Work Text:
I had a plan. I was just gonna stay in New York until I sold enough newspapers to afford a train ticket to Santa Fe. Every morning, I would buy a stack of newspapers for two for a penny then sell them for a penny each. It was hard work, but I had managed to learn some tricks on how to rake in sales, and I had been so close, so unbelievably close to saving up enough. But then the publisher of The New York World newspaper, Norman Goodman, had raised the price of the paper for my fellow newsies and I. Most of us were just barely making enough of a profit to afford to eat every day as it was. The higher price was gonna kill us. I couldn't stand to let that happen, so I had the stupid idea to go on strike. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. A bunch of poor boys with no families sticking it up to the rich guy on top. I thought all of New York would rally behind us and things would be back to normal within a week. It had gone on a lot longer than a week. Instead, Goodman had twisted the story in his paper so that all of the newsies looked like the bad guys, and I had found myself as the leader of a full-blown war that had gone on for two months. I blew through all of my savings just to keep my fellow newsies fed and alive while we were not getting paid on strike. Finally, this morning, after two months of fighting, Norman Goodman promised to give in to our demands. Things are finally supposed to go back to normal. It's probably gonna take a bit longer than expected, but I can get back on track with my plan. Now that Goodman says that he promises to buy back every paper the newsies fail to sell every day, it will be easier to get my savings back up so that I have enough money to run away to Santa Fe. Run away to a small town where no one knows me. Where I can breathe fresh air instead of the stale rotten stench of the New York streets. Things are supposed to go back to normal, but they can’t now. Now that I've stupidly fallen in love with the heir of the man I've been fighting against. With the son of the man I've been fighting against. Stupid Cyrus Goodman and his stupid good heart for giving up a life of wealth and luxury under his father to become a reporter and help the newsies get justice. We would have never won if Cyrus hadn't helped me sneak into his father's printing room to get our real story printed in the paper. Now, I don't know what to do. I'm sitting in my favorite spot in the city, a fire escape of an abandoned building that has a perfect view of the entire skyline. I can't stop thinking. Thinking of Santa Fe. Thinking of Cyrus. Thinking of what it means that I'm thinking about Cyrus. It should be an easy choice—choosing between Santa Fe and Cyrus. I shouldn't even be considering staying in New York for him. It's not like anything could actually happen between us. Cyrus isn't like me. His brain isn't... messed up like mine. I should just forget about him and move to Santa Fe. I can start fresh. I can find a pretty small-town girl and force my brain to be normal and like her.
I'm broken away from my thoughts by a rattling under me. Someone is coming up the fire escape. I instantly know who it is. I've only shown this place to one other person.
"Hey, I thought I would find you here," Cyrus says as he climbs up next to me. The entire fire escape wobbles a bit as he situates himself into sitting criss-cross next to me. His legs are a few inches from mine. I shift slightly so that our knees touch. Just barely.
"You should be out partying," I tell him. "You're a hotshot reporter now."
He shrugs. "Parties aren't really my scene. Plus yeah, it's cool that I'm a household name after my first article, but that's only because I went against my own father to get it printed. I don’t know how much of a celebration I deserve for doing that."
"Do you regret it?" I ask quietly.
He shakes his head. "I'd side with you over him any day. Even if you were in the wrong, which you weren't. If you hadn't stood up to him then you and the rest of the newsies would have been left struggling forever. Plus, your plan to have him buy back the unsold papers has made his approval rating soar, so I think he actually might not kill me or kick me out for going against him. Even if he does yell at me or give me whatever awful punishment he can think of, at least we don't have to fight anymore."
I look away from Cyrus and towards the city skyline in front of us. "Yeah, I can finally get back to my plan."
I can feel Cyrus’s eyes staring me down. I turn back towards him. There's a weird glint in his eyes but I can't tell what it means. "Are you still planning on running away to Saint Fi or wherever?" he asks.
"Santa Fe," I correct him, "And yeah. What is there for me here? I've been on the streets since I was twelve, and I never learned how to do anything useful except sell papers. I can't do any skills like math or writing, and all the jobs that don't require skills in New York are already taken. My best hope is to go out to a small town where there aren't enough people to fill all the jobs. They probably need someone to build houses or whatever. I can probably learn how to do that. There aren’t any jobs like that here though. There ain’t no space left in New York to build any more houses."
Cyrus rolls his eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about. You've never even been to this place. How do you know that there will be a job opening? You might waste all your money crossing the country just to end up in the same position you’re in now.”
"Yeah, well, I've been here long enough that I know there's nothing here for me." I look down at the alleyway below us. “If I can’t hope for a better life out there then I have nothing to hope for at all.”
I feel Cyrus's hand touch my arm. I look up at him. "TJ, stop talking down about yourself. You have so much to hope for here! You just lead a revolution and watching you do it was exhilarating! You're a natural-born leader and great public speaker. Plus, the entire city knows your name. I'm sure you can find a job." I feel his hand falter for a bit as if he's deciding whether or not to pull away, but he keeps it on my arm. He quietly adds, "Plus, I'm here. I want you to stay."
"Cyrus, I- I don't want to leave you but you don't understand. I have... secrets.” I pause and look away from his eyes. “It was bad enough trying to hide them before, but now that I'm in the public eye... I don't know if I can stay here."
"What secrets?" he asks before adding, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
I look back up at him. "I do want to tell you. I trust you more than anyone. You're the most kind and accepting person I've ever met. My secrets might be a little too big for even you to accept though."
"I promise that I'll still be here for you no matter what your secrets are,” he says so convincingly that I can’t help myself from believing him.
I sigh. I'm not gonna tell him the big one, but I can tell him something. Something I've never told anyone before. "Okay, I'll tell you one of my secrets, but you can't tell anyone, okay? I mean it."
"I swear I won't tell."
"Okay." I pause for a second. "Have you ever wondered what TJ stands for?"
"Oh, yeah.” He nods by then looks down guiltily. ”But I already found out. Marty already told me."
My eyes widen in shock. "Marty? What? Marty doesn't know what it stands for. No one does. What did he tell you?"
"He told me that, uh, the T stands for... Tiffany and you’re embarrassed that you have a girl name."
"Oh my god,” I groan. Marty is one of my best friends but sometimes I actually want to murder him. “My name is not Tiffany! I don't have a girl name."
"Sorry. Blame Marty, not me. I didn't believe him anyway... okay, maybe I kinda did, but not fully. I promise."
I let out a sigh. "It's fine. Actually, knowing you thought I was named Tiffany makes me feel better about telling you my real name. Kinda. Actually, maybe not... It's just- okay, so my parents were really into music. They named me after the members of the band that played at their wedding."
"Okay, that’s not so strange."
I take a deep breath. "TJ stands for... Thelonious Jagger."
"Thelonious Jagger? Are you serious?"
"Yeah, the pianist's first name was Thelonious and the singer's last name was Jagger. For some reason, my parents though those names sounded good together."
"I love that name,” he says softly.
"Really? Well, I knew the other kids on the street wouldn't. My dad went to jail when I was really little and my mom died when I was twelve, so from then on I had nowhere to go. The second I meet other boys living on the street, I knew if I introduced myself as 'Thelonious' that I was gonna get beat up. I've been going by TJ ever since."
Cyrus is looking at me in a way I've seen him look at me a few times before. A way that makes me believe that maybe my weird confusing feelings towards him aren't one-sided. It makes me want to take a chance. To know if he's feeling what I'm feeling. What if he isn't though? What if he’s disgusted and runs away from me? What if he tells everyone? I can’t lose him, but I look into his eyes and I realize that I'm willing to take the risk to know if there is even a slight chance that he feels the same way. I slowly start reaching my hand over towards his. “Is there anything else you wanna know?"
He looks down at my hand then back up. "Is there any other secret you wanna tell me?"
"Yes,” I say as I inch my hand even closer so that my fingers are just barely brushing his. "Is there any secret you wanna tell me?"
"Yeah."
I flip over his hand and fully place my palm over his. I exhale a sigh of relief when I feel him intertwine his fingers between mine. I squeeze his hand and smile at him. He smiles back. We don't say anything for a while. We just take each other in as the sounds of the city echo below us.
He speaks first. "Are you still going to leave?" he asks nervously.
I look down at our conjoined hands then back up at him. "Cyrus, I want this so bad, but I- We- We can't be together even if I stay."
"I want this too.”
I shake my head. "We can't."
"Why not?" he asks as he squeezes my hand.
"Cyrus,” I say with a sigh. I want so badly to keep holding on to his hand and never let go, but we both know that can’t happen. We shouldn’t try to convince ourselves otherwise. It will just lead to trouble.
"We can just be together in our own little bubble,” he says. “The world doesn't have to know."
I sigh. "Maybe." I take his other hand in mine. I know this will just lead to trouble... but now that I have him, I can’t let go.
Cyrus looks down nervously. "Well, if you don't want to feel like we have to hide completely, uh, we could tell Buffy.”
I recoil back a bit. He can’t be serious. Telling someone about… this? It’s way too dangerous.
He senses my disapproval and adds, “I mean, she already knows that I like boys. That I like you."
"Really? You told her?"
"Yeah,” Cyrus starts rubbing both of his thumbs against the back of my hands. “She was sad about how she and Marty can't publically be together since he's white and she's black, and I told her that I could kinda relate because I can't be with the person I wanna be with either."
I look down at our hands. "How did she react?"
Cyrus shrugs. "She reacted well, I guess. I mean, we're still friends and she said that she still loves me. She said she doesn't really... understand how I can feel like this , but she accepts that I do."
I nod. “Does anyone else know?"
Cyrus shakes his head. "No. I thought about telling Andi and Jonah. They're good people and good friends, but it's just so risky. I've never met anyone else who admits to feeling like this. ” He raises up our conjoined hands. “Except you now, I guess. So, I have no idea what they'll think of it. And my dad can definitely never find out. That’s one of the reasons why I decided to become a reporter. Don't get me wrong. I love everything else about reporting. I love getting out there and feeling like I'm in the middle of the action and telling stories that need to be told, but I can also use the excuse that I'm too focused on my career to date whenever my dad brings up girls."
"That won't work forever."
"I know, but we don't have to think about forever. We can just think about right now. Maybe in a few months or years if you still wanna go to Santa Fe then I might even go with you. I think if you run away now though then you'll never know what could have happened if you stayed here." I look into his eyes and they look so sincere that I feel like I have no choice but to believe him. To believe that maybe we can actually do this. Maybe not forever, but at least for now. That’s more than I ever dreamed I would get.
Cyrus lets go of my hands and lays his head on my shoulder. The new position causes my back to press a bit painfully into the building behind us and my foot to hang awkwardly off the side of the fire escape, but I don’t care. I pull him in closer to my chest and wrap my arms around him. I bury my face into the side of his neck.
"I don't know how I can be so happy and so terrified at the same time,” I tell him.
He relaxes into my chest. “I feel the same way."
We sit in silence for a few seconds before I ask, "Do you think things will get better for people like us in the 20th century? It seems impossible but..."
“But you want to hope?” He asks.
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
Cyrus sighs. “I don’t know. If men like my dad continue to stay in charge then probably not... but that doesn’t mean we can’t try to be happy despite the jerks in charge."
“Happy in our little bubble?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he turns his neck around a bit awkwardly to try and look at me. “Do you want to be in a bubble with me though? I mean... Are you still gonna leave?”
I think for a moment before shaking my head. I can’t leave. Not now. "I’ll stay. I can't promise forever, but I promise that we can have a little bubble for now.” I hesitate for a second before adding, “We have to be really careful though, okay? We're pretty famous now. People might suspect something and if this gets out..."
Cyrus gets up out of my embrace then turns around and looks at me. He grabs both my hands again. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how good it feels to hold his hands. “I know we have to be careful. My dad is a jerk with too much power though. Which has obviously sucked for the past two months, but it could come to our advantage in the future. There is no way he would let a newspaper headline declaring that his son is a homosexual see the light of day in this city."
I frown at him. "Don't use that word."
"Homosexual? Why? It's true,” he says with a shrug.
"I guess, but the way you used it isn’t. You made it sound like that’s all you are. You’re so much more though. You’re so kind and caring and smart and you’re so passionate about everything that you believe in. You’re just so you, Cyrus. And... I like you, a lot.”
He smiles. “I like you a lot too.”
We grin at each other in silence for a few minutes, and his smile makes my stomach flip. God, he’s so cute. I just want... I really want to kiss him right now.
"Can I kiss you?" I ask before I can stop myself.
He stares at me in shock for a few seconds before quietly saying, "Yes, you can."
I lean in and press our lips together. I’ve never kissed anyone before and I don’t know what I’m doing. Our noses bump together a bit and I don’t know where to put my hands so they awkwardly hover over his sides. It’s perfect though. How could it not be perfect when it’s with Cyrus?
After a few seconds, we break apart. Then I pull him into my chest so we’re back in the position we were in earlier. I shift a bit though so my back isn’t digging into the wall behind me anymore. We stay like that for so long that I feel myself drifting off. I end up falling asleep with the boy I love in my arms and the soft distant sounds of the city singing through my ears.