Vince awoke to the sound of low, murmuring voices from the other room. He sat up, ears pricked, and then his heart jumped when realising one of those voices belonged to Howard.

He got up, and crept over to the door, holding his ear up to it. The voices stopped, and then he almost witnessed a heart attack after a fist loudly knocked on the door, right beside his ear. He stumbled backwards, clutching his ear and cursing.

"Come in," he groaned, sitting back down on the bed.

The door opened slowly, and there stood gingerly in the doorframe was Howard.

"Hi," said Vince quietly, releasing his ear.

"Hi," Howard said back, still avoiding his eyes.

He shut the door behind him and went and sat on his bed, on the opposite side of the room.

"Where did you go?" Vince asked.

"For a walk," Howard said shortly, fluffing up his pillows and lying back on them.

"Where to?"

"Around."

Vince sighed. He wasn't in the mood to be given the cold shoulder. He'd been worried sick about Howard ever since he left, extremely close to crying. He wasn't up for being ignored or being glared at.

But he had to be tactful. The last thing he wanted was to cause was another argument, and then he really would burst into tears. He had to approach this carefully.

"That's nice," Vince forced a smile, when in fact he wanted to shake Howard, shake the truth out of him.

"Hmm," Howard mumbled, opening up his crossword.

"So, what do you want to talk about?"

Howard sighed. "Why don't you go out, Vince." It wasn't a suggestion. It was almost like an order.

Vince couldn't take it anymore. "Listen, 'Oward, I've been concerned about you all day. I just want to talk to you, make sure everything's alright."

"Well as you can probably tell, things are far from alright, Vince," Howard snapped, finally looking him in the eyes for the first time since years, it seemed. "I'm upset, angry, heartbroken, and confused. I just want to be left alone."

Vince sat in silence, looking at the miserable version of his best friend on the other side of the room, wishing he could approach him, and hold him, and reassure him that everything would be okay. But he couldn't. Howard would most probably reject him, believing he was just cruelly leading him on. It truly was a terrible misunderstanding – and Vince wished he could put things right. Maybe now he was sober, Howard would believe him? But then again, knowing the jazz maverick, he'd think Vince was doing it as some sick joke for his own amusement. Which was far from true. Vince thought the world of him and couldn't bear to lose him. If only he could realise that!

"Okay," Vince sighed, standing up. He crossed the room to the door.

"Vince – I…"

Vince turned around, praying Howard had finally realised, a look of hope in his face, as he stared at his true love lying on the bed.

"I'm sorry if I'm making you feel bad. But what you did broke my heart. For a second, I really did believe you. You got me there, you're very convincing."

Vince's heart split in two, and he wasn't ashamed anymore to let the tears form and run down his face. Howard's facial expression turned from miserable into shock and horror as the tears streamed down his best friend's cheeks. Vince stood there for a moment more, letting Howard see how honest he had been all along. Letting him see what he was doing to him. And before Howard could say anything, Vince opened the door and slammed it behind him as he ran out of the flat, out of the shop, and down the street. His destination was unknown and he didn't even care. Anywhere away from Howard would do. And that jazzy freak thought Vince was the heartbreaker! How narrow-minded and stubborn was he to think that because of Vince's jokey, careless presence and reputation, all the words that passed his lips he didn't mean! Vince was actually a human, he had feelings, a conscience and a heart! Words couldn't describe how frustrated and misunderstood he felt at that moment.

He finally found a grubby old bench which he threw himself down on out of anger. How long he planned to stay there, he didn't know. For hours, it seemed, he watched the world go by, and people walk past going about their everyday lives. They were all Howard-free. They weren't all tangled up in an emotional mess like him. Vince wished he could just get away, pack his bags and leave, where Howard could never find him. But another part of him – a stronger, bigger part – wanted to whisk him away to a deserted, paradise where they could live happily together, with no one around to get in the way or cause problems. Howard would wear his Hawaiian shirts and Vince would transform his corduroy trousers into stylish shorts, sewing a few flowery patches on, giving them a bit of "oomph". They could live perfectly in isolation, living off the land, drinking coconut milk (obviously not rancid coconut milk – they'd gone through that madness before) and organic berries. Vince would make fisherman's outfits, with a bit of a unique twist, but they'd be the comfiest thing to wear to go fishing in. They'd catch the biggest, tastiest fish – with Vince's natural gift he'd discovered on Black Lake – and fry them over a fire…

A blaring car horn jolted Vince away from his daze and turned his attention to how dark it had gotten since he had arrived. For a second, he forgot why he was sat on this scabby old bench, until a pang of realization hit him and he leapt up, and almost ran back to the flat.

He had no intention to speak to Howard, or even look in his direction. Why should he approach him? If Howard had any sense he'd be kissing Vince's feet the moment he walked in.

But when he did walk in, Howard didn't look up from the TV, didn't even glance or react in anyway at the sound of the closing door. Naboo and Bollo were in the kitchen preparing dinner, so who else could it be? Why wasn't Howard reacting to his return after the way he treated him?

Vince let out a heavy sigh he had every intention to be heard, and crossed to the kitchen, where he prepared a steaming mug of tea. He wasn't going to let Howard see him sad again.

"Alright, Naboo, Bollo?" he asked, busying himself with the kettle.

"Alright, Vince," said Naboo, adding some basil to the tomato pasta sauce he was making. "We're making tuna pasta with this sauce. It's got special shaman qualities added to it. You want some?"

Vince's stomach growled at the thought. "Yeah, actually," he said, clutching it. "I'm well hungry."

"Howard, you want some too?" Naboo called into the other room.

A grunt came back as the reply.

"I'm guessing that's a no," Naboo said, "more for us, then."
Vince grinned, knowing full well Howard had his eyes on him as he stood in the doorway. "I'm just gonna go prepare my outfit for tonight."

"What's going on tonight?" Naboo asked, handing Bollo a red pepper, which he began chopping up.

"I'm hitting the clubs, you know me! Vince Noir, Prince of Camden, blowing everyone away with my glittery outfits and grace!"

Naboo grinned. "Ah Vince, you slag."

Vince laughed, blanking Howard as he crossed to the bedroom.

"How do I look?" Vince asked, before stepping out behind the door.

He directed the question at Naboo and Bollo, but Howard turned around aswell, instantly blown back by the black-haired beauty posing in front of him. Vince had gone for a glittery cape, with tight, leather trousers and sparkly gold Chelsea boots. His eye makeup had been applied gracefully to his face, which was flawless and wonderfully pointy. His raven hair was stuck up and shaped elegantly round his face.

"Ooh, magnifique," Bollo's usual reply came without fail.

"Like a futuristic prostitute," Naboo said.

Vince grinned. "Thanks, guys."
Pointedly ignoring Howard's warm expression towards him, he grabbed his comb, yelled a quick "Seeya" and headed out the door. He felt on top of the world, making Howard feel this low. Now he knew how Vince had felt, when Howard had narrow-mindedly judged him.

Howard tried to look normal and content with the TV programme he was watching, but inside he felt empty and completely miserable. How could he have done that to his precious friend who meant so much to him? Been that thoughtless and stupid to judge so quickly? Typical him, though. Always messing things up, blowing countless numbers of perfect opportunities.
He wondered what Vince was doing at that moment, as Naboo and Bollo lay totally knocked out from the bong they had smoked. Probably hitting on some girls, and succeeding, he thought. He could probably get all of the female population of Camden, maybe even more. He was most likely capable of turning the straightest men on the planet too, for God's sake!

And Vince had eyes for him, Howard. The boring, pessimistic, jazzy freak with a ridiculous fashion sense and a pathetic moustache, which had nothing on Dixon Bainbridge's. No one would've thought the popular, funny, stylish – practically famous – Vince Noir wanted someone as pathetic as Howard Moon, a wannabe, but knowing full well that he was simply just a failure.

And with that thought permanently wedged into his mind, Howard the failure fell asleep to the boring, history documentary he was watching.

Vince just wanted to go home, go home to Howard and tell him everything. But that was proving physically impossible as he was incredibly drunk, after repeatedly drinking away his sorrows. He couldn't walk a meter without stumbling over, or tripping into somebody. And the busy streets of nightlife Camden were rather grouchy when all pumped up and drunk, and he had gotten shoved backwards quite a few times now, by frustrated clubbers. He had his phone in his pocket, but was afraid of dropping it and didn't want to risk trying to call Howard.

He knew the way home, he could get there easily if he just tried, but the alcohol clouded his mind and dizzied him, turning the street in front of him into a swirling mess. His legs felt like jelly and his stomach churned at the thought of the mixed drinks he had consumed. Tears rolled down his face as he actually felt generally frightened for the first time on a night out. He would never be able to get home. He'd probably end up in the gutter, or worse, in a bin. He just wanted Howard's strong arms around him, carrying him comfortingly to his bed, lying him down, tucking him up and holding him. If Vince could, he'd do the exact same back, but much more. He'd treat him like a bloody king, for goodness' sake, he'd cater to his every need and learn to cook, and then prepare meals fit for a king, which he deserved to be titled. He'd make the jazz maverick happy, give him a perfect life. Why couldn't he have seen that when Vince had told him he loved him?

He came to a back alley, and not knowing why, turned into it. It was no use anymore, he simply couldn't go on. He collapsed down against the grimy, soggy wall, and sobbed, feeling the opposite of the graceful, beautiful 'Prince of Camden' everyone saw him as. If his large population of friends could see him like this, he'd be disowned straight away. Vince knew how shallow they were. They only liked him for his looks and popularity, not for his personality. They were only using him. So why did Vince put up with them?

As he sat there in the dirty, smelly back alley, he realised he didn't need the party lifestyle anymore. He could very easily retire. He'd use his fashion knowledge for other purposes. He could still wear his outrageous outfits, but for different reasons. He didn't need nightclubs or alcohol or girls. He just needed the boring, jazzy pessimist that was Howard TJ Moon. And that happy thought sent him into a deep, drunken sleep.