Today, Vincent Van Gogh, or rather, the clone son of, was taking some time alone today. A lot of things had changed in his life recently, and he was alone a lot less now. He was so used to being alone for so long, that having all these new friends was a lot sometimes. He hung around with his boyfriend’s friends a lot, and thus became his friends by proximity and association. It was good, but overwhelming. Sometimes he needed a day alone to reset. He was sitting on his bed and sketching, too lazy to get his paints that were across the room; and listening to a playlist his boyfriend had made for him, full of songs that made him think of him.
His boyfriend…. where to start with him.
JFK had left him like 3 voicemails all along the lines of “Vinnieeeeeee I miss you….. call me back when you get the chance. I just wanna er…. uh, see how you’re doing… I love youuuuuu!!! Talk to me sunflower” or, just whining “Little peachhhhhh” into the phone. He called him that because of his soft orange hair, and his scruffy orange beard, that JFK had thought he was so clever by calling it ‘peach fuzz’.
Vincent just smiled when he heard them, it felt nice to get voice mails. He’d get back to him later, for now, he wanted to consume himself in his art. He found inspiration where he always found it, in his boyfriend’s handsome face. He didn’t need a reference picture anymore, he’d memorized every detail and committed them all to memory, filed them all under ‘love of my life’ in his brain. Hopelessly staring at him during class had done some good, and made it a lot easier to draw him whenever or wherever, even if he didn’t have a picture or the real life JFK to base the drawing off of.
Drawings of his boyfriend, that varied in quality, ranging from intricate portraits done in graphite that looked as if he’d taken a photo and turned the saturation down to 0 because he was just that good, to rough pencil sketches on his math homework where an answer should’ve been. The portraits he regularly drew took up residence in the pages of his sketchbooks, expensive canvases he was saving for a special occasion, or the back of a test when he was finished with time to spare.
As he sketched the creases in JFK’s face whenever he did his signature goofy grin, a grin that Vincent had fallen in love with a million times over, he couldn’t help but smile as well. His smile was ever infectious, even when being captured on paper.
The world was so much warmer now. As warm as the oranges and reds in the autumnal pallets he painted with. Things were prettier, he was happier; and more importantly, hopeful for the future. Hopeful for whatever the future held for he and JFK and their future together. But, also hopeful for whatever the future had in store for he himself, outside of his relationship with JFK. Because, he knew that he’d be able to face whatever the world had to throw at him, as long as he had JFK by his side, encouraging him, and supporting him, and making him laugh with his goofy perspective on things. The earth was a nicer place to be when you had love to give to someone else; and someone else had love to give to you.
One thing was for sure, he’d never felt warmer than when he was in the warm embrace of his lover. His arms were so strong and so warm, and Vincent loved when they were wrapped around him; holding him to him close. He felt safe and he felt protected, and for the first time in his life, when JFK held him; that nothing could hurt him. He was safe from harm when he was with his boyfriend, and had every faith in the world that JFK would do anything for him. Nothing would hurt him because JFK wouldn’t allow it to.
His sweaters kept him warm as well, and oh boy did Vincent love his sweaters. He hardly ever wore his own clothes anymore, he was always stealing one of JFK’s hoodies or sweaters, and JFK was happy to supply them because he just thought his boyfriend was so gosh darn cute in them!! Vincent especially liked the Clone State letterman jacket he’d let him wear, that was his absolute favourite.
