A/N: I wrote this at two in the morning, so I'm sorry if it's crap. Ideas strike at awkward times for me. Also, it's a little bit shorter than the last few have been, but the next one will be longer. Oh, and angst is setting in now. However, at least with this story I have some idea of what I'm doing; I sat down and wrote a plan for it yesterday. Although it did only consist of a sentence for each chapter. Ah well, it'll be fine, I hope. By the way, Return of the Boosh is on its way, it just took me a while to have a decent idea to work with. Should be here tomorrow. Enjoy this chapter :3

Disclaimer: I don't own anything! Please don't sue me, I've got so little to give! (See what I did there?)

Howard's POV

September was quick in arriving, and the nights began to draw in. It got colder too, and we used the spare money from selling Vince's paintings to buy extra blankets. We were lying in bed one night when I heard him take a sharp breath.

"Vince?" I asked. "You alright?" There was silence for a second and he took another, shakier breath.

"Yeah. I'm fine." He choked. I sat up and flicked on the light (the artists had illegally rerouted electricity from a nearby building). Vince pulled the blanket over his head.

"Turn it off." he groaned.

"Are you crying?" I asked. Vince shook his head. "Are you sure?" Another shake of the head. "What's wrong? I asked.

"Just leave it, Howard. I'm fine."

"You aren't."

"Howard!" He removed the blanket, revealing his red rimmed eyes. "Leave me alone!"

"Alright." I held my hands up in surrender. "Sorry I asked." I switched the light off again. I heard Vince turn over, then nothing. It was making me uncomfortable.

"Listen," I began, as gently as I could, "I'm just trying to look out for you. He didn't reply for a minute. Eventually, he quietly said:

"I know. I'm sorry."

"It's alright."

When I woke up the next morning, Vince wasn't there. I frowned. He was never up before me. I wondered if I was late, but when I checked my watch, it was only eight am. I got dressed and went to look for him. He wasn't on the balcony, or in any of the rooms on our floor. I thought that if anyone would know where he was, it would be Alena, so I headed down to the second floor. I found her sitting in the middle of the floor on her own, surrounded by biro drawings, a blank canvas in front of her. No one else was there. She looked up as I came in.

"Hi Howard." she said.

"Hi Alena. Have you seen Vince?"

"Oh, yeah. He's gone to help the others sell the artwork."

"Really?"

"Mm-hm. They left about half an hour ago."

"Oh. D'you know when they'll be back?"

"Not sure. Maybe lunchtime?"

"Oh."

"Haven't you noticed them going before?"

"Not really. We never took much interest, just handed the art over and left them to it. They always gave us the money."

"Mm. Do you want to join me for a bit?" I thought about it. Alena had never been hugely friendly with me, but at least she was civil. I went over and sat on the floor next to her.

"So, how are you?" I asked.

"Not too bad. I've got a good feeling about the painting I sent off today."

"Yeah? What was it a painting of?"

"Self-portrait with added cubism. It looked pretty good."

"Oh. Good."

"What kind of art do you do, Howard?"

"Um... I've never really been that artistic. Vince does the paintings." I admitted.

"Oh. Does he mind that you aren't providing for yourself?"

"Well... He's never said so before. Although, lately, he's being... Weird."

"In what way?"

"All sorts of ways, just little ways. I barely notice sometimes. Just the way he talks sometimes, the way he looks at me. The fact that he's too quiet when he should be loud. And last night, I swear he was... Crying."

"There's nothing wrong with crying."

"I know. But Vince never cries. Not like that. And he wouldn't tell me what was wrong. He told me to leave him alone."

"Howard, do you ever feel you might be taking him a little but for granted?"

"I... Not... Yeah. Sometimes."

"You have to remember that he's his own person. He might be having troubles that he'd be embarrassed to tell you about. You have to leave him to sort them out himself, try to help without interfering."

"Yeah. You're right. But Vince is different. He relies on me as much as I rely on him."

"Do you know that for sure though?"

"Without a doubt. We've always been a team. I left him on his own once and... Well, long story short, he got knocked out by a fox and it nearly killed us both." Alena looked at me strangely.

"Right. Angry fox?"

"Could say that."

"Well, I don't know, Howard. You obviously know him a lot better than I do. But I do know one thing about him. If you want him to tell you something, wait for him to come to you. He'll never tell you if you keep on at him."

"Yeah. I'll leave it for now. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Howard. Be careful."

"I will." I got up and left the room, before trooping up the stairs to ours. I looked around at the empty space. As I walked across the uncarpeted parts of the floor, my footsteps echoed in the empty space. I looked at the half finished canvas on the easel. Vince clearly hadn't completed it in time to sell. It looked as though he was trying to draw Elvis, and from the facial outlines it didn't look like he was doing a bad job. I sat down on the camp bed and stared at the blank wall. It was wrong. I didn't like living somewhere where nothing had our stamp on it. It was boring and sad. I spotted Vince's paint. He had recently bought some electric blue emulsion for something big he was planning. There was a large brush next to the tin, and it gave me an idea...

Vince walked into our room at eleven thirty and wrinkled his nose.

"Ugh, it stinks of paint in here." he said. "What have you been doin'?" I pointed to the wall, and he stared at the indelible mark I had made. I expected him to go mad at me for using his paint. But instead, he smiled.

"That's pretty cool, Howard." I had painted on the wall: 'Moon and Noir: Blank canvases are there to be filled!'

"Thanks." I replied. "How did your selling go?"

"Not too bad. Didn't get so much this week, but it was still okay."

"Good. Are you okay?" I inquired as casually as I could.

"I'm... Yeah. Fine."

"Great." I couldn't think of anything else to say, other than to ask him what was going on. So I stayed quiet, watching as he put the money under the mattress on the floor. As he straightened up, he suddenly said:

"Listen, Howard, I'm sorry I snapped at you last night. I just... I dunno. I've been feeling bad lately. Y'know, having to do all this art to provide for us. And I've never really worked before. I'm in over my head."

"I know. And I'm sorry I haven't been able to help you with the art."

"S'alright. I know you're the least arty person ever to come from Leeds."

"Yeah. And, you know, if you need someone to talk to, I'm always here."

"I know, Howard. You always are."

The next day, once again, Vince was gone when I woke up. I knew that this time he wasn't selling; they only went once a week. I remembered what Alena had said and left him to it, trying not to make him uncomfortable. I wanted him to tell me what was really wrong. I knew that what he had told me about the artwork and being in over his head was true. But I also knew it wasn't the full story. There was more in his eyes, like he wanted to tell me but didn't dare. I just wanted to comfort him, make him feel better, and turn him back into his old self. He was making it difficult, and I didn't want to lose him completely. So I lay back down on the camp bed, picking up my well-thumbed copy of To Kill a Mockingbird from underneath it. Distractedly, I began to read the book for the third time since we had arrived.

Howard's lonely :( I want to hug him.

Reviews would be absolutely genius ;) Much love x