limitless.

chapter six

Van Gogh and JFK slouch in the diner booth, eating silently. Kennedy keeps opening and closing his mouth, wracking his brain for something to say so the quiet doesn't crush them like an incinerator. Every time he inhales, moving his lips to form a word, Van Gogh gives him a warning look before nibbling another one of his fries. It's too early in the morning for something so salty, but Van Gogh thinks he can handle it.

This time when Gogh glares at JFK, he ignores it. "Look, I'm sorry. I just-"

"Forget it, Kennedy."

"No, it's-"

"Stop. Just stop. I won't call you-" his breath catches. "I won't call you by your first name again. We'll be Van Gogh and Kennedy. I'm sorry I said anything at all." He chugs down his ice water. He places a palm on his head, massaging his scalp to coax the brain freeze away.

JFK opens his mouth to return, but thinks better of it. And just like that, he's fighting with his best friend again. All because it was someone's stupid idea to get rid of John and Vincent; Jack and Vinny when they were really little and Van Gogh still believed there was good in the world.

Van Gogh and Kennedy sit in the silence for the rest of the meal. For once, neither boy is reaching for something to say. The lack of conversation is by no means comfortable or companionable, but Van Gogh doesn't let it lift. JFK pays the check as usual, and they leave the restaurant, walking side by side. Kennedy slows his stride so Van Gogh can keep up, as he always does. Gogh doesn't thank him. He never seems to notice. This is another one of their quotidians, one of their unspoken truths that they don't break even in the heaviest of fights.

The earth will shatter the day they step out of their routines.

***

"Can I have the map?" JFK asks after awhile, eyes fixed on the open road in front of them. They've been driving for an hour since the diner, and still haven't seen a single other car.

"I thought this was our unplanned trip," he replies halfheartedly, but opens the glove compartment anyway.

"It was, until Weird Joan told us about Marshtown." JFK glances at his best friend, and when he doesn't reply, he adds, "We don't have to go if you don't want to. I get it if you changed your mind. We can just go back to Exclamation!."

"No," Van Gogh says too quickly. He sighs and relaxes. "Here."

"I can't look at it while I'm driving."

"Then why did you ask for it?" Van Gogh's eyes narrow.

JFK exhales. "Sorry. Do you know where the exit is?"

He trails his finger down the map, stopping for a second only to move some hair out of his eye. "Exit four-thirty-five. Not for a while. Still, like, forty miles."

"The girl at the inn made it sound like it was close to Blackbox."

Gogh shrugs, folding the map but keeping his hand on it. "I don't know. Maybe she and her boyfriend wanted to leave the town behind."

"Or maybe her boyfriend lives there," Kennedy suggests.

And just like that, the boys are talking again. The tension has unwound itself from their necks; the air is light enough to breathe.

"I don't think I'd drive all the way out here to look for a boyfriend," Van Gogh says before quickly adding, "Not that I'd ever be looking for a boyfriend."

"Maybe he went to Blackbox to meet her."

"I doubt that too. I wonder how that town even got built."