64 days in heaven and hell (154) Day 62 ctd. - At the gates of hell The weather was still bad in the afternoon and kept both painters inside. The atmosphere was tense. Gauguin had nothing to do and was restless. Van Gogh was brooding over the unfinished hands of ‘La Berceuse’ and even more over Gauguin’s possible departure. All of a sudden, they had a fierce argument over a serial killer who was haunted by horla-like nightmares while he waited for his execution. Towards the evening, Gauguin prepared their dinner in the kitchen behind the studio, gobbled his food in a brooding silence and left the house. Perhaps he just went out for a breath of air between two downpours, perhaps he wanted to drown his misery in the Café de la Gare. But when Van Gogh heard the door slam, he must have believed that Gauguin was leaving for good. He ran out, caught up with him in the middle of the park in front of the Yellow House and asked him point-blank if he was going away. The reply was yes. Perhaps Gauguin only confirmed that he wanted to leave in due course, but his answer was understood as the dreaded definitive verdict. In silence, Van Gogh handed the ‘traitor’ a piece of paper, torn from a page of L’Intransigeant. It was the article about a murderer on the run.
For Gauguin, this frightening episode came on top of Vincent’s increasingly bizarre behaviour of the last couple of weeks. He didn’t dare to go back to the house and spent the night in a hotel. When he returned to the Yellow House in the morning, it was surrounded by a crowd and by police.
Inside the house, blood was everywhere.
Gauguin was immediately questioned as the possible perpetrator of a terrible attack on his friend, who was found upstairs in his bed, motionless, in a fetal position and his head covered with cloth.
Francis Bacon, Study for a Portrait of Vincent Van Gogh I, 1956. Oil on canvas, 154 x 116 cm. Sainsbury Centre for Visual Arts, Norwich, Norfolk, UK (on loan)
A/N: I’m Asian American but I didn’t know how to make the reader seem Asian American so she doesn’t really seem Asian. This is my first fanfiction by the way so it’s really bad. The reader is mostly based on me, so sorry if they don’t really act like you. If you have any advice on anything besides grammar please tell me.
It’s a clear and chilly night, the pale moon was shining upon the dark city of Gotham. As is right now, it’s 3am and you were right outside the dinner in between Chinatown and Boyle Heights*, it’s the only place in the city where you could get pancakes, bubble tea, and tamales at the same time. The dinner wasn’t really popular due to the fact that it was located in the one dangerous spots in Gotham. Really only people with came to this quaint dinner were bikers, criminals, and the occasional college student from Gotham University, you, looking for a bite to eat.
You knew the owners quite well. You came here quite often in between your study sessions when you needed to fill up on sugar to get through the night. Since you were the least sketchy person with visited that place, the owners made it a priority for you to become a regular. The food wasn’t really something you could fit in without cutting something out, but hey, who needs a social life when you got horchata paired with pho and chocolate cake.
You walk in the dinner, closing door behind you rang the bell signaling the owners the bar that a customer had just walked in. The smelled of fried eggrolls and bacon, heaven. I was a bit more empty than when you usually come. There were always at least 5 bikers in here having a cup of coffee. Today there was just 2 to 3 people.
The lady at the counter smiled and greeted you “hey there (y/n), have a seat and I’ll be back with your usual or would you like to try another cray combination,”.
You smiled back. “Nah I take the usual, but replace the pancakes with toast, I’m feeling experimental.” You replied to her.
You walk to take a seat at your favorite booth. The booth was second to the right, it had a nice view of the street and the large building ahead. It also gave you an ok view of the kitchen so you could see what was going on with your food. When you looked, a random dude had taken your spot, the left side, right next to the window. With a swift movement, you turned on your heel to head back to your dorm. RIght when you got in from the o the door, a thought popped up into your head.
Who does this guy think he is. That was your table. Your name was literally carved into the table. You’ve sat there for two years. The seat is molded into the shape of your butt, There are hot cocoa stains on that table because of you. You earned that seat. It was your seat.
Once again on the heel of your foot you turn around and walk back to your well-deserved table. Once you reached your table you opened up your mouth and raised your pointed hand, ready to talk your way back to your spot. Suddenly, you couldn’t move, you were frozen. Curses! Social anxiety was a pain the ass. In this frozen state, you started to see defining the feature of the man who took your spot. He had a strong chin, and a white streak in his jet black hair, that was obviously dyed. His blue eyes were staring out of the window off into sparkling lights of the city in the distance.
“Uhh… do you need something?” The deep voice startled you. You break focus on the guy, to see he’s looking at you with a wondering look.
“Uhh… yeah… umm, you’re sitting in my seat. So… like, can I have it back.” you explain your situation.
“I don’t see your name on it” He tries to reason with you jokingly.
“Ahh, but that’s where you’re wrong, my name is under your coffee cup.” You say back to him defending yourself.He lifts up his cup of hot black coffee to see in small font a name that read “(y/n)”.
“I see, well I’m sitting here right now but you’re welcome to join me on the other side of the booth.” He negotiated.
“Eh, fair enough” You gave up and slid into the booth seat across from him. You wouldn’t lie it was a bit weird, sitting with some random stranger. At least he was extremely sweet eye candy. You could look at his face from the corner of his eye. Before both of you could say a word the woman who greeted you was back with your order.
“Here ya go, the usual of bubble tea, chorizo tacos and toast” the woman smiled and walked away.
“So what brings you to the edge of town, drug cartel, bank robbery, or shoplifting?” You start before stuffing your mouth full of buttered toast.
“Assassination, actually, you should be afraid of me.” He answers your question.
“Bitch please, I’m a broke college student, I don’t have anything to live for, but these tacos.” You joke around with him, He chuckles and you sent the night chatting.
You were now long done with your meal and his hot coffee was now cold coffee. The early morning light was coming out from behind the horizon for you to notice how you guys had talked all night.
“Aww shit, I have to get back to my dorm. I have an exam in 72 hours,” you exclaim and slam your money on the table before running out the door.
*a Hispanic neighborhood right in Los Angeles, where I live.