Wow, I haven't updated these for a while. Sorry about that. It's just i didn't want to do a load of angsty focs all together, an this was the natural coice to have next, and fluff doesn't really come too easily to me. I suppose it's understandable with this being quite a melancholy song, but it always wanted to come out dark fluff, lke where one of them's dead, or in prison, or something like that. And I wanted it to be nice fluff. I've also kept it pretty much platonic, but feel free to read slash into there if you like.

This is my first attempt at first person fanfic; at first I was thinking displaced third person or second person, but I've used both of those already and i don't want it to all get to samey with the playing with form. First person's a lot harder to do in fanfic than in original fiction too, because you really hae to get the character right, whch is obviously much easier if you've created the character yourself. Vince's voice was a lot harder to get than Howard's, but I hope I've got them both down alright.

So yeah, this is Lovesong, the song I want played at my wedding and my funeral. If you have never heard this song, you have never lived. And if you've seen the video (I kept playing it over and over again as i was writing), how cute are Robert's eyes right at the end?

This fic contains a sort of continuation to the Secret History of Howard Moon storyline, and also references that fic, but if you haven't read it, it pretty much fills in what you need to know, I think. Also contains some drunkspeak, which I hope os okay.

It also contains some of my own studenty type loves- limoncello is the drink of drinks, and rose wine straight from the bottle is a beautiful thing. Oh yeah, this fic pretty much condones heavy drinking. Erm... know your limits. Mine is nowhere near as heavyweight as theirs.

Disclaimer: Lovesong is owned by the Cure.

Lovesong

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am home again.

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am whole again.

There was this one day, nothing special; I was just out, walking in the park, like I don't do very often any more. Howard had been doing my head in, I think, and I'd skived off working in the shop to get away from him. I must have been doing his head in as much as he was doing mine in, I suppose, but I never really thought about that. It never really makes much of a difference, in the end, does it.

Anyway, yeah, I was just walking through this park, looking at birds and stuff, and- well, you know, it's a beautiful place, ain't it, when you look at it. All the trees, and the pond with the sun shining on it. It was June, and everything looked really bright. There were these doves and pigeons and all them all chasing each other, wanting to have it off, butterflies randomly appearing in front of you, teenagers that had skived off school getting off on the benches. It was a nice day. I was enjoying myself.

And I met this squirrel, said his name was Phillip. Anyway, I wasn't in a hurry, it was a nice day, we got chatting. I told him about whatever it was Howard had done to get on my nerves that day, can't even remember what it was, and the last gig I did and things like that, and then he started telling me about this new place he'd got in an elm further down the park, he was gonna do it up with some oak-leaf wall hangings, all art nouveau, and how they'd needed a bigger pad 'cause his missus was expecting little ones. And I said I might come round and see them sometime when they were born, they sounded well cute.

But he said he had to get back because it was nearly dinner time and Lucy was eating for five, so I let him go and sat around a bit. It was nice, getting back with the animal kingdom again. I haven't really met many animals- well, except for Bollo, but he doesn't count, he speaks English- since I left the zoo, and I'd almost forgot how well we usually get on. I almost felt like picking up a nice dove, talking her away from the attentions of those horny man-doves and bringing her back to the flat to watch 'Desperate Housewives' or something. And then I thought the shop'd probably be closing and I should get back.

And then there was this bang, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I shot up from the bench, and I could hear laughing, and there was this scumbag in a hoodie and a baseball cap laughing his head off with this BB gun or something, and I looked down at the ground, and Phillip was just lying there, on his back, his little eyes all glazed, dead.

I snapped. I fucking snapped, and I ran at this kid shooting my mouth off. And guess what? Guess what? He fucking shot me. He missed, thank god, but I thought I'd better not stick around, so I went home, and I couldn't believe it. That someone could just do that, just see an animal, a living being in his own right, and just shoot him dead and laugh. It made me sick, it really did.

I stormed in and shut myself in my room, I was that upset. No, I wasn't upset; I was angry. I was fucking furious. If Bryan Ferry had been there, he'd never have let that happen. He'd have spotted the gun and chased the kid to Timbuktu and back, honestly. Or if he was too late, he wouldn't have run off. He'd have got shot. He'd have got shot multiple times and still come at this kid, and then chased him to Timbuktu and back while he bled half to death, and he'd have got the kid found guilty of murder in a court of law, and then he'd have come back and conducted the funeral. Oh, yeah, and at some point he'd have gone to hospital.

Bryan Ferry's done a lot for me. He's made me who I am, I reckon. I miss him sometimes. I know he wasn't always there, but when we were together in the forest, he always used to play with me, and teach me things. We used to have great times. I must have been a nightmare; I was always up a tree, or in a river, or somewhere he'd told me not to be. And when he wasn't there, he'd leave me with the animals, and they'd let me get away with murder.

I miss that forest. Not just the good times; the place itself. And the way things were. There was so little negativity there; it was like living in a dream. Death was a sad occasion there. It was a tragedy. It was never a laugh. It was never a game. Idyllic, I think that's the word.

I miss that forest. I wish I was back there now.

And then there was a knock on the door.

"Vince, are you alright in there?"

He sounded a bit nervous, bless him. I suppose he thought I was in a mood. I could almost sort of feel him, hovering there outside the door, looking all worried.

"Yeah, I'm alright," I called back out to him.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah."

He came in, and he just stood there and looked at me for a second. He saw I was still a bit blue, and I saw him get a bit scared, 'cause I don't do blue. I do bright electric pink and sunshine, but I still get blue, sometimes. He's the only one who's allowed to see it, just like he's the only person who's allowed to see me when I haven't done my roots, or to see me in my underwear. He's the only one I trust.

He came up to me, and sat on the bed next to me, and I could see him hesitate. He's always had that touching phobia, and I don't think it'll ever go away, but he pushes it aside for me, sometimes, when I really need it. So he put his arms round me and just started rubbing my shoulders with his thumbs. He wasn't doing much, but it felt nice still, and I know it must have been hard for him to get that close. I couldn't help but lean back on him, and sometimes when I do that I can tell when he's gonna shove me away and tell me I've gone too far and come too close. But I knew this time he wouldn't.

He leaned into me too and gave me a cuddle.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

So I told him, about Phillip the squirrel and the kid with the BB gun, and how it just got to me. And I didn't need to tell him the rest. I knew that he could just tell. He can always tell.

So he just sat there, and he kept cuddling me, even though he doesn't like it, and he didn't say anything, 'cause he knew there was nothing he could say.

And then, it sort of didn't feel like it mattered any more. I mean, of course it mattered, about Phillip and everything, but everything else. It didn't matter.

We made our own perfect world right where we are. He completed me.

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am young again.

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am fun again.

I was studying my face in the mirror, tracing each line of age from my eyes, down my cheeks, at my mouth. There were so many. How had they got there? They came on so quickly. Had there even been that many there yesterday? I traced them down, pulling my face back and seeing the botched attempt at cosmetic surgery before it had even happened.

"What you doing?" he asked from behind me, where he was lying on the back of the sofa. How he could possibly be comfortable in that position is beyond me. It's hardly wide enough, even for him, and his vertebrae must have been digging right in. "You look like Joan Rivers."

"Joan Rivers is a witty intelligent woman," I retorted, watching his reflection behind my own. If I'm honest, I haven't got a clue how witty or intelligent Joan Rivers is; I just wanted to defend my reputation.

"Joan Rivers looks like she's been put together from different people's body parts."

"Well, thank you very much for comparing me to her."

He came and stood behind me, pressing his fingers to my face where I'd let my skin fall back into place.

"You look a lot better as you are."

I craned my head round and stared at him. It was odd. It wasn't like him to say something like that.

"I mean, you still look like a crab-eyed elephant crossed with a Shar Pei, but at least it's a start."

There he was again, back to normal. I couldn't stop myself from sighing as I caught my reflection again.

"Come on, it's not that bad," he said. Empty words. "I mean… who doesn't love Shar Peis?"

"I'm not a Shar Pei, Vince. Nor would I want to be. Dogs were meant to run wild and hunt, not to be pampered by image conscious socialites."

"Get out of town," he laughed. "Shar Peis were palace guards. They call them Chinese fighting dogs."

"Yeah, well…"

"Ha! I got you!"

He sashayed on back to the sofa and plonked himself down on it, grinning, proud of himself. I sighed again, and shuffled over and sat down next to him.

"Look, you alright?" he asked, dropping the grin as soon as he saw my face. I looked away. "You know I didn't mean it like that," he carried on. He was leaning towards me, and I could just see out of the corner of my eye one hand outstretched towards me, but hovering a few inches away. I turned back a little. He must really be sorry if he's actually respecting my boundaries for once.

"Come on," he said, changing his tone suddenly. "Let's get drunk."

"Is that your answer to everything?" I asked him, incredulous. "Life gets dull just for a moment, and you go and get off your face on alcohol?"

"Is it not yours?" he responded.

It was a fair point, actually.

"I don't feel like going to a club," I told him. Not like I was. Not like that.

"Well… we don't have to," he said. I looked at him. He smiled. "We could just find an off license, pick up some bottles, go wherever…"

"Getting pissed on the streets and passing out in a gutter? I don't think so, Vince."

"Come on Howard, it'll be fun." He put on his coyest smile and leaned in even closer, looking everything like a naughty child trying to convince another kid to come and explore the staff room at school while it was empty. "I can make it fun."

"I'm not getting trashed on the streets."

"Oh, Howard…"

"No."

"Howard…"

I didn't even respond.

"Howard… Howard… Howard. Howard. Howard. Howard. Howard!"

"Alright!"

He made this odd sound, a sort of squeal, which I assumed must be a good thing. Then he jumped from the seat and grabbed his jacket, then grabbed mine and flung it at me. "Come on then!" he cried, already half way through the door.

We found ourselves the off license just a couple of streets away, which is a pretty good one, really. I started browsing over twelve-packs, when he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me away.

"None of that," he chided. "Not strong enough."

He dragged me over to the spirits, where he started loading his arms with multicoloured bottles.

"Smirnoff!" he cried. "It's not a night without Smirnoff!"

It must not be; he had four different kinds of it.

I picked up a bottle of Jack Daniels, then looked around a bit before taking some Sambuca. I stood and waited for a bit, watching him hoard more and more bottles, and then caught my eye on some limoncello. "Here!" I called, waving it. "You'll like this."

"Cool," he said over his armful of bottles. "Grab it."

He staggered over to another aisle, and I followed him, shaking my head and wondering what he'd be like once he actually started drinking. I turned the corner into the aisle, and saw him picking up two bottles of rosé wine between his fingertips and scuttling over to the tills with them.

"You can't drink wine straight out of the bottle," I shouted at him.

"Course you can," he replied, dumping everything on the counter. "'Specially rosé."

I decided not to argue with him, and dropped my bottles on the counter with his. I almost burst a nerve when I saw how much everything came to, but he seemed to think nothing of it and paid for it all without saying a word.

As soon as we were out onto the street he was delving onto a bag and yanking open a bottle of Smirnoff Ice with his teeth and pouring it down his throat.

"'Elp yerself 'Oward," he told me through the bottle in his mouth, nudging the bag on the floor with his boot. Sighing, I reached into one of my own bags and pulled out the Jack Daniels, silently praising myself for being sensible enough to choose screw-top bottles instead of caps. I opened it and took a few swigs, deciding to take it slow. Unlike him, who was already more than half way through his first bottle.

"Come on, let's go down here," he said, leading me down into a random street. Why he wanted to go down here was beyond me. It was just a regular street in a normal, dull housing estate. Long rows of identical housed surrounded us, curtains covering pools of yellow light, and some of them were twitching.

"She's watching us," he told me, pointing with his bottle to a pushed aside curtain with a woman standing just behind. "Pull her a moonie."

"I'm not pulling a moonie," I objected. "If it means that much to you, you pull her a moonie."

"I don't pull moonies. My arse stays in my jeans where it belongs."

"Well so does mine."

We stood for a moment in silence, staring each other out. Eventually, he conceded. "Alright, look, I'll pull one if you do."

"No."

"Howard, come on," he whined. "When was the last time you dropped trou?"

"More recently than you did," I reminded him.

"Yeah but that's different," he insisted. "That was just you walking round the flat starkers again. This is a moonie, it'll be fun."

I could see he wasn't going to let it go. So I agreed.

"Alright then. But just this once."

"I knew you would," he grinned. "Okay, on three. One. Two. Three!"

In perfect synch, we dropped our trousers and bent over, giving her a full view. I waited a few moments, he gave her a cheeky little wiggle, and then we covered ourselves back up and turned round to see her with the phone in her hand.

"Shit, run, before she calls the pigs," he warned me, and we were off like a shot, lost in the heat of the moment. We ran down a few streets, sprinting full pelt. I saw him running with a bottle in his mouth, and tried it myself, but only managed to swallow a small mouthful before spilling whiskey all down my front.

I could feel my chest aching, and we slowed down and stopped in an alley meant for storing cars. By the time he stopped moving he was already starting on another bottle, and I had a feeling that if the night was going to go on like this then I would have to get very drunk very quickly. The Jack Daniels was over half gone, so I tipped it to my mouth and took quick burning swigs until I finished it.

"Did you just drink a whole bottle of JD to yourself?" he asked me. I showed him the bottle. "Wow, that is x-core."

I smiled. I knew he was quick on the road to being plastered, otherwise he'd never have said it, but all the same, I liked hearing it.

"Hey, look at me," he cried suddenly, almost begging me. He put a hand on his hip and took a long gulp from the bottle of wine in his hand. "I'm a student."

I couldn't help laughing. It was precious. He couldn't stop once I started, and still shaking with laughter he pushed a bottle of Archers into my hands. "Trust me," he slurred. "You'll love it."

"Whatever you say, little man," I replied. I took it off him and held the neck of the bottle out, and he wrenched the cap off with his teeth. I tipped it and poured some into his mouth, and he swallowed it like it was the elixir of life. Then I put it to my own lips and took a swig of my own. I had to admit, it was quite nice. Very sweet.

I drank as we walked. The stuff was easy to drink. It just sort of flowed down.

"Let's go for a drive," I heard him say behind me, his voice distorted by alcohol. "I'll even have a go. Howard, steal me a car."

"I can't steal you a car, little man, we'd get in trouble." I could hear myself starting to slur as well. It was quite a fascinating sound.

"Oh please," he begged. "Please, Howard, please."

"Alright," I said, pointing out of the alley back onto the street. "I'll steal you one of the ones down there."

He jumped on me and threw his arms round me, spilling the last of his wine over us both. I gently pushed him off and walked out of the alley, and he skipped along beside me.

"You're out of your head, aren't you?" I chuckled.

"Yeah!" he replied, grinning like a pointy retard.

"Here," I said, thrusting the last of the Archers at him. "Finish that."

I couldn't stand any more. It was just far too sweet. But he snatched it away from me and downed the lot in two seconds flat.

I got the Sambuca out of my carrier bag, opened it and drank as much as I could before I had to stop for air. He bashed into the side of me and held out his hands expectantly. I passed it to him, and he raised it to his mouth and suckled at the bottle like a babe in arms.

"Alright, you've had enough," I said, pulling it back from him and drinking down some more. He reached out his hands for it, and when I didn't surrender it, he tried to make a grab for it. But I just turned it away from him, spinning around as he tried to run round me to get it. I finished it, and passed him the empty bottle when I was done.

"Oh, ya bitch," he pouted, then swung his fist right into my arm.

"Oi!" I cried, pushing him back. "Watch the fists of fury, little man, or so help me, I will come at you."

"Oh will you?" he grinned.

"Yes, I will," I said. "I'll come at you like-"

"Like a Chinese fighting dog!"

I swatted him one round the head.

I realised we had come to the park. We don't come there often, and I could barely recognise the place in the dark. It looked quite nice though, with the moon shining on the pond. He got all excited, and broke the tranquillity immediately.

"Come on Howard, let's go and find the playground!"

I grabbed his arm to stop him running away, and got the limoncello out of the bag and waved it in his face.

"Be a good boy and you can have some of this," I told him, popping the cork and taking a small, quick gulp. I let out a cry at the strong taste, and a flock of birds fled from a nearby tree.

"Gimme some!" he demanded, stumbling as he threw himself at me and barely able to focus.

"No," I said, taking a longer drink. As soon as I removed the bottle from my mouth I staggered. But I still took some more.

I looked back at him, watching me intently, his eyes glazed. "Alright," I said. "Now you can try some."

I held the bottle out to him and he grabbed it from my hand, then pushed it into his mouth and coughed as he took too much at once.

"Strong, isn't it," I laughed, but he ignored me and carried on drinking, taking quick swigs now like I had done. "Like it?"

"Love it!" he hollered between gulps.

"Gimme it back," I requested, reaching out to him. He held onto it tightly, but I managed to prise it from his grasp and sucked from the bottle again.

He stood by me, watching eagerly as I neared the bottom of the bottle. Then he made a funny, wanting little noise, and he looked so damn cute I put my arm round his waist and held him up as he leaned back and drank the last of it, while I held the bottle for him.

"No more?" he asked, head still tilted back to receive.

"No more," I confirmed.

He groaned, about three octaves higher than usual. "Y'shoulda bought more," he whined, giving me a shove away from him.

A little too hard a shove.

"Li'l man, what'd I tell you?" I chided, grinning.

"I dunno. What d'you tell me?"

"Toldja I'd come at ya if you din't watch yer fists."

"Y'wun't…"

That was when he realised he was stood between my body and the pond.

"Oh no! Howard! Howard don't you dare! Howard!"

I ran at him, rugby tackled him and sent him straight in the pond.

Unfortunately, it didn't occur to me until after that this would also send me into the pond with him.

When I came up for air, my head felt a lot clearer.

Clearer than it had in a long time.

Fly me to the moon.

When I get him drunk, we can do anything. We might just think it 'cause we're drunk, and that's what drunks think, but we're invincible. One night, when we were walking home wringing wet, I asked him to fly me to the moon. And he said he would, one day.

However far away, I will always love you,

However long I stay, I will always love you.

My parents called. We haven't had any real contact since I ran away when I was sixteen. I don't even know how they found out where I was living. But now they want to meet me again. To find out what I'm doing with my life. I could hardly have turned them down, could I. I mean, they're my parents, and I haven't seen them in nearly twenty years.

They asked me to go back to Leeds, where they'd moved back thinking they could find me there, and stay with them. They said my sister, Ruth, would be there, with the baby, and she was apparently quite ecstatic to be seeing me. My parents told me she'd taken my disappearance pretty hard. She'd come back from Malaysia as soon as she'd heard, and almost didn't go back.

I knew I couldn't take him with me. He understood that, he didn't ask, but all the same I felt guilty for it. He made fun of me, telling me about all the parties he was going to while I was off chilling with northern wrinklies. I can tell he's going to miss me.

I don't like leaving him. Life just isn't the same without him and his perverted logic making sense of all the strange things. Or making the strange things. A satsuma's just a satsuma without him around. With him around, a satsuma's a missile waiting to be aimed at his sorry arse.

I closed up my suitcase. It was the smallest one I could find. I tried to shove everything into a rucksack, but it wasn't happening. I wanted to take as little as possible, but I didn't know how long I'd be. It was a bleak thought, not knowing how long I'd be without him.

I picked up the case and grabbed my jacket. He was sitting on the sofa reading one of his insufferable fashion magazines.

"I'll probably only be a few days," I told him, already on my way out of the door.

He nodded, looking nonchalant, but I could see the sadness inherent somewhere in his expression. Not his eyes, not his mouth, not his forehead, but somewhere on his face I could see it. I just couldn't figure out where.

"Bye, little man," I said.

"See ya, small eyes."

I shut myself out. I was going to miss him.

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am free again.

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am clean again.

He had been gone two days, and I was going out, to try and take my mind off it. I don't just go out that much any more really, now that we've started doing more gigs. I'm usually on the stage pulling shapes, not down on the dancefloor. So it's a nice change.

And it's not till I randomly look around that I realise it's gone eleven. Shit. And I didn't even look perfect yet.

It was okay though, I just needed a bit more eyeliner… no, that's too much. Needed to take it off and start again. That time I got it right. Or better, at least. Less likely to have fault found in it at a short distance.

Eyeshadow, just a little bit. Quite subtle. Too much? No, I think it's alright. But did the shade really go with my outfit? Perhaps it's just a few tones too light. Did I have something a bit deeper? I must have, somewhere…

That'll mean taking the eyeliner off too, or it'll smudge.

But surely only complete pedants would notice this. I looked at myself in the mirror, trying to take myself in like a stranger in a club would. Eyeshadow a bit too pale. Or is it? Was I only noticing it because I knew it was true?

It had gone eleven-thirty when I finally stopped debating with myself, and decided the eyeshadow really needed changing. So it all came off, new eyeliner, right first time this time, slightly deeper eyeshadow, nice black mascara.

Lip gloss? Blusher? Why not?

The lip gloss went on fine, but then it generally does. It's hard for it not to have a good effect. Makes my lips look a lot plumper. More kissable. Always a good look.

Blusher was harder. At least it is for me, anyway. It has to go on slowly, else on me it looks like I've used too much.

It was gone midnight by the time I finished. And even then I wasn't completely convinced I looked perfect. Normally, I supposed I didn't really get chance to think about it. It'd be about ten-thirty or so, and I'd be just finishing with the preliminary attempt, the first draft look, if you know what I mean, and then he'd come barging in, shouting at me to hurry up. And I'd never let him push me out the door that quickly, and he'd tell me I looked fine as I was, but I'd still have to tweak it for a bit longer before I was ready.

He'd never let me near a mirror long enough to spot any more flaws.

It was quarter past twelve. If he was here, surely he'd have told me I looked perfect by now.

I left the flat, making a mental note to myself to make sure I found a club that stayed open till three-thirty. I honestly couldn't believe how much later I let myself leave home without him there to shoo me along.

I wandered round town a bit, looking for a good club, and it was around twenty to one I found one, the Den, with a really chic atmosphere and late closing. There wasn't much of a queue to get in at that time, and once I was in there I got myself a flirtini and spotted a few people I recognised. Not my best mates, I didn't have a clue where they were tonight, but some people I'd met a few times, who seemed nice enough. They seemed quite happy to see me, I got bought a few drinks, I danced with them.

I bought myself a few more drinks. A lot more drinks.

I danced. There were lights. There was a man. A friend of a friend of Leroy's, I think. There was some wetness- someone spilled a drink on me. There was shouting. I- was I? - yes, I was shouting. There were words, angry words. Angry words aimed at me. No, these angry words were me. I was an insult. Why was I an insult? Why was I being insulted?

I suddenly realised that I had no idea where I was or what I was doing. All I knew was that friend-of-a-friend-of-Leroy's was in my face, using me as an insult to myself.

If he had been there, I wouldn't have needed to stay.

If he had been there, I would have been pulled away from that bloke before anything happened.

If he had been there, Bollo wouldn't have had to come down and pick me up, and take me away from the police as I tried to hide my black eye and the blood on my fists.

If he had been there, he would have taken me away from all of that before I got myself into trouble, told me it didn't matter what anyone else said or did, and taken me somewhere else, where drinking would be fun, instead of necessary.

That was the last thing I remember thinking before I passed out in the passenger seat of the van.

However far away, I will always love you,

However long I stay, I will always love you,

Whatever words I say, I will always love you.

I will always love you.

When I woke up, sometime after four in the afternoon, I missed him. I missed him even before I registered my hangover, before I felt the pneumatic drill in my head, before I felt sick, before I felt the soreness over my eye.

I missed him. I wondered when he'd be coming back. It'd only been three days, and I wished he was back already. He probably wouldn't be soon, and I suppose I shouldn't have felt so jealous of his family, because I've got him every day, and they haven't seen him for all those years.

But I still miss him though. I'm waiting for a call all day, my phone switched on, on charge, next to my bed where I lie all day and all night. When it rings, I cry like he's been gone for years. Not when I'm talking to him though. He sounds concerned. I tell him I'm fine; just the last of a hangover. I tell him I've been having a great time without him. In fact, I've found a Shar Pei that likes jazz, but only plays it on really high frequencies so only he can hear it.

He knows I don't mean it though. And I know I don't mean it. I sound so spoiled saying it, but I want him back.

I know he'll never fly me to the moon, but we can try.