limitless.

chapter sixteen

"You should put that in water," JFK says, pointing to the sunflower still tightly constrained in Van Gogh's grip. They're back at the house now, the picnic half unpacked on the kitchen table. Vincent puts down the flower only to wash his hands under the scalding water of the sink. 

"Are there any vases here?" He asks. 

Jack opens one of the cupboards above the sink, and pulls out a tall glass. "Here."

"That's not a vase," Van Gogh responds with a raised eyebrow, turning off the faucet and drying his hands on the rag hanging over the handle of the oven. 

JFK reaches past Van Gogh to turn the faucet back on, making sure to turn the cold lever instead of the hot one. The glass fills up with water, and Kennedy holds it out to Vincent. "It serves the same purpose, doesn't it?" 

Vincent swallows and slowly reaches out for the glass, taking it from JFK. Their fingers brush, and a warm blaze shoots through Van Gogh, but he doesn't let on. He simply drops the sunflower stalk into the water and holds the makeshift vase in both hands, clutching it to his chest defensively. 

"Let's find a place for that, shall we?" John asks, placing a comforting hand on the shorter boy's shoulder. What's his angle? Vincent wonders, but doesn't wriggle free from the touch. 

"I know a perfect place," Vincent says instead, looking up to JFK, but holding the flower just as defensively. 

"You lead the way," Kennedy replies, his tone neutral and his smile warm. 

Van Gogh raises an eyebrow. "Why do you wanna see?" 

JFK shrugs. "I just like spending time with you."

Vincent hesitates. "You're just trying to make up for making me mad at you." 

Kennedy doesn't move. 

"I'm not still mad." 

"Can't I just enthuse you for one second?" 

Van Gogh swallows and nods. "Fine."

He leads JFK through the archway, through the living room, through the sitting room, up the stairs, and into their bedroom. Jack stops in the doorway, but Vinnie crosses past their bed and the dresser to the dormer window. He places the vase with the sunflower in it on the thick windowsill, tilting the flower's face to look out at the sun. He steps back to admire his work, and JFK smiles at the boy's silhouette painted in the electric white fog. His whole body relaxes and he feels his heart sigh. He's exactly where he's supposed to be. 

"Let's never leave this town," John says. 

Van Gogh turns around, all the tension gone from his face. He blinks slowly before letting himself smile, his brown eyes twinkling. "I'd be okay with that." 

Vincent makes his way back across the room, leaving the sunflower on the windowsill. JFK stays where he's standing in the doorway, watching Van Gogh's fluid movements. He walks with a purpose, like he knows where he's going. John expects the shorter boy to walk over to him, but instead he walks over to the nightstand on his side of the bed and opens the top drawer. He turns around, feeling JFK's gaze still blazing into his back. 

"What are you looking for?" Kennedy asks. 

"Did you hide the matches?" 

JFK blinks, his face relaxing again. The smile dissolves. "I didn't hide them, I just moved them." 

"You took the candles, too." 

"Why do you want them so badly?" John asks, his tone controlled and stoic.