Author's Note: I'm back, I think! Instead of boring you with tales of my disappearance, I've written you all a fic. For reasons to do with the fic itself, chapters are possibly a bit on the short side. Enjoy! Xx
Disclaimer: Me no own.
Part One: Howard's Vince.
Chapter One: Morning.
Howard's Vince and Camden's Vince are two completely different people. He could tell you everything about his Vince, yes sir, but Camden's Vince? Camden's social, brightly patterned butterfly? No. He was always something of a mystery.
Howard's Vince would wake up and beg for pancakes or Nutella on toast at times when Howard was in the middle of trying to make himself lunch before he had to go back down to the shop.
"Howard?"
"Morning, Vince,"
"What you doing?"
"It's one-thirty; Lunch."
"N'I 'ave pancakes?"
Howard always swore it was said adorably cockney on purpose.
"I've not go time for pancakes, Vince!"
"I 'ave…" A cheeky grin, all bright eyes and pointy features.
"Vince, I'm not doing pancakes. I'm the only shopkeeper shop-keeping!"
"Are you? The only shopkeeper shop-keeping in the shop?" That cheeky grin remaining, tied like a ribbon around his voice too.
"Yes I am, sir,"
"N'I 'ave Nutella then?"
"What, just in a pot, like yesterday?"
"No; with some toast?"
This, when Vince's hair was wild from sleep, and hadn't yet been turned into a perfectly sculpted 'no touching' zone, would be when there was a rare opportunity for Howard to ruffle it, and, every once in a while, he would, Vince peeking out cheekily from under the taller man's large warm hand, the moment of both physical and eye contact even rarer than the hair ruffle itself.
It would also be a time when Vince's face was free of makeup, Howard being quite possibly the only one he trusted to see him this way.
Vince's face really was attractive enough without it, with the strong high cheekbones and the long, dark lashes that brushed them every time he so much as blinked, creating shadows that lined his cheeks like a tiny army regiment standing in line. In the summer, the lightest dusting of freckles would appear to join the delicate shadows. If any make up made an improvement, it was perhaps the slim line of charcoal black eyeliner, making the swimming pool that was his cheeky blue eyes more of a bold lake.
Howard had once almost told Vince that he was even more attractive without the makeup, but had then realised how it sounded and quickly turned it into an outburst of scat singing.
"What? You are well weird, Howard, I'm getting a bit worried…"
"It's called scat singing! Speaking in scat song! The language of jazz, Vince!"
"Mmm. Speaking in tongues, more like,"
So, Vince would usually get his Nutella on toast, and to make up for it, take the shift after lunch, serving customers with a chirpy grin and a Nutella handshake.