Chapter Text
Vincent Van Gogh. A glorious artist, a mental disaster, the man who cut off his own ear. Or just the quiet little student, sitting in the corner by himself.
Vincent was many things. Sad, small, dark, smart. He was well known among the students for his art, his anxiety and the burning determination to be a good replica of the original. Vincent was strongly dedicated to replace the gone painter, even going as far as cutting off his ear himself, just like the real Van Gogh had done.
Many clones admired his commitment. But it disturbed them as much as it was impressing.
Vincent was kind, yet awkward and even a little shy. He was well liked for his mostly polite nature. But he was also known not to mess with, not to tease, unless you wanted to trigger a brutal attitude. But mostly he was unobtrusive.
The clock was ticking, the second hand moving, the ball pen clicking.
Vincent often seemed unreachable and even standoffish. He was friends with Caesar, however mainly a loner. Talking to people was hard for him. Opening up even harder.
Jfk often noticed Vincent standing aside and glaring nervously, often fiddling with his fingers. He never thought much of him. They exchanged words a few times, as it’s bound to happen, but the artist mostly remained silent wherever he was.
It left the jock wondering how Vincent‘s mind worked, what he was thinking. He remembered seeing him at Ponce‘s funeral. He wore eyeliner that covered the dark circles under his eyes, giving them an even darker appearance.
John remembered and he wondered if he got along with Ponce. He wondered if Vincent grieved.
The clock was ticking, the second hand moving, the ball pen clicking.
The jock probably will never know. He didn’t care.
Jfk didn’t spend any thought on things that wouldn’t last on his mind. He had enough to think about. His friends, his family, his basketball performance, hot girls that wanted to make out with him.
It was enough. But was it fulfilling? John didn’t know. There would be always something lacking.
The clock was ticking, the second hand moving, the ball pen clicking.
Jfk, however, was definitely not lacking company. He got lots of attention, he enjoyed, or didn’t.
He spent lots of time with Joan and Ghandi since Prom. He tried going out with the cynical goth but they were quick to notice they weren’t a fit. Therefore they agreed to just stay good friends.
Jfk was okay with that. Joan was a good, carrying friend he could talk to about anything. She gave good advice, she was loyal, didn’t judge, what else could you ask for in a friend?
The clock was ticking, the second hand moving, the ball pen clicking....
The bell rang.
The teacher had no chance to get another word out between the rumbling and moving teen clones. They were already leaving the room, hungry and tired.
Jfk packed his things, throwing one last look at the ticking clock with the steady moving second hand, then left the half empty, stuffy room.
It was lunch break and many students fought their way to the Cafeteria. The halls were filled with grumpy clones.
Jfk would eat with Gandhi so he searched his way to his class.
Gandhi had placed himself outside the classroom‘s door, already waiting for the jock and waved to him, as he spotted John between the cluster of students.
„Hey man, what‘s up!“, he called out, raising his hand for an expected high five, which he got.
„Hey, shorty. Wanna go?“
„Yea, yea. Ah, by the way!“, Gandhi paused. „Vincent‘s gonna join us. Hope that’s okay!“
„Vincent?“ Jfk thought a moment. „Oh, you mean that, uh, Van Gogh art guy?“
Gandhi nodded.
Jfk was surprised. He knew that Vincent had quite a distaste towards Gandhi. They once got along, then didn’t. He had heard about it, what had happened between them. And to be honest, what Gandhi pulled was evil. Foreseeably, Vincent took revenge by painting a big naked caricature of Gandhi.
It was that moment, were many clones understood not to mess with Van Gogh.
„Huh, I, er uh, though you hate each other.“
„Nah, if anything, he hates me!“ Gandhi chuckled. „But now he doesn’t. Speaking of the devil!“
Vincent slipped through the classroom‘s door. „Sorry for making you wait.“
„It’s fine, Vinnie!“
Jfk looked him up and down. Locks of red and curly, ruffled up hair peaking out from the head bandage, freckles on pale cheeks with a blushing nose and sore, bitten lips. He was wearing his usual, blue coat. It was open and beneath he wore a yellow button up.
Vincent clutched a few messy sheets between his paint smeared fingers and gave the jock an awkward, shy smile.
„I hope Gandhi told you I would be joining you.“
Jfk snapped out of his light trance. „Oh, uh, yea! That’s, er uh, no problem.“
„Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go!“ Gandhi cheered.
They had decided the cafeteria was too full, so they looked for a nice place to sit outside. Everyone had brought their own lunch anyway. And besides, fresh air would do then good.
They had found a good spot to sit in and settled. John crammed out a paper bag and chewed on bread‘s crust, that had been in there.
It was peaceful. Van Gogh had closed his eyes and seemed to enjoy the warm sunbeams hitting his face.
A moment later Gandhi jumped up. „Ah, sorry guys!“, he yelped. „I just realized I was supposed to meet up with Joan now! She‘s totally gonna kill me if I won’t show up!“
The Dutch smirked. „Man, Gandhi, you should really work on your time management.“
„Ah, I know!“, Gandhi sighted while stuffing his lunchbox back into his bag. „Sorry, guys, I gotta go! See ya later.“
„It’s fine, Gandhi.“
Gandhi waved them goodbye before he stormed off in a rush.
Jfk looked over to Vincent, who had now unpacked a few pencils and opened his sketchbook. „So, uh, I guess it’s just you and me now.“
„Yea. I hope you don’t mind.“ The dutch painter twiddled his thumbs.
John showed him a reassuring smile. „Er uh, of course not.“
„Well, then, enjoy your lunch, I guess.“ Van Gogh opened his sketchbook and began to move his pencil over the slightly crumpled paper. He looked very focused. John watched him a little, hoping he wouldn’t make the artist uncomfortable.
„So, uh, what’cha drawing?“
The Dutch shrugged lightly. „Dunno. Flowers.“
„Can I see?“
The young artist laid his pencil beside. „Sure.“ He tilted the sketchbook for Jfk to see. The jock leaned over the paper, examining Vincent’s work.
He had sketched a few messy yellow blossoms.
„Heh, you, uh, like sunflowers, don’tcha?“
„Mhm.“
„That’s, er uh, a nice drawing. Ya really got some talent.“
Vincent smiled sheepishly. „Thanks.“
„No problem. Can I, er uh, see more?“
The dutch took a moment to make his decision. „Uh, sure. If you want to.“ Then he handed over his beloved drawing pad. There was nothing to hide. Nothing embarrassing he drew. But showing people his art had always made him nervous. A lot of artists probably felt so.
But Jfk‘s shining eyes, as he flipped through the sketchbook, gave him a little confidence.
Vincent drew a lot of flora and, lately, practiced painting the sky. Page for page petit flowers and messy clouds spread across the paper.
„You‘re really good in that, er uh, art stuff.“ John noted, giving back the sketchbook.
Vincent took it and again clutched it‘s sheets in his petite hands. „That means a lot to me.“
„I, er uh, see.“ Jfk scratched his chin, another question remaining on his tongue. „Do you, er uh, like doing that?“
That question caught the Dutch off guard. „I... I don’t understand..?“
„Ah, sorry. I, er uh, didn’t mean to be rude or anything. Just, do you actually like that, uh, art stuff?“, the jock asked hesitantly.
„Heh, I guess so. I do enjoy painting.“ Vincent answered. „I always did. And it’s the only thing I‘m... useful for.“
„Aw, don’t say that.“ John put a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. „You‘re always trying so hard to, er uh, be like the real Van Gogh guy.“
„But that‘s what we‘re here for, aren’t we?“
„Eh, to he honest, I, er uh, don’t think anybody here cares as much as you. We‘re just teenagers.“ John laughed. „Besides, sometimes you should try something new, ya know?“
Vincent replied with a light smile. „I guess so. What about you?“
„I, er uh, like sports. I obviously can’t live up to the, uh, real Jfk. But who cares?“
„Man, I wished I could take things as easy as you.“
„Heh, we should hang out then. Hey, you could join the, er uh, cross country team!“
„I‘ll keep that in mind.“ With his fingertips Vincent picked the ends of his head bandage. It was tick of his, a tick that appeared when he went flustered. „You‘re so nice. I didn’t expect that.“ His heart skipped a beat.
He had said something stupid again. „Ah, sorry, I didn‘t mean-“
„No worries.“ Jfk gave him a reassuring gaze. „But could you, er uh, explain?“
Vincent nodded lightly. „Well, it’s just, you‘re one of those really popular kids. And it just baffles me that you actually wanna talk to me right now. I mean, I’m still surprised Caesar even looks at me.“
„Aw, c‘mon. Don’t be so harsh to yourself. You‘re a pretty cool guy.“
„Thank you. It’s a little difficult to believe in myself.“
„Ah, I‘m sure you, er uh, have plenty to believe in. Besides, you seem really smart. I, er uh, could need a smart friend. Ya know, a wise guy who keeps me, er uh, out of trouble.“
Vincent chuckled. „Hehe, are you that reckless? I mean, I could need someone who pushes me a little, you know, out of my comfort zone.“
Jfk joined the quiet laughter. „Well, I‘m good at pushing. You, uh, should come to my next party!“
„I will. Thanks for the invitation.“
John smiled again. „I, er uh, have another question.“
„Go ahead.“
„You and Gandhi. How come you guys get along again? I thought you hated each other.“
„Well.“ Vincent put his sketchbook beside. „I think everybody at this point knows about the hotline incident.“
Jfk nodded.
„I gotta say, I wasn’t really nice to Gandhi either. I was enraged. But he recently apologized and offered to make up.“
„Heh, I bet Joan made him.“
„I don’t think so. His apology sounded honest. And I‘m kinda glad he did apologize. Since then he has been really sweet to me.“ Vincent got a warm look. „We‘ve becoming really good friends lately.“
Jfk sunk his fingers into the soft reddish locks of the ginger and tousled them into a mess.
„Hey!“ the redhead called out.
„Then I hope we become good friends too.“ the jock said. He stopped, his hand resting between the unkempt hair.
„Me too. You seem like a good friend.“
The gaze Vincent gave him made something move in Jfk‘s stomach. Suddenly a bunch of ants marched between his guts and blew a foggy haze through his mind.
„Oh, yea...“ John stumbled. The fingertips he‘d duck into the other‘s locks went all warm and sweaty. He removed his hand from the red hair.
They shared a short moment of awkward silence before Van Gogh broke it.
„Man, we talked so much about me, now you should tell me something about you.“, Vincent said. „You mentioned you enjoy sports.“
Jfk nodded enthusiastically. „Oh yes. Gotta stay in, uh, shape.“ He lifted his arm and pointed at his biceps with his other.
Vincent chuckled. „Man, aren‘t you in like three sport clubs?“
„Oh yes, I, er uh, am!“
„Heh, that’s impressive. Isn’t it overwhelming sometimes?“
„Not at all. I, er uh, like it, so it’s fine.“, Jfk stated proudly. „You, uh, should watch me at basketball practice!“
„Well, I could never join the basketball team because- obvious reasons.“
„Oh yea, you‘re a shorty just like, uh, Gandhi!“, Jfk giggled. „By the way, can I call you Vinnie too?“
The Dutch shrugged. „I guess I can’t stop you.“
Then he threw a quick glimpse of the clock in his cellphone. „Ah, looks like lunch is almost over.“ he noted. „I guess we should head back to class.“
He untidily stored his pens and sketchbook in his bag.
Together they walked to the school‘s entrance and stood there for a moment
„It was really nice with you.“, Vincent said with a soft tone.
„I, er uh, feel the same. I hope we, uh, hang out again, Vinnie!“
Vincent smiled once more. „Sure. See you later, I guess.“ Before he vanished in the student filled halls he pulled our a little note and quickly wrote something on it, then handed it to Jfk. „My number. If you... want it.“
John gladly accepted the note. „Thanks. I‘ll, er uh, text ya.“
Then they went separate ways to their separate classes.
And so Jfk befriended the gloomy, little artist and he became something to think about, something that stayed in the jock’s mind.
John was glad about finding a new friend. He was glad Gandhi brought Vincent so he‘d fall into his life.
John‘s thoughts would soon be flooded by images of him and he‘d think back about all the things he started to notice about Vincent. He‘d think so much about him, he would forget time, only hearing the clock’s ticking second hand.
Hours and hours, day for day John would think about him, talk to him, observe him.
John looked forward to spending more time with the freckled Dutch who gave him such a warm feeling between his guts. He looked forward to be with him, not knowing yet that one day he‘d be twirling this wonderful red hair between his fingertips and lay with him in the shadow of a bright sunflower field, whispering lovely things into his cut off ear.