A/N: Wow, long time no update! I apologize for being such a snail, and thank you guys for the nice comments! By the way, this is supposed to be set somewhere between Howl's Moving Castle and Castle in the Air, yes. Kind of. Sort of.

Trying to make Howl sit down proved to be a nearly impossible task. The sight of his dramatic self crying into the sleeves of his exaggeratedly fancy suit brought Michael not so pleasant memories, but this time it seemed like the older wizard really meant every sob. When he paused for a second to take a breath, Michael pushed a glass of water into his hands.

"Come on now," the young man said, looking at Howl rather anxiously. "You have to drink something."

"I do have to drink something," Howl retorted, looking at the glass rather bitterly. "But not water, that's for sure."

"I can fetch you some milk," Michael said, but judging from Howl's expression, milk wasn't exactly what he had in mind. With a sigh of frustration, Michael let his head hang and ran a hand through his hair, looking as helpless as ever. "Goodness, Howl. What did you do this time?" He noticed how the other wizard was glancing at the rain outside and drinking from the glass ever so slowly in order to gain some time. "Have you been chasing girls again?"

Howl gasped, greatly offended. "I have not!" He took a moment to sneeze into his sleeves. "Measure your words, Michael, my friend. You, more than anybody else, know that I'm a man who lives by his morals. I understand you might still be slightly resentful about Martha, but it was ages ago and I haven't laid my eyes on any other lady ever since. I assure you of that. And Calcifer can confirm it, if you still have your doubts. Calcifer, more than anyone, knows how much of a well-behaved, proper..."

"You are slithering out," Michael observed quietly.

"Oh, here we go again with this slithering out thing," Howl sighed with impatience, setting the cup aside and sitting up straighter to glare at Michael. For a split second, the younger wizard could see what he figured were bags under his tutor's glassy green eyes. "Listen well, Michael, because I won't repeat myself. I didn't come here for you to blame me for things I have not done. I came here for emotional support, which you, being such a good friend of mine, certainly would not deny me in times of need. Am I correct?"

"Yes, but how do you expect me to support you if I don't..." Michael began, but Howl raised a hand, and the young man went silent again.

"See, I just need a moment to clear my mind, and then finally I'll figure things out on my own. You know Sophie. She can't live without me," Howl said, and, for Michael's surprise, flashed him an insecure smile. When Michael, puzzled, did not say a word, Howl nodded in encouragement, and the young man realized he was supposed to agree. "She can't live without me."

"Hmm," was all that came out of Michael's mouth. He wasn't sure if he wanted to agree with that. He wasn't sure if Sophie couldn't live without Howl. He wasn't sure about anything anymore.

The lack of response did nothing but aggravate the already heavy climate in the room. Howl's glassy eyes were wide with expectation, and, when the lightining bolt outside illuminated his face for another brief second, Michael realized that yes, yes those really were bags under his tutor's eyes. He probably hadn't slept properly in a while.

Finally, Howl chuckled joyfully and clapped his hands together. "Very funny! She can't live without me, Michael, my friend, my boy. No, she can't, nor would she ever. We all know that. It's universal knowledge."

There was another moment of silence, during which Howl looked around the room with a dreamy, nonchalant smile, as if contemplating the undeniable truth of what he had just said. One second later, however, not only Howl's smile had melted away, but what Michael's most feared did as well: the wizard's whole body started to assume the sticky, gross appearance of green slime.

"Good God, Howl!" Michael shouted and stood up immediately, taking hold of the mass of slime that now were Howl's arms as the man fell weakly to his knees. It was quite a miserable sight to see, indeed: the most powerful wizard of all Ingary, undoing himself into a puddle before his frightened apprentice. "Howl! Howl! Get a hold of yourself! For God's sake, Howl!" For the young man's terror, the situation seemed worse than it had ever been, and in no time the green slime covered not only his arms and clothes, but also the wooden floor and bed, creeping up the walls and escaping through the door. Howl's face could barely be seen when he finally fainted against Michael, who, as helpless, dirty and desperate as he could be, shouted at the top of his lungs for the only help he could think of: "Martha!"

"Don't worry, I can handle it on my own."

"Sure you can," retorted Martha, glaring at Howl with narrowed eyes. The wizard was sleeping soundly in their spare room's bed, covered by a particularly small blanket that left his ankles exposed. "Care to tell me what happened for him to ruin our room? It will take us weeks to get rid of that stupid slime. I still have green all over my clothes. Look at this!"

"It's complicated," Michael replied carefully. Indeed it was complicated. So complicated he had no idea of what was going on himself. "I'll explain later. You really need to rest now."

Martha blew a strand of hair away from her eyes in a very characteristic and annoyed manner. "I will," she said, before stomping out of the room. Michael noticed the small trail of slime that followed her steps, but decided not to mention it. Instead, he turned to look at Howl. "She's gone. You can stop pretending now." The other man did not answer. "Come on, Howl. I know you are awake. I'd dare say even Martha knew it." Still no answer. Michael sighed; dealing with Howl had always been much like dealing with a stubborn five-years-old, depressed or not. "Howl, please..."

"Be gone too, Michael," replied Howl from under the sheets. His voice was weak and miserable. "I have no need of your company at the moment."

"I think I deserve an explanation," Michael said, but, finding his words unfamiliarly demanding, quickly amended, "Please."

There was a long moment of silence, during which Michael remained as tense as he could be, expecting another slime explosion. This time, however, it did not happen.

"Well, we had a small argument."

"A... small argument?"

He could feel Howl frowning in annoyance.

"Sorry. I'm sorry."

"Yes, Michael, a small argument."

"Oh."

Silence.

"About...?"

"That doesn't matter, Michael. Actually, to be honest, I don't remember. It was probably something unimportant and ordinary." Or you were drunk, Michael thought to himself, but did not dare to interrupt. Howl continued. "I don't know. It just spread from that, like weed. It grew, like a snowball. And in the end, I believe I might..." He paused, and Michael, for what seemed like the first time, could feel the weight of genuine guilt on his words. "I believe I might have been a little too harsh. I don't remember for sure, but I was, admittedly, a fool. People have limits, Michael. Even those who love you. Who knew?"

The young man watched the sheets move slightly as Howl chuckled weakly, with no joy at all; never had he felt so much pity for his tutor and friend before. "Well," he cleared his throat, hesitating momentarily. "Yes, they do, but... when they love you, they can always forgive you. Most of the time... I mean," Michael stammered and tried to amend himself, "Always, always forgive you."

"But what if she doesn't, Michael? What if she's had enough? I said she can't live without me, Michael, but it's the other way round, isn't it? The other way round? Oh, happily ever after. What a joke it is!"

"Howl," Michael began, but paused. "Howl," he continued, in a firmer voice. "You're not one to give up so easily on anything. You... you never gave up on eating grapes when they were out of season even if you had to march your way to France to get some. And we are talking about grapes. Why would you give up so easily on something so important, then? I mean... on Sophie?" His voice trailed off. That was a godforsaken awful way to advice someone, but he hoped Howl would have somehow caught his drift. The older wizard definitely didn't seem to show any reaction to those words. "Sophie rescued your heart, didn't she? So, why can't you rescue hers too? In a more... metaphorical way... of speaking, of course..."

"Rescue her heart, you say?" Howl laughed dryly. "Rescue her heart! No one can rescue anything from Sophie if she doesn't want you to. That's just the way she is. Unwilling to bend, unwilling to break. I highly doubt she wants me to 'rescue her heart', Michael, given how angry she was. I thought she was going to set everything on fire. Well, she would have."

"I'm sorry, Howl, but... you were just as bad, or worse," Michael said quietly. "Doing the best you could to stop the prophecy, avoiding your fate at all costs... and even so, she did it. She did it, didn't she?"

Once again the silence filled the room. Michael waited eagerly for a reaction, but it did not come.

"I can't do this," Howl finally said, his voice almost a whisper.

Michael was caught by surprise. He was starting to believe the other man had fallen asleep. "You can't? How not?"

"I just can't, Michael. How do you expect me to rescue Sophie's heart?" The young man was about to interrupt, when Howl raised a hand from under the sheets. "When my best suit is covered in disgusting slime, and all I have to wear are your borrowed clothes, five sizes smaller than mine? This is no proper way to rescue a woman's heart, my friend. Keep that in mind." In a heartbeat, Howl shoved the sheets away from him and jumped out of bed, making his way to the closet. "You might need it with Martha one day."