"It's a bit early to have your diary out, isn't it?"

What kind of 'good morning' is that? Howard thought, followed immediately by, Fair enough, I could've at least left the bed.

Vince had rolled onto his side and propped his head up on one arm. He glanced playfully up at Howard, who sat against the headboard consulting his schedule.

"What you doin'?" Vince proceeded, seeming to nudge him with every unnecessary blink of his eyes. He had just woken up, but his face looked perfect, as far as Howard could tell.

"I'm just crossing out yesterday."

Vince scooted closer to him, and confirmed with a well-practiced and particular nod that Howard was comfortable with the proximity. Fine, Howard's expression said back, after he tugged down his vest. It usually became twisted up, due to the restless nature of Howard's sleep, and it required a different mood altogether for him to let Vince touch his skin.

"Get stuffed," Vince exclaimed, leaning over the page, "You're planning a date for tonight."

"Am not," said Howard, trying to inconspicuously cover the words with the pen.

"I can see my name from here. You've got to stop underlining it like that; it's ridiculous. And it's in red. That says 'date' to me."

"It doesn't say 'date,'" Howard sighed.

"What's it say?"

"Outing."

"That is quite good," Vince admitted, finding Howard's eyes, "More theatrical."

Howard drew a line somewhere over the square for the day; Vince couldn't tell which part had been axed. But Howard gave him enough of a hint.

"Is it? I was going for less, if anything... Less romantic."

Vince reached for the diary, and flattened it so he could read it.

"It's too late for that," he giggled, satisfied with his findings, "There's lots of things I could think of that are less romantic than the flower show."

Howard rolled his eyes, and let Vince take the book completely away from him. Vince held out his hand and waited for the pen, too.

"You're not changing that," Howard warned, as he passed it to him, "I've had the tickets for ages."

"I'm not changing it," Vince was sincere, "I like it. It's just… it's a bit posh for you, isn't it?"

"It's called culture."

"Pretty sure it isn't."

"It is," Howard said, definitively.

Vince set down the diary, but held onto the pen, pressing the cap against his lips to emphasize the depth of his thoughts. Howard said he looked ridiculous, and had ruined a perfectly good pen.

"Why the flower show?" Vince asked, doing it again. Howard reached to take the pen from him, and he smiled.

"I wanted to do something both of us would enjoy. It's hard to come up with things like that, 'cause of you."

"Cos of me?" Vince was incredulous, "You say it all the time: that everything delights me, that I'd be just as happy living in a snowglobe, that I'm-"

He succeeded in snatching the pen away.

"I wanted to make sure it was something you'd like. I didn't think I could go wrong with lots of bright flowers and - I don't know - there must be cameras there, and plenty of people."

Vince set one hand over Howard's chest, fingers lining the vest collar.

"Those are all things you hate."

Howard considered this. Vince splayed out his fingers, then drew them together again, slowly, until Howard formed a reply.

"I may have romanticised it a bit."

"A bit?" Vince grinned, eager for an explanation. He could feel Howard's heartbeat against his palm. This was something both of them liked. It rooted all of their shared moments, however ridiculous either one might call them, in reality.

"Yeah. See I figured I'd surprise you - tell you to dress up in something smart - and when we'd get there, we'd just walk around and take it all in, with your arm in mine. No need to say anything to anyone. Maybe see the sunset. That's what I liked about it."

"You are such a romantic," Vince sighed, "You're well hopeless."

"D'you mind?"

Howard glared at Vince's hand, but he remained unconvinced, and didn't move it.

"None of that was bad. I like romantic."

"Fine," said Howard, tapping Vince's hand to warn him that he wanted to get up, "You've got 'til eleven to get romantic, then."

Vince scooted back to his side of the bed, reaching for the alarm clock on his dresser.

"What am I doing up before eleven?"

"It's half-ten," Howard said, and immediately had to assure him that was plenty of time to make himself presentable.

"Smart," confirmed Vince, rummaging through his makeup case as he moved toward the closet. His closet, entirely, even since they began sharing the room. Howard kept his clothes in the set of drawers which used to separate the beds. Now it was against the opposing wall.

"I just meant 'don't look absurd.'"

Howard stood and moved to the drawers to sort out his own clothes for the day.

"I think it means you wanted us to match," Vince said, unmistakably through the fabric of his pyjama shirt as he slipped it over his head, "And that's absurd. What are you wearing?"

Howard looked at the jacket in question, resting patiently at the top of a stack of mostly-beige complements.

"Thought I'd wear a suit," he said.

"I should've known," Vince replied, muttering something more about romanticism.

Though their backs were always turned to each other when they got dressed in the mornings - based on an old and silently-made agreement - they maintained a fairly accurate sense of the other's body language. Whether through vibrations or something else, neither knew. Nor cared. They didn't discuss the phenomenon; the point was that they did not need to.

"It's not tweed, is it?" Vince proceeded, based on the way he knew Howard was looking at his choice.

"...No," Howard said to the decidedly tweed jacket.

"I can't match you if you're wearing tweed."

He could hear Vince sliding hangers about, swishing shirts back and forth to compare them. He could feel Vince pouting at them, too, because none of them were quite right. Howard wasn't changing the suit; that had been planned and ready for too long. Anyway, he'd gotten a new hat for it, and he quite liked it. He wouldn't bother telling Vince that bit.

"Has it got those patches on it that make you look like a maths teacher?"

Vince labelled him a different teacher every time his fashion was discussed; this was how he knew it wasn't really an insult.

"They are practical and sophisticated-"

"Sure they are. What colour?"

"Red."

Howard buttoned his shirt selection, which he had perhaps ironed too early, as it had managed to become slightly wrinkled during its time in the drawer. He forgot when he had last taken it out to check it.

"Red red?"

"Burgundy red."

He could not recall ever seeing anything burgundy on Vince's ludicrous pinboard of 'style inspiration', taking up most of the wall beside the bedroom door. But it was updated more often than Howard remembered to check. Maybe...

"Burgundy?" Vince exclaimed, in the higher register he reserved for inconvenience, "I need more warning for things like that. Burgundy!"

But Howard could tell, based on the newly-slowed speed of screeching hangers, that Vince would find something. He put on the jacket now, too, tugging repeatedly at the cuffs until he was sure it fit the way he liked it. He wouldn't have a chance in front of the mirror until Vince was completely through, and even then, he knew Vince would be begging to fix his tie, despite the fact he knew several different knots. And had done them up already on every tie he owned, as evidence.

Clearly, Vince had found something suitable to wear, as Howard heard him setting out his makeup in front of the mirror. He turned around, and stood behind Vince's chair at what could only be described as the vanity. He'd installed lights in the mirror and everything. Fairy-lights, but still.

"That wasn't that hard, was it?" Howard teased. Immediately Vince protested, citing his choice of shoes and scarf as the only remotely burgundy things he owned.

"And this is definitely more of a maroon," he whined, picking at the scarf.

Howard employed one of Vince's favorite inspirational phrases. But he did mean it.

"That is the best outfit you've ever worn."

"Thanks, Howard. We will match all right," Vince smiled, reached to turn Howard's arm over, and inspected the colour of the patches. "Now, let's get your tie sorted..."

Somehow, Howard was always surprised at Vince's capacity to be so intensely and sincerely gentle. He folded up Howard's collar - after untying the samples Howard had brought to the table - and left one hand to guard the back of Howard's neck. He was deep in thought, comparing the colours and patterns while Howard watched him and decided ten different times against offering input.

Amazingly, Vince dedicated more of their limited time to this than to the whole of his 'look.' Howard wanted them to go out looking nice, and they would, Vince was determined. He kept his fingers over the finished tie for longer than necessary, just to be sure it felt exactly right.

"Good?" Howard had to sound at least mildly annoyed, or Vince would be stuck in his sleepy and affectionate trance for the rest of the day.

"Sorry, yeah," Vince said, "I felt like I was there already."

Howard gave up on separating himself. He reached for the new hat with his free hand, and guided Vince along with the other.

"Alright, little man. Let's go."

Vince would never argue about being delighted by 'the little things,' as Howard called them, split between envy and dismissal.

It must have seemed simple, he convinced himself, if you looked at it from outside their relationship. But, from where he was sitting, every moment and every interaction was new and exciting. He had never been happier than that night he and Howard settled on calling each other 'soulmates' (though he had managed to paint the moon and some stars on the ceiling before Howard woke up. Glow-in-the-dark paint and everything. Genius.)

His favourite part of the day, at that moment, was the way Howard leaned forward in his seat on the train, brushing up on some book on gardening he claimed he'd read twice before. It was a good angle for painting him, Vince thought. He would have to remember to do a portrait like that, soon. Howard would love it. He looked positively Edwardian.

This was quickly replaced by a new favourite, though, when they arrived and stood in the entrance queue. Vince was approached by two separate media personalities, who naturally assumed he was someone important. He loved the way Howard encouraged him the first time, for a laugh, and protected him the second time, when the interviewer's questions became rather more personal.

Another contender was definitely the sunset. They found one of the quieter gardens and settled down on a marble bench. They leaned into each other, tugging at each other's sleeves instead of talking. Vince loved that.

And of course, he loved every single solitary petal he'd laid eyes on over the course of the outing. He'd lost track of how many times he'd gone 'whoa' and made sure Howard looked at the right one.

The trip home was fine, too. Howard always got the window seat. Vince kicked off his boots, folded his legs up close to his chest, and promised he wouldn't fall asleep as he set his head over Howard's embarrassed-at-beating-any-quicker heart.

"Was that how you imagined it?" he asked. He felt Howard's breath, as he pulled him closer. It was rare for Howard to venture beyond protective and into achingly sweet when they were in public. Vince guessed it had gone well, then. Unless it had something to do with them having most of the compartment to themselves, where Howard could argue he was only being practical.

"Yeah," he replied, after a long while. Vince blinked happily, as he pressed their foreheads together. He wanted to kiss Howard's hand, but knew he wouldn't take well to the lipstick, however burgundy he called it.

"Alright, Man of Substance… what was your favourite part?"

"I made a list of them, actually."

"When on earth did you have time to do that?"

Vince could feel Howard's shrug, which was always, in itself, unsure. Vince clicked his tongue and wiggled one of his hands free, so he could search Howard's jacket-pocket for the diary.

"Unbelievable," he said, retrieving it and flipping it to the bookmarked page.

"Don't you laugh," Howard said flatly. His lips were too close to Vince's hair for him to sound any angrier. It was too comfortable there; it was soft and smelled predominantly of jasmine - which Howard only knew because Vince had told him. And it would be gone in an instant, if he managed to be genuinely irritating.

"Oh, I'm going to," Vince promised, in a snappy but insincere voice.

There, in the margins beside the current date, he found the list.

1. Vince looked absolutely amazing today.

2. He introduced me as his partner to an interviewer.
Right into the microphone.

3. Walked around arm-in-arm, like something
out of that Edwardian novel I need to write.

4. Didn't need to say a word.

"You aren't laughing," Howard nearly whispered, after he was sure Vince had time to read the whole thing. He was afraid Vince had fallen asleep, and immediately reached to collect his shoes so he wouldn't forget them.

"No," Vince said, "It's too sweet to laugh at. It's like you fed me a whole circus-tent of candyfloss. It's great now, but I won't be feeling it tomorrow. I'll probably call it 'pathetic' or 'embarrassing' in the morning. Just so you know. But right now…?"

Vince realised, at this point, that they had more in common than he had ever considered.

And that was his new favourite part of the day. That, and the way he could feel Howard's breath on his neck… and…

Howard nudged him away, as if urging him to pick one. Settle.

"I have," Vince said, leaning in until their noses touched. Obviously on you, this said.

"Fine," Howard said softly, voice stretched for want of sleep. Vince loved it that way.

"When's our next date?"

"Outing."

"Yeah, partner. That too."