Fic: Ghosts 3/? with a pic
Title: Ghosts
Chapter Title: Mood Swings
Pairing: Vince/Howard
Summary: Vince is acting strangely. Howard is worried. How long can they go on like this?
Word Count: ~1720
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, humor,
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: swears, implied mental and physical disorders, Freud quotes,
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mighty Boosh, but I do own my hair.
Author Notes: I did it! I actually got the grades I needed to get into university! Brighton and Sussex here I come! In other words, sorry this update is a little bit late but I've had some major RL events occuring. To make up for it I shall post Chapter 4 over the weekend, ahead of schedule. Thanks to all the commenters! Thank you once again sisidraig and hermitknut for beta-ing. Endless hugs and kisses to knightaimee for the support and epic!doodles.
Chapter 3
Mood Swings
Howard could always tell what kind of mood Vince was in; his facial expression would give it away. His friend was never one to hide his frequently changing emotions, whereas Howard seemed to hold a constant poker face. On the other hand, it could just be that Howards mood didn’t flick from one extreme to another quite like Vince’s. Or maybe Vince’s poker face was better, but most days he didn’t have the energy to keep up the front? Though Howard found it hard to believe that last thought - there was no way that all that happiness Vince appeared to feel was fake. You can’t force a twinkle in your eye when you’re depressed. Not unless the twinkle is from tears of course. Nevertheless, the more Howard thought about it, the more obvious it seemed. For as long as he had known Vince, the younger man had always worn his emotions on his sleeve - crying when sad, laughing when happy. But now Howard found it much harder to judge his friend’s mood. Some days Vince would appear fine, grinning away like a Cheshire cat, but one slip of the tongue on Howard’s behalf would let forth a cacophony of abuse followed by the slamming of a door.
He sometimes thinks he hears sobbing, afterwards.
Vince’s mood swings unhinged Howard. He thought he could rely on Vince; rely on him to be unreliable. He supposed, the more he dwelled on the idea of Vince being unchanging, the more confused he became. Of course Vince was changing, he had always been changing. He was always fleeting about on the edge of fashion, swapping belts for hats, or ponchos for capes. Howard thought he should be used to it by now. In reality, he knew that through all this change Vince would still remain The Sunshine Kid. Now he was The ‘Can’t Make Up My Mind’ Kid, and to be honest, that just didn’t have the same ring to it.
*
Howard was sitting comfortably, reading the Sunday paper, when he felt two pale arms languidly wrap themselves in a loose hug around his neck. Instantly he jumped out of his seat with a cry of ‘don’t touch me!’ and spun around to face his flatmate. The Sunday paper fell to the floor around them.
The face he observed held a look of hurt, as if he had done something to personally upset the other. Howard felt that the new sense of guilt creeping over him was unjustified; it wasn’t his fault that he was jumpy in the morning. He also thought he had made his ‘no touching’ rule very clear on previous occasions.
Vince‘s reply was quiet, child-like. "But I want a hug."
Howard studied Vince for a minute, ever unsure of himself. "Don’t ever touch me," he repeated.
To Howard’s horror, he noticed that tears were threatening to spill over Vince’s bottom eye lids.
"But then how can I hug you?"
"You can’t." The guilt monster grew inside him as he watched Vince sniff and dab at his eyes with the sleeve of his neon green dressing gown. He grabbed a tissue from the box conveniently left on the table and passed it to Vince. Vince tentatively reached out for it, as if. Howard spoke up.
"What’s wrong, little man?"
Vince sniffed a bit more before replying.
"I thought you loved me, Howard."
Howard froze.
"What’s this brought this on?"
"What?" Vince fixed his watery gaze upon Howard.
"Well," Howard felt himself sinking in treacle, "we don’t usually discuss our feelings, do we, Vince? It usually ends with you laughing at me."
"‘M sorry, Howard." He wiped his eyes again.
Howard began to wring his hands as his overemotional friend stood in front of him, half-sobbing into a wet tissue.
"Sorry, I’ll -" a hiccup "- I’ll just go then…" Vince turned to leave, but before Howard had time to realise what he was doing, he found himself striding determinedly towards his friend and wrapping his arms around his thin frame. Vince stopped suddenly. He slowly turned around to face the owner of the large Northern arms and, after a pause, threw his own lithe arms around him. He buried his head into Howard’s chest, and Howard felt him humming quietly to himself. Awkwardly, Howard rubbed his hands up and down Vince’s back, hoping to provide the reassurance that he was seeking, but not quite knowing if it would solve the overriding issue. Vince rubbed his face gently against Howard’s sea-green knitted tank top giving him a gentle squeeze and leaving, his eyes downcast.
*
On Monday afternoon Howard was struck by a rather strange revelation: Vince was not as innocent as he sometimes seemed.
Of course Howard did not doubt that Vince had experimented with drugs and alcohol and other taboos, but some how he always managed to carry out these activities with an air of purity. His young sparkling eyes, sunshine smile, porcelain skin… nothing could taint them.
His stance often seemed unsteady; how could someone sin when they can’t even stand on their own two feet? He walked with a bounce, as a child would. He would greet every sweet as if it were the first time he had ever seen them; with awe and amazement that they actually exist. Howard could vaguely remember the first time Vince had eaten a cream egg, wondering how they had managed to get the yellow bit in amongst the white. He recalled Vince’s astonishment that it was possible to replicate something, such as an egg, to such a degree of accuracy that they would remember to put in the yolk. Still, education and experience had taught Howard all about how these seemingly magical things occur. He suspected one of the reasons he disliked science was exactly for that reason; it replaced magic with logic. On the other hand, perhaps it was a blessing to know that things can be explained? Howard didn’t know if ignorance really was bliss.
When it came to understanding Vince, however, logic rarely made any difference. He was a type of magic that could never be understood, or explained, or even theorised. He just was.
Howard watched Vince as the younger man studied his own reflection in the mirror. Vince even made vanity seem like a virtue: ‘It’s for the good of Shoreditch!’ The northerner thought that it was unfair that one single person could dabble with so many of the seven deadly sins and not come out with even a scratch on his record, portrayed by the sudden death of the spark in his eyes. Surely to sin and be punished is to make a mistake and learn? Howard thought it was a natural journey that most make on their way to adulthood, but Vince seemed to have no trace of this history. Reluctantly, the older man was forced to put this down to his friend’s great acting skills, because when Vince was trying to seduce, there was a significant change in his performance.
The weather on that Monday afternoon was lazy; overcast with a light breeze. Howard was sat behind the till, reading the Jazz on My Face magazine, and Vince was sat in the red dentist’s chair near the shop window reading the new issue of Dazed and Confused. They both looked up simultaneously as the shop bell rang to declare the presence of a new customer (or, on rare occasions, a particularly strong gust of wind which had blown the door open; though it has already been said that there was only a mild wind on this particular afternoon, so they could safely presume that there really was a customer).
Even Howard couldn’t say that the man was unattractive. He had chin length, slightly tousled, dusty-blond hair, bright blue eyes and exceptionally high cheek bones. He held himself with an air of confidence; a swagger in his stride, mouth pulled into a inviting smile.
Vince, not one to delay, jumped upon the opportunity to seduce immediately. He sprang from the chair and stood, poised.
"Hey, you alright there?" the electro-poof asked, strutting towards the young blond man, who in return eyed Vince warily. The shorter man (Vince) was now fluttering his eyelashes at the customer in a rather flirtatious fashion. It soon became apparent to Howard that he must have misinterpreted the man’s first impression, for now he was acting tentative and nervous. Howard suspected that Vince’s peculiar behaviour had something to do with his change of stance.
"Do you have any jazz stationery?" the customer asked, his blue orbs flickering between the black haired man standing before him and the more mature and reserved maverick to the side. Even though jazz was technically Howard’s forte, he had been momentarily stunned by Vince’s rapidly changing behaviour which left the raven haired man to continue the sale.
"Eww, Jazz?" Vince recoiled in horror before his mouth tugged into a callous smirk. "I’m sure I could find you something much more fun to play with."
"I don’t want to play," the blond one said charily, "I want to organise."
"You could organise me?" Vince offered, batting his eyelashes innocently while jutting his right hip out provocatively. The customer started to back away slowly and Howard thought that this would be a good time to intervene before the blond man could leg it out the door.
"Jazz stationary, you say?" Howard interrupted, "I do believe we have some new desk organisers in stock." Howard directed the customer over towards stationery village, away from the electro-poof.
Cautiously, the blond man edged his way around Vince, who was still trying to entice him with his seductive stance and widened eyes.
Howard tried to distract the customer from his co-worker’s peculiar behaviour by pointing out the desk tidy’s incredible knack for holding felt tips.
Vince, upon realising he was now being ignored, flounced back to the red chair and furiously opened Dazed and Confused once more.
The customer, feeling much more at home since being shown the item of stationery’s unique talent for holding fresh reeds, was more than happy to purchase the item. Giving his thanks to the jazz maverick he left the shop shortly after, eager to embark on his next organising adventure.
And with that, Howard made his first sale in twenty-seven months.