EPILOGUE
Your Soul You Must Keep Totally Free
The next evening found Howard and Vince in positions similar to the ones they'd been in the week before: the younger man had barricaded himself in the bathroom for a worryingly unnatural amount of time while the older man waited impatiently outside. The difference was that this time, Vince wasn't getting ready to go out.
"Come on, Little Man, what are you doing in there?" Howard asked, for what was surprisingly the first time that half hour. The room had been completely silent for an unnerving period, and the lack of hairdryer drone was deeply confusing.
"I'm… I'll be out in a bit, yeah?"
"That's what you said forty minutes ago. I'm coming in."
"No, Howard, it's not done yet!" Vince cried, sounding desperately insecure for once. The plea did nothing, however; Howard opened the door without hesitation, took a step in, and stared at the man in front of him. Vince smiled at him sheepishly, apparently having just been caught standing in front of the mirror for an undetermined amount of time. But this wasn't the cause of embarrassment; he'd been caught doing that enough. It was what he'd done beforehand. His long, meticulously layered black hair was shortened and lightened. The dirty blonde feather-cut had returned. "Alright?" he asked, his voice small and weak, as if he'd been seen stealing money.
Howard could only stare at the piles of black hair littered on the floor and at the modge podge of dye and products scattered across the counters. His mind reeled, failing to think of any reasonable motive for Vince Noir to alter such a great percentage of his life.
His sudden taciturnity worried Vince, who immediately felt twenty times more unsure of himself than before. "Alright?" he repeated. "Does it not… look okay? I know my face has changed a bit since I last rocked this out, but I figured… do you not like it?"
"No, of course I do," Howard replied, regaining his ability to form coherent sentences. "It's just… I'm getting flashbacks, sir."
Vince laughed, clearly relieved. "Flashbacks?" he asked. "Are you a war veteran?"
"You bet, Little Man. I was a brave sergeant back in the Great Zoo Wars."
"The Zoo Wars? Go on, then. Tell me all about them." Vince had to try hard to keep the giddiness out of his voice. He'd missed this. Building up the Jenga Jokes with absolutely no tension. How could they not do this every day?
"Well," began Howard, clearly racking his brain for any improvisational bullshitting gold, "it was a long time ago, Vince. It all started with a small conflict when the berks down at the London Zoo infiltrated our perimeters and kidnapped the dashing Tommy Nookah. Now, Tommy was the bravest of the brave, the fittest of the fit, the-"
"Yeah, can you get on with it?"
"Sorry. Anyway, Nookah was valuable, and we'd suddenly lost him. Howard Moon wasn't about to stand by and let his mentor be taken, no sir, so I confronted the ever-ignominious General Bainbridge. 'General', I'd said, 'General Bainbridge! You've gotta do somethin'; Tommy's been kidnapped!' And he said, 'Silence, you fool! If you want Tommy, you'll have to go to the London Zoo and get 'im out yourself!' You see, at this point, Dixon Bainbridge harbored an awful grudge against me. My mustache had put his to shame in the Great Mustache… Competition, and he'd never forgiven me. So once he'd finished crushing my hopes of retrieving Tommy easily, he ran off to the medical tent for an undoubtedly sensual sponge bath with Nurse Fossil."
Vince couldn't help but laugh at the petty gratification Howard was getting out of belittling their former nemesis.
"I took it upon myself, of course, as a man of action should," he continued. "That night, with a little help from Major Joey Moose, we broke into the London Zoo within the confines of a large wooden… cockerel. They thought it was just a gift, so they-"
"Hang on," interrupted Vince. "Wooden animal… capture of an important figure. Ain't this the story of the Trojan Man?"
"The Trojan Man is the logo for johnnies, Vince," Howard admonished.
"Well, you know what I mean! Come on now, Moon. That had a promisin' start, but then you started plagiarizing. Shame on you, Howard. Bainbridge could've pulled an original story right outta 'is mustache."
Howard looked around the room, as if for an escape, but, finding none, said, "How the hell do you know about Greek history?"
Vince smirked before admitting, "I went through your books last night after you fell asleep. I thought it'd freak you out a bit if I started bangin' on about mythology."
"Oh?" asked Howard, feigning offense. "Glad to see what privacy means to you, then, Little Man! If I ever catch you going through my stuff, I'll come at you fast and hard, like the dancing sand lizard, I'll-"
"I guess I should go through your stuff more often, then," said Vince, with a suggestive smile.
Howard felt himself blush, before remembering that it wasn't very manly of him, and then choked on his own words. "What?" he finally managed to ask.
Vince laughed and, without thinking, flung his arms around Howard's neck and drew him in. Contentedly resting his head against the older man's chest, he said, "I love you."
For once, Howard was happy for unexpected physical contact; it prevented Vince from seeing him blush even deeper than he had before. Thousands- no, millions would probably be more accurate- of 'I love yous' had been thrown into the air the previous day, as if making up for lost time, but the simple phrase would never cease to fill Howard with a certain youthfully foolish incredulity.
The preceding day had been the closest thing to perfection Howard had ever experienced. Following the departure of the Soul of Art, he and Vince had sat holding each other for hours, until they'd both fallen asleep right there on the floor. Howard had woken up much, much later to find Vince already conscious, not daring to move, staring at him intently.
"Christ, Vince, you nearly gave me a bleedin' heart attack!"he cried, taken off guard by the wide blue eyes fixed on him, and, more importantly, their surprisingly close proximity.
"Sorry, Howard, I was just…" Vince's voice trailed off, and suddenly he was clinging to his companion like a starfish to a rock, burying his face into his side once more. "I kept thinkin' that you wouldn't wake up," he managed to say. "I know that sounds stupid, but… I was worried. No adventure of ours has ever been solved jus' by explaining to the bad guy what happened; it seemed too easy."
Howard smiled, for once relishing in how honest his friend was being. "But he isn't really the bad guy, is he?"
"Yeah, he was."
"He's helping me, Vince. He has good intentions but goes about them in an unorthodox way."
"He almost took you from me. He's the bad guy," Vince stated, matter-of-factly. "I mean, what would I have done if… you made me, Howard. Not literally, of course, 'cuz that'd be well weird, but you made me into me, yeah?" When a few moments of smiled-through silence passed, Vince felt a surge of affection and kissed his best friend for the second time that night, quickly but with overwhelming passion, and said, "Oh, an'… I love you, too."
Howard had dreamed of hearing those words from Vince for years, and the instance had always been in some uncharacteristically romantic, sentimental, articulate speech. There were always tears, and kissing that put the film adaptations of those dreadfully trite Nicholas Sparks novels to shame, and selected pieces from Kenny G.'s 'Breathless' album would play softly to fit the gentle sway of the burning candle-light… never had he fantasized it being said in such a rushed and casual tone, and in such a morbid situation. But it was perfect in its imperfection, and Howard's preconceived, overly romantic notions were suddenly rendered stupid.
They spent the rest of the night on activities they always used to do, sans the Satsuma fights due to mutual exhaustion; there were crimping sessions and witty banter about the most miniscule of things; there were Colobos the Crab marathons and long talks about everything & nothing at all. Howard had fallen asleep on the couch, and, after acting out a fruitful invasion and perusal of his books, Vince grabbed a blanket and joined him there.
Unbeknownst to Howard, this was the very reason Vince had changed his beloved image. He'd felt like himself for the first time in years, and he figured he might as well look like himself, too. Besides, if Howard was going through great pains to change himself, then so would he.
Howard simply responded to this declaration by placing an awkward, timid kiss on the top of Vince's head and shyly inching himself out of the increasingly tight embrace. It was going to take a long time for him to get over his fear of affection, but his main incentive at the moment was to simply secure said time in the first place. Despite what he'd said about the Soul of Art helping him, he'd be perfectly content to avoid any future run-ins with the spirit.
Vince looked up at him with a knowing grin and asked, "The mess in here is botherin' you, innit?"
"Just a bit, yeah," Howard conceded, thankful for the change in topic.
The grin spread further across Vince's angled face, adding a dangerous glint to his eyes. "I'll promise to clean it all up quick-smart if you'll do somethin' for me."
"What?"
"I want you to paint me-"
"Yeah, I'm takin' a long hiatus from artwork, thank you very much."
"-wearing this," Vince concluded, pointing to the silver guitar pendant around his neck and slipping into what was meant to be a sensual American accent and tasteless movie reference. "Wearing only this."
Howard rolled his eyes and hid his intrigue very well behind his natural façade. "Pull the other one, yeah?" With that, he slipped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him in one fluid motion. "You're cleanin' up in there, Little Man!" he called from outside, just before barring the handle with a nearby chair to obviate any Noir escape attempts.
"Aw, come off it, Howard!"
"Clean up the hair!"
Although there was silence, Howard could've sworn he heard Vince sulking. "But…" the younger voice finally sounded, "I love you, remember?"
"That's a cheap shot, sir. Certainly won't get you out of cleaning up."
"But I do!"
Howard laughed despite himself, flooded with positive thoughts and two very new sensations that were more powerful than any of the shamanistic magic he'd encountered. If he'd had to have given them identities, he'd have guessed they were the first glimmers of hope and happiness. "I know you do. It was just a bit of a random thought to voice during the cleaning process," he said, after much internal debate. Then he added, "But I love you, too." Of course Howard could say it now. He could say anything from behind a closed door.
But the warm feeling that suffused him upon hearing Vince continue with his comically threatening complaints and attempts at escape & seduction told Howard that this wasn't just anything.
Do your worst, Soul of Art. Howard T.J. Moon is comin' atcha, full force.
A/N: Hopefully you all enjoyed the final installment! 'The Jenga Jokes' are very fun conversations to write; Howard's 'war story' could've gone on for ages. That'd be an interesting concept for a fic... 'Howard Moon's War-Time Delusions.'
Anyway, a huge, huge thank you to all of you faithful reviewers & readers; you guys kick incredible amounts of ass, and your feedback is *greatly* appreciated. This story has been both amazingly fun and emotionally draining to write, and you've made it well worth the effort.
Oh! And as requested by the wonderful Chalcedony Rivers, the full playlist for 'The Picture of Vincent Noir' is as follows:
1. Doll Parts- Hole
2. Very Ape- Nirvana
3. Paint It, Black- The Rolling Stones
4. Disarm- Smashing Pumpkins
5. Hey- Pixies
6. Fool- Cat Power
7. Brothers on a Hotel Bed- Death Cab for Cutie
8. Crown of Thorns- Mother Love Bone
9. Indifference- Pearl Jam
10. You- Candlebox
11. Ashamed- Deer Tick
12. Through My Sails- Neil Young
13. Wild Horses- The Rolling Stones
14. Soul to Squeeze- Red Hot Chili Peppers
15. Some Devil- Dave Matthews
16. Awake My Soul- Mumford & Sons