A/N: I am so sorry for the delay, i've had this written for over a week now but haven't had the chance to put it up, so sorry again. but, here it is, i'll put chapter 7 up as soon as i can. once again, i'm so sorry!
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Vince was sat on his double bed, his legs huddled close to his chest, a work uniform bearing a 'Zooniverse' logo clutched in his arms. His eyes were closed and the fabric was close to his face as he breathed in the scent. The uniform was far too large for him, it didn't belong to him anyway. It had been Howard's. When he'd packed up and left the flat above the Nabootique he'd only taken the bare essentials with him and hadn't returned for the rest of his things. Naboo had suggested throwing it out, Bollo said they should burn it because he was such a ball bag, but Vince had kept all of Howard's belongings exactly where Howard had left them until the day he moved out of the flat himself. When that day came Vince had already packed all of Howard's things into boxes and took them to his new flat with him. Some of the things he left packed, such as Howard's clothes and toothbrush, but other things, personal things, Vince didn't had the heart to keep in a box. There were Jazz records arranged neatly next to Howard's old grammar phone, his old trumpet was placed on a table in the corner of the room on a professional trumpet stand, and Vince had arranged stationary village exactly how Howard had it on a table in his bedroom.
As Vince opened his eyes they met Howard's smiling face. For a moment he thought Howard was there but then dawning realisation led him to the photo frame and his very own arm around Howard's shoulders. It was a photo he kept at his bedside, the day him and Howard had gone crabbing. It was Vince's birthday from a time before they even worked at the zoo. They were standing on the beach holding a huge crab between them, Vince's arm was holding Howard's head close to him as they both cheered to the camera at their amazing find. He'd long since forgotten who'd taken the photo that day, but he did remember that that was the first day Howard didn't object to Vince's contact. When Vince had put his arm so lovingly around his best friends neck he wasn't told to get off or that he was going to come at him like an angry screwdriver. Howard just beamed at him and put his arm round the smaller boys waist, then turned to grin at the camera taken by that mysterious stranger, just out of focus.
All his life most people had been just out of focus, Howard was the only person he ever really saw. He was crap with names, he always had been, but from the first day him and Howard had met he knew he'd never forget the name; Howard Moon. He reached over to the picture, took it from the bedside table and rested it in his lap, his eyes scanning the whole photo. The sunshine, the smiles, the friendship. Everything him and Howard had from the day they met until the day Vince cocked everything up. Vince's face screwed up as the tears began to fall. He hated himself so much, everything was his fault, he was so stupid. All his life he'd been stupid, pathetic and self obsessed. Why? Why was he like this, all the time. He was such a fake, a big fucking fake. He never wanted to remember those times, all the fun, all the smiles, he didn't deserve to remember it, he wasn't good enough, he never was.
Suddenly a smashing sound roused him and he realised he'd thrown the photo with such force it had hit the wall opposite and smashed, the photo inside slashed by broken glass and in pieces on the floor. Fresh tears rolled down his face and he began to sob uncontrollably, clutching onto the uniform in his lap so tightly the seams threatened to burst open. He sat like that for over an hour before the tears stopped flowing, and then he just sat in silence, staring at the smashed photo lying on the floor, his mind void of thought.
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Howard sat in a small café staring intently at the block of flats opposite him. Red Hot Chilli Pepper's played softly in the back ground; Scar Tissue. Sweet irony he mused as he turned his gaze angrily to his tea and took a sip, the lyrics of the song boring into his brain. He'd been sat in the café window for nearly two hours now attempting to mentally prepare himself for the big leap towards Vince's flat. It was only twenty minutes ago he'd finally admitted to himself that he was a complete coward and no amount of mental preparation was going to give him the courage to walk over there. He was a prat and an idiot and, and, and he didn't know what but when he thought of something he was that too.
He finished his tea and left some euros on the table in front of him before grabbing his coat and walking from the café. When on the pavement outside he looked at the main door to the flats. His chest swelled with a heavy sigh. Bollocks to this. With that thought he crossed the road and walked up to the flat doors. He looked at the intercom and scanned the letters. He'd looked at the piece of paper with Vince's address scribbled onto it so many times he didn't need to refer to it to see which button was the right one to his flat. His eyes rested on the letter E and he took another deep breath. He realised that his hands were sweaty and cold, never a comfortable feeling. Wiping them on his corduroy trousers nervously, he raised his hand to the button and poised his index finger just in front of the E, but it was no use, he couldn't do it, he couldn't move his finger that centimetre forwards to press the button in, all he succeeded in doing was making his hand shake furiously.
Cursing himself he lowered his hand from the intercom and ran his fingers through his hair attempting to steady himself. He took a deep breath and nearly jumped out of his clothes when he heard a smashing coming from one of the windows above him. As he looked up he heard the sound of more smashing and an enormous thud as something heavy hit the ground and broke. He then heard a sound that chilled him to the bone; it was the distinct and terrifying sound of a trumpet being hit with a hammer, the sort of shrill cry a trumpet makes when played by a beginner, but ten times more chilling. Howard made a grab for his heart and took a few steps away from the building to see if he could find the window the disturbing noise was coming from.
As he looked up from the edge of the curb the noises stopped, much to his relief. But as his gaze scanned the third floor windows a vinyl record flew from the window on the right of the one he was looking at and broke on the floor by his feet. As Howard looked at the pieces his face fell and he let out a small cry. It was a rare, one of a kind edition of the great jazz musician 'Jimmy Jefferson', an album he himself had once owned, that lay shattered at his feet. As the undeniable truth set in to Howard's brain he let out a high pitched scream and threw his hands into the air.
"WHHYYY!!" His voice echoed around the street and the passers by that hadn't been staring at the noises coming from the flat window were now all staring at Howard. As the screaming dulled and he ran out of breath, Howard fixed his eyes on the window from where the vinyl had come and glared at it with such force he half expected the building to fall down. As daggers flew from his eyes a figure appeared in the window and all the fury left his face.
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Tears mixed with blood fell down Vince's cheeks as he stood at the window of his flat staring down at the man that had eluded him all these years. What's he doing here? Why did he have to come? Why now Howard? Why now? He walked away from the window, backing into the living room until his back hit the wall. He looked to his left and saw his reflection in the enormous mirror that reached from the floor to the ceiling. His fingers were covered in tiny cuts from the various objects he'd smashed over the past few minutes. After the crying had finished and he'd just been sitting on his bed he felt an anger rising up from inside of him that he'd suppressed for so long. And in that moment he'd snapped and began destroying everything in his flat that reminded him of happier times. Howard's gramophone was in a hundred pieces littered over the living room floor, most of his jazz records had been smashed on the floor if not thrown from the window. His trumpet lay broken on the ground amongst a pile of broken wood where Vince had taken a hammer to the trumpet and the table it rested on and smashed the lot to pieces. Everything of Howard's lay in tatters across Vince's flat. What have I done?
The intercom buzzed and caused Vince to jump slightly and clutch at his heart.
"Vince?" The voice was crackled and slightly mechanised, but it was definitely Howard's voice coming through the loud speaker on the white phone by the door. He made a run for the phone, every fibre of his body wanting Howard to come to the flat and tell him everything was alright, that he was there for him, there to stay. But as he reached the phone he didn't pick up the receiver. He just stared at the speaker, hoping Howard would speak again. "Vince. I know you're there, I saw you." Tears welled up in Vince's eyes. You didn't see me the other night. A hand reached at his neck thoughtlessly and brushed the cut on his throat, the scab rough against his fingers. "Vince, please. I'm… I'm sorry."
Vince fell to his knees, his face in his hands, and sobbed quietly. He reached up to the phone and pulling it off its stand, placed it against his ear. After a couple of sniffles he spoke.
"Howard?" At first there was silence and Vince thought that he'd walked away, but then his reply came.
"Can I come up?" Vince took a deep breath and scanned the destruction that covered his flat.
"Now's not really a good time." There was silence for a few moments before Howard replied.
"Yeah, I heard the crashing. Been clearing out some old things? Nearly got hit by one of those vinyl's you know." A forced sort of laugh came through the ear piece and Vince silently cursed himself, hanging his head guiltily. He didn't want Howard to witness that outburst, he didn't even mean the outburst to happen, it just sort of did. There was silence on both ends of the phone which lasted only a few minutes, but both men waited with bated breath for the other to speak. Taking a deep breath Vince opened his mouth, hoping the words would just come spilling out, but he was interrupted by a weary and defeated sounding Howard.
"Look, if you really don't want me here, I'll leave." He could practically hear Howard's heart breaking down the phone, but he just sat on the floor with his mouth open, unable to find the right words that would make everything better, mainly because they didn't exist. "Its alright, I understand." His voice permeated Vince's thoughts once again as he strained to hear the strangled whispers echoing through the phone, the distinct sound of a man trying desperately to stop himself from crying.
Vince's own tears welled in his eyes and he put the phone back on the hook, cancelling the call. Taking a deep breath he pushed himself up from the floor and brushing himself down quickly he pushed the buzzer to open the security doors, outside which Howard stood, head in hand, tears cascading down his face, salty stains on his shirt.
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The scene where Vince started breaking Howard's things I wanted to add just a touch of humour as my story was lacking it and I felt bad for Howard and Vince and all the pain I'm putting them through lol. Reviews welcome and all that jazz (no pun intended, although I am seriously thinking of going to jazz clubs and growing a moustache, the latter being slightly harder what with me being a woman and all…) 'Til chapter 7, hazah!