limitless.

chapter twelve

"You're really gonna be in for it if I get tetanus from all of this rust, JFK," Van Gogh grumbles as he climbs up the service ladder. Kennedy is following behind him, full intentions of keeping the promise to catch the boy if he falls. 

"You're not going to get tetanus, Vinny. You're too careful for that." 

"It's not care so much as fear," he replies.

Vincent manages to climb onto the platform without cutting himself on any rusty metal sticking out from the ladder. He moves aside and waits for JFK before stepping onto the rollercoaster track. 

"Are we going to fall and die?" Van Gogh asks, peering at the barely-visible ground below him. 

JFK laughs. "No, Minivan. We're not going to fall and die." 

Van Gogh rolls his eyes. "If you're wrong, I'm not letting you write my eulogy." 

"You were going to let me write your eulogy before?" 

Now it's Vincent's turn to laugh. "No, of course not. You may be smarter than you let on, but there's no way I'm letting you 'errr' and 'uhhh' your way through my funeral." 

John smacks the boy on the head playfully. "Hey! I only 'errr' and 'uhhh' when I'm nervous!"

"And you wouldn't be nervous then?" 

JFK takes a moment to think. "No. I'd just be sad." 

Vincent and John step out onto the green-tinted rollercoaster track, hand-in-hand for support. Van Gogh walks right on the edge, the toe tips of his Keds threatening to dangle off the side. Kennedy squeezes the boy's hand harder. "You're making me nervous, darling."

Van Gogh turns to JFK, a daring look in his eyes. "I just wanted to see if I could flare up your 'errr'ing."

Kennedy rolls his eyes playfully. "Yeah, yeah, you've made your point. I'm a huge fucking dork."

Vincent grins. "I'm going to remember that you said that."

The boys walk together in contented silence, their cheeks swelling pink from the cool breeze and the misty fog. Van Gogh moves away from the edge of the track, pressing up against JFK as he walks. Kennedy peers down at the boy.

"I'm cold," Vincent explains with a bashful smile on his face.

JFK lets go of Van Gogh's hand to wrap his arm around the boy, pulling him closer. "What about now?"

Vincent smiles, a bubbly laugh rumbling up his throat. He speaks in a low voice, even though the only thing around to hear is the fog. "Better."

Kennedy smiles as Van Gogh nuzzles in to his chest. "Good."

A couple seconds go by. Jack and Vinny take careful steps down the rollercoaster track, Vincent tucked under John's arm as they walk. The only sounds in the world are their breaths, and the occasional whirr of an unseen plane flying by overhead. 

"Can I ask you a question?" Van Gogh asks. 

"Yes," JFK replies almost immediately, as if he'd been expecting those exact words. 

Vincent hesitates for a second, forming the perfect phrasing in his mind. "How come you always present yourself as some airhead jock when you're so much more than that in reality?" 

"I guess it's just easier that way." 

"Easier than what?" 

Kennedy takes a moment to think, trying to put his feelings into words the way Van Gogh knows how to. He always has the most coherent thoughts, the most truthful outlooks on life. He sees everything.