Chapter Text
Jack had always been made of energy--buzzing with it, always looking for somewhere to let it out. All his emotions felt like this, excitement and nerves alike, which made it easy enough to convert whatever energy was running through him into confidence that helped him talk, fight, lead, flirt, whatever he needed.
Still, it had been quite some time--maybe years--since the buzzing had been as loud as it was now, as Jack walked side by side with Davey, watching Les hurry along in front of them.
The three of them were chatting as they always did on the route from school to the lodging house, the conversation flowing easily and cheerfully. Yet every time Davey’s hand swung too close to Jack’s, the energy in him spiked so high he forgot what he or anyone else was saying.
As he’d bemoaned to Medda almost a week previously, he was a mess.
And almost a week later, he still hadn’t followed her advice.
“Mr. Wilson’s got a big test for us tomorrow,” Les was telling them, walking backwards in front of them until Davey chided him to watch where he was going. “Everytime he brings it up, he says it’s two pages longer than the last time!”
“It can’t be too bad,” Davey huffed affectionately as he pulled Les out of the way of a group of women pushing past. “As long as you keep studying, you’ll be fine.”
The way Les’ eyes flicked to Jack’s and widened at the addition of “keep” had him stifling a laugh, but he kept it quiet in defense of his young friend. “You’re a smarty-pants with math anyway,” Jack added. “Now, if I had to take that test…”
“And if we had to make political comics,” Davey drawled in response. And of course, even the slight praise had Jack’s cheeks aching with a wide smile within seconds. Davey never let him make some comment about being stupid, didn’t let it stand for a second, not even once.
His revelry did almost cause him to miss Davey’s next words, and only through context did he work out that he’d asked about how the new job was going. “It’s good,” Jack replied quickly, covering his pause. “I’m mostly just dropping off the new pictures whenever I feel like it, and I think Pulitzer’s too scared to make me stick to a schedule.” He laughed. “Plus, it’s great seeing Kath when I can, she’s gotten so damn busy.”
Davey hummed in acknowledgement, and for a second he seemed to tense a little. “I haven’t seen her in a month,” he agreed.
“She’s still as smart mouthed as ever,” Jack assured him. “Even to everybody she probably shouldn’t be.”
Luckily, Dave seemed to relax at that, so Jack dismissed it as a misread. Even this many months since they’d decided they wouldn’t work, and since Jack’s heart and mind had clearly moved on, talking about Katherine sometimes still struck a sore spot; he’d probably just been projecting.
“That sure sounds like our local reporter,” Davey said with a laugh. “Hard to get fired when your father owns half the town, whether you like it or not.”
“Ah ah ah!” Jack cut in with a waggle of his finger. “Pulitzer don’t own shit compared to us, remember that!”
Davey’s grin grew, and when he looked over, there was something in his eyes, something fond. He nudged the back of his knuckles against Jack’s. “I promise, I won’t forget that any time soon.”
Jack swallowed thickly and managed to grin as if his heart hadn’t just started racing annoyingly loudly. Davey hadn’t looked at him like that since the roof almost two weeks ago, and immediately his knees were weak again.
And thinking about that night when he’d spilled his guts to and then properly cuddled the boy he had fallen for way harder than he’d ever planned to--wasn’t exactly helpful in his quest to act normally.
He tried to search for something to say to cover his hammering heart, noticing the concerned look Davey had started giving him, and somehow what he landed on was: “Hey, are ya gonna be free tomorrow?”
Davey’s eyebrows shot up, then furrowed. “After school, yes? I mean, I guess unless I have homework, but of course we’re going to the lodging house.”
Meanwhile, Jack’s mind was racing a mile a minute to figure out where to go from here. Unhelpfully, his conversation with Medda and the thoughts he’d mulled over in the nights since were the only things popping up. It’s time you talk to him, or it’ll eat you up. “I mean later in the evening,” Jack announced, although he had no idea how he was speaking with this much confidence when the words were tumbling out without his brain checking them over first. “Do ya think you’ll be free then?”
Now Davey looked distinctly suspicious. “I should be. Why? What are you plotting?”
“It’s a surprise,” Jack replied. For me too, apparently. His words just kept rolling without a plan to back them up, and it felt too late to back out now. Was it too late? Maybe not if he could get his mouth to slow down for a second.
But then Davey’s face broke into a grin. “Okay, then. Just don’t get us arrested, please.” He patted his hand on the center of Jack’s back, holding it there for a moment, comforting and warm, and the jolt that ran through him suddenly had him remembering more of Medda’s words.
You’re right, you’re a mess. You can’t go on freaking out every time your friend does something completely normal, Jackie.
As always, she was right. So Jack just pushed out a sly smile and let the conversation turn away from the topic as Davey reminded Les yet again to watch where he was going.
Jack didn’t talk much for the rest of the walk. He was too busy trying to sort out exactly what he’d just gotten himself into.
The moment he’d sold his last paper the next day, Jack sprinted to the Bowery. He couldn’t hear over his thoughts and if he didn’t tell someone all of them as soon as possible, he was going to explode.
He’d briefly considered dumping it all on Crutchie instead, but he’d still been finishing up--plus, Jack still hadn’t explained his feelings for Davey to his best friend. Not that Crutchie would have a problem with it (Crutchie had known Jack played both teams since they had met seven years before) but he was certain that Crutchie would have a go of teasing him before saying anything remotely helpful, and he hadn’t felt up to it with how badly his feelings had been bothering him.
So, he slipped into the theater and was relieved to hear voices echoing in the empty space--Medda was here, and not performing. Jack jogged up the row between the seating until he could see Medda on stage in a long blue gown with a bright feather poking out of her hat. She spotted him and immediately stopped yelling to the man working the spotlights.
“Is that Jack Kelly? Get over here, kid! What are you doing here so early? Did selling papes get too boring for you?”
“I just finished, Miss Medda,” Jack greeted with a grin, bounding up onto the stage and pulling her into a hug, careful not to crinkle her costume. “Couldn’t wait to come see you! How’s the rehearsal going?”
Medda groaned with a raise of her eyebrows as she pulled back. “It would be going a lot smoother if Walt up there could keep a better handle on his lights than his love life,” she muttered.
The man obviously heard her anyway, and responded by swearing loudly down at them. She swatted him away as Jack suppressed a snort. Medda smiled. “You look like you need something, Jack. Should we take a pause?”
“No, no,” Jack said immediately, waving his hands. “I don’t wanna mess up rehearsal--”
“Too late for that.” Medda gave a long-suffering sigh while Walt loudly scoffed from above. She grinned. “I need a break. Let’s talk, kid.”
So Jack followed her with a snicker to her back room. She sat him on the chair in front of the makeup table and then lounged dramatically on the couch, as she usually did. Jack’s knees started bouncing rapidly the moment he sat down.
Medda eyed him with her eyebrows raised. “This is Davey-related, isn’t it?”
Jack groaned and flung his head back, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Yeah. I panicked yesterday and invited him out tonight because I can’t work right around him anymore and I know I need to do somethin’ about it but I have no idea how and now I feel like I’m letting the universe down if I back out, and I do wanna tell him even though I’m terrified it’s gonna ruin everything.”
Medda stared at him as he caught his breath. “Shit, Jack.” She shook her head. “You’re even worse than last time we spoke. You asked him out tonight, you said?”
Jack let his hands drop, sighing. He felt exhausted now that his energy was finally out in the open. His eyes caught on a set he’d painted a couple years ago, stowed away in the corner of the room. He winced. His old style really was a shock, he should make a new one for her…
He snapped his eyes back to Medda. Focus, Kelly. His mind was not keen to stay on this topic. It clearly wanted to be far, far away. “Yeah. I don’t know if I can do it. ‘Cause what if he…?”
The silence dragged for a moment, so Medda gently butted in. “...Doesn’t feel the same?”
Jack sighed again and nodded, although that wasn’t exactly it. Medda sat up and leaned forward. “You asked him out and he said yes, though. That seems like a pretty good tell to me.”
Jack let out a dismayed sound and flailed a hand. “But I didn’t ask it like I was flirting, I asked it like normal! Is he gonna think I’m… ambushin’ him or somethin’?”
Medda snorted derisively, and Jack glared at her. She put up a hand in apology. “Well, honey, I’ve only met your Davey a few times, but I don’t think he’s gonna be violently upset about you making moves on him. He’s your friend, and he cares about you a whole hell of a lot. From his looks, I’d thought he was at least as queer as you.”
Jack let a laugh bubble out at that. Confusion swirled around inside him. Of course, he’d considered that Davey might have tastes like his--he’d contemplated it about most folks he knew--but Davey had never even hinted at that, even after months. Jack didn’t even think Dave had talked about that sort of thing with any of the newsies, despite how queer a lot of them were.
Jack shook his head slowly. “If he is,” he started carefully, “it’s not something he thinks he can talk about.”
Medda exhaled, pressing her fingers against her temple. “Well, think about what happened a few weeks ago. That night on the lodging house’s roof?”
A jolt ran through Jack, along with the moonlight, Davey’s arms around him, the softness of his hair, the glint in his eyes as he retreated down the ladder…
“Are you aboutta tell me that wasn’t even a hint he might like you?”
Jack let out a slow breath, sinking back into the chair. He shut his eyes. Everything mixed up inside him was just too much. In the moment, yes, it really felt like Davey had felt the same things Jack was feeling. Why else would he open up like that, allow himself to be held, to cry all-out in Jack’s arms when he knew David Jacobs hated nothing more in the whole world than needing anybody to take care of him?
Because you’s friends. Because he trusts you. Because he doesn’t think it means something.
All things that Jack could ruin tonight if he messed up.
“Jack,” Medda said, leaning forward and staring straight into his eyes with her voice serious. Jack crossed his arms, preparing to be lectured. “Tell me something. And remember, this is really the only thing that’s important: Do you want to tell him? Do you want him to know? Do you want to know for sure if it could go anywhere? Or do you want to sit back and pretend your feelings don’t exist?”
Jack felt his brow drop. “Well, when you put it like that…” he grumbled.
But his chest was tight. Because she was right. His feelings were strong about this, about Davey. Stronger than he had about Kath, even when he felt sure they’d last forever. He definitely hadn’t been so scared about it. Because flirting with Kath, pouring himself into being with her--it was safe. He could flirt with her in the streets in front of whoever he wanted and the only thing he would be judged for was the state of his clothes. With Davey, everything was fragile. Asking someone who hadn’t even considered it before to be in a long-term, same-sex relationship was a big-as-hell ask. And Davey meant a lot to him. There was so much to lose.
But that also made him want this more. If there was any chance that he and Davey could have something real, something that made him feel how he did on the roof that night…
“I think it’s worth it,” he whispered.
Medda’s eyes softened, and she sat back like it was what she’d been waiting for. “My dear Jack,” she started quietly, “it is always worth it to be true. Even when it’s scary. It makes the world a more beautiful place. Every time.”
Suddenly, tightness climbed up Jack’s throat and he had to blink the blurriness away from his eyes. Medda noticed right away and stood up, opening her arms. Jack followed and hugged her, breathing in and filling his lungs all the way before releasing it. He’d known Medda since he was a little boy with nothing but pictures in his head and a draw to colorful paints, and always, always, she was the comfort he never got anywhere else. She worked her magic this time too. Energy still buzzed inside of him at the prospect of what was coming, but he felt more confident. He knew now that he was going to do it. He was choosing to do it because it was what he wanted.
Medda ruffled his hair when he stepped back again, pushing his cap aside so it almost fell off. Then she studied him. “Where are you gonna take him tonight then?”
The first answer was Medda’s Bowery, of course, as it was Jack’s favorite place and the second safest to be doing queer things in only to the lodging house, which would be way too busy. Would the Bowery be any more private, though?
His coming ask must have shown on his face, because Medda smiled. “You can take him here, of course, if you wanna. We have a show going tonight, and I’m sure I could get the two of you a box. As long as you’re quiet, you shouldn’t have any trouble here.”
Jack felt his expression melt into a smile. “Thank you, Miss Medda.” He righted his hat, then removed it to fiddle with it in his hands. “What am I gonna say to him?”
“The truth,” Medda said with a shrug and a raised eyebrow. Jack huffed a nervous laugh. But she was right.
“You’re always right, Miss Medda,” he told her with a grin.
Medda beamed, then brought her hands to his shoulders. “Now. We’re not sending you off to your battle without getting you properly ready.” She stepped back and dramatically pointed to the mirror at her make up table. “Welcome to my art studio!”
For some reason, Jack immediately imagined her painting with actual paints and brushes over his face. He knew her painting ability and knew this would not be a good start.
Of course, even what she actually meant gave him pause. “If I look too fancy, it’s gonna be weird. He’ll know something’s going on.”
Medda raised her eyebrows. “Jack, you may think you’ll be unrecognizable without dirt on your face, but I think your Davey will be more distracted with other things.” Jack straightened in alarm at her tone, but she just chuckled and turned to the mirror, pushing his gaze towards it too. “I know not to give you any of my stage looks. This is about confidence, kiddo.”
Well, he certainly needed more of that right now. So, Jack let Medda do her work.
They chatted as Medda cleaned dust from his face and brushed out his hair. Jack asked her a few times if she needed to get back to rehearsal, but Medda shushed him every time. He was glad at least that he’d asked Davey to meet him at the lodging house--he was pretty sure he would normally be waiting at Dave’s school by this time. He felt guilty for breaking the routine, but he definitely needed this if he was going to go through with his plan.
Medda combed Jack’s hair back once the tangles were gone, using only water to hold it in place until it dried. Despite his nerves, Jack felt more safe than he had in months the longer he remained in the chair. When Medda finally declared her work finished--despite the fact that he looked mostly the same--Jack did feel a spark of confidence. He looked ready. That had to count for something.
Jack hugged Medda one last time before he left. “Thanks for everything, Miss Medda,” he told her. “I’ll paint you a hundred sets!”
“Not with the schedule you’re workin’,” Medda chided. She handed him back his hat. “Go get him. You and Davey care about each other, and no matter what happens, you’ll be okay. But, if anything goes wrong--which it won’t--interrupt the entire performance for all I care, come talk to me. I’ll blame Walt and his half-assed spotlighting.”
Jack shook his head and laughed. “Whatever you say.” He waved to her with his hat, saluting as he backed towards the door. “I’ll see you in a bit! Break a leg!”
“To you too!” Medda called after him. She gave him one last pointed look. “And believe in yourself, Jack.”
Jack grinned. “I’ll try!” he replied.