Chapter Text
The massive bump on the back of my head explained most of what happened at the rally.
I got knocked out by one of the officers that was trying to restrain me, taking a swift whack to the head by Spot’s cane. He could only watch in horror as I fell to the ground, unconscious and bleeding at the mouth.
Buttons, who thankfully showed up in the cell next to mine, pointed out that they didn’t just hit me on the forehead, but they repeatedly hit me with the metallic end. My lip, my cheek, my arm, and more parts of my body had turned black and blue from the amount of times they hit me. I wasn’t even conscious when I got to the refuge. I think I remember waking up at some point in the middle of the night after a terrible dream, and falling asleep.
I got dragged out of the refuge’s ‘prison’ room this morning and was told that I was going to court. I was in such a daze that I had asked Snyder if I’d get a lawyer, which made him slap me across the face on account of talking back. Something, that I remember so vividly that it seemed acrylic in my mind, that he called ‘unladylike’ for ‘someone like me to ask.’
So here I am now: Bruised, dizzy, trying to stand up straight. Much different than where I was about a month ago. In the back of a wagon with metal bars on the windows, being carried off to god knows where.
There were only newsies in the cart, but none of them knew me and I didn’t know them. We were all still processing what happened at that point, some of us bruised and still bleeding, some with bandages around open wounds. One thing was for sure: the rally either didn’t help us at all or proved to be the most important part of the strike.
Looking out the small barred window on the back door of the carriage, I realized we were not the only truck on the road, in fact, there were 20 carriages on the road, all with the same depressing black painted walls and creaking wheel joints.
It took what felt like 2 hours to get to the courthouse, but the others in the carriage gave me a strange look and said that it was only a 30 minute ride. Odd.
I jumped out of the carriage and looked around, only to have my arm grabbed by an officer. I tried pulling away, the effort useless against a grown man.
Sighing, I glanced about as I was taken inside.
Spot.
There he was.
He had walked out of one of the carriages further up from where I was, only he had been chained at the wrists and was being pushed forward by 3 guards. I could see him, but I couldn’t go to him. He perked up a bit when I called his name, but the door already shut.
Walking into the room, I realized that it was the exact same format as how you would think a court house would look like. There was the super old guy on the big stand in the center (I think they call him the bay-lift? Weird name.) who was watching us as if we did something wrong.
Well, think about it, I thought to myself as I got pushed into a crowd. Maybe we did do something wrong. No way. We were just hosting a party, a nice, peaceful party where we talked about striking against a company. I don’t see how thats a bad thing, especially since we didn’t do anything violent.
“(Name)?”
Oh thank god.
I turned around and was met with Picket.
“You’re ok…” I sighed, staring at the gash on her cheek.
“Fuck, where did you go???” She sniffed, rubbing her wrist on her nose as she hugged me. I held her shirt as if it was a lifeline. God, she was one of my main worries, I blinked back salty tears, putting a calloused hand to her cheek.
“What happened?” I asked, staring in horror.
“Some asshole took out a knife.” She wiped a tear from her eye with her sleeve.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Picks. It’s my- if I- I should’ve stayed with you-“ I shook my head, regret consuming my words.
“Stop, you’re getting all sad again,” Picket grinned sadly, “We’re ok now.”
“If we were ok, we’d be waking up in our lodging houses, not in a fucking courthouse with hospital-level injuries.”
“We’re gonna be ok. We’re gonna be fine. You’re ok.” She hugged me tighter, one hand on the back of my neck and the other around my upper torso. I burrowed my face in her neck, terrified. It had only come to me in that moment how scary this was. I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be home. With her. With Buttons. With Spencer. Even Hotshot. With-
“(Name)???”
Shit.
I turned around again, staring into the boy’s eyes. The brown eyes that were filled with pride and determination from last evening were gone, only perfect fear masked by defiance left behind.
He was bruised all over. On his arms, his face, everywhere. I hated it. I know he hated it too. He was being escorted in by 2 guards, drawing the attention of the other newsies, who I guess didn’t share the same fear as I did, because somewhere I heard Race call out, “Rough night, Brooklyn?”
Despite Race getting on my last nerve, Spot ignored it and took a step towards me. In return, I ran to him.
He clutched on to me, shaking his head in guilt. I held him like I had never held a person the same way before. God, he looked terrible. I felt my heart flutter as he placed his lips softly against my forehead.
“Spot, are you ok?” I asked, a sense of urgency in my voice as I lifted his face from my shoulders to look at him. Looking at the bruises made me physically shake.
“Stop.” He hugged me tight. “Are you hurt?” The look over he gave me made me cringe. I hated looking so fucked up in front of this guy.
“What?? You’re completely-“
“You’re hurt.” He said again, staring at me with a new seriousness on his expression. His lips were pulled into a line, his brows furrowed in concern.
“I’m fine.” I lied.
“You aren’t. We’ll figure this out, ok? Where’s Jack?” He asked, looking around.
Picket came over to us and shook her head. “No sign of him. You gotta take the lead on this one, Spottie.”
Spot gave her a reassuring nod and dragged me into the crowd of newsies that were now just starting to realize what was happening with the display of affection from Spot. They had stared at the embrace with teasing in their eyes, until they realized that the King of Brooklyn was worried about something, that this wasn’t just some hangout where they got mad at something. The realized that this was serious. More important than anything.
Meanwhile, I was confused, “Why are you bringing me???”
“You’re my emotional support girl.” He glanced back at me.
"You got a lot of those or is this you confessing without the alcohol?” I smirked slightly, whispering to him.
“We’ll get to that later.” He looked back at me fully this time, a small blush on his face contrasting from his drawn features.
“Arise, arise, court is now in session.” The bailiff proclaimed from his desk, making me jump a bit. He continued, “Judge E. A. Monahan presenting.”
A judge. That’s what it’s called. I nodded to myself in understanding, then internal slapping myself because all this was a fucking court case. Were we getting sued? I know very little regarding how these things work.
The judge, Monahan, looked at us with disdain, like we were something he stepped on. “Any of you represented by council?”
The general populace glanced at one another, questioning what that meant. Having gone to school for more than a few years, I shook my head.
This made the judge laugh. “No? Good, that’ll move things along considerably.”
Spot, offended, stepped up. “Hey, your honor? I object.”
I glanced at him, completely confused. So did everyone else really. The judge leaned towards Spot from his towering desk. In a condescending tone, he asked him, “On what grounds?”
Spot, with a nod of his head, answered, “On the grounds of Brooklyn, your honor.”
Everyone started laughing. I had to hold in a chuckle to elbow him in the side, giving him a glare, which only made him wrap an arm around my waist and mutter to me, “You love my jokes.”
“Ever heard of ‘Wrong place, wrong time,’ Brooklyn?” I scolded him quietly.
“I know. Just trying to lighten the mood.” He answered. I rolled my eyes at him, leaning against his side as his thumb ran back and forth against my shirt. I ignored the way Race glared at the two of us as if we killed someone.
The judge, obviously over this case, banged his gavel on the desk. “I fine each of you five dollars or two weeks of confinement in-“
If the newsies weren’t pissed off before, they sure let the judge know about it now. “Five fucking dollars??” “We can pay that off!!” “This is bullshit!”
Race shook his head. “Five bucks?! We ain’t got five bucks!!” He complained, and rightfully so. We barely make enough as is.
Suddenly, I saw Denton running up to the fenced off area where we all were standing. He looked worried. “I‘ll pay the fines, your honor.” He breathed, “All of them.”
Race patted the man on the shoulder, “We owe ya one.”
“Meet me at the restaurant, all of you. We have to talk.” He flinched out of Race’s grip.
The blonde, oblivious to Denton’s discomfort, went on, “Ohhhh, talk and eat, right? On you, pal?”
“Guys?” Dave spoke up, pointing behind us.
It was Jack. He looked like he’d been through hell and back. Well, I mean, that is expected when you’re carried out of a theater above a crowd of police grabbing onto you. He had been chained by his wrists. The cuffs made him look like a criminal, which was wrong, because he wasn’t, right? We weren’t either. He looked ashamed more than anything, but it was the limp in his leg that worried me. Which was funny, because I hadn’t taken into account the massive bruise he was wearing over one eye until Race pointed it out with a snide grin on his face. “Hey Cowboy, nice shiner!”
His grin only reached halfway up his face as he waved his cuffed hand, slowly limping towards the judge like it was his execution. “Hiya fellas. Hey Denton. Guess we made all the papes this time, huh? How’d my picture look? And where’s Katherine?”
Denton ran up to the boy with an even worse look on his face than Jack did. He muttered, but he was loud enough for the few newsies at the front of the group to hear. Although, looking back, I kind of wish we hadn’t. The way he said it made my heart drop to my stomach:
“None of the papers covered the rally.”
Denton immediately turned and left the court as the bailiff shoved Jack in front of the judge’s bench.
Snyder followed him in.
The uproar from the bunch of newsies was loud. Even a person outside could understand that we hated this man. I did too. Very much.
“Order. Order!” The judge banged the gavel against the bench. I swear, every time he did that it felt my eardrums bursting. I hated it. It reminded me of when m mother would bang on my door when I ran upstairs crying because of the birthday party. The court quieted, and the judge continued in that bored tone he used when he asked us if we were represented by a council. “Case of Jack Kelly; Inciting a riot, assault, resisting arrest.”
Snyder spoke up, “Judge Monahan, I’ll speak for this young man-“
“You two know each other?” Jack tilted his head, a mocking smile on his face, “Ain’t that nice?”
The newsies whistled suggestively at the two, because anything that pisses off Snyder was a win. The judge sighed, ignoring the comments from m side of the room. “Just move it along, Warden Snyder.”
Snyder nodded, motioning to Jack, and what he said next made one half of the room shut up and listen with shock. Snyder talked casually, as if what he was saying wasn’t dropping a bomb onto us. “This boy’s real name is Francis Sullivan. Mother is deceased, father a convict in the state penitentiary, he is currents an escapee from the House of Refuge, where his original sentence of three months for theft was extended six months for disruptive behavior-“
“Like demandin’ you give us the food you steal from us-!” Jack talked over him, anger and terror filling his vision.
“-Followed by an additional six months for an attempted escape-“
Jack looked close to tears. He kept shouting, “Last time wasn’t no attempt, remember, Snyder?! Me and Teddy Roosevelt in the carriage, waving bye-bye-!”
Snyder went on, his nonchalance aggravating Jack more with every second that passed. “-Therefore, I ask that he be returned to the House of Refuge-“
“-For my good, right, Judge??” I felt my heart sting as I saw a tear fall from the boy’s cheek, his rage and hatred outweighing the fear spilling out of him like it had no room. “And for what Snyder kicks back to ya-!”
“-And that the court order his incarceration until the age of 21-” He said it with a calm, sadistic glee on his face. The newsies argued loudly with the two of them, their cries falling on the deaf ears of the Judge and Snyder as he continued, “-In the hope that we may yet guide him to a useful and productive life.”
Monahan answered, “So ordered. Next.”
We all watch in audibly protest as Jack is dragged away to god knows where, tears streaming down his face. I break free from Spot and stand at the fence of which boxed us in, shouting out loud swears and other expletives at the officer taking our leader and the person that started this strike in the first place.
And as the door shut behind him, we were all ushered out, a sense of hopelessness settling in beneath the protests and cries.
Thanks to Denton, he paid 5$ to get each of us out of the refuge, the final cost adding up to around 150$. When we entered the deli, no one was excited. Everyone was going over what happened during the past few hours in their heads.
I sat at a table with Spot, Picket, Hotshot, Spencer, and Buttons, picking at the food we had yet to pay for because Denton hadn’t arrived yet. Kid Blink, who sat at the table next to us, spoke up over the silence. “He won’t be there long. There’s not a jail built that Jack can’t bust out of.”
Spencer sighed, his usual charm replaced by sadness and a pair of bruises over his eyes, “They build pretty good jails these days…”
Racetrack looks to Davey, the official unofficial leader of the strike, and asks, “So where’s Denton and Kat?”
Davey, deep in thought and staring at nothing in particular, shakes his head. “He said he’d be here…”
The brunette suddenly stands up, catching the attention of the rest of the guys. “We can’t let this stop us,” He declared to the downtrodden crowd, “We gotta keep the strike going, just like Jack would.”
Mush, from some other table, argued defeatedly, “Yeah, but Jack ain’t here.”
“We know that, genius.” Hotshot rolled his eyes.
“If he was here, he’d be tellin’ us what to do when he ain’t here,” Buttons added.
Spot stood up, stretching his arms over his head, a bored expression on his face. “You people are giving me a headache...” I watched with confusion as he stepped toward the door.
Davey did a 180 and ran to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Where are you going?? We need you?”
Spot sighs as if the answer to that question was obvious. He brushed Davey’s Hahn off of his shoulder and turned to him. “Well as it turns out, Spot Conlon is needed somewhere else, which right now is Brooklyn.”
“You can’t just- just leave!” The boy in blue argued. The tone he used made Spot turn back around towards him with a killing glare. The boy was short, but man he was terrifying when he wanted to be.
“Y’know I got kids back at the lodging house, right? Young kids, David, that don’t know what the hells going on. That need their leader to help them learn how to survive in times like this. That don’t want to starve. That don’t want us getting hurt, and as of recent events, neither do I. I don’t want us getting hurt because some idiot and his boyfriend wanted everyone to stop selling to… do what exactly? Say something? Prove a point? Cause that sure worked out for us, didn’t it?” The sarcasm in his tone at the last part filled my soul with hatred.
David is silent.
With a sigh, he turned back to the door, specifically looking to the tables that had the Brooklyn newsies sat down. He said, “I’m heading back to Brooklyn. Let me know what happens, will ya?”
He held the door open for Denton that had just ran inside, Katherine still no where in sight. As shocked as I was, I had to focus on what was happening. Davey asked Denton why the sun didn’t print the story.
“Because it never happened.” Denton breezed.
General confusion from the crowd. “What do you mean ‘never happened’?” Davey asked, already on his last nerve.
Denton shook his head and answered quickly, “If it's not in the papers, then it never happened. The owners decreed that it not be in the papers, therefore...” He does this circular motion with his open hands that makes me wanna whack him across the face. He sighed, “I just came to tell you fellas goodbye.”
More confusion. “Denton, what’s happened? You get fired or something?”
“Reassigned; Back to my old job as The Sun's ace war correspondent.” He smiles, oblivious to the vibe of the room. “The owner thinks I should be covering only the 'really important' stories. So wish me luck, boys. At least half what I wish you.”
The room was ice cold. The friendliness Denton was handing out wasn’t being returned, and it made the man jittery. He turns to Davey with a hand on the boy’s shoulder and mutters, “They don't always fire you, David,” as if that’s supposed to be inspirational.
Davey jerks back from the man’s grip like it burned him. A man he once considered a friend and an ally, the only adult that took them seriously in that room, now leaving them. He stared angriffe at him, the dots connecting in his head as he spoke, “They bought you off… didn’t they?”
Silence.
“Didn’t they!?” He shouted.
“They could've blackballed me from every paper in the country.” Denton tried consoling the boy, who was staring at him with fury. I'm a newspaperman, I have to have a paper to write for.” He pulls a rolled up paper from his pocket; The only copy of the story that they had on print before the story got banned, the newspaper Denton and Katherine showed them after the second fight at the circulation yard.
Davey looked at him and asked one more question, “And where Katherine at, huh? Did she get reassigned too?”
“No.” Denton paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder at Davey. “She’s trying to convince her father to get your friend out of jail.”
Silence.
Denton left as quickly as he entered, the look on his face making him look like he did the right thing. As soon as the door shut, Davey angrily hurled the paper at the wall where my group and I sat. I ducked, the paper landing in my lap.
“We’re busting Jack out of the Refuge tonight.” He planned. “From now on, we depend on nobody but the newsies.”
When he said ‘we’, he didn’t mean just everyone.
The evening wind curled around the lodging house. It whooshed about in a way that was mourning the spirit of rebellion that died in that courthouse, quick and unexpected. The stars didn’t help either. They only reminded Spot of the glimmer of handcuffs, cuffs he wore when he fought his hardest and stood up for some idiot with an obsession with New Mexico, and still failed to protect what mattered most. Every sound made him uncomfortable. He hadn’t considered the guilt he’d feel after walking out of the deli, but God, did it hurt. It curled up in his heart like a pit of snakes biting at the walls for escape.
The rust colored the boy’s hands orange as he climbed up the fire escape ladder on the side of the building. When Davey said that ‘we would get Jack out of the refuge’, Spot hadn’t expected not only failing to break the boy out, but to witness Jack push Davey against a wall and tell him to leave him alone.
Spot carefully opened the window to his room, rope hanging loosely around his shoulder, thankful that by some stroke of momentary stupidity, he left the damned thing open. He swung one leg inside and felt around for a light switch. When he finally found it, the light flicked on.
I sat carefully on the edge of his bed, reading the paper that had almost broke my skull. He went to scream, but covered his mouth, remembering that he wasn’t a 5 year old that was scared of the dark. He coughed into his hand and leaned against the window frame, trying to hide the rope behind his back.
I looked up over my paper and tilted my head at him. “Good evening, Brooklyn.”
He laughed to himself, dropping his gaze to his shoes as he took his hat off. His smile made my heart flutter, but I stayed focused on reading Denton and Katherine’s article. He sighed, “Good evening, light of my life… Do you mind if I ask a… silly question?”
“Only if you let me ask you one in return.” I stayed still, unflinching as he walked towards me.
He stopped in front of me, leaning down with his hands on his knees to be eye-level with me. His voice oozed sarcasm as he talked. “Why are you in my room at 12 O’clock at night?”
I hummed, making it look like I was considering the question. “Waiting for you, dearest.”
He smiled brightly, reaching for my hand. Taking it into his, he spoke, “Seems a bit late doesn’t it, sweetheart?” He bent down, wanting to kiss the back of my palm.
At the last second, I yanked my hand away, holding the newspaper like a shield. “Actually, yeah! It is quite late, isn’t it?” I said it with such glee you’d think I was being proposed to. “I could say the same for you, which brings me to another question: Why are you out at 12 O’clock at night with a long rope?”
He paused, and I grinned at the way his jaw ticked. “That was rhetorical. I know what you were doing.” Getting to my feet, I circled him, folding the paper in my hands. “You enjoy your little guy’s night trying to break Cowboy out of prison?”
He chuckled nervously, “How’d you figure that out, princess?”
“I’m not an idiot. I know men. Which brings me to another question.”
“…Oh I get it.” Spot‘a eyes trailed over me. “You wanna talk about the events of me being an idiot and drinking too much, right?”
I laughed. “My question is: Why are you such an asshole?”
He paused.
“Why is it that you have to be so insecure about everything? Is it some need for control or something? Because it’s really pissing me off.”
“… The deli.” He concluded.
“Not just that. You making stupid jokes mid-court case, you grabbing and touching me when you know Race is glaring bullets at you, and going out to break Jack out from the refuge, which I know failed because I asked Eagle to keep an eye on you.”
He was shook. “… You… do not get to sent one of my spies out to keep track of me.”
“But thats not a problem for you, is it?” I countered. “I’m not stupid, you know that right?”
…
“I can understand wanting proof that the Manhattan kids can strike. I understand getting up onto a big stage and supporting the cause for striking. What I don’t understand is why you act like you don’t care about the strike when we just got put into court for disorderly conduct.”
“(Name)-“ Spot tries to explain.
“No. None of that. It’s my turn to talk.” I glared. “What is shoved so far up your ass that impares you from seeing what’s happened?? We got the topic of the strike banned from publication.”
“Thats not a good thing, (Name).”
“They set a trap where we get locked inside a circulation yard and almost get our asses kicked.”
“I don’t need to explain what’s wrong with that one, I see.”
“Pulitzer sends 20 police men on horses to stop a peaceful rally.”
“Also not a good thing.”
“Don’t you get it?! All of that is trying to stop us from protesting a measly, extra 10 cents. They’re trying to stop us because they know that we’re winning! I don’t know how you don’t realize that?”
He sighs. “Turn around, will ya?”
I stare at him with confusion. “Can you stop ordering me around and take this seriously???”
“You sure you don’t wanna turn around?” He asks in a bored tone that pissed me off further.
“No, you prick.”
“Last chance.”
“Spot, you need to listen to me.” I urge him, still not turning around.
He sighs, “Fine.”
He puts his hands on the bottom of his shirt and lifts it over his head, walking over to the window. He opens the window and steps outside, laying the shirt over the railing. He comes back in, still fully exposed, and searches through his drawers.
I’m silent, staring at him as if he lost his mind.
He looked at me, leaning against the dresser we were stood in front of. A smirk crawls onto his lips, “You were saying, princess?”
I couldn’t take it.
I smacked him across the face, full speed. He winced back, cradling his cheek in his hand. “What the FUCK?? What was that for?!”
“For being an egotistical asshole, thats what!” I scream at him.
He stood up in front of me, that same deadly glare that he gave Davey now given to me. I stood unwavering. “The reason I’m giving up, sweetheart, is because I don’t want anymore guys knocked out on the ground by a police baton.”
He leaned toward me, less than a foot from my face. “You know what I did after you got knocked out last night?”
I shook my head.
He stayed silent for a moment, then answering, “I grabbed the guy that whacked you, took my cane, and whacked him in the mouth with it. Silver end first. Knocked out a couple teeth.” A pause. “Did it to the other guys that were holding me back too.”
I wanted to recoil, vomit, shake my head, but I stood strong.
He stares at me, “(Name). I’m trying to protect everyone, protect my newsies, and protect you. It’s because I care.” His gaze turned toward the door that led to the main bunks where all the newsies slept. “It’s because I don’t want anyone getting killed while I’m in charge.”
“Then go back to that circulation yard tomorrow and fight.” I grabbed his chin and turned him to face me. “I don’t care what it takes, I will drag you back there if I have to.”
He was silent, his cheeks blooming red like a rose. His eyes traveled from my own, to my lips, back and forth like a swing.
I stopped him. “Stop it. Focus on what I’m saying.”
“But-“
“Focus. if you keep doing that, I’ll slap you again.”
He muttered, “Wouldn’t be opposed to it.”
“You’re so fucking annoying.”
“Keep insulting me. Keeps me interested.”
“Spot.”
“Fine.” He scowled.
I continued, “Everyone wants to fight. We did something in that rally: we convinced Pulitzer that we were a serious threat that required 20-30 police officers taking us to jail. That would’ve never happened if it wasn’t for you and the Brooklyn kids showing up at the second fight.”
“Kids. Exactly. We’re teenagers, children, young. We can’t just throw ourselves at the richest people in New York and expect to come out unscathed.”
“Spot, they all want to fight. Whether we get hurt or not doesn’t matter. What matters is that they have the spirit to keep going.
“And what if we fail?”
“We won‘t. You see that?” I held up the newspaper to him, the photo of all the newsies smiling at the camera. His stern eyes softened.
“That’s what we need. We need that… that hope, that- that spirit to keep fighting for those who need it.” I gave the paper to him.
He stared at the photo like I did when he gifted me the Ruby necklace. Something clicked inside him. Hope.
He looked up at me. “Your speeches are effective, (Name).”
My eyes lit up. “I get that a lot.”
Spot nodded at the paper. “You’re right. Oh my god, (Name), you’re so right.”
“I usually am.” I smirked.
“What was I thinking???” He rubbed a hand over his face. “God, I gotta go find Davey. Tell him what you told me.”
I smiled wide, patting him on his bare shoulder, “There’s the boy I was looking for.”
He grinned wildly and ran out the window. I laughed calling out to him, “Forgetting something??”
After a moment, he ran back, a wild excitement on his face as he slid a new shirt over his body. “Thank you (Name).” He said quickly, holding up his hand. I slapped it hard and sent him on his way.
I sat on his bed, sighing with pride. My speeches are great, I mused.
Suddenly, he came into the room again. “Fuck, forgot something.”
“What did you forget?” I stood up.
He looked at me. “A proper thank you.”
He scooped me up into his arms, laughing as I wailed and cried out for him to put me down. He finally placed me back down, putting his warm lips against mine.
My reaction was immediate. I kissed back with a giddy fervor.
God, it felt so much better to kiss him sober. He was even better at it than he was at the rally, drunk off his ass. His hand smoothed over my neck and entered my hair, his fingers softly combing through the locks. His other hand lowered me to sit on the bed. He knelt in front of me, kissing me as if he was ashamed of his drunken makeout previously and wanted to make it up to me.
Fuck, he was warm. Every time I tried holding onto him, he was burning hot. Maybe it was the subsiding rage, maybe he was enjoying this too much. Either way, it was better than a high-five.
I gently pulled away from the kiss, which didn’t make him happy at all. He whined and leaned his face on my knee. “I’m sorry.”
I smiled, laughing quietly to myself as I rubbed my thumb along his cheek. “You are pathetic, Spot Conlon.”
“Only for you, (Full Name).” He murmured as he kissed the palm of my hand, his eyes gazing up into mine like a man in prayer.
“We’ll talk about this later. You have a strike to start up.” I told him, which made him groan in annoyance.
He stood up, “Don’t do that…”
“Do what?”
“The thing I do. Put things off, push things to later, I’m not doing that anymore.” He took my hand and pulled me to my feet.
“We’ll talk about it-“
“No.” He shook his head, wrapping a hand around my waist and pulling me in. “I love you, (Name). I love you so much it scares me. From the moment I met you, I knew there was this… I don’t know how to describe it… this voice in my head telling me to give you a chance. And holy fuck, that chance turned out to become the most wonderful, amazing, smart, kind, beautiful newsgirl I could’ve ever trained. I want you to know how much I love you, because you’re the most extraordinary girl I’ve ever met. I wouldn’t go back in time to change anything.”
“What about the fights?” I asked.
“In that case, I would go back and tell myself to stop being a fucking idiot and confess because goddamnit, it took me a straight 2 months to confess that I liked you, and I did it drunk off my ass. The worst possible way to do that.”
I laughed. He sighed, a stupid grin on his face. “God, you’re so gorgeous when you laugh…”
I’m clutching my sides as he lifts my chin up to kiss me again. Much quicker this time, because he pulls away and goes to the window. Before leaving, he says to me, “I will dedicate my life to keeping you safe, my love.”
I blushed, “Oh, do not call me that.”
“Fine, dearest.”
“Nope.”
“Love?”
“Ehhh…”
“(Name)?”
“Yes?” I turned to him in an instant, making myself giggle.
“Yeah, I like that one too.”
“Oh, get out of here, you mushy weirdo.”
He sighed dramatically, reaching his hand through the rumor frame. “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
I did it.
I fucking did it.
(Name) loves me.
And I love her back.
I feel so excited.
Wow.
Who knew being in love was so fun?
…
I really was stupid, hiding it, wasn’t I?