#and Davey’s just like *grimace* David’s fine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

forestwater87 · 4 years ago

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Chapter 14: Coming Clean

Summary: Finally.

Summer 2017

Oh my god.

It’s okay, a gentle voice in the back of Gwen’s head murmured, the one that was supposed to be all the best things she was capable of. This is good; you wanted him to move on.

Oh my god

It’s a little sooner than you expected, but rebounds aren’t inherently a bad idea.

Oh MY GOD

Even if it is, it’s none of your business anymore.

She was still clinging to the front of David’s shirt. Her brain tried to send out orders to her fingers, tried to relax the stranglehold she had on the fabric but her hands were claws, inflexible and unyielding as talons and she couldn’t do it, couldn’t —

No no no no no nononononononono NO

Let him go, Gwen.

The silence spiraled out; she didn’t know how long, lost in the cacophony of her own head. She was faintly aware of a woman’s voice, soft and honey-smooth and warm with concern: “Davey . . . should I head on out?”

“Um.” David shifted away, stepping back into the doorframe just enough to cover her hands with his. “Just — uh, just a second, Clem. Could you . . .”

“Sure! I wanted to take a gander at the lake anyway. Been so long since I’ve been down this way. Just give me a holler when — well, whenever?”

No. God, no.

She was not going to stand in the way of his happiness again — she couldn’t.

David stumbled back as Gwen shoved him away, swiping the tears and snot from her face with the back of her hand. “Don’t —” she began, but her throat closed up almost immediately, a sob she just barely kept inside shuddering through her. “I didn’t . . . I’m sorry, I’ll just — it’s fine — goodnight —”

Her shoulder knocked into the woman (the intruder, a nasty, wounded part of her whined) as she hurried into the hallway. She gasped, the sound delicate and lightweight like cotton candy, and Gwen’s attention landed on her for a split second.

She . . . knew her. Somehow. There weren’t that many people in the area, and even fewer with big turquoise eyes and bubblegum hair.

A waitress, right? At the pizza place — no, the bar.

Gwen remembered teasing David about her, on one of their rare nights out a few summers and an entire lifetime ago:

“Come on, ask her out!”

“Gwen, please!” He’d ducked his head with a helpless giggle, his face almost as pink as the waitress’s hair; she remembered thinking he was adorable — what a shame it was that no one had snapped him up yet.

“You liiiike her.” She didn’t know that, not for certain, but who wouldn’t? She was perfect.

“I- no I don’t!”

“Liar.”

The cute waitress’s mouth opened, her brow crinkling like she had something to say, and Gwen couldn’t stand to hear it. Stumbling back, she felt blindly for her bedroom door before realizing it was behind them, behind the pretty pink pixie and the most important person in Gwen’s life.

His eyes met hers, big and confused and green in the yellowish lamplight. His mouth, a streak of pink lip gloss smearing across his bottom lip and fading toward his jaw.

Liar.

(That wasn’t fair. She knew it wasn’t.

But her heart didn’t give much of a damn about fair right then.)

She retreated back toward the common room, tripping over something — a book, a shoe, the random detritus of two people’s lives tangled together — and barely catching herself on the table. The back door wouldn’t be locked, because that was one of David’s jobs

(and he was busy, distracted)

and she didn’t have a flashlight but that was okay, the darkness would be a relief she just needed to get out out out out —

“Gwen!” David’s fingers closed around her upper arm, tugging her to a stop. She could break his grip — her fingers twitched with the desire to grab something and beat him over the head with it until he let her go — but in her moment of hesitation he took her other arm, swung her around gently so they were facing each other. “Gwen, sit down, okay? Just take a seat.”

“It’s fine —” She shrugged free, backing up against the door, but it opened inward and David was in her way so she couldn’t shove it open. Her legs gave out and she slumped to the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest and trying to remember how breathing worked. “Don’t — just . . . check your messages, okay? Later, when you’re not . . . just — there was something I needed to tell you, that’s all. That’s why I was there.”

He glanced back toward the front of the cabin, then sighed and knelt down in front of her. They were alone in a pocket of gloom, the only light coming from the hallway glowing like a beacon, a hallway where his

(friend? girlfriend? booty call?)

was waiting for him to wrap things up with his crazy ex-girlfriend so they could enjoy their evening.

A few summers and a lifetime ago she would’ve been delighted if David brought someone home for the night. Delighted, and endlessly amused; she would’ve never let him live it down.

A few summers and a lifetime ago she was a better person. “You’ve got something on your face.”

He rubbed at his mouth with the heel of one hand, grimacing, and wiped the gloss off on his leg without looking away from her. “Gwen.” He kept saying her name, like he thought it would ground her — like the sound of it didn’t tear through her chest like a shotgun blast every time. “What were you doing in my room?”

She took a deep breath. “I needed to tell you . . .” This was okay. She could say what he needed to know: that he was a good person, that he’d done nothing wrong. That he could move on without carrying ‘might almost be a rapist’ around his neck like an albatross. “Last night.”

He flinched. It broke her heart all over again.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, David.” The words tripped over themselves in a hurry to get out as fast as possible, like they were as desperate to reach for him as she was. “I wanted you to kiss me. You — didn’t hurt me. At all.” She tightened her hold on her knees, lowering her cheek to rest on them. “Okay?”

“What? I . . . no, it’s not okay.” He frowned and sat back. The gulf between them widened a few inches, a few miles. “I don’t . . . are you saying — but you told me to stop.”

She shook her head, wishing she could change everything about herself. “I told you not to stop.” When the furrow between his eyebrows deepened, she shrugged helplessly, fighting the absurd urge to giggle at the ridiculousness of the situation. “I just — it was poor breath control. Made a pause where there shouldn’t’ve been one.” Proof that her two years studying vocal performance in college were a waste of time and money; the stupid hilarity in her chest tightened, and she pushed down a laugh with effort. “I would’ve explained sooner, but I didn’t know . . . that.” She paused and licked her lips, took another shaky breath — because she still didn’t have good breath control, clearly. “Was what you were freaked out about. So I’m sorry.”

And she was.

For that, and for everything else.

David didn’t reply for a few seconds, and with every breath the darkness of the room seemed to settle in deeper, grow thick and heavy. “You . . . wanted me to kiss you,” he repeated, doubt etched into every word like claw marks in stone. She longed desperately to smooth them away and didn’t know how. “But you — why would you ever want that?”

Gwen let out a huff, something between a groan and a laugh. “Who cares why? I just — it doesn’t matter, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong, you don’t have to feel guilty about anything, so just . . . go and — have a good time.” She pushed herself to her feet, suddenly exhausted.

She didn’t want to have this conversation. It could wait until tomorrow, or never.

She just needed to get out of here.

“Wait, Gwen —” He reached for her, his fingers brushing against her wrist, and she yanked her arm to her chest.

“Listen, she’s gonna leave soon if she hasn’t already. No one wants to wait around while their . . . whatever talks to his . . .” She couldn’t finish that sentence. Couldn’t say out loud what they weren’t anymore. “Go. I’ll be okay,” she added, softening her voice so it sounded less harsh, less raw.

If he needed to believe she was fine with him moving on, she’d figure out how to pretend to be fine.

David sighed, swiping his hand down his face before nodding and glancing back toward the hallway. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something else — like there was anything they had left to say to each other — but shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’re not done,” he finally said, stepping away from her.

Her heart leapt even as her brain knew what those words meant — and didn’t mean. “Of course not,” she replied, trying as hard as possible to keep her voice steady. “Counselor Buddies For Life, right?”

He paused for another moment. The light fell across half of his face, throwing harsh black shadows that sliced the other half into a patchwork of dark grays and glowing, luminescent almost-white. There was no reason the sight should make her tenuous grasp of self-control slip away, except that he was beautiful and he was perfect and he wasn’t hers.

“Go,” she snapped, too loud — if that waitress was still out there she probably jumped. Tears crowded hot and aching in her throat, and she couldn’t wait for him to do what she said so she shoved past him for the second time that night, staggered into the hallway where the woman was still waiting, patiently and politely playing on her phone like she hadn’t been listening. Gwen bumped into her for the second time that night, not bothering to return her startled and unnecessary apology, and slammed her door shut. She moved a chair under the door handle, something that made little logical sense but gave her a tiny sliver of security, and made it all the way to her bed before the first sob tore out of her chest.

She put in earphones, pulled a pillow over her head for good measure, and cried until exhaustion finally, finally pulled her under.

---

It wasn’t morning when she woke up. The room was still dark — even when she pulled the pillow off her face and sat up, the weak moonlight was gone, the night still and empty and buried in deep shadows. She grabbed her phone to check the time, bracing herself in preparation of the screen’s blinding glare.

scraaape

Thunk.

rattlerattlerattle

Thunk.

Thunkthunkthunkthunkthunk

“Gwen? Are you there?”

She sat up, her phone forgotten. After a moment of silence the sounds continued, and she silently hopped out of bed, padding over to the window. She pulled open the curtain, squinting to see into the darkness. “David?”

He scrambled backward with a shriek, tripping over his feet and tumbling to the ground; the crowbar he’d jammed under Gwen’s window frame stayed in place, quivering like a plucked string.

“Oh!” He climbed to his feet, catching the crowbar as she opened the window. “Good mor — I mean.” Coughing awkwardly, he looked down at his feet, tapping the crowbar against the toe of one boot.

Her brain still foggy with sleep, she tried shaking her head to clear it. “Did you lock yourself out?” It’d happened before, but usually he just called . . .

She suddenly remembered the phone in her hand. It didn’t respond to her touch, the screen black and dead, and she vaguely remembered turning it off when it wouldn’t stop buzzing at her.

Right. Oops.

“Not exactly.” It was weird, having a civil conversation with her co-counselor through the window of her cabin, but it was an almost-nice kind of weird. A normal kind of weird. “You weren’t answering your phone or the door, and I couldn’t get it open so I —” His voice dropped to a murmur, and his shape in the darkness shuffled its feet like he was embarrassed. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Okay.

Yeah, she was okay all right. That was Gwen: an endless font of okay. “I locked the door because I wanted to keep you out,” she snapped, which wasn’t quite the truth; what she wanted to keep out wasn’t David but his questions, his worry, his lovely face and the warm buzz of afterglow from someone who wasn’t her. “I put a chair under the handle, David. Take the hint.”

He paused for a second, and she was relieved there wasn’t any moonlight to illuminate the hurt on his face. “I — I know,” he mumbled, sounding sheepish. “When I picked the lock I could tell. That’s why I —”

“You picked the lock?” Gwen wanted her response to that to be horror, fury — but the closest she could muster was a faint simmering blend of disbelief and amusement. “They teach that in Boy Scouts now?”

“It’s a valuable skill! And when I was a junior counselor there was a camper who liked spy novels . . .” He trailed off, and as the heat of his embarrassment cooled what was left behind was a sickening sense of corrupted normalcy; the ashes of a genuine conversation, one they would’ve had if everything hadn’t fallen apart, congealed into awkward silence. “Can I come in?”

“It’s the middle of the night, David.”

His outline lifted its chin, the same hard stubborn set she associated with terrible camp ideas, and her heart twisted horribly. “I — not to be unkind, Gwen, but you owe me this conversation. And we can’t . . . I can’t keep going on like this. So . . . please.”

This conversation was what she wanted, what she’d sprinted into his bedroom to have because she couldn’t stand putting it off another second. Now that it stood directly in front of her, she wanted nothing more than to delay again.

But he deserved better.

She sighed, stepping back from the window and moving toward the light switch. “Fine.”

When she turned back around, flinching at the sudden invasion of fluorescent light, David had one leg over her windowsill, ducking through the small opening and wriggling his way into the room. “What?” he asked, face reddening as she stared at him. “It . . . it was faster than going around the cabin.”

Gwen wanted to laugh. She wanted to pull him against her and kiss his forehead and fix his hair where the window frame had messed it up and she couldn’t do any of those things so she turned her phone on, watching the logo glow to slow and bleary life. It was barely 1:30; she hadn’t been asleep for more than an hour. “Where’s . . .” She gestured at her hair without looking up, realizing too late that she shouldn’t draw attention to the tangled mop on top of her head (and how little it looked like a diaphanous cloud of pink silk). “What’sername?”

He cleared his throat. “She, um — she went home.”

“That was fast.” The words left her mouth before her brain had fully processed them — stupid words, awful words, words she could’ve said to tease her best friend back when they still were best friends but that weren’t okay to say now , not after everything. She’d been lulled by the uncomfortable domesticity, the weird holding pattern they were trapped in now that some of the truth had slipped free and she didn’t have to be quite so careful. She felt more than saw him recoil, a little flash of movement in the corner of her eye that could’ve been nothing but was almost certainly a wince, and she dropped her phone onto her desk a little too roughly, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Sorry, I —”

“We didn’t.” He looked as horrified to blurt the words out as Gwen had been just a second ago, and he broke their gaze first, scuffing his boot along the carpet. The pretty flush darkening his cheeks was spreading down his neck and up to his ears, slow and sweet like a honey spill, and the urge to chase it with her tongue made her knees wobble. He swallowed and added, “do, y’know — gosh, I just couldn’t. A-anyway, she wanted to see the camp before leaving, so that took . . . a little while, I don’t remember.” He laughed, awkward and higher-pitched than usual, and scratched the back of his neck. “She was really nice about it. Wouldn’t even let me pay for the cab back into town.”

Shame coiled heavily in her stomach, a thick and glossy snake. “I’m sorry I ruined your night,” she said honestly.

He shrugged, still not making eye contact. “I mean, jeez, it probably wasn’t the best idea anyway.” Gwen realized he’d been drinking. Not much, and he had to be sobering up fast, but his “aw shucks”isms multiplied exponentially when he was tipsy. It was one of the most cruelly adorable things about him, and she hated herself for knowing that, for recognizing it and loving him even more. “I just needed . . .” He groaned and shook his head, tugging his fringe upright. “You said you wanted me to kiss you. H- how come?”

The sudden change of topic gave her whiplash until her brain put together the missing pieces. Tonight hadn’t just been a rebound: he’d needed to go home with someone he actually knew wanted him. It wasn’t just for an ego boost or out of touch starvation, but to prove to himself that he could tell the difference between a yes and a no.

And she felt it again — love and compassion and pity and self-loathing and despair — a quagmire of feelings so powerful they made her sick to her stomach, and because she was herself, a hateful monster shaped by heartbreak, instead of softening her voice to match the way she felt about him she hardened it, snapped, “Because I did,” like she was frustrated with his stupidity when what she was actually frustrated with, what she really despised and wanted to tear apart with her fingernails, was her own unloveable, broken self. “I made the first move — because I wanted to. No other fucking reason.”

“Why?”

It was just like when she’d told him she’d almost cheated on him, the day their relationship fell apart — except instead of betrayal quavering in his voice, there was something dangerously close to hope. It scared her. Pissed her off. “Feelings aren’t like a light switch, David! Getting over you is —” Impossible. “— taking more time than I thought.”

“But why?” And this time he didn’t sound small or hopeful; there was a dark, furious bite to his voice that rivaled her own. “The feelings should — they’re already gone, aren’t they? Wasn’t that the entire point?”

“No!” she cried, digging her fingernails into her palms to keep from raking them down her own face. This was what she’d dreaded: the agonizing task of trying to make him understand. “They weren’t gone when we broke up, and they aren’t fucking gone now!” This wasn’t right; she’d wanted to keep things simple and to the point: she wanted him, he shouldn’t ever want her, so logic dictated they couldn’t be together. What was all so simple and clean in her head kept coming out ragged and snarled like fraying yarn. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” she muttered, squeezing her eyes shut against tears.

God, she couldn’t even walk away from him properly.

“What was supposed to happen?”

This would be infinitely more bearable if he wasn’t so fucking nice. “We were supposed to survive the summer,” she said, unable to hold back a harsh noise that was supposed to be a laugh but felt like a sob, “and then you’d go back home and move on. Maybe hire a new cocounselor and fall in love with them. I don’t know!” Her voice rose, both in pitch and volume, and she had to force herself back to something that sounded even remotely normal. “You were supposed to get away from me.”

Like he almost had tonight.

Before she’d ruined it.

Again.

Misery tightened around her throat, a choker made of bloody thorns.

His voice was soft, barely a fraction of his normal speaking tone, but it made her jump nonetheless: “And what about you?”

She shrugged listlessly. “I don’t know,” she replied, her lips strangely numb and tingling, like she’d smeared her gums with Novocain. He was trying to get her to share something real, was using open-ended questions and everything; she’d taught him that trick, a leftover from one of her many useless degrees, but she was too tired to fight the urge to finally be honest. “Go back home and meet someone broken and fucked-up enough to deserve me. Just . . . go back to normal, I guess.”

“Oh, Gwen.” She felt David step closer, the wood floor creaking and shifting under his weight, the sunlit warmth of his body creeping into her orbit, and he sounded the way he did when talking to their more difficult campers; it was his “we can work out a solution together” voice, and panic constricted her chest because it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. His fingers brushed against her cheek, gently wiping away tears she hadn’t even noticed. “Why don’t you think you deserve to be happy?”

“You know why!” Gwen jerked back, because the touch of his skin against hers sparked her nerve endings and she had to either move towards him or away, and only one of those options was acceptable right then. She took a shaky breath, swiping at her face to try and stop the hot flow of tears down her cheeks. “You saw what I’m like outside of here. Maybe I’m important at some shitty backwater camp, but in the real world? I can’t even m-make my family —” She pressed her lips together, breathing in heavily through her nose. She was going to get through this. She owed it to him to get through this. “Ever since you visited I’ve been . . . waiting, I guess? For the other shoe to drop, for you to put it together that I’m not — and I tried to be good enough, I really fucking did, but it took a lot out of me. Too much. Waiting for you to come to your senses, trying and failing to be someone who could actually make you happy — trying to be happy, oh my god, do you have any idea how impossible that is for me?”

She was babbling. She could tell by the look on David’s face, by the slight furrow between his brows that he was trying to follow what she was saying but couldn’t, because she wasn’t making any goddamn sense.

Another deep breath. Time to try again.

“Earlier, like a week ago, before we — yeah. Whatever — I couldn’t get out of bed. Not like I was tired, or like I was sad or freaked out because I didn’t feel anything. I just couldn’t move. And I’ve done that before for days, David! I got fired once because I missed a week of shifts and couldn’t even call in sick. And that just happens sometimes, and for a while being with you was enough to get me out of bed but then it wasn’t and I don’t know how to pretend to be okay, okay?! I want to be — I wanna be normal and happy and anyone else but I can’t, and you don’t seem to get that yet but you will and I couldn’t stand waiting so I . . . ended it. Because somebody fucking has to.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach, shivering in the cool night air.

His hand brushed against her elbow, and she allowed herself to be ushered over to her bed, sat down and wrapped in blankets until she was warm again. And he was looking at her with the softest, warmest eyes, like he hadn’t heard a word she said properly because if he had he wouldn’t be staring at her like that, like she was some sort of beautiful broken doll he wanted to fix up and make pretty again.

But she couldn’t be made better. This was all there was.

And she didn’t know how to make him understand that she was a lost cause.

Gwen wasn’t sure how long she sat in her little blanket cocoon, staring at the floor and trying to find the words to explain how she was wrong for him — just wrong, period — but after a moment or an hour fingers brushed through her hair, suddenly appearing in her peripheral vision and making her jolt away.

“Sorry,” David murmured, drawing back for a second before returning his hand to her temple, gingerly unsticking her hair from the dried salt on her face and tucking it behind her ear. He didn’t meet her eyes, his expression stern and solemn and fully dedicated to this task, and when it was done he looked down at her hands and took one of them, sandwiching it between his own. “I wish you’d told me you felt like that.”

“I didn’t want you to know,” she said, managing a sad little huff of air that could almost be called a laugh. “I wanted you to think I was perfect.”

His answering smile was wan and sad, but heartrendingly genuine. “I do.”

The words jolted her into action, so discordant and wrong that she couldn’t sit still no matter how tired she was. She pulled out of his reach and climbed to her feet, letting the blankets fall away as she paced across the room. “How?!” she demanded, whirling on him and nearly tripping over the fabric strewn across the floor. “Were you even listening?”

“Of course I was!” he replied, indignant and hurt. “You have . . . struggles, but so does everybody —”

She rolled her eyes, kicking the blankets to the wall so she had more pacing room. “Yeah, struggles,” she repeated, bile coating her tongue. “Like this camp has struggles, right?” She ran her hands through her hair, forcing out a heavy breath to try and tame her anger — again. “You see everything in the best possible light, David. I love that about you —” Her voice caught; it was the first time the words “I” and “love” and “you” had been in the same sentence since she’d realized how she felt, and the force of it nearly knocked her breathless. “— but you can’t just pretend problems don’t exist because you don’t wanna see them! I tried that already, and guess what? It fucking makes things worse!”

“I’m not pretending! But there are ways to deal with — it’s not the end of the world. And you’re — you’re catastrophizing, Gwen. That’s not helpful, either!”

“‘Ways to deal with’ it? Like there are ‘ways to deal with’ Mr. Campbell being a fraud? Like your ‘ways to deal with’ Max?” He didn’t answer and she turned from him, stalking toward the other side of the room. It felt like she couldn’t get enough air, like the walls were closing in on her. “I know you like projects. People you can fix. But I can’t be fixed, okay? I’m just like this!”

“I don’t want to fix you,” he said. A frown line appeared between his eyebrows, and she wanted to kiss it smooth. “I don’t think you need to be fixed, Gwen.”

She groaned, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to squeeze away a headache or tears; it felt like she was on the verge of both. “Whatever you think you’re seeing in me just isn’t there. There isn’t anything worth seeing in me, and no amount of positive thinking is going to change that!”

“Gwen, stop!”

The suddenness of his shout made her freeze. He cleared his throat, his face flaming pink with embarrassment, but he met her gaze steadily.

“I’m not delusional,” he said, softer. “I know — I wish Mr. Campbell cared more about this camp. I wish this camp was everything it could be. I wish Max would give things here a chance, even just once. I know nothing’s perfect — I know that. But I also know you’re wrong about yourself, and you need to stop assuming you know what I think because you don’t!”

David took a step closer, holding out his hand uncertainly, like she was a deer he was afraid would bolt. She felt like a deer, frozen in the headlights of his warm, bright eyes.

“I don’t want to fix you,” he repeated. He moved close enough to stroke her cheek, cup the side of her face in his hand. “Or change you. All I want is to be with you — exactly like this. The way you are, right now.”

Tears stung her eyes, made him dissolve into a soft blur of her favorite colors. She looked away and took a deep, shaky breath. “Why?” she whispered, leaning into his palm. She knew she had to shove him away, tear the two of them apart with daggers until he learned to stop believing in her, but she was tired.

Tired, and so relieved to feel his touch it hurt.

He sighed but didn’t say anything until she turned back to him, the tears clinging to her lashes giving way and spilling down her cheeks. One of them skated into the divot his thumb made against her skin and he brushed it away gently, automatically. The look on his face was somewhere between awe and resignation, the bitter twist of his mouth so harsh against his soft, wide eyes. “Because I’m in love with you.”

Her breath caught.

Oh.

Her heart leapt into her throat, a dense lump of clay that ached just above the dip of her collarbone. She opened her mouth to reply but the lump swelled, choking, strangling any words that tried to surface.

He loves you! He loves you!

God, this was so much worse than she’d feared.

David stumbled back as she collided with his chest, twining her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek against his shoulder, gasping for breath as the lump in her throat gave way into water. After a moment’s hesitation he embraced her, one arm across her shoulder blades and one around the small of her back, and his warmth and smell and the gentle thrumming of his heart were like fresh air after months spent underground, beautiful and precious and necessary .

“I love — you too,” she sobbed into his shirt, barely able to form the words. “I — love you too, I’m — sorry, I’m so — sorry — I love you . . .”

“Gwen, it’s okay,” he murmured, smoothing his palm in wide circles over her back, “it’s fine, shh, don’t cry . . .” When her breathing returned to something resembling normal he pulled back, holding her by the shoulders like he was worried she’d bolt. Or like he couldn’t bear to break contact any more than she could. “Do you mean it? Do you really love me?”

The hope on his face — naked, tender, a little flame of joy so eager to leap into a blaze with the right stoking — lanced through her heart, because he still didn’t get it. A confession of love from her wasn’t something good , her love was poison —

But he was waiting for an answer and she couldn’t lie anymore. “Yeah,” she replied, swallowing hard to push back another wave of tears and then hiccupping when they came anyway. “I’m sorry.”

“Jeez, Gwen, why would you ever be sorry?”

She swiped at her face with her palms, smearing the tears around more than actually wiping them off. “That I — didn’t let you go . . . you deserve so much — better . . .”

He didn’t say anything, silence filling the air between each of her damp, pathetic sniffles, and finally she looked up to meet him. His expression was so full that it was hard to read, emotions jostling for room on his lovely, expressive face: confusion, concern for her, for her well-being (for her sanity, maybe). A tattered shred of his normal smile, like he was waiting for the punchline of a joke he didn’t understand yet. And there was joy flitting underneath it all, relief and love and more gentleness than she’d ever had pointed in her direction, more love than anyone had ever had in their eyes when they looked at her.

Then a shadow crossed his face, his eyes darkening like the surface of Lake Lilac during a storm, and the faint ghost of a smile disappeared.

“Why don’t I get to make that decision?” he asked. And there was a bite in his tone, a frisson of anger that cut through everything else and made her shiver. “How come you’re the only one who gets a say?”

Gwen fumbled for words like landmarks in a pitch-black room. “David, you’ve never — this was your first — you’re so . . .”

“‘Come to my senses,’” he repeated, his frown deepening as he looked away, at the wall, at nothing. “That’s what you said earlier, right? That I’d — that the only smart decision is to leave you, because nobody with a brain could . . . could know you and still want to be with you.”

She flinched, the flat, emotionless statement like needles against her skin because it was true and it was the realization she’d been dragging him toward and she still wasn’t prepared to hear it from him.

His hands fell from her shoulders, and the air cooled even further as he took a step back. She looked up and he crossed his arms over his chest, squaring his jaw.

“I still want to be here,” he said. His voice wobbled and he cleared his throat, so hard she felt it tearing her own, and the statement floated fat and pregnant in the air. So full of good possibilities but said with so much cold fury that it could only be a bomb waiting to go off. “So which is it, Gwen: is it that I don’t know you or that I don’t have a brain?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she managed, panic closing in and constricting around her ribcage.

“How did you mean it, then?” he snapped. His arms untangled and fell to his sides, hands curling into fists tight enough to turn his knuckles white. “Because it sounds to me like you think you’re the only one who’s allowed to make decisions about our relationship. You could’ve talked to me — I wanted you to talk to me! But you didn’t think I was . . . I don’t know, smart enough to see the real you? Able to do what’s best for me? Like I can’t know what I want?”

“You’ve never —”

He sliced one arm through the air, cutting her off instantly. “I know this is my first relationship, Gwen! I know that better than you do! Did you think this was — an, an accident? That I just stumbled into falling in love with you, like I didn’t know what I was doing? But I still can’t be trusted with what you’re really thinking and feeling — because I just won’t get it! Because I don’t know what it’s like to be sad.”

David laughed, hollow and humorless.

“What else do you think I can’t do? Should I not be allowed to light the campfire either? Or maybe I’m not smart enough to drive into town anymore — huh, Gwen?” His second laugh was sharper, damp with unshed tears. They made his eyes glisten as he looked back up at her, his face hard as stone. “Do you actually respect me at all? Or am I just a dumb kid to you?”

She felt sick. “Yes, I . . .” she began, then paused, tripping up over which part of the question she was supposed to be answering. “Of course I respect you!”

“Then tell me the truth!” He stalked closer, his breathing harsh and rapid. “If I asked you to be my girlfriend again, tell me you’d say yes. Tell me it’s because you trust me.”

Her mouth fell open, but the muscles in her throat wouldn’t move — just sat lifeless and paralyzed.

He was right.

She loved him so much, thought he was kind and wonderful and all the good things that she could never be . . . but she hadn’t been thinking of him as a partner. Never someone who could know better than her. He was sweet, innocent, naïve David. She was jaded and jagged, but above all she was right. She knew things he never could, learned from painful experience, and she had to protect him from herself and from the rest of the world.

It hadn’t even occurred to her to question it.

He must’ve read her thoughts on her face. Hurt flashed across his expression — a slight widening of his eyes, a tremor of his mouth — and then he looked away, wrapping his arms around himself. “Gwen, I love you. But I don’t think you see me as an equal.”

“It’s not that . . .” she began, but his face had shut off, the light behind it gone like a heavy steel shutter had closed behind his eyes.

“I . . .” He shook his head, scrubbed a hand across his face. “I need to go. I need . . . to think. To figure out . . .” He gestured between the two of them, still not meeting her eyes. “I want to say we can make this work. But I can’t be treated like this. I — I do deserve better than that.”

She nodded, unable to meet his eyes. “I know,” she croaked, more tears swelling her throat and making her voice crack.

“Yeah. You need to think, too.” He stepped past her, crossing the room and opening the door. He paused in the frame for a moment, not turning back to look at her. “I’m going out. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She didn’t move until the sound of the campmobile had faded into silence.

---

“Jesus, Davey.”

“I know.” He chuckled through his tears, leaning back against the windshield and looking up at the sky. His sleeping bag (the one he kept in the trunk for camping emergencies) was rolled out on the ground under the shelter of a tree, but the lookout’s reception was better by the car, and the cool metal was a relief from the hot, still air. “But she said she loves me.”

“Yeah? She has a real shitty way of showing it.” There was a moment of silence, and David closed his eyes, letting his breathing steady to match the night songs of the crickets. “I hate to say it . . . but I kinda think she’s right.”

He frowned, opening his eyes and sitting up. “What?” he asked, his heart shrinking in on itself with her words. How many more people in his life thought he wasn’t smart enough to make his own decisions?

“You deserve better.”

“Oh.” He sighed, settling back with relief.

He knew that, too.

“Julia . . .” He sniffed, wiped his nose on the hem of his shirt (it was laundry day tomorrow anyway). “Is it bad if I still want to be with her?”

“Of course not.” There’d been only a few times David could remember where his best friend’s voice had been so soft, so kind. And it was always when he was at his absolute lowest point. “You love her. That’s never a bad thing, even if she doesn’t deserve it.”

He didn’t say what he was thinking: he couldn’t shake the feeling, despite everything, that maybe she did . “W-what should I do?” he asked, knowing Julia wouldn’t have an answer but desperately hoping she might.

“I dunno, Red.” Julia sighed, just as a breeze ruffled David’s hair. For a second it felt like they were kids again, sitting on the dock of Lake Lilac and talking about Jasper. “I’m on your team whatever you decide.”

“Thanks, Jules.” He finished the call and stood, walking over to the drop that looked out over the entire lake. His gaze was drawn toward the small black speck that he knew was Camp Campbell, dark and quiet from so high above the world.

Whatever you decide.

He just had to figure out what that could possibly be.

---

David was right: she had to think.

And because he deserved it, she was trying very hard not to be apocalyptic or self-pitying, even though he now knew how terrible she was not only in the ways she’d already been aware of, but fun new ones she hadn’t even noticed.

She wasn’t very good at not being apocalyptic or self-pitying. But she was trying.

Gwen wandered into the cabin’s main area, the little not-quite-a-living room they’d filled with the camp’s one crappy TV and some leftover furniture that couldn’t fit in the Mess Hall. Next to the back door was a bulletin board covered in photos — David as a camper, the hated group photo taken at the beginning of every summer. Dozens of little snapshots, things that made David happy and that he thought were worth remembering.

She caught sight of a photo near the back, half-buried under the others, and smiled despite herself. It was from the year she’d started at Camp Campbell, making that stupid salute in front of her bedroom door. David had insisted on a photo of her in her new uniform, and the smile on her face was already strained, like she’d had an inkling of how insane the next half a decade was going to be.

Another photo snagged her attention, one from last summer: her and David’s faces smushed together, his arm stretching out to try and capture both of them in their ridiculous Order of the Sparrow outfits. They had red lipstick smeared across their cheeks and feathers in their hair, and she hadn’t even bothered trying to smile — though Gwen noticed, leaning in and wincing, that even through the terrible “war paint” on her face it was obvious she was blushing.

Less than twelve hours after that picture was taken, David would get injured and give her the worst scare of her life.

Less than a day later, the people in that picture would be dating.

And just about a year later — almost to the day — the annoyed-looking woman in the photograph would be alone in the counselors’ cabin, while the pale, scrawny not-Native-American would be . . . somewhere. Away from camp. Away from her.

Because of her.

David had been right. She loved him so much — more than she’d ever loved anyone else, which scared her to the point where she kinda wanted to throw up — but she’d been treating him the way she always had: as her goofy, lovable coworker. Not dumb, most of the time anyway, but naïve and sweet and vulnerable, who needed to be steered away from bad ideas like Sword Juggling Camp and officiating a green-card wedding for Mr. Campbell and falling in love with her.

Because she was his best friend, and that was what she was supposed to do, right?

She flopped onto the couch with a groan, flinging an arm over her eyes to block out the unforgiving fluorescent light.

“I don’t think you see me as an equal at all.”

The problem was she didn’t; she saw him as better than her, kinder and more patient — but putting him on a pedestal wasn’t any more respectful, not really. It wasn’t any truer, and it sure as hell wasn’t any more flattering, didn’t hurt him any less. She couldn’t tell him how she felt for so long, because she didn’t think he’d be able to understand. Or if he did, it’d change how he felt about her, like he hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t noticed the basic primary colors of her personality in the years they’d known each other. Somehow she’d been thinking of him as both too good and not good enough for an honest conversation, and hadn’t even noticed the contradiction.

But she thought he was the one who hadn’t been paying attention? God, she’d been so self-absorbed, so myopic —

(something pinged in the back of her head)

(just enough to cut off the churning stream of her thoughts)

Myopic. David had taught her that word. He’d heard it on some podcast his friend was obsessed with, and was so excited to know something Gwen didn’t that he was practically glowing. She’d called him a smug bastard and slapped the back of his head, just hard enough to make him laugh, but the truth was she liked hearing him explain things; when he was teaching the campers, she always stopped to watch (and not just to get a break from doing her job), because he was so patient and enthusiastic it was like the air around him was suffused with a soft, warm light.

He was a good teacher. She’d learned a lot from him.

(another ping)

(louder, more like a tuning fork smacked against the inside of her skull)

Gwen sat up, nearly falling off the sagging couch as she scrambled to her feet. There was an idea — small, fluttering, and she was afraid to approach it head-on because it might dissolve like a barely-remembered dream, but it all came back to myopic , to forest survival, to every time he’d taught her something she hadn’t known before. And there was so much. She’d been the most hopeless city girl when she started at Camp Campbell; she’d barely known how to tie a decent knot, let alone lead the dozens of bizarre and complicated camps David juggled like it was nothing.

Gwen remembered the strings of origami animals that she’d made back in New York. How she hadn’t turned to her phone for a YouTube tutorial, but painstakingly tried to remember David’s instructions step-by-step.

A quick glance at the clock told her it was just past 2 a.m. She had a little more than four hours before he’d be back, probably. It didn’t feel like nearly enough time, but she’d do what she could.

David was so much more than she’d ever given him credit for.

And she thought she knew how she could show it to him.

#campcamp #camp camp roosterteeth #gwenvid #cc gwen #cc david #forestwriting #oh man did i abuse the italics #yikes #but no seriously i think this is actually really good #yay!

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deafwestnewsies · 4 years ago

Text

il me dit des mots d'amour

Against all odds, Davey and Jack grew up.

david jacobs x jack kelly

read it on my ao3!

Give your heart and soul to me

And life will always be…

Their faucet dripped, the paint in the bathroom was peeling. Withering flowers sat in a dusty vase. The curve of Jack’s profile fit perfectly in the crook of Davey’s neck. Some things were simply meant to be.

“Dance with me,” Jack offers his hand. Davey almost bats the hand away in playful annoyance, “This article isn’t going to write itself!”, but he closes his eyes instead. Feels the warmth of Jack’s palm seep into his skin. Suddenly, he’s flying.

There’s a slight melody playing in the distance, blown in through their open window with the clean, bright muslin curtains dancing in the breeze. There is always some sort of music playing- it’s Paris and the world has stopped fighting long enough to listen to its song. Davey and Jack were young boys long ago, and now they are blessed to be alive. Visions of army fatigues and a physician’s coat blooming with scarlet still tiptoed through their dreams, haunted their quiet moments and tore through their loud ones. A bullet was still lost somewhere in Jack’s left leg. Davey still secretly poured over medical journals that promised to fix him.

Right now, however, they felt young again. An old spirit possessed them, one that sounded of a brazened young woman looking her father straight in the eye, a hundred wizened children buzzing for attention, the leather footsteps of boots on cobblestone. They didn’t talk about their youth anymore- too painful, too much of it stolen by men who would never know that death has a lingering, burning stench. The acrid taste woke Jack up in the middle of the night, and Davey would spoon-feed him honey like a child. Jack had cried the first time, Jack never had a mother to gently kiss his forehead in search of fever, Jack had Davey and a handful of memories that couldn’t be explained in simpler terms.

Davey had grown up with a mother and a father, a sister and a brother, but he only said their names in prayer. Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam. Protect my sister, bless my brother, love my parents. He wished, sometimes, that he had followed Les into the battlefield with his scalpel and sutures. His brother had died on a rainy April day from a disease Davey knew how to prevent. They told him after a particularly difficult amputation, one that required a steady hand and sound mind, and Davey’s first thought was back to when Les was a mere three years old. He had been so small that Davey and Sarah watched, enraptured by everything he did, toddling down the street, gripping at toys with his pudgy fists, putting just about anything he could in his mouth. They swore to protect him.

Jack was drafted seven days after Les had enlisted, Sarah ran far from her problems, and Esther collapsed with grief. Davey and Mayer buried the letter that had arrived at the Jacobs’ doorstep in their mother’s flower garden, and with the spring came a bought of daisies that bloomed right over the words We’re sorry to inform you…

Jack came home. Others did not.

Jack buried seven of the long-gone newsboys, he buried them alone with what little money he had, and Davey didn’t even bother offering his help. He had lasted fourteen months before he aged out of selling newspapers and their enticing headlines; Jack was raised in the dark alleys and echoing hallways of a lodging house. Each boy’s grave was marked with a stone spattered in paint and a nickname. Jack didn’t even know Racetrack’s real name, he would admit years later, wrapped in the dark quilt of night. All those years spent together. It hadn’t felt important at the time.

They sold what little they had and bought a bungalow in Paris, where the sun rose golden and the streets were paved in a different shade of gray. Davey wrote letter after letter in search of his twin sister, older than him by four-seven seconds, and prayed that she would appear on their doorstep. Jack had once asked if maybe, possibly, she was… Before he could finish the wheedling question, Davey stopped him. I would know, he had said. I knew her in birth, and I’ll know her in death. She’s out there.

Still, they were happy. Jack painted the eiffel tower at night, decorated with the electric lights that illuminated the roses people threw at its iron feet. He sold his works to wealthier couples, ones that oohed and ahhed over the homegrown talent only a natural genius could bear. Davey learned to bake bread and drink tea instead of coffee, he scoured the shops for antique teacups and old, frail copies of books no one had ever read. They spent the days in a compatible routine, and at night they drank French wines and let themselves dream of a different life- maybe not a happier one, but different all the same.

“Les would still live with my parents,” Davey would laugh. “That boy would take a wife and still crave Mamma’s latkes. And I’d be some perfectly fine surgeon who lost patients all the same, with a simple little wife to make me a brandy when I arrived home.” He would hold Jack’s hand a little tighter, possibly with relief, never with regret.

“Kathy woulda said yes when we were eighteen,” they would both grimace at the memory. “We’d have some fancy mansion and I’d be her adoring, deadbeat husban’ who met with ‘is best friend more n’ he should. Probably kids.” Jack’s eyes would cloud over for a moment, lost in a future he couldn’t have. “Def’nitely kids.”

Davey’s hand travels across the great expanse of Jack’s broad, flat back. The two men sway gently to the trumpet, roaring on in the distance. They were older now, older than they ever meant to be, and the days felt like sand slipping through a timepiece. Davey would always murmur, “There’s so much I haven’t done.”

Jack would always placate him. “But look at what we have.”

Give your heart and soul to me,

And life will always be,

La vie en rose.

#been on a HUGE javid kick recently #newsies #newsies on broadway #newsies on tour #newsies live #newsies 1992 #jack kelly #davey jacobs #javid #javid au #javid fanfiction #newsies au #newsies fanfiction #my writing

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thefactsofthematter · 4 years ago

Note

“don’t you think you’ve done enough?” and “how do you sleep at night?” seem like a fun pair. you know what to do ma’am- serve me some javid in a fun au. ily >:) -fizz

@jack-kellys ohohohoho now these were some sinister prompts but i very much appreciate them. since apparently i’m no longer capable of writing concisely, this got a little long, but i don’t think that’s really a bad thing! here’s an ao3 link for anyone who would rather read it there :)

javid; 4.8k; historical au!! set in 1860s rural new york, where davey is obscenely wealthy and jack works for the jacobs family; cw: homophobia, (sort of) child abuse; slight nsfw themes for a bit; and a generally toxic relationship

1867.

"I could get lost in your eyes, David."

They're blue, but not a blue that Jack has ever seen in anyone else's eyes. They're not pale, like the sky on a cloud-free day— they're a deep blue, almost reminiscent of the bottom of the ocean. Jack supposes he could swim right into them and never return, lost in the depths of the unknown.

They get a little brighter when Davey smiles, and he does just that. They're laying on his bed, their faces so close together that Jack can feel every one of Davey's exhales on his lips. Jack wants to kiss him, but he'd like to savour this moment first.

"Stare a little harder, why don't you?" Davey laughs. His voice is gentle, and a bit deeper now that they're older, a rumble in his chest that Jack can nearly feel in his own when they're pressed together like this. "You ought to finally paint me, it might last longer."

Jack silently thanks the lord that his tan skin doesn't blush easily, especially now, when the heat of the summer over the past couple months has deepened his skin colour even further. He can feel a flush rise to his cheeks, but he's sure Davey won't see it, since they're only illuminated by moonlight through the window.

"Is it wrong to adore you?" Jack asks, raising a hand to stroke Davey's cheek. "I'd stare at you all day if I could."

"I already stare at you all day," Davey replies. "So I suppose we're square."

It's half-true— the study where Davey is tutored in the afternoons has several grand windows overlooking the main garden that Jack usually tends. He'll often look up to see Davey staring down at him, having abandoned whatever studies he was meant to be focusing on.

Davey abandoning his studies is how they met, in fact. They were twelve or so, and it was Jack's first week of work in the gardens of the Jacobs family's summer home— he was still apprenticing under Miss Medda, learning how to prune the flower bushes to perfection and care for each and every plant on the massive estate, when Davey all but ran right into him.

1862.

"Hello there."

Jack startles, looking up from where he's been meticulously trimming the bottom leaves of a rosebush, to see a boy his own age standing over him.

"Hello," Jack replies. Any of the other kids he's met here have been employees or children thereof— the Jacobs seem willing to provide work with decent wages for any poor child that needs it, which is awfully nice of them— so he extends his hand to shake without thinking much of it. "I'm Jack."

The boy smiles and shakes Jack's hand, with an oddly formal air to how he moves. His posture is upright and his handshake is firm, almost like a miniature adult.

"I'm David." He looks around, as if to be sure no one else is nearby, and then he crouches down next to Jack with a mischievous grin. "Do you mind if I hide here for a bit?"

Jack smiles right back, confused and amused.

"That's fine by me, but can I ask who's chasing you? Should I be running too?"

David laughs.

"Oh, don't worry, I promise I won't get you in trouble. I'm just... not where I'm supposed to be right now. No matter who finds me, I'm sure they'll give me heck, but I just couldn't stay inside any longer."

Jack isn't sure what to think of David, but he just shrugs and laughs along, turning back to the task that Medda had set him up with. He's sure she'll be proud of him if he gets it all done without getting too distracted and making silly mistakes.

"Alright then," he says, and he takes the tiny gardening shears to the leaves again, making sure the edges of the bush are completely even. "I'll try not to blow your cover."

They both giggle softly, and then there's a moment of quiet, during which Jack can feel that he's being watched rather closely. David finally breaks the silence.

"Do you work here?"

Jack snorts out a laugh before he can help it.

"Well, it'd be awfully strange of me to go around trimming the bushes if I didn't," he replies, which manages to fluster David, making him flush a little pink with embarrassment. "I only just started this week, so maybe that's why we haven't met. I've been busy— there's sure a lot of plants to take care of."

David's expression is unreadable for a moment, in a way that Jack can tell is well-trained. Someone must've taught him that wearing your thoughts on your face is impolite, because he's obviously making some sort of judgement, but it's a mystery as to what.

"Do you like working here?"

Jack, in the opposite of David's composed politeness, shoots him an inquisitive look as he shrugs.

"You ask a lot of questions," he says, before actually getting to his answer. "It's alright, I suppose. Work is work, and this is leagues better than a factory. I can't complain about a fair wage and somewhere safe to sleep."

David's face remains frustratingly neutral as he nods. He's still watching Jack closely, which is uncomfortable to say the least.

"You're awfully young to have a job," he finally says. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

Jack laughs, more confused than anything— this kid certainly asks odd questions.

"You're no older than I am," he retorts, not wanting to get into the long-winded story of how he ended up here— his father going off to fight with the Union army and leaving him in a children's home that was really just a rotten workhouse, running away from there, and eventually finding Medda, who offered to get him a solid job. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Ah— well, you see..." David's face falls into an awkward grimace. "That's what I'm hiding from. I'm on the run from my tutor— he's the most boring man I've ever met, and if he makes me read any longer, I think my eyes will go crossed. I was hoping that coming out to the summer home would mean I get to play outside, but I've been cooped up in the library every day!"

Suddenly, and sharply, it dawns on Jack— David doesn't work here, he lives here. He's one of the Jacobs! Jack had known they had children, but the only run-in he's had with any member of the family until now was briefly meeting Esther on his first day of work— he hadn't even known what her children would look like, nor did he know their names, so how could he have realized that David was one of them?

Before Jack can even say anything, they're interrupted by a shout from elsewhere in the garden.

"Davey! Mom's going to kill you!"

David's eyes go wide.

"Oh no, they've sent my sister after me," he whispers, in a rush. "I have to go. It was lovely to meet you, Jack."

And then he's off like a bullet, running out of the garden to hide somewhere else. Jack thinks about him for the rest of the day.

1867.

"What are you thinking about, mon cœur?"

They're still laying in bed together, still pressed up so close that Jack can feel Davey's words. Davey speaks so many languages that Jack has no clue what pet name he's just been called— all he knows is that it sounded pretty rolling off Davey's tongue.

"You," Jack replies. "How lovely you are, and how lucky I am to have known you for so long."

Davey's nose scrunches, embarrassed.

"You flatter me far too much, darling. I'm afraid you'll make my head so big it falls right off my shoulders."

Jack kisses him to shut him up. Davey hates compliments, but Jack loves to give them to him, so sometimes a distraction has to be employed to keep him from whining too much about it.

"Don't you think it's hot in here?" Jack asks once they pull away for breath, willing to acquiesce and change the topic if it means moving on to not talking at all. He slides his hands up Davey's shirt, fondling his lean torso and hinting for him to undress.

Davey laughs, tossing his head back against his pillows and rolling onto his back, pulling Jack along with him to sit on top and straddle his hips. His hands find their way to Jack's waist, pushing up the hem of his shirt just like Jack had been doing to him.

"Oh, I agree," Davey says, grinning up at Jack. "Terribly hot. You'll have to take this off, won't you?"

Jack is quick to oblige. He forsakes even unbuttoning it, simply pulling his shirt off over his head and tossing it aside. His clothes aren't nearly as nice as Davey's, most of them used and secondhand, so he's not too worried about being careful with them, especially not in a moment like this.

"It's only fair if yours comes off too," he says, leaning down to whisper it against Davey's mouth. "I'm not just here to give you a show."

Davey smiles and pulls Jack in for another kiss. It's hot and fervent, and it makes Jack think of how different things are from last summer. Last year was the first time they kissed, the first time they thought of being anything more than best friends— they were only fifteen, and everything was tentative. Call him naive, but Jack hadn't even realized that boys could kiss other boys until he saw Racetrack, who minds the horses, kissing a delivery boy behind the stables. Kissing Davey was entirely new and sort of terrifying, back then.

This summer, Davey had come back to the country home for the season several inches taller and having gained a broadness and muscularity reminiscent of a young man— Jack hasn't gotten quite as tall, but he supposes he must have filled out in a similar way. They're each more confident now, and it's translated into everything they do, especially into the way they've started to explore all the things their bodies can do together.

"Be a dear and help me with the buttons, why don't you?" Davey runs a hand through Jack's hair to mess it up, their faces still close together, and he smiles in that particularly charming way that he only does when they're in a heated moment like this.

"Too lazy to do it yourself, huh?" Jack teases, but he listens anyways and starts to unbutton Davey's shirt. He kisses down his jaw and neck as he does so, revelling in the little gasps of pleasure and hitches in Davey's breath that this coaxes out. They have to be quiet— as big as this house is, there's always a chance of someone walking by— but Jack adores the near-silent noises Davey makes for him. "Does that feel good, darling?"

"God, Jack..." Davey whispers, almost desperately. "You're so beautiful."

The shirt is fully unbuttoned, and Jack is slowly moving his attention further down Davey's torso. He's just about to start working on the button of his trousers, pausing first to move back up and kiss Davey's lips yet again, smiling into it, and—

"David? Are you awake?"

The bedroom door swings open, without so much as a knock.

Jack's stomach drops to his toes. It was supposed to be locked. Davey always locks it, so that if someone comes by Jack at least as time to hurry back out the window, the way he came in. He must have forgotten tonight.

"What the hell is going on here?"

It's Mayer. Oh god, it's Davey's father. They're fucked.

Jack pulls away from Davey immediately, and they lock eyes for a brief moment, utterly panicked. Without wasting any time, Jack fumbles to grab his shirt and then takes off, climbing out the window that they'd left propped open and following his familiar path down the side of the balcony to land on the dew-soaked grass below.

"David Isaac Jacobs!" Mayer shouts, from inside. Jack finds himself backing up against the wall of the house, directly under the balcony, so that he won't be spotted if Mayer looks out the window. He claps a hand over his mouth to try and keep his heavy breathing from giving him away. "What on God's green earth did I just walk in on!?"

"Dad," Davey's desperate, terrified voice hardly carries out the window for Jack to hear. "It was nothing, I swear. We were just... fighting! Um, he came onto me, and I didn't know what to do, I-"

"Bullshit!" Mayer snaps. "Don't you dare lie to me, young man. It was that no-good gardener boy that you're always spending so much time with, wasn't it? The pair of you are a couple of queers."

"No!" Davey shouts. "That's crazy! It's not— it's not like that at all!"

Davey has never been any good at lying. Mayer slaps him so hard that the crack of it echoes out the window, making Jack immediately feel sick with guilt. He's hiding out here like a coward while Davey is punished for what they did together. He could have stayed and defended him, taken the consequences like a man.

"Watch your attitude, boy."

"Please, Dad," Davey all but sobs. "I'm sorry-"

"You're sorry you got caught. Jesus, I don't even remember what I came in here for— it doesn't matter anyways. Go to sleep and I'll deal with you in the morning."

The quiet once he's stormed off is eery, and Jack waits beneath the balcony a moment longer to make sure he's actually in the clear. He considers climbing back up to see if Davey is alright, but then the window slams shut above him and the lock clicks into place.

It seems like he'll have to go sleep in his own bed for once.

Selfishly, Jack avoids working anywhere near the actual house throughout the next day.

He's a little worried that if he runs into Mayer he'll be fired on the spot, so he does his best to stay out of sight and out of mind— he works on the trees that surround the perimeter of the property, and then spends a good while bothering Race in the stables. He supposes that if Davey wants to see him, he'll come looking.

He doesn't come. In fact, for a couple of days, Davey is nowhere to be seen. Jack doesn't yet have the courage to return to his bedroom window at night, for fear of being caught, but he keeps an eye out for him around the grounds all day. Even as he's watering the main gardens, finally forced to go near the house again, he doesn't notice Davey in his usual spot by the library windows. He's practically dropped off the face of the earth.

The first of the Jacobs family that Jack actually speaks to is, surprisingly, Les.

"Jack!" The eight year-old is charging at him through the rows of carefully tended flowers, the same way a much younger Davey used to run from his governess and tutor. "There you are!"

Jack forces himself to smile as he sets down the watering can, giving his tired arms a much-needed break.

"Hey kiddo," he laughs, making a show of stumbling a few steps backwards with the force of Les' running hug. "Woah, you're awful strong. You'll knock me right over one of these days, if you're not careful."

Jack adores Les, he really does. The kid is fascinated by everything Jack says or does, which is entirely adorable, and he often comes seeking him out in the garden if he tires of playing by himself while his siblings are busy.

"I've been looking for you," Les sighs, dramatically. "You weren't in the garden yesterday, or even this morning! I'm not supposed to go running too far from the house, so I couldn't even go find you, wherever you were. I thought you were gone for good!"

"Aw, buddy," Jack chuckles, ruffling his hair. "I was just working on some of the big trees around the edges of the yard. They needed someone tall to go reach the high branches. I'm back to my usual job now, though."

Les frowns.

"You're not that tall. David is taller."

"I suppose you're right." Jack picks the watering can back up to keep working away while he chats with Les. "He could probably reach even higher branches than I could— maybe he should have come out and helped me."

Les huffs and folds his arms over his chest.

"He hasn't left his room in days. He won't even come to dinner— Mama just takes his food and leaves it outside his door. I knocked and he wouldn't even talk to me"

That's... unsettling. Either Davey is too upset to leave his room, or he's in so much trouble that he's not allowed to— Jack isn't sure which option is worse. He might have to risk paying a visit tonight.

"Well, isn't that odd," Jack replies, doing his best not to externalize how worried he is. "Maybe he's sick. Or, you know, teenagers just get moody sometimes— maybe he's upset about something. I wouldn't worry too much."

Les seems satisfied with this answer, so he nods and drops the subject, happy to follow Jack around and chatter about whatever comes to mind for the rest of the afternoon.

When he's absolutely sure that it's dark enough for no one to see him, Jack darts across the lawn towards the house.

He's done this a million times before, but tonight feels different. The run from the stables— where he typically shares the attic with Race, Albert and Crutchie as a bedroom of sorts— feels ridiculously long, and the twisting ball of nervousness in his stomach is nearly making him sick. He doesn't usually get scared while climbing the balcony, but tonight he's got a horrible inkling of dread telling him he might slip.

He makes it up, though, and he's face to face with Davey's closed window. It's dark, but he can see a hunched over figure sitting on the bed. He taps gently on the glass.

Davey glances up, and they make eye contact for a moment, but then he simply frowns and looks away. Jack isn't willing to give up that easy, though, so on a whim, he tries lifting the window open. To his surprise, it slides right up.

"Don't even think about it, Jack." Davey whips around immediately, looking angrier than Jack's ever seen him. "We can't do this. You have to leave."

Jack raises his hands in surrender, only leaning his top half into Davey's room, not climbing all the way through.

"I only want to talk," he says. "Les told me you were upset, so I thought I'd come see if there's anything I can do."

Davey scoffs, rolling his eyes like a petulant child.

"Don't you think you've done enough?"

Jack frowns, confused.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've done enough damage," Davey snaps. "My father hates me now. He won't even speak to me. He's locked me in my room, and now he's sending me to boarding school come autumn, and it's all because of you." There are tears welling in his eyes, but he huffs and wipes them away. "Go away, and don't come see me again. My life is ruined and it's your fault."

For a moment, Jack is speechless. What the hell? First of all, it's not as if Davey didn't invite him right into his bed in the first place— and he was the one who forgot to lock the door! Really, Jack is innocent here. The only one Davey ought to be mad at is Mayer. Secondly, he's simply astounded by how obnoxiously privileged Davey is. Now, Jack Kelly is slow to anger most of the time— he can't even recall a moment, at least since he's been employed by the Jacobs, that he's ever lost his temper. He certainly has a lot to be angry about, given the rotten hand he's been dealt in life, but it rarely ever gets to him.

In this moment, however... he feels as if he's about to snap.

"Ruined?" Jack asks, surprising himself by matching Davey's angry tone. "This is your idea of your life in ruins? Good lord, are you even hearing yourself?"

Davey's jaw drops.

"You can't speak to me like that! I told you to leave— go away right now."

His words feel like a punch to the stomach. It's a cruel reminder that even after everything they've shared, Jack is nothing more than a servant who ought to know his place. How dare he treat Davey as an equal, right?

If he knew what was good for him, he'd walk away, but Jack is so horribly furious that the words come rushing out before he can stop them, years of pent-up frustration finally spilling over.

"No, listen to me," he snaps. "Put yourself in my shoes for one god damn second, and think about what you just said. Your parents— which you have, by the way— are sending you to some fancy, expensive school, and that's the greatest hardship you've ever faced? Do you know how many people would kill for that chance!? You could write letters to tell me how horrible boarding school is, but I wouldn't even know how to fucking read them, because I've never even been to school! How do you expect me to feel sorry for you?"

"I don't!" Davey replies, all cross and defensive. "I don't care if you feel sorry for me or not, because you wouldn't understand! It's not my fault that you're poor. My family has been so good to you— in fact, you ought to be thanking me for convincing my father not to fire you, after what happened the other night. It'd do you well to be a little more grateful for-"

"Shut up!" Jack yells, losing his patience entirely. "You're so goddamn selfish, I owe you nothing! Everything you have is built on the backs of people like me, who don't have a choice but to work because we've got nothing else— how do you sleep at night!? You'd be nothing without us poor folk, and you're no better than me just 'cause you've got money and a family. You're a naive, spoiled brat, David, and I can't believe I ever fell for you."

Davey isn't so quick to respond this time. The silence that follows is horribly loud, hanging heavy between them with words that probably would've been better left unsaid. Davey's cold expression has crumpled into something hurt and vulnerable, and it almost makes Jack feel bad about being so harsh— his red-hot anger has rushed away like a receding tide, and now he simply feels stunned that he even lost his temper like that.

"I'm sorry," Jack finally says, once the silence has dragged on for too long. "I didn't mean to get so angry." He pauses. "I should go. I'll stay out of your way from now on."

Davey sniffles and wipes quickly at his eyes, as if he's trying to hide that he's tearing up. Jack's stomach sinks with guilt at the realization that he's made him cry.

"I promised my father I'd never talk to you again," he mumbles, his voice wet and choked up. "You have to leave before someone catches us."

Jack nods. He can see that it's not him that Davey is really angry with— it just makes it easier to push him away if he blames him for everything. It hurts, but he understands.

"Okay," he sighs, and he finds himself swallowing tears of his own. "I'll always love you, Davey. I mean that."

And then he can't bear to watch Davey cry any longer, so he leaves. He climbs down the balcony for the last time and runs back across the lawn to the stables, hoping the wind hitting his face will be a good enough excuse for the tears in his eyes.

1868.

It's Davey's first day back at the summer home, and he's been wandering the grounds by himself all day.

The new boarding school wasn't so bad, really, and he's honestly rather excited to go back for his senior year in the fall. It's a lot harder than his old school, a private academy near their other home in Manhattan that he'd attended with Sarah for years, but he sort of enjoys the challenge. He's even made some friends, which he was worried he wouldn't be able to do without his sister by his side.

He owes Jack an apology. He's grown a lot this year, and he can finally see that everything Jack said was true— he's been selfish and naive for too long, and he needed the rude awakening. He's ready to try again, and perhaps do a better job of keeping their secret rendezvous an actual secret, if only Jack will have him. He's got an open heart, and if Jack can forgive him, he'd love to let him back in.

The problem he's facing right now is that Jack is nowhere to be seen. He's walked in loops around the property and has yet to run into him— so he eventually finds himself wandering into the stables, hoping that maybe someone here might have a clue as to where Jack is at.

"Hey," he interrupts a boy about his own age who's shovelling straw into one of the stalls. "Have you seen Jack around at all today?"

The boy looks up with a confused frown.

"Jack Kelly?"

"That's the one. I need to talk to him— I've been looking all over."

The boy still looks confused, and lets out a nervous laugh.

"Oh, um... I'm sorry, sir, but Jack hasn't worked here for months. He quit in November and I haven't heard from him since."

Davey's heart sinks.

No. That's not how this was supposed to go. Davey was going to come back and Jack would be here, just like every summer. They were going to talk it out— Davey was ready to beg for forgiveness if he had to— and they'd be okay. They'd be in love, just like they were before. Jack wasn't supposed to leave— where would he even have gone?

"Do you know where he went?" Davey asks, desperate enough to startle the poor stable boy a bit. "Did he say, before he left?"

Maybe he can find him. Maybe he's not far, just working somewhere in the nearby town he'd grown up in.

"He took a train out west, as far as I know," the kid says, which only manages to crush Davey's heart even further. "He'd been wanting to go for ages, and I guess he finally had enough savings for a ticket. I figure he's probably in California or New Mexico these days."

Davey can hardly breathe. This can't be happening. He's not sure he's ever felt heartbreak before, but this is certainly as close as he's ever come. He's completely and utterly shattered.

"Oh... thank you for telling me," he says, forcing himself to keep his composure. "I'll get out of your way, then."

He doesn't wait for an answer, simply takes off back towards the house. He runs straight to his bedroom, ignoring Les's calls to come play with him and his mother shouting that he knows better than to run in the halls— he simply slams his door behind him and throws himself onto his bed. He grabs a pillow to hide his face, and he screams.

This isn't fair. He is selfish, just like Jack said, because all he wants is for that stupid boy that he loves so much to be here with him. Jack was supposed to stay and wait for him and forgive him— he had it all planned out in his head. They were going to be happy, but now Jack doesn't want him anymore and everything is ruined.

Seven months, Jack has been gone— Davey probably doesn't even cross his mind these days. He's probably brushed it all off as some failed teenage romance and found someone new to love instead. It's like he didn't even care that Davey would miss him.

He throws his pillow at the wall, and splays out on his back to stare at the ceiling.

"I hate you!" he shouts into the air, as if Jack can hear him, thousands of miles away. "I love you so much, Jack Kelly, and I hate you for it! I hope you never fall in love with anyone ever again!"

And then he throws his arms over his face and sobs, utterly broken. Everything he's read about first loves in stupid romance books must be true, because he's never, ever going to love anyone the way he's loved Jack.

#my writing #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #newsies fic #also!!!! theres an alternate ending that i didn't end up using but i am willing to share if there's interest!!!#it's even sadder lmao

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ihatecoconut · 4 years ago

Text

One of Ours

Cross Posted to AO3

It was an unfortunate series of events that moved the Jacobs family from Ohio to New York, but it came with a pay rise for Mayer, a new job for Esther, and a new school for their three children. All three had been struggling at their previous school, bullied for being Jewish, and Esther had high hopes that they would get on better in a state with many more Jewish people around.

Davey and Sarah were fifteen, Les was twelve and unknown to their parents, they were all relieved to be moving to New York- or, back to New York, considering they all had memories of living there before. Sarah called it her past life, Davey just called them memories, without giving it a name that had such huge connotations as Sarah’s did. Les didn’t call it anything, because he was twelve and not yet fully aware of the fact that it set them apart from everyone else.

“It’s called ‘The World’,” Esther was explaining to Sarah as Davey came down the stairs. He still wasn’t used to having a house with two floors, or a room to himself, despite it having been nearly a week since they had moved in.

“It’s run by a man named Joseph Pulitzer, a descendent of the Pulitzer Prize man- morning David.”

“Good morning, mama,” he replied, sitting next to Sarah.

“I was just telling Sarah about your new high school. It’ll be good to know some things before you get there, won’t it?”

Davey mustered up a smile and nodded, biting into his toast despite the nerves churning in his stomach that threatened to send anything he ate back up. Sarah squeezed his arm under the table, smiling at him hopefully. He knew what she was thinking- in the memories the three of them shared Pulitzer had also been named Joseph, and Sarah had been utterly in love with his daughter. If they weren’t the only ones, maybe Katherine went to their high school as well.

Les borderline tumbled down the stairs and dropped into the chair on Sarah’s other side, “Good morning, mama!” he chirped cheerfully, taking the toast she set in front of him and devouring it.

“You seem excited.” Esther commented, looking relieved- even if the twins were nervous, she knew they would have each other, Les on the other hand was only in middle school, and would be alone surrounded by people he didn’t know.

“I am!” Les replied, around a mouthful of toast that made Davey grimace, “I can’t wait to meet my friends!”

Esther laughed, ruffling his hair, the statement meant nothing to her, just the ramblings of her excited son. Davey and Sarah knew that he was convinced that they would meet the people they had known before- it had been their topic of discussion last night- and neither of them had the heart to point out to their brother that they might be the only three that remembered.

Breakfast was finished, and Esther hurried the three of them out of the house, dropping kisses on cheeks and wishing them a good first day as she walked in the opposite direction to them. Together, they watched her hurry off- she had started working at a local bakery partway through their first week and was used to it by now. As she got out of sight, they turned as one and began walking towards the school.

Their father had made them walk to the gates and back multiple times over the previous few days, so they knew where they were going.

“Davey!” Les gasped, tugging on his sleeve like he did in the memories, the memories where he was much younger, “It’s the lodging house!”

And it was. The building had barely changed, save for some wear and tear and the sign that now read ‘Kloppman’s home for boys’ instead of ‘Duane Street Lodging House.’ As if on cue, a group of boys tumbled out of the door and began walking in the same direction they had been.

Les stood on his tiptoes, glancing between all the boys, trying to see anyone he recognised. Davey and Sarah exchanged a slightly horrified glance- it had been fine thinking about meeting the other people they remembered in abstract, but the sudden idea that it could be very real wasn’t something that either of them had really been prepared for.

“Les,” Sarah said, pulling him back from where he seemed to be about to run into the fray, “you have to be careful. They might not remember.”

His little face took on a much sombre look, “I know. I’m not supposed to know their names unless they say something first.”

She nodded and squeezed his hand, “If you were friends last time, I’m sure you’ll get along this time too.”

He grinned up at her and nodded, with that the three of them began to walk again, no more words exchanged until they had left Les at the gates of the middle school, gaining a promise from him to wait for them and not walk home on his own.

“Do you really think that?” Davey asked quietly, “That if we were friends last time, we’ll be friends this time?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“We only became friends with them last time because we had the same job. They wouldn’t have cared about me if I hadn’t joined the newsboys.”

Sarah hugged him, “You’re so pessimistic. Try and look on the bright side, ok?”

He sighed, “Yeah, ok.”

They went to the school office, following helpful signs, to collect their schedules- and apparently, someone who would show them to first period if nothing else. The secretary introduced herself as ‘Hannah, you don’t need to call me miss anything’ and handed them their schedules with a smile and a basic explanation of the shape of the school.

“It used to be the headquarters for ‘The World’ newspaper, so the main body was set out like offices, but there was some reworking before the school was opened, so there’s more classrooms- and obviously the newer parts were built to be a school.”

Davey didn’t say anything, so Sarah took over the polite smiling and responses until they were told to sit in the waiting room and wait for the people who would be showing them around this morning.

“What’s up with you?” she asked quietly, pretending to be comparing their schedules, “You’re never like this.”

“I know her,” Davey replied, the same volume, “She was one of Pulitzer’s… I don’t know, secretaries?”

“Weird.”

“Do you think…”

“No. No way, she didn’t seem to recognise you.”

“Maybe she’s had practice.”

“If she’s here, who else- “

Sarah was cut off by two people entering the office kind of loudly,

“Hi Hannah!” the boy called, leaning on her desk and grinning brilliantly, “You are looking radiant as always.”

“Romeo.” The twins whispered in unison, thankfully not loud enough for either him, or his friend to here.

“Sarah! David!” Hannah called, “Come here, please.”

They did, smiling at Romeo, and the girl who turned out to be Hotshot, while trying not to let the recognition show through. Neither of them seemed at all surprised to see the two of them, or as if they recognised them and Davey wasn’t quite sure if that was a relief or not.

“Alright.” Hannah clapped her hands, “Sarah, this is Romeo, he’s gonna stick with you for the morning and hand you over to Mike for the afternoon. David, this is Niamh- “

“Hotshot.” Niamh interjected,

“-Hotshot, yes, and she will be with you for first period, then she’ll hand you over to Katherine for the afternoon. Ok?”

They both nodded their understanding and went to stand with their assigned partner, for lack of a better word. Sarah gave her brother an encouraging smile, one that said he could do this, even if he was almost completely convinced, he couldn’t.

They split up almost immediately, with Romeo leading Sarah down one corridor soon after the exited the office, and Hotshot continuing straight on. She didn’t say much, pointing out things Davey would want to remember as they passed, and glancing back every so often to check that he was still there, which was fine by Davey as he had never been particularly good at small talk, and it gave him time to think.

He hadn’t got many memories of Hotshot, just that she had been Spot’s second and he had sometimes had to pass messages through her in order to speak to Spot. She hadn’t been particularly talkative last time either, from what he vaguely remembered, but then none of Brooklyn had- she still had the Brooklyn accent, even at a school in Manhattan. “This is first period,” she said, gesturing at a door that was marked ‘Bi3’ “Biology.” She pushed the door open and walked in, obviously expecting Davey to follow. The teacher who turned and smiled at them wasn’t at all recognisable to Davey, which he found slightly relieving, and she welcomed him to the class, before directing him to sit next to Hotshot at the back- the only spare seat.

A few corridors over, Sarah was behind Romeo in math. Before they had gone in, he had warned her that the teacher wasn’t particularly nice and that they called him ‘Snyder the Spider’ behind his back. The words had sent a chill up her spine- her memories of the newsies explaining the Refuge to her and her parents were harsh, sharp, and awful. The memories of even one of the littles lifting up his shirt to reveal an ugly scar were too embedded in her head to ever forget.

“Miss Jacobs, I assume?” Snyder had said as they entered, smiling at her in a way that made her realise that no matter what Romeo or Hotshot or Hannah remembered, Snyder had all his previous memories and he had connected her to Davey immediately.

“Yes sir.” She replied brightly, “Where would you like me to sit.”

He gestured at the empty seat behind Romeo, who was sitting next to another one she recognised, even if she couldn’t call his name to mind- both of them were looking at her worriedly, a warning not to incite his anger. She sat down and pulled out her notebook and pencil case, wondering if anyone was going to sit next to her, or if she was destined to sit alone for the rest of the year.

“Alright,” Snyder said, “Quadratics.”

As if on cue, the door was flung open and someone slid in neatly- a baseball cap sat backwards on top of red hair, bright enough that she knew immediately it was Albert.

“DaSilva.” Snyder snapped. “That’s the second time this week. Detention.”

“Yes, sir.” Albert replied, grinning cheekily, and making his way across the room to flop into the seat next to Sarah, “Morning Romeo, Elmer, new girl.”

Elmer- that was his name.

“Hi,” she said, “I’m Sarah Jacobs.”

“Albert DaSilva.” He replied and shook her hand politely. At the front of the classroom, Snyder was writing questions on the board. “You met Romeo and Elmer?”

“Romeo’s showing me around this morning.”

“Damn, be prepared to get lost.”

“Shut up.” Romeo replied, but he was laughing, “I’m not that bad.”

“I’m Elmer,” Elmer said turning around. “Ignore these two idiots, honestly, and don’t worry about math too much, we have another teacher more often than we have the Spider, so she actually teaches us.”

That was actually something of a relief, and she thanked him for the information, at which he nodded, and turned back around before Snyder did- she was remembering Jack saying that you didn’t give Snyder a chance to yell at you, you did everything right before he could tell you.

The class went silent as Snyder turned around, instructed them to do the twenty questions he had written up and left. The silence remained for a good five minutes and then the classroom almost erupted into noise.

Sarah sat back, copied down the questions, and wondered if the Katherine that would be showing Davey around would be her Katherine.

As it turned out, it was in fact Sarah’s Katherine that Hotshot passed Davey off to after Biology- he barely held in the urge to shout her name, hug her, or do something else that would scare her off. Her fiery hair stood out from where she was leaning against the white walls, a pink folder hugged to her chest with one arm, while she checked her phone. She smiled up at the two of them when Hotshot called out her name, and moved towards them. She was taller than Davey remembered, almost as tall as him, but aside from that she seemed exactly the same. He had known her the best out of the few people had seen so far, and he found that it actually ached not to be able to reach out, brush her hair off her shoulder, hug her, lean into her and just resume the comfortable affection that they had had last time.

“English?”

“Huh?”

“I said, are you ready for English?” she repeated, smiling gently, and he almost thought she was going to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder. She didn’t, and he nodded, trying not to show his disappointment, and wondering if he could warn Sarah about how it felt.

Like Hotshot, Kath pointed out a few things he should remember- the lockers, the nurse’s office- and unlike Hotshot, she kept up a steady stream of conversation that Davey wasn’t really expected to contribute to, only interrupted by people greeting her, where she would pause and introduce them to Davey. By the time they reached English, Davey had been told more names than he thought he could ever really remember, and maybe he was right because they all flew out of his head immediately when he was faced with the English teacher. Denton.

The English teacher was Bryan Denton, and he could have laughed at that if it wouldn’t have got him several questioning glances.

“David Jacobs?” Denton asked brightly, moving towards him to shake his hand firmly, “It’s a pleasure to have you in this class, please- take a seat.”

Slightly tongue tied and reminded of the unfortunate crush he remembered having on Denton, Davey followed Katherine and sat down next to her, remembering to ask if the seat was empty before he collapsed into it.

“Alright,” Denton said, “I just need to go grab some photocopies, so talk amongst yourselves for a bit.” Katherine smiled at him and turned around to talk to someone behind them, who turned out to be Spot, much to Davey’s surprise- they were introduced, and then Spot pulled Katherine into a conversation that seemed to need a lot of background knowledge to follow, so Davey pulled out his phone instead. To Sarah: I’ve found Katherine and Spot, as well as Hotshot. From Sarah: I’ve found Romeo, Elmer, Albert, Specs and Jack. He stared down at his phone, willing the words to make sense. She had found Jack- his Jack.

From Sarah: I think Romeo and Specs are dating and I know Albert and Elmer are dating because they started making out as soon as they saw each other. They were both avoiding the obvious topic, but it was nice to know that they were surrounded by people they had known. To Sarah: I’m pretty sure they were dating last time as well, subtlety had never been Albert’s strong point. He got a laughing emoji in response, and didn’t have time to send anything else as Denton re-entered the room, waving a load of paper triumphantly, “I have the photocopies.” The lesson began there, they were looking at The Great Gatsby, which Davey had covered at his old school only a few years prior, so he felt comfortable enough to relax slightly. Or relax as much as he could with Spot’s eyes boring holes into the back of his head. The one time he glanced around, Spot made direct eye contact and held it until he turned back. Spot wasn’t any less terrifying in the twenty first century it seemed. * Katherine seemed to be expecting Davey to eat lunch with her and her group and based on the interactions she had had with people that Davey recognised, he was pretty certain that Sarah would be eating with her group as well. He went with her, stopped by the small greetings from people that he had gotten used to by walking around with her, and some of them even remembered him, remembered his name and were actually interested in how his day had gone so far. They went through the lunch room, Katherine pausing at one table to talk to some people- two of whom Davey recognised as Bill and Darcy- but kept going after she had gotten the information she wanted, past all the other tables and outside and towards a tree. A tree that already had a large gathering of people under it- including Sarah who jumped to her feet as soon as she saw him and pulled him towards where she was sitting. Where she was sitting, next to Jack. “Hey,” Jack greeted as Sarah pulled him down onto the grass, “You must be Davey, Sarah said you were somewhere around here.” The utter lack of recognition in Jack’s friendly tone went like an arrow straight to Davey’s heart, and he somehow found it in himself to smile politely and ask who Jack was. “I’m Jack.” Jack told him, “Jack Kelly, and I live at Kloppman’s with most of these idiots.” “We walked past that on our way this morning,” Davey said, desperately trying to keep the conversation as long as possible. “Yeah, Sarah said, she said you’ve got a younger brother too?” “Uh, yeah- Les, he’s twelve and at the middle school.” “Yeah, my brother Crutchie’s there too, he’s thirteen, though.” Davey smiled, both at the fact that Jack still considered Crutchie his brother, and at the fact that Les would be able to make at least one friend, even if nobody outside of the three of them remembered the previous century. “Speaking of Les,” he said, and pulled out his phone to discover that Les was ahead of him and had already texted. From Les: im fine, ive made friends, im being shown around From Les: ALSO ULL NEVER GUESS WHO I MET To Les: Was it Crutchie? From Les: YESS!!! From Les: and he remembers Davey paused staring at Les’ final text, a text that in three short words had brought something that might have been hope to sit in Davey’s chest. “Sarah?” “Yeah?” “Has Les texted you?” “Yeah, he said he made friends with Jack’s brother.” They both looked up at each other, and he could see that Les had in fact imparted the important piece of information to Sarah as well. She raised her eyebrows. Davey went back to his conversation with Jack. Looking around, he could see most of the previous newsies that had been their age in the little group under the tree. Race and Spot were next to each other, arguing over something that he couldn’t quite hear, Sarah was sat with Katherine, Smalls, Sniper, and the twins- Mike and Ike- on the other side of Jack was Buttons, Tommy Boy, Henry, Blink and Mush, Hotshot was next to Spot, but not involved in the argument, instead talking to Albert, Elmer, Romeo, Specs, and Finch. It was just as chaotic as he remembered the lodging house being and it was oddly perfect for him, someone who hated loud noises and crowds. * They picked Les up at the gates of the middle school, along with Jack and Race who had accompanied them to grab Crutchie- the rest of the group, Jack explained, just left when they were let out and they all reconvened at Kloppman’s, otherwise they’d be waiting on the school grounds for ages and it was sometimes hard to know when they had everyone. Crutchie beamed at the four of them as they approached and was quick to introduce everyone who didn’t already know each other. “You guys wanna come back to Kloppman’s with us?” Jack offered, one arm slung over Crutchie’s shoulders, “We generally do homework and stuff together.” Les wanted to say yes, it was obvious in his face, but… “Mama asked us to have dinner going when she got home.” Sarah pointed out gently, “Maybe another time.” Les and Crutchie looked sorely disappointed by that, and maybe Davey was flattering himself, but he thought Jack looked a little disappointed too. They said their goodbyes, Les hugged everyone because he was just like that, the three Jacobs headed back to their little house, and the other three headed to their home. Jack would never have admitted it to anyone, but he did glance back multiple times until they were out of sight, hoping that they might change their minds. The Jacobs weren’t aware of Jack’s glances, instead too focused on getting back to their house where they would be free to discuss the weirdness that had gone down on their first day. Sarah locked the door and dropped her bag, rounding on Les, “You’re certain? You’re certain that Crutchie remembers?” Les nodded frantically, “he brought up an inside joke from before and I finished it and we both just knew!” The twins exchanged a glance, both hoping that the other would know what to do about the situation, and- when no solution came- the three of them just fell about laughing. There wasn’t really anything else to do in such a situation, it wasn’t like there was a handbook entitled ‘What to do when your friends don’t remember their past lives’ or anything, no matter how much Davey thought it would help. “Holy shit.” Sarah finally breathed out, “This is insane.” “Yep.” “Yep.” They looked at each other and started laughing again. * Back at the lodging house- which was still how most of them thought of it, despite the fact that it hadn’t been called that in over a century- Crutchie was sitting in the middle of a circle as he explained how Les also remembered, but he didn’t think that the twins remembered because Les hadn’t said anything, and he hadn’t seen any recognition in their eyes. Other people mumbled their agreements at that, they hadn’t seen any recognition from the Jacobs either. “I don’t know,” Katherine argued, “I’m pretty sure Davey at least recognised me from the way he kind of stared when Hotshot introduced me.” “Maybe he was just doing that ‘cos he thinks your hot.” Spot offered from Race’s bunk, where he was currently curled up with Race. “Funny.” “Just saying.” “Well don’t.” Jack muttered, ignoring the amused looks that gained from most of the older members. Spot shrugged in response, “Kloppman’s gonna come and tell us off for not working soon.” There were a series of groans and objections from around the room, but people stood up and moved to their desks or onto their beds, depending on how they preferred to work, and by the time Kloppman walked in everyone was doing something appropriate- even if they were occasionally mentioning the three Jacobs’s siblings. “What’s this about then?” Kloppman asked gently, sitting down next to Jack on his bunk, “There’s some new kids,” he glanced up, “you remember Davey? Davey Jacobs?” Kloppman resisted the urge to ask how he could have forgotten with Jack drawing him every few days, and instead just nodded. “Him, and Sarah, his twin, and Les- you remember Les- they joined our schools today.” Kloppman raised an eyebrow, unphased. He had met too many people that he had known before to be surprised when another one showed up, in all honesty he was almost convinced that they were all gravitating towards New York in some way- call it fate, destiny, a horse- they would all be there eventually. “Bring them ‘round.” He said to Jack, patted his knee and eased himself up to check in on the littles, who were primarily looked after by Miss Medda these days, but it was good to keep up with them for when they moved up. “Yeah,” Jack sighed, watching him go. “It would probably help if they remembered.” * “Yeah,” Les sighed from where he was cutting carrots at the table, “I’m pretty sure they don’t remember, that was what Crutchie implied before you guys arrived.” Davey sighed, resigned, “I mean, I’d already worked that out, but…” “It kinda sucks?” Les finished, “Yeah, it kinda sucks.” Esther and Mayer arrived home at that point, thanked their children for starting dinner and the conversation about past lives, memories and people they knew that didn’t know them, had to be dropped in favour of more parent-friendly conversations like how was your first day at school? And did you make any friends? Which classes did you enjoy? Were the teachers nice? Did you find your way around alright? That became a sort of pattern for the rest of their week, they would walk to school, drop Les at the gates, continue walking to school where they might be joined by one of Kloppman’s boys or their extended group, split up for classes which they both all had with at least one of said extended group, regroup for lunch, under the tree, finish classes, walk to the middle school with at least Jack and sometimes a few others, collect Les and Crutchie, say goodbye to Jack and Crutchie, reject Jack’s invitation, walk home and start on whatever their mother had planned for dinner while complaining about how much they wished the others remembered. And it followed into the next week, and the week after, until Sarah finally remembered to ask their parents if they could go over to Jack’s after school with their friends. That broke the pattern more than they could have anticipated when Esther gave them the go-ahead that morning. They walked to school, dropped Les and weren’t joined by anyone but that was fine because they were going to hang out with them after school, they split for classes, regrouped at lunch, by mutual agreement didn’t tell anyone they had been allowed to go over to their house- Sarah’s idea, she thought it would be funny to just say yes to Jack’s invitation with indication that was going to happen- spilt up again for afternoon classes and walked to the middle school with Jack and Katherine. “Do you wanna come over?” Jack asked, “Get something done on your homework with friends?” It was pretty obvious he was now just asking to be polite, because he didn’t think that they were going to say yes, but he had made a habit of asking everyday. “Yeah.” Sarah said. “That’s fine, I- wait what?” “Yeah,” Sarah repeated, trying not to laugh, “we’d love to.” Jack blinked at the three of them stunned for a couple of seconds, before a smile broke out across his face. Davey thought it looked like the sun was coming out, and he was taken breathless by the happiness that Jack displayed and the memory of when he had truly been in love with him- he thought that he might be able to fall in love with Jack again if he was given the chance. “Let’s go!” Jack said, looking happier than a child in a candy store- as happy as a child in a candy store who had been told everything was free. The five of them turned towards the home and crossed the road, Jack thundering ahead to yell the good news into the bunk room. Davey, Sarah and Les entered to loud obnoxious cheers- the loudest of which came from Race, because he was just like that. There was some laughter when Race just kept going after everyone had stopped, and more when Spot pushed him off the bunk, but they made space for the three of them, offered them blankets and fluffy socks because the floor was always cold no matter how high they turned the heat up. Kloppman came in at the usual time glanced around the room and stopped his gaze on Davey, “Davey Jacobs?” Davey jumped up automatically, “Yes, sir.” Kloppman stared at him for a second and then broke out into one of his rare complete smiles, “Isn’t it good to see you again?” and wrapped Davey up in a hug, shook hands with Sarah and swung Les around like he had done before. Davey stood in a minor amount of shock, “What do you mean again?” “Don’t you remember? 1899? The strike?” “I mean, yeah but I didn’t realise you did.” “Wait,” Jack cut in, “You and Sarah? You remember too?” “Yeah, we thought only Crutchie remembered.” Jack laughed, “We thought only Les remembered.” The volume suddenly picked up with everyone asking questions over each other, but Davey found he could only look at Jack- and Sarah for a brief second when he saw her leaning in to kiss Katherine. “Hey Mouth!” Spot called, and the angry eyes Davey had been faced with in English for the past few weeks were gone, replaced with an odd gentleness. “Welcome back.” “It’s good to be back.” Jack lunged at him suddenly, and he found himself with an armful of Cowboy, “I missed you,” Jack whispered, loud enough for only Davey to hear, “I missed you so much.” I missed you didn’t seem to cover Davey’s feelings, but he said it back anyway, because how else could he express feeling like a part of him that was missing had been returned now that he was holding Jack in his arms? There was no other way. He glanced around the room, Les and Crutchie were on one bunk with some of the other pre-teens, Sarah and Katherine were curled up next to Smalls and Sniper and everyone else was in their own little groups. Spot was the only one still watching them. “It’s good to be back.”

#the newsboys #newsies fanfiction #newsies fandom #writing #writer #handwritten #writers #my writing #writblr #writeblr #writers of tumblr #davey jacobs #Jack Kelly #sarah jacobs #katherine plumber #javid #javey

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daily-jaspvid · 4 years ago

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Your Ex-Lover Is Dead - Jaspvid fluff

This is the first chapter of my prequel series. This takes place the winter before the show takes place, in which Jasper happens upon David at a party.

This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it is quickly turning into at least 3 chapters. I can’t post the second chapter here, but chapters 1 and 3 will be here! No plot happens in chapter 2, just NSFT content heh.

also the title song! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r5Or6-HOveg

Here's part 1! Merry Christmas!

Gem insisted this party would be good; that she had seen this band perform before and how great they were live. With nothing better to do, I decided to tag along. After all, finals were over and we were due to celebrate before we headed home for winter break.

When we arrived Gem was immediately distracted by the punch bowl conversation. From how many people stopped to greet her, I was reminded of how gregarious my friend was compared to me. Not wanting to harsh her style too much, I took my cup of punch towards the dance floor. From the looks of it, the band was starting to set up, so the waiting stereo pumped out indie tunes.

I idly bopped along to a familiar song when a firm force bumps me from behind. I stagger, holding out my drink to steady it. In the next beat, I feel hands brace my waist to steady me. The hands are warm, firm, but didn’t feel of ill intent.

“Oh, sorry about that!” Chirped an equally as warm voice. I turn and the hands pop off me like old stickers peeling away. I see an auburn-haired man who offered a genuinely sorry smile. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied abruptly as anxiety swelled in me. Sure, I was expecting to meet a few new people today, but a cute ginger boy right off the bat? I guess Christmas was coming early.

He wore a red button down and a pair of blue jeans. He appeared to be wearing a band tee, but I can’t figure out who in particular. His face shown with simply the brightest smile I have seen in years. It felt familiar.

“So, uh… you ever see this band before?” I ask after a few awkward seconds of standing together.

“I haven’t. Honestly, this is the first party I’ve been to this semester. I’ve been pretty busy between classes and student teaching. You?”

“Pretty much the same. I’m studying to be a writer. Not as exciting, I’m sure, but it’s an excuse to spend all my free time reading at home.” I admit with a quick and strained smile. Before he could respond, Gem came upon us with one of her friends.

“Hey, you two! See, Cathy? I told you they would get along! We didn’t even have to enact the master plan!” Gem exclaimed, causing Cathy to stifle a laugh.

“David, you’ve met Gem from my psych class,” she motioned to the mutual friend. “So you must be her friend from therapy, was it?”

I shoot Gem a look, which she just shrugged to. Damn psych majors and their gossip. “Yes, Jasper,” I confirm, offering my hand to her. She gives it a firm and professional shake.

“Isn’t he just the cutest, Cathy? Hes such a little crab! It took me weeks to convince him to come!” Gem lamented. She moved in front of me to adjust my clothing, tugging at my popped collar to lay it down. I grimace, hand twitching with a desire to hide my exposed neck. I see David’s eyes flicker down to my neck before looking away, tension filling into his eyes. That was most people’s reaction when they see the scars there. The polite ones, anyway.

The conversation was cut short by the music lowering and a mic switching on. The band introduced themselves as Florist and began playing their easy, folky tunes to the milling crowd. Gem scurried off through the crowd to get closer while Gem hung back to tap away at her phone. Just as quickly as they came, I was once again left alone with the lithe ginger. I spent most of the set watching him from my peripherals. He swayed gently to the music, expression fixated intently on the band. He seemed to pour all of his focus into them and I could feel the aura force field around him, seeming to block everything else out.

Before I could fully process his energy the set was already over. The band thanked us for listening and the previous playlist switched back on. By this point, people were beginning to collect their friends and head out. David seemed to be remembering his place among the crowd and looked around. Our eyes catch each other’s and I find my voice springing out before really even considering my words.

“Hey. You wanna get some coffee?” The words tumble out, and by the time I get to the end of the statement, I can feel myself quivering with unease. If David picked up on this he didn’t show it.

“Yeah, sure! I’d love to!” He chimed. David caught Cathy’s attention to let her know the plan. I felt a little bad about ditching Gem, but it wasn’t like she seemed very keen on hanging around me. It’s what she would want.

When we stepped outside it was, unfortunately, pouring rain. Freezing rain. I unrolled my sleeves to save myself from the cold a little bit.

“Damn, so much for getting anywhere in this. I’ll call us a Lyft.” We hung out on the porch while I set up the ride.

Despite the weather, it arrived within minutes. We ducked in, only made mildly damn. Though the café was only a few blocks away, it felt longer in the silence. Once again I found myself watching him from the corner of my eye. As we turned the block the side of the road through his window showed the dark abyss of dense forest. His reflection in the window became water-warped, and the familiarity finally clicked. I let out a quick huff of my breath, catching his attention.

“Davey?” I asked tentatively. His head snapped up from his phone, eyes wide. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

“Nobody calls me that. Not since I was a kid - except for Mr. Campbell, but-” He paused, his confused expression shifting to concern as I recoil at the name “Campbell”. Memories of my 11th summer come crashing back to me and I suddenly feel ill. As if on cue, our driver stops to drop us off. I have never been more thankful to stand in the pouring rain.

“Come on, you’ll get soaked to the bone!” David exclaimed, grabbing my hand to pull me into the café.

Thankfully this place had good heating. The cozy café had few patrons. Most people were either at parties or already homeward bound to family. We stepped up to order and it wasn’t until the barista gave us a knowing smile that we realized we were still holding hands. Flustered, we take turns ordering our drinks.

“So… You’re the Jasper I knew all those years ago? From summer camp? It’s been, what, 13 years? Man, it must really be a small world, huh?” He sighed nostalgically.

“Honestly, I’m surprised I recognized you,” I admit with a shrug. “I guess I remember more about that last summer than I thought. For a long time it was such a blur, to be honest.”

We collected our drinks and headed to a space heater in the back of the café. It had a couple of chairs surrounding it that we settled in to. David flopped into his with a heavy, content sigh. I sat more forwardly in mine, resting my elbows on my knees and leaning towards the warmth. I felt numb, like neither the aching cold nor the radiating heat could break through to me.

“You seem sad.” David’s voice broke through the silence once again. It was low and tender as he leaned over to me.

“I’m fine, really, just… a lot is coming back to me, is all,” I chew on my lip and spoke through grit. “A lot of not great thing happened that last summer we knew each other. Not great things that lead to worse things. It isn’t your fault, of course, It's just… forget it.”

David reached out a hand and placed it on my leg, giving it a squeeze. his eyes scanned as if searching for the right words to say but ultimately decided to remain quiet. We sat like this for a few minutes before I pulled out my phone.

“Hey, can I have your number? I’d like to keep in touch again if that's ok?”

“Of course! I would love to catch up!” Davey perked up as he received my phone and punched in his number. “So, what do you like to write?”

Hours soon had drifted by as we conversed. I soaked in every smile and laugh. Craved every new emotion I could draw out of his expressive being. Anything he had to give, really. Davey radiated with life. It poured out of his being, passion radiating like a star.

Oh, God.

I can’t be falling in love.

I feel my breath hitch as I suck in air. Davey notices and pauses his story to ask if I was alright, only for the clock to ding for 4 am. Shit.

“You can crash at my place if you’d like.” he offers as we stand. I feel like I am going to faint back into the chair. Clearing my voice and adjusting my flannel, I nod.

“I’d like that more than anything right now.” I reply, taking up his offer and hoping I don’t sound too desperate. Just like that, we set back off into the rain and caught a ride across town to his apartment.

#jaspvid #cc jaspvid #cc jasper #cc david #mod jasper #writings

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saywhatjessie · 5 years ago

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cute dog related title

3.5k. For Elaine. Join us on Discord! [Ao3]

“What do we think about Joan?”

Henry blinked, looking up from his phone to look over at Alex. “What?”

“Joan!” Alex repeated, excitedly. “As a name!”

Henry’s face contorted. “As in Joan of Arc?”

Alex’s face fell, “No, like Joan Jett. I’m trying to keep with our vintage rockstar theme.”

Henry let out a surprised laugh, turning a bit in his seat so his knee bumped Alex’s. “I like it.”

“Yeah, but if the first thing you thought was a religious figure, that’s not my favorite thing.”

“Well, it’s not like Bowie is the first thing you think when you hear David. Could just as easily be the Bible story with Goliath.”

Alex grimaced. “I don’t know if I like that.”

Henry huffed a laugh again, putting a hand on Alex’s knee. “Well, it’s not as if we have to decide now. Let’s at least meet the dogs first, yeah?”

Alex’s mouth twitched and he groaned dramatically, covering Henry’s hand with his. “ Fiiiiiiiine .”

Henry smiled softly, bringing Alex’s hand up to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. Alex grinned, butting his knee against Henry’s, teasing him for being so corny. Henry winked.

“Anyway, I’m more concerned with breed,” Henry said coolly, lifting his phone back to his face. “It’s important to research these things beforehand.”

Alex snorted. “H, I think the last thing we’re going to find is a pedigree where we’re going.”

Henry made a protesting noise in his throat. “It’s not about pedigree, love. We need to get a dog that will get along with David. One that won’t have separation anxiety when we need to be away and one that isn’t terribly difficult with new people.” He turned his phone toward Alex. “I have a list.”

Alex glanced at it and snorted. “Did you really google ‘dog breeds good with beagles’?”

“As opposed to what?” Henry said, his eyebrows hiked. “I got results, did I not?”

Alex snorted again but ran a hand over Henry’s knee as if to say ‘Yes you did, darling, now continue’.

Henry did just that. “Beagles on the whole are rather friendly and there’s very few breeds they won’t get along with. And there’s always dogs that universally get along with everyone, like golden retrievers and labradors.”

Alex scrunched his face. “Sure, but how basic is that?”

Henry leaned his head against the headrest and turned to look at Alex, mournfully. “You’d look adorable with a Golden retriever.”

“I resent you for implying I wouldn’t look adorable with any dog.” Alex said. “And if I fall in love with a Golden Retriever then it is what it is. But give me more interesting options.”

Henry sighed but dutifully returned to his phone.

“Greyhounds?” Henry offered, skeptically.

Alex pumped a fist. “Fuck yes. Skeletal horse-looking fuckers. That’s what I’m talking about.”

Henry grimaced but tapped at his phone a bit before humming in interest. “Greyhounds are one of the breeds most in need of rescue, since they’re former racing dogs. But they’re also one of the hardest dogs to rehabilitate and don’t deal well with the cold or being alone.” He looked at Alex, meaningfully. “So a greyhound would definitely do well in New York while we’re away on politics business or some such.”

Alex grimaced. “Okay, fine . What else you got?”

Henry continued to take him through various dog breeds, pros and cons, relating them to David and what life would be like for the new dog back at the brownstone while Henry was abroad and while Alex was in class or potentially doing lawyer things.

It was just so surreal for Alex to think that he could do this. He could get a dog with his boyfriend. They were living stable and almost boring lives. His mother had no more campaigns to run and he was stressed out in school, which was right in his comfort zone. Henry had his youth shelters and his LGBT organizations. He and Henry were out to the world. It felt like they could really start being a family.

And what better way to start a family than with a dog?

“I do hope David doesn’t feel as if we’re replacing him,” Henry mused, briefly looking out the car window. “This is for him. So he isn’t lonely when we’re both out. Since we left Mr. Wobbles, he needs a mate. This is for him. Do you think he knows?”

Alex’s mouth twitched into another smile and rubbed Henry’s knee consolingly. “If he doesn’t know by now, we can always put the new pup in a box with a bow on it. David would have to be particularly stupid if he doesn’t get the hint then.”

Henry turned to him with a frown. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Just a little,” Alex admitted, bringing Henry’s knuckles to his mouth to kiss them. “David knows we love him. He’ll be fine.”

Henry was still frowning but he turned back to the window, getting more and more nervous the closer they got to the shelter.

Zahra had vetted this shelter within an inch of its life, triple checking references and doing follow up calls with adopted dog owners from more than ten years ago. It was extremely important to not only Alex and Henry but to his mother’s public image, that if Alex was going to be adopting a dog, it would be in the most unambiguously ethical way possible. No puppy farms. No PETA ties. Just good old fashioned dog rescue.

They’d set up a private appointment, obviously. They’d tweet about the shelter once they were safely away.

Cash navigated the car around the back of a squat looking building, putting it in park and turning around to look at them. “You both ready?”

Henry nodded, a steely look in his eye. Alex gripped his hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

They pushed out of their respective doors and Alex hurried around the car to Henry’s side, grabbing his hand again before they reached the back door. Henry shot him a grateful smile and knocked.

A woman opened the door with a startled-sounding “Oh!” despite her clearly having expected them. “Well, wow, hi! Come in!”

Alex smiled, as he and Henry stepped past her into an office. The woman was young-looking, her hair tied up in a messy ponytail and glasses on her face. She wore scrubs with little corgis on them.

“Were the corgis for this guy?” Alex asked, pointing to Henry and gesturing at her scrubs. “Because they’re really more the queen’s thing. Our boy is a beagle man.”

Henry rolled his eyes and smiled even as his ears turned red. “Not everything is about me, Alex.”

“Oh, I did wear them for you, though,” the woman said, her hands shyly tucked in her scrubs pockets. “They felt appropriate.”

“You look great,” Alex told her, winking. He gave Henry’s hand a last squeeze before releasing it to offer it to her. “I’m Alex.”

“I know,” she said, with a slight giggle, taking his hand. “I spoke to your handler on the phone. I’m Faith.”

Alex grinned, shaking her hand and turning to Henry. “I’m sure Zahra would love to know she’s my handler.”

“She has been your handler for well over a decade, love.” Henry told him fondly.

He turned to Faith, offering his own hand. “Henry.”

She took it, bending her knees a bit in an awkward curtsy.

“Oh, that’s really not necessary,” Henry told her, embarrassed.

Alex moved to do his own curtsy, waxing about how amazing and royal Henry is, but he figured that might embarrass Faith more than Henry, so he just grinned and smacked Henry on the ass. “Yeah, he’s really not that great.”

“Alex,” Henry groaned.

“Can we see the dogs?” Alex asked, bouncing a bit on his toes.

Faith looked between them, biting her knuckles, looking very much like she was seconds away from collapsing into giggles. Instead, she cleared her throat and stood up, acting extremely professional. “Of course, follow me.”

They made their way out into the main hallways of the shelter and Alex leaned close to Henry’s ear. “Janis?” He said in a low tone. “Like Joplin?”

“Also Chandler Bing’s annoying girlfriend,” Henry whispered back.

“Goddammit.”

Alex sighed, turning his smile all the way back up when Faith turned to them as they stopped in front of another door.

“I’ve pulled some dogs for you ahead of time. Ones I thought would be a good fit based on what your handler told me. No major abandonment issues, house trained, good with other dogs–”

“Beagle, specifically.” Henry interrupted.

“Yes, a beagle, specifically,” Faith corrected, smiling indulgently. “I’ve pulled three dogs for you to meet today and you can always come back if none of them feel right. But the first one is right behind this door! He’s a Golden Retriever, he’s two years old, and his name is Davey. You ready?”

Alex and Henry nodded and they all headed in.

Davey greeted them very enthusiastically, panting and twining around their legs, his head butting into Alex and Henry’s hands until they scratched his ears. He didn’t bark and he didn't jump up, obviously very well trained.

And he was beautiful. A very handsome and good boy.

“Sit on the ground,” Henry instructed, pulling out his phone. “If I don’t get a photo of you with this dog I will never forgive myself.”

Alex rolled his eyes but sunk to the ground, sitting cross legged in the center of the floor. Davey immediately came up to lick his face, curling his body around so he was sitting square in Alex’s lap. Alex laughed and pet his belly, setting Davey’s tail to thrash in ecstasy. Henry’s grin was too fond as he took approximately a million pictures.

“What do you think?” Alex asked, his hands ruffling Davey’s ears.

Henry glanced nervously at Faith who was sitting at a chair in the corner, supervising their visit. Faith immediately waved him off. “Please speak freely, you won’t hurt my feelings. And Davey won’t understand you, anyway.”

Henry nodded in an acknowledgement, giving a small smile of thanks, but still lowered his voice before answering. “He’s a very pretty dog.”

“ So handsome,” Alex agreed, ruffling Davey’s ears again and kissing his head. “But golden retrievers…”

“Yes, you’ve said,” Henry said, rolling his eyes. “‘Davey’ is also a little too close to ‘David’. Right?”

“We could always change his name,” Alex offered.

Henry’s nose scrunched, telling Alex exactly what he thought of that idea.

Alex scrunched his nose back, mockingly. “Well, he’s an excellent boy. Guaranteed if we don’t take him, he’ll be adopted by the end of the week.”

Henry nodded, his shoulders relaxing a bit at the thought of Davey’s eventual rescue.

Faith smiled, rising from her chair and pulling something from her scrubs pocket. “Next dog?”

Henry nodded, reaching out a hand to Alex, who had been abandoned by Davey almost immediately after Faith had reached into her pocket. Henry helped him to his feet and Faith made Davey sit as she put the peanut butter puzzle treat in front of him.

She let him have it and they left the room while he was distracted.

The next dog was a beautiful floppy eared girl, chestnut with white patches and black feet like she was wearing socks.

Her name was Dobby.

Henry loved her immediately, sitting on the ground and letting her lope up to him and sniff his head. She was a little more demure than Davey, a little more unsure, but she warmed up to them soon enough.

“What is she?” Henry asked, his face in her neck.

Alex translated. “What breed is she?”

“We think she’s an Irish Setter and an English Springer Spaniel mix.”

Alex snorted. “An Irish and an English? Wonder how that worked.”

But Henry’s head popped up from where he’s been focusing on Dobby’s ears and looked at Faith, eyebrow creased. “You think?”

“She was a stray.” Faith shrugged. “We sent her bloodwork in to try and know more but there was some that was inconclusive.”

Henry frowned more, his hands stilling on Dobby’s back before she gave a slight whine and he picked back up on petting her.

Alex kicked gently at his shoe. “Dobby and David. That sounds cute.”

“I don’t like not knowing,” Henry admitted, the inside of his cheek between his back teeth.

“Stop chewing your face,” Alex told him, kicking his shoe again.

Henry stopped, shooting a pout at Alex before repeating “I don’t like not knowing. What if she’s part Chow Chow or Terrier.” He frowned longingly at her bushy tail. “What if she doesn’t get along with David? Chow Chows are not good with beagles.”

“We’re reasonably confident she won’t be a problem with other dogs, otherwise I wouldn’t have brought her in here to meet you,�� Faith told them, smiling in sympathy. “I mean, look how gentle she is!”

Henry hugged her around the neck. She was exceedingly gentle.

Alex could have told Henry that they could work with her. That any small percentage of a breed she had that might not like David was something they could overcome. That it would all turn out okay if they took her home.

But Alex didn’t know that. He didn’t know anything for certain and that little margin of error was too much for Henry. If things didn’t work out and he had to give the dog up after falling even more in love with her, it would break his heart.

Alex took a step forward and put his hand on Henry’s head, petting his hair back from his face. He turned to Faith. “I think we should meet the next one.”

Faith nodded, maybe a little disappointed, but reached into her apron again for another peanut butter toy.

Dobby immediately abandoned Henry when the smell of peanut butter hit the air, so that probably helped the sting some. Alex helped Henry to his feet and pulled him into a brief hug, rubbing a hand over his back.

“Maybe we can come back for her someday,” Alex whispered into his ear, kissing his shoulder.

Henry sighed, sinking a bit into Alex’s embrace before standing up straight. “No,” he said firmly. “I want her to be adopted. She deserves to have a forever home, even if it’s not with us.”

Alex kissed his shoulder again, pulling back and kissing him on the mouth. “This magnanimous sacrificial hero thing you’ve got going?” Alex kissed him again. “Extremely sexy.”

Henry laughed under his breath, ducking his head to kiss Alex back, before turning them both to face Faith, who was already done distracting Dobby and had been politely waiting by the door, politely averting her eyes until after they’d finished their moment.

They made their way to the last room.

Faith opened the door to reveal a medium-sized pointy looking dog.

“ Yeeeees, ” Alex whispered, immediately moving in to sit on the ground.

The dog started jumping around, reacting to Alex’s excitement, her toes clacking on the tile. She ran up to Alex as soon as he was on her level and started licking his face.

“Is this a greyhound?” Henry said, laughing a bit as he watched Alex. Alex, for his part, was entirely focused on petting every inch of this dog.

“Hair’s too long to be a greyhound,” he answered, scratching her butt as she went crazy.

“She’s an Italian Greyhound/Whippet mix,” Faith laughed, watching Alex pick her up over his head like Simba. “We call them Whippigs.”

“ Whippig!” Alex said, delightedly, swinging the dog back and forth above him. Her tongue lolled out in a big doggy smile.

Alex pulled her in close to his chest. She fit in very nicely there: she didn’t squirm too much and she seemed pretty content to be held.

He looked up to Henry, eyes pleading.

Henry smiled fondly down at him before turning to Faith. “We talked about Greyhounds, but we worried it would be too cold in New York. Or that the dog wouldn’t handle us being away very well.”

“Greyhounds usually do have abandonment issues but Whippets are usually better about it, being watchdogs. And any dog you get won’t handle being alone too badly since you have another dog.”

Henry nodded and Alex grinned. “That’s why we’re doing this! So David won’t have to be alone, right?”

Henry sighed, rolling his eyes but quickly returning his attention to Faith. “And the colder weather?”

“Well, they’re not meant to be kept outside, but that’s not really a problem for you.” She paused before turning a smirk to Alex, whispering loudly to Henry behind her hand. “They also wear sweaters very well.”

Alex gasped loudly, getting the pup very excited. “HENRY WE CAN DRESS HER UP IN LITTLE SWEATERS!”

Faith laughed and Henry sighed again, feigning annoyance but with a twinkle in his eye.

Alex put the puppy down and let her run around as Henry talked through more details with Faith.

“She’s three years old. Been here for almost a year after her previous owners moved to an apartment that didn’t allow dogs. Oh, and her name is Evie!”

Alex’s head snapped to them, looking at Henry. “We could call her Stevie. Like Stevie Nicks!”

Henry’s jaw dropped for a second and then he threw his head back and laughed.

From that, their fates were sealed.

Bringing her home was carefully orchestrated and anxiously accomplished.

Henry had googled it, obviously.

Faith had given them tips but Henry needed a checklist in front of him to calm his nerves. Alex could understand that.

They parked in front of the brownstone (Alex had no idea how Cash always kept this spot open for them) and Alex took Stevie carefully out of the car, setting her on the sidewalk pavement, a Hufflepuff leash clipped to her new collar. They’d decided she was a Hufflepuff.

Alex let her sniff around, familiarizing herself with the environment, while Henry ran inside. She watched him go, whining a little bit, but Alex crouched down to pat her head and she was fine again.

She was getting very invested in the tree planted on the curb when Henry emerged again with David, who came bounding down the steps, panting happily toward Alex.

Step one: introduce dogs while on leashes.

Stevie pulled back, startled, darting behind Alex’s legs and straining at her leash. Alex crouched down, reaching behind himself with one hand to pat her distressed little head, even while using his other hand to greet an excited David. “Hey there, buddy! What’s up, you doing okay?”

David’s tail went nuts as Alex scratched behind his ears. He fell onto his back and showed Alex his belly.

This show of submission brought Stevie sniffing around, tangling Alex in her leash in the process.

When David saw the newcomer he rolled back to his feet and strained on his own leash to try and get a sniff of her.

“Whoa there, mate,” Henry said, pulling on David’s leash. “Gently, now.”

Alex untangled himself from Stevie’s leash and pulled her tight to his chest. The list Henry had said to let her come around on her own but she was shaking! Alex had to hold her.

“David,” he started, looking at the beagle then back to his new baby. “This is Stevie. She’s your sister now. And she’s smaller than you, so be nice.”

He kissed her on the head and then put her down between his crouched knees so she could still feel safe.

She backed into him a little but sniffed back when David got close to her. She took a couple steps away from Alex, getting better access to David’s butt.

“There’s a special gland there, you know,” Alex told Henry as they watched the dogs meet.

“Yes, Alex, I do.” Henry answered. Alex glanced up to see the nervous crease in his forehead.

“Hey,” Alex said, coming to standing. He stepped over the dogs to get closer to Henry, reaching up and rubbing at the crease with his thumb. “It’s going fine.”

Henry took a long breath out. “I know.”

But he was still extremely tense. He was tense when they both dropped their leashes and let the dogs walk around each other freely (step 2). He was tense when they brought the dogs into the house, showing Stevie to her crate and her new food bowls and the other things the PPOs had brought into the house while they’d been doing the emotional labor of introducing the animals (step 3). He was tense right up until the four of them were cuddled together on the couch at the end of the day, watching Bake Off.

Alex and Henry were half on top of each other, their shoulders leaning together in the middle of the couch while David was curled at Henry’s feet and Stevie was hunkered into Alex’s side.

“She was supposed to be David’s mate,” Henry joked, the first joke he’d made since they brought Stevie home.

Alex grinned at him. “I’m cuter than David. I have been trying to get you to admit this for years.”

Henry rumbled a laugh, stretching a bit so he could kiss Alex on the mouth. “You keep thinking that, sweetheart.”

#red white & royal blue #RED WHITE AND ROYAL BLUE #rwrb #firstprince #oops I wrote a thing #discord exchange

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livesincerely · 1 year ago

Text

“It’s jus’ in here,” Jack says, reaching for the handle of an unobtrusive metal door, but right as he opens it he runs smack dab into someone coming through from the other side.

There’s a kerfuffle of sharp inhales and flailing limbs, then they both reach out to steady the other.

“Dave!” Jack exclaims.

“Jack,” the other person says, just as surprised. It’s David—Jack’s Davey—Maggie realizes a split second later.

They stand there, staring at each other, locked in their pseudo-embrace, for a moment longer. Then all at once they surge apart.

“What are you doing here?” Jack asks, and the change that’s come over him is as all-encompassing as the break of dawn. It’s as though every bit of frustration has slipped away, his attention intensely focused and flame-bright. “I ain’t seen ya all day.”

David hoists his bag higher on his shoulder, shuffling another step backwards. “Oh, well, you know,” he murmurs. “Just needed a place to think.”

His gaze lands on Maggie and his expression seems to stick for a moment, like a rusted crank that won’t turn smoothly. When he smiles at her, his eyes are weary.

“Oh,” he says softly. “Hi, Maggie. Sorry, I didn’t see you there at first. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you,” Maggie answers, not quite sure what to make of him. “How are you, Davey?”

He winces, his mouth curling into a grimace. “David’s fine.”

#newsies #*editor's note #*the writing desk #take a shot fic #bits & bobs #👀👀👀👀

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the-gay-trashmouth · 5 years ago

Text

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Underage drinking/smoking

Ship(s): Javid, background sprace and Newsbians

Notes: This is pure fluff. Im so sorry it took me this long, brain is a bitch but i really tried.

~~~~~~~~~

Davey Jacobs was, as they say, a good jewish boy. He didn’t drink, he didn’t smoke, and the only drugs he took were his antidepressants and anxiety stabilizers.

So, how the fuck did mister golden child end up at a party like this with friends like these?

Around him, the friends in question danced around Katherine’s living room as Billie Eilish filtered through the speakers. Half of them were drunk off the vodka Mush had somehow gotten hold of and the other half were high from the weed Davey knew Albert got from one of his older brothers, even though the red-head swears he has some top secret dealer.

The only sober one aside from himself was Spot, who didn’t drink and refused to get high with so many people around. Davey had really only ever seen him high once, and that was the night of Jack’s 17th birthday when the five of them, Crutchie, Jack, Race, Spot, and Davey himself, all went up to the roof to smoke.

Apparently, the King a’ Brooklyn was a giggly stoner.

Davey also found out that he was a philosophical stoner, but he’ll keep that to himself. He would actually be murdered if his mother ever found out what really happened at Jack’s 17th birthday party, and he quite enjoyed being alive at the moment.

Now, ever so tragically, the only other sober person there was currently making out with Race on the couch, and Davey had less than zero interest in going anywhere near that. So he stood against the wall, sipping his lemonade and laughing quietly to himself when his intoxicated friends made absolute drunken fools of themselves.

He heard a commotion from the other room, but before Davey even had time to wonder what it was, Jack somehow appeared from the void and draped an arm around Davey's shoulders. Though he had gotten much more used to the casual touches and surprise arms slung around his shoulders, Davey's brain still gave him a brief error message whenever it happened.

He shook it off and looked at Jack with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes?”

“Hey Dave” he slurred in the taller boy's ear. David shook his head and tried his hand at a grin, though it looked more like a grimace when he scrunched up his nose up at the sent of the strawberry liquor.

“Hello Jack”

“Hey Dave?” This time it was a question instead of a greeting.

“Yes Jack?”

“Hey Daaave?” Jack either didn’t hear him or was too drunk to register that Davey had answered already. Davey just snorted softly and rolled his eyes.

“Whaaaat?”

Jack paused, looking up at him with the best puppy dog eyes his intoxicated brain could muster. Davey, for his part, was pretty okay, amused even, despite the fact that the smell of vodka on Jack’s breath was starting to make his head hurt.

“You should come play truth or dare with us,” he said, and immediately Davey ducked away, causing Jack to stumble forward without Davey to hold him up.

“No”

“But Daveyy!”

“But nothin’” davey crossed his arms and fixed Jack with his best motherly glare. Alas, it did not work and Jack just tried again.

“C'mon!” He tugged at Davey's arm and gave his best pleading look.

“Jack, buddy, pal, my platonic soulmate- there is no way I'm playing truth or dare with all of our intoxicated friends” he said decisively, “Jacky, I wouldn't play truth or dare with our friends sober. I love you all, I really do, but I don't trust any of you with my free will”

“Pretty pleease” Jack was now hanging fully off of David’s arm, begging like a child. David’s mouth quirked up into a smile for a brief second but returned to its usual motherly look.

“Not happenin’” Jack looked up at Davey with pleading eyes and the taller boy sighed. He really wasn’t getting out of this. Jack would just keep begging and begging until he gave in, there was literally no other option but to play.

“Alright alright, you win. I’ll play. But only for like two rounds!” he held up two fingers for emphasis and Jack grinned, grabbing his wrist to drag him towards the group already circling up.

There was a chorus of drunken whoops as he sat down in the circle. Spot raised an eyebrow at him as he begrudgingly joined them.

“Thought ya ain’t the type for these party games?” he asked, combing his hands through Race’s dirty blonde curls as the italian’s lips acted as chimneys, blowing curls of smoke in Spot’s face.

“Hey! I’m not some stick in the mud! I can have fun!” he replied indignantly. Spot just fixed him with an unimpressed look, though he wore it so often Davey thought that it may have just been his default expression.

Still, the taller boy sighed in defeat, “yeah, I’m not. But I suppose I am for tonight.”

Spot nodded, raising his capri sun at him in a toast as though it was a distinguished wine or manly beer, not a kids juice in a pouch. The sight made Davey chuckle softly to himself, The King a’ Brooklyn, scariest teen in New York, rumored to have connections to the mob, toasting his joining of truth or dare with a capri sun.

Really, why was the entire city so scared of this guy?

David jumped as Jack plopped down beside him, arm around his shoulder again. He blinked away the error message and sighed.

It started out innocently enough, weird as it was. Blink had to chug the rest of the voldka, Hotshot had to do a headstand for a full minute, and Race had to sit on Spot’s shoulders for the rest of the game. (He didn’t mind)

David also found out that JoJo once hooked up with an alter boy in church, Kathrine once blackmailed both of the Delancy brothers into doing her bidding for a full month, and Mush failed second grade and then skipped third.

“So, Spot, buddy, truth or dare?” Mush grinned drunkenly at him, draped over Blink’s lap.

“Truth”

Mush booed. “Boring~” he groaned, “fine, what's your real name?”

Race looked up at him anxiously, but Spot just nodded. “Ah, yes, funny story-” instead of finishing his sentence, he snatched the bottle of alcohol from Jack and took a swig.

“Oh, C’mon!” Spot just grinned, shuddering at the taste before passing it back to Jack.

“So, Jackie boy, truth or dare?”

Jack grinned, “Dare, I ain't no coward”

Spot raised an eyebrow, looking at Race for a beat before grinning like a shark. “A’ight, mista brave boy, I dare ya’ ta kiss the prettiest person in the room. Anyone’s up for the chopping block, except of course my Racer here,” David knew Spot was at least buzzed as he looked up to grin at Race as the other boy “aww”d and pressed a sloppy kiss to the corner of his mouth. Albert made a gagging noise as Race flipped him the bird.

David looked at Katherine with a raised eyebrow. Everyone remembered when she and Jack dated in their sophomore year. It ended badly, but they got to be friends again. Now, Sarah was passed out in her lap, arms wrapped loosely around her middle.

She was most certainly over him now, but he still assumed that she’d be who Jack choose.

So imagine his surprise when lips landed on his cheek.

He was too frozen in shock to really register the whoops and whistles coming from their mutual friends. He looked at jack, blue eyes wide as saucers, only to see the other boy with a lopsided grin.

Spot snorted, “that wasn’t even a real kiss! Thought you wasn’t a coward?”

“Hey! It’s rude to just go an’ kiss a fella!” he argued, “I ain’t kissin’ him ‘less he wants me too!”

“He does, trust me” Sarah grumbled from her spot in Katherine’s lap.

“Saz!”

“What? Ya’ do”

David sputtered, cheeks reddening be the second. His breath caught in his throat when Jack brought his hands up to cup his cheeks. He smiled before leaning in a bit. “Please tell me you’re okay wit’ this” he said almost breathlessly.

“I uh, yeah,” David cursed his stutter for probably the millionth time in his life, “Yeah, total-”

He was cut off with Jack’s lips on his. He dully registered the whoops and hollers from the teenagers around his but currently his senses were overtaken with just Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack Jack.

When they pulled back, they were both breathless. David looked up at Jack, who hadn’t stopped grinning.

“That- I… You taste like vodka.”

#Stari writes #Javid #Requests #:)))))

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tellthosewithpowersafeintower · 5 years ago

Text

This is Davey, By The Way

Summary: Davey writes Jack a letter from the Refuge. So maybe he's a little in love with him and maybe he wants more than anything to know they're all going to be okay and maybe, maybe he's a little bit gone over Crutchie too and doesn't know what to do- but he'll be fine.

He will.

...And if he isn't, Davey has a few things he would like to know he said to the boys he loves one last time.

Trigger Warnings: The Refuge. Violence, references to blood/injuries, child abuse, very very brief allusions to period-typical homophobia

Notes: Holy heck it's finally here! Hi friends, and... welcome to my newest AU becoming a series. I was originally nervous about whether I should post this for Strike Day, but here we go. A huge shoutout to @all-the-lovely-newsies because I LOVE THEM and they were the first person to listen to me talk about this when I sent them like a couple paragraphs rambling about my ideas

Go take a look at @jackie-think-about-it. They made me art for this fic (an art writing combo pair)! I am so happy right now, it's so beautiful, please go give them love they're just... the sweetest and I love their work so much. Thank you so much!

A quick note: this is a Davey in the Refuge/his Letter From The Refuge AU, and in it his father had his accident at work a few months sooner and thereby Davey knew Jack, Crutchie, and the rest of the boys better by the time the story starts. I've really loved writing this and I look forward to sharing it with you all

(read it on ao3, I like... really prefer the formatting on there asdfghjkl;)

Dear Jack,

The harsh scribble of a pen on paper was as subdued as he could make it. The lanky, dark-haired boy was hunched over, perched on the edge of the top bunk. He was curled up, taking up as little space as he could manage and a mix of sweat and blood stuck his faintly damp hair to his forehead. His eye was beginning to bruise, colors pressing deeper near to the side of his nose, and two large blots of bruises were visible stretching both sides of his jawline. Davey Jacobs inhaled, a shuddery, ragged and stared down at the first words he'd managed.

The room was cold, and dark, and any sense of light seemed blotted out in an almost starless night distanced by solid stone walls, cell bars, and an island walled off from the rest of the city. The shame of New York City. Davey hesitated, tapping his pen to his chin, once, then twice. He sighed and scribbled it out.

Jack,

No. Davey groaned quietly and after rapidly removing his second attempt furiously scrubbed at the paper. His wrists were marked with neat white lines from too-tight cuffs and he wondered idly if they'd look worse in a few hours time. Had it really only been a few hours since he'd stood in the Square, side-by-side with the others? Had it really only been hours since he last heard Crutchie laugh, watched him help Les tear a pape with his crutch, or felt his heart stall in his chest in terror when the bulls showed?

His sleeves were rolled up past his forearms and his vest was strewn awkwardly and torn around the edges. Some of his buttons were torn off and most every sense of the prim, neatly done school clothes and decorum had been entirely abandoned. Davey had no idea where his tie might even be.

He rolled the pen between his fingers, hands trembling faintly before he huffed and pressed the tip and started to write again.

Dear Jack, Greetings from the Refuge.

Better. Davey sighed, ribs seizing painfully in protest. Dirt and soot smudged along his cheeks and face, and when he glanced down and around the tightly packed bunks and hunched, gaunt bodies he heard someone cough. Davey grimaced. He supposed it was a fitting intro.

How are you?

He paused and bit his lip. He pulled his leg up to his chest to brace himself and he hissed sharply. Davey's breathing went ragged and he tried to purse his lips to quiet it, his ribs twinging and vision swimming dangerously. This... Davey was more bruised than he'd ever been before. He ached in more ways than one. A thought struck him and he lurched forwards, pen shaking in his hand as he ignored the sudden spasm of pain in his chest.

Is Les okay? I suppose I wasn't much help yesterday.

Davey ground his teeth and breathed in sharply through his nose. This wasn't- this wasn't working the way he wanted it to. He reached up to scrub furiously at his eyes.

He really hoped Les had gotten out before the worst of it. The other boys had been in the midst of chaos, full out panic and screaming, and Crutchie...

Crutchie.

Maybe if he'd moved sooner they could've-

No. He couldn't go there. Davey dropped his gaze and felt his fingers twitch before he picked up the pen and tried to press on.

Les needed to be okay. He had to be okay because if he wasn't Davey- a harsh choked sound tore its way from his throat and he clamped a hand over his mouth, breathing in sharply. He went rigid, body going taught at this fierce shushing from the boys below him. He opened and closed his mouth, something twisting in his chest and he wanted to apologize. His mouth was dry and when he opened his mouth no sound came out.

He didn't think the kids here or the guards would talk too kindly to stammered apologies anyway.

(He didn't think they would take too kindly to the way sound and light burned too much too much too much and some days for all his smarts he couldn't make a noise. He didn't think the guards would like the way he blurted things out without realizing it was not supposed to be spoken and send senseless things casually and didn't like lifting his head to met someone's gaze.)

Snyder soaked us real good and went for Crutch.

Davey blinked, eyes flicking wider and he chewed at his lip nervously. Oh! Oh, right.

Oh, uh, Jack? This is David

He faltered and swallowed hard. "No," the word was a murmur but his voice was cracked and rougher than he expected. The tall boy pressed closer to the scrap of parchment and traced out in neat script.

This is Davey, by the way.

Davey breathed his name and found the faintest hints of a smile on his features. Davey. Something about the way it fell from Jack's lips made something flutter inside his chest. He didn't think he'd be anything but harsh inflections of 'David' in days to come. He flinched at the thought and made a noise of pain at the way his ribs shifted unpleasantly. He wouldn't be all that surprised to find if they were badly bruised.

He wanted to hold on to being Davey as long as he could.

All these guards, they're just rude. They say jump, boy, you jump or you're screwed.

Davey winced back. He shouldn't- he shouldn't say that. The words in his head sounded suspiciously like the newsboys' voices swelling in his head. Voices he wanted to cling to.

Jack knew that.

He'd been here before- he'd gotten out.

He didn't need to worry about Davey. He and Crutchie, the boys, they shouldn't- they didn't need to worry about kids like him.

But hands faintly trembling and something swelling in his throat, Davey couldn't bring himself to erase the words glaring up at him.

The food isn't so bad, not so far Since so far they've brought us no food!

That... there was at least one positive, right? He made a noise and deadpanned in a murmur as he wrote:

Ha. Ha.

Davey had never been much good at humor. He'd never really understood it, and he wasn't really sure anyone would find it all that funny. He raised a hand to swipe the hair out of his eyes and felt his lips quirk into a sad, bitter half-smile.

I miss the newsies Sellin papers in the evening, And a partner at your side.

He bit his lip and tried very hard not to cry. Being draped under the arm of Jack Kelly, hearing the echoing cries of "strike" when all there was was bright laughter and friendly pats and being yanked into lingering embraces, all the echoes of vibrant unending life. Maybe he was poor at hawking headlines, but he'd loved it. He'd loved the-

The next words came without thought, scratching themselves out before his brain could catch up. The pen was shakier and moved faster in his hand than he expected.

No strike or blood to pay to just get by. Any way, you know what? The square took a fair bit of thought: Coax the bulls and get goons to the window. They were scared so they took the first shot!

An army of cops and goons- that couldn't be coincidence. It couldn't be coincidence that they'd taken brutal force against kids. They'd been ready to arrest whoever they could get their hands on first, to hit kids and cart them away with cold iron cuffs pinched against too soft skin. It couldn't be a coincidence they were lying in wait to pounce on the kids the moment they took a stand for themselves.

Crutchie had gotten out. Davey could only hope he was okay. The Delancey's had shoved him pretty hard but- but Crutchie was tough as nails and had landed a few good hits of his own and the boys had him. Crutchie had gotten out and, grasping for his crutch, had made it out of the Square with Race's help long before Davey finally let himself scream.

He couldn't go there (and maybe it hurt a little that it was hard to think of Crutchie without seeing horror and tasting fear fear bitter, biting terror and lungs burning but unable to scream).

He didn't want his last memories of Crutchie to be the way he saw him last so he tried to grasp- a witty comment, the way a proud half-smile curled on his features after perfectly Crutchie snark

Crutchie who made Davey's heart do stupid flips and feelings he had no idea how to decipher because what even were feelings and why didn't they make sense- Crutchie who smiled and laughed like pure sunshine and yellow, beautiful, beautiful golden rays and Davey didn't know where to start but Crutchie was nice.

He missed them so much he ached in ways he didn't know people could ache and he didn't like it.

The cops appearance at the Square couldn't be a coincidence, the adults lying in wait to stop and smother any light or spark of life. It was too well-planned for that, Davey knew behind narrowed analytical eyes, and he thought the boys would be smart enough to realize that too.

He took a deep, steadying breath and shoved his other thoughts as far back to his mind as he could muster (he didn't want to remember) before scrawling out his next words.

It was hell for a night.

Davey felt his finger twitch, a compulsive jerk when he realized the curse had just escaped him, inked neatly onto paper. He could imagine his parent's disapproval- but all Davey managed was a tired smile.

It seemed silly and a thousand miles away by now.

That doesn't mean we've lost our fight! Pulitzer's regime's coming down, And then Jack I was thinking

Davey's words crashed to a stop, and he felt as though the atmosphere around him had shifted. He froze. His breath was heavy and he blinked furiously against the burning of his eyes.

We might just go, If you were staying? We could run away an evening To the theater, or away And if Crutchie'd come

The words spilled away, faster and faster, and that book-smart, smart-mouthed boy who'd fumbled into the streets with a slew of words echoed in his eyes. A lifetime of too many thoughts held away aching to be let out one last time.

Maybe Davey had spent too much time with Jack and his dreams of Santa Fe, but when he closed his eyes for a moment he wondered what it would be like. Beyond the cold damp walls and shuddering concrete, Jack and Crutchie's laughter filling the back of the theater. Just the three of them, together, somewhere beautiful and perfect.

His eyes flicked open and he remembered a too similar cry- was it only a day ago?

And if Crutchie'd come we'd seize our day

He let out a shuddery breath. It sounded perfect. It sounded like a date, the ones stolen for boys and pretty girls and maybe Davey wasn't supposed to want a stolen night of kisses with a boy, let alone two, but he didn't care.

He could do it. One night of stolen moments with three friends, and maybe, maybe they wouldn't think the same and all it would be is friendship but he would take anything if it came from them. Anything at all.

When he curled his fists, he wondered if the same need to cling to that dream of just a night of Jack and Crutchie and him was the reason Jack had never given up on Santa Fe.

Santa Fe.

The seeds of a dream, not a plan. But there was something so comforting, achingly perfect about that. If a place was Jack's, and Jack's want for home, somewhere to love and breathe and belong then Davey knew his was Jack and Crutchie. Without a doubt. Maybe he was a little too late for that.

Maybe Jack and Crutchie deserved better than a kid who was street stupid and stuttered eagerly through long explanations about whatever oddity fascinated him the most, oblivious to the fact no one else seemed to care, and shied under attention and burning eyes and fumbled with words when um's and uh's and uncertain odd syllables twisted on his tongue.

Once the strike makes-

The door skidded open and the reaction was like a gunshot. Boys jolted upright, leaping into position. His pen jerked hard, dragging an ugly line but Davey didn't have time to think about that. He desperately shoved the materials out of sight, hands trembling as he flung a mess of whatever cloth was nearest over his lifeline. He swung around, eyes wide, watching the looming figure who'd entered, held his breath and silently prayed.

When he stumbled back to his space in the bunk, Davey was bleeding. Badly. He was still shaking, feeling freshly forming bruises and aches he wasn't sure how to start to describe and he had to shut his eyes tightly to try and still his swaying his vision. With shaky hands, he fumbled in the dark and felt a weight of relief drop as he exhaled when his hands found the crinkling parchment of the letter. He drew it close and let his eyes rove down it and tried to smile.

Leaning into the candlelight, Davey ran a thumb along the dent and harsh scribbled line off the page at the end of his earlier phrase and winced.

Swiping blood to try to keep it from getting in his eyes, he coughed, or sobbed, some short painful noise that was gone as quickly as it came.

Damn this place.

The garbled curse was all he could muster. He didn't know what else to say. Shakily, he flicked a hand and tried to scrub the scarlet scattered drops off onto his pants and Davey somehow manage to keep blood off the paper. He swallowed a choked cry.

I'll be fine

He bit his lip hard and pushed on, hoping he could get himself to believe it.

Good as new

He didn't think he would be okay.

Look there's one thing I need you to do Newsies taught me what it all means to look after each other

I've never had friends, Jack, he wanted to whisper with that faint twinge of awe he felt hours earlier. I've never had no one like Crutch and you.

Eyes setting with determination, he scribbled out his next message.

Please tell all the fellas for me to protect one another The end

What was this, a novel?

When he heard a rattling cough and the bed creaked dangerously, Davey had to force himself to breathe. He didn't think he would be able to come out of here.

The strike had to go on.

Davey wasn't going to be there to see it.

So he set the pen to paper and hoped his smarts might be enough to give the boys one last push.

Your friend Your close friend

Davey swiped away a few shaky tears, breath hitching. And, selfishly, he decided on something he needed for himself. He breathed out and scrawled out with every ounce of care he had left.

My love, Davey

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must-be-brooklyn · 6 years ago

Text

Looking for You

Paring: Javid, mentioned Newbians, mentioned Sprace

Words: 5.0k

The thing was, they were perfect for each other. Race could not understand how they could not be dating.

- o -

Five times Jack and David's friends thought they should have been dating and one time they agreed.

New high schools were always scary places. Race had moved around enough to be intimately familiar with that fact. This school, though, - his fourth in as many years - was at least starting positively. That was more than he could honestly have said for any other place he had been to.

In all honesty, it was looking like an all-around good start; he was comfortable around the new foster family he had been placed with, his classes were going well and although it had only been a week since he started at the school, the few people he had been hanging around with had invited him to join one of the school clubs.

Race leant back against the wall, waiting for Specs and Romeo to show up. They had said they would show him to the room because quite aside from still getting lost when finding his lessons, the drama room that the meetings were held in was apparently almost impossible to find. Passing the time, he mused on what the club was for. No one had thought to mention it before and at this point, he was hesitant to ask.

“Race!” Romeo waved at him from the other end of the hall and then ran to get to him as quickly as possible. “How was calc? Specs’ll be a minute, he got stuck behind in politics, so he said we should go and he’ll meet us there.”

Romeo did not wait for an answer, grabbing Race by the forearm and tugging him up a stairwell. “So, how was calc?” he asked. The hallway was crowded and difficult to push through when everyone else was trying to get to the cafeteria in the opposite direction. “And… What other subjects did you have?”

“Italian and physics.” Race paused to let a tall girl push past him.

Romeo pulled a face. “Sounds gross.”

Race shrugged and gave a half-hearted grin. “Not so bad. Physics is pretty easy, and my parents were Italian.” He declined to mention that his parents had both died when he was eleven and he had not been around a conversational Italian speaker regularly since then.

“So, you’re, like, fluent?” Romeo rounded the corner into the drama wing. “That’s awesome!”

“What’s this meeting about, anyway?” Race followed Romeo down another corridor. The whole school felt like a giant maze that was out to make him as late to class as possible.

Romeo turned to look at him, surprised. “Didn’t anyone tell you? It’s the LGBT+ club.”

Race stopped in his tracks and could not stop the irrational burst of fear that flashed through him. He had thought he was passing just fine. No one had said anything; he had thought no one knew. Memories of his last school streaked across his mind. “Whoa, what?”

“Don’t say you’re homophobic or something,” Romeo said with a sigh.

Shaking his head quickly, Race paused for a second to consider what he was trying to say. “How’d you know about me?”

“Know what?” Romeo looked confused enough that Race was almost inclined to believe that he genuinely had no clue. Romeo shrugged and grinned at him. “The whole group goes to the meeting, so we didn’t want you to feel left out. Besides, you seem like a cool person, so we thought you’d be chill with it.”

Race let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. “Oh, right.” The tingling in his stomach died down to nothing. “No, yeah, I’m cool with it. Sounds good!” He grinned and although he feared that it might have looked more like a grimace, Romeo beamed back at him.

“Yeah, it’s really cool!” Romeo enthused, “There are a few seniors there, and some from lower year levels as well. Jack and Davey run it. You met them yet?”

Race pulled up short, almost knocking into Romeo as he stopped abruptly outside a classroom.

Romeo pushed the door open. “They’re all cool; you’ll see.”

‘Chaos’ was the word that came to mind when Race walked into the classroom. There must have been almost twenty people running around the room and yelling. Piggybacks were commonplace, and Race could not help himself from biting back a grin. This was the type of atmosphere he had been missing for so long.

Race scanned the room. It was predominantly boys who filled it, he now realised, but there were a few girls and androgyny people scattered amongst them, too. Romeo pushed him a little further into the room and just a few seconds later, Specs tumbled through the entrance, too.

“Romeo, Specs!” Race’s gaze snapped in the direction of the voice. The boy who said it was on the opposite side of the room, sitting much closer than necessary to another boy who was typing on a laptop. His arm was thrown carelessly over the typing boy’s shoulders and occasionally he peered at the screen. “You bought a newbie!”

Suddenly, all eyes were upon Race. Even the typing boy looked up. He looked strikingly similar to one of the girls in the room with dark hair, freckled skin and a crooked nose.

“I’m Race.” He waved overenthusiastically at the others and grinned. First impressions were important.

The guy who had called him out walked over. Obviously, he was one of the leaders.

“I’m Jack,” he said with an exceptionally strong Manhattan accent. “He/him, bi, all that good stuff. Anyway, nice to have ya here.” He pointed over at the typing boy, who was pushing himself away from the laptop and walking over to join them. “And that’s Davey.”

“David or Davey works,” David said, taking his place next to Jack, and smiling shyly. It seemed an almost reflexive reaction that he put his arm around Jack’s waist and stood as close as possible. No one else in the room blinked at the display and Race had to wonder if they were dating. “He/him and very, very gay.”

That seemed to set off the tidal wave. People surrounded him, introducing themselves left, right and centre. It was pleasantly surprising how open and friendly everyone seemed to be. Race could not stop himself from beaming the entire time. Seeing a group of people who were so comfortable with themselves was a million miles removed from any other place he had been.

Without noticing it, Race’s eye lingered on Jack and David. They dropped back a few steps when everyone approached him, but they had linked their hands together now. It was so casually affectionate that Race almost felt like he could not be seeing them correctly. He had never known a gay couple to be so unguarded.

The meeting was largely unproductive. By the time Race had been introduced to everyone at least twice and learnt a good artillery of fun facts about them all, lunch had already ended.

Davey packed up his laptop – Romeo had learnt that he was finishing an AP history essay due next period that he had forgotten about – and Jack dismissed them all talking about catching up over the weekend and a group chat that Specs promised he would add Race to.

As they walked towards their lockers again, Race could not stop himself from turning to Romeo. “Davey and Jack,” he murmured to him, “They’re dating, right?”

Romeo shrugged at him. “Who knows?” He grinned cheekily. “If you want, though, you can join the betting pool on when they’re going to announce it.”

Race laughed. Yeah, this seemed like the type of thing Race could get used to.

The worst days were the ones where no one could convince Jack to leave his room. Not Spot. Not Medda. Not even Crutchie, who had been his closest confidant though everything - since he had entered the fostering system, during their adoption by Medda, and every moment since then.

The worst days were the ones where Crutchie had ended up firing a text off to David. There was no fixing depression, but David could usually get into Jack’s room and coax him into eating and drinking something. Even if that was all he could do, sometimes it was still more than anyone else could.

Crutchie tried not to feel put out by it. Jack had explained before: depression did not give rhyme or reason. It just was. David simply connected with him better when he was in a slump. It was nothing to do with who he liked or did not like. It was something he could not control. He had met David in the first year of high school, and since the really bad days started when he was sixteen, David had always been the person who could handle them the best.

Restlessly checking his phone, Crutchie shifted slightly on the couch. Medda was out and Spot was supervising their younger adoptive sibling, Boots. From the sitting room, he could hear a piece of paper being torn up in Jack’s room. He winced and hoped that it was not a drawing he would regret losing in the future.

A knock on the door was Crutchie’s saviour. He grabbed his crutch and limped towards the hall to open the door for him.

“Thanks for coming,” Crutchie said quietly as he let David into the flat. “He won’t talk to anyone else. I figured you might have a chance, though…”

David gave him a small, weary smile. There were deep bags beneath his eyes, and he had clearly thrown on yesterday’s clothes in a rush to get out of the house. “I’m happy to come anytime, you know that. Is he in his bedroom?”

Crutchie nodded. “Can you make sure he takes his meds if he hasn’t already?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll put a glass of water outside the door.” Crutchie moved into the kitchen, leaving David by Jack’s bedroom door.

Even though he tried not to overanalyse Jack’s words and trusted him without a doubt, sometimes he did wonder if there was something different about David. The soft words he used to coax Jack’s door open were not so different from the ones anyone else used, after all.

Through the kitchen door, he could see David with his back against Jack’s door as he spoke in dulcet tones. There was a look of concern on his face, but something softer and more vulnerable lay beneath that. It was an expression that Crutchie used to see on his parents' face before the bills started piling up and his father resorted to alcohol and violent fits.

On the worst days, it seemed more apparent than ever that David and Jack had something that no one else knew about. That was special to them. He always pushed the questions back, though. Jack was fiercely defensive, and David acted like an animal backed into a corner whenever they were asked. Crutchie knew better than to push it.

He saw the door crack open to let David inside and sighed quietly in relief to himself. If he could not get through to Jack, at least someone could. David could not fix Jack’s depression any more than the anti-depressants could but having someone to talk to on his darkest days was tenfold better than dealing with it alone.

Crutchie limped back into the sitting room and set the glass of water down outside of Jack’s bedroom. They would figure things out in their own time.

iii

College was stressful. That was what everyone said, anyway. Katherine, however, was seriously starting to doubt that there was anything more stressful than college applications. There were new deadlines every time she turned her head, copious amounts of pressure from her father, and an underlying dread of finding herself halfway across the country from any of her friends.

On some level, she felt terrible for worrying so much. She alone in her group of friends – most of whom she was unashamed to say were from the LGBT+ club – had the funds to go anywhere she wanted. Her father was wealthy and as long as she went to a good university, he would insist on paying. Nearly everyone else was relying on equity scholarships or any other type of bursary they could get their hands on in order to afford it.

The more careers sessions they had during homeroom, the more Katherine dreaded the choices she would have to make. At the front of the classroom, the teacher sat at his desk while the students in the classroom discussed what they were thinking about doing quietly.

She glanced at her laptop screen and sighed. Journalism. Strikingly uncreative, but nonetheless the only major she was really interested in following. Resting her head on her hands, she looked to Jack. The rest of their friends in the year level were in different classes. All things considered, Katherine felt lucky to have both David and Jack in the class. It would have been very lonely to be by herself.

“Have you decided where you’re applying to yet?” she asked.

Jack bit his lip. “A fine art place?” He did not sound entirely sure.

“Dave?”

David shrugged and managed a weak laugh. “Who knows?”

Katherine nodded and returned to scrolling through the journalism courses reviews for a few seconds. “Do you know what you want to do at all?”

Sighing, David shook his head again. “I considered medicine… But, I’m not sure. Linguistics or history would be cool, but what the hell do you do with a degree in one of those two subjects? Paramedicine or chemistry might be interesting, too…” He pushed his reading glasses onto his forehead and rubbed his eyes. “At the rate we’re going, the workload will’ve killed me by the time I finish high school, so I won’t have to worry about college, anyway.”

Sometimes Katherine forgot how broad David was. He could have gone into almost any course and exceeded in it, even if he hated it the entire time.

“You could double major?” Katherine suggested half-heartedly.

Jack swung his arm around David’s shoulders and pulled him close. “It’ll be fine, you know. You’ll do great at whatever you choose.”

David gave a small nod and another heavy exhale.

“You’ve literally got a perfect GPA and you’re involved in fifty-million clubs. A college would be crazy not to offer you a really fancy scholarship,” Jack continued. He shifted his chair a few inches closer to David’s.

David let his glasses slip onto his nose again and gently elbowed Jack. “Don’t say that kind of stuff. You’ll be the one to get a scholarship to whatever arts place you want to go to. Have you seen his artwork?” He looked to Katherine for backup. “It’s insane, right? No arts course wouldn’t want you.”

Katherine nodded with a simple smile. Her eyes dragged over them both, sitting much too close for comfort, and the way their hands lingered on each other’s arms a little longer than necessary. Their bond often confused her. They were closer – both literally and figuratively – than she and Jack had ever been during the brief month they went out. Sometimes, they seemed to know each other better than she and Sarah knew each other, and they had been dating for almost half a year.

And yet, she never saw anything between them that could not technically be classed as platonic. A very touchy platonic relationship, but platonic nonetheless. It astounded her that they managed to be on the exact same wavelength and still miss the looks of longing that they threw each other.

Sometimes, she wished that she and Sarah could be so in tune with each other. She had quickly scrapped that idea when she realised how uselessly oblivious they could be, though.

“I keep telling him that he should go for Harvard or something. I mean, go big or go home, right?” Jack said. Katherine jerked out of her reverie and nodded with a laugh.

David pushed Jack away with fondness in his eyes. “Don’t kid about that stuff, Jack!” He returned to browsing through university websites on his laptop and completely missed the look utter adoration that Jack gave him in return.

Katherine sighed and shook her head. One day, she was sure they would figure it out.

The summer holidays were a relief to get to. Specs was exhausted. Even during the transition weeks, the teachers had laid the homework on so thickly that he could feel his legs buckling underneath himself. Jack had laughed when he had complained – relaxing in the school library having finished all of his exams and waiting for David to finish his final chemistry paper – and told him that senior year only got worse.

In the honour of the graduated seniors, a sleepover had been organised at Specs’s house for the LGBT+ club. Complete with films, junk food and mountains of blankets, the place had gradually descended into disarray until people had started passing out all over the sitting room.

Sarah and Katherine were curled up on the couch. There was a pile of the freshman boys on the rug. Race and Spot were murmuring quietly to each other, one hand linked, where they thought no one could see them. And, of course, David and Jack had fallen asleep all over each other in an armchair.

Specs gazed blearily around the room. His glasses were greasy, but he could not be bothered to clean them. He would worry about that in the morning. Romeo had his head in Specs’s lap, so he was not about to move, anyway. Absently, his eyes around the people again.

His eyes lingered on Jack and David. They never talked about their relationship, but it was clear to everyone that what they had was special. Not a mutual dependency, but enough trust and affection to sustain them for a lifetime.

David’s head was resting on Jack’s shoulder and their legs were tangled together in a blurry mess. It looked extremely uncomfortable. Specs struggled to understand how they could sleep in such an uncomfortable position. By the time they woke up, he was certain that their joints would be stiff and painful.

Since joining the LGBT+ club in freshman year, Specs had seen it grow hugely. It had been Jack who had started it before David had become their unofficial second leader. In those early days, the club had been something of a refuge to him and the few others who were in it. No matter what, they were a network of support for each other.

That network had only grown as the number of people who came increased. It was nicer with more people, he thought. With such a broad array of people represented, they had been able to broaden their horizons. Specs, for one, had more friends from that club than he did through any other co-curricular.

Specs could also remember the days when Jack had dated Sarah and then, just under six months later, Katherine. Often, the tension in the room had been horrific and David had struggled to sit next to Jack. (Honestly, Specs had a lot of sympathy for him. He shuddered to think about how he would feel if his best friend was dating his twin. That being said, he often wondered if there was something else going on that had catalysed the failures in communication). Outwardly, their relationship dynamic was completely thrown off and it had shown.

He preferred to think of the months after that, though. The period of healing that had followed was much more special.

It was something that Specs thought of fondly. In his experience, it was rare to see a relationship destruct and then grow back again healthily. David and Jack had been a rare case, and, although he was younger than both of them, it made Specs proud to see how far they had come. No complete reliance on each other, no fight since the dark days, and an impeccable ability to compromise.

If they ever did date, Specs was certain they would make a dream couple. They had everything already going for them.

He pulled his eyes away from them and looked down to Romeo and silently ran his hand through his hair. One day, maybe.

Being a twin had benefits. Being a twin also had severe drawbacks. Sarah was convinced that the biggest problem of being a twin was how completely helpless she felt when she could not help David. They were meant to get each other in a way that other people could not. Often, they did

Sometimes, though, they did not.

Sarah knelt in front of David as she spoke in a messy combination of Hebrew, Polish and English. Watching her twin have a panic attack always made her feel horrible. It had been years since David had started having them, and she still felt as terrified and useless as when he had his first.

David's back was pressed against the wall, his hands knotted in his hair and his breathing pattern was uncontrolled. There were tears squeezing themselves out of his screwed-shut eyes.

Gently, Sarah pulled his hands away and held them in front of him. “C’mon, Davey. It’s alright. It’ll be over in a minute. Breathe with me, yeah?”

Sarah knew the drill. She had been the first one to demand to know what to do when David was first diagnosed. Do not let him hurt himself. Let him know that it will be alright. Regulate his breathing. Sarah took a deep breath, and slowly, she counted up to seven, then to eleven and repeated the pattern.

David whimpered quietly, but the fight in his hands disappeared. He was going limp just like he always did after an attack. His head hung forwards as he listened to Sarah and struggled to count through his breaths.

Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat and finally let David’s hands go. They flopped to his side. Crawling to sit next to him, Sarah took one of his hands in his own and started gently tracing shapes into his palm.

“It’s alright, Davey,” she whispered. “I’m here. I’m not leaving. And, Jack-” she cut herself off for a moment “-Jack’ll be back in a minute.” It was meant to be a casual get together. It was the first weekend that she had been free to take the two-hour train trip to David’s university in months and Jack had finished his major project, which allowed him to come up, too.

David whimpered again and Sarah squeezed his hand. It was just a matter of passing the minutes. After the initial panic attack, David usually took a bit to come out of his stupor. Until then, she just talked to him quietly and tried to wait until he was ready to ask about what had set him off.

This time, she imagined it was probably university stress. He had told her already about how difficult some of his classes were this semester, and she knew that in order to maintain his scholarship he had to maintain a 3.75 GPA.

Soon enough, the door to the dorm opened and Jack walked in baring take out and a carton of milk.

Sarah made eye contact with him and begged him to understand. It was a silly wish. Of course he understood. He had probably seen David have almost as many panic attacks as she had, particularly during that horrific first half of tenth grade.

Jack set the food and milk down on the table and sat down on David’s other side. Without so much as a word between them, David let his head rest on Jack’s shoulder and exhaled shakily.

Sarah bit her lip. She hated it. The panic attacks, how helpless she felt, that even medication could not fully stop them. In their nineteen years together, she and David had shared a womb for eight months, lived seven years in Poland, immigrated to America together, gone through nearly all of their schooling together. And yet, here she was, unable to stop this for her brother.

A part of her wished that she could be in Jack’s position, able to wordlessly communicate about anything and everything. The more rational part of her knew that it was something special that David and Jack had with each other.

She and David were twins, but they were close in a different way to how he and Jack were. The individuality of people’s relationships with each other were all precious in their own right. Her relationship with Katherine was closer to what David and Jack had. Occasionally, she wished that they could see that before one of they got hurt.

Neither of them had dated since the disaster that was tenth grade. Since then, she had been counting down the days until they finally clicked. They were not perfect, but no one was. Their relationship with each other and mutual ability to help each other through the worst days, though, was something that was irreplaceable.

It would happen eventually. She did not have to be David’s twin to know that. But, for now, Sarah would bide her time.

Winter break was debatably David’s favourite time of year. There was snow, Hanukah, and plenty of time to be spent with his friends and family. This year, David was going back to New York via Jack’s university – which was en route anyway – and spending a few days at Jack’s dorm.

The snow was already thick on the ground and as much as David loved the snow, having to walk long distances in it without appropriate snow gear was rarely any fun. Jack walked next to him and they spoke loudly to be heard over the wind.

“Museum is this way!” Jack said, grabbing David’s hand and pulling him down a side street. It was slightly more sheltered from the wind, but still unbelievably cold. David had lived in Białstok when they were in Poland, but even though it was colder there than it was here, he was no better at handling the chill.

Jack drew his muffler down with one hand, the other one still holding David’s, and grinned at him. “Cold, huh?”

“You don’t say,” David replied dryly. He brushed off some of the snow that had collected on his coat with his free hand. “How much further?”

Jack shrugged. “Like, ten minutes, maybe? If we’re quick.”

“Ten minutes?” David groaned and curled his toes in his boots, checking that they still had feeling. “Are you sure that you don’t want to go back to your dorm and wait for it to stop snowing before we go any further?” They had already gone to a coffee house and David was not sure he could last much longer without a proper snow jacket in the weather.

Jack beamed. “Sounds perfect.” He began to pull his muffler back up and grabbed David’s hand again, pulling him back into the main street. “It’s about a block up!”

“Okay, sure.” David took a few long steps to catch up with Jack and then fell back into stride with him.

Jack looked at him. “The town’s pretty, don’t you think?”

“Very,” David agreed through the scarf he had pulled up over his nose and mouth. “Must be nice to live here.”

David could see Jack’s eyes crinkle into a familiar smirk. “It’d be nicer if you lived here, too.”

David stopped short on the street and stared at Jack. “You’re choosing now to get sappy?” He laughed and shuffled a few steps closer. “Really?” He grinned back and squeezed Jack’s hand, wondering in the back of his mind if he could even feel it through his thick gloves.

“I mean, yes?” Jack had stopped now, too, and sounded like he was questioning the words that were coming out of his mouth. “Like, you’ve applied and got a conditional offer – which you’re totally going to smash – to do a masters at a close university next year and I’ve got a local placement lined up, so yes? We should move in together.”

David stared at him in silence. Nothing could quite quantify the millions of things that were running through his head. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously!” Jack insisted.

Too many things were running in through David’s head for him to pull together a coherent sentence.

Jack backtracked quickly. “Or, I mean, maybe not. You’ve already got something else planned, I guess, and I mean-.”

David cut him off with a kiss. “I’d love that,” he said breathily. “But, maybe, not just as flatmates?”

Gazing at him dozily, Jack grinned. “So, that’s a yes?” He pulled David closer and pressed their lips together again.

David wished he could say it was nice, but their lips were freezing, there was snow and wind cutting at their faces and he was relatively sure that his fingers might fall off if they stayed outside for too much longer. He could not stop smiling, though, and the warmth that was growing in his chest felt like it was almost enough to thaw the rest of his body.

Jack pulled away, breathless. “Let’s get inside,” he said. Without waiting for an answer, he practically ran up the street with David in tow until they reached his dorm room.

“So, yes?” Jack asked again, tugging his jacket off as quickly as possible.

David laughed and nodded, doing the same. “Yes, a thousand times over.” He sank into Jack’s embrace and kissed him hard. It was like the final puzzle piece was falling into place. This was what he had been missing. Jack’s lips were cold from outside, but it felt incredibly right.

“I can’t believe we haven’t done this before,” Jack said as they pulled apart. His eyes were blown wide and he breathing deeply. “We’ve been missing out for so many years.”

“Tell me about it,” David agreed. He rested his forehead against Jack’s.

Jack hummed in contentment and took David’s hands tightly. “So, we’ll move in, but as boyfriends.” He grinned at the word and pulled away to look properly into David’s eyes.

“Sounds perfect.” David could not stop himself from grinning as he pulled Jack in for another kiss.

Okay so this sounds really dumb? But I literally have no clue how to write in the perspective of a gregariously extroverted character (Race) because everything is so different to what goes through my head in a social situation so please guide me if I'm doing it wrong?

Also - I'm sorry if this story feels kind of stilted? Some of the wording in here felt kind of clumsy, but I can't be bothered at the moment to correct it. (I might try to get back to it in the future but,,,, Not at the moment).

Anyway! I hope you enjoyed this <333

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shes-the-king · 6 years ago

Text

Sliver Of Moonlight

Time for a rarepair one shot no one asked for! Uhhhhhh I’ve been really into Spot/Davey (Dot? They’re Dot now fight me) for like a week now so here we are

I spent like 4 days writing this

Grimacing, Spot picked himself up off the ground, cradling his left arm. Pain shot through his upper arm and shoulder whenever he moved them. He could feel the side of his face going numb. Fuck. It felt like he’d been kicked in the gut or slammed into a wall, but he couldn’t remember. Maybe both? Probably both. Carefully pulling up the hem of his shirt, he saw a sizeable bruise spreading from the left side of his torso. His waist was turning almost completely purple.

Fuck it. He was closer to the Manhattan lodging house, anyway. It was getting dark. How long had he been laying there? He winced as he began the long, slow walk.

It was a few minutes before he heard his name.

“Spot?”

He turned his head as much as he could manage. The hell was David Jacobs doing out by himself this time of night? He nodded politely. “Jacobs.”

“The hell happened to you?” Davey’s voice grew concerned as his eyes swept over Spot’s body, taking in the extent of his injuries.

“Nothin’ what concerns you.” That was harsh. Spot adjusted his tone, as if pretending he didn’t notice how more than half of his body was covered in scrapes and bruises. “Where’s your brother?”

“He wanted to stay at the lodging house tonight. With the other boys.” Davey moved his hand as if to touch Spot’s shoulder before pulling it away. “Really, Spot, what happened?”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not fine.”

Spot chose his next words carefully. “Fuck off, Jacobs.”

Much to Spot’s dismay, Davey did not fuck off.

“Spot, please,” Davey pleaded, his voice breaking slightly.

“Why d’you even care?”

Davey paused, speechless, before responding, his voice calm and steady. “Because, Spot. You look like hell. You can barely walk. You obviously need help, but you’re hell-bent on refusing any that’s offered to you. Now tell me what the fuck happened.”

“‘S nothin’,” Spot lied, yet again, before his common sense got the better of him. He took a breath. “I got mugged a few hours ago. Got beat up bad.”

This time, Davey did put his hand on Spot’s shoulder- his good shoulder, thankfully. He resisted the urge to shrug it off.

“Jesus, Spot.”

“My ankle got fucked up. So did my other arm.” The words wouldn’t stop coming. God, why couldn’t he stop talking? “I musta been hit in the stomach a ton, too.” He lifted his shirt to expose the bruise covering his torso, a tear running down his face. God, he hoped Davey hadn’t noticed he was crying. Before he could stop himself, the tear had turned to uncontrollable sobs, and David Jacobs, of all people, was brushing the tears off his cheeks and pulling him into a gentle hug.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay.”

Spot couldn’t understand why Davey’s voice and his hug made him cry even more. He noticed himself pulling Davey closer to him as he sobbed silently into the taller boy’s shoulder.

They stood like this for longer than was necessary. Spot began to realize how comforting it was, having Davey with him. He buried his face in Davey’s chest, closing his eyes.

“Come back to my place.”

He pulled away, just slightly, not wanting the embrace to end. “Wha- Jacobs, I…”

“Please.” Davey’s voice was almost a whisper, almost desperate. “I- I want to make sure you’re okay, Spot.”

Spot felt his face flush as he contemplated Davey’s request. He nodded, his hands still resting on Davey’s shoulders. “No one finds out, understand?”

“Okay.”

Spot moved his arm so it rested on Davey’s waist and Davey wrapped his arm around Spot’s shoulders.

Although it was only a two mile walk back to the Jacobs’ house, it took them almost an hour. By the time they arrived at the front door, Spot’s ankle was on the verge of giving out completely. He leaned on the wall next to the door, trying to fill his lungs with each agonizing breath. His vision was starting to blur.

Sarah was the one who finally opened the door. She glanced over at Spot, making eye contact briefly before turning to her brother. “What happened?”

“We gotta get him inside, Sar. He’s going to pass out.”

Spot wanted to protest them talking about him like he couldn’t speak for himself, but he found himself nearly collapsing into Davey’s arms when they walked him inside. They laid him down on what he assumed to be Davey’s bed before leaving him alone.

His mind raced, though he was lying still. David Jacobs? He supposed it was less humiliating than if he was found by Jack, or someone worse. He thought back to earlier. It was the first time he’d cried in front of someone in years. Jesus. Why the fuck did it have to be Jacobs, of all people?

The door opened again, interrupting his thoughts. Spot lifted his head groggily. Davey walked in, kneeling next to the bed and handing Spot a glass of water.

“Thought you might need this. You’ve had a rough afternoon.”

“Thanks, Dave.” Wait, did he just-?

“Was nothing.” Davey moved to stand up, but Spot reached out, without thinking, to grab Davey’s hand.

“No, thank you. For takin’ me home. Takin’ care of me.”

“Spot…”

He closed his eyes for a second before looking back at Davey. “Can you stay here? Please?”

Davey raised his eyebrows momentarily before nodding and sitting down next to Spot on the bed. “‘Course.”

Spot pulled himself to a sitting position against the wall, setting the glass on the floor.

“How’re you feelin’?” Thank god Davey had an idea for something- anything- to talk about.

“Better.” What else was there to say? “Thanks.”

The corners of Davey’s mouth turned up slightly. “I’m glad.” He paused, biting his lip. “Spot, I-” He leaned in ever so slowly, just a bit, until their noses were nearly touching, his eyes slipping closed. God, just another inch or two… Davey was almost whispering now. “Can I-”

Oh, fuck. Spot found himself closing the distance, leaning in, interlacing his fingers with Davey’s as their lips met. Davey let out a soft, barely audible moan before relaxing into the kiss.

Davey was the first one to pull away after what seemed like an eternity. He gently brushed his thumb over Spot’s bruised jaw, then stood up. “We should get you cleaned up. I’ll be right back.”

Exhaling, Spot sank into the wall next to the bed, unable to prevent a grin from spreading across his face. What the fuck just happened? He leaned down to grab the water and took a sip.

When Davey came back, he was holding some rags and what looked like a bowl of water. “Take your shirt off.”

“Very forward, Jacobs,” Spot said with a smirk.

“Your back’s covered in blood.”

“Well lookit you, killin’ the mood with your facts.”

Davey smiled, shaking his head. “Just take your damn shirt off, Spot.”

“I got a bad shoulder, Dave. ‘S gonna be kinda hard.”

Davey rolled his eyes, setting down the things he was carrying and turning to face Spot again. “Don’t you dare turn this into anything more than what it is. It was one kiss. You understand?”

Spot nodded, but couldn’t resist raising his eyebrows when Davey lifted the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and carefully easing it off his left arm.

“I’ll give this to Sarah to wash.”

“Nah, it’s okay, you don’t hafta-” Spot stopped when Davey shot him a stern look. He pressed a small kiss to Spot’s cheek.

“It’ll be dry in the morning. Just wait here.”

“The mornin’?”

Davey sat back down, laying Spot’s blood-soaked shirt at the end of the bed. “It’s pitch black outside and you can barely stand up. You’re staying the night. Excuse me for not wanting you to walk back to Brooklyn in this state.”

“Fine.” Spot pretended to pout, but he smiled nonetheless.

Davey dunked one of the rags in the bowl. He made eye contact with Spot as he wrung out the excess water. “This isn’t going to feel good, but at least your back’ll be clean.”

Spot turned around to face away from Davey. He flinched, inhaling sharply when the wet fabric touched his back.

“You okay?” Davey lifted his hand until Spot nodded.

“Just get it over with.” He remembered his manners. “Please.”

He held his breath while Davey dabbed the mostly-dried blood off of his back, the contact making the open wounds sting like a bitch. Davey worked quickly and gently, as if this was something he’d had to do multiple times before. Spot decided not to ask. It was an agonizingly long time before Davey finally stopped and began to wrap bandages around Spot’s torso. He tenderly kissed the back of Spot’s neck when he was finished.

“I’d better get to sleep.” His hand brushed against Spot’s as he stood up. “I’ll be in the other room if you need anything.”

Spot felt his throat tighten, but he couldn’t quite understand why. “Where’re you sleepin’?”

“The couch. You’re in my bed, and I’m not about to make you move.”

What the hell could he say? “Your back’s gonna hurt like hell if you sleep on the couch, Dave.”

Davey raised his eyebrows, blinking a few times, his eyelashes casting subtle shadows on his cheekbones. “I just scrubbed blood off your back for half an hour, and you’re worried about mine?”

“Jesus Christ, Jacobs, please just-”

“Unless you want me to stay here?” Spot felt his face get hot as he nodded once. “You could’ve just said so. It would’ve saved the mental energy of coming up with another bullshit excuse, Conlon.”

Spot bit the inside of his cheek as Davey climbed back into bed next to him. A sliver of moonlight peeked through the curtains, landing on Davey’s face. “No one finds out, understand?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Davey just smiled, pressing his lips to Spot’s again before wrapping his arms around him and closing his eyes.

#newsies #newsies writing #spot conlon x davey jacobs #dot #spot conlon #davey jacobs #fluff #hurt/comfort #a bit of angst I guess #blood tw #this is longer than most shit I write wow #it also took forever #but I love it #so

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