A/N: Oh, look, I'm updating this one and not return of the boosh. I'M SORRY! I decided last week that Thursday should be my day for updating it, and then never did it. So this Thursday, I'm updating TWO chapters of Return of the Boosh. Just to make up for the wait and the fact that I keep saying I'll update it and then don't. Anyway. I wrote this chapter at two in the morning as well, but I've checked over it about seven times, so it should be okay. Should being the operative word. Some things are going to come out in this chapter. I hope you like it :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even the photos from Berlin I'm using to inspire me (My camera broke so I had to borrow someone else's.)

Vince's POV

I felt bad for having abandoned Howard, but I needed to get out. I had told him all I could the day before, and I didn't need him pestering me for information. Slowly, I was growing less close to Howard, even though nothing seemed to have changed for him. I knew that it was because of Finley. I was hanging around with him more and more. At first it had been because I needed to be popular and cool. Now it was because I couldn't stop. To tell the truth, Finley scared me. I had never understood how he came to be in charge of the artists. He was of average height, with average brown hair, average brown eyes, and a below-average dress sense. Nothing marked him out as a leader until he turned that horrible grin on you. He was scary. He had threatened and frightened his way to the top. And he wouldn't leave me alone. I couldn't talk to him without my voice shaking; I couldn't stand near him without feeling a chill. As soon as I got to know him properly, my mind started screaming: 'Serial killer! Get the fuck out of there!' But it was too late by then. I had told Howard I was in too deep, and it wasn't a lie. But I wasn't hanging about with Finley today; I didn't think I could take it. Instead, I opened the back door, walked out into the courtyard, and left the squat behind. I wandered aimlessly for a while, not knowing or caring where I ended up. It was a little too cold outside for mid-September, and I was glad I had remembered my jumper. I stared at the floor, but got a lot of stares from passers-by. I realised that I hadn't taken my eyeliner off the night before, or even shaved for a few days. I probably looked like a homeless person. Although, when I thought about it, that was what I was. The squat may have been a place to stay, but it wasn't a home.

It was dark by the time I returned, and I was tired. I didn't want to go up to the room until I was sure Howard was asleep, though. So I went to the back of the building and into the garden. The bonfire was still burning, so at least I would be warm. It wasn't until I got close that I realised there was already someone sitting on the bench in front of it.

"Who's that?" I asked quietly.

"Who do you think?" Came the reply.

"Oh. Hey, Howard."

"Hi."

"Can I join you?"

"If you like." I climbed over the bench and sat down next to him. He didn't turn to look at me.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Not much."

"Oh. Okay."

"Where have you been all day, Vince?" He finally looked at me, and I could see how worried he was. Instantly, a pang of guilt hit me.

"I'm sorry. I was out. Just walking."

"What were you walking from?" The question took me by surprise. But of course Howard would know I was trying to escape. He knew me too well.

"Everythin'." I replied vaguely, trying to shake him off my tail. He sighed.

"Look, Vince. I know there's something wrong other than what you told me the other night. You don't have to tell me what it is right now, but I'd like to know. Sometime soon. I just want to help you."

"I know you do, Howard." I looked away from him and into the fire. The orange light dazzled me and seemed to burn into my brain. "I'm just not sure you can help this time." I saw him nod slowly out of the corner of my eye.

"Okay. Will you still tell me?"

"Not now. Maybe soon."

"Thank you." I didn't answer, just stayed staring at the fire, watching the sparks drift into the air and disappear. Howard put a hand on my arm.

"Come here." He hugged me, taking me by surprise. He never started the hug. It was always me.

"I thought you didn't like touchin' people." I said.

"In a place like this, it's hard to avoid. Every time Finley calls one of his stupid meetings, I'm jostled by twenty people. Some things you can get over. That was one of them."

"Oh." I pulled away from the hug and looked at him. He was now staring into the flames. I slowly lay down on the bench so that my head was on his leg, facing the fire, trying to get comfortable after a day of walking around the city. He looked down at me, surprised, but didn't say anything. His hand moved to my head and he started stroking my hair. I let him. It was comfortable to be closer to him than usual now. Now, when I needed him most, Howard had finally let up. I was grateful for that. If he messed up my hair, so what? He knew how to comfort me. Still I stared at the bonfire, but when I broke my gaze, I looked up at Howard. He was looking at me already. I smiled as best I could, and he returned it.

"Howard?" I said.

"What's up, little man?"

"I've broken my promise, ain't I?"

"What?"

"I promised to look after you, and I haven't. You're looking after me, though."

"No, Vince. You've never broken your promise. I haven't needed looking after yet. And I bet that if I do, you'll be there."

"Yeah. I will. But I hope I never need to be."

"I know. I know."

In the end, Howard said:

"It's getting late. I think we should go to bed." I sat up and replied:

"You go. I want to stay out here for a bit." He hesitated, frowning as I tried to avoid his gaze. But eventually, he nodded, patted me on the back, and walked away. I let out a deep breath. I felt strange. Like I never had before. I was walking a line; I could feel it beneath my feet. The line between sanity and madness; between normality and depression; between life and death. My life was changing like it never had before, and not for the better. It had escalated so quickly. A month ago, I'd been worried, but settling in well. And then Finley poked his nose in, and everything broke. Shattered. My life was lying in pieces around me. The only thing I still had, the only bond with reality I hadn't broken, was my friendship with Howard. He was all I had left, apart from the routine. Day after day, the mindless drone of the artists, the endless cycle of forcing a painting and selling it and buying what I needed, all that was keeping me alive. The weed kept me calm and stopped me losing it completely. For a while, anyway. The comedowns were awful. But again, Howard was there. When I cried, I tried not to let him hear; I didn't want to make him worry. But when he'd heard me the night before, he just wanted to make sure I was okay. And it killed me knowing that I was just being cruel. I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. I didn't want to think. When I looked up at the window, the light was out, so I took it that Howard was asleep and it was safe for me to go to bed. When I got to the room, I found out that I was right. I got undressed and climbed under the covers on my mattress. But I couldn't sleep. A memory came to me, the memory of a few weeks before, when they'd persuaded me to try it out...

Alena was showing me a few of her paintings, huge bright canvases full of odd polygons and Picasso-esque cubes. I was impressed, but I kept quiet about my own, small, messy paintings. Suddenly, there was a flurry of activity as three other artists came in, led by Finley. They sat in a circle on the floor, and Alena pulled me over to join them. Just my luck, I ended up next to Finley. I tried not to look at him, so didn't realise what he was fiddling about with at first. Then I saw paper and a lighter flame, so I assumed it was just a roll-up. And then it was on fire, smouldering leaves giving off a smell that made me feel sick. Finley took a puff and passed it to the person on his right. It travelled around the circle until it reached Alena. She tried to pass it on to me. I shook my head.

"No way. That's really bad for you." I said.

"Oh, come on, Vince." she replied scathingly. "Man up. It won't do you any harm, will it?"

"Well..."

"And besides," Finley whispered from behind me, "There's more where that came from. Come on, Vincey. Get it down you." He leered at me, and I took the spliff, mainly to make him stop. I took a deep puff and passed it back to him, shuddering all the while. And the process began again.

Half an hour later, I was bouncing off the walls, happier than I'd ever been. I felt like I could keep going for hours. Finley offered more throughout the day, and I happily accepted. But it started to get to me, and I have to rely on Howard's account of what happened after ten o clock. Apparently I stormed into the room and started smashing stuff up, pulling the little wooden chair to pieces and punching a hole in a nearly-finished canvas. I then flopped down on the bed and fell asleep immediately. Howard didn't know what was happening, so he left me, tried to tidy up what I'd done, and hoped it was just alcohol. That's what I told him it was. Better to live a lie than to die, that's what Naboo said. I wasn't convinced.

So. Now is where shit starts to go down. And where I start updating less because my ideas suck/are gone. Reviews would be perfect, my friends :)