Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Jack Kelly was six years old, his mother died. 

She’d been sick for a while. He remembered the month leading up to her passing in hazy details. He and his pa had given up their spots on the single mattress in their matchbox apartment, pushed it into a corner for her and made her a nest of blankets. Jack wasn’t allowed to share with ma anymore. Instead he and his pa slept curled together on the cold hardwood, opposing her. It was an unfairly cold autumn and without ma to work, the apartment seemed to grow dimmer and sadder every day. His parents had been promising him school, but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen.

Pa had started taking him to the docks where he worked, and Jack would sit on the crates with scraps of wax paper and old charcoal pieces to crudely draw the boats. He’d nick the charred wood from the pits the workers used to cook their food and practice on the greasy material they wrapped their meat with, sometimes even scraps of newspapers from the day that the gruff workers or kind passerby would sluff off to him. 

One of the men who worked on the dock with his Pa, tall and haggard with one eye glassy and unfocused, told Jack that his Ma had the scarlet fever. It’d been going around awful bad in Jack’s tenement, and Jack was lucky he didn’t have it, too. That’s why pa had to take him to work, now. So he wouldn’t get sick from being near his mother. 

But Jack loved his mother. He didn’t mind spending days in the cramped, one-room living space. He didn’t care that the walls were made of cracking plaster, or that their window was always gray from the smoke and fog. He didn’t mind not having a seat at their splintery wooden dinner table, because he could sit on his Pa’s leg. He didn’t care that the flat always smelled like sickness and cigarette smoke. It was his home, and his Ma was there, and he wanted to help take care of her. He was tired of ships and grumpy, ragged men. He was tired of watching his Pa smoke during his infrequent breaks, grilling Jack in both Spanish and English to make sure he was keeping up his smarts.

He wanted his Ma. 

There was one crisp, cool day when Jack hopped down from his perch, determination drawing him far away from the breezes of the Atlantic. He left his Pa a note on a torn up boat ticket, reading ‘ fui a ver a mamá’, or ‘gone to see mama’. 

With that, he walked his little self all the way from the docks to their tenement, even though his feet were aching by the time he reached the doors. Normally Pa carried Jack on his shoulders, so the walk didn’t seem so awfully long. Still, he walked himself right in and ignored the putrid smell of sickness and the sounds of haggard coughing that surrounded him as he stumbled up the narrow, wooden stairs. One of his trouser legs had a hole in the knee. It had caught on a nail jutting out of a crate. Surely Ma would fix it– she always did.

Feeling confident and quite grown up, Jack stumbled into their little flat and made his way over to his mother in a few short steps.

She’d always been awfully pretty. She had the same tan skin as Jack (like coffee with just a dash of cream, Pa always said) and silky black hair, with full and pretty lips and the same wide nose Jack had. Normally her skin was smooth and her big, brown eyes were happy and kind. Songs and stories would spill from her lips when she wasn’t sick. She’d tell him legends and folk stories or just little anecdotes from her childhood in Colombia, and Jack desperately wanted to hear her sweet, honey-soft voice. He wanted to see her bustling about the apartment again, teaching him about the special foods she was making in the makeshift stove pa had built, showing him her handmade poncho with all of its gorgeously vibrant colors, being awake and happy.

Instead she was curled up on a bed with a rash roughing up her pretty face, red and angry. Her lashes fluttered as she looked at him, bleary brown eyes peeking out.

“Jack, pollito , what are you doing here?” She rasped, raising one hand for him. He took it, ignoring the way the skin around her fingers peeled. Usually Ma’s touch was cold and soothing. Today it just felt hot. “Your Papá will be upset when he realizes…”

“I know.” Feeling a bit guilty about his adventure, Jack nudged the toe of his boot against the ground. “I’m sorry, Mamá. But also, I ain’t sorry, 'cause I miss you.” 

She gave a soft chuckle, but her pretty smile was ruined by a coughing fit. Jack felt his heart tighten with sadness and a desperate need to care for her. He reached across the bed and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, just like she always did for him. He found her skin to be searing to the touch, which made him frown harder. “You’re hot. Caliente.”

“Yes, mijo . I’m very sick.” Mama explained, as if Jack didn’t already know.

He pressed his lips together. “I know. But you’re gonna get better. Papá says once your rash is gone, you’ll get better.”

She only smiled at him and blinked slowly, like doing so was giving her an awful lot of trouble. Jack remembered blearily waking up to the sight of his Pa gently dabbing her forehead with cold water, so he rushed to do the same. He felt his Ma’s eyes on him as he scattered about the apartment, filling his metal dinner platter with water from the pitcher on the table and soaking a rag in it. Soon he’d plopped himself at her bedside and began carefully placing the rag on her forehead.

“Here. I’ll take care of ya', Mamá, just like Papá does.” 

With a rasp of a chuckle, she gently pulled his hand away. “No, you’ll get sick. I’m glad you came to visit me though, Jackie. I haven’t been feeling well.” 

He picked at the loose strings surrounding the hole in his trousers. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like asking her to sew the hole up anymore. Instead he was feeling very sad, like something bad had already happened. But she was right here. He inched as close as possible, itching to hug her like he always did. “Mr. O’Keefe at the docks says you’re gonna die.”

He expected an emphatic denial. Instead, he’d always remember the careful way she cupped his cheek, dark eyes boring into his own. “He might be right, my sweet pollito.”

“But— I don’t want you to die.” He argued, suddenly feeling frantic at the thought. Their neighbor Mrs. Sullivan had just died very recently, and she’d never come back. He didn’t think he could ever be happy without his Mama around. “I need somebody to tell me stories. And— and sing to me. And Papá can’t cook half as good as you—“

“Oh, no. No tears, little one.” She softly clucked at him and used her rough thumb to wipe at his cheek. Then, she reached her hand into the collar of her nightgown and produced a golden chain with a tiny cross at the end. “I won’t be here to take care of you forever. One day you’ll find someone that needs you to take care of them, and I’ve taught you everything I know already.”

He crossed his arms tightly, still trying his best not to cry. “But I wanna take care of you. So you can stay with me forever.”

“I had your Papá to care for me. You must save your love for someone else. I know you have a big heart, Jack, and there’s a very lucky soul out there just waiting to embrace you.” She obviously sensed that her son wasn’t placated by this, and showed the cross pendant to him on a rash-reddened palm. “You see my cross, Jack?”

He sniffled and gave a weak nod.

“This ties me to our God in Heaven, so when I die, I’ll become an Angel. Then I can watch over you, sí?”

“You mean if you die, you’ll still make sure ‘m okay?” He whispered, leaning into her soft touch.

She smiled a pretty smile, and he could almost ignore the red lines traveling up the column of her neck as she spoke. “Always, mijo. I will always be here for you, even if you cannot see me, or feel me. I love you, my baby.” 

Mamá died the very next night, and Jack wore her cross around his neck as he explained to his Pa that she’d still be with them. His father cried even harder and held him tight as they slept on the cold, hard floor.

The next morning, some people from their tenement helped Papá take Ma’s body to the church they attended every Sunday, where she was to be buried. Jack trailed behind, thinking all the while that she looked like she was peacefully sleeping, wearing her poncho. She looked bright and colorful against the ugly cityscape— the streets full of sickness that little Jack was starting to hate, just a little bit more every day. The autumn wind was soft and crisp and little crunchy leaves rolled around his feet, ripe for stomping on as he followed the sad procession into the church. 

When they buried her, his Pa wouldn’t stop crying. Jack held his hand and looked up at the vibrant blue of the sky, wondering if any angels were swimming about in the clouds. 

Pa wasn’t the cheerful man Jack remembered after that, but he seemed to love Jack a lot. Though his dimpled smile wasn’t quite the same, Jack could still trust that his bright blue eyes would crinkle when he smiled, and he could still listen to his Pa prattle on in both Spanish and bits of broken Irish when he wanted a bedtime story. They talked about cowboys in Santa Fe, a town all the way across the country that Pa wanted to move away to once they had enough money. He’d never been, but he told Jack that life there was slow and easy. Nothing like the hellscape of a city they lived in now.

Jack adored his Pa just as much as his Pa adored him. For two years they faced the world together, Jack shining shoes at the docks as his Pa built ships. There was nothing like those days under the harsh sun, reflecting up off of the water with the salty sea breeze tousling their hair and drying up their skin. They’d come back two shades darker and giggle about the pale skin beneath their sleeves as they counted coins for the day, and Jack clung to the little happiness that he could. He had his Pa and a roof over his head, and sometimes they even had a nice dinner, and that should’ve been enough.

Of course, the cruel world ripped what little comfort he had from his hands when he was eight years old. After all, his Pa was getting that food from somewhere.

He loved Jack enough that he worked all day every day at the docks and then snuck out at night to get Jack clothes and blankets and food. From where, Jack didn’t know, but when he was eight and the bulls came knocking at their little door, Jack figured Pa was getting their food from somewhere he shouldn’t have been getting it from.

Nobody was going to go easy on a half-Colombian half-Irish thief, even if he was a natural born citizen with a little child cowering in the corner. 

Nobody went easy on his son, either. Not even the landlord that put Jack out on the streets the very next day, without a dime or a belonging to his name.

Memories of his parents faded with time, though he didn’t miss them any less. Sometimes he still thought of that matchbox apartment. He saw his mother’s poncho and heard her sweet singing, or felt his father’s strong shoulders hoisting him up above the messy streets. Her touch was nothing but a ghost to Jack as he grew older, something he’d always crave but never have again. Along the way their words to him faded, and soon they were blurry shapes and vague faces. He held onto his Pa’s Santa Fe dream, even if that, too, changed itself under the pressure of time. 

He always thought about his mother's description of his heart, though. Those words remained burnt into his mind. He’d find someone one day and care for them, and he’d never let them slip through his fingers like his parents had. Jack Kelly was sure of that.

Chapter Text

Jack Kelly hated winter. He hated the weather. He hated the clouds and the grim and gloom of the city. He hated the customers that sheltered indoors and the uncharacteristically empty streets. He hated seeing his newsboys struggle against the temperatures and the lack of business— he hated the fact that he had to steal for the little ones every time the temperature dropped. He hated the fact that nobody ever seemed to have a proper coat or a pair of boots, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

The more optimistic newsies liked to argue that summer was worse, because the heat was intense and the streets started to stink when the trash began to swelter. Nobody liked sunburns and smelling like sweat. Summers made the other boroughs ballsy, too, and they were always pushing boundaries of the pre-established turf. In winters, everyone tended to hunker down in their own space. Summers could be bad, yeah, but the streets were full of customers and vendors crowded the sidewalks. It was easy to nick an apple or swindle a stick of candy. 

Summers reminded Jack of his Papá and the sticky evenings spent enjoying the breezes by the docks. He could smell the phantom salt-water when it got nice out, could hear the ghost of a voice teasing him about his darkening cheeks. Jack liked summers.

There were things he liked about winter, too. He liked the snow, rare as it was. He liked the soft gray coat Davey wore. He liked drawing the smoke curling up from chimneys, and the hazy shading that seemed to surround the moon.

One late November evening promised Jack all three of those things, and he was awfully excited.

The city was caught in a wicked cold snap and Kath mentioned watching the snowfall from the top of The World headquarters one night. That was simply an idea too good to pass up, and Jack immediately extended the invitation to Davey. Sitting on top of The World a little over six months after winning a strike against it seemed like the sort of poetic thing Dave would appreciate. He was an intellectual type, after all, and Jack had seen him with poetry anthologies as his book of choice more than once.

So there he found himself, hundreds of feet in the air, climbing the stairs of a fire-escape with his fingers wrapped around the ice-cold railing, Davey trailing behind. It was pitch black out and the lights in the windows of the building went out slowly as they climbed, facing the frigid cold and the pricking snowflakes with smiles on their faces. (Well, Jack was smiling. Davey was pretending to be prickly and upset, but Jack knew he was feeling the same excitement bubbling beneath his skin. They were similar like that– excited by the same things.)

“Jack, why are we stopping?” He inquired, as they reached the final floor of metal grating.

The building still towered above them, almost domineering in its height. Jack was practically vibrating with joy as he adjusted his gloves, examining the ladder that stretched up to what very well could’ve been the sky itself. “‘Cause the fire escapes are stoppin’, Dave.”

Davey raised his eyebrows in his classic ‘unimpressed and sassy’ expression, as Jack had mentally titled it, arms crossed tight against his chest. He looked very posh today, with his curls all neat and his collar buttoned up to his neck. Somehow he managed to pull off everything from uptight schoolboy to disheveled newsie without a hitch. Maybe it was his bone structure or those wide, green eyes– but even now, out of his element and cold as hell, Davey’s cheeks were flushed all pretty and he looked awful nice. 

Jack gestured to the ladder, and Dave’s dark eyebrows shot up into his hair. “We’re climbing that?”

“C’mon, Dave, I swear the skyline’s gonna be worth it.” Jack prodded, knowing good and well that Davey was easy to sway with just a little bit of convincing. He gripped one of the cold rungs of the ladder and grinned, wiggling his eyebrows just so. “Sit on top of The World with me! You know you wanna…”

“Jack, it’s freezing!” He griped, tucking those pale hands of his beneath his armpits. Jack watched patiently as he rocked back onto his heels and ranted his heart out. “What if my hands seize up? What if we fall down the ladder and die? It’s a veritable possibility, you know. Snow could get in our eyes. Or my foot could get caught.”

His chest rose with a deep breath once he’d finished talking, and Jack let the smoke billow from his nose like some sort of fantasy dragon. Davey rocked back onto flat feet and Jack took the opportunity to step in with the smile that always won his best friend over. “Ya’ done?”

“You aren’t budging on this, huh?”

“Nope.” He glanced up, itching to make his way to the top of the building. He loved heights. Feeling like he could see everything gave him a sense of grounding that nothing else had ever achieved. “I’ll climb up second and catch you if you fall. Let’s go–”

“No, there’s no way you’ll catch me, I’m too heavy.” Davey marched resolutely to the ladder, and Jack had to hide his own grin at the taller boy’s stubbornness. He watched as Dave delicately adjusted the sleeves of his coat and the hems of his gloves, bright eyes traveling up the length of the ladder. The top was a little pinprick in the distance. “I’ll go up second.”

Beaming with victory, Jack grabbed onto the first rung and swung himself up. He shot Davey a wink. “Suit yourself.”

Thus the climb began, and the boys made quick work of it. Davey was quickly becoming Jack’s favorite person to adventure with. He had a habit of pretending to be a stickler, but Jack knew that he craved the same rush of adrenaline beneath his polished exterior. Racetrack was almost too wild and Crutchie didn’t particularly enjoy Jack’s specific brand of recklessness. Then Davey came around with his polite smile and his big eyes and went along with just about anything Jack said, with minimal complaining and the extra benefit of someone level-headed to plan.

That was the thing about Davey– Jack was always finding new things that made him like the other boy even more. They worked like a well-oiled machine when they got together, Jack drawing Davey out of his shell and Davey keeping Jack from doing anything too stupid. They kept each other in line, tethered and grounded to the earth whilst still climbing to new heights. Jack had never met anyone who worked with him as well as Dave did. To Dave, he was never too loud or too cocky or too much. Jack loved it.

He loved that Davey was quietly climbing up a too-long ladder behind him, bundled in his winter clothes and missing dinner. 

Davey was quickly becoming his best friend, and Jack Kelly did not deal in best friends prior to meeting this boy. He had Race and Crutchie, who he considered family. Brothers. He had all of the other newsies, older and younger, to look after. They were family, too. Before them, Jack hadn’t really let anyone get close. Deep down he worried that anyone he got close to would slip away, just like his parents had. 

Then a boy walks into the circulation gate with his collar up to his chin and his sleeves fastened ‘round his wrists, requesting politely to pay after he sold. This boy proceeds to accidentally stir up a strike, all the while smiling at Jack with his big, green eyes and his bowed lips, and he tilts Jack’s whole world upside down. And Davey stayed. After the strike, he didn’t shy away from his work as a newsboy or pull back. He stayed right by Jack’s side, firm and solid and grounding, and Jack had never felt so tethered before. It was nice.

Racetrack and Crutchie were good to him– they really were– but they’d never wormed their way into Jack’s heart like Davey did, and that was partially due to Dave’s intense stubbornness. If Jack was being reclusive or moody, Dave was knocking at his walls and trying to get in. Race would tease but ultimately leave it alone, and Crutchie’s strategy was always letting Jack come to him if he wanted to. Not Davey. Davey made it a point to figure it out himself, pushing and prodding at Jack in all the right ways. He’d pushed himself right up against Jack’s side in doing so, and now Jack didn’t intend to let go of such a beneficial friendship. He was happy.

So Davey had earned the title of ‘best friend’, because he’d defied Jack’s expectations and continued to do so. Jack sort of liked having a best friend.

Especially one as excellent as Davey Jacobs. He was an all around great guy. 

Jack leapt up onto the roof and found his footing nearly instantly, not caring about the rawness in his fingers or the ache in his thighs because damn, could New York City be pretty on nights like this. Little white snowflakes fluttered in the gentle breeze around them, and the city stretched onwards for miles. It was positively breathtaking, worth every single minute of climbing.

Jack shouted his glee and raced himself over to the ledge, planting his hands on the cool material and peering out at the dark cityscape around them. Lights in windows, ant-like carriages crawling across string-thin roads, smokestacks curling up towards the sky. Millions of little lives as tiny as fleas, tons of stories quietly playing out beneath them. All of it blanketed by snow. Jack could feel the pictures building themselves in his fingers. An age old desperation for a pencil and paper was biting at him, begging him to put it all down onto paper forever. He wanted to commit every image to memory.

Even Davey, standing behind Jack with his hands tucked into his pockets. He deserved to be committed to paper as well, what with the snowflakes in those chocolate-brown curls of his and the fond smile on his face. His freckled cheeks and nose were bright pink, raw from the cold, and his green eyes seemed to glitter. Jack loved that stupid little smile. Davey wore it only for him, and it gave him a bright feeling of accomplishment every time he saw it.

“We did it, Davey!” He grinned, spinning around and throwing his arms out to try and soak up every second of that smile. “We climbed the world!”

“In the middle of a snowstorm. And my fingers are practically falling off.” 

Jack snorted a laugh at the sarcasm in his friend’s tone and made his way over to the other boy, examining David’s figure in his gray coat and tilted cap. Dramatic as always, it seemed. “Ah, shaddup. Your fingers is fine.”

“I dunno… they look awfully frozen to me.” Davey overdramatically held his gloved hands out and examined them, as if a wool-coated finger might snap off with frostbite at any second. His gloves were a smidge too small, but then again, Davey had awfully long hands with elegant, slender fingers. They were covered in freckles. Jack would be lying if he said that he didn’t draw Davey’s hands often, but he moved his fingers with a unique sort of grace that you didn’t see a lot. Besides, Jack drew a lot of people often. He drew Kath a lot, and he liked drawing Race’s cigar. It was normal.

Instead of thinking about how he’d like to draw Davey’s too-short gloves, he laughed and took his friend’s hands into his own. Jack had on his favorite maroon colored fingerless gloves, a pair he got from Medda a year or two ago. He loved them because he could hold a pencil and draw, but his hands still got the warmth they needed. Plus they fit great, and they matched his dad’s red bandana and the threadbare red scarf he liked to wear. 

Christ, Davey’s hands were cold. They were always cold. Davey ran cold. Probably because he was so tall– his body just wasn’t making enough heat to evenly distribute it. Jack did his best to wrap his own hands around Dave's, his bare fingers somehow warmer than the gloved ones he was holding. 

This was real nice. Jack could spend just about every night up on the roof with Dave. It was a shame he had to go home so often. If he didn’t, Jack would spend these types of nights dragging him around New York, showing him all of the best nooks and crannies to waste minutes. It was alright, though. He had forever to show Davey the ropes. One night at a time. Maybe Jack just liked having someone around to indulge his impulsivity. Regardless, Davey had a habit of following Jack everywhere, and Jack had a habit of letting him. It worked out well.

The snowflakes landing on Davey’s long, dark lashes reminded Jack of the reason they were here– the snow. It made the city look calmer. Quieter. “Just look at it, Davey. Ain’t it pretty?”

Jack still held his age-old disdain for New York City and the way it functioned, but when he had someone worth staying for, everything looked a bit prettier. Kath and Davey had helped him see the stuff worth painting, and for six months, Jack had been finding new beauty in everything. Davey and his big words, Kath and her constant scribbling in her notebooks; Jack didn’t want to leave so much, anymore. In fact, he didn’t even want to move. He could feel Davey’s eyes boring into his cheek, the Walking Mouth finally silent.

Davey had this habit of looking at Jack like he was the only person in the world. He was attentive. Maybe that was on account of how smart he was, used to listening to teachers and stuff. Jack loved the attention, but sometimes it flustered him beyond comprehension. Dave wasn’t normally an eye contact guy, either, so when he really looked, Jack could feel it from the burning in his face to the strange lightness in his stomach.

Desperate to get that focused gaze off of him, Jack tugged Davey’s frigid hands right into his own pockets. His friend stumbled closer, all of that classic Davey rigidity making him move like a toy soldier. “Here. Don’t wantcha freezin’ to death, now.”

“Aren’t you considerate?” Typically soft, Dave’s calm and gentle voice seemed even quieter. The expansive rooftop seemed to suck up all of their sound, the thin blanket of fluffy white snow absorbing everything.

“I know, you don’t hafta tell me..” Jack’s tattered old brown coat, made of thinned wool, wasn’t nearly as nice as Dave’s. Dave’s coat was a deep gray with lined pockets and clean buttons, probably a hand-me-down from his father based on the age of the silhouette. Jack would stare at him as he hawked on the streetcorners, thinking about how he looked like something out of a painting from the 1880s when he wore his winter coat. Though Jack’s coat was shittier, David’s hands were cold and Jack always ran warm. He figured he’d help a fella out. In fact, David’s hands were really cold. All of him was. When he stepped closer, Jack could feel the frigid temperature radiating off of his friend’s arms. “Jeez, you’re like an icicle!”

Davey huffed a soft laugh as Jack closed his hands around those freckled wrists, where a sliver of skin sat between the ill-fitting gloves and his coat. He didn’t understand how someone could be this cold all the time. Especially not someone who was supposed to be from Europe.

Finding out Dave was from Poland had been a pleasant surprise to Jack, who always hid the fact that his Mamá was an immigrant. His grandparents on his Pa’s side were immigrants too (from Colombia and Ireland, respectively), and normally people got up in arms about it, ‘specially because his ma and grandpa were brown folk. Sure, Davey was just about as white as the snow outside, but knowing he wasn’t from here (and wasn’t a white protestant either) seemed to drag them even closer in Jack’s mind. Shared trauma and all that bullshit.

“Y’know, Dave, I still don’t get how you freeze up so easy. Poland’s colder than New York, ain’t it?” He teased, always willing to egg Davey on for some sort of snarky reaction. Jack adored the rare moments when he’d snap back with a nasty quip or a witty insult.

“I wouldn’t know. Haven’t been there in fourteen years.”

There it was. The teasing little smile, the slight lean forward– Jack revelled in his victory and felt himself laughing before he could stop. Dave was so good at talking. Jack figured he could talk to Davey for hours– or hell, just listen to him talk and not say anything back– and still be content. It was the sound of his voice, the way he used his words, the way you could see his brain running a mile a minute behind those intelligent eyes. That was what fascinated Jack. Davey fascinated Jack in general. The only person he’d met that was like Davey was Kath. She fascinated Jack, too. Maybe he just liked smart people. Academic types.

Feeling on top of the world, he quipped back with ease. “Alright, smartass. Just tryin’ta make conversation.”

“It probably is colder there. In Poland.” Davey conceded, starting to shift around as his eyes brightened. Jack noticed him rocking back and forth on his heels like he always did when he got passionate about something, shifting from his heels to the balls of his feet. He remained steady and shuffled closer, providing a firm and still pillar for David to return to with each shift. “Our old house had little stoves in each room, so it was never cold in there.”

“Oh! So you was rich, then?” Shocked at that little bit of information, Jack ate up each bit of Davey information as he explained their old home back in Europe. Fireplaces, his own room with his own bed– Jack imagined the lanky, freckle-faced kid Davey must’ve been and felt his heart swell with fondness and a sharp spike of longing for that type of life.

He didn’t know what was worse– having what Davey had for four short years, or not having it at all. Plus, Dave had mentioned leaving Poland on account of they were treating the Jews like shit, something that Jack could relate to, being a brown kid. Even in New York of all places, packed with people from all over the world, people still looked down on him. Maybe Dave felt the same about his religion. So Jack listened raptly to Davey, like he always did. 

Davey always said that people never listened when he talked. Jack found that stupid, because Jack was always listening to Davey. He finished his mini-ramble with a theory that maybe he ran so cold because he was so used to being warm as a baby. Jack laughed.

“Maybe that’s why my hands never get cold. ‘Cause I’ve been sleepin’ on the streets since I was a kid. Or maybe it’s on account of my Colombian hermitage.”

“Heritage.” A giggle burst through Davey’s lips, and Jack drank up the rare sound. Davey’s little giggle was ridiculously endearing, and he never ever did it. A soft, light and fleeting noise that would make anybody’s heart flutter. 

He grabbed the lapels of Dave’s soft coat and tugged him closer, leaning in as if he might hear the sound better if their faces were inches apart. He didn’t care if Davey was technically correcting his terrible grammar– Jack was eighteen years old and he was still shitty with English but Davey was never an asshole about it. Curse his parents for not getting the chance to enroll him in school and teaching him Spanish first, right? “What’d I say? Her-it-age. I said heritage.”

“No way.” Davey scoffed in that intellectual way of his, looking awfully affronted. That had been the goal. Jack smiled as his face grew a bit redder as his frustration increased. “And besides, Latin American heritage doesn’t have anything to do with your hands being warm.”

Egging him on, Jack imitated Davey’s scoff and tried to think of everything he’d made up about his Colombian genes over the past six months, since Davey took him to that intimidatingly big library to read books about Colombia and its people. “Sure it do. Just like it’s the reason why I don’t burn in the sun and I can eat the peppers and I can eat the peppers at Jacobi’s without cryin’ like you do.” 

“You do burn in the sun.” Davey corrected almost immediately, and Jack raised his eyebrows. He did not burn. At least not like Dave did, when his face got lobster-red because he always wore his cap too far back on his head. Jack had spent half of July and August tilting Davey’s cap down to keep the freckled skin on his Roman nose from going up in flames.

Add that to the list of reasons why Jack liked summer– Dave got absolutely covered in freckles. Jack really, really liked his freckles.

He had them even in winter, but they were just a bit paler. In summer they were darker and he positively speckled with them. Jack was glad they hadn’t gone away despite the cloud cover. Crutchie’s freckles, for example, were only on his cheeks and you could only really see them in summer. Not Davey.

Oblivious to Jack’s runaway train of thought, Davey continued speaking. “And– I s’pose I’ve got no excuse for the peppers other than the fact that I’m a wimp. You know, I think I’m going to get you one of those big, lacy parasols for Christmas. The ones the wealthy women use to keep their skin fair.”

“Pfft, I’d look gorgeous with one’a those.” Jack smirked and tossed his hair back and forth, imagining himself prancing around the lodging house with a parasol of all things. He’d probably get laughed out of town, but if it came from Davey he was sure as hell gonna use it.

Dave’s dark brows ticked upwards. “Parasol it is, then.”

Speaking of presents– Jack felt himself practically light up as he remembered the little painting he was working on to give Davey on the last night of Hanukkah. It wasn’t anything much– just a colored version of a sketch he’d done back in October. Davey and Les had fallen asleep on the front steps of the lodge, sunkissed and surrounded by stray orangey brown leaves. There was something about the way Dave got over Les– always protective, always holding onto him even when the little guy didn’t need it. Another reason why Dave was such a great guy.

“Oh, just you wait, Davey, I’ve got the best Hanukkah present planned for you.”

For some reason, Davey got that owl-eyed look and his lips parted like he was shocked, or something. Jack didn’t quite understand. “Y-you don’t have to–”

“Too late. I already started on it.” He smiled and gave the taller boy’s coat a little downwards tug, just for good measure. Sometimes he needed reminding that he was just as much a newsie as everyone else, and Jack was happy to oblige. “The holidays are for showin’ people how much you care about ‘em.” 

Dave went quiet. He blinked owlishly at Jack and his lips ticked downwards just a bit, in an almost-frown that tugged on Jack’s heartstrings. He had absolutely no idea how to explain the way Davey’s pupils were swelling, swamping the mossy green of his eyes until just a ring of deep emerald color remained. He looked almost awestruck, though Jack hadn’t really said anything that crazy. He waited, feeling an odd sort of tension between them.

“You care about me?” Davey’s question came as a soft whisper, barely audible even on the silent roof.

When had he ever given Davey a reason to think otherwise? Then again, Dave was always asking questions like that. He was always surprised when he found out people considered him a friend. It made Jack wonder how often the Jacobs family doled out casual affection, because sometimes Dave seemed a bit starved of it. 

“‘Course I do. What sorta question is that?” He forced a laugh to hide his sadness for his friend and gently patted Davey’s cheek– the skin he touched was icy cold and Jack was cupping Davey’s face in his hands before he could think. If someone saw them, they might think it was romantic but– it was Jack and Davey. They weren’t interested in each other like that, right? “Jesus– I mean, goddamn, you’re freezin’, Dave!”

“Can’t help it.” Davey had gone rigid, fingers shoved tightly into his pockets. Maybe because Jack mentioned Christ. Jews had a weird relationship with Christ, didn’t they?

Jack ignored the sudden shift in demeanor and tugged David’s hat down further over his unruly curls. “Well, don’t’cha worry. Kath oughta be here with some blankets any minute now.”

Davey simply nodded. “Good. I… I’m freezing.”

Understatement of the century. Jack snickered, carefully smoothing his hands over the shoulders of Dave’s. He imagined the tension there disappearing beneath his fingers, running in rivulets down Davey’s spine. No such relaxation happened– instead Davey’s wide green eyes just dropped to the ground. Huh. Jack would have to mention Christ less.

“Oh, I can tell.” 

Just seconds later, Kath climbed out of one of the windows. She was wearing a coat that cost more than the entire lodging house, surely, and she looked pretty despite the chill. She had two quilts wrapped around her slim shoulders and three mugs balanced in her gloved hands. Jack almost felt a sense of frustrated disappointment. He’d wanted to figure out what was up with Dave.

These past couple of months had been packed with sudden drops of mood, where Davey would get sad and quiet without any explanation. Just like he was now.

But Kath was here, and she deserved his full attention. Jack slipped away from Davey and went to greet his girl, and he soon found himself cuddled close to her, a quilt over their laps and a mug of really damn good cider in his hands. Kath fussed over the edge of his blanket and Jack watched Davey retreat like he was trying to get as far away from them as possible. Frustration built up like an icy wall within Jack. He was tired of Dave’s tendencies to shut himself off. He just wanted to know what the hell was happening in that genius head.

“I’m surprised you two haven’t turned into ice sculptures yet.” Kath teased, gently bumping their shoulders together.

Jack forced a laugh, though his eyes were trained on Davey. He was standing rigidly straight near the ledge of the rooftop, hands shoved into his own pockets. “Trust me, Davey’s awful close.”

“That won’t do.” Sweet as can be, Katherine clicked her tongue softly. She briskly trotted over to Davey and settled the spare quilt over his shoulders, herding the mug of cider into his rigid hands. Jack wanted her to invite him to come and sit right next to them, but she merely smiled sweetly. “Spiced apple cider. To keep us warm.”

“Thank you, Kath.” He murmured, that gloominess thick and heavy in his voice. 

She smiled at him and returned to Jack, joining him beneath the blanket once more. Davey curled up against one of the pillars supporting Pulitzer’s office, making himself seem impossibly small beneath the thick quilt Kath brought. He looked miserable as he brought the cup to his lips, and Jack’s mind was racing as he tried to understand why.

He’d taken a turn so quickly. Jack just didn’t get it. He wanted to beckon Davey over and invite him to sit beneath Jack’s other arm, but something was stopping him. He hadn’t spent much time alone with Kath, anyways. 

“I’m really glad you two could join me up here.” Katherine murmured softly, her breath warm and sweet against his neck. She smelled of flowers and expensive perfume. Jack wrapped his arm securely around her and pressed a kiss to her head. 

“A’course. City’s beautiful in the snow.” 

She positively beamed, her cheeks and nose already flushed with windburn. Pretty. “Well, I figured you could use some inspiration for your art.” 

“You’re the best, Kath.” Jack managed a small smile and kissed her forehead this time, then the tip of her nose. She laughed softly at the affection and looped her arm around his, pressing a couple of gentle kisses to his neck.

The evening wasn’t really what he had in mind. He had pictured the three of them goofing around high above the city, all bright smiles and fascinated whisperings about the snow– but instead he was sitting stationary with Katherine, trading quiet kisses since Davey had walked around to the other side of Pulitzer’s office to give them privacy. Jack didn’t want to vocalize his disappointment to Kath, but he’d never really planned on this being a one-on-one date. They had a lot of time for those. They took lunch alone together every day, and he always picked her up from The Sun to walk her home, which led to a lot of detours. They didn’t get to see Davey nearly as much since he was strictly on a newsboy schedule. 

He tried not to feel too up in arms about it as midnight crept closer and Davey reappeared, quilt wrapped around his shoulders and a strained, fake smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“It’s getting late. I told my Ma I’d be back by one.”

“Well, now that everyone’s out of the office, I insist that you take the stairs.” Kath stated firmly, rising to her feet to go collect his empty mug. She carefully smoothed the collar of his shirt down and offered him a little smile. “Thanks for joining us, Davey.”

Jack hopped to his feet and joined them, pressing one shoulder against Davey and the other to Katherine. “Yeah, really, Dave. I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too. You two enjoy the rest of your night.”

Something in his words sounded hollow, and Jack watched as the lanky boy climbed through the window and slipped into Pulitzer’s office without another word. His silhouette disappeared quickly, not even pausing to examine all of the books crowding the multiple shelves in the circular room. That, Jack knew, was distinctly un-Davey-like. 

Something was bothering Davey. Yes, Jack felt terrible that his best friend was on his mind when he should’ve been enjoying the snow and the crisp night air with his belle, but Kath was a constant presence in his life and he got at least an hour alone with her every day. He sold with Davey five days a week and on every one of those days, Les or some other newsie was biting at their heels the entire time.

That only convinced Jack of one thing– he was gonna have to get Dave by himself if he wanted a proper explanation as to what the hell was going on. 

══════════════════

“Hey, hey, watch your step! You’se shakin’ the whole roof!” 

Jack peered over the edge of the ladder to find Crutchie curled up in a bundle of tatterworn blankets. He could feel his mouth ticking down into a frown before he could stop himself, because the cold was practically clawing at his cheeks and nose and chin, so he couldn’t possibly imagine what the younger boy was feeling.

He swung himself up onto the roof and did his best to tamper his agitation. “Crutch, what the hell is this? I told you to stay inside the lodging house for the night– you shouldn’t be sleepin’ up here in the snow!”

“Geez, Jack, you shouldn’t either.” Crutchie glanced up at him with accusatory blue eyes and a slight pout. His lightly freckled cheeks were already pink. “Besides, I can handle a little flurry. I needs the money more for food than for a bed right now. What, you want me gone or somethin’?”

“No, Crutch, I don’t–” He let out a sigh and gathered up his own bedding, a collection of blankets and quilts he’d been gathering since he lived in that little matchbox apartment with his parents. The one his Papá had bought him only a month after Mamá’s passing was his favorite, though it looked worse for wear at this point. “I don’t want you gone. Now shove over.”

Crutchie grinned a gap-toothed smile and curled up against the wall. He was still wearing his hat and his hair was a golden-blond mess, matted and tangled on the side where he’d been laying on his bundled-up-blanket pillow. “Ooh, ain’t I lucky? Human blanket Jack’s my favorite Jack.”

“I know, you lug.” Jack tossed his own blanket over their laps as Crutchie tugged him in with another blanket around his shoulders. His thin body was exceedingly cold and Jack found himself wishing he had the authority to send the boy inside without a second thought. Crutchie didn’t take well to charity, though, and he was old enough to ignore Jack’s pointed orders to ‘get his skinny ass inside already’. He sighed as he tugged Crutchie up against his side, feeling the stress finally begin to settle in his chest.

“Bad date?” His almost-brother read him like a book. Jack couldn’t help his own little laugh at that fact.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a date. That’s the problem.” He muttered, tucking his chin into the collar of his own shirt. One thing he liked about winter was the fact that he didn’t have to undress before bed and redress in the mornings. Gave him a few extra minutes of sleep. 

“Okay… I’m confused.” Crutchie offered one of those wry smiles of his from where he was half-hidden in their pile of blankets, barely visible between the shadows from his wild hair and the dim light of the half moon. 

“Well– I invited Davey along and he didn’t really end up spending any of the night with us and just went off to sit by himself. Plus he’s been so moody recently and I got no idea why, but I figure he’s s’posed to tell me that stuff since he makes me talk every time I’m upset.” He let out a sharp, aggravated breath as images of sad green eyes and Davey, curled up beneath that quilt all alone in the snow, practically slapped him across the face. “I always feel weird asking him to come over and join me and Kath.”

Crutchie hummed sagely, surely about to deliver Jack some wisdom. “Maybe ya’ should feel weird. Nobody wants to hang out alone with a fella and his gal.”

“Yeah, but it’s Dave.” Jack countered, because that was an obvious argument to him. Davey was different. He wasn’t like other people were to Jack. “It’s Dave ‘n me ‘n Kath. We won a strike together.”

“That’s the business sphere. This is the domestic sphere.”

“Crutch, what the hell is a sphere?” His agitation spiked. Davey and his stupid impromptu school lessons were starting to get on Jack’s nerves because the Newsies were all using big Davey words. 

Crutchie grinned infuriatingly, because no one could resist that sweet, gap-toothed smile and the crescent moon crinkle of his eyes. “Specifics, Jack, specifics. What I’m tryin’ to say is that he probably don’t mind makin’ plans and discussin’ Union business with you and Kathy, but when it comes down to spendin’ time otherwise with you, he feels uncomfortable like any other fella would. Nobody wants to tag along on a private date.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be a date, though.” Jack was almost whining at this point as he found himself back at square one– usually Crutchie was better about walking him through his problems, but obviously he just didn’t understand Davey like Jack did. “And Davey doesn’t mind hanging out with us. This is Davey we’re talking about, Crutch. He’s my best friend.”

“He’s also always seemed pretty adverse to girls and courting and all of that mess.” Crutchie pointed out sagely, raising his eyebrows at Jack. “So ya’ might be makin’ him uncomfortable.”

Oh. That sort of checked out. Maybe Davey was feeling lonely, or something? But the more he thought about it, the less it made sense. “I dunno, man, I think that Davey could get just about any girl he wanted.” 

Crutchie gave him a look he couldn’t decipher and grinned, eyebrows shooting up towards his hair. “Oh yeah, Jack? Why’s that?” 

“Well- he’s damned smart, first of all. And he’s tall, and he’s not bad looking, and he’s funny. Actually, Dave’s pretty good looking. He’s one of the best looking guys I know. Ain’t no reason a girl shouldn’t want him.” Jack decided, and then mentally decided right after that Dave probably didn’t have a girl because he didn’t want one. Nerd brain was probably focused on books and science and whatnot. 

“Well… Dave’s a pretty awkward fella—“

“Not if you get to know him.” He quickly jumped to his best friend’s defense, “And when you get to know him he’s like a different guy. He’s snarky and funny and he’s damned sarcastic too, which makes for fun conversation.”

“Geez, alright. I’m sure he don’t need you to defend his honor, Jackie.” Crutchie teased, poking Jack’s side once or twice.

He narrowed his eyes reflexively. “Don’t call me that.”

“Dave does.” Crutchie’s grin turned into something shit-eating and Jack didn’t understand why, but he sure didn’t like it. 

“Dave’s—“

“Dave’s different, I know. You’ve said.” Crutchie reached one hand out of the blanket pile to ruffle Jack’s hair. Jack batted him away with a grumble and felt Crutchie’s sigh like one of his own. “You two… the way you and Dave think amazes me. You’re both so…” 

Thoroughly done with everyone’s bullshit for the day, Jack shot the blond a seething glare. “We’re both so what?”

“Do you wanna hear it?”

“No.” He muttered into the blanket, resisting the strong urge to roll his eyes.

Crutchie grinned like he’d just won a round of poker against Racetrack. “Then I ain’t gonna say it.”

“Good. Shut your trap and go to sleep.”

“Yes sir.”

Crutchie giggled as he curled up, his chest shaking with laughter that Jack was simultaneously endeared and annoyed by. He cuffed the younger boy over the back of the head for good measure before he sighed and settled himself down for sleep.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop thinking about Davey and Crutchie had only made that condition worse. Did the problem have something to do with girls? Was Davey jealous or lonely or something? Maybe Jack needed to pay more attention to when his seemingly random bouts of moodiness happened. Maybe they were all skirt related.

Jack didn’t like that answer. He almost hoped it was something else. Sure, he could play wingman for Dave. He’d probably do a good job of it, too. But the idea of Davey getting hitched and marrying (which he’d probably do after a month of courting, unlike Jack who was going six months strong with no intention of buying a ring anytime soon- he was barely eighteen and broke as a joke, no way he was marrying an heiress without a full time real job) made Jack sick to his stomach. Davey would probably up and disappear.

Jack wasn’t ready for that yet. He needed him around for at least another year.

So he went to bed that night, still determined to sniff out the cause of Davey’s moodiness, and newly dreading one of the potential explanations. 

Chapter Text

“Hey, yo, Racer!”

The distribution yard was foggy and dark. It was far too early for anyone to be out and about, but Jack recognized the head of messy light-blonde curls leaning up against the circulation gate in an instant. A cloud of smoke seemed to curl around him, puffing from the cigar cinched between his lips. Racetrack oozed relaxation, but Jack could see from the stiffness in his spine and the clench of the impressive muscles in his arms that he was nervous. The younger newsie and official Upper Manhattan Second was still getting used to filling Jack’s shoes when he was away at The World, and it made Jack feel sorta guilty– but Jack was eighteen, and by the time he turned nineteen in July, Race would have to step up as the official leader of Upper Manhattan, whether he was nervous or not.

He was lucky. Jack had been thrust into the position at fourteen. Racer, at sixteen, was practically set. He’d been prepping for the job for years. He just needed to get out of his head.

Jack wasn’t worried about newsie politics, though. He was on a mission. 

The older newsie jogged towards the blonde, momentarily disembarking from his route to work. “Race! You’re up awful early.”

He earned a bright grin and a tip of the other boy’s cap. “Pickin’ up your slack, Jack. As always.”

“I thought Dave always did the headcount while I was away.” Jack came to a halt and glanced through the iron-barred gate. The circulation yard was empty as always, morning fog rolling over the ground. He could see the shifting movement of Wiesel and the Delanceys behind their window, preparing for the day. Part of him would miss this life, but most of him was excited for the prospect of a career working to create the paper instead of selling it.

He didn’t say that to Race, though, who had been nervously adjusting the sleeves of his well-loved brown coat. It was covered with messily sewn patches of various cloth, covering holes. Jack honestly wasn’t sure how the thing still fit— it was awful tight around Race’s strong shoulders. The blonde glanced up at him, face suddenly transforming into a ridiculous looking smirk. “Of course you’d remember that.”

“I remember it because you don’t hafta be out here so early.” He flicked the brim of Racer’s cap upwards and examined the shit-eating smirk he wore. He was briefly reminded of Crutchie, all of those nights ago when they’d had their rooftop chat. “But I guess it’s a good thing that you’se out, since I gotta ask a favor.” 

“Oh, yeah? What am I gettin’ in return?” Race grinned again, swiveling his cigar over to the other side of his mouth. His eyes seemed to twinkle with familiar mischief, a look Jack had seen on him a million times over. 

Race was a good, reliable guy, but he was real finicky about payments and proper give-and-take. Jack didn’t really have the funds for anything crazy, but today was important, so he figured he could spare a few cents.

He sighed. “I’ll buy ya’ another cigar.”

“I’m sold, so long as ya’ use your fancy cartoon money to get me a Corona. Lay it on me, Kelly.” The blonde leaned back against the iron-bars of the gate, cat-like and easy. Jack could see the strength in his spread arms, the sureness in the way he bent his knee. Racer was ready to lead. He had no reason to be nervous. Jack made a mental note to tell him as much whenever the opportunity arose.

“Listen, Kath and I want to take Davey and Les to lunch today, ‘cept I don’t have time to swing back around here and get them. I was thinkin’ maybe you could tell Dave for me?” 

Racetrack’s light eyebrows shot up towards his hair and disappeared beneath his wild curls, his impossibly blue eyes getting wide. “Oh. So no one-on-one lunch date with Katherine today, then?”

“Before you ask, it was her idea to invite them.” Jack snarked right back. He was growing tired of Crutchie and Racetrack’s weird comments about his relationship. He didn’t have to spend every second of his free time alone with Katherine, surely. It was like they expected him to totally ditch Davey in favor of Katherine, which wasn’t fair at all. 

And he wasn’t lying about Katherine choosing to invite the Jacobs boys to lunch. It was her idea. She and Jack had been sitting on the steps outside of the World when she’d come up with it. He was sketching and she was scribbling away in one of her notebooks, and things were domestic and quiet and comfortable.

She’d glanced at his sketch— one of Kath handing Davey that blanket up on the roof of the World— and their conversation about that night devolved into a conversation about Davey’s recent moodiness. Since the roof, Davey had been increasingly more reclusive, and his behavior was starting to worm under Jack’s skin, filling him with anxiety. Kath suggested inviting Dave to lunch, and she even offered to talk to him. Jack practically jumped at the idea. Katherine was great with all of that emotional stuff, and he figured she’d get to the bottom of his Davey problem, so he agreed. 

Kath’s idea. Not Jack’s. He didn’t even want to unpack the slight guilt he was feeling at that insinuation. “And besides, Davey’s been actin’ weird lately.”

“Understatement of the century.” Race scoffed, blowing some smoke in Jack’s direction as he did. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he waved the smoke away. “You figured out why, yet?” 

“No, dummy, that’s what I’m doin’ during lunch. Hopefully.” Jack ran a nervous hand through his own hair, missing the familiar cover of his newsboy cap. He had to leave it behind when he worked at The World. “Listen— are you gonna tell him about lunch or not? It’s at 11:30–”

“Whatever you say, Mr. President.” Race winked at him, eyes scanning the street behind Jack. “Write the address of the place down, I’ll give it to Dave when he gets here.”

He cuffed Racetrack over the back of the head, plucked a crumpled stray newspaper from the sidewalk adjacent, and ripped a corner off. The location she’d chosen was some fancy cafè, but since Kath was footing the bill, Jack figured the Jacobs’ would be fine with it. He scribbled the address down with one of the charcoal pencils he kept on him in case of random inspiration and offered the slip of paper to the other newsboy. “Here. Thanks, Race.” 

“Sure. By the way, I’m surprised Kath ain’t figured out Davey’s- uh- problem , yet. It’s pretty obvious.” He grinned and rocked back on his heels, looking Jack up and down through narrowed blue eyes. 

Race was like a brother to him, but damn if Jack didn’t want to sock him in the nose. “If it’s so obvious then why don’t you just tell me what the hell is wrong with him?”

“Nah. Not my information to tell— I’m sure Kath’ll figure it out eventually.” He clapped a hand onto Jack’s shoulder with that same shit-eating smirk. Jack felt his own jaw twitch and tighten with agitation. “Lunch at 11:30 with you and lovely Miss Pulitzer. I’ll let Davey know.” 

Jack stalked off, all of his previous plans to compliment Race’s leadership abilities gone right out the window. If he wanted to be a shithead about Davey, he wasn’t getting any Jack Kelly reassurance. Jack was tired of these half-baked conversations about his relationship with Kath, too. Seemed like everyone was dancing around him nowadays— even the normally blunt newsboys like Albert and Henry. Jack was fed up with everyone acting like they knew something he didn’t know, and he was tired of Davey being all strange and shut off, and he was tired of trying to make his relationship with Katherine meet everyone’s expectations. 

The pressure was overwhelming, at times, and it was coming from all angles. Katherine’s family wanted him to propose or hit the road, but they didn’t want him to propose until he had a ‘real job’, so he was stuck in a cycle of endless judgment and misery. The newsboys either told him he spent too much time with her or not enough, so he could never do right with them either. The only person who hadn’t given him any shit about Kath was Davey, but that was because he was just being weird in general.

Jack just wanted it all to stop. He wanted things to be normal, like they were for the month or two after the strike before Dave’s moods started devolving. 

Lunch couldn’t come fast enough. 

By the time it rolled around, Jack was convinced that Davey’s moodiness was his fault. If he had done something, that would understand why Race and Crutchie were both yapping about Dave’s problem being obvious. Jack had done something a month or two ago that made Davey upset with him, and he’d been stewing in his rage for months and not said anything. 

But what had Jack done? He was desperate to know. The need to figure out was eating him alive. So he told Kath as much, and she promised to get to the bottom of things. The promise wasn’t very reassuring.

He barely got any sketches done at work and found himself sitting in a crowded café surrounded by rich folk within the span of a few hours. Jack stuck out like a sore thumb, and he felt like some random brown boy masquerading amongst the elite. Sure, he was dressed like them (in the work clothes Kath had bought him), and he had his hair combed all nice and he might’ve fit in at a glance, but he always felt out of place when he ran with her circles.

He held Kath’s hand as she looked over the menu. Jack was staring off, mind filled with questions about what he was doing so wrong. What had he done to make Davey act so strangely?

Realistically, Jack should’ve been happier than ever before. He was eating a posh lunch on somebody else's dime, wearing semi-new clothes and feeling cleaner than he’d felt in a long time. He had a best friend and a lovely woman to court, and he was on the verge of landing a full time real job. It’s just that he wasn’t happy. The discontent was starting to make him uncomfortable in his own skin. It made him think of faraway dreams. Big suns, mountainscapes, clay buildings and empty streets— this was the first time he’d longed for Santa Fe in forever, and he immediately felt stupid for it.

He had his people right here. Just because people were acting strange didn’t mean Jack could just jump ship. But if they abandoned him, if Davey got well and truly fed up or Kath left him because he couldn’t commit, then what? 

To distract himself, he dragged his thumb over his belle’s gloved hand and watched the door for any sign of the brothers. 

Almost exactly on time, as was typical for Dave, the Jacobs brothers pushed through the door of the restaurant. Jack watched David fuss over Les’s little form, brushing snow off of him and rubbing his own gloved hands over those tiny shoulders and Les’s head of wildly curly hair. Like always, Les squirmed. Jack felt himself smile at the sight of them– the kid didn’t realize how lucky he was to have a brother as caring as Davey. 

Les’s wide, brown eyes met Jack’s and he grinned a bright, sunny grin. “Jack!”

“C’mere, kid!” Jack motioned him over, feeling his heart swell with fondness at the sight of Les’s dimpled cheeks. 

Like clockwork, Les wrapped his hand around his big brother’s wrist and started tugging him through the mess of tables, obviously not giving a damn about all of the fancy elitists glaring at him from all directions. Just how Jack taught him. Davey, however, looked miserable. He watched his feet as he walked, and didn’t even look up as his brother navigated the chairs and skirts. Sure, Dave’s spit-polished leather lace-ups were nice, but they weren’t anything to stare at for longer than a minute or two.

“Davey!” He called, attempting to catch a glimpse of those wide, green eyes. Jack received no such gift. Instead Davey just pulled out the chair across the table and sat as Les climbed into a chair of his own. He was refusing to look at Jack, only further affirming the ‘Jack-did-something-wrong’ theory.

“He’s been in a rotten mood all day.” Les explained cheerfully, dropping his chin onto his hands. Jack suppressed a chuckle– Les’s cheeks were rosy and he looked on top of the moon to be here. He and Dave were total opposites. “On account of I didn’t get outta bed on time. Sorry, David…”

“Aw, he’ll manage.” Jack stared resolutely at his friend, who stared resolutely at the fancy wood of the table beneath them. “Ey, maybe some food’ll cheer you up, huh, Dave?”

All he received in response was a sharp exhale. Jack felt the defeat like a slap to the face and leaned back in his own chair, trying to quell his own nerves as he watched Davey glance over the menu. His face seemed to sink into an expression of defeat that Jack found incredibly pretty, like one of those beautifully sad statues that sat in the gardens of the rich people near where Kath lived.

She must’ve picked up on his morose expression, because she raised her voice gently and smiled at him. “Lunch is on me, by the way.”

“Les and I can split something. So it isn’t such a strain on your wallet.” Davey glanced up and met Katherine’s eyes, and Jack felt something clench unhappily within him. He wanted Davey to look at him. 

Jack wracked his mind as he desperately tried to figure out what he could’ve done to upset Davey. This had been happening for months, after all, but he couldn’t think of anything. Had something happened on the roof? Jack was positive they’d been having a good time— and he could remember the exact moment when Dave’s mood had dropped, just after Katherine showed up. Maybe Crutchie was right, and he just didn’t like tagging along with Jack and Kath. But he was here now, wasn’t he? Even as the curly-haired boy squirmed under the gazes of the rich idiots surrounding them, and Les babbled on about the menu, Jack couldn't figure anything out. He just wanted Davey to look at him. He wanted to see green eyes. He wanted reassurance that everything was alright. 

Les’s voice had risen high in excitement, and Jack caught only the tail end of his exclamation. Some weird, European sounding word.

“Sour-what?” Jack forced a laugh.

Davey still refused to look at him as he scanned over the menu. “Sauerkraut. Fermented cabbage. No, Les, I don’t think they have that here. But look, they have pickles. We’ll get those, yes?”

Jack was about to burst with frustration, his knee bouncing wildly beneath the table. This wasn’t okay. He wanted to scream and acted on impulse, cutting off Les before the little guy could answer his big brother. “You okay, Dave?” The concern was so strong that it was making him feel sick to his stomach. Kath dropped a hand onto his knee and he tried his best to sit still. “Dave?”

“I’m perfectly alright, Jack. Les, don’t play with your silverware.”

“But this is nicer than the fancy silverware we got at home, Davey, look!” Les stuck a knife right in front of his own face. Kath giggled softly and raised her hand over her mouth, just in time for Davey to snatch Les’s wrist up. Jack could see his shoulders curling as he hid in the collar of his coat, cheeks and ears pink with what must’ve been embarrassment. Les really wasn’t being that bad. He was a cute kid– a lot of the women sitting around them seemed amused by his antics.

But Jack knew how Davey tended to get into his own head, and he seemed really deep in there as he used his cloth napkin to wipe at the ink that smudged Les’s freckled little fingers. Les was not having any of it. “Aw, c’mon, Davey, stop –”

Davey was not having any of it, either. Jack had never seen him so harsh with Les and felt awkwardly out of place as Dave grabbed the kid by the collar and whispered harshly in his ear– something in that language he spoke that Jack didn’t understand. It was either Hebrew or Polish. Jack couldn’t quite tell the difference yet, even though he’d been trying. He and Katherine shared an awkward glance, Jack silently begging her to just get to the bottom of this. He’d never seen Davey so downright miserable before. 

Les shoved his brother away, freckled cheeks pink with fury. “You don’t gotta be mean to me!”

“Davey– do you want to take a walk? This place is just… so incredibly crowded and I really need fresh air.” Katherine’s laugh was light and obviously forced, but Jack was grateful for the interruption. There were actual tears of frustration in Davey’s glimmering green eyes. 

David shot up out of his chair and finally, finally looked at Jack. The sadness Jack saw quite literally stole his breath away, and he mentally cursed Davey for having such wide, open and honest green eyes. It wasn’t even fair. He couldn’t look away from the gentle furrow of those dark brows or the freckles all over those sharp cheekbones. His rosy lips were frowning, just barely, and it was an expression of muted sorrow that Jack wanted to wipe away. If Kath were looking at him like that, he’d kiss it away. 

Why was he thinking about kissing and Davey in the same line of reasoning? Those things did not belong together. Startled by his own train of thought, Jack reeled back and forced himself to listen to Kath’s careful voice.

“Jack can watch over Les perfectly well. Can’t you, darling?”

“A’course, sugar.” Jack flashed her his best smile, though he wasn’t feeling very happy at the moment. He was anxious to know what was up with Dave, rife with hope that his journalist belle could figure it out. He was starting to regret letting Kath do the heavy lifting. He wanted to take Dave outside and pull him into a hug. Maybe never let him go. “You sure you uh… you can handle the cold right now? ‘Cause I could walk with Dave instead–”

Her smile hardened just a bit, in a way that screamed don’t you dare interfere, Jack Kelly, and Jack bit his tongue. They’d discussed this. Kath never divulged from a plan. After a moment of intense eye contact, Jack felt himself slump with defeat and her smile eased. “Don’t be silly.”

“Me an’ Les are just fine on our own then, huh, buddy? We can hold the fort down.” He played the part of easygoing best friend and ruffled Les’s curly brown hair. Les had just about the curliest hair of any kid he knew, and some coils bounced over his forehead as he tilted his head back with a happy laugh. 

At least Les was having a good day. 

Jack coaxed Les into telling him some stories from selling papes today and he found himself naturally laughing along. Les was a really sweet kid, and Jack was starting to see him like his own little brother. He kept Les entertained by folding napkins at the table as the minutes ticked on, and just allowed the little guy to enjoy his rare time at such a nice place. Les didn’t deserve to feel awkward because of their grown-up drama.

Soon a nicely dressed waiter approached them, his upper lip only curling slightly at the sight of the two boys. Les was a verifiable mess, but he was a cute one. 

“Can I start your table off with anything to drink?”

“I’ll just have a glass a’ water.” Jack leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. Les had snatched up a menu, and his eyes were roaming over the list of drinks. He could see the wheels turning in that freckled face as wide brown eyes read quickly, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Then his little shoulders slumped, and he sighed. “I should prolly get water, too.”

“Nah. Kathy’s payin’, and she wants you to get what you want.” Jack insisted, quickly reading over the soda section. “Ah, look at that. Cherry flavored cream soda. Sounds pretty darn good to me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Les practically beamed, his eyes turning into little crescents as he excitedly turned to the waiter. “What he said!”

The man raised his eyebrows and scribbled something down on his little notepad. He glanced over the two empty seats, upper lip curled. Jack sort of wanted to punch the snooty expression off of his face but he refrained, tossing an arm over the back of Les’s chair instead. Finally their waiter sighed, like serving them was a great chore. “Would you like to place an order for the missing members of your party?”

“Sure. We know what they’ll be havin’.” Jack said, because he knew without a doubt that Davey was gonna want that Old Gray tea or whatever it was called. He loved that stuff, even though it tasted like leaves to Jack. He swiped the menu from Les’s hand and scanned it for something Kath might like. She drank a lot of coffee and he wracked his brain for what exactly her order was as he read Davey’s off. “Cuppa Earl Gray with a slice of lemon for the fella, and… ah… they lady’ll be having coffee. No sugar and… um– just a bit of cream. I think.”

He really hoped that was right. He’d been to a couple of coffee shops with Kath but he’d always been busy drawing her or keeping up with her breakneck conversational skills to pay attention to something like a coffee order. He also knew for a fact that Kath didn’t know what he liked, since she’d always order a plain black for him and Jack liked his drinks awful sugary. So he shouldn’t feel bad for not having hers memorized, but he still did. 

“Right... I assume they’ll have returned once I bring you your drinks?”

“They’ll be back!” Les assured cheerfully, leaning his head back against Jack’s arm.

The man huffed and sauntered away, so Jack leaned in close to whisper: “His mustache sorta looked like a spiky old caterpillar.”

Les snickered into his hands, and Jack felt just a bit better about his gloomy day. Soon they started trading stories again, Les talking about the snow and Jack telling him about the best places to hang out at the docks. Les was easy to talk to– like his brother– and Jack was just glad that he could make one Jacobs happy. 

Kath and Davey returned with linked arms, and Davey thankfully looked just a bit brighter and more at ease as he ruffled Les’s hair and sat. He sent Jack a strained smile, but their eyes met and that was enough to propel Jack into a state of calm.

His girl had worked her magic. He should’ve felt relieved, but there was still something off about Dave that he just couldn’t place. Kath would tell him later, he was sure. 

The rest of lunch was uneventful save for Davey choking on his water (their asshole of a waiter didn’t bring his tea out with the rest of the drinks on account of the kitchen needing to boil some more water, or something) and snapping at Jack. Which yes, definitely hurt, but Jack was hoping it was just agitation and not something else. 

The food was good, the conversation was okay (would’ve been better if Davey spoke more often, but the fact he was speaking at all was refreshing), and Jack was riddled with anxiety that only got worse when Dave resolutely refused to let Jack walk him and Les back to the circulation gate. He was losing his mind , especially as he watched Dave walk away in that nice gray coat of his, with Les in tow. 

The minute they were out of sight, Jack turned to Kath. “What’d he say? What’s been botherin’ him?”

She sighed a fond sort of sigh and took Jack’s hands in hers, obviously not enjoying his intense curiosity. “Well, you should be happy to know that he’s not mad at you. He told me so himself. In fact, Jack, he told me that he’s just been stressed recently, and he doesn’t want to be pitied.”

Jack felt himself frowning. Just stress? None of this seemed like stressed Davey. Jack knew every iteration of Davey and this wasn’t stress Davey. Stress Davey was more tense and tightly wound. He didn’t get sad, he got frustrated. “Stressed about what?”

“Work, family… he’s worried they won’t make it back to school in January.” She carefully adjusted Jack’s scarf, smoothing her soft hands over his shoulders and then his cheeks. Kath was gazing up at him almost analytically, her eyes darting over him as if she was studying him. He sort of hated it when she did that. “I told him to talk to you about it, because I knew you wouldn’t believe it coming from me.”

“Am I really that predictable?” He winced, glancing back the way Davey had disappeared. She was right– he didn’t really believe her. 

Kath laughed softly. “When it comes to Davey, yes.”

“And you.” He added, because he felt like that was necessary, and leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. That discomfort was returning hot and heavy as he offered an arm out. “I’d be worried if you were acting strange, too. If I thought ya’ were mad at me, or somethin’.”

“I know, Jack.” She placated quietly, giving his bicep a gentle pat. They took off down the street, sides brushing with each step. “Just… try to stop worrying about him all the time. He’ll come to you when he’s ready.”

Jack swallowed the lump that had been building in his throat. That explanation felt wrong. All of it felt wrong, and he couldn’t begin to understand why. “I know he will.”

But really, he wasn’t quite sure.

══════════════════

Jack was correct. 

A week passed, and Dave made no effort to pull him aside and explain himself. He still sold with Jack and was obviously trying to make it seem like nothing was wrong, but Jack knew him better than that. He kept ducking off into alleyways and slipping away when he figured no one was noticing, and Jack was getting tired of waiting. He wanted to grab Dave by the shoulders and shake an answer out of him. He hated dancing around issues like this.  

Normally it was Jack dropping it all and running or hiding while Dave shouldered through, strong and silent. He wasn’t used to being the one trying to break down walls.

At first he thought he’d ride it out, but after seven days of awkward, silent torture, Jack was just plain tired. He needed Davey’s companionship to get through the freezing, long selling days. He wanted his partner in crime back more than anything. He wanted someone to drag up a multi-story building. He wanted the green eyed boy that’d follow him through a crowded street with arms full of stolen food for the littlest newsies. He wanted the boy that would sit on the front steps of The World and devour lox bagels, sitting side by side with their shoulders brushing, laughing all the while. He wanted the easy conversation, the private smiles, and he really wanted the trusting gaze of those stupidly big green eyes.

That’s all he could think about as he watched Les sell his last paper for the day. They’d been selling fast- apparently the Queen of England was about to kick the can, so it was easy to lie and say she was already dead. Their pockets were heavy with coin and Davey, across the street, still had a thick stack of papers to get rid of.

“Look, Davey’s not even close.” Les giggled as he tugged on Jack’s sleeve. 

Jack made a big joke of squinting and raising his hand to block out the white, blinding winter sun. Another thing he hated about winter was how gray the sky seemed to get. Even the sun’s light seemed less colorful. Still, it made an awfully pretty picture out of Davey, standing there in that old coat with his curls nicely tamed. “Yeah, he ain’t even close. Maybe we oughta get him some extra motivation, huh?” 

He took Les in his hands and lifted the skinny kid up over his shoulders. Les laughed as he held onto Jack’s scarf, light as a feather. He could take down a whole table of food and still remained slim as a stick. That’s how Jack knew he was going to shoot up soon, as the youngest newsies often did. Sometimes they’d wake up one morning seeming four inches taller, voices raspy and awkward. Les wouldn’t be little forever, and Jack’s heart ached like they were family and it was his own little brother growing up as he carried the kid over to a nearby cluster of street vendors.

“Look, peppermint sticks!” Les pointed, tugging on Jack’s scarf to stop him. “Davey loves peppermint!”

“Good eye. But— ah, expensive, too. Five pennies is way too much more a candy stick.” 

“Leave it to me.” He answered resolutely, looking awful serious. Les had a determined glint in his brown eyes as Jack set him down with his budget of a meager amount of pennies. He marched right over to the cart and Jack watched, with great amusement, as Les put on the biggest puppy-eyes, pouty expression and returned just a minute later with two wax wrapped peppermint sticks, the bright red and white standing out starkly against the bustling street and it’s grayish brown landscape. Jack wanted to paint his freckled hands as they handed Jack one of the sticks. “Here. I can share with Davey.”

“No way, kiddo.” Jack took one of the peppermint sticks as a tried and true Davey bribe and shot a grin the little guy's way. “Look, you’se got a penny left over. Go buy yourself a chocolate square while I give this to your big brother.” 

Les whooped, and just like that, Jack was free to follow Davey into the alley he’d dipped into earlier.

There was his best friend, leaning against the wall looking positively miserable. His shoulders were hunched and his elegant posture had disappeared entirely. Jack’s fingers itched with how much he wanted to sketch him. The long lines of his body, the gentle curl of his hair, the way that excellent Roman nose made his face so handsome—

And why the hell was Jack calling his best friend handsome? He needed to talk to Davey and end this pseudo-obsession. The desperate parts of his brain were getting weird.

“Your genius brother got a three-penny discount on these bad boys.” Jack leaned up against the wall right next to the curly-haired boy, aching to lean up against him and share all of the warmth he’d been feeling. Dave was always so cold. “Told the man peppermint candy was his favorite ‘fore his parents abandoned him. That kid, I tell ya’-- meant for the stage. But he’s ridiculous. I’ve created a monster, haven’t I?”

God, he hated this. He hated stumbling around and trying to find his footing in a conversation. Things with Davey were supposed to be easy. That’s how they’d always been. Now Jack just felt like an idiot vying for a sliver of Davey’s time. 

“Maybe. Or maybe he was always like that and you just brought it out.” Davey rasped, and that was an olive branch if Jack had ever heard one.

Jack tipped his head back with a joyful laugh, and he could feel David looking at him with that look that made him feel studied. When he glanced back over, freckled hands were shoved rigidly into pockets. “Hey, maybe you’se right. Or maybe you’se just tryin’ta keep me from feelin’ guilty…”

“Definitely both.” Then, David smiled the little private smile he seemed to save just for Jack.

Jack decided, then and there, that his week had just gotten a hell of a lot better.

And wasn’t that strange? How one little smile from this boy could turn the tide of seven days? Jack’s anxiety for Davey was beginning to replace itself with concern for his own wellbeing. He was wrapped around Davey’s finger and it was terrifying.

Jack swallowed the lump in his throat and held out the parchment wrapped peppermint stick. “Wanna share?”

In less than an instant, Dave shook his head hard. “No, no. Why… uh– why don’t you save it for Katherine? You don’t want to share germs with me.”

Irritated at the mention of Katherine, because why did everyone always assume that Jack was supposed to do everything for her, he raised his eyebrows at Davey. “What? Estás loco, Dave. Can’t a guy share a candy with his friend?”

Davey said nothing and blinked at him like a wide-eyed owl. 

Jack wished he could read Davey’s thoughts and explain why the other boy was staring at his lips. Instead of following that train of thought, he rolled his eyes fondly and took the candy by both ends, snapping it in two. He offered David one half and admired his hands, devoid of gloves and still amazingly clean.

He had so many freckles. Jack wanted to count every one. He wanted to draw them all. The gentle slope of Davey’s nails, the pinkish half-moons that bordered the quick, the carefully filed arcs of his nails and the lines on his palms— and God, his hands were cold. Jack wanted to hold them.

But then Davey was popping the candy between his lips, and it felt like Jack’s entire brain stopped working.

The other boy titled his head back and made a soft, happy noise from deep within the column of his pale throat and Jack couldn’t think, let alone breathe. Davey’s lips, wrapped around that little piece of candy, seemed like perfection. Like peering at a statue up close and seeing the gentle lines of the clay, sculpted into perfection. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks and his lips were so incredibly pink, pursed just slightly, and God he was so pretty Jack couldn’t even dream of thinking about anything else.

Davey was pretty . Stupidly, unfairly pretty.

Jack’s stomach dropped to his feet when he realized that he’d never thought this about anyone. No one had ever taken him by surprise with sheer attractiveness. Not even Katherine. Suddenly he was feeling awfully sick.

“I got somethin’ on my face?” Oh, Davey was looking at him again, like he hadn’t just uprooted Jack’s whole world by sucking on a peppermint stick.

Said peppermint stick was currently slipping from his lips. 

“Nah, nah–” Jack lurched forward and caught the candy as it fell, still trying to catch his breath. Like a switch had been flipped, he couldn’t stop looking at Davey’s lips. He wanted to drag his tongue across the Cupid’s bow and wipe away the mess of candy and— Christ, that was not an appropriate thought to have about another boy. “Just… uh… I’m just glad you’re in a better mood. That’s all.”

“I’ve been stressed.” David looked down at their shoes, at Jack’s shitty work boots.

Jack let out a deep exhale and tried to control the wild, sudden influx of Davey-centric thoughts he was receiving. This wasn’t good, and he couldn’t settle his inner panic, even as he half-heartedly tried to continue the conversation.

He wanted to figure out what was wrong with Davey. He’d wanted that for weeks. But the reasoning didn’t seem to be as platonic as Jack had originally assumed, and that was making him sort of sick to his stomach. “Kath told me as much. Said… said you didn’t want me pityin’ you?”

Jack gave Dave his candy back, and they didn’t look at each other. “Yeah.”

God, if that was really what Davey had been upset about, it was stupid. He didn’t know if he was agitated with himself or Davey, but he couldn’t keep the frustration out of his voice. 

“I’ve been pitied before and I ain’t keen on doin’ the same to others. I figured you’d know that about me, Dave.” 

An almost imperceptible wince. “I do. I just– I don’t like talking about that sort of thing. I like it when it goes away on its own.”

Right. All of the avoidance, all of the misery Jack had been feeling— just because he didn’t want to be pitied? And here Jack was, frustrated beyond words because Davey had been basically ignoring him for a week. Just because he wanted things to go away on their own? That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t what friends did. 

A soft scoff-laugh left him. “That’s your big plan, then, Davey? Ignore whatever’s been bothering you?”

“Yes. Yes, it is. And since I don’t have a problem with you like Katherine said you originally assumed, I don’t really see how any of this concerns you.” Their eyes met, and it felt like lightning struck the tiny alleyway as tension brewed up within a split second.

“It concerns me because you’ve been ignoring me. And I ain’t stupid, Dave. I notice that shit–”

“And I notice that you always bug me about my problems, so forgive me for trying to avoid that additional annoyance on top of everything else I have to deal with!”

Jack scoffed even more loudly now as he reared around to face David, the tension multiplying tenfold now that they were really looking at each other, reading all of the hurt and worry and tension scrawled across each other’s faces. Jack could see him squirming away from the vulnerability, hiding from the fact that he always did the same thing to Jack. And how dare he? How dare he act like Jack’s was some sort of nuisance to get rid of? He’d never been angrier at Davey Jacobs, and he felt that rage right in his chest as he curled his hands into fists. “That’s what I am to you? An additional annoyance ?”

“Jack, that’s not what I said and you know it–”

“Nah, Dave, I heard you loud and clear.” He couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. He’d wanted this conversation for a week and now he was done with it. He was done with Davey’s stupid avoidance. If he wanted to be an asshole and let his stress rot him from the inside, then fine. Jack didn’t need him. “Why don’t’cha come seek out your additional annoyance when you’se sorted all your shit out? Since you ain’t keen on talkin’ about it, and you’se fine with livin’ life all miserable–”

Davey at least had the decency to stutter and look shocked. “Come on, Jack! I didn’t– this isn’t fair!”

“I’m gonna go and find your brother.” He swung away, intent on marching off— but then he decided to drive a knife into Davey, because he was tired of this boy. Pretty or not. “And by the way, I can’t sell tomorrow. Business with Kath, you know?”

“Right, right, of course.” Davey spat after him, his earlier agitation returning like someone had flicked a switch within him. He chased Jack’s heels, snapping at the bit as seething comments spilled from his lips without any sort of thought in edgewise. “Because Katherine comes first all the time, doesn’t she? You ever figured that maybe I don’t talk to you about my problems since you’re never around to hear them? It’s always Katherine, Katherine, Katherine–”

Jack snapped around, eyes ablaze. Of course. Of course it came down to Jack and Katherine— everyone was always on his fucking back about how much time he spent with Katherine, and she was saying it wasn’t enough, but here Davey was saying it was too much. When could he ever be just right?

And why the hell did Davey get to judge him for spending time with the girl he was courting? It wasn’t like Jack could spend that time with Davey without people thinking they were odd. He snapped.

“Ain’t that the way it’s s’posed’ta be?”

Jack valiantly annoyed the hurt that crashed across Davey’s face, widening his eyes and drawing his brows together. 

“ Sure it is! You know, Jack, you’re becoming the perfect house-trained upper echelon husband! The next Mr. Pulitzer at this rate–”

He barked out a laugh of disbelief, and his eyebrows shot up to his hair. “Don’t you fuckin’ go there with me–”

“He’d be happy to know you’re abandoning all of your friends to frolic around coffeehouses on the rich side of town! You give up Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays, now Mondays– what’s next? The other three days of the week? And then what, Jack? What are we after that? Old friends you flip a pity penny at? Maybe I’m not talking to you because I know you’re going to run off and get your storybook ending, and I’m gonna be stuck here looking after a bunch of newspaper selling orphans! Maybe I’m just preparing for the inevitable day when you disappear from my life, because you’re already halfway gone, Jack! Maybe that’s why I didn’t say anything to you!” 

Davey was shouting. Fully, ridiculously shouting in the middle of an alleyway in a public area, and he’d attracted a couple of curious spectators in doing so. Jack had never seen him so damn angry— not even during the height of the strike, when they’d stood on wagons and crates side by side, shouting furious calls to action at masses of newsboys. 

This wasn’t right. Davey wasn’t supposed to be the angry one— he was the unwavering calm next to the raging inferno of emotions Jack was always caught up in.

The tables had flipped imperceptibly, and now Jack was feeling wrought with guilt about what he’d said just moments ago. It seemed his guilt came a moment too late, because Davey tossed his candy down onto the pavement. It shattered into little shards of white and bright red as he shoved Jack out of his way. Jack found himself scrambling for his footing again, because no Davey was not going to walk away from him. He couldn’t bear it.

It didn’t help that when he reached out a hand to place on the other boy’s shoulder, he flinched away. Jack felt sick.

“Davey! Jesus Christ, Davey!”

“ I’m going to find my brother.” He seethed, voice strained. “And you are going to leave me alone .”

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak, could barely even breathe as he watched Davey storm away. This was not how things were supposed to be. He and Davey weren’t supposed to fight.

Jack felt like someone had rammed into his chest. He couldn’t breathe, and he was mortified to admit that tears of guilt were burning his eyes.

He should’ve never said that. He didn’t want to care about what people thought he was supposed to do— he’d been wanting Davey’s friendship back for weeks and now he’d gone and fucked things over. He could never get anything right, it seemed.

══════════════════

When Jack found himself feeling troubled, he’d inevitably make his way to Miss Medda’s.

It was no surprise that he ended up kneeling in front of a half-completed backdrop, dragging a paintbrush soaked in deep crimson across yet another sunset piece. 

Not Santa Fe. Just sunset in stupid old New York City. The colors were bleeding together and soaking the grays of the buildings, but Jack couldn’t bring himself to care. He felt positively bleak as he deepened the darkest shades, ignoring the drippings of paint staining his thighs. He didn’t even care at this point. He’d screwed up a million times, and it always came back to him hurting Davey.

He used to close his eyes and see Davey’s hurt face at the rally. Now he was going to see Davey in the alleyway, too.

Medda’s careful, graceful steps against the wood of the stairs pulled Jack from his work. He abandoned his brush and went to hug her before she could even greet him, halfway on the bottom step with his face buried in the sweet perfume of her shoulder and the silk of her robe. Her dark hands went to his hair and he melted, tears of frustration pricking at his eyes.

“I can’t do nothing right, Miss Medda.” 

“Now, don’t be dramatic, Jack Kelly.” Medda soothed, running a hand through his hair. Her embrace was warm and almost familiar. Jack wondered, during these rare moments when she took him into his arms and hid him from the world, if having a mother felt anything like this. His was a ghostly memory, but sometimes her strong arms and the softness of her chest reminded him of a life he’d lost long ago. “You sure are doing that backdrop right.”

He shrugged, sapped for energy. The taste of peppermint was still thick on his tongue and he wanted to forget those green eyes forever. 

Wordlessly, Medda sat on the stairs beneath them and he sank down with her, dropping his cheek onto her lap. Her robe was made of elaborate silk, flowering patterns of blue and green blooming beneath his cheek. She brushed a curtain of dark hair away from his face, and Jack felt defeat curling heavy within him. 

“What’s on your mind, my little artist?” Her voice was soft and familiar, and Jack stared off into the dark of the theatre as he let himself be comforted.

“I screwed up. Shouted at Dave. Things have been… it’s just not as easy with him as it used to be. I dunno why, ‘n I can’t figure it out.” He ran his fingers over the silk at the hem of her robe and willed himself not to cry. “I dunno what to do. I keep messing everythin’ up. Not just with Dave, either— everyone’s always judgin’ how I’m handlin’ my courtship with Kath, too. I’m not enough for her, or I’m too invested, or— it never stops. I just want people to shut up.” 

“Ain’t that the truth?” Medda’s lap shook with her laugh and she tilted her head back, looking wise beyond her years. “You want my advice, Jack?”

He felt his sigh sap away the last of his frustration. “Always.” 

“Unfortunately the masses won’t be shutting up anytime soon, so you’ve got to let it roll off your shoulders. Easier said than done, I know, but answer me this— are you happy with Katherine?” 

Jack ignored the fact that he hesitated. There was no reason to be unhappy. He loved Katherine. He loved spending time with her and sketching her. She was witty and beautiful and a snarky spitfire and he loved all of that. “Yeah, I’m happy.”

“Then you chase your happiness. Hear me? If people say you aren’t doing something right— if they say you’re too much, or too little— that’s their opinion. The facts are, if you’re happy, then you’re happy, honey. It’s as simple as that.” Her words hung in the air between them, and Jack savored the uplifting truth. He didn’t need to give the opinions of upper class assholes or nosy newsboys any thought. The rich folk were just stupid spectators and his friends had never courted anyone, so why should he listen to them? He let out a shaky sigh of relief, comforted that things with Katherine didn’t have to be as bad as they seemed. “As for your Davey… I don’t think it’ll be difficult to patch things up. Just talk to him, honey. Be honest.” 

His Davey. He ignored the way his stomach fluttered at the sound of those words, sweet like peppermint in his troubled mind.

Jack knew Medda was right. She had a remarkable knack for pulling him out of his head. If he added sweet tones of yellow and hopeful shades of pink to his painting after that, Medda was wise enough not to comment. Jack was going to make things right, and this time he wasn’t going to let his temper get the best of him.

If Davey wanted to be stubborn, he could, but Jack was going to get his best friend back. 

Chapter Text

The worst thing about having long-term friends was the fact that they inevitably learned how to read you. They learned to recognize little tells, and most of the newsies had gotten good at figuring out when Jack’s moods soured or when his days were going bad. For example, when Jack trudged into the lodging house the day after his argument with Davey, he didn’t get one second of peace in front of the shitty fire Specs and Albert were building before Race dragged a chair halfway across the room and flopped down right next to Jack.

People were already sending him sidelong glances and whispering back and forth– he knew Racer wasn’t going to be nearly as subtle.

In fact, Jack knew, just by the wide grin on his friend’s face, that Racetrack was about to do something very annoying. He tossed an arm over the back of Jack’s chair and leaned in, eyebrows raised. “Bad day?”

He did his best to quell the rush of frustration he felt, but it was difficult because he’d been furious all damn day. Davey was so intent on avoiding Jack that he’d switched selling spots with Crutchie, who spent the whole day glancing at Jack with his eyebrows raised like Jack was actually going to explain what was going on. Yeah, right. He was not gonna spill his business to Crutchie, or anyone for that matter. He just needed to find a way to get Davey alone.

He’d been trying all day and that had proven to be impossible. Now that the evening editions were sold, and the Jacobs boys were back at home with their family, Jack was pissed. Davey was an elusive little shit when he wanted to be, slipping into crowds and dodging swiftly away. Maybe Jack was actually a step beyond pissed (his face felt hot and he couldn’t uncurl his fists for the life of him), but he was trying his best to hide it around all of the other newsboys, and Racetrack was not helping. “My day was fine, Racer.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Crutchie piped up from his seat on the floor, bad leg tucked awkwardly under his good leg and crutch leaned up against their pitiful metal stove. “He’s been a grouch ever since Dave and I switched spots this morning.”

“Not true.” Jack snapped a little too aggressively, and nudged Crutchie’s back with his foot. 

Specs glanced over at Jack in that curious way of his, looking above the rims of his glasses. Jack sort of wanted to scream. “So you and Davey are fighting?”

“We’re not–”

“Ugh, damnit!” Albert snapped, furiously throwing a balled up newspaper into the crackling flames. Jack thought, randomly, that he would probably use the same base color for the flames and Albert’s hair. And his slowly reddening face, beneath all of those freckles. “Well ya’ better stop fightin’ before Finch finds out or else he’ll whoop my ass in this bet!”

Jack had to take a moment to draw in a deep breath, because these boys were going to be the death of him. Or, they were going to cause a monumental fit of rage rivaling those Jack experienced during the strike. He drew a deep breath in through his nose and leaned back in his chair, foot tapping rapidly against the floor.

“Albert.”

The red-headed newsie didn’t even have the decency to look at Jack. He just grumbled non-comitally and continued to ball up spare newspapers, earning a smattering of quiet, shittily subdued laughter from all of their spectators. A bunch of the boys were gathered around, leeching warmth off of the slow-growing little flame. Snickering at Jack. Jack enjoyed pissing people off, too, but on that particular day the jokes at his expense just weren’t sitting right. He’d been ignored by his best friend for a full twenty-four hours, and he’d barely even sold all hundred of his papers. He was at the end of his rope.

“Albert, are you tryin’ta say that you’se runnin’ a bet on if Dave and me is fightin’?”

“No, Jack, don’ be silly–” Specs chuckled softly as he, too, threw kindling into their little fire. The flames ate up the newspaper, shadows dancing across the faces of all the huddled newsboys. “Racetrack is running the bet. Not Albert.”

Another deep breath. In, out. Jack swore he wouldn't uppercut Race, who was blinking up at him and smiling innocently, an unlit cigar hanging from his lips. “Racer, ain’t that a little immature from the guy that’s s’pose’ta be in charge of this whole joint in a year’s time?”

“Let me have my fun while I can, Jack.” He griped, “‘n besides, a lot of the boys have serious cash ridin’ on this. It would be wrong ‘a me to shut things down now–”

“Is you fightin’, or ain’t you?” Albert asked, scowling in that way that pushed his mouth to the right side of his face. Jack leveled him with what he hoped was a murderous glare, so the petulant ginger immediately redirected his attention to Crutchie with a frankly disrespectful eye roll. “Tell me they ain’t fightin’ so I don’t lose my dollar.”

Jack spluttered indignantly. “A dollar? You bet a whole dollar on me and Dave?”

“You guys don’t fight. If you guys are fightin’, then the state of the world ain’t right.” Albert said, very sagely, his ’wise’ words directly contradicting his stupid actions of poking at their mini-fire with a twisted up piece of wax paper. A very flammable makeshift poker. Jack was really getting too old for this job. 

“That don’t even make no sense.” Jack grumbled, reaching out to swat Albert with his cap. He received a rather fiery smack on the leg in return. “I’m serious, man. We’re humans. We get in little spats all the time.”

“Yeah, about stuff like how bad your handwriting is in the finance ledger and how stiff Dave gets at union meetings. Not serious fights.” He rolled his eyes again, as if this were some obvious, universal truth. “You guys don’t do serious fights. You’se way too mushy for that. Prolly you’d both cry if you got in a real row, and I ain’t seen no tears yet.”

Specs nodded in agreement, carefully adjusting his glasses that had fogged up a bit from leaning too close to the fire. “Sure. That’s why you folks bet on ‘not fighting’. But see, I put fifty cents in the ‘fighting’ category on account of Davey’s been forcing himself not to stare at Jack so much for at least a week now. May not be tears, but it sure is strange.”

“You two aren’t making any damn sense. Davey don’t stare at me, and we ain’t fightin’.” He could barely keep the agitation from his voice as he stood up, his old wooden chair screeching against the floor behind him. The fact that Racetrack was giggling did not help things at all. Jack rounded on Crutchie, who was lounging on the fire and making his ‘I-don’t-know-anything’ face that he always made when he definitely knew something. “Crutch, you didn’t put any money into this, I sure hope.”

“I did not.” He confirmed very seriously, “But I really would like my sellin’ spot back. I know I was goin’ on this mornin’ about how I don’t like my old one no more, but gee, was I wrong. You was lucky you had a cripple and a tiny fake orphan on your team this morning, Jackie-boy, ‘cause your street sucks this time of year.”

Feeling the frustration like liquid fire within his veins, Jack pushed a hand through his hair. “How the hell am I s’posed to get you your spot back, Crutch? You’se the one that went and traded with Davey.”

“Only ‘cause he was desperate. Real pale, too. And I know it’s on account of you, and I don’t exactly know how, but I know you gotta fix it.” His face took on a very genuine frown, which only served to make Jack even more worried about his friend. Davey had really wanted to get rid of him that bad? He’d screwed up on a monumental level. 

“Yeah, well I’m fuckin’ workin’ on it.” Jack grumbled, more to his feet than to anyone else.

“Working on what?”

Like a heaven sent angel, Kath’s sweet voice filled the room. Jack whirled around to see her standing in the doorway, bundled up in her fancy winter clothes and looking pretty as ever with that red hair piled up in an elaborate updo. Wisps of wind-mussed hair hung around her face, with her flushed cheeks and nose, and Jack had never been more grateful to see her. He wanted to swing her into a kiss and twirl her around for saving him from this mess. 

All of the newsboys in the room started clambering to speak to her, hopping out of chairs and down from bunks. She really did stick out like a sore thumb amongst the shitty and drab sights of the lodging house. Everything in here was worn and used and held together by sheer love and luck alone, and Kath stood in the middle of it all, fresh as a newspaper right off the press. She was dressed to the nines in her extra fancy work clothes, a useless little hat pinned to her hair. It was adorned with little fake flowers that Jack was itching to draw– all of her clothes gave her such a distinguished, pretty profile. She’d come to save him. Thank God.

He watched with reluctant fondness as all of the newsboys rambunctiously greeted her. Kath had a nice way of dismissing them, but she kept sneaking glances at Jack. He let her suffer for a bit before he pushed through the crowd, effortlessly taking her hand and kissing it.

“Kath. You’se a sight for sore eyes.”

She grinned at him, bright and unrestrained. “Jack, darling. Are you free to go on a little evening stroll with me? I’ve got time to spare, and I don’t want to spend it wasting away at home.”

“Free time for you? Always.” He offered an arm to her, and like clockwork, she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. The ragtag gang of newsies that had slowly assembled to crowd around Albert and Specs’ fire burst into wolf-whistles and catcalls at the simple touch. If Jack was in a better mood he might’ve teased them right back, but all he could manage in his awful state was tugging Kath closer and glancing back at the boys. “Let’s head out. Fast, please.”

Jack ignored the way Crutchie’s eyebrows drew together judgmentally, and he definitely ignored the look that the younger newsie shared with Racetrack. A silent conversation through a glance. He didn’t care what they were thinking, Medda’s words still fresh in his mind. He was happy with Katherine. Hadn’t Crutchie just been going on about Jack having one-on-one time with the gal? Well, he was getting their wish.

They pushed outside into the nasty New York City weather, and Jack tucked his nose into his scarf as he adjusted to the sting of the cold against his cheeks. Kath pressed close, sharing his warmth. Jack pressed a kiss to her head, reveling in the familiar feeling of her body tucked up against his side. “Glad you could make time to come see me.”

“I’m glad I could, too.” She grinned up at him, bundled up in her fancy clothes. “Looked like those boys were giving you trouble…”

“Ain’t they always?” He rolled his eyes for emphasis, glancing back at the retreating silhouette of the lodging house. Jack sort of wondered what they were talking about, now that he was gone. Maybe they were starting up another betting ring. When will the great Jack Kelly snap?

Jack’s money was on ‘soon’.

They fell into stride together, and Jack let himself be grateful for the fact that they were nearly the same height. Kath and Davey were both fast walkers, whereas Jack preferred a leisurely stroll, but it was easier to keep up with Kath because their strides were the same length. It was also nice and quiet out here, what with the sun dipping below the horizon and all of the people disappearing inside to shelter from the cold.

For a minute, it felt like just them, in their own big city. He would’ve normally enjoyed such a thing, but he just couldn’t lose himself in the moment. Davey had twisted up his thoughts. 

Stupid Davey and that stupid peppermint stick, and that stupid noise he’d made when he’d tilted his head back. Something was wrong with Jack and it was Davey’s fault, because now he felt uncomfortable in his own courtship. The same courtship he’d been wholeheartedly enjoying for six months. Stupid Davey.  Jack needed to figure out what the hell was wrong with that boy and then scrub his own brain of all of these weird, anxious thoughts. The sooner the better. But how?

After a moment, Kath gently squeezed his bicep. “You look positively stormy, Jack. Is something the matter?”

“I had a rough day.” He shrugged, bumping against her just to feel her warmth. He nearly wanted to spill his guts to her and tell her everything that’d been bothering him, but he miraculously managed to refrain. He was held back by this strange new anxiety that people were going to keep judging him for worrying about Dave, which he knew was stupid. Dave was his best friend and Jack had every right to worry about him, but still. Crutchie’s raised eyebrows and Racetrack’s stupid bet came to mind every time he tried to tell the truth to her, and after a moment of heavy contemplation, he clamped his mouth shut.

Kath seemed to notice his mental struggle and slowed their walk to a stop. She frowned up at him, eyes narrowed with an analytical sort of light shimmering in their pale brown depths. “Jack…”

“Nobody was out on the street. Stupid rich folk don’t realize we can’t follow ‘em inside.” He blabbed like he would with anyone else, and then winced when he remembered that the gorgeous woman in front of him was quite literally an heiress. “Um– not that you’re one– you ain’t stupid. You’re practic’ly a genius–”

“Jack, darling, it’s alright.” She laughed a soft, tinkling little laugh and took his hands in her own. Her gloves felt expensive, probably worth more than his entire ensemble. “I wish your customers didn’t disappear in the winter, either. I think it’s ridiculous that your entire wage relies upon whether or not they want to step outside for a few moments to buy a newspaper. I can see why that upsets you."

She dragged her fabric-covered fingertips down his cheek and he sighed, deflating as she easily bought the lie. Part of him felt bad for fibbing and the rest of him was awful relieved. If he could just keep Kath happy and content, that would be enough.  He dipped forward and pressed a quick kiss to her lips, unable to kick his anxieties despite the pretty sight of a barely-there blush spreading across her cheeks. “You look gorgeous.”

She did, too. He wasn’t just saying that to placate her. Kath had a unique, fiery sort of beauty that went hand in hand with her orangey hair. Really, her expressive eyes were the cherry on top. He swore he could see the intelligence swimming about within them. 

“Oh, stop…” She laughed softly but beamed up at him anyways. “You aren’t so bad yourself– but speaking of, I purchased a couple new dress shirts for you to wear when you’re working at The World.”

Jack swore he saw a flash of red. “I’m not–”

“Jack, I know exactly what you’re going to say, and I understand–” She did not. There was no way Kath could ever understand how difficult it was to be a poor kid masquerading in a rich man’s office. She couldn’t understand how stupid those stuffy men couldn’t make him feel. She would never understand how painstaking it was to accept the job in the first place and practically kneel down for Pulitzer again– no way was he wearing some stupid fucking shirt just to impress that man.

No way in hell.

“No. I’m not doin’ that. I shouldn’t hafta dress fancy to earn their respect, they should be able to appreciate the shit I draw without me wearin’ silk and satin!” He ground out through gritted teeth, not caring about the passerby giving them strange looks. 

“I understand that, Jack, but I don’t want you to get snubbed out of future promotions just because of the clothes you wear! Just– why don’t you walk me home and stop in to look at the shirts? You don’t have to take them if you don’t want them. Come on .” To anyone who didn’t know her, she might’ve sounded almost pleading. But Jack knew Kath better than that– he knew to look for the determined set of her lightly colored brows and the lit fire of determination in her eyes– she was going to get what she wanted even if she had to bulldoze him to get it.

That was part of why he liked her, but also part of why their relationship was so bumpy. Normally he would’ve argued until the sun rose again, but on that particular day, Jack Kelly was tired of fucking up.

If Kath and Davey were mad at him at the same time, he’d drop dead on the spot.

Jack gritted his teeth and forced himself to relax as he met her eyes. “Fine.”

“Good.” She responded carefully, linking their arms again as if an awkward tension wasn’t thickening the air between them. 

The walk to Kath’s father’s townhouse was long and a bit awkward as they attempted to talk around the mini-argument. Jack kept Kath tucked firmly against his side and tried to calm himself down, though he was sure anyone could see the metaphorical smoke billowing from his ears. He tried to tamp down his anger when the massive townhouse came into sight. It was at least three stories with enough rooms to house a legion of orphaned newsboys and still have space leftover, each one with a fireplace or a radiator. 

Sometimes it was difficult to ignore the divide between himself and Kath, and it was proving to be one of those nights as Jack gazed up at the shimmering chandelier above them. A disgruntled butler was forcing Jack to remove his boots so as not to dirty the marbled tile, and he complied with only a grumble in edgewise. He wanted them to really look at him, at the mismatched laces on his boots and the little rips and tears in his shabby winter clothes. He was what Mr. Pulitzer’s daughter was bringing home and by God, they’d have to deal with it.

In a veritable rage, he trudged up a mahogany staircase behind Katherine, watching his own reflection in the polished banister. 

Sometimes he wondered if he could ever live like her. The housemaids and butlers forced to wax and wipe this wood every day probably made less than a living wage to keep Old Man Putzy’s pockets stuffed. Jack himself wouldn’t be able to sleep each night if he knew such a thing– sometimes he wondered how Kath ever managed. Then he wondered if he’d even really survive being dragged into her gilded cage with her, if he ever was to marry her someday. With every brief foray into the Pulitzer townhome, he doubted his own tolerance even more. Each little detail he noticed was another reason why he could never live in such splendor.

Jack hated when those sorts of thoughts polluted his mind– thoughts of their future, in which he couldn’t help but judge Katherine and dread the life they’d live together– and then he’d force himself to stop thinking those thoughts and live in the moment.

Usually the moment was better, though. Usually he’d be kissing her or listening to her ramble animatedly about a new idea for an article. Instead he was standing by her side and watching her remove three unnecessarily expensive shirts from thin, carefully folded paper sheets. 

“Here’s the first one.” She set a light gray shirt down with barely noticeable stripes, alternating between a pale shade and a slightly darker one. “It would look lovely with that red bandana you wear.”

He tucked his hands into his pockets wordlessly. He didn't want any stupid shirt. He wanted to scream. He wanted to know what the hell was going on with Davey. This was the least of his worries. 

Next came a pale blue shirt that looked like a fresh springtime sky. The collar was starkly white and so were the cuffs, meaning he’d look stupid if he rolled his sleeves up. That made him irrationally angrier– but if he took this shirt he could probably sell the white buttons off as pearls if there was a pawn owner stupid enough. 

“I figured you’d like this one since you’re always wearing that blue shirt… and I’ve got this one, last of all, since I personally think you could use a bit more color in your wardrobe.”

God. Jack loved the girl, but she lacked understanding at times. Sometime’s Kath’s wealth leaked out into her occasionally thoughtless words. He wore his blue shirt so often because he only owned two shirts to cycle between, and he didn’t have color in his wardrobe because colored fabrics were a luxury reserved for the wealthy. He’d lucked out with his old faithful blue shirt anyways– it’d belonged to his father before him. 

But he was being unfair. Kath was one of the most generous, well-meaning people he knew, and she’d bought him these shirts with nothing but kindness in mind. Not judgement. She wanted him to succeed. He made himself remember that as he absentmindedly dragged his eyes back to the third shirt.

It was green. Not obnoxiously so, but very noticeably. It was a pretty green, too, like a leaf in summertime when the sun soaked it just right. A nice, subtle pinstripe pattern striped with a darker shade that was almost mossy against the brighter color, and that mossy shade was the type of color he’d fork up a week’s worth of wages to paint with. It was the color he’d been trying to find for months to paint that rim of emerald around Davey’s irises, an elusive sort of deep green that was impossible to look away from (and apparently impossible to find in cheap quantities).

He took the shirt in his hands and unfolded it, barely resisting the urge to whistle at the softness against his fingers. “I’m gonna look like a Christmas tree if I wear this with my bandana.”

“That’s why I was thinking–”

“I want it.” Jack let the fabric drop as he held it up to his own chest. At least he could barge into Pulitzer’s office looking like some ridiculously wealthy idiot, instead of a subservient goon in subtle shades of gray and blue. He was starting to like green more than blue, anyways. 

She sighed aloud at his choice but didn’t argue, since this was obviously the biggest victory she’d be getting. They were at a place when they knew each other well enough to tell when the other wouldn’t relinquish. Kath crossed her arms. “Well, I won’t return these two yet. In case you change your mind. I’ll keep these hanging up here for you, so they don’t get dirtied at the lodging house. You can just stop in and change clothes when you come to meet me in the mornings.”

Jack was too tired to argue, so he just nodded and handed her the green shirt back. “I’m never wearing a tie, by the way.”

“I figured you wouldn’t.” Kath shook her head with an exasperated little noise, already boxing up the too-nice shirts again.

“And I won’t wear a belt, either.” He continued, spiraling into a tirade. “It’s ridiculous that everything comes down to whether or not you fit their ideal of a perfect rich boy– I’m never gonna fit in, anyways, so what’s the fuckin’ point? I’m just a brown kid who didn’t go to school. Those upper echelon bastards ain’t gonna care if I’ve got a belt on or if my shoes have been shined or whatever else I’ve gotta do– it’s ridiculous! What’s the goddamn difference between them and me at the end of the day? We got the same biology, or whatever, ‘cept they wear those dumbass tophats and cravats and whatnot– Christ, could you imagine if I had to wear a tophat? Mierda, if you try to make me, I’ll just sell it and donate the money back to the lodging house–”

Her head whipped around in a sharp snap, eyes suddenly ablaze. Jack barely even had time to appreciate the wisps of ginger hair that had escaped her updo to curl around her neck. He loved it when Kath didn’t look so perfectly put together. “Alright, what in the world is wrong with you? You’re being uncharacteristically nasty!” 

“I told you what was wrong! And– this whole shirt thing just rubbed me the wrong way, is all.” He shot back rather gruffly, and crossed his arms tightly to quell his guilt. Logically, Jack knew that Katherine didn’t deserve his snappiness. She was just trying to help.

“That’s no excuse for you to act so childish, Jack Kelly, and you know it. I understand how you feel, but I just want to remind you that I’m one of those upper echelon bastards, and I understand that you’re treated unfairly! You’re preaching to the choir. Now, if you’re really that mad about the shirts– well– you’d ought to get over it. I bought them for you and they’ll help you find success at work, so I don’t even want to hear it.”

Kath snapped the box shut rather aggressively and Jack winced, shame replacing his anger very quickly. She didn’t go red very often, but at that moment, the apples of her cheeks were bright pink and the shells of her ears were blushing to match. Davey was the type of person to turn pink at the blush of a hat. Any compliment or unexpected touch would have him blushing from hairline to collar. Kath, however? She only got red like this when she was angry. Jack realized, with a jolt, that he’d screwed up again. He lurched forward and took her wrist into his hand, desperate not to damage another relationship. “Hey– hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be such an ass.”

She leveraged him with a glare. “I should hope not.”

“I’m serious.” He winced and tugged her closer, hoping his regret showed more than his anxiety. Jack slipped his hands up her arms to rest them on her shoulders. “Kath, I… I wasn’t thinking. It’s been a rough week. You ain’t an upper echelon bastard, by the way.”

“No, I am.” She sighed, softening slightly and raising her cool hands to cup Jack’s cheeks. “I am in the upper echelon, and that’s obviously why I don’t understand how frustrating this is for you. Though I wish Davey hadn’t taught you what the upper echelon is…”

They shared a soft laugh, though Jack’s laugh felt especially hollow as Davey slipped into his mind again. There was that image of him storming out of the alleyway again, green eyes dark and wounded. and he dropped his forehead down against hers, brushing the tips of their noses together. “Well, I shouldn’t’a got on my soapbox.”

“I guess not.” She agreed simply, and the silence turned slightly awkward as Jack wondered how they’d ever avoid the topic of her wealth forever. Then, Kath kissed his cheek and pulled back. 

Not knowing where to possibly go next in conversation, he played up a needy groan and leaned forward to chase her lips and press a kiss there. “It ain’t fair for you to walk around looking so pretty. Folks expect me not to kiss you. Ain’t that ridiculous?”

He kissed her again, and then again once she laughed, and wrapped an arm around her waist to tug her closer. He valiantly ignored the guilt swelling in his chest as one corner of his mind thought about Davey and that peppermint stick. He really needed to figure out things with Davey so he could enjoy his time with Kath wholeheartedly again. Jack steered his mind away from freckles and chocolate-brown curls and refocused on ginger hair and fiery eyes, slowing their kiss to a practiced tempo of sensual ease. When he pressed the palms of his hands against the small of Kath’s back, things were easy. Thoughtless. Comfortable.

He’d done this dance before– he knew the rhythm and the steps. It was distracting. Still, he felt a blossoming sense of guilt deep in his chest. Things didn’t feel quite right. Maybe they hadn’t for a while.

When a nervous housemaid interrupted them, Jack placed a well-meaning kiss on Kath’s lips and promised to see her in the morning. His mind was racing elsewhere as he escaped the massive home.

Somehow, his thoughts had become scrambled. Davey was lingering where he shouldn’t be and Kath was slipping into negative spaces she didn’t deserve to belong in. Jack knew, distantly, that something was amiss. He didn’t know where any of this shifting had come from or why it was happening, but he knew that it was risky and he knew that he needed to stop himself before things turned dangerous. With newfound determination and desperation to return to before, Jack set off with the intent to corner Davey Jacobs and smooth things out with finality.

He wasn’t going to spiral for a minute longer. 

══════════════════

God bless Sarah Jacobs. Truly. 

Jack had been floundering for a week, trying to catch a friend that had become a ghost. Davey was impossible to pin down, flighty and pale and looking a bit more miserable with each passing glimpse. He was valiantly avoiding Jack, who was desperately seeking him out. They’d fallen into some sort of ridiculous dance and it seemed everybody knew about it, as whispers were beginning to crop up amongst the newsboys. By the sixth day, Jack was really and truly at his wits end.

He’d worked at The World, wearing the stupid green shirt, and had turned in some of his worst work at the end of the day because he was so goddamn distracted. He could scarcely remember what he and Davey’s argument was about anymore– he just wanted his best friend back. The flashes of their broken conversation didn’t even mean anything anymore. He wanted the Davey from before, and if he had to pretend like everything was alright to get him back, then goddamnit– Jack would.

If he could catch him.

By some miraculous stroke of luck, he ran into Sarah on the way to Kath’s (he had some stupid dinner with her and her rat bastard father), the eldest Jacobs sibling simultaneously clutching Les’s hand and balancing a massive basket of lace– and for some reason, a massive bag of potatoes. 

When Jack inquired about the vegetables, Les immediately extended an invitation to join them on the first night of Hanukkah, where the potatoes would be turned into delicious fried potato pancakes called latke. Jack said he’d check with Davey, and used that as a perfect segway to ask Sarah about her younger brother’s hiding spot. 

She’d been surprisingly willing to fork up Davey’s location– the library– and Jack found himself practically sprinting to a place he never would’ve dreamed of visiting, just in pursuit of Davey. If Jack from June of that year had seen Jack from December, he would’ve laughed his ass off. Running into a library wearing a shirt made of silk with his boots polished, chasing after a boy? He was scarcely recognizable, and he didn’t really like that feeling. 

The library was a big old building, full of towering shelves and smelling of nothing but old pages and dusty books. It was overwhelming but somehow familiar, and it only took a moment for Jack to realize that this was what Davey smelt like. Beneath the lavender soap and the smell of sweating and the occasional dabs of peppermint and herbal tea, he smelled like this. Jack could imagine Davey growing up here as a tiny, lanky thing, all wrapped up in his school uniform with his nose tucked into a book.

He found himself smiling at the image and smiling even more widely when he came across Davey himself.

Dave was curled up at a table towards the back of the library, reading a book that looked just about as old as the building itself. He looked utterly absorbed with focus, green eyes bright despite his paler-than-usual skin and his alarmingly colored eye bags. His hat was discarded to the side and those brown curls hung down over his forehead. If he didn’t look so horribly sad it might’ve been a pretty picture. Something Jack would’ve been itching to draw. Instead, he just felt a deep sense of worry for his friend as he slowly moved closer.

Jack didn’t really know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t a book of flowers. Other than the massive old textbook, he had a smaller, newer book full of gorgeous illustrations. A gas lamp flickered shadows across the page, and Jack was returned to his earlier theory that maybe all of this mess was happening because Davey wanted to court some girl. Why else would he be looking at a flower book?

And more importantly, why hadn’t he told Jack?

Still, one positive fact remained: Jack had Davey alone. He wasn’t going to screw up this time. 

“Fancy flower.” He blurted that out before thinking, and immediately wished he had chosen something more tactful or gentle.

Davey’s head snapped right up, green eyes wide and owlish. He looked sort of like Jack scared the life out of him, and jumped like it too, an almost comical gasp leaving his parted lips as his chair screeched back. Within a moment, the floundering boy managed to slam both of his books shut and messily shove them into his own lap, knocking over the gas lamp next to him in the process. Jack barely had enough time to lunge forward and catch the flickering thing, setting it upright as Davey caught his breath. His chest was positively heaving and as expected, his cheeks were flushed beneath his freckles. 

Jack waited, chest swimming with guilt as he watched Dave struggle to right himself. He almost looked like he was having trouble breathing. (Jack wondered how he managed to look attractive, even with one elegant hand pressed to his chest with wide, startled eyes.)

“Wh–” Davey heaved, eyes raking over Jack multiple times. “What are you doing here?”

“Sarah finked ‘n said you would be here.” He admitted, unable to tear his eyes away from Davey now that he was right here. He had an intense sadness about him that made Jack want to tug him out of that stupid chair and wrap him in a neverending hug.

Dave had always carried a sort of subtle barely-there sadness. Jack came to notice it about two months into their friendship, and figured it was just a result of the constant stress and anxiety Dave seemed to be under, never really able to let loose. Now, that sadness wasn’t so subtle. It seemed to radiate off of him in waves. Even though his posture was still ramrod straight, there was a defeated tightness in his shoulders. Jack felt a spike of worry that he couldn’t explain.

“Did she?” He seemed upset. 

“She did.” Jack forced himself to smile, trying to smooth out whatever rumples existed between them. He took in a deep breath and decided to cut to the chase. “Since you’se been avoidin’ me, I figured I’d just hafta catch you alone.”

“I’m not–”

“Don’t you dare say you’re not, Dave, we both know your father taught you not to lie. I think we oughta talk.” He forced a chuckle, before realizing that he was awkwardly hovering over Davey, who was frozen like a statue in his chair. This was no way to have a serious discussion. Jack quickly grabbed another chair from a nearby desk and joined Davey at his table, dropping his elbows on the surface because he had a tendency to forget the concept of etiquette and manners.

Immediately, Davey dropped eye contact. Jack probably should’ve expected that, but it was still difficult to see him close off in real time. Hands shoved in pockets, shoulders up to the ears– this wasn’t who he was supposed to be around Jack. Things needed to go back to normal and fast, but Jack just couldn’t figure out what to say. His mind was racing– not with any good ideas– because he wanted to offer an olive branch. He didn’t want an argument or a confrontation, and he really didn’t want to scare Davey away again. Especially not now, not with Davey sitting here so rigid and sad and miserable. Jack needed to fix things.

The thought of Davey leaving or ending their friendship had crossed Jack’s mind more than once during the course of that miserable week. He didn’t like that thought at all. The idea of being abandoned again.

Jack had gotten into a bad habit of doing the abandoning part himself, so he could inflict the hurt instead of feeling it. Maybe that’s why he wanted Davey back so bad. Because Davey was supposed to be the steady one, and Jack was supposed to be the ungrounded, flighty one that left on a whim. 

He cleared his throat, finally settling on an option that felt semi-correct. “I adore Crutchie, but we don’t work together so well. It’s kinda a constant battle over who gets ta’ stand with Les.”

Thankfully, Davey’s eyebrows raised and those green eyes finally glanced at Jack. He felt like he’d been drenched with warm water as that careful gaze met him. Davey looked at people like he was seeing right through them, reading their thoughts with those pretty eyes. Jack couldn’t handle having his thoughts read. His head was a mess.

He looked at all of the old books- at the beams holding up the big ceiling, at the mix of colors swamped with shadow, at the small areas of the room soaked in light. Not at Davey. 

“And, uh… we’s been fightin’ about the extra profits he makes on account’a people see a cripple and a little kid and waste more money– basically what I’m tryin’ta say is that I want my old sellin’ partner back.” He forced himself to look at his friend, now, feeling guilt eating at him. Davey looked right back, and Jack felt the weight of those eyes like a flutter in his chest. “And about the whole argument–”

“I’m sorry.” Davey spoke, very suddenly, to Jack’s utter delight. “I was out of line.”

This was good. This was really good. Knowing that Davey wasn’t mad at him and didn’t hate him– that was good. Of course, he wasn’t excited to find out that Davey thought he was out of line. He really wasn’t. His concerns about Jack disappearing with Katherine were valid, and Jack had responded the wrong way. He itched to reach out and grab Davey’s hands, tug them out of his pockets and squeeze just to prove he meant what he was saying. He was practically twitching with it.

“But you was honest, and that’s pretty damn important, too.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and leaned forward, visions of the past week swimming through his mind. “You.. you really pissed me off, Dave. The problem is that I sorta see where you’re comin’ from. I have been disappearin’ and that ain’t fair.”

“No, it’s absolutely fair. Katherine deserves your time. I was being– I–”

In the middle of his sentence, Davey coughed. And then he kept coughing, awkwardly twisting around within his seat to hide his face in the curve of his elbow. Jack nearly leapt across the table as concern turned his blood hot, because these coughs were harsh and wet coughs. A sick type of cough. Then he gasped and looked up at Jack, seemingly guilty.

Jack had the vague feeling that he had just witnessed something Davey didn’t want him to see. That made him nervous. 

“Sorry– bit of dust from the books– what I was saying is that–” His voice was raspy. Strained.

Jack almost wanted to push him– ask him if he was feeling feverish or fatigued– but now wasn’t the time. Not when their friendship was fragile and crumbling. Jack chose to ignore this and bring it up later, once they’d settled back into their routine from before. He’d think normal thoughts about Davey that didn’t involve lips and peppermint sticks and hand holding, and then he’d ask if he was feeling alright. For now, reconciliation was the only thing on Jack’s mind.

“Listen, don’t worry about it. I don’t like fightin’ with you, Dave, it don’t suit us.” He offered what he hoped was a hopeful smile and stretched his hand out across the table, a spit-shake without the spit. Davey stared at Jack’s hand, his germ-conscious self probably wondering if the ink blotting his fingers was dry. “We alright?”

Like seeing the sun after miserable months of wintry rain, Davey smiled. He smiled that stupid, tiny smile that he only ever smiled at Jack, and Jack felt like his heart was lifting out of his chest. He’d never felt such a heady crash of relief and happiness as he watched Davey’s goofy little smile light up his face, one freckled hand reaching across the table to shake.

“We’re alright.”

Jack shook his hand right back, not even caring to hide his excitement. Finally, he felt like things were back on track. In no time they’d be selling side by side, back to their usual shenanigans. He’d cheer Davey up and everything would go back to normal, and Jack could enjoy his last few months as a newsboy in the careful normalcy he’d created over the last six months. He had Davey and he had Kath, and he had his job at The World. That was everything he needed.

“Is your shirt green?” Dave asked rather suddenly, leaning forward in an attempt to inspect the new garment.

He felt a flash of bashful guilt. He didn’t like wearing these nice clothes around the other boys, letting them know that he’d been bumming off of Katherine. For some reason, it felt even worse around Davey. Still, he began to shrug his coat off just to confirm Davey’s suspicions.

“Oh, uh, yeah. It is. Kath gave it to me. For work, y’know?”

Davey’s face immediately fell, and Jack wanted to bundle up and hide the shirt immediately. Jack knew Davey’s dad and sister were big on that whole socialism thing, and though Dave was never quite as passionate as they were, he’d made plenty of rants about how much he hated the wealth gap and the rich folks that could shelter in their big houses while people died penniless on the streets beneath them. He could be a political firebrand when he wanted to be, stretching up on his tiptoes with his hands flinging and his eyes bright with passion. It was, quite honestly, captivating. Davey in his element. One of Jack’s favorite versions of him.

It occurred to Jack, very suddenly, that Dave’s political orientation might’ve been why he got so mad in the alleyway, too. Maybe he thought Jack was leaving them to join that upper class, the same upper class he had been ranting and raving about for months. Plus, it wouldn’t have been the first time he thought Jack abandoned him for money.

That made Jack hurt, and he hurt even harder as Davey slumped down in his chair, dejectedly glancing away as his lashes lowered. Fuck. He looked like a fucking classical painting. Like some stupidly perfect, sad prince. “It’s nice.”

“Yeah, well, ain’t gonna be nice for long if I’m the one wearing it.” He tried his best to show Dave that he wasn't exactly proud of the shirt, or enjoying it either. Maybe if he just changed the topic– whatever he needed to do to get them back to normal. “Also, Les invited me to spend the firs’ night of Hanukkah with your family. Is… is that alright?”

Dave blinked, almost like his brain was broken. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Dunno. Things have been…” Jack glanced between them, awkwardly figuring the answer was obvious. 

“It’s fine with me. Ima and Aba were glad to have you for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, I’m sure they’ll be happy to have you for Hanukkah, too.” Right. So Davey didn’t want him there. Maybe things weren’t as normal as he thought. Jack tried not to seem too disappointed, but he must’ve failed, because Davey spluttered to life again. “I- I would be happy as well. You know that. Really happy. You- it- um– it means a lot that you want to learn about our traditions and our way of life and I just– well– I– shit. ”

Despite the fact that Dave was just floundering to soothe Jack’s bruised ego, he was still ridiculously endearing while doing it. His face was red and he let one of those rare curses slip– which drew a laugh from Jack’s lips. Poor Davey dropped his head onto the desk and hid within his arms, red ears still slightly visible amidst that mass of carefully tamed brown curls. Jack missed this. Missed him.

He reached out to ruffle Davey’s hair but found himself stopping and stilling. It was soft and something tiny and domestic within Jack was begging him not to make this moment rough and boyish, though that was the only socially acceptable option.

For some reason, he listened to the little voice and let his fingers rest within Davey’s hair, brushing his thumb over the little curls at the nape of the other boy’s neck. He’d always wondered what they felt like, and now he knew that they were downy and soft. Jack’s voice came out embarrassingly soft with fondness. “You’re funny, Dave.”

Green eyes glanced up at him, and Jack’s heart stopped for a second. Probably lingering nerves.

Then, Davey sat up and Jack snatched his hand back, watching the other boy hug his books tightly to his chest.  “You know, they’re about to close things up here. Would you like to have dinner with us? It’ll just be vegetable soup since we’re saving up for the holidays, but…”

Fuck. Jack winced, rubbing the back of his neck in careful thought as he briefly wondered how easy it would be to get out of dinner with Kath and her father. She might understand– he hadn’t really hung out with Davey in a while and he’d been spending just about every evening with her. But Joe wouldn’t understand, and that was the unfortunate truth of the matter. Still, an evening spent holed up in the Jacobs apartment, surrounded by candlelight and family and Davey’s endearing laughter sounded much better than the barely disguised cruelty and hostility of the Pulitzer house. Jack hated the fact that he couldn’t go with his best friend.

“Ah, I… I can’t. I’m havin’ dinner with Kath and Old Man Joe. I’m sorry, Dave.” 

Davey shrugged, a tight an awkward little gesture, and Jack could see his thinly concealed disappointment. He didn’t really know how that made him feel. It was almost worry-inducing, how quickly Dave’s mood seemed to fall. Just like that night at the rooftop. Davey swallowed hard as his eyes went downcast and his posture slumped, suddenly seeming ten times more exhausted and upset than before. Jack really wanted to take his rejection back, but the words were stuck in his throat. Davey forced a smile, and it was awkward and wrong and Jack wanted to wipe it away. “Don’t be sorry. You need to impress Mr. Pulitzer if you ever want his permission to marry Katherine.”

He barked out an awkward laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, um, you’re probably right.”

Christ, Jack didn’t want to think about marriage. He never wanted to think about Joe Pulitzer being his father in law. The mental image of that sent shivers down his spine. Instead, he looked at Davey. At his white teeth biting down on his bottom lip, awkward and probably itching to leave. He could hear the mean librarian bustling about behind them, and all he wanted to do was say yes i’ll go to dinner with you, yes, yes, yes, but all he could manage was silence.

Davey stood abruptly and cleared his throat, though his voice still emerged as a strained rasp. “Well, I’d better return these.”

“I can walk with you–” Jack stood as well. 

“No! Not necessary! You can’t be late for dinner, remember? You’d better get going.”

And, there it was again. Davey wanted to get rid of him. Jack wanted to ask, all desperate and insecure, if they were alright. He’d already done so once during that night, but the reassurance was obviously needed again. Still– he didn’t want Davey to think he was clingy or strange, so he rocked back on his heels and glanced down at Davey’s books, trying to think of something else to say.

“Alright. Uh… See you tomorrow?” 

Davey grinned, slightly strained but still honest. “Bright and early.”

So, they were selling together again. They were tentatively friends. That was all Jack had wanted, right? So why did something still feel wrong?

He slung his coat over his arm and took the hint Davey had not-so-subtly given him, defeatedly trudging off to whatever miserable dinner he was about to subject himself to. As he replayed their conversation over and over again, he realized that he probably should’ve felt happy about the outcome. He’d gotten what he wanted.

Why, then, was he still thinking about Davey?

When Kath made one of her endearingly witty quips, he was thinking about his best friend at that table, poring over a book. When Joe made some ridiculously tone deaf comment about Jack’s trousers, he imagined Davey glancing up from the table, Jack’s hand in his hair. When Kath took his arm at the end of the night, he thought of their handshake. When he passed the distribution yard on the way to the lodging house, he thought of the disappointment Davey wore like clothing when Jack turned down his dinner invitation. 

Things hadn’t been magically fixed. In fact, Jack felt more uncomfortable in his own skin as he trudged into the lodging house, ignoring the whoops and hollers of the boys asking if he’d ‘gotten any’ tonight. Jack didn’t think he’d gotten anything substantial done at all today, and sleeping with Kath was frankly the last thing on his mind.

How he’d gone from the happiest he’d been in years to this strange state of limbo remained inexplicable.

When his paper hit the pencil, he slipped out of his own mind and returned to reality hours later, just to see a sketch of unmistakable round eyes, staring up at him from beneath chocolate brown curls. Davey, with his head on the table, looking up through his lashes like some sort of confusing angel meant to make Jack feel ridiculously unfounded. Seemed Davey was invading his drawings, too. 

Chapter Text

One consequence of not having a true family unit– as in mother and father and blood related siblings– was obviously a noticeable lack of any family holidays. Sure, the newsboys celebrated Christmas in the lodging house, but that wasn’t exactly a sit-around-the-table and enjoy a meal type of holiday. It was a lot more rambunctious and chaotic, with lots of shouting and game playing and whatnot. Jack, unfortunately in charge of the whole joint, hadn’t really fully enjoyed a Christmas celebration in years. He was always wildly stressed, making sure nobody was injured or doing something stupid.

Jack was also stressed about spending Hanukkah with the Jacobs family, but that was for an entirely different reason.

With him and Davey in rocky territory, and with him caring so much about meeting these people’s approval, Jack felt like he had the world riding on his shoulders. He spent at least half an hour getting ready, which earned a laugh from Crutchie, who asked: ‘why ain’t you ever this nervous about dinners with Joe’? It only took Jack a second to respond, because the answer was obvious.

He didn’t really care about the approval of Joseph Pulitzer outside of eventually earning Kath’s hand in marriage. Pulitzer was a rotten man who’d nearly ruined Jack’s life twice. He was greedy and rude and condescending, and Jack was not going to grovel for his approval. The Jacobs family was another story. They seemed to care about Jack, keeping their door open for him and always leaving him a place at the table. Pathetic as it was, sometimes it felt like he was a part of their little family unit. Esther and Mayer both loved him, he was Davey’s best friend, and he sure as hell saw Les and Sarah as siblings, too. He didn’t want to shatter that precious dynamic, because it really and truly made him happy. 

This felt way more official. It wasn’t a random Wednesday night dinner– it was an actual Jewish holiday, an actual family event, and he’d been invited.

Earlier in the year, he’d been to Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah here (both of which he didn’t quite understand yet but was really trying to), and he was just as nervous this time, if not more. Maybe it was because things were still so strange with Davey. This felt like a chance to prove that things could go back to normal. That maybe they could just get along like they used to, with no memories of their awkward argument to interrupt things. 

Right before he and Kath entered the apartment, Jack nervously adjusted his necktie again. He’d bit the bullet and accepted a tie from Kath for the occasion, even tied it properly beneath his collar and tucked it into a clean, buttoned waistcoat. Hanukkah was apparently Les’s favorite holiday of the year, even though it wasn’t technically a ‘High Holiday’ like the other two Jack had attended. Les yapped for at least an hour about how fun it would be with Jack there, and Jack was determined to deliver. 

“Jack. Just breathe, darling, you look fine.” Kath reassured, carefully smoothing her hands over his necktie. He was wearing his new green shirt as well, and he’d even put actual hair oil in his hair to tame it. “Honestly, you look lovely.”

“What, you like it when I clean up?” He teased, trying to hide his nerves with humor. 

“Yes. I almost wish you’d do your hair like this when you went into The World for work.” She grinned, running a hand through his hair.

Jack tried his best to ignore how much that annoyed him. He pressed his lips into a thin line and did his best to quell his agitation. “Well, I don’t have time to look this good three days a week. Before we go in– just– can you run over the whole Hanukkah thing for me again? ‘S there anythin’ I should or shouldn’t do? Rules? Just– just one more time!”

“Jack, you’ve asked me three times on the walk here!” Kath laughed incredulously, throwing her hands up in the air. She was dressed in a blue ensemble he’d never seen before– most likely new, purchased just for the occasion– and somehow that only served to agitate Jack more. “Come on, let’s just go inside. What if Mrs. Jacobs opens the door and sees us standing out here?”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.” He groaned, drawing in a nervous, shaky breath. “Let’s g– wait, what’s the thing you’re supposed to say?”

“ Chanukah sameach. Or you could try chag urim sameach, but… that’s a little more complicated.” She shook her head slightly, though the gesture was fond. Jack found out, to his surprise, that Joseph Pulitzer himself was born and raised Jewish. He apparently hadn’t told his wife, and allowed her to raise their children as protestants– but because of that, Katherine was technically half-Jewish, and since she was Katherine, she had done extensive research on the traditions and even went to Shabbat with Davey on occasion. She knew bits and bobs of Hebrew, and every day she amazed Jack with her wealth of knowledge and intelligence. It certainly came in handy at times like this. “Alright. Are you ready?”

“Yep.”

Jack steeled in a deep breath and tapped his knuckles against the door. Within moments it was flung open, and a tiny body barrelled into his legs. Jack laughed and wrapped Les up in his arms, giving him a tight hug. “ Chanukah sameach, Les.”

“Wow!” Les grinned as he lurched back, eyes big and bright. “How’d you know how to say that? Ain’t you Catholic?”

“My parents was Catholic. I ain’t nothin’ in particular.” Jack responded with ease, shooting Les a grin instead of getting into the complicated hole religion had made in his heart. “Didn’t I pronounce it good?”

“Well… you could use some Hebrew lessons! Davey’s fluent– you can ask him when he gets back!” Les was practically vibrating with energy as he gave Kath a quick hug and took both of their hands, tugging them through the door. The kid loved holidays. His brown eyes were bright with joy and his round, freckled cheeks were flushed, and Jack had only seen him this happy a few times before. He’d also never seen Les look so put together before. He was wearing a checkered shirt Jack had never seen before (it obviously wasn’t new because the fabric was faded and worn– maybe church clothes?) and his typically wild curls looked actually tamed. He was a cute kid– even cuter when he wasn’t pretending to be starving and miserable. “Ima, Aba, Sarah! Kath and Jack are here!” 

Jack loved and adored the Jacobs apartment. When he first met Davey, all prim and polished with his clean, unwrinkled clothes and clean skin, he figured Dave came from some sort of middle class wealth. He’d cooked up all of these ideas about the apartment, some four-bedroom penthouse with a big family room and a little library for all of Dave’s books… in reality, things were very different. 

The Jacobs apartment was small. It was two rooms, one larger one that was a living room, kitchen, and master bedroom all in one, and a cramped little bedroom that might’ve been a closet at one point, where the two beds for the children were pressed against each wall. The apartment was tiny and cramped and full of stuff, piles of books and Davey’s homework and lots of lace and dresses for Esther, a seamstress, to fix. Les’s toys often littered the floor and the counterspace in the kitchen was always taken up by groceries or some sort of cooking Esther was doing. Cozy hand-knitted blankets were draped over the couches and armchairs, homemade covers on the wooden chairs and a knitted table-runner covered the dining table.

On that night, it was brighter than Jack had ever seen it. Made sense– they were celebrating the festival of lights, after all. Every lamp, every candle– they were all lit. Jack ached to paint the scene, so sweet and domestic with Mrs. Esther and Sarah working in the cramped kitchen area and Mr. Mayer counting what looked to be gold coins at the dining table. It was bright and beautiful, and a menorah sat in the window, not yet lit. 

“Jack, darling.” Mrs. Esther smiled sweetly at him– “So sorry about Leshem, Hanukkah’s his favorite–”

“It’s the most fun holiday!” Les explained, giving Jack’s hand an excited squeeze. “Everything we eat is fried, we get to play dreidel for gelt, which is my favorite candy, and there’s eight days of presents!”

Jack knew that much. He couldn’t afford eight days of presents so he was just going to give each member of the family one present on the last day of Hanukkah. He had a nice painting for Dave and a couple other little knick-knacks for everyone else in the family. Speaking of Dave– he scanned the apartment and found his friend conveniently missing. “Hey, where’s Davey at?”

“Out running some last minute errands. We ran out of eggs and olive oil.” Mayer explained, offering Jack one of his kind, tight-lipped smiles. 

Eggs and olive oil were both incredibly expensive, but Jack knew Mr. Mayer ran a tight ship with his budgeting, so they probably weren’t spending too much. Still, that didn’t stop the nervous clench in his chest as he wandered further into the apartment, taking in the sights and smells. Mayer stood with a soft grunt and made his way over, his arm still carefully held in a sling. He held a hand out and Jack shook it firmly. He then kissed Katherine’s hand and smiled a private little smile at them, brown eyes glittering. Davey looked an awful lot like his pa when he smiled. Jack wondered if he’d age the same– elegant streaks of gray in his curls. “Good to see you, Jack, Katherine. We’re very glad you’re joining us.”

“As long as it’s no trouble.” Kath returned the smile, looping her hand around Jack’s arm. 

“None at all. Any friend of David’s is a friend of ours, you’ll soon find. I hope you don’t mind how crowded it is–”

Katherine cut in smoothly, thankfully. Her wealth seemed to be an ever-present elephant in the room, clinging to her in the form of blue cotton and expensive silks. “Not at all. Is there anything we can do to help?”

“We can always use help in the kitchen, Kath. But Jack can find something else to do. I don’t trust him near knives.” Sarah grinned that bright, personable grin of hers and turned to face them, holding a bowl of some fragrant smelling dough. She was spattered with flour and her sleeves were pushed up to her elbows, but she looked bright and happy nevertheless.

“Sarah Jacobs.” Esther chastised, squeezing past her daughter and wearing a fond, happy expression.

Sarah merely giggled and shot a wink towards Jack and Kath. Kath’s face brightened like it always did when she found herself in interesting female company, and she shot across the room to join the Jacobs women in the kitchen. Les immediately beckoned Jack over to play a game called ‘dreidel’ with this strange little wooden toy, and began explaining the rules rapid-fire as Mayer watched his youngest son, face lined with barely-concealed adoration and pride.

Every time Jack visited, he always found pieces of himself crawling with jealousy. Maybe it was the way the Jacobs seemed so inexplicably tied together. They weren’t the perfect family unit he’d originally assumed when he’d met Dave all those months ago– they had their problems and quirks– but they seemed happy and they all obviously cared for each other. Jack didn’t know what that was like. At least, not really. Sometimes he’d remember traces of his parent like shimmering winter ghosts, fading into blurry sketches on his paper. He could never quite make out the details, but sometimes he could feel their hands in his hair or hear their voices whispering up against his ear. He didn’t remember. They’d left a pit in his stomach, and watching Davey's family only deepened that sadness.

Jack wanted. He ached for something like this.

Thankfully he was pulled out of his thoughts and into the reality of his shitty dreidel skills when the front door opened. There stood Davey, and oh, was he a sight for sore eyes. All windswept from the cold with his cheeks, nose and ears practically pink, clutching a basket in shivering arms. He looked freezing and paler than ever, and as Jack stared at him in the warm candlelight, he wondered with sudden and striking concern, if Davey was eating enough. His cheekbones seemed sharper, the bones of his face almost jutting. But he still looked lovely–

Jack banished those thoughts from his mind and forced himself to enjoy the holiday. He rushed over to his friend. “Davey! Chanukah sameach! ” 

Dave was almost certainly trembling from the cold, and Jack tried to tamper his concern. That same concern had caused all of their fighting in the first place, and Jack honestly just wanted things to be good. He revelled in the warmth of the tiny smile he received. The expression was warmer than all of the firelight in the apartment, because that smile was went just for Jack. Victory curled up, proud and smug, within his chest. “You too, Jack.”

“Lemme help. You look like you nearly froze to death out there.” Jack insisted, and didn’t wait for the curly-headed boy to respond as he scooped the basket into his own arms. 

Counting his victories and burning that smile into his mind to sketch later, Jack jogged into the kitchen and pressed an absentminded kiss to Katherine’s cheek. He set the basket down and helped Mrs. Esther unload the bottles of olive oil and carefully packed eggs, giddily thinking about the way Davey’s eyes seemed to soften when he smiled at that. Doe-eyed and framed with spidery black lashes. Something anyone would want to sketch over and over again. 

Davey. God, Davey in his element, Davey doing anything… Davey had been absolutely polluting his thoughts, and he continued to do so. Jack watched him cross the apartment, shrouded in all of its warmth but somehow still gray and cold. He stared as Dave dropped into one of the wooden chairs around their little dining table, suddenly looking exhausted. Jack could see the drowsiness in the heavy fall of his limbs and the labored rise and fall of his chest. Strange. It was hard to focus on anything but his face, though, when his cheeks were flushed like that. 

“If you want to play so badly, just go over there.” Kath laughed and gently bumped their shoulders together.

Jack, embarrassed to be caught staring, tore his eyes away from the sight of Davey reaching across the table to collect some of the chocolate coins (called ‘gelt’-- thanks to Les for the explanation). “Well, I ain’t allowed to be around the knives…”

“And that’s for good reason.” She smiled and carefully tapped her finger to the tip of his nose. “Sarah is a smart woman.”

“I’m well aware.” Jack glanced at Davey’s older sister, surprised to find her already looking at him with an almost hawk-like expression of focus. After a moment, she smiled at him and looked back down at whatever she was chopping– but it was far too late. Jack was already scared silly. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m never going to stop being scared of you two’s friendship.”

“I need good friends like Sarah. She listens to me gossip about you.”

“This is true.” Sarah affirmed, carefully and methodically sliding vegetables into a pot of something boiling that smelled delicious.

When Jack finally got to glance back at the dinner table, Davey was nowhere to be found. He tried to ignore the twinge of disappointment he felt– this holiday wasn’t about them and their rocky friendship, after all. He’d have plenty of chances to spend time with Davey tonight. And the holiday was meant for the entire family. All five Jacobses. Including Les, who seemed like he needed a dreidel partner once more. Jack decided to take that as a cue to rejoin the little kid, all dappered up in his holiday best. 

He was in the middle of some light conversation with Mayer when all of a sudden Davey walked in the room, and he seemed to wipe the world away with his subdued, pretty expression. God . There was something about him. The way he stood, so hesitant and awkward beneath Jack’s gaze, wearing a pale blue shirt that made the green of his eyes impossibly vibrant and his freckles pop against his pale skin. A tie, perfectly done, a waistcoat, a buttoned collar. The silhouette of a gentleman with ballooned trousers and tightly buttoned cuffs. Fucking gorgeous. 

Time itself would’ve stopped to stare at Davey, who had no right to look like that. Wearing Jack’s favorite color, staring at him with an almost hesitant look– then Davey jerked into motion like an awkward toy soldier and stumbled his way over to the table, sitting carefully next to Jack as if the chair might shatter beneath him. Jack couldn’t resist the urge to throw his arm around the back of Davey’s chair and draw him closer. There was something wrong with him, surely, but deep within his chest was a voice aching for more more more and he was helpless to oblige. Helpless, especially with the soft curls of Dave’s dark hair brushing against his arm. He never wanted to move again, not when he could sit here and look at his friend like this, 

With practiced ease, Jack stole half of the chocolate coins set aside for Davey. “Mark my words, Les, I’m winnin’ this time.”

Les stuck his tongue out, earning a chuckle from his father. Mayer obviously thought his little one was in good hands, because he turned his attention away from them in favor of reading. “Nuh-uh. You’ve never played against David and he’s the best there ever was at dreidel.”

“Oh, is that so?” Jack raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to look at David, smiling in a teasing manner.

Davey slumped into his chair as his ears went red and his eyes looked anywhere but at Jack, awkward and endearing like he always was. “You’ll have to find out, I suppose.”

Jack couldn’t help his own laugh at the idea of calm, collected Davey absolutely schooling a frustrated Les in dreidel. He couldn’t help the heady rush of joy he was experiencing, either. This was just excellent, plain and simply. Davey back in his element, a warm apartment, a happy almost-family. Jack was practically ready to dance with happiness. 

It was all Davey’s fault. Everything seemed to be Davey’s fault these days– but how could it not be? When faced with the sight of Davey playing dreidel, bathed in candlelight and smiling that bashful little awkward smile of his, it was impossible not to feel happy. It was impossible not to love the way Dave seemed to lean into his touch, soft hair pressed against Jack’s arm. Davey in blue. Jack’s favorite thing. Those impossibly green eyes.

He fucking loved Hanukkah. 

The whole night seemed to reaffirm his happiness over and over, even though Dave kicked his ass in dreidel at least ten times and Les beat him too. Then they had dinner and Jack would never, ever get tired of Mrs. Esther’s homemade cooking. All of the fried food and slow roasted brisket was a luxury and he savored every bite, trying not to wolf it down. Normally when he ate with Kath’s family, he made a big show of not having any manners. He’d use the wrong forks on purpose and tear his bread with his hands just to watch Pulitzer squirm. Here, something in him ached to be loved and he found himself sitting without elbows on the table, matching Mayer’s pace and savoring every bite. He almost felt like he belonged to them.

Then they had these little fruit-filled donuts sprinkled with powdered sugar, and Jack swore he was going to ascend to heaven. Over dessert, Mayer told the story of Hanukkah, and Jack listened raptly. He almost felt like he was back on the docks with his own father, salty sea breezes biting at his cheeks as his father recalled stories from his own childhood. 

Soon he found himself watching with unbridled fondness as Davey almost ritualistically pinned his kippah into his curls. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, and Jack and Katherine silently listened to the family pray in Hebrew. They received softly spoken translations, and Jack’s heart seemed to swell. The first candle of the menorah was lit, Jack got some wine, and he watched Dave smile for a bit longer, drunk on the sight of it despite the fact that his glass of alcohol remained untouched. 

At some point, Davey slipped out of the room. It didn’t seem like too big of a deal at the time– Jack was side-by-side with Mrs. Esther, helping her wash dishes. He hadn’t felt so relaxed in quite some time, and though he knew he’d leave longing for a family of his own, he liked pretending to belong to this one when he could. Sometimes Mrs. Esther would smile at him like she smiled at her own children, and sometimes Mr. Mayer would rest a hand on his shoulder with this look of unbridled pride when they brought home good money, and that was enough. Those little bits of affection were enough to hold Jack over until some day in the future, when he’d have this for himself. 

In no time, Jack found himself crowded on the couch with Kath and Sarah, waiting for Les to return with his brother. They’d decided to play a game of bridge, and it was sort of a no-brainer for Davey to be included, so they’d sent Les into the bedroom to fetch him. The girls were talking in hushed whispers as Jack memorized the smallest details of the apartment, when all of a sudden an incredibly loud thump sounded from the children’s bedroom.

Sarah raised her eyebrows and Kath raised a hand over her mouth to hide a little giggle. “Wonder what that was.”

Jack laughed, staring at the closed bedroom door. “Maybe Les’s using violence to convince Dave to play cards.”

“Oy, knowing him, he probably is.” Sarah grumbled with all the exhaustion of an elder sister, pressing her fingers to her temple. 

It wasn’t much longer before they heard a loud shriek, and moments later a wail of no from Les’s little voice , followed by incomprehensible shouting and an intense amount of bumping against the wooden floor. Esther stood from her seat at the table at the exact moment Sarah abandoned her seat on the couch, like mother like daughter. They wore twin expressions of exasperated concern, and Jack wondered how often Dave and Les play fought. It seemed like roughhousing was not a common occurrence in the Jacobs household, which was funny, because the play-fighting sounds coming from the other room were definitely a common occurrence in the lodging house.

“What in the world?”

Mayer didn’t even look up from his book. “They’re probably just playing–”

Then he was cut off by an absolutely ear-splitting screech, suddenly muffled as if corked by a hand over a mouth. The apartment was plunged into awkward silence, and even Jack was starting to feel a little bit confused. Surely that wasn’t normal. Right? 

Esther seemed to agree. “Sarah?”

“On it.”

Sarah stood and on impulse, Jack followed, starting to worry that maybe some sort of thief had broken in and hurt Dave or Les. He’d fight just about anybody for these people. Sarah might’ve been thinking the same thing because she fell into step behind him– but their fears proved to be unfounded when they stopped in the doorway and saw the Jacobs brothers sitting on the floor in silence. Les’s face was wet with tears and Davey was literally panting, his chest heaving up and down rapidly and his hands trembling. 

Two pairs of owlish eyes turned to them, green and brown and panicked. Then, like clockwork, both brothers plastered smiles onto their faces. Les’s was very believable, but Davey was a fucking awful liar and Jack could see right through his too-toothy grin. Trying to approach the matter casually, Jack leaned on the door and latched onto the sight of Dave’s curls– previously styled but now sticking up in every possible direction. “The hell happened to your hair, Dave?”

“Les tried to pull it all out.” He murmured, voice raspy as he stumbled to his feet and held a hand out to Les.

Wordlessly, the younger brother took it. A silent agreement seemed to pass between them, and Jack realized that he’d probably never know what the hell really happened in that room if Les was set on lying. He was an excellent liar, probably thanks to Jack. Still, the way he was staring at the floor was entirely out of character. It was unnerving, and almost scary. “He was holdin’ my cards above my head so I started wrestlin’ him.”

“And you did all of that screaming just because of some playing cards?” Sarah scoffed, gracefully kneeling to pick up the discarded package of cards that Jack hadn’t even noticed. She turned it over in her freckled hands before rolling her eyes and tossing it back to Les. “It sounded like you were being murdered, Leshem.”

“Sorry.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground, looking totally subdued.

Sarah glanced between her brothers again, looking more suspicious by the second. Jack silently agreed with her concern but he knew better than to try and talk to Davey Jacobs about his problems. Prickly stubborn bastard. Neither brother said anything, so she placed a loving hand on Les’s shoulder and sighed. “C’mon. Let’s go start that bridge game, alright? Kath and Jack need to get home after, so we’d better make it quick.”

That left Jack and Davey alone. He wanted to ask, really, but his words caught in his chest at the sound of slight wheezing. Every little breath his friend took was accompanied by a little rasp, his pale fingers shaking uncontrollably as he buttoned his vest. Really, Jack was trying not to be overbearing. He honestly and truly was. But Davey wheezing just made him incredibly nervous. What if Davey got sick? Caught the flu? Christ, what if he caught what Jack’s mother had? Jack found himself seizing up with fear within moments and tried desperately to calm himself. Davey was looking at him. Neither of them were moving and the standoff was getting unbearable.

Pushing thoughts of Mamá out of his mind, Jack put on a practiced smile and beckoned towards the living area.  “C’mon. You may’ve beat my ass at dreidel, but I know– is that blood?”

All rational thoughts flew out of his brain as he grabbed Davey by the sleeve, examining the deep patch of fresh crimson staining the pretty fabric of his shirt. The shirt was soft and careworn, nearly threadbare up close. Jack noticed that the sleeves were too short, stopping an inch above where they’d ought to. Blood. Davey was not supposed to be bleeding. 

“Um… yeah. I stepped out earlier because I… I had a nosebleed. Didn’t you see?”

“No…” Jack had never met a worse liar in his life. He scanned Davey’s face and found all of the obvious tells– especially wide eyes, lip bite, furrowed brow– all the boxes were checked and oh holy shit there’s blood on his chin. 

Maybe he wasn’t lying about the nosebleed, despite the classic ‘Davey is lying’ expression. Jack didn’t really attempt to unpack the strange juxtaposition between lie and truth as he cradled his friend’s face in both hands, skin almost shockingly cold and cheekbones firm against his thumbs. He darted one thumb down and carefully rubbed the blood away, warm as it was. Davey was staring at him like he’d never stared before, like Jack was the only fucking person in the universe and his eyes–

Why didn’t people like green more? Green was such a wonderful color. Summer leaves, moss, emeralds. Davey’s eyes seemed to glisten like the gemstones in ridiculously expensive jewelry. And then Davey was blushing, and he was all pink and freckled and green eyes and oh , his skin was warming beneath Jack’s hands, and Jack could barely move, let alone speak. “Shit, I thought you were lyin’ for a second… but there’s- uh, there’s still blood on your face from it.”

“What else would it be? If not a nosebleed?” Davey asked, voice trembling. He seemed to be fighting to stay still. Maybe he wanted to bolt. A delusional part of Jack’s brain whispered that Dave almost surely wanted to lean in, because just look at him. 

Jack smiled. And he stood there, and he looked, and Davey was too pretty to move. There was a tight knot in his chest. Some unfamiliar feeling, some inexplicable warmth traveling from his palms to his toes. Davey was looking at him and Jack never, ever wanted to move or let go or take his hands away from Dave’s stupidly pretty face. “Now that you ask, I really dunno.”

They laughed. Awkward. Quiet. Jack was crossing a line and he knew it, dragging his finger across his friend’s sharp cheekbone. They were plunged into silence, awkward like silence had been since the fight. They were tiptoeing around each other. Things were not normal, and Jack did not feel normal, because he never wanted to look away from Davey again. He never wanted to miss another blink, to miss the way Davey’s lashes brushed against his skin. 

Espléndido, guapísimo, asombroso. 

Words for Davey.

Maybe this wasn’t normal, but Jack didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about how Davey was leaning in, just barely and almost unnoticeably, lips slightly parted…

Someone cleared their throat and it was louder than anything Jack had ever heard. The noise ripped him from that magical, transfixing little world Davey always pushed him into. His hands were burning and red-hot shame rolled over him in waves as he laid eyes on Kath, standing in the doorway with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She was looking at him like he was a puzzle, like she knew something.

There was nothing to know, though. Nothing at all. It was just Davey. Why did Jack feel guilty?

His hands shook, so he shoved them in his pockets. “Bridge time?”

“Bridge time.” She affirmed, sounding awfully normal despite her analytical expression.

Jack’s world had tilted off his axis, and he didn’t quite know why. There was Katherine with her hand extended to him, and Davey watching him with the saddest expression in the world. He knew he was supposed to go to Katherine– take her hand, rejoin the outside world– but something was tugging him, begging him to stay with the sad, green-eyed boy. Distantly, Jack knew that was a choice he shouldn’t make. He stole one last glance at Davey and carefully took Katherine’s hand. For once, the softness of her skin wasn’t comfortingly familiar.

He felt out of place in his own skin. Strange. Like lingering in that moment with Davey had twisted him up and rearranged everything he knew. He felt exactly the same, but uncomfortably different at the same time.

He was trapped outside of his head for the rest of the night, feeling distant and confused and nervous. Fake smiles, fake laughter, sitting next to Kath and watching a dejected Les out the corner of his eye. Something had happened in that room, with Davey and Les and between Davey and Jack. Jack just didn’t understand Davey. He didn’t understand how Davey could unsettle him just by standing still and staring, but he’d managed, somehow. 

Jack tried to enjoy the rest of the holiday, but Davey endlessly occupied his mind. Dave and also Kath, standing in that doorway, staring at him with eyes that filled him with guilt. 

Nothing had happened. He told himself that repeatedly. He and Davey were just standing there. He’d been cleaning blood off of his friend’s chin. It was normal. Everything was fine. So he convinced himself repeatedly and did his best to immerse himself in Hanukkah festivities once more, and acted like everything was fine.

For a while, he felt like that was true.

══════════════════

The days following Hanukkah were strange. Davey seemed to snap right back to normal, almost shockingly quickly. He was still thin and always cold, but he was laughing and smiling and acting like nothing was different. He’d even agreed to decorate for Christmas with the other newsboys, and had fallen back into his old habits of smiling private smiles and staring. Davey had even accepted the scarf Jack had received from Medda, without a bit of protest in edgewise. 

On the other hand, Les’s behavior was decidedly not normal. Since whatever happened in the bedroom, he’d been remarkably subdued and sad, and it had been multiple days of this dejected behavior. Jack was physically fighting the urge to pull him aside and interrogate him. He wanted to know what the hell was going on with this family. Instead he just settled for buying Les candies and trying little stupid jokes to cheer him up. Jack honestly felt like he was struggling as much as the kid sometimes, lost in his own confusion and frustration.

Things with Katherine were a little bit strained, even though Jack was trying his best to be the beau she deserved. He just didn't understand what was going wrong. He didn’t know how things could be so normal and so strange at the same time. It was like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, living in some strange in-between.

He filled his spare time with finishing his Hanukkah painting for Davey and starting a Christmas present for Kath, but he just didn’t seem to have any inspiration. He was frustrated. Stuck. He didn’t like thinking about Davey all the time– about the feel of his skin and the way he looked bundled in Jack’s clothes– he just wanted before. He wanted it so badly sometimes that he could scarcely sleep, constantly at the end of his rope. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And drop, it did.

He should’ve read deeper into Les’s downtrodden, nervous state. He should’ve paid more attention to the amount of breaks Davey was taking. He should’ve asked about that stupid cough, about the shivering and the wheezing in the bedroom. It was a cold, blustery December day and Jack felt stranded as he shouldered through crowded streets, Les slumped and asleep against his back in a piggyback carry. He thought about the events of the morning– everything that had led him there. 

It wasn’t abnormal for Dave and Les to show up late for selling. Davey was a punctual guy, but he also had parents and siblings that liked to drag him into doing extra chores before work (or in Les’s case, refuse to get dressed and ready in a timely manner), so about once a week, the Jacobs brothers would stumble into the distribution yard looking awfully flushed and windswept, Davey babbling apologies for their lateness and Les smiling an uncaring, red-cheeked smile. Jack wasn’t really worried about their tardiness until he had a hundred and fifty papers tucked under his arm and Sarah Jacobs appeared at the gates, an incredibly subdued Les holding one of her hands. Then he started to worry– no Davey in sight.

Sarah’s brow was furrowed, an anxious look that made her seem like she could be Davey’s twin. Normally she didn’t look nervous, confident and strong and easy in her own skin. Davey, on the other hand, always looked at least a little bit anxious. Their ‘I’m-worried’ expressions 

were remarkably similar. Her brown eyes scanned the unruly crowd of newsboys before landing on Jack, and soon she was making a beeline towards him.

“Jack.”

“Morning, Sarah.” He tipped his cap to her, scanning her face for any sort of explanation for their somber mood, or maybe even Davey’s absence. 

He received nothing but a tight-lipped smile from her as she placed both hands on Les’s shoulders and ushered the boy forward. Sarah had freckles across her cheeks and nose, but she wasn’t quite as covered with them as Dave and Les were. Still– she had the same nose as the boys, and the same high cheekbones as Davey. She was pretty. And she looked just like him that morning (when she typically didn’t, because normally she radiated confidence and comfort in any situation), maybe because there was an underlying sense of anxiety in every movement she made. Made Jack miss him more, which was ridiculous, because he literally saw Davey yesterday.

“Can you walk Les home today? I won’t be able to get off of work in time.”

“A’course.” He smiled easily– he owed the Jacobs family that much, if not more. “You have a nice day, alright?”

“You too. Be good, Leshem.”

Les just looked at her with remarkably sad brown eyes and nodded. Wordlessly, the two older teens shared a glance. Jack took Les into his own hands, crouching down and placing his hands on the boy’s slim shoulders as Sarah disappeared out into the city. He scanned Les’s young face and found nothing but sadness. “You ready to sell today, kiddo?”

The youngest Jacobs sibling only swallowed hard and nodded tightly.

Just as Jack was trying to think up something to say, Crutchie limped over with his papers tucked under his free arm. He grinned his sunshiney grin at Les and lifted his hat to ruffle the boy’s tight, dark curls. “Mornin’, Les. Where’s your big brother? Race wants to ask him his opinion on a bet we’s runnin’.”

“David…” All of a sudden, Les’s bottom lip was wobbling. His chin quivered and within moments, his big, brown eyes were glossing over with tears. “David– David’s– he’s really sick!”

The floodgates broke, and Les seemed to crumple with a sob that sounded absolutely heart-wrenching coming from someone so young. Jack was instantly assaulted with the force of childhood memories flooding his mind– that intense feeling of grief that had come from losing his mother, and the way the ache only seemed to deepen when his father was taken by the bulls. The tears he had cried and the way he had wailed when he was by himself for the first night. The way he’d ached for someone to comfort him and tell him things would be okay. The way he hadn’t cried like that since. The way Les was crying just like that.

Within moments, Jack was herding Les’s tiny body up against his chest, a protective fire raging through his muscles. All of the concerned newsies slowly gathering around seemed to disappear into the background as Jack pulled Les into a tight embrace. “Alright, kid, alright. I’ve gotcha. You said Dave’s sick?”

“He– he’s sick bad. ” He hiccuped, throwing his arms around Jack and squeezing tight handfuls of his shirt into those little fists. “He’s sick bad and Ima– I mean– mom and dad say h-he can’t come sellin’ no more!”

“Alright. Alright, Les, I hear you. It’ll be okay, alright? Davey’s gonna be okay.” Jack tried to tamp down his own worry as he held Les in a tight hug, though his mind was blaring with bright red panic alarms at the thought of Davey being so sick he couldn’t sell. Sure, he hadn’t seemed like he was in excellent spirits yesterday, but he hadn’t been in excellent spirits since the weather was warm. There weren’t any signs of sickness other than that cough in the library, too. What was Jack missing? He hoped Les couldn’t feel his rapidly racing heart.

Race crouched down and carefully ruffled Les’s curly hair. “Your brother’s a real strong guy, Les. No common cold’s gonna kick him down, right?”

Les only cried harder. Jack dropped to sit on the cold cobblestone paving the yard, thighs beginning to burn from squatting for so long. He tugged Les a bit closer and glanced up at Crutchie, feeling his own anxiety for Davey begin to radiate off of him. “Les, I know you’re worried about Dave, but I promise things are gonna work out. You hear me? I’ll make sure they work out.”

“Y-you promise?” Les sniffled pitifully, finally lifting his tear-streaked face from Jack’s shoulder.

Jack’s stomach jolted. Hopefully Davey just had a bad cold or something, and this was a promise he could make good on. He almost regretted saying such a thing, but then imagined himself, only eight and orphaned, wishing someone would’ve held him and made promises to cling to. He swallowed thickly and managed a nod. “A’course, kid. I always take care ‘a Dave, don’t I?”

“Yeah.” He hiccuped again, wiping his eyes. 

“It’s gonna be okay, bud.” Jack muttered, and he carefully tugged Les back up against him. Les nuzzled his face into Jack’s shoulder even though Jack probably smelled like cigarette smoke and sweat. “Alright, just cry it out.”

They got a late start to the day. Once all of the other boys had finally been convinced to stop worrying about Davey and get to selling, Les was still crying. He spilled his guts to Jack about how he’d been hiding his brother’s sickness for days, about how the lying was killing him. Jack’s first inclination was to be upset at Dave, but it only took him a moment to rescind those feelings. He knew how Davey was. Knew Davey liked to be the one worrying, not the one worried about.

Still, he just wished Davey would’ve told him, and he hated that Davey was always preaching about honesty and open emotions, but then he was simultaneously lying about some sort of big sickness.

Les and Jack remarkably managed to sell all of their papers, partially because Les was bursting into tears every time he saw someone tall and pale with dark hair. He even got a quarter from a lady, which made him stop crying for a minute or two. 

All of the emotions knocked the kid out before five, so Jack carefully hoisted Les onto his back and found himself making his way to the Jacobs family apartment with a sleeping tiny human draped across his back. He’d already decided to walk Les home after selling each day, even if it meant sacrificing a bit of time with Kath after his days at The World. Hopefully Dave just had a bad stomach bug or cold or maybe a stretch of fever. Hopefully this wouldn’t last long.

Jack didn’t have a good track record with sickness. Every time someone so much as ran a fever, he was thinking about his Mamá. How hot her skin had been. The red rash. 

Soon, the door of the Jacobs apartment was staring him down, the well-worn brass number and mezuzah sitting almost menacingly still. He almost didn’t want to go inside. 

Still, Jack steeled in a deep breath, and prayed that Davey wasn’t doing something stupid like dying behind that door.

Chapter Text

When Mrs. Esther opened the door, she looked more frazzled than Jack had ever seen her. Her blonde hair coiled in frizzly, loose curls around her face and the bun atop her head was more of a knot than anything else– and there was an almost wild brightness of worry in her eyes. He knew something was afoot just from laying eyes on her.

“Oh, hello, Jack.” She smiled, eyes flitting anxiously over Jack’s face and body. When she caught sight of Les, still slumped against Jack’s back, Mrs. Esther smiled and made a soft, affectionate noise. “I’ll take Leshem off your hands. Stay for dinner, if you like.”

Before he could respond and regretfully inform her that he had dinner obligations with Katherine, she was taking Les into her arms and bustling off to the children’s tiny bedroom. This revealed the entire apartment to Jack– in its usual state of crowded disarray, but with papers strewn across the dinner table and one indisposed Davey Jacobs shacked up on the sofa. 

Now that Jack was looking for signs of sickness, they were obvious. Davey had always been a slim sort of guy, but God, he was borderline waifish with the bones of his face jutting out. His skin was pale and he seemed awfully tired from where he was reclined against the couch cushions, a blanket draped over his lap and a book set to his side. Worst of all, he looked sad. Defeated. There was a slump to his shoulders that broke up the usual rigidity of his perfect posture. He looked really sick. Jack kicked himself for not seeing it before– not asking sooner, not doing something. Anything. 

It felt like time was chugging to a halt as he kicked his boots off and crossed the room, each step slower than the last until finally, he found himself sinking down to sit next to his friend. He couldn’t really speak, couldn’t explain the thick blanket of anxiety that was slowly suffocating him. The loud, optimistic part of his brain was suggesting that Davey was down with a cold or flu or something, but there was a nagging, ever present voice that screamed worse. Worse like mamá.

But then Dave set his book aside and smiled that awkward smile of his, and thoughts of long-gone parents disappeared. Davey stuck around through everything. Betrayal, abandonment– through Jack’s worst, grumpiest moments. He wasn’t going anywhere, and Jack could count on that. 

“You really are sick, huh?” Only then did he take a moment to glance at the metal bucket by his feet– and then he had to fight the urge to cringe. The bottom was spattered with blood and for some reason, little blue flowers. What the hell? “Shit…”

“Yeah, I am. Your scarf– it’s hanging on the peg by the door–”

“You’ve been keeping this a secret.” Jack tore his eyes away from the bloody contents of the pail and stared hard at Davey, trying to fight his own guilt. Coughing up blood. Serious shit. Jack should’ve known. How long had this been happening? How long had Davey been straight up lying to his face? “You didn’t tell me on purpose.” 

“Don’t start…” Davey sighed and pressed his fingers to the bridge of that lovely Roman nose of his, the same nose Jack could draw in his sleep. Damn him for managing to look elegant while Jack attempted to be angry at him. Damn him in general for screwing up Jack’s brain. “I have been hiding it. And you know good and well that if I’d’ve told you sooner, you would’ve made me quit work. We would be on the streets if I stopped working a month ago, Jack, and I wasn’t going to do that to my family.”

He wanted to shout, a month ago? And let fury and panic roll from his lips like a raging inferno, but Jack was wise enough to keep that in. He could see the thinly veiled misery on Davey’s face, like he was building himself up to be shouted at, and Jack wasn’t going to be the one to do such a thing. Never. 

Jack, suddenly overcome with strong feelings he couldn’t quite understand, felt ashamed of his own anger. Davey was trying to provide for four other people and he was only seventeen. The guy was so fucking pressured that he felt like he had to hide an incredibly serious sickness from everybody in his life. He didn’t deserve a lecture from Jack– he needed someone around to make sure he felt better. To fix things. That was what Jack Kelly was best at, anyways– fixing things. 

“What’re you sick with? You feelin’ okay?” He steamrolled the previous conversation and nudged Davey’s side with his knee, longing to just tug the guy into a hug. Hopefully he wasn’t contagious.

Davey swallowed hard and continued to stare at the ceiling. Must’ve been a low eye-contact day. He had those a lot, but Jack never minded. It was just one of his endearing little Davey quirks. “I’ve got this really rare sickness that’s hard to explain. And, um, I feel alright right now. It’s sort of tough breathing, but it’s not terrible.” 

“Good. That’s good. I’m glad.” He dropped a careful, eager hand onto his friend’s shoulder, suddenly realizing with a jolt, that Davey was wearing nightclothes. Jack had never seen him in nightclothes. The fabric of his cream-colored sleeveless shirt was rough against Jack’s fingertips, patterned like it was cut from cloth meant for decoration and not wear. Maybe curtains. He’d never seen Davey’s shoulders before, and now he was staring at them. Bony and lean and covered with a constellation of freckles, beautiful freckles, skin cool to the touch. Davey. Shoulders. Jack was overcome with the urge to draw and swallowed it back, hard. He had to focus. “So, uh… how long?

With sudden sharpness, Davey met his gaze. Those green eyes of his seemed almost worried, hesitation sketched into the lines of his tired face. The normal flush on his cheeks and nose was nearly entirely gone as he answered: “Based on my research… one month. Maybe two.”

Jack felt himself smile as the relief rolled off of him in waves. Davey would be better in one month. Perfect. Amazing. Jack could handle everything for one month. 

“Oh, alright. One month? Me ‘n Les can make due for one month, easy.” He allowed himself an easy chuckle and squeezed Davey’s shoulder once before retracting his hand and running it through his hair in a bit of an anxious tick. Davey’s eyes followed every movement his hand made, widening slightly. He only seemed to grow sadder, an expression that Jack simply didn’t understand. 

“No, Jackie.” Suddenly, Davey’s voice was gentle. He was sitting up, eyebrows ticking inwards, a frown painting his face. The air of the apartment seemed to go still around them and Jack felt sick. Inexplicably so. “One month- that’s how long I have left to live.” 

Oh. 

Oh, no.

Davey was dying.

Davey Jacobs was going to die in one month. 

Jack felt like maybe he was dying as the thought repeatedly struck him, the words jumbling together nonsensically as every inch of his body refused to believe it. Davey and Death just didn’t go together. Davey and Leaving didn’t belong in the same sentence, or the same thought. It had to be a joke. It just had to be– but as the seconds barrelled onwards, the pale, sickly boy did not laugh. He didn’t even smile. In fact, his expression was calm, if not slightly stressed. Jack just couldn’t believe it. No, he refused to believe it. Davey wouldn’t leave him– not now, not in one month, not ever. 

“You– you’re kiddin’, ain’t you?”

When Dave shook his head, Jack felt his heart plummet. He felt close to retching as he tried to internalize the information being presented, tugging his hands through his hair.

Christ. What the hell was he meant to do? How was he meant to believe this? Respond to this? He didn’t know what to say. He barely even knew what to think– didn’t know what to feel, but there was a heavy knot of grief tightening up in his chest. He was sad like he’d lost Davey already, and that just– that wouldn’t do. Davey was right there, and Jack was perfectly capable of saving him. He wasn’t four years old, or seven. He was eighteen and he had resources. 

“Alright. Alright, Dave… there- there’s gotta be a cure, right? Some sort of medicine or a surgery or something? We’ll raise the money. You can’t– I– I can’t have you dyin’ on me.” Jack, feeling hysterically near tears, forced a chuckle instead. He was panicking. 

Then, to make matters worse, Davey took his hand. God. Davey never held his hands, and his skin was soft. His fingers were long and elegant. He had the type of hands that Jack would want to draw for hours, with smooth angles and a smattering of freckles– Jack just couldn’t handle it. The gentle touch. The way Davey was staring at him. “There’s no cure. I’m only going to get worse from here.”

And he seemed calm. Jack didn’t understand how the hell he could act so normal about this. It wasn’t fair– a month was plenty of time to fight. Plenty of time to wage war against sickness. 

“How the hell are you so normal about this?” Jack spat, suddenly feeling a protective fire spiral into an inferno in the center of his chest. “You– you ain’t even seen a doctor yet, Dave, there’s no way you can know–”

“My aunt had the same sickness as me and Ima cared for her before she died. We know what’s going to happen without having to see a doctor.” Davey snapped, green eyes going glassy with unshed tears. 

Offended by such acceptance of defeat, Jack crossed his arms. He felt his own fingers curling into fists when faced with Davey’s impressive, stupid stubbornness. “Yeah, well maybe there’s a doctor that knows somethin’ you don’t. I don’t care how expensive it is, I’ll ask Kath to foot the bill. She’d be happy to. We’s still got time to figure out a way to fix this–”

Before Jack could so much as finish his thought, Dave practically threw himself over the edge of the couch and grabbed the edges of the metal pail beneath them. Jack felt a muted sense of horror dawn within him as he watched his best friend succumb to a coughing fit unlike anything Jack had ever seen- loud, ripping coughs that sounded painful. Then, he heard a metallic plunk and realized, with a considerable jolt of nausea, that the blood in the bucket was coming from Davey’s mouth. 

Jack snapped into comfort mode nearly instantly, rubbing Davey’s back and holding those fluffy dark curls away from his face. The other boy’s body contorted as the coughs turn into gags, and Jack felt like he’d turned into nothing but a pile of pity and terror as Davey began retching up bright blue, fully formed flowers alongside whatever he’d had for breakfast.

Mrs. Esther was rushing in from the other room as Jack quietly supported Dave through his fit, gently rubbing him through tremors and staring down at the two new flowers in the bucket, covered in bright red blood and connected by tiny stems.

Then, Davey started crying, and Jack felt positively shattered.

“C’mon, Dave. It’s alright. You’re alright.” Jack muttered quietly, urging the frail boy to sit up with a gentle hand on his back. 

He didn’t think twice about taking hold of David’s chin, yanking his own ratty paint-stained handkerchief out of his pocket to pass it over his friends bloodstained lips and tear-streaked cheeks. Somehow, even with his eyes puffy from tears and his nose red and wet, he was pretty. Pretty like a face that should be committed to stone forever and admired in museums for centuries to come. Pretty like a boy shouldn’t be, with long lashes and a beautiful, tortured expression that Jack was feeling incredibly guilty for admiring.

Davey and beautiful were words that had grown far too close for comfort in the jumbled hellscape of Jack’s mind. He didn’t like it one bit.

But that was beside the point– Davey was sick. He was dying. Jack’s borderline inappropriate thoughts were the least important thing in the world. He had to be a good friend, first and foremost, so he buried those thoughts down deep and vowed to never think them again, 

“All better, yeah?” He slipped a hand down to reassuringly squeeze Dave’s shoulder, and watched a bit of blushing life return to his friend's slightly sunken cheeks. 

David blinked, and he was staring at Jack like they were the only people in the world. 

It sort of felt like they were.

“All better.”

A feminine voice cleared its throat, thrusting Jack back into reality. “David.”

Dave’s Ma was offering him a glass of water. Her ever-present welcoming smile had essentially disappeared, and Jack couldn’t even begin to understand the tight expression that had taken over her face. She looked sort of analytical, sort of angry, incredibly upset. Davey didn’t seem too peachy-keen either as he accepted the water and thanked her politely– and the weird moment ended as Mrs. Esther nodded and returned to her sewing at the dinner table.

He couldn’t quite force the image of his friend throwing up blood and flower petals as he watched the boy shakily sip on his water. 

Flower petals. Holy shit– had Davey been researching this sickness in the library the other week? Jack wanted to kick himself for not questioning anything further. He was sinking in guilt– and maybe Davey was, too, because he broke the silence with a weak utterance of “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Jack quickly shook his head, because the last thing Dave needed to feel was shame or guilt or any of that negative shit. No– he needed to feel safe and protected. He needed to feel like someone was going to fight for him, and that someone was going to be Jack Kelly, whether David Jacobs liked it or not. “You… you’re sure there’s nothin’ we can do?”

Their eye contact dropped instantly, and Davey nervously picked at the strings of the quilt tossed over his lap. “I’m sure. My Aba’s meeting with one of his doctor friends today, anyway, so I’ll let you know if there's any good news.” 

Jack hated that. He didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t even let himself believe it. There was something to be done, and that something was going to happen at Jack’s upcoming dinner date with his belle. 

He forced a calm nod from himself. Squeezed Dave’s hand, for good measure. “I’m gonna be walking Les home every day now, so I’ll visit tomorrow.”

“Don’t you have work at The World?” And then came that adorably snooty eyebrow raise, and Jack wanted nothing more than to tease the expression off of Davey’s sassy face. 

“Yeah. But I’ll be headin’ straight to the distribution yard to get ‘im when I do. Your family’s been nothin’ but kind to me and I figured I’d repay the favor.” He admitted, almost bashfully, and glanced at David’s mother. She was still engrossed in her work. They sat together for a few fleeting moments, in which Jack pressed their thighs together, wanting to feel as much of David’s fleeting warmth as the curly-haired boy would allow. 

But that was desperate. And inappropriate. Jack stood abruptly, stamping out the moment and crushing the warm, fluttering feeling within his chest. “I’d stay for dinner if I could, but I gotta… finish some drafts for Pulitzer.”

He didn’t know why he felt guilty about mentioning Kath. He didn’t care to address it, either. 

Davey offered him a rare, impossibly endearing smile. “Good luck with that.”

“Hey, I’ll show ‘em to you tomorrow. You always have good ideas, Davey.” Jack affectionately cuffed the back of David’s head, an act that earned a groan for the taller boy. “Tell the kid I said bye, huh?”

“I will.”

With that, Jack smiled a hopefully convincing smile and swiftly exited the apartment, shrugging his coat and shoes on before storming out of the building with a mind more cloudy than ever before. 

══════════════════

The walk to Katherine’s felt long. Cloudy.

Jack was so deep in his head– so stormy, so upset, so lost in his own spiraling thoughts– that he scarcely registered each step that brought him closer to the Pulitzer townhome. Davey had to be joking. There was no way in hell that Davey was gonna die. Not his Davey, not the boy that had only just come into his life. How could he leave already? Jack felt himself spiraling, felt the grief creeping up on him like an uncomfortably familiar presence, heavy and burdening. He refused to feel that. He refused to sit with it again. Not after his parents. 

He was a fixer by nature, and he was going to use his connections to fix Davey, Mayer’s doctor friends be damned.

Jack stormed past the butler, tossing his coat into the man’s arms and wrapping himself around Katherine in an almost frantic sort of embrace. She had been waiting in the foyer and seemed stunned by the force of his hug, gentle arms wrapping delicately around him. Kath smelled the same as always– like oranges and something fancy– and Jack valiantly fought back tears as the soft cotton of her dress caressed his shoulder.

“Kathy.”

“Jack, darling, are you– are you quite alright?” Shocked hands made their way to his hair, and manicured nails gently pulled through the mess of black strands. 

“No, I– yeah, yes– I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s Davey.”

A pretty sort of pout turned her lips downward, and Jack pulled away just enough to watch her perfectly groomed eyebrows draw inwards with concern. Lord, she looked perfect. Too perfect to be seen wearing a frown– not with her brushed hair, perfectly curled, and her pristinely clean dress. Katherine wasn’t the type of person that needed to frown. “Is this the sort of conversation that requires a delayed dinner?”

He felt a wave of relief was over him. “Yeah, please. I can’t– I can’t deal wit’ Joe right now.”

“Alright. I’ll tell the staff to bring our food up to the library on trays.” Smart girl she was, she seemed to sense his distress and pressed a careful kiss to his forehead. “Just breathe, Jack. Everything’s going to be alright.”

He found himself in the expansive Pulitzer library (he was beginning to hate libraries because difficult conversations always seemed to happen in them), parked on a velvety couch with a tray of bonafide rich people food in front of him. His rich-people belle sat beside him, anxiety pinching her face as she picked at the food on her tray. “Well? What’s the matter with David?”

“He– he said–” Jack’s throat seemed to close around the words, refusing to speak them into existence. He forced himself. “Well, he’s sick, and he told me that he’s, uh… he’s gonna die.”

“He’s– what? How? Does he– what is he sick with? How does he know?”

“I don’t– I don’t know, Kath, he didn’t tell me what he had.” Jack whispered, crumpling forward and burying his head in his hands. “He just told me that whatever he has, someone else in his family had it before, so his folks know he’s got– he’s– he only got a month to live Kathy, I can’t– I dunno what I’m s’posed’ta do without ‘im…” 

Silence swamped them for a few miserable moments, and Jack pushed back the stinging in his eyes. He needed to get a handle on himself. Kath, angel that she was, rested a careful hand on his shoulder. “Maybe if you could find out what he’s sick with, I could put some of my wages towards a doctor. We could treat his symptoms… buy him more time.”

“See– I knew you’d know what to do.”

“Don’t give me too much credit, darling….” Kath pressed her lips into a thin line, a thoughtful sort of expression occupying her face. “Do you know what any of his symptoms are? Maybe we can deduce what he’s sick with and I’ll talk to my physician from there.”

“Okay, uh…” Jack tilted his head back and tried desperately to recall every interaction he’d had with Davey over the past month or so. Hints of sickness flooded his mind, each one making him feel more guilty than the last. “Started off with a cough. He’s pale. Dropped a lotta weight… Then, uh. When I went to their place today. He… he coughed up a lotta blood and– and like– fuckin’ flower petals?”

Within an instant, her eyes widened and she stood from her seat, more quickly than he’d ever seen her move before. “Did you say flower petals?” 

“Y-yeah. Little blue ones. About this big?”

“Oh my God.” Kath set aside her dinner nearly immediately, and in a swish of skirts, she was nearly halfway across the room, rooting through the dusty books on one of the many bookshelves. “Oh my God, Jack, I think I know what he's sick with!”

Hope welled up so strongly within him that he could scarcely breathe. If Kath could identify his sickness, maybe she’d pay for some fancy specialist doctor. Davey wasn’t going to die. Good. “Ya do?”

“Of course! There’s only one plausible answer if he’s coughing up flowers.” She stated matter-of-factly, in that know-it-all tone of hers, and yanked about four books down from the shelves.

Her pace a brisk trot, Katherine rushed back over to him and dropped her stack of books on the cushions between them. Jack hated dusty, big books like these– he wasn’t the best reader in the world– but if East Asian Diseases and Rare Medical Conditions of the 17th Century held the answers he needed, he’d read them a million times over. 

“A bit of backstory for you–” She began, eyes lighting up like they always did when she went on rants about things she loved. “But two or three years ago, my anatomy and physiology tutor had me write a report on a rare disease of my choice. Obviously I chose Hanahaki disease– who wouldn’t? It’s the most tragic, most romantic, most confusingly impossible human condition in existence–”

Jack coughed and waved away a cloud of dust that assaulted him after opening one of the massive tomes. “You said Hana-what-now?”

“Hanahaki disease. You might’ve heard it called The Flower Sickness before, since that’s the colloquial terminology– you’ve really never heard of it?”

“Kath, cariña, I’m a street educated orphan.” He tried to ignore the spark of frustration he felt at her well-intentioned ignorance, more focused on Davey at the moment. “No, I ain’t never heard of it.”

Oblivious to his shifting attitude, she grinned and thumbed through the book about East Asia, brown eyes bright and excited. “Well, essentially… Hanahaki is an incredibly rare disease, and you typically contract it if someone in your family has had it before you–”

“Dave said his aunt had the same thing–”

“Exactly, so the family heritage aspect checks out. It really is tragic, Jack. I think David has it. Tell me if these symptoms match.” She cleared her throat, and Jack couldn’t help feeling his own heart sink. Davey being struck down by some rare disease from another country didn’t make him feel too good. Kath’s chipper tone didn’t help much, either. “A cough that progresses to expelling blood. Lethargy, fatigue, eventually coughing up flowers. Lack of appetite… sickly pallor?”

She might as well have been speaking another language, and Jack was close to a full on meltdown as the panic and frustration within him grew exponentially. “Definitions, please?” 

“Oh, sorry. Yes, definitions.”

So, Kath sweetly explained all of the terms, and Jack realized with each definition, that David checked every single box. With each confirmation, Katherine seemed more and more sure that he had Hanahaki, and by the time they’d discussed the entire list, they were both sure. Kath went on to explain that he’d eventually die, as promised. Davey was gonna suffer through choking on a flower too big to cough up, or he’d just die because the fuckin’ plant in his lungs sucked up all his air. Sick, twisted bullshit. Jack was nauseous.

Katherine could tell, too. She let him sit with the information, the diagnosis, until he couldn’t sit anymore. Soon he was pacing the length of the ornate carpet beneath them, storming through the flickering orange firelight, staring madly at the maroon cover of the book sitting in Jack’s lap. 

“Jack…”

“I just– I just don’t understand. Why him? Why– I don’t fuckin’-- why isn’t there anything we can do?”

“It isn’t in his control, darling. If his beloved doesn’t love him back, that isn’t his fault.”

Positively distressed by his own confusion, Jack ran both hands through his hair. “Beloved?”

“Hanahaki is only contracted if the patient is in love with someone that doesn’t love them back. That’s why confessing can be the cure– if the love is requited, the plant disappears.” That felt like a slap to the face. Jack felt like he’d been hit by a wagon– he could scarcely breathe. There was a cure? Davey straight up said there wasn’t. Had he lied? “A… a couple Western doctors have done surgery to remove the plants, too. It– it works if the patient survives the surgery, but the patient forgets the person they love entirely…”

Feeling his own breathing quicken intensely, Jack balled his hands into tight fists. “There’s a cure?”

“Two cures. Surgery and forgetting, or confessing and getting better. But a confession risks rejection, which is essentially a death sentence.” She stood, ginger hair tumbling down ‘round her shoulders as she made her way to him and took his hands in hers, soft and ink-stained and never knowing a day of hard labor. “I know it’s a lot. I’m confident that we can find a doctor to make his last months more comfortable…”

“He told me there wasn’t no cure.” Jack whispered, barely registering her presence and touch. He could only see a vision of Davey, sick and sitting on that couch and still lying. “He told me there was nothin’ to be done about it.”

Katherine blinked sympathetically and gently squeezed his hands. She seemed to think hard about her next words, and spoke incredibly delicately. “Maybe… maybe he thinks he doesn’t have a chance.”

“That’s bullshit. The fact that there’s a cure– that’s his chance. Right fuckin’ there! He didn’t– he lied to me on purpose, right after I called him out for lyin’ about bein’ sick at all– what the hell is wrong with him?”

“Jack… I’m sure David’s grappling with a lot of complicated thoughts–”

He damn near exploded, tired of lies and excuses coming at him from every single direction. Was the truth too much to ask for? “I’m grapplin’ with complicated thoughts– Kath, my best friend is dyin’, and he’s been lyin’ to me the whole damned time! I don’t know why he don’t trust me, or– how the– I can’t fuckin’ deal with this no more! Mierda!” 

Her grip on his hands tightened as he tried to pull away. “Jack, stop it. You need to calm down!”

Calm down? He was damn near an explosion. Those words only made him feel more red-hot fury as he ripped himself from her hold, storming off towards the beckoning library door. Within the cloudy rage of his emotions, beneath the fury crawling up his spine and burning at his fingertips, was a voice telling him to march right up to David and give him hell. He’d drag that boy off of his sickbed and march him up to whatever goddamned woman he was pining over. He’d fix this mess his damn self if Davey wasn’t willing– but Kath firmly grabbed his wrist and tugged him back. 

“Jack Kelly! Stand still, so help me God, and listen to me speak!”

The sound of Kath’s telltale ‘furious’ voice instantly reminded him of that night they spent on the fire escape, their first kiss, and rooted him to the spot. The woman was a spitfire, and even though Jack was just as furiously raging, he knew better than to get on her bad side by doing stupid shit.

Katherine took a deep breath, and planted both hands on his shoulders. “Jack. I understand how you’re feeling. I do. David was wrong for lying to you, I’m not denying that. But Jack, darling, he has his reasons. You’re just too angry to see that right now. That's understandable, but you're not in a proper state of mind to go storming off and yelling at him. You could irreperably damage your friendship, which is not what either of you needs right now. So here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to sit down and eat your dinner and we’re going to speak of other things. Then, you’re going to go back to the lodging house and calm down, and sleep on it. Tomorrow you can talk to David, but what you aren’t going to do is harass him, or berate him. He’s dying. That’s enough strain on him as is.”

He wanted to argue. He wanted to throw a fit or tell her that he wouldn’t do such a thing– but deep down, he knew Katherine was right. She always was. 

So, time passed. Jack begrudgingly choked down bland roast chicken and vegetables as he thought about Davey, Katherine’s attempts at pleasant conversation traveling meaninglessly through his mind. This felt frivolous. Pointless. He wanted to be on his feet, en route to the Jacobs apartment. He wanted to shake Davey up a bit- get him moving getting fighting. He didn't want to suffer another loss if there was a cure right there, staring them in the face. Surely Davey wouldn't mind forgetting this girl-- surely. Maybe he didn't tell Jack about the cure because he was worried about the financial limitations of getting the plant surgically removed. Or maybe he just liked to fuckin' lie.

Because Davey lied. On purpose. Davey, who never lied, deliberately didn’t tell Jack the cure, and fought tooth and nail to keep him from knowing about the sickness at all. Jack didn't understand.

He was going to, though. He was going to worm the truth out of David Jacobs, even if it took the entirety of the last damned month of the boy’s life.

Chapter Text

Jack had wanted to march right up to Davey’s door the moment he found out about the web of lies that had been strung up around him. He wanted to burst into the apartment in a fit of rage, to shake the green-eyed boy by the shoulders and shout some sense into him– but no such thing happened. In fact, he found himself constantly returning to the Jacobs apartment, subdued and trapped in a constant rhythm of false joy. Jack would make his way to David’s side again and again, sometimes with Crutchie or Race trailing along, and every single time, he would fail to reveal the secrets Kath had shared with him. 

He spent all of his free time essentially glued to Davey’s side, trying to fill the void his sickness was leaving in the small family. Against his own personal convictions (he never liked to feel as if he was freeloading or stealing from such kind people) Jack found himself taking dinner with them every night and shelling over half of his daily profits to Mayer as a form of thanks. Then he’d watch with sick horror as Davey declined steadily each day, succumbing to a perfectly curable disease. It was getting to a point where he was beginning to feel guilty; he hadn’t seen Katherine in over a week. Some beau he was, ignoring his girl for days on end.

Davey was dying, though. Surely she’d understand.

The thing was that Davey was dying, and he didn’t have to be. At first, Jack was so confused that he couldn’t bring himself to speak about it. He’d marched himself to the apartment door and slammed his fist into the wood, but the moment he saw a sickly Davey all bundled up in bed, the rage on his lips died and thick confusion took its place. Days passed and confusion turned into sadness and guilt; maybe Jack had done something to lose Davey’s trust? Then, a creeping self-doubt; perhaps they were never as close as Jack had assumed.

He was losing his mind, and all the while, he couldn’t raise the issue. 

Then, about seven days into the whole mess, he overheard a whispered conversation between Esther and Mayer. Fretting over bills. Jack swallowed his pride and spent the next morning haggling over the paintings he’d done as Christmas presents for David, Les, and Sarah, hawking at passerby until he got a proper payoff. Jack proceeded to give all the money to Mayer and Esther the very next evening.

“Jack… we can’t take this.” Mr. Mayer whispered, staring in shock at the impressive pile of bills and coins in his palm. “We can’t.”

“You have to, Mr. Jacobs. I don’t want it.” Jack muttered, voice thick with emotion at the thought of the painting he’d done for Davey (hours of work into a portrait of the boy smiling brightly on the top of The World, snowflakes in his hair) going to some random stranger. At least it’d sold the best of the three. 

“You didn’t have to do this for us, boychik.” Mrs. Esther’s voice came out in a similar awed murmur, as she turned tearful eyes to Jack. “Selling your paintings for us…”

“‘S the least I can do. You’ve been feedin’ me for the past week…” He cleared his throat tightly and pushed a hand through his hair, unable to stomach the continued awkwardness as he thought of his own parents. Would Davey do this for them? Jack was certain that he would. 

But then again, if Jack was sick with some insane foreign disease and he found out there was a cure, he’d’ve told Davey immediately. He’d’ve told Davey every single detail about the broad he was in love with, and together they could’ve wooed this hypothetical girl. If Davey would’ve just told Jack, Jack could’ve charmed this mystery woman into loving Dave, easy. The more he thought about this whole mess– the trouble Davey’s parents were in, little Les without an older brother, Jack all alone without his best friend– the more his fury from before returned. Within moments, his fists were clenched. “Is, uh, is Dave awake?”

“Mhm. He’s reading to Leshem. Thank you again, Jack…”

“Don’t mention it.”

Esther hummed and glanced up at Jack, something unreadable crossing her face before she finally stood and rigidly brushed her palms over her skirt. “I’ll fetch him.” 

As she crossed the apartment, skirts swishing round her feet, Jack sat and stewed in his subtly growing rage. At this point, Davey was knowingly hurting himself and everyone who loved him. At least when Jack’s Mamí had left him, it’d been a sickness she couldn’t fight. His Papí hadn’t wanted to be arrested. He fought tooth and nail to keep Jack. Davey, though– Davey was a loved one that wasn’t fighting to stay. He was ready to leave Jack, just like that, and the thought made Jack nauseous. 

Well, even if David didn’t want to fight, Jack was going to. 

As Esther had a quiet exchange with her boys, Jack made his way over to the entryway where the family’s coats all hung. He grabbed Davey’s soft, gray coat and his faded blue scarf, draping them over one arm as his mind raced. It was time. He was biting the bullet and confronting his best friend. 

Esther turned back to him and motioned her head towards the door, so Jack gloomily made his way over, hands shoved deep into his pockets. He schooled his expression into something pleasant when he remembered Les’s presence– the kid was almost ten but he looked positively tiny curled up beneath Davey’s arm. Jack swallowed around his rage and tried not to chew Davey out, then and there. How could he hold this kid so tenderly and accept his own death at the same time?

He wanted to scream. He wanted to destroy the entire room. Rip up everything in his sight. He didn't. Instead, he made his way over to the brothers and forced a smile.  “Ain’t you two a sight for sore eyes?”

“Thanks!” Les beamed, sleepy as ever. Jack leaned down and ruffled Les’s hair with a tight smile, but he couldn’t help the way his gaze locked on Davey.

Sick, skinny Davey, who seemed to get paler and gaunter by the day. His cheekbones were too sharp and his eyes too sullen, shoulders beginning to jut uncomfortably. He looked really, truly, ill. Jack’s stomach churned uncomfortably as he realized that Davey’s pretty little freckles were scarcely noticeable.

“Hey, Les, you mind if I take your brother out for some fresh air? Moon’s full and I want ‘im to see it.” Jack explained quietly and dropped into a squat next to the bed, keeping his voice calm and steady so as not to scare the kid. 

“I don’ wanna look at no moon.” Les frowned and tucked his face further into David’s shirt, and Jack couldn’t help his own chuckle. Les was a precious little motherfucker.

“That’s why I’m takin’ your brother, you dunce. You just go to sleep and I’ll bring Davey back to you when we’re done. Promise.” Jack gently cuffed him behind the ear and ignored his grumble of protest as he carefully untangled the brothers, molding Les away like slightly stubborn sculpting clay. Jack wasn’t stupid– he noticed Davey staring at him with wide, glassy green eyes, even as he exchanged quiet little ‘good-night’s’ with his baby brother. That look. That stupid look that made Jack feel like his skin was on fire. Like he was the only man in the universe. Davey and that stupid, all consuming, pretty face— he didn’t have time to focus on that. Jack tucked Les in and that was that. It was time to talk. 

David stood on shaky feet, and he looked far weaker than he had the day before, when he’d stumbled on the short trek from his bed to the dining table. Normally Jack felt a sharp pang of pity for his friend, but not tonight. Not when Davey was doing this to himself. Jack stomped over to the taller boy and tossed the big coat over his shoulders. He made quick work of slinging Davey’s scarf around his pale neck and then yanked the quilt off of Sarah’s bed, throwing it into the near skeletal hands of his best friend. 

“C’mon, Jacobs.”

He couldn’t even bear to take a look at Davey’s reaction as he forced the window open and braced himself against the frigid December air. He knew he seemed angry. He knew Dave knew he was angry. Good. It was Davey’s fault, anyways. 

Bundled in fabric, David stumbled out of the window. His face scrunched against the cold and Jack resisted the urge to comfort him as he jogged up the stairs, fighting the urge to confront Davey before they even made it to the rooftop. It was sort of hard to watch– Davey, sick and frail, trying to right himself. Jack wanted to run to him and swaddle him up in an embrace, guide him back inside to the warmth of the apartment, but he had to resist his ever-present urge to be Davey’s protector. David was actively abandoning Jack. That didn’t deserve any sort of protection.

With David stumbling after him, the boys climbed the final two flights of stairs up to the roof. A full moon stared down at them, white and bright against the smoggy city sky. Jack normally adored full moons, but tonight, he hated the fact that the moon perfectly illuminated a struggling Davey, clinging to the cold metal railing of the stairs and panting like a sick dog.

“It’s pretty.” Davey finally managed to gasp, voice raspy, dragging himself out to join Jack. He looked like he was barely standing on two feet.

Though in any other situation, Jack would’ve instantly slung an arm around him, he only shrugged and stepped away the moment David got close. Instead, he sat on the ledge they’d occupied before, thigh-to-thigh and whispering excitedly about their futures. Davey looked nearly sick with anxiety, pale hands trembling around the hems of the quilt wrapped around his thin shoulders. “Last time I was at the library I saw a book on the phases of the moon and how they affect the tides. It… it made me think of you. So maybe one day I can come and meet you during your lunch break and we could go and–”

“I saw Katherine the other day.” Jack stated as calmly as possible, though he could hear his tone trembling with rage as he stared pointedly at his ‘friend’.

Surprise widened glass-green eyes and only a second later, Davey’s eyebrows were drawing together, and he was uttering an anxious little: “Are you mad at me?”

Yes. Jack was mad. But it was difficult to be properly angry when Davey was looking at him with that pitiful expression, so sick but so deathly beautiful in the pale moonlight. Jack wanted to kick himself. Holding his own was way more important than giving into Davey’s unfairly elegant looks.

“Am I mad at you?” Jack repeated, almost mocking in tone, coming across harsh and biting. Davey immediately shrunk, and Jack resisted the urge to backtrack. “You tell me, Dave. I go to visit Katherine and we get to talkin’ about you, and she asks me what you’se sick with. I tell her I don’ know the name– since you didn’t tell me, by the way– and she asks me what your symptoms are. So I tell her, and of course she knows what you've got because she's smart like that, and then I got to talkin’ about how there isn’t any cure and maybe she could call a fancy doctor for you and she just… frowns at me. Know what she said?”

Davey merely shook his head. His voice was but a whimper. “No.”

“She said there is a cure. And then she explained the whole damn disease to me, and I found out that you’ve been straight up lyin’ to me, David Jacobs. Right to my fuckin’ face.” Jack sprung up from his perch on the ledge, barely resisting the urge to let his rage devolve into shouting. Fury was practically buzzing in his fingertips, whispering pleas for a fight. “Why? I don’t– I don’t get how you can know damn well that there’s a cure and just not tell me–”

“What difference would it make?” Davey cut Jack off with an air of desperation raising his voice, his voice raspy and thick with sickness. The point was so damn stupid that Jack nearly laughed aloud, but ever the debater, Davey continued to dig himself a hole. “Jack, whether or not I told you what the cure was wouldn’t matter, because it won’t cure me!”

“That’s a bullshit way to think about it, Dave! It’s bullshit! You’ve got a way out of this and you’re just ignorin’ it? You’re just gonna go and die on me and let that be the end of it? You ain’t even gonna try to get whomever the hell it is you’re in love with to love you back? You’re just gonna up and leave me!”

 By the end of his rant, Jack was shouting. His words pierced the chilly air and hung between them, uncomfortably reminding both boys of Jack’s mess of a childhood. He didn’t like to talk about that shit– even Davey didn’t know the details of the death of his mother, or anything about his father’s arrest. Obviously uncomfortable, the tall boy seemed to shrink and stumble back. Everyone he’d loved had left him so far and here stood his supposed ‘best friend’, gearing up to leave as well. Jack was scared.

Tears burned at his eyes, and he realized that all he felt was fear. Sheer and unadulterated. 

Davey seemed to be near crying as well. “It’s not– that’s not why I didn’t tell you!”

“Why else, then? Because it sure as hell seems like you’ve given up, and that ain’t fuckin’ fair. It ain’t fair!” Jack snapped, each word biting and full of endless bounds of emotion. He felt ready to burst, ready to boil over and overflow and explode with feeling. Frustration, sadness, fear, anger, the rage that had been building since that conversation with Kath— “Not to your family, not to- to your friends, and not to you!”

“I’m not giving up, Jack, you just don’t understand! The cure isn’t going to work for me!”

That might’ve been the stupidest thing Jack Kelly had ever heard. The cure isn’t going to work? Pure, utter bullshit.

Jack shook his head adamantly and pushed Davey back by the chest, unable to stomach just watching him wither away from afar. He wanted to push some life back into the stubborn asshole, and only felt the tiniest modicum of guilt when he stumbled back, eyes widening owlishly as he clutched his chest. “You don’t know that!”

“Yes, I do!” Shockingly, Davey shouted right back. For the first time in weeks, Jack saw a glimpse of the boy that helped him lead a strike against a titan of wealth. Still, his voice broke, and his arms shook with the effort of curling into fists, and though he seemed angry and alive judging by the glint in his shockingly green eyes, he looked sickly by all other accounts. It was unsettling, what with the cool moonlight shining down on his nearly-white skin– Jack had always painted Davey in mostly cool colors. His skin wasn’t made up of warm tones and his hair was so brown it was nearly black– his eyes were a type of emerald green that could only be described as cool and lovely– he’d always had an icy sort of beauty. Tonight, (though he was still beautiful- he would always be) his colors bordered on scary as he shouted at the top of his weakened lungs. “I do know! I know I’ve got no chance! And if you think that you can help me, you’re wrong! No one can!” 

Frustration reaching unbearable points, Jack grabbed the sickly boy by the shoulders and shook. “Bullshit! What stupid skirt wouldn’t want you, huh, Dave? I don’t care if you’se in love with the goddamn Queen of England, ‘cause you’re good enough to get her too! No self-respecting lady isn’t gonna want you– what do I gotta do to make you see that? You’re funny, ‘n smart, ‘n polite, ‘n you sure as hell ain’t ugly, in fact you’re pretty goddamn pretty – ”

“Cut it out, Jack!” Davey’s face was finally going red– some of that ever-present rosiness in his cheeks was returning from the force of his frustration. Obviously fueled by a good debate, Davey adamantly shook his head and grasped Jack by the elbows, leaning in close to bite out each word. “Listen to me! It isn’t going to work! I’ve got no shot–”

Jack wouldn’t hear another word of the endless pity party. He was about ready to grab this unknown girl by the hair and drag her over to Davey’s place. Force her to love him. This was the most ridiculous argument Jack had ever had– what was making Davey act like this?

“Who the hell is she? Why didn't you tell me about her?” Jack yelled, uncaring about who might hear them, so furious that he let his carefully practiced accent slip away. He heard the hints of his own childhood seeping into his voice, heard his father’s voice somewhere in the back of his head, telling him that Mamá hadn’t made it. “Who?”

“She is a boy, Jack! I’m in love with a boy!” With his chest heaving and his eyes glinting with sheer rage, Davey shoved Jack away, leaving him reeling both physically and mentally. 

Davey was queer? It almost didn’t make sense, at first. Perfect Davey, who was gonna find a nice Jewish girl to marry and be a nice, perfect schoolteacher with a nice, perfect family– he was queer, and he’d been queer all this while.

Suddenly, everything made a lot more sense, and Jack felt the puzzle clicking together in his own mind.

Of course Davey hadn’t told anyone. Of course he’d tried to hide his symptoms– of course he’d tried to hide the fact that he was in love at all. He’d done so because he was in love with some dumbass boy that didn’t love him back, and he couldn’t tell a soul because he was so scared of being judged or outcast, or maybe losing his loved ones early. Jack’s anger was rapidly being taken over by guilt. Dave probably felt like an imposter in his own home, and here Jack was, screaming at him about a nonexistent girl. Stupid. 

Jack felt really, truly stupid. Why hadn’t he considered this outcome? Now he knew why Dave was so weird when he talked about Kath. He understood Davey’s reluctance to chase any of the skirts the boys recommended for him. They stood in silence as Jack processed how much of an asshole he’d been to his best friend, realized that he’d done something along the way to make Davey reluctant to tell him such a huge personal detail, and he let the guilt take over him, bit by bit.

Weakly, Davey cleared his throat, looking utterly defeated. “So… maybe you’d better leave–”

“I don’t see no reason why some boy shouldn’t like you, neither.” 

A lot happened on Dave’s face in a couple of seconds. Shock first, something hopeful, and then very-familiar, very-sassy frustration. He raised his fingers to his temple and pressed them down, a telltale sign that he was pissed, for some reason. “Did you hear me, Jack? I’m in love with a man, not a woman. I’ve never felt anything romantic for any woman, ever. Something is wrong with me.” 

“Nothing’s wrong with you.” Jack scoffed, crossing his arms to emphasize his point. Honestly, the idea that something was wrong with queer folk was a little offensive to him. After all, they were surrounded by queer folk in their line of work. “What, you think I don’t know other folks like you? Look around yourself, David, you ain’t alone– shit, have you ever even looked at Blink and Mush? Would you say somethin’ like that to their faces?”

“Wh–” It was David’s turn to stutter in shock, finally, and Jack felt a twist of satisfaction because the stubborn ass was not easy to beat in a debate. Obviously David didn’t feel very good about being bested, either, because Jack watched the reluctant understanding dawn on his face before he muttered a quiet, guilty: “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Jack couldn’t help himself– he let out a sarcastic scoff of a laugh as he examined Davey’s expression yet again. The guilt was evident in the furrow of his brow, in the downcast misery of his eyes. The rage-fueled eye contact had dropped, and sweet, awkward, loveable Davey was back. It was all a misunderstanding. Jack would be lying if he said the relief he felt didn’t seem almost euphoric. He sighed, and tossed an arm around Davey’s boney shoulders. “Shit. If I woulda known that was the reason you hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t’ve been so mad.”

In response, David only shrugged and seemed to physically wilt, curling up into a sit against the concrete ledge of the roof. Jack sat next to him, keeping a firm arm around his shoulders all the while. Davey was freezing. Jack could feel it through his shirt fabric. Something was obviously bugging him, too, because he had a faraway look that meant he was puzzling something out. As expected, he soon explained himself. “Still. He’s in a courtship with a girl he loves. I think they might get married.”

“There’s no way of knowin’ for sure.” Jack tried, because deep down, he felt like someone as wonderful as Davey still had a shot. Maybe the guy just didn’t know what he was missing, yet. Maybe there was still a chance to break them up. 

“Yeah, but everyone’s saying he’s gonna propose soon. I believe it, too. You should…” Davey seemed to swallow back tears, voice coming out weak and tiny. He looked heartbroken. “You should see the way he looks at her.”

“Dave…”

“He’s not going to love me back.” Unable to look at Jack, he picked at a thread on his nightshirt instead. Jack felt helpless, and he hated it. “I promise you.” 

That… that wasn’t fair at all. How could the universe deal someone such a shitty hand? For the first time, Jack couldn’t think of a solution. He couldn’t think of something positive to say. Maybe he’d been clinging to hope for no reason– maybe this was why Davey hadn’t told him about the cure. It was so much worse knowing that Davey could live, if this mystery boy wasn’t taken, but that just wasn’t how it was.  

It was soul-crushing. Embarrassingly enough, Jack was fighting the urge to cry. He stared at the moon instead, unable to look at Davey for the first time ever. 

It was quiet, because Jack was realizing that his best friend was going to die. Just like everyone else had. He was destroyed. 

No more saving up for a warm pretzel every Saturday. No more word games. No more nights out on the fire escape. No more witty comments from Davey, no more sharing secrets beneath the moon. No more of that trust- of that beautiful bond that Jack hadn’t found with another soul on Earth. No more green eyes, no more of that goofy smile– of his wide ears and his strong nose and his cheekbones, no more pretty face and eyelashes and hair. No more of Davey in his big soft coat, with his sassy expressions and his wit and all of his loveliness– and Jack couldn’t do a thing to stop it. 

He felt tears burning at his eyelids and pushed them back, clearing his throat and putting on a happy face. Davey didn’t need everyone grieving him while he was still here– a month was a long time, right? “Well, I guess we’d better make the most of what you’ve got left, huh?”

“Yeah.” Dave was staring at their hands. 

Jack couldn’t help it- he threaded their fingers together, his skin dark against Davey’s porcelain completion. Dave was cold. Not cold like he’d been on the top of The World- a sickly type of cold. Jack laughed, breathless and brimming with tears. “I got some ideas, but I vaguely remember you mentioning the library while we was screamin’ at each other.”

“I… I saw this book about moon phases and figured you’d like it.” Thankfully, Davey lit up like he always did when Jack got him talking about one of his interests. A little smile took over his features, and Jack drank it in, because he didn’t know how many more of those he was gonna see. “You paint the sky a lot, and there are lots of books about constellations and what they mean. We could read them together, if you like.”

“Sounds like I’ve got Sunday night plans.” Jack forced a grin, and Davey smiled one of those smiles that he always tried to hide by tilting his chin away. Fuck. He was beautiful. Jack couldn’t fathom losing this. He spoke, forcing his voice into something strong and sure. “You look exhausted. Let’s get you back to Les.”

It nearly killed him to pull himself away, so he offered his hand to Davey once more. Instead, Davey just stared up at him, and it felt like they were the only people in the world. Davey was pale. He was sick. But he was so pretty. So stupidly, unfairly beautiful, even weak and sad like this– just staring up at Jack, eyebrows tilted together in a bittersweet sort of longing expression. Selfishly, Jack didn’t urge him to move. He memorized every inch of Davey’s face, fearing that he’d soon forget it just as he was forgetting the faces of his own parents.

He did not want to forget a single thing about Davey. He wanted to write books cataloguing everything he knew about him– and panic was thrumming through him as he realized that he only had a month to etch everything into stone, somehow. Davey was slipping through his fingers already, and Jack had never felt such a deep, panicked sort of grief. Something seemed to swell within him– something other than sadness, misery, frustration– something warm and desperate and longing, and Jack had never felt it before. 

David took his hand, and the rest of the night became a silent ritual. Jack couldn’t bring himself to leave, suddenly worried that tomorrow morning he’d hear news that Davey had passed. He found himself curled up in the bed that Dave and Les shared, staring past Les’s head of curly hair, at Davey’s sleeping face.

At some point, an uncontrollable wave of tears hit him, and they slipped silently down his cheeks as the three Jacobs siblings slept silently, filling the room with gentle breathing. David wheezed. Jack cried, and cried, and cried, until he worried his trembling breaths might wake little Les.

Thankfully, not a soul stirred, and Jack laid alone with his grief until the sunlight began peeking through the carefully sewn white lace of the curtains. 

══════════════════

The day after he found out about Davey’s unrequited love, he found himself in shambles. He went through the motions during the day, smiling and laughing and being the cheer the Jacobs family needed– but once he’d dropped Les off at the yard, bought his papes, and set off on his lonesome route, reality came reeling down upon him. Jack found himself crouched in some dingy alleyway with his head tucked between his knees, sobs racking his body between heaving gasps for breath.

He was losing Davey, and there was nothing to be done about it.

In one month, Davey would be nothing but a piece of the puzzle forming Jack’s intricate past– soon he’d fade into fond memories, and Jack would never hear his voice or his laugh, or see his smile ever again. He’d be made up entirely of old sketches and stories to tell, a patchwork of fast-fading memories.

In that alleyway, Jack felt six years old again, listening to his Papí gently informing him that his Mamí wasn’t coming back. He felt like he was standing in a cold chapel, staring at her coffin all over again. He felt ten years old and abandoned, watching bulls haul his loving father off. He felt like he was twelve, hearing the news that his last living parent had passed in prison. He felt like a monster of different grieving Jack’s, haphazardly sewn together into a sobbing, messy imitation of a boy, and he could scarcely pull himself together as waves of misery continued to wash over him throughout the course of the horrible day.

Jack wanted to curl up and hide from the world that kept dealing him cruel hands. He wanted to hide from the death and the loss– to ditch the city like he’d always dreamed and start over in a city where he wouldn’t see Davey’s face on every corner– but when the evening pages had all been dispersed, and it was time to walk Les home, Jack knew that he couldn’t run away.

In a way, he’d been keeping the Jacobs family together. He couldn’t abandon them now– not with Davey bedridden. There were memories to make. Faces to put smiles on. Jack had let himself feel for a brief, turbulent few hours– he was going to push all of that down and focus on the task at hand.

Jack was going to make sure that David Jacobs enjoyed the last month of his life.

He spent every last second of his free time at the Jacobs apartment, and if he wasn’t doing that, he was convincing Kath and the other newsboys to pay their ailing friend visits and keep him company. He funneled all of his creative energy into finding activities that a sickly Davey would enjoy. They visited the library plenty of times, amongst trips to the park and long, chilly days spent window shopping. 

Christmas came and went, and Jack managed to get Davey up to the lodging house for a few minutes even though he’d already sold off all of the Jacobs’ families Christmas gifts, just to pay for their food. By that point, he’d grown to easily recognize when Dave’s sickness was tiring him out– the minute Davey started panting and wheezing became the minute Jack swiftly escorted him home from any activity. Christmas decorating was no different, even though Kath seemed agitated at Jack’s early goodbye. He’d talk to her about it later. Later. Everything else, anything that wasn’t Davey, he was going to deal with later.

Thankfully, Davey seemed really happy with Jack’s efforts– and Jack didn’t dare disrupt that happiness. He ended up crashing the Jacobs’ place multiple times each week, curling up in that tiny bed with Les smushed between the bodies of the two older boys. He was memorizing every second– every fleeting color, every passing shade of expression, every single stroke and hue of Davey Jacobs. A clock was endlessly ticking in his mind, counting down every last second, forcing Jack to wonder when Davey’s time would run out.

He looked sicker with every passing day. Almost skeletally thin (he’d throw up nearly anything they tried to feed him), pale as a fresh sheet of paper, gaunt and pallid and just plain sickly, despite the fact that he was surrounded with gifts and haphazardly crafted trinkets made by loving newsboys. Still, he was concerningly ill. Jack could see the spidery pale blue of every last vein, matching the shade of the bundles of flowers he hacked up multiple times a day. Bunches of bluestars connected to woody stems, covered in bright red blood, stinking of copper and iron and acid. Sometimes he’d wake up from nightmares with blood leaking from his nose and ears. It was horrible. Jack never said a word about it. He could scarcely recognize his best friend, but he continued to swallow all of his fears and worries in favor of making the boy happy. 

He tried to teach Davey how to draw (unsuccessful but funny), sat through hours of Davey’s scratchy voice reading book after book (he was going to miss that voice), and helped his best friend through constant bloody vomiting. He remained forcefully cheerful all the while, always smiling and cracking little jokes and keeping the spirits of the Jacobs family high. Jack knew he’d become somewhat of a fourth child, a constant presence at the apartment that tried to bring a scrap or two of cheer in his gloved palms every time he entered.

New Years Eve, 1900, inched closer, and David got weak. Too weak to even leave the apartment– sometimes he’d force himself out of bed and Jack would anxiously watch him walk around the apartment, obviously exhausted by each additional step. Soon, he could only drag himself to the window and climb out onto the fire escape, snapping at Jack every time he offered help. 

He began to sleep more. David slept so often that Jack grew concerned during each nap, often sitting at his bedside just to watch his every breath. He spent almost all of his time doing this, and planned to do so until he simply couldn’t anymore– except on New Years Eve, when he promised Racetrack that he’d attend their inter-borough party.

“Ey, Jackaboy– you havin’ a nice night?” 

It was the dawn of a new century, but Racetrack Higgins looked exactly the same. Mischievous grin, blonde hair, bright blue eyes– Jack couldn’t help a slight laugh. “I guess.”

“Want another drink?”

Jack grunted his approval as he took a glass of whiskey from his friend, downing half in one long gulp. He was worried that Dave might kick the bucket while he was away, so he couldn’t quite enjoy the night properly.

“Missin’ Kath?” Crutchie piped up from behind him, struggling out onto the roof of Medda’s theatre with each plunk of his crutch. He’d gotten a lot taller– a lot broader– in the past few months. Jack had missed a lot, all bundled up in his tornado of Davey’s impending death. 

“Sure.” Jack shrugged, carefully putting the end of his cigarette out against the ledge of the roof, taking a short glance up at the smoggy city sky. “She’s probably having an alright time at her Pa’s place, though. Champagne and caviar. Shit like that.”

The two younger boys exchanged a glance, and Race proceeded to let out one of his stupid little know-it-all scoff-laughs. “An ‘alright time’ with Joe Pulitizer? When’s the last time ya talked to your girl, ‘cause it feels like you just forgot her whole damn personality–”

“Shaddup, Racer, I saw her–” He stumbled over his words, feeling a little bit embarrassed that he couldn’t remember off the top of his head. “Uh, I saw her a couple days ago. At Davey’s place.”

“At Davey’s place.” Crutchie repeated, slowly, and suddenly Jack felt like a cornered cat. “You been at Davey’s a lot, recently.”

“Yeah, he’s fuckin’ dying.” He couldn’t help but snarl, suddenly realizing that this might be some sort of intervention for putting his relationship with Kath aside for the time being. He was a little tipsy, and now a lot pissed, and he felt his hands curling into fists already. “Sorry for tryin’ to take care of my dyin’ best friend–”

Immediately, Crutchie’s eyes widened and he raised two freckled hands as if trying to placate a wild animal. “Woah, Jack, we ain’t– of course you’ve been over at his place a lot. So’ve we. We’s just–”

“You’se just what?” Defensive as ever, he set his drink and began building his walls up, “You’se just judging me for what, now? Is it Kath? Is it Davey? Why’ve people always got shit to say about how I am with them? Why– why can’t I just fuckin’ exist?”

Racetrack swiftly stepped in with catlike ease, balancing a cigar between his fingers as if this casual conversation hadn’t exploded within moments. “Jack, listen. I– I know this ain’t a great time, but you gotta talk to Kathy. She’s– she just wants to see you. She said she sent you a note–”

“I saw the fuckin’ note, but my best friend is dying and I ain’t in the mood to get chewed out by–”

“We know! She knows! Everybody knows, Jack, but you’ve got to stop jumping to conclusions and be a good beau! Just– go talk to your girl tomorrow, Jackie.” Race’s voice was high, tight. He almost seemed to be beginning. “Please? It might be better for Dave, in the end.”

Crutchie nodded enthusiastically, pressing up right against Race and fixing Jack with the stupidest brown puppy eyes. “I can hang out with Dave while you're gone. Make sure he’s a’okay.”

“Hang out with Dave.” He muttered beneath his breath, giving a great eye roll. “Yeah, okay. I’ll talk to Kath. You happy?”

“Uh, yeah.” Awkwardly, Race rolled back onto his heels. “Shoulda waited for you to get more alcohol in your system, though–” 

“Okay, well I ain’t gettin’ anymore. I’m leavin’. Fuck this.” 

With a great stormcloud over his head, Jack shoved past his friends, ignoring the weak calls of ‘Happy New Year, Jack’ as he stormed out of the crowded building. It was packed like a tin of sardines, full of newsboys from every corner of the city, dancing and laughing. That just wasn’t what Jack wanted to be around. Not with Davey, sick as a dog and probably wheezing his way through his last New Years ever. 

He found himself walking to the Jacobs apartment almost subconsciously as he furiously cursed Race and Crutchie. Though, as a dusting of snow fell, and Jack got further and further away from the theatre, he realized that they were probably right. He needed to see Kath– needed to chat with her, sort things out, tell her that he’s sorry for being a bad beau, but he’s gonna be a bad beau until Davey doesn’t need him anymore. Shit like that.

Still, it was a fucking awful New Years Eve– until he got to the Jacobs apartment. 
 
Technically they didn’t celebrate the holiday, since the Jewish New Year, Ross something-or-other, was far earlier in the year. Still, Jack was over, and the five of them were determined to stay up until midnight with him so that he could celebrate, which was sort of fun. Welcoming a new century with Davey, even if he did doze off on the couch, was worth ditching Racetrack’s party. Jack kissed Esther on the cheek when the clock hit twelve, though deep down, he wished that he could bring Davey’s stupid mystery beau to the apartment to kiss the sickly boy until he felt good as new. 

It was officially 1900. Jack started wearing his Mamá’s cross necklace again, constantly praying that Davey would make it to February for Les’s birthday. He didn’t have high hopes. 

══════════════════

Jack did visit Katherine, once she sent another note requesting his presence. Katherine Pulitzer was not a woman to piss off, and Jack knew because her fist had nearly made acquaintances with his face at least twice. 

He felt guilty as a sinner as he trekked across the city to her father’s lavish townhome, his behavior truly setting in with every step. He’d been blind to his own negligence, solely focused on Davey. Jack really had been an utterly horrible beau, only paying attention to his girl when his sick best friend was involved. By the time he reached the massive front door and knocked, he felt just about ready to hurl onto his scuffed old boots.

Kath’s stuffy butler opened the door, and Jack strolled right past him to see her waiting patiently on the stairs in the entryway. She was dressed in some lovely purple number, her auburn hair pinned up beneath one of those silly rich-lady hats. The dress was new, as all of her dresses were, a number with pretty pinstripes and lace trimmings. Katherine always looked beautiful. Put together. But something truly did feel off. Jack felt no spark of excitement when he looked at her on that day– just a deep sense of guilt and regret when two pairs of brown eyes met.

Kath’s expression was calm, if not slightly tight at the corners of her rosy lips, and he really did think she was beautiful– even when she was disappointed in him. 

“Jack. Shall we chat upstairs?”

“Yeah. I… I’m really sorry–”

“Save it for later?” One perfectly groomed eyebrow arched up, and Katherine seemed to radiate power.

 Jack swallowed the quickly growing lump in his throat and offered her a nod, proceeding to follow her up the perfectly polished stairs. It was not Jack Kelly’s first time in Katherine Pulitzer’s bedroom (he’d snuck in through her window more times than he could count, honestly) and he was very well acquainted with her plush, stuffy bed and beautiful velvet canopy. On that day, the room seemed a bit less warm, less playful, less romantic– a serious, grown-up sort of tension had blossomed between them, and Jack could not explain it, though he felt it heavy in his chest.

Katherine let out a soft sigh as she crossed the room, the heels of her sensible boots clicking with each step. She leaned her forehead against the same window Jack had climbed through so many times, staring out into the distance. “Jack, I… I have a lot to say.”

“Okay.” Like an admonished child, he stood in the middle of the room with his hands clasped behind his back. 

“I’d like to get everything off of my chest without being interrupted, so please– wait for me to finish, and listen to me, before you get riled up and start speaking.” She finally looked at him, not nearly as angry as he’d assumed she’d be from her stern tone of voice. 

Still, Jack felt like his heart had dropped to his feet and plummeted through the polished floorboards, a thousand pounds heavier. “I– I won’t say nothin’.”

“Good.” Katherine drew an elegant breath in through her nose before turning to face him fully, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. She seemed to have something difficult to say, something that she could scarcely utter. Still, she was strong. The strongest woman he’d ever met. She composed herself within seconds. “This isn’t working. Our courtship. It– it needs to end.”

Though he’d guessed, deep down, that this would happen, it still hit like a stinging slap to the face. Instructed not to speak, Jack pressed his lips together and let sorrow curl within his chest. 

“I love you, Jack. You know this. I know that you love me, too, but I– firstly, I think that we’re on different paths in life. I know that you want a family someday, but I’d like to focus on my career for as long as possible. Secondly, I know that you despise my father, and he despises you, therefore my mother despises you as well, so earning their favor for a proposal would be near impossible. Thirdly, I do not think that you love me in the way you say you love me.”

“What?”  

“Just– let me explain!” Katherine pleaded, quickly, crossing the room in a few short strides to take his calloused hands in her own soft, lightly freckled ones. “We love each other. I know this, I feel it, but I- I think you love someone else more than me. No, I know you do–”

Panicked, Jack ripped his hands away from hers. “Katherine, I ain’t been unfaithful to you. I– I would never–”

“Jack Francis Kelly, that is not what I am saying, and I asked you to listen!” She snapped rather sternly, hands flying up to rest on her hips. “I don’t think you were unfaithful. In fact, I don’t think you’re even aware of how much you love this person. I think you’re oblivious, because you’ve convinced yourself that you and I are the perfect romantic pairing, and you and this person are the perfect platonic pairing, and that keeping both of us in those roles will allow you to feel perfectly happy. In my opinion, that is not the case, and everyone would be happier if you'd just let yourself feel.”

“Wh– who the fuck are you talking about?” He could barely believe his ears– Katherine accusing him of loving someone else? She was the first person he’d ever been serious about. He was faithful in every way he could think of, devoted as a guard dog– losing Kath and Davey in the span of a month was shattering him. “I– I ain’t even so much as looked at another girl, Kath, I can’t think of a single person–”

“Because you’re thinking of girls, Jack. I don’t think you’re in love with a girl. I think– I think that you’re in love with another boy.”

She might as well have punched him in the nose, or pushed him down the stairs, or– well, Jack couldn’t think of anything else, because he was positively reeling. Jack Kelly was not queer. Surely he would know if he was queer, and he was in love with Katherine, who was not a boy. Therefore, not queer. Obviously. 

Still, Katherine continued. “Oh, come on, Jack. Don’t look at me like that. Think about it. Who’s the one person you’d do just about anything for? Who do you draw every day? Talk about every day– spend every single day with? You have more in common with him than with me, you know every single expression he makes, you have fun finding ways to bring him out of his shell– he’s like a never ending puzzle that you’ll be happy to spend the rest of your life solving– hell, you’ve even bought shirts the same color as his eyes–”

“Woah, woah, woah, holy shit, are you talking about Davey?” Jack squeaked, scarcely able to speak over the heat rushing to his cheeks, barely able to breath around the panic constricting his lungs. To his horror, Katherine just stared knowingly at him, and Jack felt like the world was crashing down around him. “I am not in love with Davey!”

“But you are, Jack! You’re devoted to him in ways I’ve never seen before!”

“No! No, I– I ain’t! I- is this ‘cause I’ve been spendin’ so much time with him? If- if you’re pissed ‘cause’a that, it’s because he’s dying–”

“Stop using that as an excuse!” Katherine finally snapped, face nearly as red as her lovely auburn hair. “You were obsessed with him long before he was sick, Jack Kelly!” 

Jack, knee-deep in stubborn denial, shouted right back at her. “That ain’t true!”

“Oh, stop and think about it, would you? How many times did you invite him on private outings between the two of us? How many times have you stared at his lips, or his eyes, or his hair? How– how many times have you brought him up in conversations he wasn’t involved in? How many times has your heartbeat quickened around him? Do you think he’s beautiful? Do you want to be around him all the time? Do you want to spend the rest of your life by his side? And don’t say no because you think that’s the right answer, Jack, I want you to actually think about it.” She hissed, pushing his chest to punctuate her last four words. 

Before he could even argue, his brain sped away like a runaway carriage, taking each example and shattering his perception of the world with each thought. Jack was breathless. Horrified, petrified, stunned and shocked, because Katherine was right.

She was right.

Davey did inexplicable things to Jack. He made him feel stupid, foolish, euphoric, beautiful– Jack dreamed about the man. Obsessed over him. Davey was beautiful. Jack thought so every time he looked at the man, and Jack did want him around all the time– as a lifelong partner and companion, not just because he was going to lose him. Jack had always wanted him, deep down, before the sickness. He’d always needed him. His coolness, his calm, collected nature, his organization, his goofiness– David was a rock in a stormy sea, and Jack was horribly, utterly, world-endingly infatuated with that boy. Jack wanted him in ways that tore him apart, limb for limb, and stitched him back together with threads sewn totally from strings of pure, sweltering devotion.

Jack loved Davey. He loved him in ridiculous ways. Serious ways, massive ways, the smallest ways he could imagine– Jack loved everything about David Jacobs, even the things he hated most.

He loved Davey’s stubbornness. His eyelashes. He loved Davey’s obsession with perfectly tied shoelaces, and pencils that weren’t too used-up on one side. He loved the bridge of Davey’s nose. The freckles in a perfect triangle above his upper lip. Loved the way he got sunburnt because he pushed his stupid cap back so far. Loved his unnecessarily fancy handwriting, his color organized tie collection, the smell of lavender that seemed to gently wash over the air around him– Jack loved him. Really, deeply, truly.

He was shocked enough to stumble back until his knees hit the bed, head falling into his hands. “Oh, God…”

A whimper, soft and quiet, was all he could muster.

Within moments, Katherine was sitting beside him, one gentle hand on his shoulder. “I know. I… I figured if I never told you, you’d never realize.”

“How– how’d I– I never noticed and he was right there the whole time… I could’ve– if I’d’ve known, I woulda never– Kathy, I’m so sorry–”

“Oh, no, Jack. Don’t cry for me…” She laughed, a sweet little bird-like trill, and gently wiped his tears away with soft thumbs. “You’re my best friend. I wouldn’t trade our time together for anything in the world, and I don’t regret a moment of it. I love you so much, and I know you love me, too, just not like that.”

“Y-yeah–” He hiccuped, mortified to feel fresh tears slipping down his face. “B-but Davey don’t– he loves somebody else, and– oh, fuck, Kath, he’s gonna die on me–”

“Jack, darling…” 

He found himself pulled into a hug smelling of expensive orange blossom perfume, and the tears came hard and fast. He could scarcely breath as he sobbed into Katherine’s shoulder, crying for himself and for Davey. If he’d realized sooner, months sooner, maybe he could’ve struck something up with Davey. Maybe Davey would’ve never fallen for his current infatuation. Maybe he wouldn’t be sick– either way, Jack was so wracked with guilt that he could scarcely breath, gasping between his wailing. He tried to explain all of this, through his tears, but Katherine merely shushed him and began dragging her manicured fingertips through his hair.

“Jack… Jack, please. You’ve got to breathe. I– I think you might benefit from telling David all of this.”

“I– I can’t. He’s gonna– it ain’t– he don’t want me like that, I’m j- I’m just his best friend, and he’s gonna be uncomfortable around me–”

“You don’t know that–”

“I do.” He hiccuped around a sob, suddenly frantic and ready to burst out of his skin. “I do, but I– I gotta make the most of what I got left with him. Now that I know, I can’t– Katherine, I– I’m so sorry, but I gotta go. I’m sorry.”

With wide eyes, she stood and reached a hand towards him, but Jack was receptive to none of it. “Jack, wait–”

He left as quickly as he could manage, tearing down the stairs and bursting into a sprint once his feet hit the pavement outside. He felt as if everything he’d ever known had been violently shaken. The world itself was upset, ripped from its roots and turned upside down. He did the only thing he knew to do: made his way to the Jacobs apartment, forced himself into a sense of normalcy, and slipped into the quiet home.

There, he quietly told Les to ‘shove over’, and stared at Davey’s unconscious face. He was just as beautiful as he'd always, and Jack had no idea how he hadn’t noticed before. His own pining. His own pointless, sappy staring. He'd always been in love. At some point he'd fallen fast and hard, without even knowing it.

Less than a month to love Davey. Jack could scarcely believe how much of an oblivious idiot he’d been. 

The next evening, he found himself returning to the Jacobs apartment after a long day of avoiding the hushed whispers about he and Katherine’s split, even within the bleak offices of The Word. Word traveled fast, yet strangely, no one seemed to be up in arms about it. Crutchie and Race acted as if nothing had happened at all, seeming strangely chipper despite Jack’s impending crisis. Again, he found himself seeking the comfort of a familiar cramped apartment, but he found the bedroom of the Jacobs siblings to be entirely empty. The window, however, was cracked. The fire escape.

Jack carefully pushed the window open and poked his head out to see the three siblings curled together, draped in blankets and huddled for warmth. He longed to meld into David’s side and forget about the swirling misery of the world- forget about the clock ticking towards disaster within Jack’s already fragmented world. He forced a grin. “Am I interruptin’ somethin’?”

“I was just showing David and Sarah the face you taught me when I really need to get somethin’! Come out here and sit with us, Jack, I’m cold.” Les insisted cheerfully, offering a freckled hand and a dimpled smile.

Jack had no choice but to oblige. He laughed as he accepted the little hand and climbed out onto the fire escape, carefully adjusting the quilt he’d plucked off of Sarah’s bed. The collar of his work shirt was stuffy, but he’d loosened his tie long ago, and was immensely grateful for the cool air against his neck. He gravitated towards David (something he’d always done and never noticed) and helped Les settle across their laps.

The sky was foggy. David smelled like lavender. Jack wanted to kiss him.

Sarah adjusted the quilts around them and Jack felt the burn of Davey’s inquisitive stare like a brand on his cheek.  “Do you feel alright, Jackie?” He asked, soft voice barely a hushed whisper.

“Better, now.” Jack responded after a moment of quiet contemplation. 

Better was temporary, but true. Davey was alive and just barely warm, and that was all Jack could ask for.

He allowed himself to use Dave’s slim shoulder as a pillow, and prayed that the hitch in the other boy’s breath wasn’t one of discomfort. Jack brushed his nose just barely against the pulse in Davey’s pale neck, just to feel some proof of his beating heart. He slung his arms around the man that very well could’ve been the love of his life and willed himself not to cry, not to count the amount of hugs they had left.

It was a good embrace. Warm. Happy. Calm. Jack fought tears.

Then, Davey tilted his nose into Jack’s hair, and a familiar warmth shot through Jack. From his hair to his cheeks to his toes, he felt truly happy. Just for a moment. A fleeting one.

Chapter Text

It had been a really long week. 

Between healing from his split with Kath, reeling from his realizations about Davey, and just barely keeping the Jacobs family financially afloat, Jack was also juggling the stress of running the entire union without his trusty co-president. Dave was far too emaciated to give proper advice, spending most of his time drifting in and out of sleep. 

Jack had never been more tired. He was spending every free second with Davey, and even when he curled up to sleep in the Jacobs apartment, he never really slept. He just stared over Les’s curly head and watched Davey sleep– watched each rising and falling breath with a hawk-like-stare, his own heart ramming against his ribcage with worry. Any minute now. Jack didn’t want it to be any minute now. He felt like if he was there to see Davey go still, he could stop it. Maybe. Just maybe.

God, David was really, really sick. If it wasn’t obvious before, any schmuck could glance at him now and see he was just a breath or two away from passing. He was completely bedridden, spending more time in restless sleep than cough-ridden wake. Jack was pretty sure he spent an hour awake every day, and for most of that hour, he was coughing and throwing up and crying into his pillow. 

It was awful. It was awful to watch Davey suffer, awful to watch him desperately cling to life, awful to watch Davey’s family watch him die, awful to think about that stupid, stupid boy that Davey just couldn’t confess to– and most of all, it was awful for Jack to sit idly by and let him slip away. Just like Jack’s mother, father, and little brother– Davey was going too, right before his eyes.

He was beginning to think he was cursed. 

Robotically, Jack trudged up the stairs of the Jacobs’ shitty Baxter street building, his earnings for the day clutched tightly in one hand. He’d been giving the entire lot to Mayer– why not? Mayer was feeding him and giving him a place to sleep each night. It was basically rent. Despite the fact that he had a pseudo-home to return to, there was a stone of dread in his stomach, as there had been for the past week.

What if he arrived to receive news that Davey had passed? What if he stepped into the bedroom to see Davey’s skeletal, sheet-white body lying lifeless in his sickbed,  with blood smeared over his cracked lips? What if Jack returned to see those lovely green eyes staring, clouded, up at the ceiling, forever devoid of their lively expression? What would Jack do, then?

He had no idea.

With Kath gone, Jack had begun to realize just how much he loved, wanted, needed David around. How twisted it was, only once Jack’s eyes were open, David slipped through his fingers. He felt hopeless. 

At the door, Esther greeted him with a tired smile, blonde hair piled in a wispy bun atop her head.

“Jack. We’re all heading out for Shabbat service.” Right. It was Friday, wasn’t it? The days seemed to pass in blurs “We won’t be gone for too long– could you watch David? We’ll fix you a bowl of stew once we return.”

“A’course, ma’am.” Jack agreed politely, removing his cap and allowing a bit of relief to wash over him. Davey needed watching, therefore he was alive. He let out a breath and offered his earnings to her in an outstretched palm. “Here. Give these to Mr. Mayer for me?”

“Thank you.”

Esther pecked a quick kiss to his forehead, and Jack slipped into the apartment. He passed Mr. Mayer, who was preoccupied with helping a subdued Leshem into his coat. January of 1900 had proven to be awfully cold. Jack didn’t feel the celebration of the new century at all. The newsboys had been bouncing off the walls, and all Jack could think about was the fact that Davey wasn’t even going to live to see February. As he continued through the cramped space, Sarah met his eye.

She gave him a long, strange look before heading towards the rest of the family. Weird. Jack brushed it off– he knew by now that despite having plenty of relationships with plenty of women, he didn’t quite understand them at all. Strange, all-knowledgeable beings…

Davey was asleep. Duh. 

The room was quiet and it still smelled coppery, like blood and vomit, despite the bes-a-something box Esther had set on the overturned crate Dave used as a nightstand. He didn’t really know what it was– just a bunch of spices in a fancy box. Les explained that they normally only used it during Hav-doll-ah, along with some other information, and it all went right over Jack’s head because he was staring at David’s chest to ensure he was still alive. Fuck the smell. Jack lived with newsies and the lodge always reeked like ass– he could handle this. Especially ‘cause it was Davey.

He sank down into the chair that seemed to sit permanently at Davey’s bedside, and picked up one of the books off of Dave’s nightstand. Jack was getting a lot better at reading, since Dave always asked him to read aloud, but he couldn’t really bring himself to read. Instead, he just sat the book on his lap and watched. Watched Davey breathe through his mouth, listened to the soft whisper of a wheeze in the air, tracked the subtle flare of his nostrils with every intake.

Some of David’s beauty was still hanging on. The curve of his nose. The shape of his eyebrows. He’d always be pretty to Jack, anyways, even at his worst. Still, Jack’s eyes stung as he remembered David up on the rooftop of the world, eyes bright with the whole city at their feet. How lovely he’d been that night, cheeks rosy and full and chin tucked into his soft, grey coat… how Jack wished he would’ve known then, so he could’ve kissed him amongst the falling snowflakes– how stupid he felt. Jack lost himself in thought, absentmindedly peeling his threadbare gloves off to place one hand over David’s cold, bony fingers. 

After what must’ve been only half an hour, Jack noticed an eerie silence in the room. 

Perhaps the upstairs neighbors had finally quieted their awful screaming twins– but, no. Faint crying still rang in the back of his ears. No, the quiet had come because Davey had stopped wheezing. No, the quiet had come because Davey had stopped breathing. 

Jack’s breath caught in his throat. He almost couldn’t speak, frozen to his seat, but a voice deep in the back of his mind forced him into action. “Davey?”

Obviously, the raven-haired boy did not respond. Jack felt like he’d been thrown off a building– his heart plummeted to his feet, and he felt his heart quickening wildly with each millisecond. He shook his friend’s hand– it was limp and cold. Davey did not stir.

“Davey— Dave? Dave!” 

No movement. Jack panicked, harshly grabbing at Davey’s nightshirt-clad shoulder. He shook, feeling nothing but cold skin, and nearly vomited as Dave’s lifeless head rolled back and forth against the fabric of the pillow. No, no, no– this couldn’t be happening – not after he’d already defied doctor’s expectations, not when Jack had so much left to say, so much more time he wanted to spend– Jack screamed, some abandoned child within him calling for his mother, father, brother, as he screamed David’s name.

“ Davey! Davey, please, please wake up– Please! ” Still, nothing. Jack’s free hand flew to the cross he wore ‘round his neck, fishing it from beneath his shirt and clutching it to his palm. He prayed, begged God, just one more moment with him. Please, don’t let him die on me. I need him. “Davey! Shit, shit, shit –”

Think, Jack, think– but he really couldn’t think. He was awful at thinking. He was too busy fighting back the tears blurring his vision to think– thinking was Davey’s job. Before he could even begin to want to form a thought, Jack was dropping his cross. His hand cut across the space between them, solidly backhanding his friend across the cheek. 

Before Jack could feel a modicum of guilt, David’s eyes flew open. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so bad about slapping him. “Oh, thank God. Jesus– I mean– Christ — fuck , Dave, you really– you still with me? Dave, cielito ? Davey?” 

Jack was getting very fucking tired of being ripped between emotions. Davey’s eyes were open, yeah, but he wasn’t breathing. He was staring at Jack and his mouth was open, wide, but he was just making little choking noises. Jack stared on with horror, helpless and confused, as the other boy began clawing at his throat. Pale, blunt nails raked against even paler skin, now devoid of freckles, and Davey was panicking.

“Shit, what’s wrong? Somethin’s– Dave, what’s wrong?” Jack asked, practically pleading, as he grabbed Davey by the shoulders, eyes searching his friend’s face. He felt very stupid for asking, and he knew Davey wasn’t breathing, but he was out of answers. 

It was almost like the time Race had swallowed a penny on a dare. Almost absurdly, the memory flooded Jack’s mind. Stupid Race, coughing up a lung, as an exasperated older newsie rolled him onto his side and smacked his back until he coughed the thing up–

Right. The fucking flowers. The flowers were trying to kill him.

Well, Jack was not about to let that happen. He used his grip on the thin boy’s shoulders to manhandle him onto his side, pulling him over the edge of the bed so that he might throw up into the bloodstained pail on the hardwood beneath him. Jack watched Davey convulse. His body twitched and heaved. Jack could barely breathe– it wasn’t working, he wasn’t throwing up– Jack repeatedly bashed the heel of his palm into Davey’s back, praying he wouldn’t break the guy’s frail spine, but nothing was working. He just wasn’t retching, and Jack was near tears.

“What do I do, what do I–” An awful idea struck him as he watched Davey’s fingers tear at the reddened skin of his throat. If he couldn’t throw up on his own volition, well, Jack would just have to do it for him. He fought back the rising feelings of guilt and the flood of tears that threatened to fall, grabbing Davey by the chin.  “God– I’m sorry, Dave, I’m sorry but I hafta–”

And then Jack was shoving two of his fingers into the curly-haired boy’s gasping mouth, warm and wet despite his cool skin, pushing them back back back until he could press them firmly against David’s tongue, maybe trigger a gag. Though Dave was making noises like he was trying to throw up, it wasn’t enough. Jack added a third, Davey made an awful noise, and Jack winced as bile spilt from the poor guy’s nose.

He withdrew his hand as David convulsed and finally threw up a fucking blood soaked bouquet, too many of those damned flowers covered in too much of poor Davey’s blood. Jack had never felt such relief in his life, and he quickly placed a hand on the bony notches of Davey’s back and smoothed his hand over the skin in comforting movements. “There, there, Dave. You’re good. Let it out.”

He did. The ordeal ended with a loud gasp that quickly turned into a sob. Davey was alive. No choking, no strings attached. But he had almost died. Davey had almost died. Davey was dead for a second there, Jack saw it and he couldn’t get that pale, lifeless face out of his mind–

“Christ. Jesus Christ.” Jack muttered, immediately gathering the other boy up in his arms. Davey sobbed, probably shocked, and though Jack was dealing with feelings as well, he did his best to comfort him by tugging the fingers of his clean hand through matted, dark curls. He cradled Davey to his chest and vowed to never, ever let go– he’d sit by Davey’s bedside for the rest of his life and resuscitate him a million times, if he had to. He didn’t really want to do it again at the moment, though, so he had to stop a shell-shocked David from hyperventilating. “You’re okay. You’re alright, Davey, I’m right here. Just breathe. C’mon– c’mon and breathe with me, can you do that? I’m not goin’ nowhere. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“Oh, God–” Davey sobbed meekly, curling up with his head pressed against Jack’s chest. Jack cradled him, battling the urge to kiss his head. “J-Jack, I don’t– I c– I c-can’t–”

“Shh. You’re okay. Just– don’t speak. Just follow my breathing.” His own voice shook as he pressed his fingers to the hollow beneath Davey’s jaw, the curve of his neck, the dip of his wrist– pulse, pulse, pulse. He was alive. He was fine. He just needed to calm down. So did Jack. 

With the confirmation that his best friend wouldn’t drop dead any time soon, Jack sank down onto the bed and slumped against the wall behind him, wrapping his arms securely around Davey. He was hellbent on keeping him safe, convinced that his arms could shield him from the desperate clutches of death.

Davey didn’t let the quiet last for long, voice hoarse. “What happened?”

“You just– you stopped breathin’ while you were asleep. Scared the shit outta me.” He whispered, unable to look at anything other than the sunset, pouring its colors through the window outside. Orange, yellow, pink– thankfully not red. Jack could never look at Red the same again. “Your parents ain’t back yet. The- the family’s at Shabbat service. It’s just me here with ya’.”

“I’m sorry.” David breathed, sounding an inch away from crying. Jack felt like he’d been ignited by rage, the feeling burning in his fingertips. “I’m really sorry, Jackie–”

“No, why the hell are you apologizin’?” Jack scoffed out a laugh and firmly took David’s chin into his hand, stared determinedly at those pretty green eyes, sunken into his tired, sickly face. Still pretty. Still, Jack wanted to see him healthy again– imagined him that way.  “Seriously, Dave, I’m the one that oughta be apologizing to you. I– I had to slap you to wake you up, then I hit you like, six more times tryna’ get that flower out… Then I shoved my goddamn fingers down your throat.”

A comical pause filled the air between them before they both shared a laugh– a half-laugh, a strained one. Davey seemed to be reeling from the aftershocks, just like Jack was, neither of them really living in the moment. He could tell, because David’s heart was running so fast, Jack could feel it against his own chest. “Don’t apologize. You saved me, so, um, I didn’t mind it.”

Saved him, yeah. By sticking his fingers down David’s throat. His fingers. David’s throat. David’s mouth. Hm. Wouldn’t be so awful in other circumstances… such thoughts brought Jack back to his wits surprisingly fast, and he was flirting before he could physically stop himself.

“Didn’t mind me slappin’ you or my fingers in your mouth?”

Dave seemed to come to life too, sitting up straight with his classic prudish look of shock. Jack couldn’t help his own smirk, mind filled with wishful possibilities. If only he’d tried flirting with this guy sooner. Fuck. So many missed opportunities.

Before Jack could react to the slap of grief, Dave’s mouth dropped wide open and his eyes widened owlishly. Jack grinned like a cat catching a canary, watching a rare bit of color flood Davey’s indignant face. The posh boy scoffed and crossed his arms. “You’re a rat, Jack Kelly.”

“Hey, that don’t answer my question…”

“I don’t want your dirty fingers in my mouth.” Davey joked and shoved Jack’s shoulder to the best of his ability. Of course he didn’t. Davey didn’t want him at all. Jack tried to ignore the sting of rejection. “The germs will make me even sicker than I already am.”

Jack made a big deal of tumbling backwards, even though David’s little push was honestly less than weak. Davey’s stupid, unique ability to make Jack feel like a lovesick pile of goop was fascinating. But Jack would do anything to make him smile, including making a fool of himself. Sure, Davey was shaky and sick and weak, but there he was, smiling and laughing at Jack’s stupid antics. He’d done something right– weasling his way into this nerd’s heart and taking his walls down, just a bit. He’d find solace in knowing that he’d brought Davey just a bit of joy in his last days, if nothing else. Jack sat up and brushed the thighs of his trousers off, sighing. “Geez, Dave. Tryna’ kill a fellow?” 

“No, I–” A few coughs interrupted his speech, harsh and grating. He buried his face in his elbow– Jack wanted on bated breath, heart sinking, but the fit passed quickly. No choking. Thank god. He watched Davey brush two bloody petals away from his inner elbow with a groan. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” He shrugged, offering Davey the washcloth they kept on the bedside crate as he hopped off of the bed to get a better look at the sunset. Instead of lovely colors, he saw something even better, even more rare– a mid-January sunset snow, set against the colors of a half-clouded sunset. “Hey, it’s snowin’! Would ya’ look at that?”

Jack stuck himself out of the window and looked up at the tiny white flakes. Some of the color of the sunset managed to bleed through the thick overhang of snow clouds, a bit of light and beauty amidst the gray darkness. It was wonderful. Davey had to see it. He immediately turned around and offered a hand to his friend. “Let’s get you outside, Jacobs. Nothin’s better than watchin’ a sunset through the snow.”

He led David out of the window and onto the fire escape, stupidly convincing himself that Davey could make it to the roof just one more time, even though he’d been too weak to manage the last couple of times they tried. He wanted to visit their spot. He wanted it to feel like they were on top of The World again. He jogged up the stairs excitedly, praying that Davey had enough renewed energy to follow him. Unfortunately, that was wishful thinking. 

David had stopped on the landing between staircases, clutching the railing with thin-skinned hands and wheezing. He was shaky and thin and God, he looked even worse out of bed, all skin and bone. Jack’s stomach lurched as David looked up at him, expression wrought with misery.

“Jack–” The curly-haired boy wheezed, and he fell to his knees on the landing. Davey was about to cry. Jack couldn’t handle it, already halfway down the steps as Dave said; “Jackie, I can’t . I can barely breathe–”

“Aw, it’s alright, Dave. I gotcha. C’mon.” He crouched down and wrapped a firm arm around his friend, hoisting him up. Once he was mostly on his feet, he secured an arm around that scarily thin waist and took all the time in the world to walk Davey up the steps, slow and steady, totally in sync. He was supporting almost all of Davey’s weight, yeah, but it wasn’t much. Jack didn’t quite know why, but Davey was hiccuping and sobbing weakly by the time they reached their destination.

He collapsed immediately, but Jack didn’t dare leave him alone for a second. He sat beside the other boy and wrapped an arm around him, full of so much love and grief that it completely overwhelmed him. All he wanted was for Davey to be happy. This was killing him. “Davey… Oh, Davey. What’s got you upset, huh?”

“I can’t do anything.” He hiccuped, “I can’t even climb a flight of stairs. I– I’m just so tired. I wanna sleep . But I know that if I do, I– I know that–”

Selfishly, Jack didn’t want him to sleep.

“It’s alright. I get it.” He whispered, anyways, damn near crying. He really didn’t want Davey to shut his eyes ever again, but didn’t say a word of it, more focused on comforting. He ran his fingers up and down the length of Davey’s arm and the other boy cried into his own knees, trembling. Jack felt as if he was being torn in two, pain slicing across his chest as he fell to pieces. Someone as brilliant as Davey should never have to go through this. It just wasn’t fair.

Sitting couldn’t have been easy, though. Jack used the arm he had around Davey to gently guide him to lay down, maybe use Jack’s thigh as a pillow. Davey immediately slung his arms around Jack’s lap, face buried in the soft cotton of his trousers. Clinging. Crying. He was so sick, so thin– even his hair, once soft and springy, felt brittle and tangled against Jack’s fingers. He was nearly gone, and he cried himself out in a matter of minutes. 

Seeing him like this was just awful. Someone so lovely and vibrant, reduced to a crying and helpless heap, just because of one awful person. Oh, it wasn’t fair– none of it was fair, and Jack hated the defeat that slumped throughout David’s body as he closed his weary eyes.

There was nothing Jack could do. He was trapped. Helpless. He was watching the love of his life die, and after David was gone, reduced to faint memories, Jack would never experience anyone like him ever again. He was certain of it. The loss felt like missing a limb– would he often feel the phantom need to scratch? Would he wake up wishing to tell Davey about his dreams, to share his milestones, and find nothing there? Would he have to tell his greatest fears and secrets to a tombstone? 

 “Jackie?”

“Yeah?” Jack froze for just a moment, trying to remember the sound of David’s soft voice. He needed to remember it– needed to catalogue every last inflection. He’d already forgotten his mother’s voice, and his father was fading fast. He had to remember Davey. If he lost that piece of Davey, too– 

“Can you take care of Les for me? And– and Sarah. Can you look out for them? I just… I don’t feel right leaving them without someone to make sure they’re alright. Especially Les. He needs an older brother.” He drew in a breath, fingers flexing against Jack’s thigh. “I know it’s a lot.”

Jack hated that he had to agree to that. He hated that he couldn’t force Davey into staying. 

“You know I will, Davey. You don’t have to ask.” He managed to whisper, watching the other boy trace the faded stripes patterning Jack’s worn out pants. If Davey could just hold on a bit longer… Jack wanted more time. He always wanted more time. “Why… why are you gettin’ all grim on me, huh? You got time. That dumb old doctor said you had a month like, six weeks ago, and look at you now. Seein’ the new century, watchin’ the sunset– ain’t no reason to make plans like that.”

He was talking out of his ass, and he knew it. Davey would’ve died just half an hour ago. He was probably going to die tomorrow. It was gonna happen soon, and Jack knew Davey knew. 

“I just worry about them.”

“Don’t. They’re in good hands. Yours.” 

Neither said a word in edgewise as Jack’s lie disappeared amongst the tiny snowflakes littering the air. Jack hoped he was keeping Davey warm– Kath always said he was like a human furnace when they shared the bed. Though Davey was still, he was breathing. Jack knew because he was watching, promising to never let his guard down again.  

How far they’d come.

When they’d met, Davey had been a pompous nerd. The type of person Jack immediately wanted to unbutton and pick apart– someone who needed unraveling. A boy that needed a late-night drink and a night with a Bowery Beauty, more importantly, a boy that needed guidance. From Jack specifically, of course– he wanted nothing more than to take that green eyed, rosy-cheeked boy with the perfect nose and endearingly big ears under his arm.

Davey had made 1899 the best summer of Jack’s life. His logic, his knack for planning and execution, his quirks, his remarkable ability to bring Jack’s stormy ship of emotions to shore… his determination and cunning, his bright-eyed optimism. There was so much to adore about him, so many memories Jack couldn’t let himself forget– days in the park where David finally rolled his sleeves up, nights at the lodge with giggled secrets and stolen ale, all the times Jack had stared at Davey’s freckles, trying to get them right on the page– he never had. Davey was going to die, and Jack would never be able to get his freckles right on the page. His pretty freckles.

Everything about him– his wide, green eyes, his dark curls, his lashes, his smile, his teeth– he was so pretty, and so perfect, and Jack felt like his time with Davey was nothing but a butterfly landing on his shoulder. A brief moment of shocking joy and beauty before the lovely creature drifted away without acknowledging just how perfect the day had grown in its presence. How could he ever capture such a feeling forever? How could he ever memorialize the pencil blisters on Davey’s fingers, the freckle on his collarbone, the ting of darker pink in the bow of Davey’s lips? How could he convey just how much Davey’s lovely smile, shadowing his cheeks, had changed his life? Loving him felt like it had only been a second of Jack’s life. Still, he’d been changed forever.

He hated that Davey could just die on him after flipping his world on its head. Like those fleeting summer days were nothing but golden memories– what did Jack do to deserve this?

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t even Jack’s fault. Furious tears slipped down his cheeks as he cursed the person that had caused all of this. A person Jack didn’t even fucking know. “If I ever meet this stupid boy you’re in love with… I swear to God, Davey, I– I’ll kill him.”

“Don’t.” Davey rasped, after a pause. The fucker sounded like he was smiling. “I’d be upset with you. Then I’d have to spend all of my free time haunting you, and you know I’d rather be reading books.”

Jack hated him for smiling when he was going through such awful turmoil. “Davey, I’m serious. How could anyone– I don’t understand how some bastard could know you and not fall in love with you. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Jack was going to spend the rest of his life hating some invisible caricature of a man for killing his best friend. That was so fucked up. It wasn’t fair. He wanted to scream, and Davey had no way of knowing how awful and frustrating and world-ending it was. 

“Jackie, we don’t choose who we love. It’s not his fault he doesn’t want me.”

“But– Dave– it’s ridiculous that he don’t!” Jack snapped, feeling a dam break somewhere deep within him. Without warning, weeks of unspoken words spilled from him in an all-consuming, cathartic wave. “Now someone brilliant’s leavin’ the world just because– I– I’ll soak him so hard he doesn’t know left from right, Davey, I don’t– I need to know who he is. Can’t you tell me? I won’t touch him if you don’t want me to, ‘cause honestly I don’t even know if I’ll be able to look at him.” He was sobbing now, and he immediately removed his hands from David’s hair in favor of wiping his eyes. Shit. It was so weak to cry, but here he was, crying when he was meant to be strong. “Dave, if it were me– if you woulda just fallen in love with me, this whole thing would be so much easier.”

He hiccuped, so focused on making himself shut up that he could barely hear Davey’s quiet little “What?”

“Ah, shit.” Jack gave a pathetic little sniffle and dragged his shirt sleeve over his eyes in a feeble attempt to finally stop. This was so stupid. Davey was sick, and dying, and Jack was lamenting about an unrequited crush? He was being selfish. “ Shit, I don’t wanna make this about me–”

“No, what did you mean? ‘If I would’ve fallen in love with you?’”

Jack froze. He could either confess now or continue his lies until Davey passed, dying without ever knowing how Jack felt. Davey. Beautiful Davey, staring up at him with so much concern– Davey that didn’t hate him after he scabbed or after he continuously prioritized Katherine, Davey who didn’t hate him after his threats to run to the West– Davey who wouldn’t hate him, even if he confessed now. The same Davey that was staring at him with understanding and friendship, more goodness than Jack would ever deserve. 

It was time to come clean. He couldn’t lie to this beautiful person for a moment longer.

“I mean… I wish you were in love with me.” He whispered, wondering just how to explain. Davey was the wordsmith, after all– Jack had always been better with action. He gently grabbed the collar of Davey’s shirt, deciding to try anyway. “‘Cause if you were, I could’ve cured you the day I ended things with Kath… prob’ly before, honestly. When she told me what the cure was– that night, I know I could’ve cured you. I guess the thought of you being so in love with someone else that it was killing you– and all the time I spent thinking about how losing you would be like losing the better half of me– all’a that made me realize that I– God, I’m stupidly gone over you, David Jacobs. I love you.”

Davey just stared at him. Jack felt his heart drop into his stomach, suddenly facing the fact that he’d fucked up their entire friendship and they only had days left to be friends. What was he thinking? He found himself beginning to ramble, desperate to try and explain.

“I think if you were in love with me, I could’ve fixed things up real fast. Woulda just kissed you and been done with it. You’d be alright, then– y’know, I’m surprised I ain’t sick myself, honestly, ‘cause it hurts knowin’ that I’ve got all this love for you and nothin’ to do wit’ it. The thought of you…” He swallowed hard, and his hand slid up to cup the back of David’s neck– he just couldn’t help himself as the tears fell. “The thought of you dyin’ over some stupid idiot who can’t see how good you are just ruins me, Davey. And I know I’m probably makin’ you so fuckin’ uncomfortable, and I don’t know if this means anythin’ to you at all, and I understand if you don’t want me around after this–”

“Jack.”

“I mean, God, you’re just too good for me, Dave. You wanna know what Kath told me? She says I’ve probably been in love with you since the strike and I think I agree. Even if I would’ve known back then it wouldn’t’ve changed anything because I know you don’t want me, but I just love you so goddamn much–”

David grabbed his wrist and squeezed. “Jack, d’you still want to know who I’m in love with?”

What a stupid fucking question. Jack could’ve slapped him again, nearly getting whiplash from how quickly he switched between Davey holding his wrist and fury over Davey’s dumbass question. “Yes, Davey, obviously! So I can give him a fuckin’ piece of my mind–”

“You.” 

“Wh–” His brain felt as though it was restarting. Was David seriously saying that he was in love with Jack? Jack Kelly– the same Jack Kelly that was Jack? Seriously? Incredulous, he cupped Davey’s face in his hands. He’d never been so desperate in his life, so anxious to know if someone was telling the truth. “You’re not kidding?”

Davey laughed, but Jack couldn’t focus on that. Davey loved him. Davey loved him! And yeah, Davey was saying something– probably something important, but Jack didn’t hear a lick of it other than I love you so much it’s been killing me, and he felt as though fireworks were going off within him, explosive joy brightening his entire world.

“You– you love–” Jack grinned, almost overcome by his euphoria– until it came crashing down when he realized that Davey loved him. Him specifically. This whole time, Davey had been in love with Jack– spending every day with him, sharing a bed with him– and he hadn’t said a word. Suddenly, Jack was more angry than he’d ever been “What the hell? What’s wrong with you, Davey!? You shoulda said something!”

The strange mix of swirling emotions led Jack to just tackle the other boy, both of them crashing into the roof as he roared with a mixture of joy and fury. Davey, the goofy ass, was laughing so hard that Jack could barely understand him, even as he pinned the skinny boy down and tried to shake the laughter right out of him. “I– I thought you were going to marry Kath! I told you that! You– the way you looked at her–”

“Kath is my best friend in the world, Dave, but you– you’re that, yeah, but you’re so much more! Jesus Christ– you thought I was looking at her all lovesick? Shit, that’s how I was looking at you! Everybody knew– every single newsboy in Upper Manhattan knew I was gone over you before we did!” He groaned and finally allowed himself to love this boy. He dropped his head into the curve of Davey’s shoulder and held him tight, graatefully breathing in the smell of Esther’s homemade lavender soap. Davey, Davey, Davey– Jack didn’t care that he smelled like sickbed. He loved this boy, and he was on top of the world. “Why didn’t you tell me? You should’ve told me, cielito– If not right away then at least when I left Kath…” 

“I know.” Jack nearly sobbed as David’s elegant fingers ran through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. He was a sucker for head pets, and somehow Davey knew that instinctually. They were perfect for each other, a match made in heaven. Jack just knew it. “I just… I was scared. I didn’t think you’d ever want me. You’re so… Jack, you’re brilliant. I didn’t think you were… I would’ve never thought you fancied men like that.”

“I didn’t think so neither, but, uh… You’ve got a habit of sending my life into chaos, Dave.” Jack glanced up dopily, feeling more in love than he’d ever felt, and found David staring back with that look on his face. The one he always used on Jack, with the big eyes and the slightly tilted eyebrows– the one from Hannukah, the one from the rooftop, the one from his very first speech on top of the newspaper wagon. He recognized it now– fondness in its purest form. It made him want to scream from the top of the city, because he realized that he’d seen Davey looking at him like that a million times before. Maybe he’d just been blind. “First the strike, then making me realize I’m head over heels for the nerd that showed up askin’ to pay for papers after the fact–”

“Hey!”

“You’re the only one for me.” Jack sat back on his knees, more sure of this than anything else in his sorry life. “And fuck, I really want to kiss you right now.”

Short on both breath and words, Davey leaned in tantalizingly close, with the prettiest smile Jack had ever seen. He could feel Davey’s breath on his upper lip, warm and inviting, and he nearly lost his mind. “Do it.”

Their lips met in a veritable mess of a kiss, desperate and passionate and uncoordinated. Their teeth clinked together and yeah, Davey’s nose pressed awkwardly into Jack’s cheek, and he kissed like he’d never kissed a soul before, but it was better than kissing any experienced broad. Beneath the coppery taste of blood was everything inexplicably Davey– minty and sweet and subtle and exactly as Jack would’ve imagined. It was a kiss that calmed the raging stormy seas within Jack, a kiss that convinced him that he wasn’t cursed, that everything would be alright, that Davey was his just for a moment, and he could drink up every inch of him. Jack herded his boy close and their chests pressed together, every inch of skin-on-skin feeling searing hot to the boy that’d felt the frigid cold of abandonment for nearly nineteen years.

Dave sounded breathless, even more so as his lips parted and Jack’s eager tongue swept into his mouth. He was gonna show Davey a good kiss– because if Jack was good at one thing, it was kissing. He held tightly to the other boy’s waist, kissing him good and sweet and slow, and Davey was perfect. He took every last bit Jack gave him, tilting his head back and deepening the gesture even further with the most lovely exhale of a sigh. Jack kissed him like he might save his life, thought about kissing him for forever–

And Davey ruined it by pulling back suddenly, a loud gasp ripping itself through his lips.

“Jack!” David cried, tears glossing over his green eyes– Jack was real confused, and could only raise an eyebrow in nervous worry. “Jack, I can breathe!”

He could breathe. Jack cured him. Jack saved him

“Fuck, Davey, you’re cured!” Jack roared happily, so elated that he scarcely knew what to do with himself. This time it was Dave who flung himself around Jack in an embrace tugging the other boy down onto the roof.

They laughed like children, grabbing at each other, tugging at clothes and hair and rolling about in the snowy cold. Dave was thin and frail but he seemed to grow warmer and stronger with each passing second, and Jack was so overcome with joy that he began to kiss every last inch of Davey’s sorry face, ever so grateful that he’d have years and years to remember all of its nuances. 

He managed to climb atop the other boy, besting him again and straddling his waist for a better angle. He wanted to kiss every inch of skin, maybe even summon his freckles back, maybe stop his happy-sad sobbing. Davey’s chest was heaving, yeah, but there was no wheezing. Not a sound. It was perfect. Perfect, lovely Davey, who’d been in love with him the whole time, the stubborn ass. 

“I love you.” David whispered, confirming Jack's thoughts with a breaktakingly ethereal smile.“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Yeah? Well, I love you more.” Jack grinned, finally feeling like himself again after months of being unsure if he’d ever be the same. He had to kiss David again, and when he realized that he could, whenever he wanted, he did. Their foreheads pressed together and he decided that he belonged right there, on that snowy rooftop. He didn’t need anything else. “More than you could ever know.”

“I’m ready to find out just how much.” The curly-haired boy whispered, gently threading his fingers through the belt loop of Jack’s pants– Jack would never take that odd quirk for granted again. He hoped that Davey would tug on his belt loop every single time they walked side by side for the rest of forever.

Jack smiled, thoroughly lovesick. “Yeah? It’s a good thing we’ve got the rest of our lives, then, because it's gonna take me that long to show ya'.”

He kissed his boy again, and Jack wondered how he’d ever lived without knowing this sort of love.

══════════════════

Medda could tell something was different from the moment she walked onto the stage and saw an explosion of vibrant pinks, purples, yellows, and oranges. Jack didn’t tend to paint such vibrant pieces– but maybe the difference came from the scrawny boy sitting on the floor beside him, a book in his lap. Seemed David Jacobs was back again, no longer sick, and no longer fighting with Jack.

The lack of any depressing cityscapes, seaside scenes, or Santa Fe musings clued Medda in that something major had shifted within her kiddo, so she carefully leaned against the entrance to the auditorium and watched the two interact. It was silent for some time, until Jack tossed his paintbrush into the water and backed up, hands on his hips.

“Whaddaya think, Dave?”

Jack watched Davey anxiously as the other boy carefully closed his book and looked up, green eyes flitting over the canvas as a small smile took over his face. “Oh, it’s lovely, Jack. It belongs in a museum.”

“C’mon, it’s just a buncha clouds.”

“Mm, sure, Mr. Humble.” Davey rolled his eyes very fondly and carefully climbed to his feet, causing Jack to immediately lurch forward and catch his arm. He quickly grabbed the other boy by the shoulders, looking for any signs of sickness or worry. Davey only rolled his eyes with a little laugh, carefully threading his fingers with Jack’s. 

“Jackie. I’m fine.”

“I know, but– just– take it easy, okay? You’ve only been eatin’ good for like, a week ‘n a half, and I just–”

Davey tilted his head, looking rosy and healthy and endlessly fond. “You worry, I know.”

“Well, if it isn’t David Jacobs!” Medda announced her entrance grandly and with rich joy, strolling down the aisle in one of her elaborate dresses. A lovely, powdery blue color, made of immensely gorgeous fabric. Davey and Jack seemed to leap away from each other, the latter sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. Thankfully, Medda seemed to pay it no mind. “Heard you were down and out for a while there, David. Are you feeling better, honey?”

“I’m better now, ma’am.” He answered, respectfully, and Jack privately thought that he looked better than ever. He’d recovered remarkably quickly, with his cheeks rosy and his skin clear and smooth again. His hair was soft and smooth and his lips pink once more, cheekbones sufficiently sharp. And his eyes– they were finally bright again, clear and somehow greener than before. Beautiful, in Jack’s opinion– he just needed a few more good meals to get some meat on his bones, and he’d be alright. 

Medda smiled warmly and gently squeezed his shoulder as she passed him, saying- “Well, thank God for that. I know my Jack is grateful.”

“I am.” Jack murmured, privately still in disbelief about David’s return to health. 

“C’mere, baby.” When Medda pulled him into a hug, he melted into it immediately. She kissed his head fondly, giving his hair a motherly ruffle. “How’ve you been, baby? I haven’t seen you in forever, and all of a sudden my stage manager comes and tells me you’ve dropped in and painted a backdrop in a couple’a nights? What’s going on in that head?”

He gave a sheepish shrug, not really knowing how to tell her that the stroke of inspiration was a homosexual relationship with his best friend. “Just had a sudden stroke of inspiration, is all.”

“Well, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in love.” She said, with a playful wink, as she stepped back to examine the sunset. Jack and Davey shared a panicked glance behind her back, though deep down, Jack figured she wouldn’t be too upset about it. Worse things had happened at the Bowery. 

Of course– Jack could’ve predicted this– Davey felt far too awkward for such a conversation, and cleared his throat tightly. “Jack, I’m, uh, going to put some of these paints up. So we can get going.”

“Yeah, of course, Dave.” He grinned lazily and watched as the taller boy quickly made his exit, arms loaded with paint cans. Maybe he was being too dopey, too open– but suddenly, he wasn’t so afraid of Medda’s all knowing gaze. Davey made him fearless. “Y’know– maybe I am in love.”

“Oh, I know you are.” She responded simply, stepping forward to carefully cup Jack’s cheek in a soft hand. The smell of her perfume made him feel at home, like the distressed child he’d been when he ran to her after his father’s arrest. “I could tell from the moment you brought him here, runnin’ from Snyder and draggin’ him around the city– and I don’t care, baby, as long as you feel like he’s worth givin’ your heart too.”

For some reason, Jack’s eyes burned. He could only nod, throat tight with emotion. “He is.”

“Good. Now– I did tell you to chase your happiness, didn’t I? Aren’t I always right?” Medda grinned, cocking one hip and tilting her head cheekily at him. Jack couldn’t help his own laugh as he tilted his head back, free and happy and so grateful for her advice and presence in her life. “Can I say I told you so?”

“You’re the worst. Did you know that?”

“The worst wouldn’t pay you top dime for this backdrop– and do not say you won’t take the money, because I’m gonna make sure that you do. No ‘but’s. You and that boy of yours have gotta afford your own place somehow, right?”

“Right.” Jack felt his good mood sour as he winced, rolling out his bad shoulder. Thankfully, he caught a glimpse of Davey re-entering the room, and quickly bid Medda goodbye. After a hug, and a few more compliments towards his backdrop, they made it out into the crisp February evening, walking as close as humanly possible.

Shoulders bumping, hands brushing, steps perfectly in tandem– Jack loved it. Davey was obviously troubled, though– he stared at the cracked sidewalk with a pensive frown, and Jack would’ve been an awful partner if he didn’t ask… “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Do you want to move out with me? Get a flat?”

“Well– sure, I do. I mean, we can’t share a bed with Les forever.”

Dave laughed halfheartedly as Jack gently nudged him, obviously not in the mood for jokes. Jack knew him well enough to wait, because the explanation came quickly. “I mean, I want to move out, too. With you. I think we should talk to my parents. That is, if my Ima ever actually speaks to me again.”

Jack winced, no stranger to Esther’s cold behavior towards the both of them, now– still, he knew it was no use telling David what he already knew, or worrying him further. Instead, Jack carefully placed a hand on his lower back. “It’ll work itself out, Dave, I swear.”

He only shrugged, continuing their walk in silence. Just when Jack thought David’s mood might be ruined permanently, he felt a careful finger take hold of his belt loop, and an uncontrollable smile took over his face. He probably looked like a loon, walking hip-to-hip with another man and smiling like a maniac, but he didn’t care. Davey made him happier than he’d ever been.

Things weren’t perfect, and yeah, maybe they’d never be– but with Davey standing next to him, Davey holding his belt loop and Jack with a hand on the small of his boy’s back, perfect wasn’t necessary. All he needed was this weird, perfect love affair– his own personal haven. Someone to care for, exactly what his mother had promised him all of those years ago. He had his Davey, and he had the promise of the life they’d build together. That was everything he really needed.

Jack was happy.

Chapter Text

Davey looked gorgeous when he slept. Unfortunately, Davey sleeping reminded Jack of the most awful thing he’d ever experienced in his twenty years of life, so he often found himself torn between awestruck admiration and sheer terror when the man went into one of his deep, rock-like sleeps. Davey never tossed and turned– he rarely snored or murmured his dreams, and he never even breathed with his mouth open. He’d just lay there, still and beautiful, like a perfect portrait with a chest that only subtly rose and fell.

Jack was lying atop his partner, feeling Dave’s heartbeat thump steadily beneath his own chest. They’d been laying on the sofa in the new flat they shared, winding down with some drinks after showing Crutchie and Race the place. Davey drifted off at some point (the man loved napping), his arms strung loosely around Jack, who was pressed to him, chest-to-chest. It was almost a bit too intimate for their company, but Race and Crutch were busy making dinner in the kitchen area, so Jack didn’t dare move his sleeping love.

Still, as it did every night, fear was beginning to prick at Jack. The hairs on the back of his neck stood, and he glanced up only to see the face of a lifeless, breathless David, even though he knew good and well the man was both alive and breathing. Panic coursed through him nevertheless, and he carefully pressed his fingers to the pulse point on Davey’s wrist, making sure to feel the thrumming. Then his inner elbow, where the vein throbbed softly against Jack’s calloused thumb, and of course the gently pulsing spot on Davey’s sleeping temple.

As he pressed his fingers to the curve of Davey’s neck, Racetrack’s voice broke the careful silence.

“Jesus, Jack, are you checking him for a fuckin’ pulse?”

“I, uh–”

“He’s sleeping, man. Everything is okay.” Race stressed, squatting by the couch and carefully batting Jack’s hand away. A silence fell between them, and Jack was far too embarrassed to speak. He simply slid down in Davey’s arms until he could press his ear right against Davey’s heartbeat (Jack’s favorite sound in the world) and listen to its comforting rhythm as he waited for an obviously distressed Race to speak up. “We, um– we never talked about it.”

“It?”

The blue-eyed boy cleared his throat rather awkwardly. “Y’know. Dave bein’ sick, ‘n all. You never told anybody what fixed him.”

“Well, you were all acting like you knew every fuckin’ thing in the world, so sue me for assumin’ ya had the answer already.” He muttered, both quiet and cross, as he carefully wound his arms around his beau once more. 

“Jack, man…” He sighed, hard. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“You ‘n Crutchie. ‘N the guys. You were teasin’ me about Davey before I even knew I was queer. It was makin’ things worse, you know. Bettin’ on us. It stressed him out.” He thought, in retrospect, about how Davey would always  shrivel up and shy away when they guys started teasing them about being attached at the hip or an old married couple or whatever bullshit they were on. Poor guy– he’d been thinking his love was unrequited, and surely that didn’t help. “I just– if you and Crutchie both knew before me, why didn’t you say something?”

A cheerful voice, accompanied by the uneven thump of a crutch and footsteps, entered the room. “What about me?”

“He wants to know why we didn’t tell him he was in love with Davey–”

“Because you are awfully stubborn.” Muttered Davey himself, very groggily, as he shifted on the couch to hide his face in Jack’s hair. “And you were hellbent on marrying Katherine, for a while there. Nobody likes pissing you off or telling you you’re doing something wrong.”

Both Race and Crutchie burst into laughter as hot embarrassment rushed over Jack’s face. He couldn’t help but laugh as he gently smacked Davey’s arm, trying to get the nuisance to stop kissing the shell of his ear. “Yeah, but you like telling me off. You love correcting me, too.”

“That’s why you love me.” Davey shrugged, sleepily.

“Hey, he was spot on, though.” Added Charlie, with a much gentler tone that Race could ever dream of possessing. “We knew we had to let you figure it out in your own time. Plus, I tried to tell ya plenty of times. How oblivious both of you were acting, remember?”

A hoot of laughter left Race, who sat upon a nearby armchair in a tangled and convoluted manner. “Yeah, Dave, you ain’t a saint. Jack was so far up your butt he could’ve tickled your fuckin’ throat and you still couldn’t see how obsessed he was.”

Davey’s face blossomed with a rosy pink color, and he scoffed indignantly. Jack joined the boys in their laughter, simply because Dave was acting all offended now, but Jack knew what he was capable of behind closed doors. The difference was almost comical. “Do not talk about my butt or my throat in relationship to Jack.”

“Why, because they’re in relationships with something of Jack’s?” He grinned positively impishly, eyebrows wiggling, and Davey’s green eyes narrowed into slits as his cheeks and nose turned almost sunburnt with blush.

“Jackie, please smack him.”

Jack reached over the gap between furniture and smacked Race without a second thought. 

“Hey!” The union president squealed, pressing a scarred hand to his chest. “You’re turning on me, now? After everything we’ve been through, you choose your beau over your brother!?”

He couldn’t help his own grin– other people were acknowledging Davey as his beau. It made him feel lovely and fluttery inside, the fact that people knew they belonged to each other– not at all like how the thought of marrying one of his previous courtships made him feel. Even Kathy, who was fully and completely his best friend… the thought of marrying her had always made him sick. Mostly because of her father, but the point still stood– he’d marry Davey in a heartbeat, if he could. “Davey never dipped my undershorts in water and hung them outside during a freeze.”

“That was funny. Wasn’t that funny, Charlie?”

“It was kinda funny.”

Jack only rolled his eyes fondly and snuggled up to his boy, nuzzling his cheek against Davey’s firm chest. “Whatever. Aren’t you supposed to be Italian or something, Racetrack? Where’s my fuckin’ pasta?”

“Hey, that’s half-Italian to you, dipshit, and your pasta is boiling. Boiling takes time. I can’t pull pasta out of my ass.”

“And the meatballs are cookin’ on the stove. A real stove. Isn’t that just dandy?” Crutchie chimed in wistfully, grinning his gap-toothed smile.

Race’s eyes grew comically large and he leapt out of his chair, a flurry of frenetic motion. “The balls! I forgot to turn them! They’re gonna be burnt on one side– fuck, Charlie Morris, how could you ever let me forget!?”

The other boy merely shrugged and laughed, making his way into the kitchen much more slowly than Racetrack, whose shouting began to fill the flat shortly after. Jack let a chuckle shake his chest as he nuzzled closer to his Davey, letting the sound of that heartbeat lull him back into a state of calm laziness. Davey giggled softly, his breath warm and rum-sweet against Jack’s ear. “They’re a mess.” 

“Yeah, they’re my mess, though. I gotta claim it.” Jack whispered right back, tilting his head up to brush kisses against Davey’s strong jaw. “And they’ve been rootin’ for us since day one.”

“I know.” Dave’s chest rumbled as he spoke, low and quiet. He smiled like a pleased cat, obviously drinking up all of Jack’s kisses. “I love you very much, you know.”

“Yeah. I love you too. You tell me every day.” He grinned as he propped himself up on his elbows, slowly moving his kisses from Dave’s jaw to his freckled cheeks and nose. Pretty, pretty boy. Jack was just obsessed. He could hear Davey say I love you a million times a day, in a million languages, and never ever get tired. “I mean, how could you not love me? I’m such a charmer.”

“Shut up.” Despite his words, Davey was smiling a sweet, happy smile. His eyes flitted over Jack’s face before he grinned fully, ducking his head up to press a short kiss to Jack’s lips. “I do love you, though– hey, do you smell burning?”

Excited for more kissing, Jack groaned and took a deep breath. Unfortunately, something was almost certainly burning. “Why did we let them use our kitchen!?”

“Ask yourself, neshama. It was your decision.”

“Why did you let me let them use our kitchen?” He mumbled as a correction, quickly pressing a final kiss to Davey’s lips and hopping up. “You rest. I’ll handle the problem.” 

“Okay.” Another kiss– it was impossible to stay away from each other. “Hey, I love you.”

“I know. I love you more.” 

And as Jack handled the situation with his two favorite idiots, he thought distantly, he’d never have made it here– happy, domestic, content– if he hadn’t confessed to Davey that fateful night on the roof. It was funny how things worked. How his life had totally changed because of one decision… Jack wouldn’t have had it any other way.

══════════════════

It was early, and Jack occupied his favorite post– standing in front of the stove with the handle of a cast iron skillet in hand, carefully fixing up something for breakfast. He was nothing if not a good partner, making sure his hardworking beau was always fed. Not that Jack didn’t work hard. He did. He worked plenty hard, paying a fraction less of their rent than Davey– but he always handled breakfast, and Davey handled dinner. That was just how they operated. Jack didn’t have to be at The World until eleven, and Davey had work at nine. He’d always cook if it meant giving the man an extra hour or so of sleep.

The David in question stumbled out for breakfast just as Jack thought about him, eyes squinted from slumber and eyes bleary. He always looked endearingly messy post slumber, but today he seemed much more tired than usual. Though Davey was dressed and ready for work, he moved slowly and groggily, sluggishly sitting at his seat at the dining table with a soft groan.

“You alright, cielito?” Jack asked, nearly instantly, clocking the departure from Davey’s usual behavior and panicking already.

“Perfectly, my love, I’m just exhausted.” He murmured, rubbing at his eyes. “I'm exhausted, and I’m having the worst nasal drip. My throat is killing me.”

“What?” Jack felt as though he’d been plunged into a bucket of ice water, his blood running cold. 

“Nasal drip. It’s when excess mucus from your nose drips down the back of your throat. Makes it sore. Cold symptom– I think I’ve got whatever’s going around the office.” He lamented, like this wasn’t the end of Jack’s world, and slumped down in his chair to throw his arm over his eyes. “I knew I’d probably get it when Goldstein wouldn’t stop blowing his nose towards my desk, but here we are . What a joy.”

The utensil Jack had been holding clattered to the kitchen floor as he raced across their shared space, pressing his palm to his beau’s pale forehead. Warm, thank God (he’d been frigidly cold when he’d had the Flower Sickness) but a little bit too warm to be considered healthy. Davey was sick. Jack was panicking, feeling his breath quicken. “You– you’re sick.”

Davey’s expression softened as he carefully took Jack’s hand and moved it away from his head. “With a common cold, Jackie. No reason not to work.”

“Y– ya can’t work if you’re sick.”

“You went to work when you had that stomach flu.” He raised an eyebrow pointedly and gave Jack’s hand a small squeeze, “You wouldn’t let me keep you home, and that was far worse than whatever this is–”

“That was different, Dave, I– I can’t fuck up around Pulitzer and you– it- it’s you that’s sick. Not me. You can’t– I- I can’t– I can’t let you go to work like this.”

“Jack–”

“You’re not leaving my sight. I w– I won’t let that happen.” He stammered, tugging the other man into a harsh hug. Davey sighed against the fabric of Jack’s undershirt and wound his arms Jack’s torso, feverishly warm but perfectly lucid, and likely too tired to put up a fight. He gave a sniffle and a congested laugh as Jack ran his fingers through his beau’s raven-dark curls. “Stay home.”

Davey hummed, soft and content. “You don’t have to tell me twice. Make me soup?”

“Okay. I will, but you- why aren’t you taking this seriously?” Jack fretted, stepping back just enough to cup Davey’s warm face in his calloused hands. 

“Because I have a cold, Jackie. People get colds often. I’ve had plenty, myself. I– I know what this is, darling. I know it isn’t… what I had before. When I was really sick. This is nothing. But if you’d like to take care of me today, I’m not saying no.”

Only slightly reassured, Jack bit down on his lip and brushed his thumbs over Davey’s high cheekbones. “Alright. You, um… you’d oughta go back to bed. To rest.”

“Only if you come with me.” Davey grinned cheekily, flashing a devilish little smile up at Jack.

He did not respond to the flirt, willing himself to stay strong. “Don’t go there with me when you’ve got noisy drip, or whatever.”

“ Nasal drip.”

“Whatever.”

They quietly trudged into the bedroom, sickness making Davey less sharp than usual. That was obvious as he stumbled over to their well-loved bed with its chipped bedframe and decorated headboard, little constellations hand painted into the dark wood.

Jack watched with worry as the taller man tugged his trousers off and began fumbling his way out of his shirt and undershirt, revealing an expanse of beautiful pale skin and a never-ending sky’s worth of freckles. Davey flopped down on the bed with a happy sigh, stretching like a pleased cat. He was happy to be off of work, while Jack was wondering how he’d manage to keep Davey in his sight until the man was back to full health again. He sat next to his lover and kissed Davey’s warm forehead, resting a hand right over his heart.

“Can’t believe you’re so worried over a cold. Didn’t you get dared to eat slugs in the Lodging House?” He muttered, raising a hand to cup Jack’s chin. He brushed his thumb over Jack’s bottom lip, teasing and flirtatious despite his cold.

“I– I’m thinkin’ about those fuckin’ flowers, Davey. I can’t stop thinkin’ about them.” He whispered, running his hands through his boy’s soft curls. Davey melted into the touch, and Jack thought of the bluestars he had tattooed on his own chest. They were his favorite and least favorite flower, yeah, but if Davey was sick like that again, he didn’t know what he’d do. He swallowed hard. Davey was his rock. His grounding force. A cool, level-headed breeze to calm Jack’s wildfire. Even in the coldest of winters, Jack wanted him close. Wanted to care for him. Love him. He was so lucky to have this man– even when David was being a stubborn little shit, he was everything Jack ever needed. “I’m sorry. I just can’t lose you again…”

“You won’t.” He answered nearly instantly, fiercely meeting Jack’s eyes. “I love you. You love me. We know that. And besides, I’m not letting a common cold get me that easy.

“Yeah?” Jack laughed softly, nervous and hopeful all at once. Davey grinned that dorky smile of his, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as he sat up just enough to kiss the tip of Jack’s nose.

“Obviously. But if you want to care for me, I’ll be here all day.”

He laid back on the bed, stretching out with a pleased sigh. Jack did want to care for him. Davey was worth caring for– Davey was his person. Everything had led to this, after all, just as his mother promised. The snowy confession, Davey agreeing to join the union, Davey letting Jack sell with him in the first place– building blocks, stepping stones, leading to true happiness. Jack loved David. He loved living with David. He loved holding him close every night, gazing at his green eyes and long lashes, sketching him over and over again in his free moments at work, coming home to him reading on the armchair in the living room… He loved everything about David. His best, his worst, his everything. Jack wouldn’t trade their little life for the world.

The best of it all was that Davey loved him back. Davey was letting him care. Letting him show his devotion.

Davey loved Jack, Jack loved Davey, and if it took the most painstaking realization of Jack’s life and an awful sickness, at least they got there eventually. Jack had found his forever.