Starry one-shots

Twenty minutes

Twenty minutes wasn't really considered to be a long time. A painting couldn't be finished in twenty minutes, nor could a book be finished in twenty minutes. But that argument had made twenty minutes feel like forever.

Time had passed since that day and now Vincent found himself in a new place, alone. Sure, there were people around and they were accommodating and quite pleasant, but they weren't his friends. They weren't his brother. He hadn't really connected with any of them and he hadn't received any reply to his most recent letter to Paul and he felt so alone. The hollow alone-ness felt so saddening, like his whole body was fading into the misty blue sea and feeling at the same time like it had never existed. Some days he wondered if he was really alive or if he was sleeping in some sort of colorful dream, full of misty-dream-beings that would whisper kindness to him and then leave, never returning. He planned to take a page out of their book. He held the gun in his hand, no fear, no sadness, no pain at what he was about to do. That's when he heard the voice.

"Vincent!"

It was faint and far but he could see him in the distance. Paul. He dropped the gun and ran to him, forgetting everything and embracing him.

"Paul"

He sobbed into the man's shoulder. "Vincent" He repeated, slowly embracing his friend. Paul had never been the sappy comforting type but in that moment he held Vincent tight as he cried. And suddenly those twenty minutes that he had been so angry at Vincent were forgotten, replaced in his mind by these twenty minutes where he held his friend, knowing that someday, somehow, things would be alright.