Howard gets mushy more rarely. Nostalgic, sometimes. Sweet, occasionally. But mushy has never really been his bag. He usually shows his affection for people in more subtle ways. In his mind, he's relieving their burdens. He makes sure Cedric never sees the utilities bill before it's paid and that the medicine cabinet's always stocked and that the laundry's always done. Maybe he wouldn't, for another roommate. Certainly not for one he doesn't care about. But for Cedric, boyfriend or not, Howard's most comfortable in the background, the quiet support.

"You know I really don't care if it is mushy porridge." Howard compulsively eats toothpaste and expired anything most days, even though he knows, logically, that he doesn't need to anymore. Cedric could make him a dinner of delicacies and he wouldn't notice. But he does notice if Cedric makes dinner. "We could go on my jogging route. The view of the ocean's real pretty."