Vince's head snapped up in surprise as the door of Nabootique swung open. Being in the heart of winter, the silent atmosphere of the shop was interrupted by the howling blizzard outside, the swirling snow being a lot more visible now, when before it was blurred out by the frosted windows.

Vince squinted, trying to see who was stood in the doorway, in a rather large winter coat. It was beige, and the figure was tall, and slightly large, which to Vince looked painfully familiar. Oh, how he longed to lay his eyes upon that face he so dreadfully missed...and maybe this was his opportunity!

He kicked himself behind the counter. It wasn't fair on himself to build up his own hopes like that.

At Howard's birthday party, the kiss on the rooftop was genuine. When the one person Vince had ever longed for, announced that he thoroughly enjoyed Vince's sudden act of 'affection', and told him to 'pucker up', Vince felt like he had conquered the biggest mountain, struck the purest gold, when the only reason he did it was to save his own ass. But Vince was glad that Dennis, Head Shaman, had gone on a rampage to behead him. If it wasn't for him, Vince wouldn't have been able to feel those tender lips against his own, or to feel those butterflies that were finally able to flutter for the first time…

But then, minutes after the kiss, when a lady had approached Vince's one love, causing him to reject Vince, the poor boy only accepted the lady that approached him so he didn't look heartbroken – so he looked careless, the sunshine kid everyone smiled at when he came into view, for being so happy-go-lucky all the time.

And then, the person Vince cared about the most in the whole world, got his big break and left to work with a very famous, successful director. And Vince thought he would never come back. Words couldn't describe how heartbroken he was…how he had never gotten a chance to confess his true feelings…

"Vince."

His head snapped up again – he must've gone off in a daze. He squinted again at the stranger, the voice adding to the familiarity of the figure in the doorway.

The stranger lifted its arms, and pulled back the hood of its winter coat. Vince's breath caught in his throat.

It was him.

Howard.

Vince stammered, swiped his fringe quickly to the side, trying not to look flustered and surprised. It didn't work though. The corner of Howard's mouth twitched, a slight smile. Vince didn't know what to say. He was utterly speechless.

"Hi, little man," Howard said warmly, unzipping and shrugging off his winter coat. He was dressed in his usual, familiar clothes – a polar neck brown jumper, corduroy trousers… and words couldn't describe how much Vince had missed seeing those garments.

"Hi," Vince managed to say, through shock.

"Did you miss me?" Howard laughed.

Vince swallowed, and reminded himself to maintain his carefree, sunshine kid appearance. He didn't want to look as if he was going to squash his best friend in an enormous bear hug any second.

"Hah! No," Vince snorted, maintaining a casual position by leaning against the counter.

Howard rolled his eyes. "You haven't changed then," he said, although Vince could tell he knew he was putting an act on.

"Not one bit," Vince smirked. "I've been out every night – attending Bollo's DJ nights, meeting girls at clubs…it's been genius!"

That was a lie and a half. It was a rarity that Vince ever went out these days. He'd usually mope about in the flat, while Naboo and Bollo ran shaman-related errands, reading issue after issue of Cheekbone magazine. He almost lost his interest in his own appearance, usually lying around in his pajamas or tracksuit bottoms. He hardly ever straightened his hair, or wore any makeup. It was just fortunate that Howard had happened to return on a rare day when he actually made some effort to look stylish.

"Well. I've decided to return…" Howard's voice trailed off. He stared at the floor awkwardly. "The whole showbiz thing wasn't for me," he finished.

Vince grinned. "Or, in other words, you failed," he mocked, while inside he was happy as a pig in mud.

"I did NOT fail," Howard said firmly. "I couldn't work with the director. I quit. Didn't like his style."

"Style, what style? I can guarantee it's actually the other way round. He couldn't stand you," Vince was giving it his all. He was still angry from being heartbroken by Howard's actions.

Howard shrugged it off, obviously too happy about being back to care about Vince's harsh words. "I'm gonna go upstairs, unpack, and take a shower."

As soon as Howard's back turned to trudge up the stairs, a massive smile took over Vince's face.

"There's a party tomorrow night," Vince called up, "you better get used to a lot happening round here."

"Whatever," Howard shouted back down, "I'm just happy to be back."

Vince snorted – purposely loudly so Howard could hear – and continued with absent-mindedly drawing. He turned over a page in his book to start fresh, and began sketching the outline of Howard's face.

But what would happen at the party? With Vince's mind constantly yelling at him to admit his true feelings, would the alcohol consumed trigger it? Would Vince gather that much confidence from all the spirits and cocktails to tell the one person he loved about how he had been feeling, for the past three or so years?

It was a bank holiday, so Vince closed up the shop early, and calming his nerves and taking a deep breath, he slowly made his way up the stairs. He came to face Howard in the living room, sat on the couch watching television. How he had missed those incredibly small eyes focused on the TV screen, that mocha moustache and the curly, brown locks. Vince had to force his mouth shut from blurting out how beautiful his best friend looked. Instead, he turned on his heel into the kitchen.

"Cuppa tea?" he offered, too loved up to put on the 'careless' act right now.

"Already got one, thanks," Howard replied, holding up his mug.

Vince continued with making his own, as quickly as he could, before grabbing a big packet of Digestives and collapsing down on the sofa next to Howard.

"So, what is the real reason you came back?" Vince asked, before he could stop himself.

Howard turned to look at him, amused. "And why would you care about that, Vince Noir?"

Vince shrugged, mentally kicking himself for not figuring out a comeback to Howard's reaction before.

Howard's smile expanded. "I came back, because I missed you too much. We're partners in crime, Vince. We're mates for life – although sometimes neither of us would think of each other as even acquaintances – and I intend to keep it that way. Call me a soft old gay boy now, but, I never really wanted to leave in the first place. How could I leave Nabootique, and the people who occupy it? I simply couldn't leave you."

Howard turned his head away back to the television screen, to avoid Vince's sniggers or teases, but Vince just sat there, gazing at the side of his friend's face. If only he had said that with his arms around Vince, rocking him slowly back and forth. And before Vince could do that himself – throw his arms violently around Howard's neck – Howard clapped his hands together, and stood up.

"The show's finished," he announced. "I'm going out to visit Lester. Seeya."

He flashed Vince a small, but beautiful smile before grabbing his coat and exiting the flat.

Vince's shoulders slumped, his face drooping with the thought of a missed opportunity. He guessed he'd just have to wait until tomorrow night, where, drunk or not, he would give Howard the biggest hug ever.