booshslashhaven | The Miseducation of Howard Moon, 2/?

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Title: The Miseducation of Howard Moon, 2/?
Pairing: Howince
Summary: In which Howard and Vince resolve a few misunderstandings and rediscover their youth, or something.
Word Count: 3656
Rating: PG-13 so far
Disclaimer: If this was real, the Boosh would be on later at night. A lot later.
Author’s Notes: Again, many thanks to

thieving_gypsy for her awesome beta skills. And also thank you to everyone who left me such lovely feedback, it was most encouraging. Hopefully this episode doesn't disappoint!

Previously: Chapter One

Chapter Two: Howard Has A Thought

Later that day, Howard was drinking a hot cuppa down in the shop, delicately dusting the sellotape tree, when he suddenly found his mind drifting back to the morning's conversation with Vince— who was conspicuously still absent from work.

It happens all the time, he'd said. Well, of course Howard would know that. He was a man, after all, with manly bits. Vince had such a tendency to state the obvious. Or perhaps Vince was just saying it to make Howard feel better, to let Howard know that he didn't think it had anything to do with him being naked.

That's the thing though. Howard wasn't sure if it did or not.

He was attempting to blame his lack of experience, as one might say... it wasn't his fault that he wasn't used to people touching him, getting close to him, up in his personal space. Vince was the only one to constantly test the boundaries of his comfort zone, but he wasn't normally nude when doing so. It was just an instinctive reaction to the heat of someone else's body pressed up against his, only one layer of fabric between them.

Or maybe it really was just the morning thing. Either way, it didn't have anything to do with Vince himself, and that was the important part. After that whole kissing business at his birthday party, Howard had found himself increasingly aware of things he hadn't noticed before; the nonchalant touches Vince gave him, the odd things he said at times in a certain tone of voice. Even his increasing lack of modesty around Howard.

Obviously, he was just trying to get Howard to loosen up, that much was clear. Though it was a bit irritating and uncomfortable for Howard, he knew Vince was just trying to be a good friend. Vince surely understood that Howard was embarrassed by being so inexperienced in the ways of the world, and he knew that Howard would never actually ask him how all these things worked. (Mostly, Howard reflected, because he wouldn't know what to ask first.)

But clearly, Vince knew more in the ways of women than Howard, so he should presumably be a good source of information—if anything, living with Vince had given him a pretty good idea of what having a woman around all the time would be like.

But Vince was still a man, and obviously he was just trying to help Howard loosen up, help him see how to act like a man who got women.

Or something.

Howard knew most men weren't as modest as he was. They weren't as shy with their bodies, they made lewd jokes all the time, they weren't afraid of talking to beautiful girls. It pained him to admit it, but he probably had better start paying more attention to Vince's impromptu lessons, if he was ever going to have any success with the fairer sex.

He just didn't understand why more women didn't go for men like him. He was smart, intellectual, respectful, had a great sense of humour, pretty decent in the looks department overall. He was rugged and adventurous, yet sensitive and artistic. That sounded like a winning combination, right?

Maybe they did go for men like him, and he was just in the wrong part of town. All the ones around here looked like they were half his age, spent all their paycheques on clothing, and quite predictably didn't look once at him, much less twice. They only had eyes for his best friend. But why did they go for Vince? He was practically one of them at this point. Did women actually like that? It certainly would never be Howard wearing makeup or trousers so tight as to look painted on. He wasn't Vince, he would never be as confident as Vince. But, perhaps in his own way, he could try to be a bit more like him-- try to absorb some of Vince's suave confidence while staying loose and jazzy fresh?

Howard sighed, burying his head in his face. It was hard enough even to comprehend in his mind, never mind actually putting anything into action. He felt like he'd missed his chance to go out and learn these things the way everyone else did, through trial and error. At this point, it was assumed that he should know all about wooing women. Really, what dignified lady his age would want a man who had no more knowledge of how to please her than a wee schoolboy?

It was just embarrassing, all around. Maybe he'd just become a hermit. Him and Vince would just live in this flat forever with Naboo and Bollo, and he wouldn't need a lady.

And then terrifying thought hit him. Rather hard.

What if Vince actually somehow won the karaoke contest? What if he did join someone else's band and go touring around the world in private jets with champagne on ice and groupies in skimpy clothing?

And that led him to another thought, equally as terrifying.

What if Vince stayed here but he still found someone? What if he, miracle of miracles, actually kept a steady girlfriend one day? What if—heaven forbid—he got married? And had little Vinces with his adorable, stylish, mod wife? He wouldn't want to stick around with Howard, that's for sure. Howard wouldn't blame him for leaving, really. Even he would leave himself for the love of a beautiful girl, for a soul mate instead of just a best mate.

Howard sighed into his now-cold tea. The sellotape tree was in perfect order. He needed something else to distract himself with. But what? He'd already rearranged Stationery Village an excess of three times to improve its infrastructure, plus he'd cleaned the whole shop.

Or at least, it felt like he had. But time had decided to plague him today, surely, for it was still only half past noon. Maybe he'd just take his lunch now. Distract himself by eating. It could work.

Seven minutes later...

Howard sat behind the counter, morosely munching a sarnie and pondering his fate. Ever since he was little, his life had seemed inextricably tied with Vince's. Even though they appeared at first glance to have nothing in common, even though they had totally opposite personalities with conflicting styles and interests—not to mention they bickered constantly—they were still best mates.

When they fought, it was like an old married couple. They each knew exactly which buttons to press to make the other mad, they always went off to sulk in their own way, and they always ended up making up and forgetting about the whole thing.

Vince was the best company he had, even though he never wanted to discuss interesting intellectual or poetic issues. Vince didn't seem to mind talking with him either, though Howard's brain automatically blocked out everything he said after the words "NME" or "Cheekbone" were mentioned.

Truth be told, he just couldn't imagine his life without Vince around. He wouldn't even have a life at this point, if it weren't for Vince. Yeah, the kid got him in trouble more times than he could count, but he came to Howard's rescue twice that amount. He literally went to hell and back for Howard. Who else on earth would ever care about him that much? Vince was like his other half... who else would be able to replace him once he'd gone off to make his own way in the world? Not Lester, that was for sure. He wasn't quite as good company now that he'd gone and lost his head.

Howard frowned, munching in silence. This was getting to be a fairly depressing conversation with himself. He should go talk to Vince. He could use a little mindless chatter.

Plus it would give him an opportunity to scold him for not being at work. And that always made him feel better.

He polished off the sandwich, flipped the sign on the door to 'momentarily closed,' then ascended the stairs into the flat. Naboo wouldn't mind—he and Bollo were out at some sort of DJ convention... or was it a shaman meeting? He hadn't been listening all that closely. Besides, it was a pretty drizzly day and he'd only had two customers... neither of whom actually bought anything. He couldn't imagine why his jazz LPs weren't flying off the shelves. He'd even moved them right into the center of the room so they would be sure to be seen. Oh well, he'd worry about that later.

Looking about the flat for any signs of Vince, Howard was puzzled to find he was nowhere in sight. Not in the front room, not in the kitchen. Surely he wasn't sleeping... perhaps he was still in the bathroom? That would be odd, even for Vince.

Howard approached the bathroom, knocking at the door with the back of his hand. He thought he heard humming, and a splash?

"Vince? You in there?"

The humming stopped. "Howard?"

"Vince, what're you doing? It's already—er, quarter to one, I think. Maybe twelve fifty. Anyway, that's not the point. You were supposed to be downstairs hours ago!"

"Aww, Howard," came the plaintive cry through the door, "It's well drizzly out, nobody'll be in today."

Despite the fact that Vince had exactly echoed his earlier thoughts, Howard huffed. "What're you doing, anyway? Even your hair can't take that long to do."

There was a faint huff and Howard knew Vince was pouting. "I'm taking a bubble bath, if you must know."

Howard knitted his brow. "But you already had a shower today!"

There was a pause, and the sound of water rippling against the tub. "I just felt like takin' one, okay? I'll be out in a bit, alright?"

Howard sighed. "Alright... you're just lucky Naboo is out today so he won't notice."

There was a little laugh. "He is? Genius!"

Howard just shook his head, heading back towards the kitchen. "See you in a bit, then," he called back toward the bathroom as he went to put the kettle on again. It was definitely a day for Earl Grey.

A good twenty minutes later, Vince finally emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in one of his fuzzier, peach-coloured dressing gowns and wearing matching slippers. His hair seemed to be all done up and dry except for the very ends, but Howard wasn't about to point that, or it'd be another fifteen minutes before he saw Vince again.

"Aww, Howard, you made tea. Cheers." Vince picked up the cup sitting out for him and went to pour himself some. Howard knew better than to pour it for him ahead of time. Watching Vince try to microwave cold tea was entertaining, but after the one time he'd zapped it for too long and then burnt his hand on the hot mug, resulting in scalding tea all over the floor and the both of them, Howard had learned to just let him get it himself.

"Oi, it's all cold!" Vince frowned at the kettle as if he was hoping his glare would heat it up to proper drinking temperature. Howard chuckled.

"Well, whose fault is that? Just turn the hob back on, it'll be warm before you know it."

Vince huffed dramatically for a moment, but after he'd turned the burner on, he came to sit next to Howard and didn't seem too terribly fussed about the whole thing. Howard smelled peaches, along with some other more exotic, girly scents he couldn't identify. Figures Vince would match his bath products with his dressing gown. He was so strange, sometimes. But he did smell rather good. The whole room seemed more cheerful with him in it. Howard wasn't so proud that he couldn’t admit he did rather use Vince like a sun lamp. He'd probably have Seasonal Affective Disorder without Vince around to provide his Vitamin D in the soggier months.

"So how's work been?" Vince wrapped his hands around his empty cup, giving Howard a subtle knowing smile.

Howard just shook his head, taking another sip of tea. "Crap, and you know it. Stop rubbing it in. I don't know how you always manage to twist things around in your favour."

Vince gloated, just for a moment. "Twisties are just one of my many skills, Howard. Really, you learn much more about work by avoiding it than you do by actually showing up." He leaned his cheek on one hand, the fluffy cuff of his dressing gown reaching little fabric tendrils toward his face. "You know what I think we should do today?"

Howard raised his eyebrows, wondering what stroke of madness was going to follow that innocent question. "Hmm, what?"

Vince's eyes lit up and a grin split his face. "We should make a fort in the front room!"

Howard's eyebrows rose a little higher. "A fort, Vince? With vats of boiling tar and a moat full of crocodilians? Where are we going to find those in Dalston?"

Vince laughed, swatting Howard on the arm. "No, you berk. You know what I mean. Like a pillow fort! We could get the sheets and blankets off our beds, pull some chairs or curtain rods out, you know? Drape them over the couch, make a little fortress to hide inside and drink our tea in. S'what I used to do when I was little and it was too rainy to go outside and play."

There was a pause.

"Vince, I thought you grew up in a forest?"

Vince blinked. "Oh, yeah. That's right... well, it's what I always wanted to do, when I was little, growing up in the forest." Shaking off his momentary lapse in continuity, Vince focused his best shelter-puppy-facing-imminent-euthanasia face on Howard. "Pleeeease, Howard? It'll be genius, I promise!"

Howard wanted to say no, just to prove that he could resist the shelter puppy face, but in all honesty, it did sound like a rather good idea.

"...all right. Fine."

Forty minutes later, they stood in the front room, surveying their masterpiece. It was probably one of the more ridiculous-looking things Howard had seen in his life—well, that was probably a stretch, he'd seen some pretty ridiculous things in his time. But it was a bit silly—his reserved, tan and green tartan sheets hanging next to Vince's blue and pink leopard print ones, their duvets lumped underneath the tangle of chairs, pillows strewn about the interior, and the floor lamp in the back that they'd used to make it tall enough. It had taken them forever to figure how to arrange it and get everything just right, seeing as neither of them had ever made a fort before.

He just hoped they could get it cleaned up before Naboo got back.

Vince, still in his dressing gown, clapped his hands together in excitement. "Excellent! Last one in's a sweaty ballbag!"

He dove in through the entrance covered by a sheet flap, then poked his head out. "Get the tea for us, yeah?" A cheeky grin was all Howard saw before he disappeared inside. Grumbling out of habit, Howard went and fetched their cups, before kneeling down at the entrance.

"You'll have to grab them from me if you don't want hot tea all over your pillows."

Vince drew back the flap, taking his cup and setting it inside, then holding Howard's for him. "Oh, these are your pillows on the floor, I didn't want mine to get dirty," he remarked, as Howard entered the fortress. Before Howard could reply, he looked around the interior of their fort and beamed in the dim light.

"I told you it would be genius, did I not? Look at this, it's amazing! Our first real pillow fort, Howard." The look on his face was not unlike that of a proud parent of a tot being sent off on his first day of preschool. That brought back Howard's earlier thoughts and his stomach felt a bit queasy. Trying not to think about it, Howard looked around and nodded.

"It is, indeed, a work of architectural genius. Thanks to yours truly, of course."

Vince raised his eyebrows. "What're you on about? I designed the thing!"

"Ah," Howard corrected him, "I was the one who put everything into place. You merely stood around and told me which colours should go next to each other. I put in all the back-breaking labour. Therefore, I built it."

Vince just smirked. "If you consider that back-breaking labour, I'd hate to ever see you try to assemble a bookshelf."

"Right back at you, little man," Howard said companionably, leaning back against the pillows in front of the couch. "This is pretty nice, really," he agreed with Vince's earlier comment. "It was a good idea. It feels a lot less rainy now. I feel refreshed, oddly enough."

Vince nodded, sipping his tea. "Yeah, me too. But that's probably cos I used a new shower gel today."

Howard just shook his head, laughing to himself. No, Vince would never be replaced by anyone, that's for sure. Biting the inside of his lip, he suddenly asked, "Vince? What happens if you win the karaoke contest?"

Vince furrowed his brow. "What d'you mean?"

Howard tried to explain. "You know, like, do you go travelling with this band or something? Do you get a record deal? I just wasn't sure what all happened..." He suddenly felt very stupid for asking.

Vince didn't seem to find anything wrong with his question. "Eh, well, you don't really travel too much. They're just trying to find a temporary replacement for their lead singer. He's getting surgery to remove notes from his vocal chords, or something like that. Dunno why he's trying to get the notes taken out, but I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for all of it."

Howard felt it would be a lost cause to try to explain nodes to Vince, so he didn't say anything.

"Anyway, they just need a replacement for like, a month or so while he recovers, I think. Nothing too special. Just get to play a few gigs, do some casinos, weddings, a county fair or two?" Vince ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking embarrassed. "I mean, it's nothing too glamorous, but I just thought, maybe if I could get a bit of publicity from it, you know, then when we go play, we might get a little more attention..."

Howard suddenly felt very, very stupid. It must have showed on his face, for Vince tilted his head questioningly and asked, "You okay, Howard?"

Howard nodded, feeling relief wash through him. "Oh. Yep, I'm all right. I just... I think I misunderstood what the contest was all about."

Vince looked curious. "What'd you think it was? I told you all about it, remember?"

Howard waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I just... I don't know, for some reason I thought it was more of a long-term thing, yeah? I thought you were going to go leave and travel the world and... yeah." He looked down at his tea, feeling like a spectacular idiot. Vince had been thinking of the band the whole time, been thinking about him the whole time. And here he was, assuming Vince was just looking for an opportunity to run off and leave him behind.

When he looked up, Vince was looking at him with a strange sort of smile; a fond, friendly smile, but there was something deeper to it that he couldn't quite parse. But he knew what it meant well enough. Vince understood, and he wasn't mad at him.

"You nob, why would I go off and leave you?" Vince scolded, though he sounded rather amused by the whole thing. "Especially with that lot? God, their hair is awful. I’d have to do some serious salvaging on those soulless mops."

Howard felt a smile spreading across his face. "I dunno what I was thinking, really. I was just worried, I guess." He shrugged a shoulder, feeling sheepish.

"Why?" Vince pressed, giving him a worried look. "Why would you think I'd do that? I haven't been acting like I want to leave, have I? I like it here with you and Bollo and Naboo. Where else would I want to go?"

Howard shrugged. "Not sure, really."

Vince laughed, setting his tea down. "Come here, you great Northern twit." He crawled over and wrapped Howard in a fluffy, peach-scented hug. "You're my best mate, you nonce."

Howard tried not to tense at the contact. It was just Vince, and just a hug. He could handle that, couldn’t he? It turns out he could, for it was over rather soon after, and Vince was settling himself down across from Howard, looking like a giddy schoolgirl.

“So,” he started, eyes gleaming. “Wanna paint our nails?”

Howard blanched. “Um.”

“Only kidding! But I mean, if you do want to—“

“Just drink your tea, Vince.”

A few hours later, Naboo would come home to find the hob still on—smoking faintly and making a horrible stench, as the tea had long evaporated—and Howard and Vince much in the same place they’d been for the better part of the day. Their cups of tea empty and discarded next to them, they were both curled up on the pillows napping away like two energy-spent toddlers.

Bollo drew back the opening to the fort. “Uhh,” he said. “Howard and Vince taking nap in pillow cave, Naboo.”

Naboo sighed wearily, letting his DJ bag slide to the floor as he went to turn off the burner. “Tell those jerk-offs to get up, find the Febreze, and open some windows. It smells like a bison’s jockstrap in here.”

Bollo wouldn’t ever tell Naboo, but secretly, he thought the whole thing was sort of sweet.

Even if he was going to be the one stuck cleaning all this shit up.

+++++

Chapter Three

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