Chapter Text
Sleep, such a lovely solitude, a free trial of the endless afterlife where you could create any world you wanted. Sadly, Vincent wasn't allowed much of it, with his habit of staying up painting or staring at his ceiling and his 6 am alarm.
He couldn't help it though, something was so entrancing about questioning the entire meaning of your existence at 2 am on a Tuesday night. It's not like he had much to do at school anyways other than scrape by in any classes that weren't extracurricular.
Sitting up and looking out his window, Vincent rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, wondering what paints would work best to capture the sunrise.
He started to get ready for school, brushing his teeth to at the very least save his mom the money of a dentist trip and sliding on his favorite blue cardigan. After changing the bandage around his head, he gently placed his art supplies into his bag and headed downstairs.
He carefully avoided the kitchen and the sounds of his foster mom's favorite talk show as he slid out the front door to start his trek.
Vincent smiled, his music accompanying him as he walked to school. The idea of being trapped in any sort of motor vehicle with a bunch of people who would love to beat him half to death was not as appealing as most probably would have thought.
If he was going to die it was not going to be by the hands of some jock who reeked of body odor and had his tongue down someone's throat 23 hours out of the day.
His thoughts were interrupted by a jeer as a car slowed next to him.
"Hey, soulless, Why don't you get in my car and we can go somewhere private!" Hamilton yelled as his friends cheered him on, Vincent did what he always did, put his head down and walked slightly faster.
Of course he got bullied for being a ginger as well as gay, not that they knew that he is gay. The fact that he and his clone father were both artists was all they needed to know to harass him relentlessly.
And it wasn't like Hamiltom wasn't a redhead himself. Vincent supposed the "rules" were different for popular kids compared to "sad nerds" like him.
As he reached the front doors Vincent took a deep breath, ready to face the next level of hell incarnate.
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Laughter filled his ears as Jfk walked through the front doors. Cleo hung off his side and an entourage of people crowded around them.
"Oh, JFK, you're so funny!" Cleo said, fluttering her eyelashes the way she always did when she wanted his attention.
"I know." JFK had no clue what he said, figuring he just didn’t get it, but he eventually picked up on what everyone else was laughing at.
"You know that scrawny, depressing, gay kid?" Alex asked, a shit-eating smirk on his face.
"Er uh- no?" He didn't remember many people other than himself, Cleo, Joan, Abe, and er uh… Ponce.
"Van Gogh?" Cleo tried clarifying. She really was quite smart, though JFK supposed he never took the time to appreciate that about her.
"Yes! On our way here I.. 'propositioned' him."
"Tell them what you yelled, Ham!"
"I asked him 'hey, soulless? Why don't you get in my car and we can go somewhere private?' " Hamilton's hype man doubled over laughing, though JFK wasn't entirely sure why.
"Nice… lay?"
Everyone stopped, for some reason.
"No! No, that's gay."
"Well, I- er uh- applaud you for your- uh- bravery!" JFK smiled vacantly.
"JFK… he was making fun of Van Gogh for being gay." Cleo explained. Oh?
"Well, I for one, think that if you worked hard enough you could get him to go out with you!" He still wasn't entirely sure what was happening.
Making fun of him? For being gay?
His foster dad's were gay, and there was even that one time he was into Jean D'arc. But then again he never thought to make fun of them for it and Jean turned out to be Joan of Arc… was he missing prime material?
While JFK figured it out he supposed that the other man might just need a boost to figure it out.
"You know what man… that would be hilarious! Man, JFK. You're a genius!"
"... thank you?"
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Finally, lunch time.
Vincent prepared to hide behind the school to eat. He used to hide in the bathroom before he got called a peeve, but at least it didn't smell as bad outside.
The entire walk outside he felt like someone was watching him. It wasn't rare for him to be followed and beaten up, he'd just like one day without incident.
Vincent heard someone approach as he sat against the wall, and if you listened close enough you could probably hear him regret his entire existence.
"Hey, Van Gogh." Alexander Hamilton- who was there for some odd reason- said as he sat down next to him.
He had no clue as to why he was there, but as far as he knew he was not on the list of "people he could trust" given his stunt this morning, and pretty much every other time.
"Oh, wh-what are you doing here?" Vincent questioned, feeling his heart pick up pace. Hamilton pondered the question as he looked at the trees behind the school.
"I wanted to apologize for what I did earlier. I shouldn't have done that."
Oh… he supposed that was quite nice.
"Well, the pain of existing doesn't ever cease. Perhaps I deserve torture…" Vincent attempted to make him leave, it always made people go away when he spoke his mind.
"...Ok," he furrowed his brow, but Hamilton just wouldn’t leave, "... i also wanted to warn you."
Vincent perked up at this, it was rare he got a heads up before being harrassed. Part of him wondered if it was a warning regarding him, though.
"What is it?" He asked, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands.
"This morning I heard JFK talking about asking you out as a joke, I wanted to make sure that you got a heads up. I'd hate to see you hurt like that."
Of course. After all, Vincent was only a joke.
"Oh... thanks."
"It's no problem. I've gotta head back but I'll see you around?" He stood up, looking at Vincent for a response.
"Yeah... sure."
The guy walked away, sneakers scuffing as he did. As soon as he was out of reach Vincent buried his face in his hands. He never thought the bullying would ever go as far as manipulation. He thought it'd stop when his ribs bruised, not his heart.
Any appetite he may have convinced himself of having for the bag of grapes in his bag evaporated.
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JFK was currently trying to bite into his sloppy joe without spilling any onto Cleo's shirt, seeing as his arm was around her.
"Seriously, JFK, just switch hands." Cleo tried pushing the sandwich away, but JFK persisted.
"No! I've- uh- got this."
Alex rolled his eyes.
"So, how do I convince Vincent Van Gogh to go out with me?" He chimed in.
"Maybe try just being yourself? That's what my gay foster dads always tell me" JFK offered, once again met with silence.
"... as a joke."
"Whatever you say, man."
The discussion continued while JFK thought, specifically about what his fellow popular teen saw in Vincent Van Gogh.
He was small, he could consider that a plus.
He has messy, ginger hair that always seems quite nicely tousled, but JFK wasn't quite sure it was on purpose. He'd seen him pull on his hair whenever he got anxious.
His sweaters being oversized added to his small and needs protection vibe along with the depressed artist one. And from what he'd seen JFK would assume he was an amazing artist.
Er… he totally didn't see it.
The sloppy joe endeavor ended with his white stripe being given a new stain and Cleo sending him off to change, but as JFK was about to go to his locker Joan approached him.
"Hey, pretty lady! Why don’t you and I have some quality time? and by quality time I mean SEX!" He flinched, expecting to be wacked in the face, but was instead met with a very stern looking Joan of Arc. "... what"
"Hamilton can't ask Vincent out."
"What are you? Uh- Homophobic?" JFK asked, putting his hands on his hips as Joan dragged a hand down her face.
"No, you idiot himbo. Vincent is too fragile to be used for a joke like that. And im absolutely not homophobic, for future reference. "
"Uh- joke?"
"Yes, dimwit. Your 'friend' wants to ask Vincent out as a joke. Like he said this morning, literally right in front of you."
"I just thought he was bragging about hitting it."
"Dear God, you are hopeless."
"I've heard that before!"
"Ok, you know what? Do you want to help me stop him from asking Vincent out?"
Well, if he was doing it as a joke it might be funny… No! He remembers the last time he did that, the poor girl cried and it made him really uncomfortable.
"Ok! I'll help ya."
"Great. I can probably work with this."
He finally changed his shirt right before the bell rang. With not much time before class he ran down the halls, even getting cheered for at one point.
When JFK arrived at his next class he noticed the aforementioned redheaded boy sitting in the back row.
Since when did he sit there? For the same matter, since when was he in this class? Before he could think it through- as through as JFK could think, at least- he was headed to Van Gogh's seat.
"Hey! Er uh- Van Gogh, right?" He asked slightly too loud, Van Gogh flinched the moment he started speaking.
"Um… yeah. That's me." He avoided any sort of eye contact, or really looking at him in general.
"Cool! I was just wondering, since when were you in this class? I don't think I've ever- uh- seen you here before." Vincent was quiet for a long second. JFK was about to repeat his question when he finally answered.
"...I've been here since the start of the school year." Oh, oops.
"Oh! i- er uh- just hadn't noticed you before. What with you're being very small and quiet and all."
"Y-yes, I suppose i am very unnoticeable." Van Gogh responded, the least audible he had been the whole conversation. Though he had been quiet for most of it.
"Well, I- er uh- will just go sit down now. In the second row. Chair farthest to the left. With the initials 'JFK' carved into it… later!" JFK felt weirdly embarrassed, his goal was to save the kid some heartbreak and he totally botched any chance of trust by being his normal idiot self.
Dammit, he'll have to look up what "himbo" means. Whatever it is, Joan's probably right.