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“I knew I would find you out here.”
Jack glances over his shoulder, watching as David climbs out onto the metal fire escape. Jack has been out here for about ten minutes now; the air is chilled, and snow is beginning to fall, but Jack is warmly wrapped in a coat Mayer passed down to him a few weeks ago. Too big for David to wear comfortably, he’d said. By looking at the boy, Jack understood– David is tall and thin and lanky and this coat would likely knock him over– but it made Jack feel strange, nonetheless. Guilty. He has a coat, while some of the other boys don't.
“Jack?”
“I heard ya,” Jack mumbles, taking off his cap and dusting the fresh snowflakes off. He places it back on his head and sighs. “Sorry, just… needed to cool off.”
David takes a seat next to Jack on the landing, long legs slitting through the metal bars and dangling over the street below. “It’s a good place to cool off, I suppose,” he murmurs. “You aren’t freezing to death, are you? It’d be quite inconvenient to pull you back into the apartment.”
Jack rolls his eyes, fighting back a grin. “‘M fine, Dave. Got all my extremities ‘n everything.” He stretches his gloved hands out in front of him to prove it, ignoring the hole in the groove between his thumb and pointer finger.
“Oh, good,” David smiles. “The extremities.”
Jack nods his head decisively, then lets out a deep breath. It’s cold enough that he can see his breath right in front of his face, too, but Jack has always run hot, something he inherited from his father. He resituates his cap again before leaning closer to David, knocking their shoulders together. “You okay, Dave?”
David hums and nods. From the position they’re in, their fronts are shielded from the view of anyone who decides to look out onto the fire escape, so David- boldly- takes Jack’s gloved hand in his own, holding it. “I am,” he murmurs. “I’m glad Ima and I were able to convince you to stay. Hanukkah is my favorite time of year, and… I don’t know. It’s nice sharing it with my friends.”
They’re more than friends, have been since September, but you can never be too careful with what you say when David’s parents could be only steps away in their small tenement housing.
Regardless, Jack nods, something slow and silent. He listens to the sound of David’s even breathing before glancing up at him through his lashes. Takes in David’s flushed cheeks, the red tip of his nose. He’s wearing his newsie cap as well, Jack notices, his dark curls nearly hidden from view, but a few unruly ones flare out behind his ears. Has on a thick scarf Sarah knitted for him. He looks beautiful like this, but Jack doesn’t say that out loud; instead, he just grins a little when David’s green eyes meet his own.
“I’m thankful to be invited,” Jack murmurs, before looking back out at the street below, letting out a soft sigh. “Didn’t have anywhere else to be, anyways. Racer ‘n Crutch told me they’s keepin’ the littles in line tonight. They kicked me outta the lodge.”
“Good. You deserve a night off.”
Jack lets out a dry laugh, looking down at his lap. He doesn’t say anything, and David huffs.
“Jackie,” he whispers, his voice soft, tender; he knows just how to get Jack’s attention, so Jack sighs again and looks up at the taller boy, who has a look on his face. “I’m serious. You’ve been working yourself to the bone, and… it’s the holidays, so you– you deserve a break.”
Jack purses his lips as he looks away again, frowning. His brows furrow. Maybe, once upon a time, a break would have been nice, but he feels awful enough being here instead of with his boys at the lodging house. Maybe he's paranoid, but he can't shake the feeling that he'll show back up tomorrow and everyone will be ill, cold, and gone. “‘S the holidays,” Jack echoes, “which is exactly why I can’t take a break. Gotta keep workin’. We need more blankets, medicine… winter’s rough on them boys. I can’t let ‘em down again.”
“You can’t be the only one running the show,” David frowns, squeezing Jack’s hand. “And you’re not, are you? All of the older boys are pitching in this year. We discussed it at the union meeting, didn’t we?”
“Well, yeah, but they’s ain’t makin’ enough to- to supplement it. Everything we need.” If they had medicine when his mother was sick... "I can't just give up on the boys like that, Dave. Gotta make sure everyone's okay."
David looks down at him, cocking his head to the side in that adorable way he always does when he’s thinking, and he gently asks, “Is this how it always is? You running around, fixing things for everyone else?”
Jack frowns. “What else am I s’posed to do, Davey?”
“You could stop worrying for a night, for starters.” David lets go of Jack’s hand, then pats his shoulder before pushing himself back up to stand. “C’mon. We’re going inside, and you’re having some extra matzo ball soup. Ima insists.”
And, well, Jack can fight David all he wants, but he can’t say no to Esther and her cooking.
—
The Jacobs place is small. Jack knows this. And he knows that, because it’s small, he and David will be sleeping together; Les will bunk with Sarah, Esther and Mayer have their own space, and David and Jack will use the bed kept in the tiny living area right across from the dining room table, which they’ve done a handful of times since this summer’s strike. It still doesn’t make it any less strange, sleeping with another person in bed.
It’s not something Jack is used to anymore. When he was younger, of course, he’d share beds with the other newsies. It’s how he learned that Racer kicks in his sleep and Crutchie snores after a long day, how Albert steals the blankets and Smalls curls up into a ball– he’s shared beds with a lot of people. He shared a bed with his younger brother, Miguel, a long time ago. Shared with his father when the winters got harsh. It doesn’t make it easier, though, when David slides under the covers next to Jack.
“Your feet are fuckin' freezing,” Jack mutters, pulling his legs away from David- but he wraps David’s arm around himself regardless, not wanting to be too far away from the other boy. “That can’t be healthy.”
“I’m sure it’s not,” David shrugs, feeling safe enough to hold onto Jack; his parents are quite heavy sleepers, and since the bed is near the window, they can say that they were huddling for warmth. “I’ve always been cool to the touch, I suppose.”
“You can say that again,” Jack mumbles, staring at the wall just a few inches in front of his face. “G’night, Davey.”
“Goodnight, motek,” David murmurs, pressing the faintest kiss behind Jack’s ear.
Jack should have known the silence wouldn’t last long.
He spends ten minutes staring at the beige walls, lost in his head. Wondering how he got so lucky, really. Lucky with David, his partner in crime. Lucky with a good family that seems to care for him like a son. Lucky with his friends, his boys, all of the friendships he’s kept.
It’s why the weight of the unlucky kills him, and that’s probably why, after ten minutes of silence, David murmurs from behind him, “You’re tense.”
Jack huffs out a laugh. “Ain’t’cha s’posed to be sleepin’?”
“How can I sleep when I can hear you thinking a mile a minute?” David asks softly, and Jack sighs. Curse David and his neverending kindness. “What’re you thinking about, neshama?”
Jack is silent for a few more moments. He brings his hand up, squeezing David’s hand that is resting on his chest, and tries to find the words– but he doesn’t know how to explain it. He knows David won’t understand if he tries. “Nothin’,” Jack murmurs. “‘M fine. Just… can’t sleep.”
“Right. You’re fine, and I pray the rosary every night,” David retorts sarcastically, squeezing Jack’s hand back. “I know there’s something bothering you, Jackie.”
Jack takes in a deep breath, closing his eyes and giving in. “I just– I fuckin’ hate winter,” he mutters. “Too cold. Too much to go wrong. ‘S just not a good time’a year,” he admits, his voice soft. It’s not that Jack wants to be a Scrooge, like some of the littles call him around Christmas time, but it’s difficult to be cheery when so much is on his mind.
It’s like David can sense that, with the way he asks, “Is it… I mean, is it the holidays, too? Making you upset?”
“‘M not upset.”
”Jackie,” David admonishes. He taps Jack’s shoulder, and Jack sighs as he rolls over. There’s a frown on David’s face, a look he doesn’t wear well. Jack would rather walk on hot coals than see David look anything other than content. “I’m just trying to understand,” he whispers. “This can be a- a difficult time for some.”
Jack rolls his eyes on instinct. “Dave, can ya– can ya drop it, man? I promise you. ‘M just fine.”
“You wore your cross today,” David points out, voice soft, tender, and Jack sucks in a sharp breath.
David, ever observant, is right, and Jack wishes that he wasn’t.
The cross necklace, sitting heavy on his chest, isn’t something that Jack wears often. He always has it on him, tucked away in a waistcoat pocket, but wearing it is a different story. It belonged to his mother, before she passed away. Given to him on her deathbed. He swallows thickly and wills away the image of her emaciated frame, in a winter much like this one, sick with nothing he could do to save her.
“I did,” he responds after a moment, shaking the feeling away. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“You wear it when you’re upset,” David murmurs with a furrowed brow, and Jack wants to reach up, smooth the wrinkles away– make David not worry about him so much, because Jack is fine, and has always been fine. “I- I’m sorry for pointing it out, but… you know that I– I’m here. If you want to talk. I care about you, Jack.”
Jack stares at him for a few moments before rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. After a few beats of silence, David sighs and lies back down with his head tucked onto Jack’s chest. It helps, the weight of him. A reminder that Jack isn’t alone, at least. Jack begins brushing his fingers through David’s curls.
Like his mami used to do.
“I miss my family,” Jack whispers suddenly, and the force of it sort of rips from his throat– not something he meant to say, not something he wanted to bring up, but Jack’s chest tightens regardless and he takes in a breath like he’s gotten the wind knocked out of him. “I- I’m sorry, fuck, I didn’t–”
“No, no, hey, it’s alright,” David whispers, sitting up a little more to look down at him. “Jackie… What’s going on?”
“I-I don’t know,” Jack frowns deeply, tears stinging his eyes, but he refuses to cry in front of David. “I– Just- Just bein’ here. Seein’ you ‘n your folks celebrate, it… I- I should go. I gotta–” He sits up straight, and nearly starts climbing out of bed until David grabs his upper arm, eyes wide.
”Jack,” David says firmly. “It is far too cold for you to walk back to the lodge like this. I’m not letting you leave. You’re okay, I promise… okay?” He slides his hand down Jack’s arm until he can lace their fingers together. “I’m here, Jackie… talk to me.”
Jack stares at him, looking every shade of miserable. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to talk about how pathetic he is, missing people he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of in years. He doesn’t want to talk about how the holidays make him feel like he’s lost a limb, like there’s a printing press sitting square on his chest, like he’s some ugly monster that everyone abandoned for a reason– and Jack finally lets out a shaky breath and says, “I-I just wanna go home…”
Somehow, David knows he doesn’t mean the lodge. “I’m so sorry, Jack…” David whispers, drawing him in and wrapping his arms around him. “Can you… tell me about them? Your parents?”
Jack swallows hard, lying back down with David; this time, he’s curled up on David’s chest instead of holding him himself. “I barely remember ‘em,” Jack mutters, sniffling. “I… I know Mami was beautiful, real soft-spoken… Papi w- was louder. But he was always laughin’, ‘n tellin’ stories… even after Mami died. I-I dunno. Guess he w- wanted to keep me happy.”
“They sound like wonderful people,” David whispers, frowning and pressing a gentle kiss to Jack’s forehead. “Your father… he’s still alive?”
“I dunno,” Jack whispers. “He got fuckin’– he got caught stealin’. Food or clothes or somethin’. It was cold outside.” He pauses, and David sighs heavily because Jack doesn’t have to say it: his father was caught doing something to keep his son comfortable, warm, fed, alive, and Jack never saw him again after that. “We was talkin’ about leavin’ together,” Jack admits, a single tear sliding down his cheek. “Goin’ out west. I… I hope he got there. If he’s outta prison.”
David is quiet for a few long moments, until he gently says, “Do you… do you think he’d look for you? If he got out?”
“He pro’lly thinks I’m dead in a ditch somewhere,” Jack frowns, brows furrowed. “Wouldn’t know wh-where to look, neither. He don’t know my name.”
David says ’oh’ in recognition– it’s hard, sometimes, remembering that Jack Kelly isn’t his birthname. It fits him, all rough around the edges. “RIght,” David whispers. “I forgot. Your real name, it’s…”
”Juan Francisco,” Jack mutters, spitting the words out like they taste awful to say. “So’s my pop’s name. Francisco, I mean. Folks called him Cisco. I… I miss him,” he whispers. “After Mami died, it was just me ‘n him, ‘n Miguel… then just- just us.” He sniffles again, then lets out a humorless laugh at he mutters, “Y’know, m-my old man, he’s the one who got me into paintin’ shit.”
“Really?” David raises his brows, and gently squeezes Jack’s hand again. “I didn’t know that,” he murmurs. “I’m sure he’d be proud of how good you are.”
“It was all he could afford, y’know?” Jack frowns. “Sneakin’ me paper ‘n charcoal, ‘n then I- I got good at that, ‘n when I found Miss Medda… she got me the good shit. After Papi got thrown in jail. ‘S just hard right now, I guess.”
“I know,” David whispers. “I’m sorry. If there was anything I could do…”
“I know,” Jack mumbles, closing his eyes and resting against David fully now, letting himself sink into his arms. “I know. Thanks, Davey.”
“Of course. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He falls silent, thinking of a man with rich brown skin, wavy hair– a bright smile and a boisterous laugh. Jack’s father was a complicated man; a man who would lay down his life for his sons, a man who did everything he could after the passing of his wife, but it was never enough.
Jack wonders, often, what he would do if he saw him again. Would his father recognize him? Would he recognize his father? Maybe he’s sold him papers before. Maybe his father would be proud of him for being the President of the Newsboy Union, or maybe he’d think it was stupid. Would he be disappointed, knowing Jack changed his name? Would he understand?
Would he like David?
“I think he’d like ya,” Jack whispers after a few minutes of silence. “Ya got a good head on your shoulders. My pops liked that.”
David smiles softly, rubbing Jack’s arm. “I hope I get to meet him one day. Tell him how good his son turned out. I’ll tell him how selfless you are,” he whispers, laughing softly, “and how good you are at taking care of everyone. Maybe he’d help me talk some sense into you… get you to take a break every now and again.”
Jack laughs softly, a sad smile on his face. “He would, I bet. He- he didn’t want me workin’ myself to the bone like he did.”
“Well…” David shrugs, looking down and pressing a kiss to the tip of Jack’s nose. “Maybe you should listen to him. Honor him that way. Rest.”
Jack takes in a deep breath. “Maybe you’re right,” he whispers. “Can’t do nothin’ if I’m dead.”
“Exactly,” David murmurs. “Get some rest tonight, please?”
“I’ll try,” Jack whispers, and that’s enough. He opens his eyes to look up at David, and presses a soft, chaste kiss to David’s lips. David cups his cheek and strokes his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, and when they pull back from each other, Jack curls back in on him, letting his eyes close as sleep finally finds him.