Our Arrangement (JFGogh)

The Arrangement

"Let me get this straight, Kennedy," Van Gogh started with a sneer, "You want me to help you with your gay crisis despite the fact you literally shoved me into my locker just this morning."

"Er uh..."

"You also shook me down for my lunch money last week."

"Er uh..."

"— And the week before you tripped me during cross country practice."

"Er uh..."

Vincent crossed his arms, expectantly.

Think, Kennedy! John panicked to himself. This shorty is the only openly gay kid in this damn school. Your dads are no help either. They just would go on about them being proud of you. Which I mean I don't blame 'em but--"

"JFK."

Van Gogh snapped him out of his internal monologue impatiently.

"...I'll make it worth your, uh, while."

The scrutinizing look Vincent gave him was a mixture of pity and annoyance.

"I'm not sleeping with you, JFK."

"I meant I was gonna buy you art supplies, short-stack."

Vincent frowned and turned away from JFK in thought, tapping his pencil against his sketchbook in thought.

After a few moments, Van Gogh sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose.

"Fine. You're lucky I'm running low on turpentine."

Kennedy grinned excitedly, opening his mouth but was cut off by Van Gogh slamming his sketchbook shut.

"—But! You can't call me any ridiculous nicknames. It's Van Gogh. Or Vincent."

"How about Vinnie?" JFK flashed his signature smile.

Van Gogh hated how his heart did a flip.

"...Okay," he agreed softly.

The alarm nearly drowned out Van Gogh's next words, causing Kennedy to have to lean forward in his chair to hear him properly— so close he could nearly count the faint freckles on Vincent's cheeks.

"Meet me out front after school. We'll walk to my place and talk— only talk — about this... arrangement."

"Sure thing, Vinnie!"

The walk to Vincent's house was surprisingly quiet and calm. Considering the attitude Van Gogh adopted during the initial proposal, JFK was sure that Vincent would stay prickly towards him. But, Van Gogh was actually humming a tune as they walked. John couldn't recognize it, though it sounded familiar; it was soft and slow with an almost haunting melody.

Vincent turned abruptly in their walk, heading up a driveway and causing JFK to double back to follow him.

It was a quaint house. Painted blue with yellow accented windows. He wondered idly, looking at Van Gogh's attire if he had chosen the color scheme himself.

Vincent let them in and led him upstairs after waving to his foster mother. She didn't question JFK's presence as he trailed behind him like a lost puppy.

The bedroom was expectedly messy— not with clothes everywhere or trash not quite reaching the bin— but with paint splatters and stains that didn't quite come out of the hardwood floor, canvases that were stacked every which way, and crayon marks on the wall where a much younger Vincent must have spent time drawing.

His bed, however, was neatly made and Van Gogh hopped on top of it, patting the space next to him for JFK to sit.

He did so, folding his hands politely as he wasn't sure exactly he was and wasn't allowed to touch... yet.

Van Gogh reached into his nightstand and pulled out a spare notebook and pencil, writing in large capital letters: RULES. He underlined it twice.

"Alright, Kennedy," he started off, writing a number one, "What are you comfortable with exactly?"

"What do you, uh, mean?"

"You've never been with a guy before. I'm letting you 'test out gay stuff' with me as you put it—"

JFK nodded along to those points.

"—so what are you comfortable with doing in this..." Vincent paused. He wasn't exactly keen on calling it a relationship, "...arrangement."

Kennedy shrugged, "I dunno."

"Okay... well, what are you uncomfortable with?"

"I dunno.... I've never been with a guy before shor—I mean Vinnie," JFK huffed, frustrated with himself.

"Neither have I," Vincent mumbled inaudibly.

"Well. We'll start slow I suppose then," writing down his first rule: Ask for permission before doing anything beyond hand-holding or hugging.

"So, I'm not allowed to er uh, kiss ya?"

Van Gogh paused and added an addendum: or closed-mouth kissing.

There was no protest.

Rule two: Don't tell Cleo.

"Why not?" Was the immediate question out of JFK's mouth.

"She is your ex and she'll give me absolute hell if she knows we're dating," was the immediate answer.

"Oh, yeah...can I tell anyone, uh, else?"

"As long as you know they can keep it under wraps, I suppose that's fine. In other words— do not under any circumstances tell Gandhi," he shoved his pencil threateningly in JFK's face.

Rule three: Do not make derogatory comments about me.

"Why would I do that?"

Van Gogh gave him a look that John couldn't decipher. Seeing his obvious confusion and obliviousness, he only shook his head and sighed.

"I'll just have it there as a reminder to treat me with at least a shred of respect. If we're doing this at all, I would like to at least be treated a little better than one of your flings."

"Oh yeah, can I still do that?"

Van Gogh lifted an eyebrow.

Rule four: You are free to see other people, but they have to be aware of this arrangement.

In his head, Van Gogh counted that rule as the one that was the most likely to be broken. JFK would probably go in without telling the girl he was seeing small, unpopular, art fanatic Vincent Van Gogh.

He did wonder why Kennedy came to him specifically for this; though, he counted it as a blessing in disguise. At the very least, he'd finally have his first kiss. He could mark that off his bucket list. Even if it was for someone else's benefit.

So, he wasn't exactly facing this relationship in a healthy manner. He was tired of being lonely; sue him.

"Alright. If that all sounds fair, then you're free to go home now," He ripped the page out of the notebook and handed it over.

"Already?"

It was unfair how pitiful he sounded.

"You can hang out here if you at least let me finish my homework first. I have an art assignment too and—"

"Can I watch you, er, draw?"

Vincent's eyes grew wide before returning to a suspicious squint.

"...I suppose you can."