Chapter Text
The bell hadn’t sounded yet.
You could only just see the window from your bed, just enough of it to see that it was still dark in the streets of New York. You would have gone back to sleep, but there was a niggling thought that would not silence itself. You only had fifty cents left.
You hadn’t been stupid with your money, not really, but you had gotten hit by one thing after another. The weather had been lousy, so nobody wanted to stop long enough to buy a paper that was half soaked already. Your boots had fallen apart, literally collapsing off of your feet when you tried to put them back together, so you’d had to buy a new pair. Though Pulitzer had lowered the price of papes some after the strike, it was still more than you could afford.
You were near broke, and if selling didn’t go well for the next day or two, you might not be able to afford to pay to stay in the Lodge.
The fear started small, hindered by the warmth under your covers and your effort to focus on how nice the city was when it was quiet, but it grew with each minute that the bell didn’t ring. You laid there, half hoping it wouldn’t ever sound and have needing it to ring now, until you thought that your ribs would surely split open soon if the pressure didn’t alleviate.
You tried to steady your breathing, but couldn’t really focus on it.
Where would you sleep if they turned you out?
What if somebody found you out there and did something? Kidnapped you, raped you, robbed you?
What if some pimp found you and wanted you to become a prostitute? Could you really say no if you were starving?
What if the boys found out? What would they say, God, what would Race say if he saw how far you had fallen? Nothing had ever happened between the two of you, but he would surely be disgusted by you if he found out that you were a whore.
A broke, homeless hooker. That’s what would become of you if selling went badly. It was inevitable.
Some part of you heard the bell clanging and the typical morning sounds of the other newsies, but nothing could delve deep enough to pull you out of the hole of what ifs that you had fallen into. You curled yourself into a ball, trying to keep the heaving chest and trembling shoulders invisible. As you shifted to make yourself smaller, you felt the dampness of the bed. You had sweated through your clothes. What a pathetic mess, you thought to yourself. No wonder you ended up like this. Who would want to buy a pape from someone like you?
“Aye, Y/N! You heard the bell, get a move on.” Race’s voice echoed through you, but you didn’t feel like you could move. If you moved, you would fall to pieces. So many terrible, tiny pieces of you that nobody could evereverever put you back together again.
“Y/N?” His voice was closer now. He would see how disgusting you were, and he would hate you. You pulled the blanket closer and tried to make yourself even smaller. Maybe if you got small enough, you would disappear entirely. Better that than to have Race - perfect, handsome, charming Race - see you the way you were.
“Hey, doll, are you okay?” His hand touched your shoulder, which was shaking so hard that it shook his entire arm. “Oh, Y/N,” he said gently.
The newsies were no strangers to hurt. Many of them were orphans and most of the rest were from broken homes. They had all fallen prey to the sharp edges that the mind created during dark times. Race knew that he couldn’t drag you out of it, not forcibly, so he didn’t try. He scooched you farther to one side of the bed, trying and failing to ignore how frail you felt, and crawled into bed with you.
He curled his body around yours, holding as much of you as he could reach. “It’s alright, kid,” he whispered into your ear. “You’s gonna be okay.”
“It’s not,” you rasped. You couldn’t look at him, not his face, so you looked at his hand. His arm was wrapped around your shoulder, spanning your chest, and his hand squeezed your shoulder where it pressed into the bed. “I’m not okay.”
“You will be,” he said.
“But what if I won’t? What if I never, ever get better? I think I’m falling apart.” The last words were so quiet, so broken, that even you could hardly hear them.
Race didn’t know what it was, exactly, that you were thinking about, but it didn’t matter. “You ain’t falling apart. You can’t.”
“Why not?” The words were a croak, but a little louder than before. He was rubbing circles into your shoulder and waist, hard and almost painful. The pain was grounding you, tethering you in place so you couldn’t drift farther away.
“I’s not gonna let you. I’ll hold you together.” He gave you a sharp squeeze, like you couldn’t possibly fall to pieces because none of the pieces could escape his grip. Race pressed a kiss against the back of your neck. Your arms had loosened around your stomach so they could press against his, fingers intertwining.
“That’s not how it works,” you said, but it was in a breathless laugh. “You’s gonna crush me.”
He lightened his grip a little. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
You told him all of it. The money and the rent. The boots. About how you might have to be a prostitute, and that he’d probably hate you. The words, so serious a few moments earlier, sounded a little sillier now. Not sillier, exactly, but more extreme than they had needed to be.
“I could never hate you,” he said. “And you’ll make rent.”
“Not if I don’t sell papes,” you said bitterly. You noticed that it was getting light outside. If you didn’t get outside soon, you wouldn’t make any money at all. You didn’t feel overly warm anymore, just a pleasant heat everywhere that Race was touching you. You didn’t feel like you would fall apart if you moved now, but you thought that maybe you’d like to lay in his arms for a few minutes longer.
“Even if you don’t sell papes. I’ll help you pay it.”
“No!” You bolted upright, eyes wide as you took him in. “I ain’t taking your money. You don’t have anything to spare.”
“I’ll make you work for it,” he said with a teasing grin. “You’s gonna light my cigars and shine my shoes. You can earn your keep.”
Your lips ticked up in response. He still had one of your hands in his. “You’s gonna pay me to light cigars?”
“Better than being a hooker, ain’t it?”
“Probably,” you agreed with a shaky sigh.
“But if you want,” he crooned, leaning in close, “I’d pay you for a kiss.”
Your eyes fluttered shut in anticipation, but you frowned when he pressed his lips against your forehead instead of your mouth. You shot him an accusing look when he danced off the bed, but even the innocent touch had set off the butterflies in your stomach.
“C’mon,” he said. “We can discuss the terms of your employment once the day is out. Let’s see how much you can make while the sun is out. I ain’t paying to kiss you if I can do it for free,” he added with a cheeky grin.
You got up, legs still a little weak, but heart a great deal lighter.