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Vince couldn't turn on the television without seeing Sammy the Crab skittering about. His stalky eyes looked smugly out from every magazine cover. Black Tubes posters were all over Camden, everyone chattering about the band with the skinniest legs in the world.
Vince didn't try to find out if anyone was chattering about him, just for his own peace of mind. He suspected people were, and what they said wasn't flattering.
He couldn't talk to Howard about it. Howard always claimed to have no interest in Camden social life. Besides, he'd been weirder than usual ever since he'd got back from Denmark, moping around the shop and flying into a blind rage if he so much as heard the word 'crab.' The rage had an intensity that Vince hadn't seen since they were back at the zoo, and for the sake of bodily and furniture integrity, he stopped mentioning anything having to do with Sammy.
He dragged his sewing machine out of the closet and started playing around with it to try to make himself feel better. He only had a couple scraps of fabric lying around (it must have been a while since he'd tried to sew something, now his closet was full of clothes from Topshop and stores he'd forgotten the names of) so the best he could get together was a hat.
It was a pretty genius hat, though, a soft green Peter Pan gone mod number, and Vince was so pleased that he thought he'd go out and show it off. He went to a club near Chalk Farm, some place full of color and clatter and excitement, and he was just getting a drink when a girl approached him, shouting, "Love the hat, where'd you get it?"
Vince turned away from the bar, smiling, and shouted back, "Yeah, made it, actually." He fingered the brim lightly, liking the softness under his hands.
"Made it?" the girl shouted. Her face crinkled up like she'd smelled something horrible. "You know you can buy clothes, don't you? Actual proper clothes by famous designers? Ridiculous." Then she turned and walked away.
Vince left the club and walked back to the flat alone. In his room, he took off the hat and put it on top of his dresser. He stared at it for a while and told himself that it really didn't matter if he ever made anything ever again. The hat just sat in silent judgment, half-illuminated by the moonlight coming in the window.
Vince turned away and stared out the window at the moon, hoping that would make him feel more certain, but outside the window, the moon just grew brighter and brighter and then disappeared altogether, leaving everything dim and colorless.
*****
Vince was somewhat offended when he woke up with a massive hangover. He'd had another wasted night out, stood in some club drinking too much while trying to ignore the people he used to know who were all ignoring him. He'd come home in a foul mood, ready to snap at the first person who looked askance at him, except the person he found was Howard, drinking whiskey in the lounge and looking like Vince felt. He'd been playing some record or another, and it was a testament to how much Vince had drunk that he didn't immediately swell up or have to flee the building at the sound of it. It was something sweet and sad, and Vince had made a statement of relative non-hatred about it. He wasn't even enthusiastic, but Howard had jumped at the statement like a starving lion after a gazelle. He'd immediately grabbed Vince's hand, pulled him over to the record player, and started explaining the song, using technical music terms that had far too many syllables, and Vince was only spared having to suffer through a three hour lecture with diagrams and charts by Howard unceremoniously passing out on the settee in the middle of a sentence. Vince just managed to remember to turn Howard on his side and tuck his tweeds snugly around him before weaving off to his own bed.
Vince's mouth tasted of butterscotch and bile. He was pretty sure that all his bones had turned into swizzle sticks. It hurt to inhale. He opened one eye and the world tilted alarmingly, but his stomach shifted from nauseated to ravenous in record time, and he knew he'd have to get up and find a bowl of cereal.
He wrapped his kimono around his shoulders and staggered out towards the kitchen. Howard was already in there, one side of his face smashed up against the fridge door, a packet of bacon dangling from his fingers. He didn't look like he was in any shape to move.
"Ungh," Vince greeted. Actual speech was beyond him this morning.
Howard cracked a tiny, bloodshot eye open. "Mmph," he said, and shut the eye again. He pointed towards the kettle, which was boiling away. "Uhhh."
"Arrgleblarr," Vince explained, getting his Rice Krispies from the cupboard and then rooting around for a bowl.
"Rrrargh," Howard said and waved the rashers dismissively.
Vince made it so far as to get the cereal in his bowl and then thought he might risk adding milk. He reached over to where he thought the fridge door was, groping blindly, and then he rested his hand flat against something that really didn't feel like a handle.
He turned carefully and squinted at his hand splayed across Howard's face. His pinky was nestled in the crow's feet by Howard's eye and his thumb was under Howard's hair, near where the waves started. There was stubble pressing into Vince's palm, rough and bristly, and then further up the skin softened and grew fine around Howard's cheekbones and up by his temples. Vince stood quietly, thinking how weird it was that he knew Howard's face so well and then he could touch it and find a whole other landscape, the familiar shape turned exotic under his fingertips.
It took what seemed like a long time before he realized that Howard was going to start up with 'Don't touch me.' He would have taken his hand away then, but his nerves weren't working right, or something, because he just kept touching Howard's face. It took a while longer before he realized that Howard wasn't going to start up. If he wasn't mistaken, Howard actually seemed to be leaning into his hand, rubbing his cheek against Vince's fingers. His eyes were still shut and his mouth had gone all soft and smiley. There was a rumble coming from deep in his throat that sounded nothing so much as a purring mountain lion.
Vince made sure he didn't move.
It didn't last, sadly. Howard's eyes popped open and he jerked away, like Vince had just woken him up. His mouth settled into its usual tight, suspicious line. "Dntchmeh!" he said sharply, and slapped the bacon onto the counter.
"Nnnaarrgh," Vince apologized. He pulled away. The movement made the entire inside of his head lurch. He decided abruptly that he wasn't going to get the milk.
"Raagh," Howard said, seemingly acquiescing, and opened up the fridge. Vince took his dry cereal back to his room before Howard could get out the eggs. Howard came from the grand hungover morning tradition of massive fry-ups, and Vince came from the grand hungover morning tradition of wanting to sick up if he smelled hot grease.
In his room, he ate cereal with his fingers and attempted to have a think about what had just happened. Over the years, he'd gotten sort of used to Howard going twitchy if anyone laid a hand on him. He still forgot, because it was easy to forget things, and he'd always rather liked touching Howard, he was so big and broad and nicely padded. He hadn't really thought there was any possibility of Howard ever actually wanting Vince to touch him, though.
Somewhere in the back of his skull, the brain secretary took a bracing gulp of her cappuccino and started pulling up memory files.
And of course there had been other times, times that had been filed away and forgotten, little isolated incidents. Last night, when they were drunk, Howard had grabbed for his hand and held tight, all through the too many big words lecture. There'd been other times, of course there had been – after a few drinks down the pub, Howard would scoot his chair so close to Vince's that their knees were bumping together, so that Vince couldn't make a move without brushing up against him. He'd be falling asleep in front of the television and when Vince would try to shake him awake, he'd slump heavily against Vince's hand, rumbling contentedly, just before coming to and pulling away.
And sometimes Howard would sling a long arm around Vince and squeeze his shoulder, or put a protective hand on Vince's stomach, or just sit comfortably next to Vince on the settee, a familiar corduroy warmth at his side. But then that was usually when Howard was too distracted to keep his guard up, or just happy. Howard hadn't been happy for a while.
Vince would have liked to blame everything on Jurgen, the walking testicular growth, the man he'd never spoken to but hated purely and entirely. He'd come swanning in and then left and took Howard with him, and Naboo'd had to hire Adam, who'd been rubbish at being Howard, and things hadn't worked out how Vince had imagined they would at all. And then Howard had come back but nothing was the same and Vince had no clue how to fix it.
Except things had been wrong even before Jurgen. Howard hadn't been happy, and neither had Vince, if he had to be honest.
He'd finished his cereal, but he was no closer to figuring things out. He dragged himself to his feet and went to put the bowl in the sink. Howard was washing up in the kitchen; thankfully any lingering greasy bacon and egg perfumes had dissipated.
"H'llo," Vince mumbled, blood sugar high enough to approach words again. Howard murmured something not quite coherent and handed him a still-steaming mug of tea.
"Th'nks," Vince said, and sat down heavily at the table. Howard joined him after a minute and they sat in silence, drinking tea while Vince desperately tried to think of something to say.
The ground under the flat shuddered and roiled, and the crockery rattled on the shelves. Vince barely noticed.
*****
On Saturday afternoon, Vince didn't know what to do with himself. He'd gone to one of his favorite shops in Croydon, but that had gone wrong. He'd run into Vector and Johnny Rhythm in the aisles and tried to say hello, but they both blanked him and went off to the far corner of the shop, where he'd heard them laughing about big heads and failed frontmen. He didn't stick around to hear more.
Sometimes he wished the zoo hadn't closed down. Then he could at least have a nice chat with the monkeys or the elephants and go back to the keepers' hut with Howard and not bother about anything more complicated. But the zoo had closed ages ago and Vince didn't want to think about what had happened to the animals.
He bought a bag of peanuts from a street vendor and went to Crystal Palace Park, where he sat in the shadow of the dinosaur statues and stared at the lake. He crinkled the paper of the peanut bag between two fingers, feeling its heat but not feeling especially hungry.
"Here, don't think you could spare one of those?" Vince heard from somewhere near his boots. He looked down and there was a tiny red squirrel peering up at him, ears twitching.
"Oh. All right," Vince said and handed the squirrel a peanut.
"You're a diamond. Ah, honey-roasted, that's brill. Thought you'd have more shopping bags with you this time of day."
"Shop was rubbish," Vince said. "Wait, how do you know about the shopping?"
"I go all over London, squire. I see a lot of things. Hear a lot of things."
"Oh," Vince said. "Guess you heard about the Black Tubes then?"
"Got it in one. Don't be too mis about it, though. You'll have other gigs." The squirrel finished the peanut and looked hopefully at him.
Vince handed over another nut. "It's just that all my mates are laughing at me."
"Because your mates are wankers."
"It's not like that."
"Oh, it's not, is it? Maybe I'm just a squirrel, but where I come from real mates stick by you when you have a rough time. Bit of tea and sympathy. How's that workin' out?"
"Well, I never really asked them," Vince said.
"Why?"
"I had to look cool, didn't I?"
"Didn't you fuck," said the squirrel.
"Steady now," Vince said.
"Can't afford to mince me words," the squirrel said. "Basically you're saying that if you don't look cool, your mates don't want nothing to do with you."
"Yeah."
"Don't make too much sense, does it?"
"Well, I had Howard and Bollo and Naboo for everything else," Vince said.
"What'd you need to go poncing around Camden for, then?"
Vince thought for a minute. "There are more people in Camden?"
"You're well confused," the squirrel said kindly.
"Yeah," Vince said. He gave the squirrel another nut.
"Not the only one. The whole city's gone a bit mad. If I was you, I'd be preparing for the storm."
"What storm?"
"Ain't you noticed the moon's disappeared? And the ground's been shaking like a jelly?"
"Yeah," Vince said. "Is that bad?"
"'The time is out of joint,'" said the squirrel. "That's Shakespeare, innit? But he's got it. Everything's out of joint all over, and it's all coming together to make something horrible. Don't know when it'll happen."
"Well, what can I do?"
"Need a plan."
"But Howard always came up with the plans, and now he's bein' all strange. I don't know if I'm even his mate anymore."
"Bet you are."
"Well, why won't he talk to me then?"
"Dunno. I'm just an humble squirrel. Have you tried bein' kind to him?"
"He doesn't like me being kind to him. Every time I've tried, he thinks I'm ill or taking the piss."
"Reckon he'd still like someone to be kind to him. Reckon you would too."
"Yeah," Vince said.
"Can I take some of them nuts home for the missus?"
"Sure," Vince said and handed over the bag. The squirrel stuffed a quarter of the remaining nuts in his cheeks and said indistinctly, "Cheers. I'll come back for the rest later. And take a squirrel's advice, hm?"
"I'll try," Vince said. He watched the squirrel's fluffy tail recede into the distance. Somehow being kind seemed like a decent idea. He vaguely hoped he still remembered how to do it.
*****
Naboo came up the stairs looking preoccupied. Vince turned from where he was half-watching the television and said, "Awright, Naboo?"
"Howard in?" Naboo asked.
"Gone to Jazzercise. What's happened?"
"Emergency meeting of the Board. The planet's about to be visited by the Fiasco."
"What's a Fiasco?"
"Powerful demon," Naboo said. "Feeds on human disappointment. Somehow the planet's karmic atmosphere's shifted and he's taking advantage of it."
"That's what the squirrel was talking about," Vince said.
"Nice that it warned you," Naboo said. "But you and Howard both need to be ready. We're doing what we can, but…" He shrugged. "Can't do anything until we locate the Fiasco, and he's hard to track."
"Well, what can me and Howard do?" Vince asked.
"Don't know yet," Naboo said. "I've got to go back for another meeting. Had to leave Bollo there for crowd control. But Dennis conjured up this for you two." He withdrew a small pale pot from his robe. The pot had Demon Repellant with SPF 55 written across it in clumsy black lettering. "If the Fiasco shows up, it'll keep him from getting too close. But just be careful with it."
"What, is it dangerous?" Vince said.
"Not really," Naboo said. He rotated the pot around and pointed to the black lettering reading MAY CAUSE DROWSINESS. "Just don't operate any heavy machinery for at least twelve hours after you put it on. I've got to get back to the Board. Kirk was about to suggest a plan that involved intimately interfering with a pelican. Tell Howard when he gets back, will you? And make sure you both slather it on."
"All right," Vince said and took the pot. Naboo disappeared back down the stairs.
Vince was still examining the pot, wondering if it had any AHAs in it, when Howard got back from the gym. He was still wearing his shorts and the ugly tracksuit jacket that Vince hated. Vince looked up and said, "Awright, Howard."
Howard put his gym bag on the floor. "Hey – what are you fiddling with there?"
"Demon repellant. It's meant to save us from the Tesco's."
"Tesco's? What's gone wrong with the Tesco's? Has it grown arms?"
Vince thought for a minute. "Maybe it's not Tesco's. Naboo told me. It's called…aggro or shallow or Moscow or something. Anyway, it's a demon, it's well dangerous, and we've got to repel it with this if it shows up." He opened the pot up and poked his nose into the pearly cream inside. Almost instantly he regretted it. "Ugh. Ugh. Howard, this smells horrible. Here, smell it."
"If it's so horrible, why would I want to smell it?"
"I need protection from it. Backup, like a cop film. You're my smell backup." Vince sniffed at the pot again and gagged.
"Stop poking at it," Howard said. "You've got it all over your nose now. Honestly." He came and took the pot from Vince's hand. He sniffed at it experimentally. "Here, this is quite nice, actually. Your hooter's clearly malfunctioning."
"It's disgusting," Vince insisted. He massaged the blob of repellant into the tip of his nose and almost instantly the smell of rotten alcoholic mushrooms faded, leaving a pleasant warm tingle on his skin behind. "Me nose hairs are all burnt off."
"You just don't like it because it doesn't smell like a sweetshop," Howard said. He gingerly dipped a finger into the pot and dotted on the contents like he was putting on suncream, touching his forehead and nose and cheeks and then stopping altogether. "Is that enough, do you reckon?"
"If you're a newt, maybe," Vince said. "Don't you know anything about skincare?"
Howard drew himself up to his full height. "My skin and I are men of the world, sir. There's wisdom in this skin. Hard-won wisdom."
"Along with sun damage and crow's feet," Vince said.
"It's not damage, it's experience," Howard said, but he was getting that look that said he was about to go run off and hide, which made Vince feel like a bit of a prick.
"Hey, Howard, do you want me to put it on for you?" he asked, finally finding something that could conceivably slot into being kind. "I'm a genius with skincare. Bet it'll feel nice after all that weird Jazzercise, too."
"I think you'll find, Vince, that unlike you I don't need to slather potions and lotions all over myself to face any danger."
"So when the fatso or the wacko or the lasso shows up with its big demon face, you want to meet it without any sort of buffer?"
Howard mulled that over for a while. "Oh, all right," he said peevishly, and slouched into the settee.
"Right," Vince said, dipped his thumb into the pot, and got to work, smoothing pearly cream over Howard's cheekbones. Howard put on a face like this was all very burdensome for him, which he managed to keep up until Vince started smoothing down the soft skin behind his ears, when he let out a satisfied groan.
"It's nice, right?" Vince said. "Here, you already look better. Your skin's drinking up demon repellant like it's lemonade."
"I suppose it's fine," Howard said, and yawned hugely. Vince hummed in response. He wasn't sure if it was part of the enchantment or just Howard's particular body chemistry, but the repellant had stopped smelling foul once he'd started applying it, shifting from fungal to something sharp and wild, like ozone and wet green plants. It felt good on his hands, too, like he'd just put them into a steaming hot bath. Vince stroked along the sides of Howard's neck and watched him struggling to keep his eyes open.
"Got to sort the rest of you out," Vince said. "Take that eyesore jacket off."
Howard twitched. "'S fine," he said.
"Come on, Howard," Vince said and unzipped the jacket to pull it off. Howard repeated, "It's fine," but he always had a hard time resisting Vince when he was groggy. Under the hideous jacket was the equally hideous rollneck with cut-off sleeves that Howard used for workout clothes. Vince was about to start rubbing repellant into Howard's knuckles when he saw the red, broken skin along the entire length of Howard's forearm, neat circular bruises all in a line. "What you been doing to yourself?" Vince said.
"Say one word and I'll come at you," Howard said, not looking at him, jaw tight. He didn't even follow it up with a descriptor, that he'd come at Vince like a beam or a ray or a carthorse or a needlenose pliers, like that would stop Vince talking.
"I know Chinese burns when I see them, Howard."
"Not. One. Word," Howard said. He started getting up.
Vince put a hand on Howard's chest, blocking the way. "All right, I'll leave it. Come on, Howard. Sit back. Your cuticles are in a terrible state. I'll fix them."
"They're distinguished," Howard said, but the fight had gone out of him. He pressed himself back into the settee, still wary, still ready to bolt at a moment's notice. Vince took one of Howard's massive hands and carefully massaged it with his thumbs, chattering about SPF and glycerin and fruit extracts until Howard believed that he had forgotten about everything.
Finally he heard Howard exhale shakily, and most of the tension crept out of his posture. Vince dipped his hand back in the pot and began dabbing the repellant around the burn marks on Howard's arm, trying not to hurt them more. He still felt Howard wince now and then, but he kept his mouth shut about it. As soon as he'd finished, being as careful as he could, Howard went boneless, limbs going heavy in Vince's grasp. His head was nodding and his tiny eyes were three-quarters shut.
"Don't go to sleep now," Vince said. "I'm only half through."
"Got gray hair waiting for you to finish," Howard mumbled. "'M tired."
"Tired out from the strain of letting me work my genius massage magic? What are you even like?" Howard didn't answer and didn't move. Vince didn't get many chances to run his hands over Howard's long Northern legs and he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity now. He spread the repellant across Howard's thigh like a streak of paint and smoothed it in, pressing the heel of his hand against the solid muscle.
Howard was still mumbling. Vince looked up to ask what he was talking about, but Howard was fully asleep now, head dropped against the back of the settee. His brow was creased with worry and his fingers were twitching. Vince rubbed his knees, thinking that would settle him down, but the mumbling just got more fretful and his muscles stiffened up again.
"Howard," Vince said. "Come on, wake up."
Howard whimpered softly.
"You're having a bad dream, Howard," Vince said and shook his shoulder.
Howard flinched awake, looking blindly around him before grabbing onto Vince's wrist, face flooding with relief. "Vince."
"All right?" Vince said. "You were dreaming."
Howard sagged back in his seat. His eyes were still vague and unfocused. "Bloody great leverpostej slice fell on top of me…couldn't get out. Couldn't find you." He rubbed his eye with the heel of one hand.
"I think you've been repelled enough," Vince said. "C'mon, time for bed."
"Bed," Howard said obediently, trying to get to his feet. He looked like a newborn colt, unfamiliar with his limbs and struggling. Vince leaned down and slung Howard's arm around his shoulders, pulling him up. He figured if he led by example, Howard would remember how to walk. Howard grumbled and made a token effort to pull away but gave up and leaned heavily against Vince's side as Vince attempted to get them both into Howard's room.
Howard was talking, drunkenly, the Leeds in his voice grown thicker and pushing all the words together into one huge, unwieldy word. Vince could occasionally pick something out, something about Jurgen (fucking tosser, Vince thought automatically), crabs, records. It still didn't make sense.
"Yes, yes, of course," Vince told Howard as he opened the bedroom door. "That's right, you're absolutely right."
"Didn't mean it," Howard said and dropped onto his bed. He sighed. "G'night."
"Hang on," Vince said. "Get under the covers, hm? You'll catch cold."
"Won't," Howard mumbled, making no attempt to move. Vince sighed and pulled off his shoes and the hideous rollneck, dropping them on the floor quickly so he wouldn't get infected with beige. He tugged the bedcovers over Howard and watched him snuggle down, all wavy brown hair and broad shoulders and soft freckled skin, sweet and tempting as cake frosting. Vince swallowed.
"G'night, Howard," he said quietly, and left the room.
In his bedroom, Vince rubbed the last of the demon repellant over himself, quickly, to try to outrun the side effects, before spraying himself with his favorite eau de cologne in case the mushroom stench decided to make an appearance on him. He barely managed to set down the bottle on the bedside table before crashing into sleep.
*****
Bollo walked in when Vince was minding the store and Howard was doing inventory round the back. Vince looked up when the front door jingled and said, "Awright, Bollo?"
"Vincey," Bollo said urgently. "Vincey, things very bad. Bollo just back from world's longest board meeting. Naboo want you to have this." Bollo handed over what looked like a spanner with five extra heads. "Enchanted weapon. Use if the Fiasco shows up."
"Oh, right, that was its name," Vince said. "Has the Board tracked him down yet?"
"No. Board is useless. Tony Harrison trying to bite off Saboo's toes when Bollo last see them. Have to go back soon and protect little Naboo."
"You should do," Vince said. "How do we use this? Do I need to learn a spell or something?"
"No. Just throw at head."
"You bring one for Howard too?"
Bollo grunted. "No. There only one. Vince should feed Harold to demon first and then throw weapon at head."
"Oh come on, Bollo."
"Vince is best mates with ballbag."
"You always say that."
"He say that Vince and Bollo are losers and then fuck off to Denmark. Only come home when he fail like he always does."
"I don't want to talk about this, Bollo."
"Vincey better off without him."
"Don't –" There was a sound like hinges squeaking behind him. Vince turned around and there was Howard, standing by the door to the back room. Vince hoped for a moment that he hadn't heard anything, but one look at Howard's face told him differently. Howard's face was full of a lot of things, but the main ones that Vince could see were hurt and absolute resignation.
"C'mon, Howard –" Vince started, but Howard didn't answer. What he did was bolt, moving quickly towards the front door, jerking it open and disappearing just as the bells tingled.
"For fuck's sake, Bollo," Vince said. He put the enchanted whatever-it-was-called down on the shop counter and went after Howard.
He finally found Howard two blocks down the street. Howard's legs were longer and Vince's shoes were starting to hurt him, so he shouted at Howard's back, "Howard, I can't chase you all over town, come on."
Howard turned around. Vince opened his mouth to try to put a better spin on things, but before he could, Howard said with exaggerated casualness, "You need anything from the shop?"
"What?"
"I – remembered we were out of…milk or something. Thought I'd go get some. Do you want anything or not?" Howard ran his thumb over his lower lip.
Vince looked at him. Howard stared back, silently daring Vince to say something. Vince said finally, "…No."
"Right. I'll be back later." And then he was gone.
Vince went back to the Nabootique. Bollo was still there. Vince said, "You total gland, Bollo."
"Not say nothing Harold don't already know."
"You know what?" Vince said. "I don't care. I know you don't like Howard, and that's fine, but he's my best mate and I don't want you talking about him like that to me ever again."
Bollo was staring at his feet, which meant that he was equal parts embarrassed and ashamed. "Vince have other mates. Cool ones."
"Yeah, but I don't like them," Vince said, and only realized that he was telling the truth once he'd said it. He blinked. Bollo blinked back at him.
"Sorry, Vincey," Bollo said finally.
"You really should apologize to Howard, not me," Vince said. "You're just lucky he's gone into denial at the moment. Once he's out of it you need to say sorry. And use his right name. I know you know it."
"Fine," Bollo said. "Still don't know what you see in him, though."
"It's because –" Vince thought for a moment. Because he makes me tea even when I've pissed him off? Because he knows how to do things like drive and wash up and make dinner without setting anything on fire? Because he doesn't care if I look cool or not? Because when it comes down to it, he'll be there for me? "…Because he's Howard," he said.
"Bollo apologize to Howard once this is over," Bollo said. "Then will never speak of or to him again."
"I suppose that's all we can hope for, innit?" Vince said.
*****
Outside it was fully dark, the moon and the stars disappeared, and the ground was shuddering in a steady rhythm, enough to make Vince watch his step and worry if anything was going to come off the walls.
He made a sweep of the flat, checking on things, until he wound up in his room. Howard was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and surveying Vince's room intently.
"What you doing?" Vince said.
Howard flinched and looked guilty for about two seconds before lunging for Vince's bedside table and poking around at it. "Lost my watch. Thought it might be in here."
"You don't wear a watch."
"Well, that's because it's lost, isn't it? If it wasn't lost, I'd be wearing it."
"Oh," Vince said. "I'll help you find it. What's it look like?"
"I forget." Howard stood up. "Is that new?"
Vince looked. Howard had found the green mod Peter Pan hat on top of the dresser. "Oh, that," he said. "I was mucking about on the sewing machine. Don't bother with it, it's rubbish."
"What do you mean? You've always known your way around a bit of fabric. Color's good." Howard picked the hat up and turned it in his hands. "Not your usual style, but it's quite nice."
"You think so?" Vince asked, sounding a little more hopeful than he meant to.
"Yeah. But then you can make anything." Howard put the hat on and frowned at himself in the mirror. Vince thought that he looked out of time, like some adventurer. Then Howard spoiled the illusion by taking the hat off and putting it squarely on Vince's head. "Suits you better," he said.
Vince couldn't say anything. He tried but it wasn't working. He was well aware that he was gaping at Howard like a lovesick schoolgirl but it couldn't be helped. Sometimes he was very fond of Howard.
"What're you doing?" Howard said, looking uncomfortable.
"Nothing," Vince said. "I could make you a hat, if you like. I'd even make it all tweedy. You could wear it on a boat or a train or a hot air balloon. If you want to go traveling."
He'd just been thinking of adventures for Howard and him, but he must have gone wrong somewhere, because Howard's eyes got even narrower and his mouth thinned. "You know what? Don't do me any favors." Then he walked out of the room.
Vince'd had enough of Howard's mood swings. "Not this again," he said and followed him out. "Don't be a prat, Howard. This is ridiculous."
"Oh, thanks very much," Howard said without turning around. He was already halfway down the stairs. "Leave me alone. I've got to go find whatever it was I lost."
"No, I won't leave you alone, because that's all I've been doing and you've just got weirder. Why do you keep running away from me, Howard?"
"Running away?" Howard said incredulously. They were both standing in the shop now. Howard grabbed a handful of knickknacks off one of the shelves and began violently rearranging them. "I'm still here, aren't I?"
"Well, you weren't before," Vince said. "You went off with Jurgen Stupidwanker for two weeks and I think you left your brain with him."
"I'm sure you really care," Howard said. He went behind the counter and began stabbing at the cash register keys. "I bet you really noticed I was gone, in between strutting around with your bloody band."
"I didn't even get in the band! I couldn't fit into the drainpipes!"
"Well, that's too bad. I guess you'll have to find another band then. I'm sure there's some trendy trash down in Chalk Farm who needs a frontman with short legs and a fat arse. Off you go, hop to it."
"Don't shout at me because things didn't work out for you. You've been flopping about feeling sorry for yourself ever since you came back and I'm well sick of it."
"Well, why don't you just replace me then? You did it once, you can do it again."
"Naboo did that, not me."
"You replaced me," Howard repeated.
"And you told me and Bollo you weren't coming back. You called me a loser."
"I know," Howard said. He slumped against the counter and stared fixedly at a spot on the floor. "That's what we do, isn't it? Spend all our time going at each other. Well, I'm sorry that I can't be a decent person like you want. You must have known I was this way, you've known me long enough. I wish you'd just stop being so fucking kind and let me know when you're going to leave me."
"Wait, what?" Vince started to say but before he could even finish the sentence, the shop was filled with smoke and then there was something like a living oil slick rising from the floor, showing yellow eyes and sharp teeth and he suddenly knew this was the Fiasco.
"Humans," it said, raising its arms, "humans, with your small minds and your broken bodies, I've fed on your kind for thousands of years and this night will be the night that –"
"The shop is fucking closed," Howard spat, not even looking up. "I can't help you now. Kindly get the fuck out and come back in the morning. Please and thank you."
"Howard," Vince said faintly.
"You can't tell me to get out!" the Fiasco said. "I'm a horrific demon, mate, I can eat you as soon as look at you. I've been preparing to destroy your world and now I have come to –"
"We are fucking closed," Howard said, picked up the spanner from the counter and flung it directly at the Fiasco's head. The Fiasco let out an undignified squawk and promptly disintegrated in a shower of rainbow-colored sparkles, covering Howard and Vince and the entire inside of the shop.
"Oh, fucking great. Well, now I've got to clean all this shit up, don't I?" Howard said. He came from behind the counter and dropped to his knees, trying to push the sparkles into a pile with his hands.
Vince couldn't move. The ground had stopped shaking and the shop was suddenly flooded with moonlight. "Howard," he said. "Howard, I think you may have just killed a demon. You might have saved the world."
Howard stopped trying to deal with the sparkles. He fell back against the counter and put his head in his hands.
"Howard?" Vince said.
"Do you know what Jurgen said to me after the advert?" Howard said.
"He said, 'I'm a big dumb Danish tosspot and my films make spiders want to commit suicide?'"
"After we'd finished shooting, I went to him and I said, 'Well, what's next? What else do you need me for?' And he looked at me, and everyone on the crew went quiet, waiting for him, and then he told me, 'You are the human personification of a windy crab. You are underfoot, unwanted, unnecessary. People look at you and they only see a creature that they need to get rid of. It is inconceivable that you could ever be anything else. I have no need for you and neither does the rest of the world.' And then he laughed. Everyone laughed."
"Howard." Vince slid down beside him on the floor, resting his back against the counter.
"I had nowhere else to go. I thought I could just come home. Because there'd be some things I could do here. I thought I could at least be useful here."
"And then you found out we'd replaced you."
"And you'd replaced me. I thought, what good am I then? So I thought I'd better keep my head down as much as I could, before the time ran out and…" He picked his head up and touched his mouth.
"Did you think I was going to tell you that I didn't want you around?"
Howard didn't say anything. His face crumpled in on itself.
"Oh, Howard," Vince said. He put his arm around Howard's shoulders and pulled him in. "You great Northern pillock. Come here."
"Don't touch me. Get away from me," Howard said, but he was wrapping his arms around Vince's waist and burying his face in Vince's shoulder and Vince thought that was good enough reason to disregard the statement.
"You should have told me, Howard," he said. "If I'd known –"
"Too scared," Howard said. "I'm…sorry. For most everything I've ever done."
"You certainly know how to make things complicated, Howard Moon," Vince said.
He stroked Howard's hair and talked quietly to him, keeping steady while Howard held onto him for dear life. At some point the front door jingled open and Naboo and Bollo were standing over them, looking panicked. Naboo said, "Vince, it's crunch time – wait, what happened here then?"
"The Fiasco went a little explodey," Vince said. "Naboo, think you and Bollo could give us a minute? Howard's had a shocker."
"Oh," Naboo said. "Yeah, all right. I'll go put the kettle on." He went upstairs. Bollo picked up the spanner from the floor, pointed at Howard, and mouthed, "Say sorry later," before following Naboo up.
When Howard's grip had loosened and he was breathing shakily against Vince's neck, Vince said, "Know what got me through the two weeks when you were gone?"
"No," Howard mumbled.
"I knew you'd eventually realize how boring everything was without me, send me a ticket and I'd come be in the films with you. Maybe you could be my stunt double. I'd be the star of the film, it'd be genius."
"I'm five feet taller than you. How could I be your stunt double?"
"I'd wear me platforms."
Howard huffed out a laugh. Vince said, "Then after we'd done the film, we could start the band up again, and I'd throw some amazing shapes and then the Black Tubes would realize they'd missed their chance to have me as a frontman and beg me to come back. You could help me into my drainpipes every night."
"Why can't I be in the band?"
"Your legs are like tree trunks. They'd never pass muster."
"They're willow tree trunks. Slim and strong."
"And made of wood."
"Vince?"
"Yeah?"
"Please don't leave me," Howard said.
Vince kissed his forehead. "Okay, I won't."
"All right then," Howard said and relaxed.
"Ready to get off the floor? You could use a cuppa, and then we can deal with all the sparkly demon insides. Personally I think we should leave them the way they are, they're much nicer than their owner was."
"Fine," Howard said, and pulled both of them up. He let his breath out and gave Vince an awkward shoulder squeeze.
"Yeah," Vince said. "I love you too. And I'm dying for some tea. Come on."
*****
The moon blinked its huge blue eyes and looked down at the city below. Everything seemed normal. It said, "I think I was asleep for a bit. Sometimes that happens when you are the moon. One time, Jupiter, he let me drive his car, and I fall asleep while making left turn. I tell him, Jupiter, left turns make me sleepy, but he not listen. Then he sue me but I still go over to his house for dinner."
The moon could always be counted on to ruin a moment.