Fic: Ghosts 5/?
Title: Ghosts
Chapter Title: Crescendo
Pairing: Vince/Howard
Summary: Howard is worried about Vince’s strange behaviour. While Naboo and Bollo appear to turn a blind eye, Howard is determined to find out just what has made Vince lose his spark…
Word Count: ~1280
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, humor,
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: swears, implied mental and physical disorders, arguments.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mighty Boosh, but I do own my hair.
Author notes: This chapter didn’t want to be written :( even in the final edit it was still evading me... on the plus side I’ve written two chapters for a separate plot bunny (keep a watch out (: ) with my girlfriend. I’m expecting to have it finished for the Christmas holidays! I am sorry for the late update- it’s my first week after my family’s move to Barcelona and I’ve had to go shopping... I hope you can excuse me. I have bright green harem trousers now!
Thanks to my multitude of betas- I know it must be painful to edit and I do dearly appreciate your efforts to make it readable.
Also, I need advice. I just saw a really neat little olive green jacket- it bears a remarkable resemblance toMr Fielding's bright green one... I don't quite know the extent of the hole it will make in my pre-uni pocket but... what does everybody think? Should I invest? I already have a fabulous red leather jacket from Italy...Any advice would be welcome!
Concrit is welcome, compliments are divine :) thank you x
Chapter 5
Vince’s confidence seemed to be failing at a dramatic rate. Seeing his previously over-dramatic and vain friend fall so far sent Howard into a blind panic. If Vince was losing himself, what hope was there for anyone else? Vince was the happiest person he knew! Now Howard could only watch as the shell of the former Sunshine Kid moped around the house, jumping whenever the phone rang and running to his room when the doorbell sounded.
Like a recurring theme in a symphony their arguments became ever more frequent and repetitive. Howard was afraid of what was becoming of their relationship. He felt as if the responsibility of Vince’s health had fallen into his own, un-expecting arms and he half wished that the younger man would take the initiative to seek help elsewhere.
Howard smiled with a sense of relief when he saw that Vince was chatting on his mobile to one of his Camden friends. He appreciated that on any other occasion he it would only make him angry - at the fact that these so-called friends seemed to be taking the younger man upon the path of self destruction - but today he hoped that a sense of normalcy in Vince’s life would probably help get him back onto the road of recovery (from what ever it was that was wrong). At least getting Vince out of the house would stop him from spending the evening on the sofa watching trash on television - which, in Howard’s eyes, could not be healthy for anyone.
“Alright, see you then. Bye Leroy.” Vince placed the phone back in its charger and flopped back down upon the sofa.
“Going out tonight then?” Howard asked casually, half hopeful. Perhaps this evening Vince would put an end to a growing number of consecutive nights he had been staying in.
“Nah, I’m staying in.”
“But you just told Leroy you would meet him at that new bar that just opened down the road,” Howard pointed out with an air of confusion.
“’Course I did,” replied Vince, “because if I hadn’t then half of Camden would be ringing me up asking if I can make an appearance.” He picked up his newest issue of Cheekbone from the coffee table. “It’s easier to promise myself to one club and just let one group down,” he continued. Howard watched the younger man bring his right thumb nail to his mouth and begin to chew upon it.
“Come on, little man,” the small-eyed man said worriedly, “what’s this all about?”
“What do you mean?” Vince frowned, still nipping at his thumb, staring at the centrefold of his magazine.
“This isn’t like you,” explained Howard. “Usually your Friday night isn’t complete unless you’ve hopped in and out of five different clubs.”
Vince shrugged, his aqua blue eyes uncharacteristically shifty.
“What’s wrong?” the taller man pressed.
“Nothing,” Vince persisted, his thumb popping out of his mouth and hand ruffling awkwardly through his hair.
“Don’t lie, Vince,” warned Howard.
“I’m not!” he protested.
“There’s clearly something you’re not telling me,” said the older man.
Suddenly Vince snapped. “Maybe there is- what’s ‘wrong’ with that?” he argued, eyes flashing dangerously. “Since when were you my keeper?” Vince threw his unread magazine back onto the table.
“I’m just trying to help, Vince,” Howard panicked, aware that he had once again pushed too far too fast.
“Yeah? Well you’re not,” the younger man shouted, hauling himself from the sofa, “Just butt out of it, small eyes; I’ve had enough of your mothering.” And with that Vince stormed to his room.
Time passed, as it has the habit of doing. Arguments prevailed between the two old friends. Vince was spending unhealthy amounts of time in his room. From what Howard could gather he was often doing nothing more than staring up from his bed at the cardboard cut-out animals which dangled around his lampshade, creating giant, yet life-sized, shadows upon his walls.
Still, Howard knew that Vince was a grown man. If Vince had a problem then he should be able to solve it on his own. Adults didn’t need to be treated like children, no sir. Howard was not going to get any further involved. He had had quite enough quarrels for one week, thank you very much. He was going to stay resolute, and keep his own, unbroken nose out of it.
“I’m sure you wouldn’t be so tired if you got up and actually did something productive.” Howard was suddenly standing at the foot of his friend’s bed, the occupant of which was lying on his front, face buried deep in a pillow with a magazine hanging loosely in his hand which dangled over the edge of the bed.
“But there’s nothing to do,” a voice moaned out from beneath a fan of raven hair.
“There’s always stock-taking, Vince,” the older man pointed out.
“Oh, get lost small-eyes,” Vince’s head snapped up and tilted to one side so he could look at his friend, “you’ve already done that twice this week already and no-one’s been in to buy anything.”
“It’s essential to keep an eye on the merchandise levels, little man.”
“Not that ‘essential’- that’s just your OCD coming through, Howard,” scoffed Vince, eyes scorning him through his fringe as he threw his magazine away from the bed. It landed open; a mess. Howard fought the sudden urge to make it neat.
“OCD? How dare you!” Indignation stabbed at Howard’s breast like a knife.
“Paranoia?” offered Vince.
“If anyone’s got a mental disorder it’s you, Vince,” his friend countered.
“Excuse me?” Vince fumed, sitting up on the bed, ignoring the violent surge of blood rushing to his head.
“You haven’t left the flat in weeks,” Howard stated.
“Yeah, well there’s not been much on.”
“Five new electro clubs have opened.”
“I’m not that interested in it anymore,” the younger man grumbled.
“Don’t lie, Vince,” berated Howard. He wasn’t angry at Vince - he couldn’t be angry at Vince - but he wished his friend didn’t feel the need to lie to him.
“I’m not! I’m not bothered about the club scene, that’s all,” Vince repeated.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you, little man? Is someone hurting you?” asked the older man.
“What? Don’t be ridiculous, Howard,” Vince laughed at him in an obvious attempt at shifting the focus.
“Do you owe someone money?” Howard speculated.
“Well if I did then it wouldn’t be a problem because I’d just nick it from your stationery savings,” quipped Vince from the bed, smirk characteristically replacing a smile. Howard stared at him.
“How do you know about that?” he demanded.
“Found them when I saw that x-rated copy of Jazz On My Face magazine,” divulged the thin man.
“You shouldn’t go through other people’s things, Vince - it’s invading their privacy.”
“Yeah, yeah - and you’re invading my room. Get out.”
“Let me help you!” Howard pleaded, at a loss.
“Piss off, Howard.” Vince was growing angry. Howard could see his body tensing, as if ready to explode.
But he knew he couldn’t just leave it here.
“What are you hiding from?”
Abruptly, Vince jumped up from his place on his bed and shoved Howard the last few paces out of the door.
“Nothing, you great jazzy freak! Now, get the hell out!” And then he slammed the door.
Once again, Howard felt as if they were stuck in a vicious cycle. The more he tried to talk to Vince - to comfort him - the more secretive Vince became. In the past few weeks, frustration seemed to be rising between them faster than ever, and Howard didn’t like it. At the rate things were going he didn’t think it would be long until something snapped.