Chapter Text
Here he sat, yet again, the middle of art class, incandescently bored. He’d already sent texts to his friends, they didn’t answer. He tried to paint, but he wasn’t very good. It had just been one of those days, he tried everything, but this boredom just wouldn’t let him go.
Honestly, he was this close to just trying to doodle a little, even if it was mindless and worth nothing, just something to distract his mind. Here he was, JFK, the king of the school’s social life, with no friends and nobody to talk to in class. It reminded him of those lonely kids that just hid in the background, unwilling and unnoticed.
Until he noticed something. Someone.
He knew one of the kids, they had a few classes together, but this class was his best. Van Gogh, the most accomplished artist within the school. JFK found himself staring, watching as the paint slowly covered the canvas, how Vincent’s head bobbed to the music in his headphones.
He’d never noticed how peaceful he looked while painting. The ginger-haired boy always seemed to look stressed or uptight, but in this class, with a paintbrush in his hand, he looked like a tonne of bricks had been taken off of his back, relaxing for even a few hours a day.
Even JFK, a total blockhead when it came to art, could see the passion and joy Van Gogh found while he painted. Those cornflower eyes smiling as the paintbrush glided over the canvas. Every brushstroke turning into a petal or blade of grass or whatever he was painting. Anything he was painting, JFK loved. His work had so much movement and life to it, and he adored watching Van Gogh turn the white emptiness into something so beautiful.
Today, Van Gogh decided to paint sunflowers. He liked sunflowers, they were so bright and happy compared to everything else. He listened to the music as he played, a slow love song, not something he would usually play but today he was in a strange mood. One where he felt a little happier, more upbeat than usual. It felt so weird, like someone had put a hex on him to have a good day. He subconsciously blames Joan if it is a hex, after all, she was the one who brought the Ouija board to the party and nearly released a demon. But nothing could be better than art class, where he was allowed to do what he wanted, and he could have all the paint and brushes he could desire.
Why was he in such a good mood? Well, Joan told him that she suspected someone having a crush on him. It was a joke, obviously, but something about it made him feel all bubbly inside. Someone having a crush on him. It was a ridiculous notion, but it was something to put a spring in his step for the day until it wore off.
He quickly glanced around the room, seeing if it was time to leave yet, but all he found was that John Fucking Kennedy was staring at him, chin in his hand like he was swooning. JFK took a moment to realise he’d been caught, before awkwardly turning back to his work. Was this who Joan had meant? Oh, for fuck’s sake, JFK, of all people! All he ever wanted was a quick in-out and to throw you to the kerb.
But that wasn’t what he saw. He looked back over his shoulder, and there he was, enchanted by his work. Enchanted by him. Not by Monet or Picasso or anyone else in the room. Him.
Then he turned to his sunflower painting. Sure, he liked it, but it was no masterpiece. He had painted millions of sunflowers, so why should he keep all of them? He picked up the painting, after putting his signature on the bottom, took his headphones out, and placed it on Kennedy’s desk.
“Here. I’ve got loads of paintings like this, and I saw you looking at it, so.. here” Van Gogh dumped the canvas over the books on the desk. He didn’t expect JFK to respond the way he did.
“Oh, my goodness, thank you! How much do I, er, uh, owe you?” JFK began to search through his bag to find his wallet, which had some cash in it. Van Gogh smiled at the notion that someone would pay for his work, but this was a gift, and he should not pay for a gift.
“Nothing, it’s a gift. If anything, it’s like clearing space in my studio- I don’t have a lot of room for new paintings and canvases.” Van Gogh pushed the textured painting towards his classmate. JFK was a lot of things, but selfish and greedy were no words that described him.
“Well, let me at least give you something in return- How about a favour? Name it and I’ll do it” the brown-haired boy reluctantly took the canvas and placed it to the side so he could talk to Vincent more directly. The artist stuttered around, trying to think of a favour to ask of the most powerful student in the school, the one who's IOUs cost more than most could afford. After a while of debating with himself, he decided on what he would like.
“Get me a date with somebody that I’ll get along with. Anybody will do, I swing both ways.” Van Gogh requested. JFK said he would find him a date for Saturday and that the date would pick him up so they could go out to dinner. Van Gogh accepted this deal, and they shook on it.
Now for the hard bit.
Kennedy was a man of his word, and he wouldn't let his classmate down. Whatever it took.