Howard had seen Gary Numan perform live several times - at Vince's insistence of course - and had enjoyed the man's music more than he'd ever admit to Vince, but he could never reconcile the electro legend, prowling around the stage and owning the crowd, with the softly spoken man who wore understated t-shirts and was like an uncle who was kindly but always thoroughly confused by Vince's affection, enthusiasm and constant conversation. All Howard knew was that he'd been Vince's neighbour when Vince was a boy and that the two kept in contact in a vague and strange sort of way.

When Howard had called Gary Numan at six am on a Monday morning to stammer about Vince being in hospital he hadn't expected the man to do much. He certainly hadn't expected to find himself sitting in a hospital cafeteria an hour later, a mug of tea steaming in his hands while he struggled to stay awake and alert enough to hear what Gary had to say.

"I'm not sure how much you know," he said slowly, looking over Howard cautiously. "And I'm not sure of everything that happened to him after he went in to care... but Vince... didn't have the best start in life, if you know what I mean."

Howard nodded. He'd assumed Vince'd had a difficult upbringing based on his tendency to lie and make excuses whenever he thought he was in trouble but it was just another thing they'd never spoken about.

"His dad beat him. And his mum. It wasn't pretty."

Gary's voice was soft but blunt and Howard found himself leaning in to hear the man's words more clearly.

"I called the police on them a few times but they always denied it. Then when Vince was nine he ended up in this place with his eye and nose all messed up. I don't know what happened exactly but... it ruined his vision."

"Detached retina," Howard offered and Gary nodded solemnly.

"Sounds about right. The family got a visit from social services but nothing changed. It used to make me so mad. My wife and I, when we were first married, we struggled so much to have children, and the monsters next door used theirs as a punching bag. And Vince was such a sweet kid, weird but sweet. I gave him a little electric keyboard for his birthday one year and he hugged me every time he saw me for about a month afterwards. He's still a sweet kid."
Howard nodded. This was all news to him but he'd seen the keyboard, old and battered but loved more than even the Nicky Clarke crimpers. He took a sip of his tea and looked up at Gary, willing him to continue.

"One night I heard screaming. It was horrible and I was pretty sure it was Vince. I called the police and they came eventually and broke down the door and found him... His mum had topped herself. Kitchen knife. But not before she took that bastard of a husband to hell with her. Vince found them. He was ten, I think. Ten years old. Can you even imagine? And when the police turned up he bolted. I found him a week later hiding behind the bins at the end of our street. His eye'd gone funny again, was horrible. He got put into care but for the first year he wasn't too far away and I made sure he had a way to get in touch with me if he ever needed to. He'd call from time to time - when he was particularly miserable - or when he wanted to tell me about you. I'm glad you called me today. Thank you."

Howard took another swallow of tea as the information settled in. It sounded horrific, worse than he could have imagined, and he had no idea how to respond to Vince in light of this. He hadn't told Howard about it, which probably meant that he didn't want Howard to know and he had no idea why all of this had suddenly surfaced.

"I didn't know who else to call," he mumbled into his mug. "I had no idea about his parents. He doesn't have any other family that I know of..."

"He has you."

"What?"

Howard looked up at the older man. Gary wore his usual, unreadable expression and in his sleep deprived state it was especially unnerving.

"He has you," Gary repeated.

"But I'm just a mate," Howard argued. "I'm not anyone important."

"You're everything. I don't think Vince would be here if it weren't for you."

"What?"

"Well, he wasn't exactly a stable teenager, was he? But he stuck with you. You're good for him."

Howard gaped.

"What?"

"You say that a lot," Gary chuckled quietly. He climbed to his feet slowly and stuck his hands in his pockets, giving Howard an understated smile.

"I'm going up to check on Vince, then I'll head off. I'll check on him again tomorrow. Call me if you need anything else and... figure things out, yeah? Bye."

Howard watched him go, his mind blank through sheer panic. Did Gary know about them, about what they'd been doing? Did he think they were - an item?

It was laughable, Howard tried to tell himself. They were sleeping together but they weren't a couple, far from it. Except that they kind of were, he knew. Everyone said so.

The problem was, Howard wasn't sure that he fancied Vince. They were friends and he loved him as a friend and put up with his idiocy and knew that he didn't function properly as an adult without Vince by his side, but he wasn't sure if that was enough. The ssss - he tried to say it in his head and failed - was amazing, better than he'd ever imagined possible, and he would quite like to try it sober some day, and without the need to keep it a secret. He'd quite like to stay and snuggle Vince afterwards and wake up in his bed the next morning, so that he could watch Vince wake up like he used to do at the zoo. He'd quite like to kiss Vince and show the world that while they were all pining away for the amazing Vince Noir he, Howard Moon, had an all access pass. He wanted to take care of Vince and hold his secrets for him and grow old with him.

And maybe... that was love...

Somehow Howard had thought there'd be more romance. He thought he'd fall in love and it would actually feel like falling. He thought there would be a dramatic rush like plummeting from a cliff top at midnight, but being with Vince, the way he felt now, that had been more like rolling lazily down a grassy hillside in springtime.

And perhaps that was just as good, or better.

That still left the whole issue of him not being gay. Howard pressed the heels of his palms into his tired eyes and tried to sort it out. He didn't feel gay. He didn't feel bisexual. Then again, he didn't know how it was supposed to feel when one was gay. He'd always assumed that people either felt gay or straight. Howard wasn't sure that he felt anything, and that was a depressing thought. He found women arousing - in a general sort of way - but he'd seen men that were pretty darn arousing too, which was confusing. He tried to think back to people he'd found attractive over the years. They were generally thin, with big eyes and crooked noses and pale skin and... oh.

Howard dragged himself from his chair and back down the corridor towards the lifts, realisations tumbling out of his head so fast he worried he might trip over them.

Every person he'd ever fancied had looked like Vince, and it had been their Vinceness which had attracted him. Even Mrs Gideon. He'd pined after her milky skin and prominent nose and loved the way her glasses magnified her eyes. It was all Vince. Even before he'd inadvertently planted the thought of the two of them together Howard had been, subconsciously, lusting for his best mate.

He got into the lift, thankful that it was empty, and leaned heavily against the wall. He didn't feel gay, or straight. Maybe he was bisexual after all but maybe, he thought, maybe it was just Vince. He took a deep breath to stop the torrent of emotion that was threatening to burst forth and suddenly realised that he felt like he was about to fall.

And then he was. But not his body.

He'd done the slow roll into affection with Vince, until their lives were so intertwined that there was really only one life and the love that was woven through that was comfortable and safe and easy. But now he was falling, and it was exhilarating and frightening and made him want to vomit. This definitely felt like falling in love, really falling in love, rather than a crush or lust. Howard wondered whether he should buy Vince some roses, or a teddy bear or a balloon or chocolates, something to show that he'd finally caught up. He needed a gesture.

He licked his lips nervously and then remembered. He remembered the way Vince had licked his lips as they'd had ssss, as they'd ... made love. He thought of the desperate way the smaller man had gasped and the red shine of those lips as he'd forced himself not to push forward and kiss Howard. He thought of the way those lips and trailed across his neck and jaw and cheek, desperately searching, wanting, giving and needing.

His breathing quick and uneven, Howard now knew what his gesture had to be. He shuffled from foot to foot, urgent to be back at Vince's bedside and then realised: the lift wasn't moving. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts of Vince that he hadn't pressed the floor he wanted. He groaned and jabbed the button several times, twitching and impatient. He'd finally figured things out and now there was no time to lose.