A/N: Well, I can't really say a lot about this one. Just that, once again, I'm sorry :(

Disclaimer: I do not own The Boosh.

Howard's POV

I woke up later that night, having gone to bed a bit too early and interrupted my sleeping patterns. My thoughts soon turned to Vince again. He was back now, back from the clutches of Finley. I was more happy than I could express, but I couldn't help but think that it would all become awkward after Vince's revelation earlier. I didn't understand how he could ever love me. Why would he? He was an example of the perfection people weren't sure existed. I knew it did because I had stared at him so often. But that was just because he was nice to look at. Not because I loved him. Not like that. I didn't know why he would want a freaky 'musician' anyway. Besides, we had known each other for far too long to consider a relationship. We knew everything about one another, including all the annoying and embarrassing things. It would never work. But I did wonder sometimes, what it would be like if we did go that little bit further. Ever since we'd kissed on the roof, I'd questioned myself and what I was. Even so. It wouldn't ever work. Not in a million years. I kept telling myself this as I dozed off again.

I was woken at about midnight by a loud thud. I frowned and switched on the light, but couldn't see anything from where I was. I stood up and walked towards the centre of the room. Whatever it was, it was in the corner. Suddenly I could see clearly, and my eyes took in several things at once. Blood. A blade. Paper. Vince. Vince.

"Vince!" I shouted, rushing over to him. There was no response. He lay on the floor in an uncomfortable position, t-shirt sleeves rolled up to his shoulders. His wrists were slashed in several places. I panicked immediately.

"Oh, no. Oh god. Vince, wake up. Wake up!" I shook him. He was limp. But still breathing. Just. "Help!" I yelled as loudly as I could, not caring who I woke, not caring who found out we were here. I shouted again, and Jane came running through to our room.

"Oh my god! What happened?" She gasped.

"What does it look like? Call an ambulance!"

"But they'll know we're here. Can't we just-"

"No! Please, do it, now!" she nodded, took her phone from her pocket and dialled 999. I tried to check Vince's pulse on his neck. I couldn't feel anything. I tried again, attempting to stay calm. I felt a slow, weak beat beneath my fingers. I held his hand, carefully.

"Come on, Vince. Stay with me. I need you. Keep breathing, keep breathing." I looked down at his wrists, still dripping blood. I realised I needed to try to staunch the flow. So I picked up my discarded jacket and pressed it to the wounds on his left wrist. Jane rushed over.

"The ambulance'll be about ten minutes." she said.

"Great. Now put pressure on his other arm."

"What with?"

"Anything!" she took off her dressing gown and did as I asked. It seemed like an age until two paramedics rushed into the room with a stretcher.

"Alright, we'll take over from here." One said. I backed off as they tried to patch him up a little. Then they loaded him onto the stretcher.

"Can I come with him in the ambulance?" I asked them.

"Are you direct family, sir?"

"Not exactly."

"Then I'm afraid not. You'll have to follow behind."

"But-"

"Sorry, those are the rules."

"Right. I won't be long." They nodded, picked up the stretcher and started down the stairs. Jane was standing in the corner, chewing her nails, looking scared.

"D'you think he'll be alright?" she asked.

"I don't know. I need to follow them. Are you coming?"

"No. I'm sorry. Hospitals scare me."

"I think after this they'll scare me." I picked up my keys, put some shoes on and made for the door. But something caught my eye. A piece of paper on the floor, its edge close the puddle of blood. I picked it up. It was folded over and over. And it had my name on it in Vince's skinny, scruffy handwriting. I pocketed it and ran down the stairs, out the back door and to the van. We hadn't used it for months, and I just prayed that there was enough petrol left to get me to the hospital.

When I arrived at the hospital, they wouldn't let me in until I filled out a form. It was about Vince, any health conditions he had, and any next of kin. I knew that wasn't a good sign. It meant they thought he could die. Eventually, they showed me through to a waiting area. I asked a doctor if I could go in.

"I'm afraid we're busy working on him now." He said.

"Well, how is he?" I asked.

"The signs are not wonderful, but he seems to be improving. He needs a blood transfusion. Those cuts were very deep."

"Yeah. I thought he might."

"Do you know if the wounds were... Self-inflicted?" I took a deep breath.

"Almost definitely. He's done it before. The scars on his left arm... That's where they've come from."

"And none of you reported this or sought medical help?"

"Look, Doctor, we've just been doing our best to survive. We've had probably the worst six months of our lives. It wasn't something that crossed our minds."

"Alright. If you take a seat, we'll keep you updated." I nodded and sat down on one of the uncomfortable metal chairs. I was still holding my blood-stained jacket. I put it down on the seat beside me and put my head in my hands. Was this my fault? For telling Vince that I didn't feel that way for him? Drugs were one thing; attempting suicide was another matter. And the way he was going, looked like he might manage it. But I couldn't feel it. I knew there was pain. I was numb. It felt like nothing mattered anymore. I was so sad and desperate that it hurt, but only in my head. Not in reality. And reality was what mattered... Wasn't it? I wasn't too sure anymore. I sat up straight and something crackled in my pocket. Vince's note. I pulled it out and unfolded it. It wasn't good paper; more the sort you get in children's exercise books, that soaks up ink and makes it bleed. But he'd used biro. Decent pens were never seen in the squat; they were too pretentious for the artists. I found the start of the scrawl and began to read.

Dear Howard, I wanted to address this to everyone, but not everyone will care. Finley certainly won't. I barely know anyone else. Maybe Alena will care, a bit. But apart from her, it'll just be you, Howard. I know you'll care, because you promised you would. So this is just for you. Don't let anyone else read it. This is between you and me. If you're reading this note anyway, I'm either gone or so close it won't matter. And it's better that way. For me and you. I'm better off not living in a world where everything's so uncertain; whether you can trust someone, whether they'll hurt you, whether you'll live to see tomorrow. And you're better off not having to watch me all the time, making sure I'm okay, trying to keep me safe. Keeping me safe is like shutting the stable door after the horse has run. By the time you realised, Howard, I already might as well have been dead. Everything just went downhill from there. I said to myself, I'm walking the line. And then I crossed it. I guess I should explain why I did it, really. I know you'll want to know. And I know you'll be blaming yourself, too. Don't, Howard. You telling me you didn't love me like that, it hurt. But it wasn't why I did it. It might have been the trigger. Maybe that was what made all the past pains come back and overwhelm me. But it wasn't my reason. You've never given me a reason to think I was unwanted. You've always been there as my friend and you've never given up on me, even right up to tonight. To the very end. I'm glad I came back. I hope I spent my last moments with you. That's how it should be. And there are memories that I remembered as I wrote this that I want you to remember as you read it. Like when I saved you from monkey hell by giving the ape of death a perm. Or when you entered my bloodstream to kill off the jazz cell. We've saved each other so many times. And remember that time when we kissed on the roof, just so the head shaman didn't kill us? And everything went a bit weird, a bit wrong. Maybe if it had gone right, none of this would've happened. Maybe we'd be back in the flat, bored out of our minds, moaning about something or other. Maybe you and I could have gone somewhere. The point is, Howard, I can't see an end to the pain, not if I just leave it. So I decided to end it myself. And why not just take a lot of drugs, overdose, kill myself the easy way? Well, it's the pain. When I cut, I turn mental pain into physical pain, into something real. And I needed the release that gave me one last time. So I'm going to ask you something now. If you hold a funeral, don't let the church get too involved. They've had fuck all to do with my life and they'll have fuck all to do with my death. I want everyone to wear bright colours and carry lilies. Play Heroes by David Bowie, and make sure people aren't sharing sadness, they're sharing happy memories. I don't want this part of my life to be remembered. And lastly, make sure you tell Naboo. But not Bollo. He'll be sad. Let Naboo deal with him. Finally, Howard; I just want to say this. I love you, I really, truly do. I hope you remember me, and I hope you don't blame me for wanting to get away. If it was you, I don't know how I would live. But you're sensible. You know how to get over bad things and just carry on. Maybe you just ignore the pain. I don't know. But try. For me, try to carry on. Get out of the squat, take Alena and report the rest of them to the police. All the spare money is still stashed under the mattress. I've been leaving any I had spare for you. Then see if you can find Naboo. He'll know what to do. I'm sorry for leaving you, Howard. And I never forgot what you told me. I am the sunshine kid. I always will be, YOUR sunshine kid. So when the sun warms you up, I'll be there. Never forget what we had, Howard. Because it was perfect.

All my love, Vince xxxxxxxx

I stared and stared at the note, until the black marks of the biro blended into the white paper and I was left looking at an overwhelming greyness. He'd said so much I didn't know where to start. I didn't know what to think. He'd said that I was the trigger. I sent everything downhill for the final time. But he told me not to blame myself. I was full of guilt. And yet Vince said I shouldn't be. I didn't know what to do anymore. In the end, I screwed up the piece of paper and shoved it back in my pocket. I stared at the blank wall, glancing at my watch every three minutes. Time passed, and I felt myself dozing off once again into fitful sleep...

I jerked awake at once when I heard the metallic click of a door opening. I sat up straighter, nervous, as another doctor, a woman this time, walked over.

"How is he?" I asked, noting that there was weak light coming in the window in the corner.

"He's unconscious, but stable. With any luck, there won't be any lasting effects; just a few scars." she assured me. I couldn't muster up the energy to smile.

"Can I go and see him?" I asked.

"I'm afraid not, sir. Only family are allowed in until he wakes up."

"Please." I begged. "I'm almost family to him. I'm all he's got now. He's been going through some hard times recently, and I wasn't always there. I want to be there for him now." The doctor looked at me and sighed.

"Alright then. Ten minutes. That's all."

"Thank you." She led me into the private room where Vince had been placed, and closed the door. I sat down in the plastic chair near the bed and took his hand in mine. His arms were covered in bandages from his wrists to his elbows, and he looked even paler than normal. But he was warm, and he was breathing. And he was alive. That was all that mattered. I thought I should speak, say something profound, tell him how I felt about his note. But that could wait until he woke up. Instead, I kept my mouth shut. I held his hand and I looked at him and I thought about how lucky I was not to have lost him. He didn't know how important he was. After twenty minutes, the doctor came back in.

"Come on." she said gently. "You've had more than your time. Go and get yourself a drink, something to eat. We'll tell you when he wakes up, and then you can come back, okay?" I nodded slowly and placed his hand down gently, where it almost blended in with the white bedcovers. I glanced back one last time as I walked out the door, wondering. Wishing. Most of all, waiting.

AAaargh. That was horrible to write. Hopefully it was slightly less horrible to read.

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