„Howard."
Nothing. Deep, rhythmic breathing.
"Howard."
Still nothing. He was fast asleep.
The fluorescent Universe was smiling at him, winking cheekily, whispering secrets of the world far beyond the crammed Camden flat.
Amidst the flurry of multicoloured stars, the moons shone in unison, side by side. They were equal in size, but one was always slightly dimmer than the other. Vince never understood why it was like that – surely they would be equally bright if they both got the same amount of light? Even his own universe was too confusing to understand, Vince decided, let alone the real world. He pondered on the matter for a few more moments before trying again, in vain hope of getting his friend to wake up.
"Howard?"
Still no response.
Vince couldn't sleep that night for some reason – he thought it must've been something he ate at Leroy's earlier that evening, probably the strange-looking blue soup he washed down with several flirtinis. He wasn't sick or dizzy, and his stomach wasn't upset, no; he just couldn't sleep. Maybe Leroy put some drugs in the soup? That man was unpredictable, and as much as Vince enjoyed having a laugh with him, he decided he should be cautious, in case he would want to bum him.
Apart from that, Vince's feet were cold.
The young man frowned slightly, as if contemplating something of importance, but then smiled lightly to himself, gave a little wave to the star-studded ceiling, and lifted himself off his bed in search of some socks.
However, his efforts were rewarded with nothing, as all of his socks seemed to have mysteriously run away from him. He had no choice but to find and borrow a pair of Howard's.
He had no trouble finding those, as they were packed tightly in a drawer labelled "Socks" in Howard's tiny wardrobe. Each pair was folded neatly and arranged according to colour and softness. Vince marvelled at how anyone's closet could be so small; then again, this was Howard, and he didn't count.
Vince rummaged in the collection of socks for every occasion, of every shade of brown and green there ever existed; and, to be perfectly honest, he was surprised that Howard didn't label each pair with the name of the colour.
In the end, he opted for a woollen pair that he'd simply call green, but he knew Howard would have some ridiculous name for it, like seductive pine or some other nonsense. Oh, Howard, Vince sighed inwardly, and smiled in the direction of the sleeping man.
His feet clad in Howard's oversized and unflattering, albeit warm socks, Vince wandered back over to his bed, and lay down again, trying to fall asleep, humming a made-up melody to himself.
However, falling asleep wasn't as easy tonight as he usually managed to make it, and soon enough Vince was pacing the tiny shared bedroom, the socks muffling the sound of his footsteps. He realized he was still cold.
He rummaged through his enormous closet in search of something warm to wear, but after climbing through piles of multicoloured capes, shirts and coats, he realized with horror that he had nothing to wear. All of the items in his wardrobe were either too flashy or too expensive (and often both), and all too thin to keep him warm.
Vince had no choice but to perform another attack on Howard's wardrobe. He directed his attention towards the shelf labelled "Jumpers". And again, the clothes were arranged according to their colour and softness. Howard is ridiculously organized for someone so chaotic in life, thought Vince as he fished Howard's favourite jumper out of the closely packed sea of beige and nutmeg. He pulled it over his head, straightened out the creases, and checked himself in the mirror.
He decided he didn't look half bad, but the outfit could do with some accessorizing – a flamboyant hat with a plume of blue feathers would look quite good. Or that golden scarf Howard gave him for his birthday last year. He could also do something with his hair. A loose perm would look quite good on him.
Vince stretched out his arms, and as he yawned, he caught the scent of Howard's jumper. It smelled faintly of pipe smoke and tea, with subtle notes of vanilla and cinnamon. He pulled the jumper over his mouth and nose, and closed his eyes as he drew in breath after another, tiny waves of warmth and calmness spreading throughout his entire form, the smell dizzyingly irresistible.
His stomach fluttered, and he smiled despite himself at the sensation. He had felt like this only once before in his life – when he first met Howard. He could never recall the circumstances of their first meeting, and his tales were always much more colourful and fantastical than the boring, plain truth, but he remembered that unexpected flutter when all of his internal organs turned into butterflies and tried to escape through his mouth in the form of disjointed words and ideas (which Howard liked to call 'verbal diarrhoea', the comparison being the most accurate description Vince had heard in his life). He ended up giving Howard his entire life story, including the tales of his childhood he spent in the bush, and asking him whether he wants to be his friend.
Vince was already one of the top fashion followers in Camden when he met Howard, and, truth be told, he was having second thoughts about this friendship of theirs after the tall Northerner moved in with him before they started working at the Zooniverse. However, this unknown force took over him, and here he was now, sitting at the foot of his best friend's bed, smiling gently as he took in every aspect and feature of his peaceful face. The curtain was letting through the moonlight, and it streaked Howard's usually dull brown hair with silver, giving it a new, lively yet calm shine.
"Jesus Christ, Howard," whispered Vince, stroking the man's hand, and gazing intently at his face, which was lit up not only by the brilliant moonlight, but also by the light smile that seemed to appear on his thin lips. "Jesus Christ, Howard. You're beautiful." Howard's hand was soft, and for a briefest of moments Vince considered what it would feel like to be caressed by these large, yet strangely delicate hands, before shaking off the thought with a healthy dose of embarrassment.
However, this tender moment was briefly interrupted by a series of loud snores from Howard, which elicited a muffled laughter from Vince, who covered his mouth with the man's jumper as to not to wake the older man up. He smiled despite himself, and gave Howard's hand a tiny squeeze, before he went over to his own bed, only to return with his Gary Numan duvet wrapped around him like a Technicolor cocoon of a funky butterfly-to-be.
He curled up right next to Howard, the man's gentle facial contours right opposite his own pointy features. And whilst he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he would eventually fall asleep, Vince decided to watch his best friend (or perhaps something more than simply that) be somewhere far away in his own, wondrous world of soft fences and stationery and trumpets, and slowly return back to reality.
And he would be there, watching, waiting impatiently for the first flicker of the eyelids, the hazy chocolate gaze upon his own face.