Paint Me Like One Of Your French Men

Painting One

"I think I really outdid myself this time," Vincent sighed and looked at the bags in his hands. A new art store opened up in his neighborhood and he spent a little too much money in there checking it out. Curse him and his impulsive nature.

"I'm not going to be able to buy food for a month," he silently sobbed and made his way home. Luckily his apartment was close and he wouldn't have to carry these bags too far. Unfortunately, his apartment was close and he would face the temptation of art supplies on a daily basis.

"Food isn't important," his mind drifted. "Art is love. Art is life. I shall feed off the satisfaction that a brush on canvas gives me!" he tried, and failed, to motivate himself. "Until I get painter's block," he sighed. He was currently experiencing painter's block right at this very moment. There was nothing he felt the dying urge to paint. It plagued him so much to think that he might've made the wrong decision. Maybe he should've stayed on as his mother's minion in the company. At least then he would've had a guaranteed meal everyday. 

As he was walking, out of the corner of his eye he could see a figure. He didn't get a good look at the person but he knew right then and there that it was his inspiration. He stopped dead in his tracks and walked over to the individual. It appeared to be male. He had long silvery-grey hair and beautiful eyes. He also looked like he hadn't eaten in forever. Poor guy.

"Uhm," Vincent began, "would you, uh, like a place to stay?" he asked. He probably seemed like such a freak but he didn't care. He just wanted a model to paint. This guy was perfect. Vincent didn't know why he felt this way but he did. 

There was no response from the stranger. He just stood up. Well, he tried to but he was too weak to stand on his own. He looked incredibly skinny and dehydrated. Vincent wondered if he would be able to pick him up and carry him. The guy didn't look like he had any weight on him at all. 

"Here, hold these for me," Vincent handed his bags full of art supplies to the stranger and picked him up bridal style. His apartment was barely a block away. Even if the stranger was heavy, which he wasn't, Vincent should be able to manage that distance. 

The first thing Vincent did upon reaching his humble home was place the stranger in the bathtub. He was filthy. There was no polite way to say that. Vincent then grabbed his bags of art supplies and placed each item where they belonged. He did this quickly before looking in his room for clothes that might fit the stranger. 

Upon returning to the bathroom he attempted to help the stranger undress but the stranger grabbed his arm. There was a look of terror in his eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you," Vincent clarified. "I just wanted to help you get cleaned up," he found himself explaining without really understanding what it was he needed to explain. Shouldn't he first start explaining himself to himself? Why did he bring a homeless person into his house? That is the important question here. Secondly, who knows what kinds of diseases this guy could be carrying? What was his brain thinking? Why did he feel like he needed to protect and take care of someone he barely knew? This was a human in his bathtub not a damn puppy. 

The stranger slowly let go of Vincent's arm. "Hm, we could just clean your clothes with you," Vincent turned on the water. He made it around the same temperature he usually had it. "Is this too hot?" The stranger shook his head 'no.' Vincent was starting to think that he was an incredibly shy guy. Either that, or he was just too weak to speak. But, the possibility remains that he can't speak at all. 

The two watched as the water filled the tub. It didn't take long for it to become incredibly filthy. The dirt from the clothes and the person polluted the water. "Maybe a shower would've been a better idea," Vincent pondered aloud. The guy could barely stand on his own though and he didn't want to remove his clothes.