Sticking with You.

[littleredchucks.livejournal.com]

My attempt at a Valentines Day fic based on the 'I'm Sticking with You' song prompt. And it's my usual fare of loving looks, longing sighs and not much action. Well, a little bit of action. Well, there's running. And a tiny bit of kissing. Maybe.
The rating is about K+ or PG.
The characters are Howard and Vince.
The word count's just under 7,000.

Happy February 14th!
(Although February 15th is the real celebration day. That's 50% of chocolate day.)

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10105552/1/Sticking-with-You

Valentine's Day fic, not as late as usual: The Last Word

[ideserveyou.livejournal.com]

Title: The Last Word
Summary: Howard is having trouble composing the perfect Valentine, and Vince isn’t helping
Rating: PG for a teensy bit of slashiness but this is really mostly harmless
Warnings: none
Spoilers: Vince has the last word in the end
Length: about 1500 words
Disclaimer: The Boosh, sadly, do not belong to me. I just like to appropriate their characters from time to time for non-profitable and purely personal amusement
Notes: Fill for life_downsized’s prompt: ‘Howard has trouble coming up with a Valentine for Vince, so he ends up writing a bullet-pointed list of all the reasons Vince is great.’ Well, he may not have written quite all the reasons... and I may not have written quite the story I set out to write... but I hope you like this anyway!

The Last Word

This year, Howard tells himself, as he daydreams behind the counter in the Nabootique. It’ll be this year. He’ll finally actually send that Valentine instead of just thinking about sending it. He’s got the perfect card for his perfect partner; now all he needs to do, sometime over the next three days, is to find the perfect words to go inside it.

As a writer, of course, he should find that perfectly easy. The soulmate of his dreams will be blown away by the sincerity and the quality of the writing – writing that, with a little thought, will be easily identifiable as Howard’s own. After all, nobody else has his style, his confidence, his inimitable way with language...

Then finally the Man of Action will actually get some action, and everything will be perfect.

Howard taps his special drafting pencil on the edge of the countertop, careful not to dislodge the neat row of biros waiting to ink in those wondrous words that are surely going to flow...

‘Hey Howard, what are you doin’?’

Howard jumps, and tuts with annoyance as the pencil skitters across his notebook, leaving an untidy mark on the otherwise perfectly blank page.

‘Writing,’ he says, with as much gravity as he can muster, covering the scribble hastily with his hand.

‘Looks more like a demented spider impression to me,’ Vince giggles, coming to stand far too close behind Howard and peer over his shoulder. ‘Have you actually written anythin’ on that page?’

‘Not... as such,’ Howard admits. ‘But preparation is an important part of the process.’

Vince splutters with more giggles. ‘Like you’d know.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Howard glares at him.

‘Nuffink, Howard.’ Vince rolls his eyes. ‘You just carry on with your – preparation.’

‘Thank you, Vince.’ Howard sighs, and uncovers the page; turns over to a fresh sheet. ‘You know, you should never interrupt a writer at work. It unbalances the energies, disrupts the flow. As a writer, I – ’

‘As if you’re a writer. You haven’t written anythink in ages.’

‘Vince, you don’t have to write words in order to be a writer.’

Vince snorts. ‘Just as well.’ He jerks a derisory thumb at the blank notebook. ‘ ’Bout the only thing you ever do write is the weekly shoppin’ list.’

‘There’s a lot of literary potential in the list genre, I’d have you know,’ Howard declares.

‘Is there,’ Vince scoffs. ‘Not seen much evidence of that. “Bin liners, bran flakes, twin pack of toilet rolls.” Where’s the narrative structure? Anyway, listen, I’d love to stand ’ere all day discussin’ the literary merits of PG Tips and Jaffa Cakes – you left those off of this week’s list, by the way – but I’ve got writin’ of my own to do.’

He flashes a jumbo-sized box of Valentine cards in front of Howard’s face. ‘See you later, Mr Fifty Shades of Beige.’

Before Howard can even begin to think of a suitable comeback, Vince is gone.

The white page of the notebook stares up at Howard. The longer Howard stares back, the fewer ideas remain in his mind; soon it’ll be blank, like the paper, with only Vince’s mocking words echoing in the empty space: ‘...only thing you ever do write is the weekly shoppin’ list...’

Well, at least that’s an idea. A place to start.

Howard bends low over the paper, grits his teeth, and writes the first word of his perfect Valentine.

*******

This year, Howard tells himself, hitching up the pillow he’s propped between himself and the headboard of his bed. It’ll still be this year. It’s still not too late, Valentine’s Day isn’t until tomorrow and he can stay up all night finishing his card if necessary.

He’d pretended to be tired and in need of an early night.

Vince, of course, had seen straight through him and sniggered, ‘Got some writing to do?’

Howard hadn’t dignified that with an answer, but he has to admit, as he smothers a huge yawn, that Vince was right. He has got some writing to do. And he’s no nearer having actually done it; there’s only a wastepaper bin full of crumpled drafts to show that he’s made any progress at all.

He sighs, and crumples up yet another page; then changes his mind, smooths the paper out again and looks at what he’s written.

It’s not perfect. It’s nowhere near expressing what he really thinks about the extraordinary individual who has, against all odds, captured Howard Moon’s heart for all time. He has no idea how it’ll be received, but he can’t bear yet another year of not-knowing.

And it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow. In fact, it’ll be Valentine’s Day in about ten minutes.

He reads the text again. No, it’s not perfect, but maybe it’ll do the job. All he needs is a really good last line to bring it all together. A really, really good last line.

Howard closes his eyes in thought, and they stay closed. The pencil falls from his hand; Howard falls into a colourful dream in which there are unicorns and Vince is laughing at him, because of course only virgins can see unicorns...

******

Someone has just made a small sound. It was either a laugh or a sob, a single one and quickly suppressed, but it was enough to scatter the unicorns and jerk Howard out of sleep.

He sits up in shock, to find Vince sitting beside him on the bed and reading the torn-out notebook page.

Howard grabs at the paper. ‘What are you doing, you weren’t supposed to read that!’

‘Why not?’ Vince holds it out of reach. ‘It’s... it’s...’

‘It’s what?’

Vince gives him one of those rare, sweet smiles, the sort that make Howard’s knees go weak and make all the annoyances of life with the Electro Ponce seem totally worth while. ‘Don’t look so worried, Howard, I’m tryin’ to find the right words. I was just a bit blown away by it... the quality of the writin’, an’ the sincerity.’

‘Hang on.’ Howard looks to the fourth wall in appeal. ‘This is still the dream, right?’

‘No it’s not,’ Vince says, ‘you can’t read in dreams. But you can read this, look.’

And sure enough, Howard can indeed read the whole of his draft Valentine, with Vince once again peering over his shoulder.

“Six reasons why you are my Valentine, by Howard TJ Moon.

1. You have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.
2. You smile in a way that lights up the room.
3. You smile at me in a way that lights up my whole world.
4. You are the single most exasperating person I’ve ever met.
5. You are also the single person I want to spend the rest of my life with.
6. You –”

‘I hadn’t really finished it,’ Howard says helplessly.

Vince just sniffs and wipes his eyes.

‘It’s not that bad... is it?’ Howard asks.

Vince shakes his head. ‘It’s great writin’, Howard. You’ve got such a way with words, an’ I just haven’t, roses-is-red is about my limit.’

‘Roses are red.’

‘Yeah, that. I’m sorry I said you wasn’t much of a writer... this is genius. I just wish...’

Vince sniffs again; Howard passes him a hankie. ‘Wish what?’

‘That someone would write stuff like that about me.’

‘It is about you, you berk.’

The words are out of Howard’s mouth before he knows he’s said them.

He and Vince stare at each other in shock.

Then Vince’s smile lights up the room, lights up Howard’s whole world, just the way it says on Howard’s list.

‘I know how to finish it now,’ Vince whispers, his blue eyes bright. ‘I may not be a writer, but... Genius last line comin’ up.’

He picks up the pencil that’s fallen down among the bedclothes, smooths out the paper on the bedside table and writes, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth and brow furrowed in intense concentration.

‘There.’ He hands the paper to Howard, who reads Vince’s wobbly addition to the list.

“6. You love me exackly as I love you.”

‘But that’s... I mean, do you? I mean, you do, and I do, but which of us is you and which is me?’ Howard stutters.

‘That’s the genius part. It don’t matter which of us says it, it’s true either way round.’ Vince takes the paper out of Howard’s shaking hand and puts it back on the table. ‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Howard,’ he grins, snuggling into Howard’s shoulder.

‘So... um... what happens now?’ Howard asks, giving Vince’s hair a tentative stroke.

Vince giggles. ‘You want a list?’