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Howard sat back. He looked at his hands and wondered why he should be so anxious. But then, though he would die rather than admit it, this was the most intimate thing he had ever done for anyone.
The ancient yearning to flee returned and he wondered if he could reasonably leave Vince now, to take himself to bed, heal himself and bounce back to normal in the morning.
Vince’s eyes flickered open. He met Howard’s gaze only briefly before looking back down at his hands. He made himself stay.
Howard had never put anyone to bed. It was something you apparently did for small children, of which there were none in his family. It was something you supposedly did for drunken or ill friends but the few individuals he dared number as friends had never really wanted him that close. None except Vince, of course, who was always mucking about in his personal space, but was never ill and rarely bothered to get that drunk.
Vince started as Howard gathered his courage and, perhaps too suddenly, reached forward to take away the bed spread from around his shoulders. He rested a hand on Vince’s arm to steady them both and then slowly unwrapped him. He was still freezing. He must have walked home through the November night. What had happened to the outrageous faux fur he’d had on when he left earlier that evening? Where had that got to?
Howard Moon: Explorer, tried to make sense of the geography of Vince’s shirt which was sewn from enough fabric to keep at least three average sized adults in floaty blouses. If there were buttons holding it together, he couldn’t find them. In the end Vince found them, his hands unclasping for the first time to pull apart the top button.
A violent trembling stopped him on the way to the next one. Perhaps it wasn’t just cold then, perhaps it was the shock of whatever had happened. Howard took Vince’s hands and tried to warm them with the heat of his own, bringing them to his mouth to blow warm breath on them. He stopped when Vince gasped, though he couldn’t have hurt him.
Quickly now, he finished unbuttoning and taking off the shirt. One of his own old sweatshirts was on the floor beside the bed and this seemed to be the warmest thing to hand. Without questioning its presence there, he got Vince into it.
He unzipped the boots that Vince still wore; ridiculous platform-heeled constructions, and took them off. They both stared for a moment at his blue-socked feet. Howard thought feet in blue socks seemed simple and innocent. Not like the unknown thing that had happened to Vince in the four hours he had been out of Howard’s sight. Not like the complexities of emotion besetting Howard at the moment.
There was only one more item of clothing to go. But Howard knew if he attempted to get involved with Vince’s trouser fly he was definitely going to pass out.
Vince saved him, as he often did. He stood up with a hand heavy on Howard’s shoulder and stepped out of his jeans. He collapsed back on the bed, lying down now, as if this had drawn on his last reserve of energy.
Howard covered Vince with the sheet and blanket and when this seemed sparse he went to his own room and took the blankets from his bed and added them to the pile.
He remained unhappy with his work. Vince was still now, his eyes firmly shut again. He could be considered thoroughly put to bed but, from his years of conscious and unconscious observation, he knew Vince was not at peace.
He felt helpless again. Until he remembered he was British right down to his socks and sandals.
“I’m coming back.”
“I know, Howard,” he thought he heard Vince whisper in response.
He made tea in Vince’s Jagger mug, adding milk and lots of sugar. He brought it to Vince’s room where he found his friend curled into a tight ball. He wasn’t asleep, though and Howard sat on the bed.
“Sit up, Vince,” he said softly. “I’ve got something to warm you up.”
Vince obeyed, but instead of leaning back against the headboard, he rested against Howard. Howard nearly went into shock himself and it took all of his self-control not to flinch and push him away. It took everything he had to let Vince lie there, soft and still against him.
They held the mug together, Vince by the handle and Howard steadying it on the other side. He drank the tea quickly and thirstily while it was still hot and soon the shivers, that Howard could feel like they were his own, died away and he began to relax.
Howard put the mug aside and absently stroked Vince’s hair away from his face, only stopping when he realised what he was doing.
“Do you think you can sleep now, Vince?”
“Will you stay?” Vince asked, his voice quiet but urgent. “Please. This once. I won’t touch you.”
Vince shifted to his side, reaching his arms around Howard and resting his head just below Howard’s chin. Proving, if any doubts remained, the dramatically different definitions of the word ‘touch’ they each had.
Howard should have been horrified but he wasn’t, not really. He pulled the covers over both of them, put cautious arms around Vince and listened to his breathing change as he finally fell asleep.
end
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