up in Howard. Then something in the wind changes, a gust of cold air that makes him shiver again and he feels his own face fall then the reflected change in his friend’s face. Like the concrete has dropped out from beneath him. Cold like the morning air just outside of the blankets. When he’s got to take those arms around him and place them back at Howard’s sides. Pull himself away even though every part of him is shouting that those arms and that wide chest and those stuck-up stripy pajamas mean safety. Even though he feels like he’s never wanted anything else more in his life than staying right there for the rest of time. Until the cheep walls of the flat crumble and the pipes burst. Wants to turn around and stare into that scruffy slack face made of big flat angles like boring maths problems until those pretty little cockerel’s eyes open just a crack. He wants to kiss his big stupid mouth with morning breath and all.
“Vince you’ve got to do something.”
He knows he’s got to do something. Just doesn’t know what that something is. Because telling Howard how he feels is not on the table. That is decidedly on the floor, better yet buried in the ground. Other than that there were loads of options. He could stop sleeping in the bed altogether, say he preferred the sofa actually and that Howard snored way too loud anyway. He could always go to Leroy’s if he really did need to sleep, most nights anyway. Leroy’s flat was practically his as it was. He could start shoving Howard off, but then he might wake up and Vince couldn’t have that. Not when he worked so hard all day, the least he could do is let the man sleep. The last option wasn’t really off the table as it was teetering on the edge, not quite off but really he didn’t want to. He could say it wasn’t working out, give some excuse, and move out. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t leave Howard now, not when they finally got their own place. Sure it made him dizzy how close they were together, and sleeping in the same bed was driving him bonkers. Those hardly outweighed the good stuff though.
Living with Howard was one of the best things that ever happened to him. Getting their own place, crimping in the kitchen with the teapot in the background screaming for them to stop. Watching telly and eating snacks Howard told him were killing him before he’d grumble and take a handful too. Putting up all the things he could never fit on a dormitory wall and fighting for whether the Ramones or Tony Williams was gonna be on the record player. It was their place, and it felt good to have it.
All the options leave a bad taste in his mouth, they don’t measure up to it at all. But he promises Leroy he’ll think on it with a kiss on the cheek before rushing back home. Nearly chews a whole in his cheek by the time he reaches their building.
There’s a delicious smell as he opens the door and kicks off his shoes. “Howard?”
“Heyy, welcome back,” Howard crows. His back half is sticking out from the doorframe as he’s leaned over on the counter. The only thing missing is the usual awkward sort of shimmying that he calls dancing and the awful jazz music. Vince doesn’t miss the music.
“What ya makin’?”
A determined grin lights up his face, looking like an old cartoon of a smiling moon staring down from the sky. Suppose that’s what he is, a grinning Moon. “Er, old Moon recipe,” he waves the faded scrap of paper in the air he’d had on the counter. On instinct, Vince goes to grab it but Howard backs out of reach theatrically wiggling his brows. Something that makes him look so ridiculous it definitely shouldn’t make Vince want to kiss him breathless. “Ah-secret family recipe, sir.”
“Alright, keep your secrets then, secretmaster.”
“Believe me I will. If nana Moon had any idea I’d given this to some strange glitter glue monkey that’d just come off the street-”
“What? Just someone off the street? I’ve met your nan, she knows me!”
“That may well be,” Howard arches a pointy eyebrow down at him and sets the paper in the open by the stove. His glowering act stops suddenly though as he clears his throat and pulls a spoon from the drawer. “Suppose you’re not just anybody.” The words don’t really mean anything, but his voice becomes sincere, warm like the spicy soup bubbling away on the stove. There’s a pause after, his eyes flit about and catch on Vince’s and he finds himself returning Howard’s secret little smile. Well, not so secret from him but secret if there were another person in the room. Someone standing hardly a foot away, maybe leaning on the counter in the tiny kitchen. Didn’t matter who they were or how close they stood, they could be wearing a getup that Elton John would think was over the top, they wouldn’t be noticed. That’s how it was, how it’d always been. The two of them sat together and blew themselves into a fantastic bubble, so colorful and mesmerizing they couldn’t possibly see anyone outside. Never needed to say a word. Vince is mesmerized, drawn into a pinpoint of knuckles and tendons as Howard dips the spoon in the pot and brings it carefully toward’s his lips. For once he’s glad Howard’s not looking in his eyes, if he were Vince would already be dead on the floor. The soup passes over his tongue without so much as noticing whether it’s hot. He blinks from the trance as the spoon withdraws and Howard waits on his reaction.
“S’good, that. Is it ready?”
“Just a minute longer.”
The soup leaves a curling trail of steam from their bowls when they take them carefully to the couch. Nearly without incident until Howard moves wrong somehow and curses under his breath as he shakes out a burnt finger. He glances over, hearing Vince’s laughter, and puts on his toughest most brooding of looks. It does nothing against the unrelenting sunshine he’s found to be his closest friend, in fact, he laughs harder. No use in holding out, Vince knows he’s got him beat. He can accept defeat with grace, he stops biting back the smile in his cheeks and nudges him just enough to get the point across.
They settle in as they usually do, chat over their soupy meals, and flick through the channels. But slithering underneath the comfort, Vince and Leroy’s conversation over coffee won’t leave. Bobbing back to the surface every time their eyes meet and it feels like it might last just a fraction longer than it should. And there’s that funny twinge in his throat that makes him think maybe there’s something there. That the beating beneath his ear as he leans into his friend and the warm feeling of contentment could mean something more. Then if he just found one of those little moments, the golden pinpoint in time, all he’d have to do is let himself fall into it and wait for Howard to follow. Howard must be a fantastic kisser, being such a hopeless romantic. Just a loopy daydream Vince has sometimes, Howard would never go for him, doesn’t go for blokes anyway.
No, it’s every other week a new mysterious pencil skirt, book reading lady who knows names of fancy cheeses and reads poetry. And Howard goes on and on about her creamy eyes and her creamy voice in his silly poems. The girls never like Howard’s poetry, they don’t appreciate it. Vince likes his poems, he doesn’t quite understand poetry and he doesn’t ever want to. But he likes Howard, and the poems are like chipped-off pieces of Howard’s starchy organized brain crumbled onto paper. How could he not like them? He’d shove anyone aside for a front-row seat to hear them. A live reading with long dramatic pauses and twisted expressions of emotions with long names he thinks Howard’s made up. Howard’s quite a good actor, he just had quite bad stagefright as well. So for now it was only an audience of one, just Vince.
Leroy’s words keep on clinging to him. Doing something. Just reach across the couch and kiss him ya jerkoff! Just lean over the distance in the bathroom mirror with the toothpaste still on his face and do it. Just turn around on the bed and go for it.
Howard sways in the doorway, watching Vince wiggle into place under the duvet until there’s only that tiny plumage of blonde hair sticking out before turning the light off. He hits his shin on the bedframe, winces, and has to hop into bed like a lame bird. There’s still a throbbing sting in his leg as he sinks into the mattress like a stone in quicksand. As comfortable as the shit mattress is though, and as exhausted as he is, sleep doesn’t fully come to him. Teasing out the frayed edges of his tired mind. He shuffles his legs restlessly for a moment, rubbing them like crickets would to make an awkward sound for silence. In all the awkward silences he’s been in Howard would give anything for a sound to fill them. Make the rejection or the absence of laughs after his jokes fly over heads a bit more bearable. At least there’s always one laugh he’ll always hear, or the quick zap of a joke echoed back to him. Like a dead language only the two of them could speak. Nothing better than the sound of Vince’s laughter, to see his mouth twitch trying to match his jokes only to dissolve into laughter. There was such a balance to it all, a finely tuned machine. That’s what made it so easy to see something was amiss, something not in the right place in the way Vince had been acting. Somehow more distracted than usual. It all made him feel uneasy, like he needed to hold him and steady him.
Suddenly it hits him. In the back of his mind, he remembers the night he woke to find Vince in his arms. The peace he’s never felt before. As slowly as he can move, as if he’s finally sleeping, he rolls onto his other side. Vince’s warm body is there not a foot away and Howard’s own body more than his brain clumsily folds to fit around his thin torso. Easily ten times more comfortable than before, he begins to drift off. Just a slight arm adjustment and-
“Ow-watch it, Howard!” Vince hisses in the dark.
“Sorry.”
Howard shuts his mouth as he feels Vince’s entire body tense up, only noticeable since they’re touching nearly head to toe. He tenses too, holding his breath. Surely he wasn’t meant to answer. Stuck his sodding foot right in his mouth. If that was true he shouldn’t be here either and Vince was only being kind since he’s been working so hard. He tenses up further, a knot growing in his belly, and begins backing away. But he hardly moves before a hand shoots out to grip his wrist. Not pulling, just holding at his pulse point. A message that reads loud and clear, at least he hopes. Tentatively he moves back to where he’d been, lets his arm wrap around again slowly in case he misread. No more freezing up. There’s a collective sigh, he’s not sure if Vince or he began it. Though it doesn’t matter a bit as he shuts his eyes and tries to slow his racing heart, feeling the soft t-shirt material against his nose and the smell of Vince.
The flat doesn’t last long, one day Howard comes home with the biggest grin Vince has ever seen and he wonders if he’s finally cracked. Nothing of the sort though. He’s found a new job, a job at a struggling little zoo on the corner and there’s room for two. At first he hesitates, shoveling shit all day and night was something he tried to avoid. But then there are the animals, and there’s Howard standing there regaling him with tales of lions and monkeys. Nothing could be so bad as long as they were together.
-----------------------------
At first, it’s not clear what’s woken him up. The moon is still staring in through the window and the night is cold and silent save for a fox crying in the distance. Could have been the fox that shook him from his dream. But then there’s a subtle sound, a creaking that he knows quite well in his room. A combination of the old spent hinges of the door and a rickety floorboard just behind it. Adrenaline takes him first, the intense fear, ready to leap out of bed and show this intruder whose room they’ve broken into. He’s ready, he knows exactly what to do. Something stops him though, another sound he knows very well, even more than the aging of the old building.
“Howard?”
A barely audible whisper, he’s not really trying to wake him up.
Probably come to ask to work the shop alone tomorrow, he’s got to go out again and get pissed again. He can already see the pleading look on his face, the one he knows Howard can’t say no to. Any words that come out of his mouth are blurred out like background noise, they can’t compete with that face. No matter how much resolve he had before, it all comes crashing down. Before the look might have been followed by Vince’s arms around his neck in a giggling excited thank you that makes Howard fight back a smile. Now there’s still a thank you, still the sly curve of a smile on his lips but nothing more. And it’s no one’s fault but his own. Or he’s come to “borrow” something from Howard’s room that’ll never be seen again because it’ll end up in a ditch somewhere in Brighton.
Most likely he’d come in at an inopportune time to make some sort of apology for the great rows they’ve been having. With that kind of half-scrunched-up face and his hands fidgeting for what to do. An apology that would play on repeat until the next one came along. Even when he clearly doesn’t know what he’s even apologizing for, Howard would rather the stagnance of apology than the pain of not speaking. Really he doesn’t know what these shouting matches have even been about, casting his mind back to any of them comes up empty. So how could he know himself what to apologize for? Anyway he doesn’t want to talk to him, doesn’t want to hear that soft beautiful voice saying things he doesn’t mean. Watch the hurt grow in his eyes and feel the same hurt take him over.
There’s a dip in the mattress and his mind goes suddenly blank.
A subtle shift behind him but he doesn’t move, frozen in disbelief and a pinch of curiosity. Another dip and he feels a weight behind him that pulls the duvet taught.
The disbelief is beginning to wear off at that. That’s just further than he would like and he nearly turns to tell him off like a dog on the sofa but stops before he can. Something he can’t put a name to freezes him up all over again. Cools him off. Howard could be upset that Vince has crawled into his bed in the middle of the night. He could get angry, he could bluster and be put out and shut the door in his face. Lord knows it would only be another fight in a long smudgy list of them that keeps dragging on. They’d forget, they’d both wake up and go on the next day as they do.
But he can’t.
And he can’t bring himself to speak. If he opens his mouth he might just start sniffling himself. What does he say? He’s not sure he knows how anymore.
So, sleep acting it is. Laying very very still even when his blood is on fire and it’s the last thing he wants to do. Breathing normally even when he hears Vince’s breath stutter terribly and he feels the heartbreaking vibration all too familiar of stifling a cry. Even though trying to ignore Vince in pain feels like trying not to breathe and it’s practically written in his DNA to care for him so fiercely he can’t think of much else.
Sod it. He turns around, nearly knocking him off the bed in the process. Vince yelps in surprise and reaches out to grab an anchor, what he grabs is Howard. There’s no hesitation, Vince collapses forward just as Howard pulls him into a tight embrace. Probably too tight but Vince is gripping his nightshirt with the same need. As soon as his head hits Howard’s chest he lets loose a sharp drawn-out sob and Howard wonders how he stayed quiet for so long.
“Vince,” he clears the sleep from his throat. “What’s wrong, little man?”
This only seems to make him cry harder, he shakes his head against Howard’s chest, the tears and snot soaking through. Howard feels the cries deep inside like
they were his. There’s no rush for words, he begins rubbing up and down his back in a remarkable act of muscle memory. Which works a miracle in calming him, always has. The shaking subsides and he recalls something else that used to soothe, another thing brought to the surface by Vince’s gentle fingers. A habit that was binned along with other habits that involved too much touching. Although this, in particular, might be a dangerous idea, he takes a chance. One hand still on his back, he lets his other hand rest at the back of his head. There’s no flinching, no indignant shouts to get away. So he begins stroking downward, through his silky black hair, and hears a shaky whimper before calmer breath and finally words.
“That’s nice,” he croaks out. It’s at least something, it’s something good and Howard takes it. Happy just to hear Vince’s breath calm even as his own feels too fast.
“Alright now?” There’s no reply, not even a nod. Curse his stupid big mouth. He supposes Vince will get up now, go back to his own silk sheets, and in the morning Howard’s not to mention this. “Vince-”
“M’alright now, Howard.” He says reassuringly, but it’s not all there, Howard’s hardly convinced. Maybe Vince can throw on a voice and a glittery jumpsuit and look alright with the rest of them, but not with him, not here.
“You know...you can tell me, Vince.” He pauses for a response but Vince only holds him closer. “If something’s wrong I mean. If something’s happened you can still…” it feels wrong to use the word “still,” they’ve never had to use the word before, its taste is maudlin bitter. Only cements the feeling that things are different, that it’s not the same.
Vince pulls back, not enough to fall from the bed but just enough to look at Howard. To check if he’s really asking that, genuinely, truly asking him what’s wrong right now. He doesn’t want to start crying, not when he’s just stopped. When Howard hadn’t been angry and gentle hand touched his hair like he hasn’t done for so long and it felt like his heart would break into a million shimmery pieces of glass. He thought there was a sliver of hope he understood.
“You really don’t know?”
“What am I meant to know,” he asks softly, and if it weren’t for that Vince might leave right now. Put all this stupid mess behind him before he says something he shouldn’t.
Vince scoffs, shakes his head again, and bumps his forehead back into Howard’s collarbone. “It’s all gone wrong, Howard,” he’s back on the verge of tears already. “Everything’s all different and you know it. I know you do,” he swallows thickly. “What’s happened to us?”
“I don’t know. I-I know I’m meant to know,” Vince looks up hearing the wobble in Howard’s voice that was so sturdy before, he looks away when Vince tries to meet his gaze. “I’m supposed to know what’s going on and you know, say it’s going to be alright. That’s my...part I suppose.”
“Right, that’s how it works. We’ll be dangling from a cliff while a herd of rabid squirrels are chewin’ away our last little twig to hold onto and I ask if it’s gonna be okay,” he pauses to wipe his face with frustration. “And you say of course it’s goin’ to be okay, that’s how it works.” He says the last bit much quieter and as ridiculous as the writhing mass of squirrels in Howard’s brain are, it’s not quite enough of a distraction. There’s a nagging question in Vince’s face, a pleading accusatory question.
“Well, it just seemed that you didn’t care.”
“What?”
Howard bites his tongue, feeling his stomach tying itself in knots, he knows Vince doesn’t really want him to repeat it. “It just-I thought you didn’t care what happened you know…” the look on his face says he doesn’t. “To us.”
Blazing anger flashes quickly over Vince’s sharp features but it fizzles just as quickly into something mournful.
“Hard to tell, with you out on the town half the time,” Howard says and tries so hard to keep out the venom. “And the other half you’re always going on about how good it is to be away, how bloody interesting it all is compared to here.” Compared to him. “Sort of put it together with the fighting, and well, it just made sense.”
Vince is tired, he’s worn out from crying, he’s worn out from the rubberband snapping him back and forth between anger and sadness and all of it. He knew Howard hated that he went out he but sometimes a black oozing thing in his heart said that was the point. At some point, he stopped going out for a good time, and started going out to be away. He hardly even talked to Leroy now, couldn’t take his worried looks. So there were nights when listened to the voice, after his throat was hoarse from shouting and his mascara running down his cheeks. Like a hurt animal, he wanted to lash out with teeth and claws. But it only made the hurt worse, made him feel a bit sick because he needed Howard so badly that it all made him sick too. And here Howard was acting as if he weren’t his whole world stuffed into a silly tweed jacket. As if Vince didn’t care.
“Well maybe if you hadn’t gone and stuck it all together like that all wonky we wouldn’t have so many fights,” Vince begins squirming away, out of Howard’s hold.
“Yeah? Well what else could I do, Vince?”
“I don’t know,” Vince nearly shouts, and scoots just a bit further.
“Why’s it upset you so much anyway? Why’s it so important all of a sudden?” He’s barrelling now, can’t stop the hurt from shoving every vitriolic thing from his mouth. Those cold eyes stare daggers through him as Vince takes one final scramble, shoving against him to leave. “Vince?”
“Let go!”
“Please tell me,” Howard cries, panic taking the reigns when he realizes just how very much he doesn’t want him to go. Vince has stopped shoving and gone back to taking handfuls of Howard’s nightshirt. There’s a new chill to the room then, somehow all the books on the shelf and all the blankets on top of them and the lamp beside the bed are all holding their breath. As if the walls had ears and someone was about to say something important. Only the sound of Vince’s labored breath as he stares open-mouthed.
“Because I love you, Howard.”
The next moment all blurs together, Vince surges forward and connecting their lips in more of a collision than a kiss, no matter how fast it is. Howard hardly has time to notice before he’s backing away again, face twisted in regret.
“Fuck-”
Howard’s about to let him go, about to give in but instinct is a difficult thing to fight and so is gravity. There’s no time to register what’s happened as Vince is falling bodily out of the blanketed haven and Howard, without a second thought grabs ahold and they’re tumbling together to the floor. Vince with a yell and Howard without a sound as his mind has been broken and he can’t possibly be bothered.
The thud would have any downstairs neighbor wondering if the upstairs neighbors were committing a very sloppy murder or had just shot an elephant in the room.
“Shit,” Howard winces at his throbbing elbow where it’s been pinned to the floor but it’s forgotten in favor of something much more pressing. “Are you alright? Did you hit your head,” he tilts around this way and that to see any damage on his perfect cranium.
“Didn’t hit it,” Vince mutters, batting his hand away. “Why’d you grab me you muppet I was gettin’ out just fine.”
“You love me?” Howard’s brain is running through quicksand. Vince stops his escape plans and Howard watches in awe as a radiant blush rises on the tops of his cheeks. Right beneath the tear tracks left behind. The reason he’d come here in the first place.
“Yea,” Vince says breathlessly, face full of worry.
“You love me,” he repeats, this time not a question but said with awe. Like seeing the sea for the first time in your life. He frees one hand and brings it very slowly towards that cheek he’s wanted to touch so much he feels his breath catch just to be this close. He stops just before contact, searching his face for any signs of stopping. There’s nothing like that. Instead, there’s adoration, care, so much it’s like looking into the sun but Howard in the same way can’t look away. Caught up so much in the feeling himself, or it could be that it’s so strong he’s simply feeling the waves of it. Like an emotional battery, feeding off each other in an endless loop. Like their own little bubble. All of the times he’d tucked it away for later, all the times he’d felt the pang of guilt when Vince would smile at him and his heart would soar. He’s so lost in it he hardly notices Vince wriggle his hand free from between their bodies and makes a small sound of surprise as he places it over his, pressing it to his cheek. Warm and soft as silk. He chokes out a sound like a laugh that’s tripped. Such an unbelievable feeling.
“Vince, I-” the words are caught in his throat. “I love you so very much, I’ve loved you for so long I’ve just been too blind to see it.”
Vince strains his neck, drawing closer and closer and Howard feels his breath ghost across his lips in a wonderful little thrill before their lips meet. Only this time it’s slow, he feels the velvet touch of them, the leftover cherry gloss, and the taste of Vince that makes him lightheaded. All the poems and songs and books and paintings about kisses suddenly resonate all at once, he understands. Never wants it to end, but it does all too soon.
“Genius,” Vince breathes, slightly cross-eyed and Howard needs to kiss him again but he dodges away. “This is nice and all but my arse has gone to sleep.”
“Oh, right” they were still on the floor. “Sorry, hold on.” There’s an awkward maneuvering off the carpet, Howard hoisting Vince up to his feet like the gentleman he is.
It’s a simple gesture then to pull him straight into his arms again, unable to resist such a lovely opportunity to keep him close. Vince on his part turns to rest his chin on Howard’s sternum and stares up at him with the most pleased little smile.
“Much better.”
No more words are shared after that as they part and put Howard’s poor disrupted bed back to rights. When it’s all done Vince watches Howard climb in and turn to him with open arms, his expression welcoming and full of excitement under the exhaustion. It’s almost too much, his lips still tingling from their kiss, he chews the end of his thumb all of a sudden it feels like it’s all going to go away. Like it’s all too good to be true and he’s really just passed out somewhere in a dark room. Howard’s face begins to fall at the hesitation, his eagle spread arms sagging.
“Vince?”
“Hmm?”
“Something wrong still?”
Vince shakes his head so fast his fringe gets caught in his face, nothing is wrong at all, then leaps into bed to be caught up by Howard’s laughing embrace.
“Easy now, I’ve only got so many bones,” Howard laughs and feels his heart flutter as Vince settles in and noses along his neck. “Comfortable darling?”
Vince chuckles low against him. “Call me that again.”
“As you wish,” he sighs. “Darling.”
“You’re so old fashioned Howard,” Vince teases, feeling brave and safe tucked in the crook of Howard’s neck, breathing him in. He can feel Howard’s indignation like vibrations even though his hands only wrap tighter around Vince’s shoulder and the small of his back. The tiny frown on Howard’s face doesn’t even faze him, his brain has turned to butterflies. The frown only makes him look more like him, like Howard, like the man he’s been in love with for so long he hardly knows what else to do. Vince kisses his cheek, scratchy just as he always thought, but soft underneath. “I like it.” Howard can’t hide the crooked smile this time.
Falling asleep in each other’s arms is such a familiar feeling, breaths on the same beat and legs tangled together. Molded together like that were made that way. Vince’s mind wanders back to the nights in the cold tiny flat when they clung to each other in sleep, where Howard held him just the way he does now. It’s a wonder they were ever able to be apart.