Work Text:
The wind was quiet. The night was quiet. The flutter of the curtains, billowing in soft waves, was quiet. Vincent was not.
“—Ah what’s the word… Emulate! You can emulate the coarseness. If only we had some sort of mahogany…”
My head laid across his chest, and one of his arms wrapped around me. His free hand was gesturing animatedly to and fro, up and down, closing and opening, pointing and swaying. It danced, bounced, along to every word he was saying.
He had been talking for some time now. Well, he talked all the time. It’s that the topic, his paints or other, had been the subject for tonight. Though maybe it had changed. I hadn’t been listening very hard.
“—Maybe if I… or I could… or yellow? The ends could be yellow, less thick. And perhaps some white mixed in with the sunlight…”
Granted, I made attempts to follow along to his speech, with questions and gentle hums, but my attention had been weaning as the night dragged itself along.
The rhythmic rise and fall of Vincent’s chest, the warmth of his body, his secure arm that silently promised to never let me fall, the smiling twinkling stars—they were all very convincing.
Close your eyes, they said. Only for a moment, they said. It’s all so comfortable where you are.
“—Simply, the phthalo blue alone cannot capture the gleam of the sky. Of course! His work is impeccable you see. He has such a way of mixing the colours to evoke emotions. The textures of the waters draw you in. They enrapture you! The haze of the light is so… firm yet so graceful! Mon cher?”
Vincent paused and looked down. I had shut my eyes. I promised only a moment, but my exhaustion got the better of me. As I fell into a slumber, my breathing came in slow puffs. A long strand of unruly hair, dangling down my face, shivered in tandem.
“You heard none of that did you…” Vincent mumbled, half exasperation and half adoration. He sighed and grunted as he tried to shuffle over a blanket with his foot to tuck us in. “How you can stand so much of my talk is a miracle.”
He shimmied away, as gently as he could, and blew out the candle on the bedside table. Everything was washed away by the darkness. A white coat of moonlight shone through the window, illuminating the worn edges of the windowsill.
After shimmying back in place, Vincent kissed the top of my head. He wrapped his other arm around me, the lively one, and snuggled me close.
“Dream well, mon chéri.”