If you read my stuff, you will probably know that this is my first slash fic. Thing is, I've had this idea in my head for ages (after reading a short story by Jilly Cooper called 'Johnny Casanova'. It's in the 'Lisa and Co' anthology if you want to read it yes Corrine I'll send it you if you wanna read it ; )) So yeah, what it's like to be in love with your best friend is basically the issue here.
I don't own the Boosh, (yet) so don't sue me.
By the way, the girl is just a girl, not a character from my fics. I just needed a girl to be Vince's girlfriend.
'You are my sweetest downfall'
I shouldn't have told him. I knew as the words were out of my mouth that I would regret it forever. I wanted to cram those stupid, horrible truthful words out of the air and stuff them back into my foolish mouth.
His whole body had gone rigid, as if I'd turned him to stone with my revelation. His eyes, when I finally met them, were cold as two points of ice, blue and unfeeling.
"What did you just say?" his voice was colder than the Artic Tundra.
I tried to speak, to say I was joking, anything to stop him looking at me like I didn't deserve to be alive. He seemed disgusted with me.
"I…" my strength failed me, but as it did, anger bubbled to the surface.
"What do you want me to say, hm? That I like her? That I hope you're happy together? Because I won't do it, I won't lie!" I moved closer to him, but he stood his ground. He was half a foot shorter than me but he managed to make me feel smaller with his waves of hatred radiating out at me.
Finally he spoke, his voice moderated, careful and slow.
"What is it with you and the girls I like? Are you jealous or something?"
He couldn't have been more right and more wrong. He meant was I jealous that he got the girls. No. I was jealous that they got him.
I'm not gay. Let's just get that down for a start. The fact that I'm head over heals in love with another guy doesn't mean I'm gay. I just love him. How the hell do I turn that off?
"Well then what the fuck? It makes no sense! Howard, for gods sake… has she done something? Has she said something bad… what is it?" His tone had softened, his body language had too. He reached out to touch my arm.
This was such a Vince thing to do, he didn't know that his touch was the thing I longed for most and the thing I knew I had to keep away from. So I moved out of reach of his hand, as if it was a dagger ready to cut out my heart. I suppose it was.
"It's just… something about her… I didn't mean to call her a bitch, look I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Vince." When I looked up his eyes were a soft cloud blue and he was looking at me with understanding.
He didn't understand me, how could he. All I wanted to do was kiss him- my best friend and I wanted to kiss him, I mean what kind of a freak was I?- and he thought he understood that I was jealous because I couldn't get a girlfriend.
"It's OK, I understand." He smiled at me knowingly.
For some reason I became angry. Why couldn't he see what was tearing me up inside? That every time he touched that girlfriend of his, every time she flicked her stupid blonde hair or twinkled her brown eyes at him, I just wanted to scream. Every time he said her name I winced like he'd pinched me. Every time he smiled because of her a piece of my wasted heart broke.
"No, you don't" I said simply.
"I do understand, look mate, its OK! Everyone goes through dry patches when they just don't connect with anyone, its normal." He grinned and patted my shoulder. Patronising bastard. And the fact that he cared so much just made my heart ache. I loved him so much, but he was a completely clueless idiot.
"No 'mate' you really don't understand" I stood up and walked over to the window, looking out onto the dark street.
"So tell me then! You don't tell me anything anymore Howard. You hardly talk to me…" His voice sounded so dejected. He couldn't understand that the only reason I didn't open up to him was that if I told him what was going inside he'd run a mile and it'd ruin our relationship forever.
He was still talking. "We're meant to be best friends and you just never talk to me! You act like I'm not there half the time, you don't understand that it hurts, do you? I don't even know what I've done…"
He sounded piteous and hurt. I wanted to hug him close and tell him it was OK that I'd love him always, I wanted to brush the unshed tears that I could hear from his voice were gathering, away from his baby blue eyes and I wanted to kiss him until all the pain was gone.
But I couldn't do any of this because he'd probably call the police and I'd get charged with indecent assault. So instead I gave him a wan smile and said
"You haven't done anything."
"Then why are you drifting away from me? I just don't understand. I mean, don't you like me anymore?"
"No I don't like you. I love you."
I said this in my head. I know I did. But Vince was staring at me strangely his face was contorted in something that looked like disbelief and pain. Then I realised the truth. I'd told him the truth.
The he laughed.
"Yeah Howard, I love you too, you're my best mate…"
Then he trailed off. Because he saw the look on my face. And then he knew.
I couldn't deny it. I tried to avoid the look on his face. What was that look? Oh yeah, disgust.
"You love me?" He said love like it was a swearword, like it was dirty and wrong. That's the last thing I wanted him to think this was.
"Vince, I-..." I had no idea where I was going with that, and the sentence just hung in mid air. I felt so exposed, like I was holding my heart out to him… and I knew he was going to turn it away.
He'd sunk down to sit on my bed, and then stood up quickly as if it implied something. I was surprised that he hadn't flattened himself against the wall in case I attempted to bum him when he wasn't aware of it. He kept giving me these reproachful looks.
"Didn't know you were gay." he said finally.
"I'm not" I said. Because it's just Vince I want, no one else. I don't download dodgy pictures of the internet; I don't ring up chatlines to talk to 'Hot Guyz' I'm just in love with my best friend. This was probably worse. If I was gay then maybe I'd have other options. If I was straight there'd be no problem either. But I was in love with one person and one person only. Then Vince said, like he'd read my mind;
"So it's just me then? Wow, aren't I the lucky one." the scorn and sarcasm in his voice hurt me more than flat refusal ever could. He was making light of everything I felt so strongly.
He didn't understand because I don't think he's ever been in love. He didn't understand that it made my head feel light every time he smiled or laughed at something I said. He didn't know that my heart skipped a beat every time he touched me accidentally. I remember once, when we were in the crowd at a gig he put his arms round me like it was the most natural thing in the world. I thought my heart was a flower, about to burst into bloom.
He'd looked up at me as he held me round my waist. "Howard, I'm using you as an anchor I hope you don't mind. I don't want to get crushed to death by indie kids!" Of course I didn't mind. I remember his happy face, the glitter on his eyes, his eyeliner defining those deep blue pupils, his hair coiffed to perfection. I put an arm round his shoulder, allowing myself that one small sensation, savoring it for the entire world. "Nah its fine wouldn't want you to get stamped on, electro poof." He'd laughed and I'd wanted to cry I was so happy.
"God, Howard. So how long have you been fantasizing about me in lederhosen or whatever?" His voice was sharp as a knife and sour as a dozen lemons.
"I haven't… Vince, it's not about…"
Obviously I'd thought what it would be like. What it'd be like to feel his smooth skin beneath my fingers, run my hands through his hair, to kiss his soft lips… to make him yell out in blissful agony…
"What, sex? Oh, so you're in love with me on a deeper level. We both know I don't have deeper levels Howard."
He was so wrong. He was funny. He was artistic. When he listened to a song he liked his face would light up with appreciation. He was kind to animals and people alike. He was a good friend, no matter how flighty he could be. He'd always be there for me.
Then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like… Jesus, what a cliché I was.
"I'm sorry Vince, I didn't mean to upset you." I was looking at my shoes now like they were the most fascinating thing in the world.
Suddenly, his boots came into my eye line. I lifted my head. He was staring right at me, his eyes colder than I'd ever seen them, his face pale with indignation.
"You're sorry? If you're so sorry… why don't you get the fuck out?" His voice was so cold it sent chills down my spine. He was looking at me intently, his eyes more skeptical than cruel, as if he wanted to see the pain in my eyes. Judging by the way he pulled a grimace and then looked away he had.
"If that's what you want." I said quietly, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
He turned round. He looked like a teenager, his hair all over the place, as he'd run his hand through it. His t shirt had ridden up slightly; I could see his nasty Nicky Clarke scar, the one I'd rubbed cooling gel on (god that was a weird kind of torture for me) as he'd yelled into a pillow that it hurt. His eyes looked lost and confused.
Suddenly he was in front of me again, peering into my eyes. Then he looked at my lips, fleetingly and his mouth parted slightly. He hovered there, for what seemed like a heart aching eternity… and then he was gone from the room, leaving only the faint scent of his hair pray and aftershave.
I sat down and exhaled, feeling the icy chill that had begun to spread over me when Vince had told me to leave finally reach the tattered ruins of my heart.