Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

New York isn't for the faint of heart. It's a dog eat dog world, and any sign of weakness will only get you kicked and left for dead. Jack Kelly had to learn young how to put up a strong front; otherwise, he wouldn't have survived as long as he has. Keep your wits about you; there's no use to you if you've lost them. Be quick, be smart. If you're stupid, then you're dead. Know your limits, because if you're small, then all you have are your strengths, and Jack was a small kid. The growth spurt did him a few favors, but it'll only get him so far. So he's slippery, he's fast, and he knows his way around a dark alley. He knows his way around a person’s pocket, too. He's charming, and he knows how to talk it up with someone who'll listen. He can stretch the truth like a pro and get away with it; that's what makes him such a good newsie.

But Jack's a dreamer. Santa Fe is only as far as the horizon, and he can see it clear as day. It's one ticket, and he could kiss this lousy city goodbye. A couple dollars is harder to come by than one would initially think, especially when one sees fancy folk hop on a train all the time. Where they find the money when he's just barely keeping himself off the streets, Jack couldn't tell you.

The thing is, he may know his way around life on the bottom rung, but that doesn't mean he doesn't get into a fight here and there. He's always walking around with the aftermath of a few boys wanting to get scrappy. Jack can get scrappy too, and he's not gonna go easy on a guy just because they're having a tough time. He can have his sympathies and still prioritize himself. Dog eat dog world.

He wasn't always alone, and there wasn't always this instinctive competition of who could survive the longest, who was the strongest. He used to like dogs back when he had a mother and father who protected him from the harshest parts of the world. Playing outside meant he had a bed to go back to when the sun went down, and food waiting on the table for him to eat—even if he didn't notice his parents' plates had less than his.

Then his mother died, and his father got caught stealing food for them, and he had to learn what it means to be alone. That's fine—he did it, and he's alive. He can't recall the layout of their apartment, or what they smelled like, or the fuzzy blurs that used to be their faces, but that's fine. He's proven he doesn't need parents to survive in a world against him.

Being picked up by an older newsboy had probably been one of the best things to happen to him. Bringing him back to the newsboy lodging house and paying for a bed for him, teaching him how to sell, to take advantage of people, to lie, to make a living without ending up like the girls on corners or the boys in graves—all leading him to be the man he is today. Not quite happy, but close enough.

Finding that flyer for Santa Fe came pretty close on that list, with the cowboy on horseback pictured on the front. The bandana around his neck and hat on his head, with boots that made his pair look crummy in comparison. Jack knows that will be him one day; he's already got the red bandana and the cowboy hat hanging around his neck by the string. All he needs is that damn train ticket.

His life isn't exactly monotonous by any means, but he's bored. Weasel, with his papers and his unwarranted hatred for children, the Delancey brothers, the crowds when people get out of work, and of course the ever-changing environment that is New York; how could it ever be monotonous? But it's boring. It's not farms and horses and Santa Fe. He buys the papers, sells the papers, keeps out of Snyder's way, and goes to bed—rinse and repeat. Sometimes, maybe a Brooklyn boy will cross the bridge when he isn't supposed to, and they'll have a problem, or the Delanceys will be in an extra pissy mood and mess with one of the younger boys. Or, some yuppies think just 'cause they're the same size, that he can take Jack, that he's better than him. Jack isn't afraid to set a guy straight. Sure, it breaks up the day, but it's not what Jack wants.

Some days, he sees Medda, and it's close to what he wants. But it's not Santa Fe.

Meeting the Jacobs boys was a treat. They don't get a lot of schoolboys at the paper yard. Little Les takes to it like a fish in water, but David—he's reserved, snappy, and exactly how Jack would imagine a rich kid fallen from his throne. Worse, he doesn't have a lick of an idea of how the real world works.

But Les is cute, and he'd make a hell of a selling partner. Just as soon as his brother quit yattering in his ear about lying and ethics. Who cares?

"He called you Sullivan."

"Well, my name is Kelly. Jack Kelly. Ya think I'm lyin'?"

"Well, you have a way of improving the truth," he said with that bitchy face. That know-it-all look he seems to have every time he's got something smart to say.

And he is smart. A little naïve, sure, but he's smart. It was his idea to start the strike. David was the one to organize and convince the other burrows to join them. David was the one with the fancy words and the mind the make actual change. Jack's just the projector, the guy who can talk big game and make loud statements because even with all those smarts, David won't get up on a stage and get angry. David's shy like that, too polite to make a scene. They couldn't have done it without him. That's why, against all odds, they work. They work so well it scares Pulitzer.

And Pulitzer scares Jack.

"Your partner—what's his name? David?" Pulitzer asks, and suddenly, Jack with all his loud statements and bravado can't measure up to Pulitzer. His smile drops, and now he's scared. He doesn't have any fancy words and knowledge of how these things work without David. And Pulitzer is threatening to take that all away by force, in the worst way possible. "I understand he has a family. What do you think the refuge would do to him? And it would be you who put him there."

And that's when Jack realizes he and David have gotten closer than he realized in the week and a half they've known each other. Pulitzer's threat sends a chill down his spine. Sure, David's family would be in real danger if he wasn't hawking papers to the working class, and they'd be devastated, but that's not what affects Jack. Jack doesn't want to do that to David. He doesn't want David to go to the refuge. He doesn't want him to experience the same things Jack has. David is still naïve, still innocent enough that he hasn't seen the worst that New York has to offer.

Jack wants to protect David. And protecting him means betraying him.

And Jack nearly cracks, seeing the look on David's face when he sends him away. When he yells at David to leave him at the refuge. But David doesn't understand. It's worse when David sees him the next day in that awful suit. And maybe he wasn't protecting David like he thought he was. He recognizes that look from the younger newsies who were exposed to things they shouldn't have been, David betrayed by someone he thought was his friend. And David finally connects all the dots because he's smart like that.

The silence at first is worse—Weasel mocking David, testing Jack's already thin restraint, and David saying nothing.

"You're a liar. You lied about everything," David says once he's allowed through the wall of bulls, hurt and confused. "You lied about your father being out west—because he's not out west! You didn't even tell me your real name!"

"So? What're ya wanna do about it, Davey?" Jack says, because it's easier than saying, "I'm sorry." It's easier than saying, "You'll go to jail." It's easier to make David angry than to see him sad.

But see, Jack underestimates David, because whether he's angry or sad, it doesn't matter. David wears his heart on his sleeve and those bright eyes are like nothing he's ever seen. They're beautiful, which he supposes is a weird thing to say about a guy, but it's true. And they're expressive and as blue as a flame, and he can see the pain David feels like he’s looking through a window. They’re fiery and angry and the eyes of a boy who’s never experienced a betrayal before. That alone nearly breaks Jack. Racetrack and Crutchie and none of the other guys could make him feel like this—sure, he feels bad, but it's not the same. David's pain feels like Jack's pain.

And David, just like Jack, can't do this without him.

"We don't need you! Because all those words you said, those were mine."

"Yeah, but you never had the guts to put 'em across ya'self, did ya?"

And even through the defiance, Jack sees the fear in David's eyes. But David steels himself, and instead of addressing the other boys, he leaps for Jack. He's only stopped by Weasel catching him around the waist.

"Maybe you'd like a new suit of your own, huh?" Weasel says, his slimy hands gripping David by the front of his vest. The smile on his face is one of victory, and it feels like the final nail in the coffin. Jack was the one to do this, but he had no other choice.

"Never!" David shouts because he's stronger than Jack.

The suit is nicer than anything he's ever worn, even before he was alone. It feels brand new, tailored to him. It has no holes in the pockets, and no stains to show for the many fights he's gotten into. It fits him perfectly, and he feels like he's drowning in it. He has quarters in his pockets and a hat on his head, but he still feels inferior to the other boys as he's escorted by pigs through the crowd.

David is left behind Jack. Jack will have to leave him behind anyway if he wants to get that ticket to Santa Fe. Better sooner than later—Jack never liked goodbyes.

The conditions they have him live in are less than desirable, and Jack's slept on the streets plenty of times. Sure, it's technically better than the streets, but he's hardly grateful, not with the newsboy house beds in such recent memory. The basement is damp and covered in enough webs to weave a blanket—it’d probably be warmer than the sorry sheet Weasel gave him.

Then it all moves so fast. “Come with us, Cowboy. We’re gonna go fix your pal, Davey,” the Delanceys sneered, their ugly mugs twisted in horrid delight. “Fix him so he can’t walk.”

“Shut up!” Jack snaps, advancing on them without a second thought. It’s only Weasel’s snide voice, the threat in it that stops him.

That's why David was so good. When Jack wasn’t thinking, he’d stop Jack with a gentle hand and logical reasoning.

He finds the Delanceys beating on David and Sarah in an alley, and anything smart about Jack flies out the window. He pulls Morris off Sarah, punching him once, twice, three times before he throws him to the side. He falls into the trash stacked high in the corner, and Jack pays him no mind after that.

Oscar is on David, both of them sprawled on the ground and tussling pathetically. Well, David looks pathetic, but he’s never been a fighter—that’s what Jack was for. He takes the punches while David makes what he’s fighting for real, feasible. David’s just amazing like that.

The platen press, Denton's article, and spreading the news around Manhattan: the newsboys strike. A thousand kids showed up in support for all different reasons. Newsboys from Brooklyn or Queens, factory workers, shoe shiners, the suffrage movement. There were so many who showed up because Jack told them to, because their paper told them, and Jack finds out intimately in that moment what Pulitzer meant by the power of the press.

Of course, he couldn't have done it without David. David, who was able to guide him back on the right path, who spent all night awake with him and Denton, and even brought Sarah to help print hundreds of copies of their paper. David, who went up to Pulitzer's office with him. David, who tried to break him out of the refuge despite the possible repercussions. David, who's the reason any of this is possible.

David, who, when all's said and done, Jack can't take his eyes off of.

The celebrations are in full swing once the strike is over. The papers dropped five cents, and they can resell whatever they don't sell to Weasel. Snyder is in jail, and the refuge is under full investigation. Crutchie is back, and the newsboys couldn't be happier. Some are drinking—some are playing cards, gambling their peanuts. The younger boys are singing and dancing, causing quite a raucous in their glee.

Jack sits with David. They always seem to be together these days. They haven't spoken about Jack scabbing—none of the boys have. There's a tension between him and David that's gone unaddressed, and if it were up to Jack, he would keep it that way. He knows David won't feel the same way for long, even if he's choosing to give Jack space for the foreseeable future.

"So," Jack starts. David's eyes turn to him, one eyebrow raised when Jack's words get stuck in his throat for a second. He always feels pinned in place when David looks at him like that, focused and intense—unbelievably intelligent. "This mean you'se going back to school, right?"

He sees it immediately when David's mood dampens. He bites his bottom lip, looking away from Jack. His eyes scan the other boys, completely oblivious to their conversation, as is to be expected. "No. My father isn't well enough to return to work yet. He thinks maybe another two weeks and he can.”

"Oh," Jack says. He tries to sound sympathetic, as if this is bad news, but he's not sure if he succeeds. "That sucks."

David huffs a breathy laugh, nodding his head. "Yeah."

"You know," Jack says, grinning. He bumps his shoulder against David's. "I wouldn't mind seein' ya in uniform."

David's head whips towards Jack—his mouth falls open. "I—" he starts, then cuts himself off. His face flushes red, looking sort of like a tomato. "Okay," David says awkwardly after looking at Jack for a moment. Then, he looks away.

A strange feeling grows in his chest, one he doesn't want to acknowledge as familiar. "I'm jokin', Davey."

"Right. Of course."

"Is it all fancy?"

"The uniform?"

"Yeah," Jack says, tilting his head forward to catch David's eyes. "And, ya know, the school."

David swallows and then looks at his lap. He plays with a loose thread on his pants. "Yeah. It's pretty nice."

"Lots of rich folks, I bet."

David nods.

"Bet you got lots o' friends," Jack says confidently, though he feels anything but confident. In fact, he doesn't like the thought of David having friends at his fancy school. Friends that he might miss—that he would prefer over the newsies.

David says nothing in response.

Jack nods to no one particularly, possibly to David's silence. "You got a lady?"

"What?" David startles, his head whipping to look at Jack.

Jack shrugs. "A lady."

David stares, and then, "No. I don't."

Something settles inside Jack as he nods. Then, he asks, "You want one?"

"What is this? Twenty-one questions?"

"What?"

"What?" David sighs, shaking his head. He stands. "I should get Les home. It's getting late."

Jack slumps against the chair, biting the inside of his cheek. "You sure? You guys can't stay a little longer?"

"Ima will be mad."

Suddenly, Racetrack appears, throwing an arm around David's shoulders with a shit-eating grin. "Oh-ho! Ima will be mad! Is Mouth in trouble?"

David shrugs him off, apparently not in the mood to entertain Race's antics. Jack has a feeling he's the one who put David in a sour mood; if only he knew what he did this time.

"Whoa," Race says, holding his hands up as David walks past. "You'se a'right?"

"I'm fine. I have to take Les home. I'll see you guys tomorrow." Then David's gone. Jack watches as he grabs Les by the arm, ignoring his complaints. They're out the door before either of them can even say goodbye.

The party hardly notices when they leave, all the boys too wrapped up in their drinks and games. But Jack felt disappointed, disjointed, unanchored. David's upset, and he left. The sun had only just passed the horizon—they usually stay for longer. Les can usually wheedle a bit more time out of David, his big brown eyes and baby face making it hard for anyone to say no.

Is it because I asked him about a girl? Jack thinks, brow furrowed with a frown. Nothin' to get mad about. But David's mad, and that's important. Jack will have to apologize tomorrow because David's all about honesty and confronting shit until it's about David—then, he's quiet as a mouse.

Tomorrow then.

Tomorrow is cold. The sky is overcast, and it puts everyone in a miserable mood as they all expect it to rain. The cold makes Jack's left shoulder feel stiff, an old injury resurfacing whenever the weather is poor. He's used to it, though.

The boys gather in the distribution yard, with Jack waiting in front of the window leading the line, respectively. David and Les haven’t arrived yet. He looks out to the entrance gate periodically for them, but they haven't shown their faces by the time Kid Blink reaches around him and knocks aggressively on the window. "Any day, Weasel! We're getting wrinkles out here!" Jack shouts.

"Hold our horses, Kelly! Quit all that bangin'!" Weasel says.

Jack looks back at Kid and laughs, shrugging his shoulders. The window slams open, and Weasel's ugly mug is right there to greet him like it is every morning. It's a great way to start the day, as always.

Jack slams his pennies on the counter unceremoniously with a smirk. "A hundred papers."

"Yeah, yeah—the usual." Weasel calls behind him for Jack's papers, and seconds later the stack is dropped on the counter. "Now get outta my face."

"Always a pleasure, Weasel!"

"It's Wiesel!" he snaps. Jack ignores him.

Jack takes his papers, hefting them under his arm. It's as he's descending the stairs that David and Les enter the yard. They're both bundled up in well loved coats, patched up by Mrs. Jacobs over the years but no less warm for it. Jack can't help smiling at the sight of them.

David's eyes survey the yard and everyone in it, as he does every morning. Les runs ahead to join the line, cutting ahead to join some of the younger kids. A few boys behind him complain, but no one stops him. They all have a soft spot for Les.

Jack picks up the pace to catch up with David before he joins the line, too. "Mornin', Davey."

"Good morning, Jack," David says, quiet and awkward.

David has always been an awkward guy, but the last few days he's been especially quiet. That's not normally weird because even with the other guys, David never got as rowdy as they all did. But with Jack, David would let loose a bit. So seeing him so resigned has made Jack feel unbalanced.

It turns out to be an absolutely miserable selling day. On top of that, the headline is lousy. He expected it, but it still put him in a sour mood. That, combined with David being more distant than usual, makes it difficult to put on a face for Les and the other littles.

Les is able to sell all of his papers, and Jack still has twenty left. David, though, has half a stack of papers under his arm and an attitude. He's been snappy all day and scaring off half the clientele. Jack's sick of it.

On their way back from the dinner rush, it starts to rain. David raises his papers over his head to hide from the rain, but it only does so much for him. Jack smiles and David scowls at him.

"It's just a bit o' rain, Davey," Jack teases, shaking his head. "It won't kill ya."

"It's cold," David snaps. "And it's wet. What if Les gets sick?"

"It's refreshing!" Les says cheekily. "It's so hot usually. Now we don't have to sweat through our shirts."

"And I suppose we don't have to sell! Thank God for the rain." David bites, turning his scowl to Les. He huffs, giving up on using his papers as an umbrella. His hands fall to his side, pulling ahead of Jack and Les.

Les pouts, shoulders drooping. "You don't gotta be mean about it," he mumbles, though David doesn't hear. Jack does, though.

Jack rests a hand on Les's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "It's alright, kid. He ain't mad at you." Jack looks at David's retreating form, furrowing his brows. He spots Racetrack a little way ahead of them, still hawking even in the rain. He hands Les the rest of his papers and says, "Hey look," he points to Racetrack. "Go sell the rest of these with Race, will ya?"

"But David…" Les looks to his brother, hesitating.

"Hey," Jack says softly, grabbing Les by the shoulders and turning him to look at him. "You trust me, huh?" Les nods almost without thought. "Go bother Racer. I can handle your brother."

Les thinks for a moment, then he grins. "Careful, Jack. David can be real mean when he's mad."

Jack laughs, ruffling Les's hair and pushing him away. The kid stumbles before righting himself, giggling. He looks back at Jack one more time, then over to David, before he runs to Race. His short legs take him across the street, nearly bumping into a woman on the way. He gets her to buy a paper off of him during his apology and Jack can't help but smile.

He's a bad influence on the kid. But damn, is Les good.

Jack turns away, and he's surprised when he doesn’t see David. "Shit," Jack mumbles, eyes scanning the crowd. He jogs ahead, checking corners and alleys. It's not like David to just run off, but then again, David's never been mad at Jack before. Not like this. The strike was different, and David forgave him once Jack got his head on straight. He doesn't even know what he did.

He's only just started to panic when he glances down an alley absently, nearly missing David's form leaning against the brick wall. "Davey?" Jack calls out in confusion.

David startles, whipping around to the mouth of the alley where Jack's frozen. "Sorry. What is it?"

"You tell me," Jack says. He slowly walks into the alley. "You've been glum all day, and then ya' disappear."

"It's nothing, I'm sorry. Let's just go sell these," David holds his papers for Jack. "back to Weasel."

Jack furrows his brow. "You're givin' up already?" That's not like David at all. "There's still a bit of daylight left. We could sell a few more. Here, give me a—"

David pulls his stack of papers out of Jack's reach. "Just leave it, Jack. There's always tomorrow." David steps aside to go around Jack, but Jack grabs his biceps before he can get past him.

"Hey, what's th'a matta' with you?" Jack snaps. David tries to pull his arm away, but he must not have been trying very hard because he doesn't break Jack's grip. "You've been nothing but a grouch today. Snappin' at me and Les and for what?"

David inhales shakily, and then visibly steels himself. "Nothing. I just didn't sleep well. Can we just get back to the yard now?"

"No," Jack insists, pulling David further into the alley. "Are you mad at me? Is it something I sa—"
"Jack," David snaps. "Fine, we'll sell for a little longer. We can split the stack. Are you happy now?"

"I'm not happy!" Jack pushes David into the wall. A noise forces itself from David when his back hits the brick, and Jack would be concerned if he wasn't so upset. "Did I do something? Was it—" He paused, thinking back to the night before when David rushed away. Why did he even do that? Why has he been so strange?

You got a lady? Jack had asked.

"Are you—" Jack stops himself again, laughing incredulously. "Are you mad because you don't got a skirt? I got nothing to do with that, Davey, so why you takin' it out on me?"

"I—I'm not! I never said anything about that!"

"You didn't have to. You'se a shit liar, Dave," Jack snaps, brows furrowing angrily. He takes a step forward, crowding him against the wall. "I wasn't tryin' to upset ya. I was just… asking."

"It's not really any of your business, Jack." David licks his lips, the rainwater dripping down from the fire escape soaking him through as the rain gets heavier. He blinks the water from his lashes, squinting to see Jack. "Just drop it already."

"I ain't gonna drop it. I don't like you bein' mad at me," Jack says. "Why won't you jus' talk to me?"

David sighs, looking away from Jack with an immature stomp of his foot. He shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head. "It's not—you just wouldn't understand, Jack."

"Try me."

"You couldn't understand!" David snaps. "God—just—give me a bit of space, will you?" He pushes Jack's chest. The unexpectedness of the action makes him stumble.

"Hey, don't—" Jack pushes David back, and his back hits the wall again with a pained noise, worse and more raw than the first one. Jack's eyes widened slightly, stunned momentarily. "Davey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

David was biting his bottom lip, his eyes squeezed shut. "Please, Jack, just stop," he whispers.

Jack frowns, confused and worried. "Davey… if you'se that upset, then I don't know. What gal wouldn't want ya? We could find you a girl." Jack brings his hand up to his shoulder, trying to comfort David. It feels so foreign, this sort of conversation between them. It also hurts at the thought of having to help David get a girlfriend.

Why does that hurt?

David slaps Jack's hand away and scowls. "Don't you get it? I don't want a lady! I've never wanted a lady! Jack, just—" Tears well up in David's eyes, and Jack is stunned into silence.

I don't want a lady, David said.

I don't want a lady.

Then what does he want?

I don't want a lady.

Jack's face pinches, baffled. "You don't want a lady? What do you mean?"

David rolls his eyes, and they finally meet Jack's. He looks devastated. He looks like nothing Jack's ever seen before, not on David's face. David is calm, composed, and calculated. He's never been…this. "Don't make me say it."

"Say what?" Jack asks.

David closes his eyes, tilting his face away and down so Jack can't see him. "I don't want a lady, Jack," David says, putting emphasis on the word lady.

Jack pauses. "I don't understand."

David laughs, bitter and breathy. He nods his head as if to say I told you so. "Yeah. I know."

David's always been the smart one. The type to go to school and be successful one day. He's the type that reads and writes and participates in Shabbat every Saturday. He solves problems and puzzles, and he likes riddles. But Jack has never been any good at that stuff. And David's riddles stump him as much as any.

I don't want a lady. What else could he want? He's got everything Jack's ever wanted: a family, school, a home. The next logical step would be to have a woman on his arm and a job waiting for him after graduation.

What else could he want?

A fella, a cruel voice in his mind supplies. The type of voice he hears on the streets spitting nasty names at guys who are still a bachelor in their late twenties. It's the type of voice he hears yell at the working girls on the corner and who kick littler newsies because they can. It's a voice he doesn't want in his head. But regardless, it is. A fella.

Is Davey some kind of invert? Jack thinks. It feels awful to think, too unspeakable to utter the word. How could David not want a girl? How could he do this to himself?

On the other hand, something twists in Jack, and he can't tell if it's anger or delight. He doesn't want to be angry with David. He doesn't feel like he's angry. Shocked, maybe, but not angry. Never with David. But it doesn't negate the fact that it's wrong. Everything about that idea is so wrong, even for David. It's the type of love that can get a guy killed—shot on the street.

Jack imagines David's life. A faceless woman on his arm, pretty and delicate. She makes his dinners and cleans his house, and she's waiting at the door for David when he gets home. She's sweet and she's Jewish and fits right in with the Jacobs like she was meant to be there. It's strange to realize that the idea makes him as angry as a boy being with David. A tall guy, maybe with dark or light hair. His hands are as big as David's, and he's not delicate at all. He's brash, and they have to hide their relationship from everyone, including the Jacobs—including Jack. He doesn't want that for David either.

"You—" Jack stops, stunned.

David finally meets his eyes. His blue eyes are watery, and Jack can't tell if it's from the rain or him crying. He hopes David isn't crying. He looks scared. Is he afraid of Jack?

That's the worst thing that could ever happen: David being afraid of Jack.

David nods, and it's a confirmation of what Jack now knew.

"David…" Jack whispers.

David shakes his head, sighing. "So it's David now?"

Jack opens his mouth and then lets it hang like that. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to feel.

I don't want a lady.

"Do you… have a fella?" Jack asks after a long moment of silence.

David swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing with the movement. He hesitates and then shakes his head. "No, I don't."

Jack pauses. "Do you… want one?"

David gives him this look. It's a look Jack is familiar with—one that means, You're an idiot, Jack Kelly. "Yeah, Jack. That's the entire problem."

Yeah, he's an idiot.

"Right, right." Jack nods his head. He licks his lips and then wipes his face with the back of his arm. He's wet and cold. He's sure David is too. The rain has picked up without him noticing.

Does David have anyone that he likes? Is there a reason that the thought of that makes Jack upset? Because liking another boy is gross, right? Except it doesn't feel gross in the way it should. The thought of a guy being with another… guy doesn't seem gross on its own when he really thinks about it. But David being with another guy is wrong. If David gets with another guy, then when will he be with Jack. Is that when Jack loses David? Because he'll get with a boy and disappear to be with him forever. Of course he doesn't like that idea!

Where does that leave Jack? Where does Jack fit into all of this?

"What about me?" Jack asks.

David pauses, squinting at Jack in disbelief. "What about you?"

Jack shrugs, scoffing. "Well," he starts, not even knowing what he's trying to say. "What happens when you do get a fella? And then you leave me behind?" Okay, that's not at all what he meant to say.

David stares at him in disbelief for a moment, blinking once, then twice. "What?"

"When you go get some fella for yourself, or somethin'. And you leave me because ya' got him now, what then?"

"Why do you think I'd have to leave you because I'm with someone?" David asks incredulously. "And—and that would never happen!"

"How do you know?" Jack snaps, angry for reasons he can't explain. Why is Jack angry?

"Because I just—I just wouldn't!" David says, throwing his hands up as if this is completely ridiculous. "In what way does that even correlate?"

"Be-because!" Jack says, shrugging. He doesn't know how to articulate his thoughts. He doesn't have the words like David does. "It just does. What if you leave? What if it's some rich guy and you run off with him and leave the rest of us?"

"That's not even possible, Jack!" David snaps, scowling. He's getting worked up, panting and shaking. "I couldn't just find some rich guy. It's illegal!"

"So?" Jack asks, looking around as if someone else might have the words, the answers for him. "That's why you'd run away with him!"

"Who is this mystery guy you're imagining? That's never going to happen. I wouldn't just leave you!"

"How do you know that? You can't promise that!"

"Because—" David cuts himself off. It goes silent, the only sound being that of rain against metal and stone. It's harsh against Jack's skin, like a million little needles. He pushes his hair out of his face, and David's eyes follow the movement.

"Because what?" Jack asks.

David blinks a few times, licking his lips. He looks scared again. "Because… because it's you, Jack."

Jack pauses, confused. "Me? What's me?"

David's bottom lip trembles, and Jack only notices because it's David. He always notices David. "The guy that I like is you."

Jack freezes, eyes widening. Then his brows furrow. David likes him. David… likes him. That can't be right. Can Jack even imagine himself with a boy? Could he be with a boy like a girl? Could he and David hold hands, feeling the calluses on his skin—completely different from a girl's? Would he sneak through David's window at night, getting David out onto the fire escape? Would he pull David onto the roof, where his family wouldn't find them and no one could see them from the street? Would Jack pull David into alleys between selling newspapers to kiss him silly?

Jack's eyes flick to David's lips involuntarily. They're in an alley right now.

The guy I like is you.

Would Jack kiss David? Yeah, he would—and he's never been one to think things through.

When Jack grabs David's face, his hands slide against his cheeks. They're both soaked from the rain, and it's hard to get a grip, but he doesn't need to. David goes rigid under his touch, eyes widening. Whatever face he makes next, Jack doesn't see. He closes his eyes and kisses him. Their noses bump into each other, and he feels the sting as he readjusts, turning his head to the side just enough that they'll fit like puzzle pieces. It hurts, and it's awkward, but it feels good. Kissing David feels good.

Jack thinks back to every interaction he's ever had with David, every thought he's had about the other boy. He realizes it's never been normal. He's never been normal about David. He must've always liked David the way he shouldn't and was too stupid to realize it. And now that he's realized it, he's starving for him. He needs David like he needs air. He needs to be inside him—it's disgusting and possessive, and he wonders if this is why it's illegal. He's never wanted a girl like this, like he wanted to own her. The thought of David kissing a different boy makes him angry, horribly and irrationally angry. The thought of anyone knowing about them scares him, not because they're two boys, but because Jack is something different when he's kissing David.

When he realizes David isn't kissing back, he pulls away enough for an inch of space to be between them. He's unwilling to go any further. Jack's panting, heavy and desperate. A dog with a bone. His eyes flutter open, the weight of rain on his lashes causing resistance, but he can't not look at David now. Not after what he's just done.

David stares at him, his blue eyes wide and blinking rapidly. His mouth is open slightly, and water streams from his jaw, sharp and angled, nothing like a girl's.

"Davey?" Jack whispers into his mouth, sharing air with him. Reality slowly trickles back into his dope of a brain, and he realizes he just kissed a boy. Not just any boy; Jack kissed David. "Davey, say somethin'."

David takes a breath, as if he's about to respond, then he crashes their lips together. His hands grip the back of Jack's neck as if he'll disappear if he doesn't. It's no less disorienting the second time. The kiss is a mind-bending, wretched, breathtaking thing, and Jack becomes lost in it. He becomes lost in the feeling of David's face in his hands, his mouth on his, their bodies pressed against each other. It's wet and cold, and the sun is setting behind the clouds—the alley holds more shadow than light by this point—and they take full advantage of it.

His hands slide down from David's cheeks to his neck, his shoulders, his waist. It's unconscious the way he unbutton David’s jacket so he can slide it clean off, the rain be damned. He lets it drop to the ground, uncaring of the mud and grime that will dirty it. He frees David's shirt from his pants, pulling the fabric out from where it's tucked to get his hands on another piece of him. He lets his palms spread across David's stomach, firm and warm against his frozen fingers. Something inside his stomach tingles, and it encourages him to explore David further. His hands inch higher, and his tongue licks into David's mouth. The noise David makes in response is addicting, and he squeezes David's ribs, deepening the kiss just to hear that noise again.

Jack doesn't know how he didn't realize it before, but he thinks he was made for David.

Jack doesn't know how long it's been, but when David pushes him, he feels as if all the air has been sucked out of him. The place on Jack's shoulders where David's hands rest tingles under his touch. He's tempted to lean back in, his lungs be damned, but it's David's push back that stops him.

"Davey?" Jack asks, dazed and breathless.

David's eyes are half-lidded, his cheeks splotchy and red. His skin glistens in the rain, and it's the most beautiful thing Jack has ever seen. How could he be so clueless?

"Jack," David says after a long moment of silence. "Are we… are you doing this?"

Jack stares, his eyes flicking between David's eyes. "Doing this?"

"I mean—I didn't know you liked…" he trails off, biting his lip.

"Fellas?" Jack continues for him. David only nods. "I didn't either. But I like you."

Jack can feel the way David's breath shakes with his hands still on his ribs. David's shirt bunches up around Jack's wrists, and so much skin shows that Jack might as well rip the shirt off him entirely. His thumbs drag against David's skin, and Jack grins.

"And you want this? With me?" David asks desperately. That hazy look is fading from his eyes, and Jack kisses him again, gentler this time, softer. "Even though—it's dangerous? It's—Jack," David says between kisses until he finally holds Jack's face and pushes him away. "If anyone found out, we could be arrested—killed. Do you understand?"

"I understand. I just don't care," he says, his smile soft.

"You should care," David stresses. His other hand comes up to hold Jack's face, forcing him to focus on him. "This is—bad. It's bad."

"I don't care. I've been less than human my whole life. What's one more thing?" David doesn't respond to that, something in his gaze breaking a little at Jack's words. Jack slides his hands down to rest at David's hips, massaging the skin there. "David, I don't think I've ever wanted anything more than I want you right now. And you'se right here for the takin'. You gonna deny me that too, Jacobs?"

David looks conflicted. He looks hopeful and scared, and awed all at the same time. After a long time of what Jack thinks is David processing the situation, he shakes his head. "Promise?" he asks, looking at Jack through his lashes.

Fuck, Jack thinks. He's fucked. "If you promise."

A hesitant smile stretches David's lips, and then he's kissing Jack again. That's three times and counting. Jack laughs into the kiss, and his toothy smile makes it hard to kiss, which is a shame because he really likes it. Then David is laughing, and they both probably look like lunatics giggling to each other for no reason.

"This is where ya' say you won't run away with some fella," Jack says breathlessly, hopelessly enamoured.

"Jack, you are the fella."

Once Jack and David are a thing, it seems like they can never get a moment alone. When they're selling papers, someone's always around, whether that be Les or Crutchie or some other clueless newsie. The lodging house isn't an option either because there's never a chance to get away. The boys are everywhere, and there's so many of them it's impossible to keep track of who's coming and going and who might walk in on them. Jack, being the oldest and the designated 'leader', especially after the strike, finds them coming to him for wants and needs far more often than they used to. And they always need or want something. He loves them—he does, really—but he wants David. He wants David in ways that would horrify the boys, in ways that they absolutely need to be alone for. And the roof would only work for so long before the boys started crashing their time together because they think they're funny.

David's apartment is obviously a no-go. It would be worse for David's parents to catch them than any newsie. At least with the newsies, they have no one to tell but each other. If Esther and Mayer found out, Jack wouldn't be able to forgive himself if they kicked David out, or worse, disowned him. David doesn't deserve that—and, selfishly, Jack will admit that he doesn't want to lose the Jacobs' good will either.

The fire escape is sacred. They have to go through David and Sarah's room to get to it, and that puts a door and a window between them and the rest of the apartment. Even better, the window has curtains for privacy. How perfect is that? The lodging house certainly doesn't have curtains, let alone doors. At night, after dinner, they sit out on the fire escape together, hidden in the shadows of the building. During the day, they make the climb to the roof. That's only if they finish selling early, though.

At night, out on the Jacobs' fire escape, that's when they can finally be alone. If Les doesn't interrupt them, that is. The kid always wants to be included. Jack’s taken to bribing the kid to leave them alone. It works most of the time until he gets bored or suspicious.

The streetlights don't reach them up here, so Jack is able to push David against the wall between the windows. His hands wander, always untucking his shirt and messing up his proper schoolboy appearance. He likes the way David looks when his hair's a mess and his face flushed, his tie loose around his neck from Jack pulling on it. He enjoys pulling on David's tie to lead him where he wants him, and he now knows that wasn't something boys did. Another strike on the Jack Kelly is surprisingly oblivious board. How did he not realize this before? He could've been kissing David Jacob's so much sooner.

David's hands are in Jack's hair, tugging at the strands light enough that it sends tingles zinging down his spine. He laughs, and David tries to pull away, but Jack dives in for another kiss. Though he puts too much force behind it and David's head hits the bricks behind him.

"Ow! Jack," David snaps, a hand retreating from Jack's hair to rub at the back of his head. He scowls at Jack, but it looks more like a pout when he doesn't put the heat behind it like Jack knows he can. "That hurt."

Jack grins, sheepish. "Sorry," he says, shrugging a shoulder. "Got's a little excited."

"No kidding," David says. He glances towards the window of his room, a look of anxiety passing over his face. He adjusts how he's sitting, his legs spread with Jack on his knees in between them. His other hand is still in his hair, twirling a strand in his fingers absently. "We should be more careful. If Aba or Ima heard us…"

"I'm sorry," Jack says, sliding his hands out from under David's shirt. He tries to smooth it out, running his hands down his clothed chest, shoulders, and arms. "There. Like it neva' even happened."

"And my tie?" David challenges.

Jack's eyes fall down to David's tie, grimacing. "Come on, Davey. You knows I don't know how to tie no tie."

David smiles, leaning back against the wall. "I could teach you, you know."

Jack shrugs, licking his lips. He runs his thumb over David's bottom lip, and it falls open under his touch. He grins. "What would I need to know that for, anyway?"

"Oh, I don't know," David says in that way he does when he definitely knows, smirking. "What about when you get a job? You can't be a newsie forever."

Jack's smile fades, and he sits back on his heels. He looks away from David, down at the streets of Manhattan and the concrete jungle that is the city. He doesn't see David wilting as concern crosses his features.

"Jack?" David asks gently.

Jack sighs and makes enough distance between them so he can push David's legs together. He sits down beside him, leaning his back against the wall and letting his head thunk against the brick. It rattles his brain, and he feels the sting, but he doesn't acknowledge it.

"Jackie?" David asks, leaning forward to catch his eye.

Jack sighs and closes his eyes. "Ya' know how… I almost got that ride to Santa Fe?" Jack starts. He opens his eyes and looks at David, meeting his eyes. They're so blue Jack thinks they might've been modeled after the sky. He looks worried—of course he does. "I still think about it."

"Going… to Santa Fe?" David nearly whispered. His brows furrow.

Jack nods. "The thought of—of working in some factory, or—or some office," Jack paused, exhaling harshly. "I don't know, Davey. I don't think I could do it."

He watches David breathe, and that's all that happens for a moment. Just them breathing and watching each other. Then David says, "Are you going to leave?"

Jack shakes his head and then shrugs. "No. I don't know," he says, and almost chuckles when David's face pinches in confusion. "I just… I feel stuck, I guess. New York is just," he pauses. He thinks. He really thinks about what he's trying to say, but he's never been the wordy one out of the two of them. "This ain't my life. Not the way I imagine it."

David's quiet for a while, falling back to sit against the wall. He's looking out at the city, too. It's such a small piece of Manhattan. The Lower East Side is so different from the newsboys' house, and most of the newsies never sold there until David came along. Jack and David often sell down here now, and David usually makes decent sales among his neighbors. People are pretty friendly around here, even to Jack who isn't Jewish.

"You're not happy here? Even with…" David trails off, biting his lip. Jack recognizes it as a nervous habit, and he leans over to gently pull at his lip until he lets go. "What's so scary about growing up?"

It feels like a slap in the face. It feels like David has just stuck his hand in Jack's chest, dug around, and pulled out the exact root to the problem Jack couldn't articulate. He didn't even know that's what it was. But now that David's said it, it seems so obvious.

Jack doesn't want to grow up. He doesn't want to outgrow being a newsboy. He doesn't want to get some miserable job in the city, another cog in the machine so the bigwigs can crank out money for themselves. He doesn't want everyone to go their separate ways and be left all alone. Even worse, he doesn't want to end up like his parents—dead in a ditch or as good as dead in jail.

"Well," Jack says, forcing his voice to be more chipper than he feels. "You'se got that big test in a few months, right?"

David nods slowly, hesitantly. "Yeah, my graduation test."

"And then you'll go get this fancy job and life," Jack says, nodding along. "And the other fellas will get on with their lives. And I'll be in Santa Fe. Don't that sound nice?"

David doesn't look like he agrees. He looks a little sad, actually. "You'd be happy? Being in Santa Fe for…"

"To be a cowboy," Jack whispers, smiling like it's a secret between them. As if everyone doesn't call Jack Cowboy.

David laughs weakly, and it's so obviously fake Jack almost loses his grin. "Is that what you want? Really?"

Jack studies David—his face, his eyes, the way he holds himself as still as possible. As if Jack were some spooked animal. He sort of has that same look in the alley back when he tried to help Jack escape from the refuge. He doesn't know how to describe it, but it's almost the same, maybe a little different in some ways. David has so many expressions, and he wears them all as if there's no reason to hide them. Not like Jack, who can never be fully honest even for this conversation—not even with David.

"I guess," Jack shrugs. "Better than New York."

"I'd miss you," is all David says. It breaks Jack's heart a bit.

Whenever he used to imagine running off to Santa Fe, he never imagined himself leaving anyone behind. He also didn't think anyone would miss him when he left. Like a ghost. It was just about him and his need for something different. Now, he'd be leaving David behind. On top of that, Racetrack and Crutchie, too. He'll age out of the lodging and have to get a job soon, so the younger kids will be fine, but his oldest friends? He's sure they'd miss him.

"Yeah?" Jack asks, sounding smaller than he'd like.

David frowns. "Of course I would," he says, like it's obvious.

Jack's stunned, and he doesn't even know why. Of course David would miss him. Jack would miss David. Just the thought of David leaving makes Jack's chest feel tight and loneliness consume him, even when David's right beside him.

Jack lifts one shoulder, tilting his head. "I'll miss you when you graduate, too."

David blinks a few times, turning to squint at the building across from them. "I wouldn't drop off the face of the Earth just because I graduate," he says.

"Yeah, but you'd have better things to do."

David scoffs. "Better than what? Than you?"

Yeah, Jack thinks. David would probably be mad if he said that, though, so he says nothing at all.

David suddenly sits up, turning to look at Jack with an awful glower on his face. It's not like the half-hearted pout from earlier. David's angry, and it's because of Jack. "Why do you always think I'm going to leave you? Why can't you just believe me when I say I want you? I want to stay with you, Jack," he snaps, though he's still mindful of his volume. "You're the one who is always so ready to leave. Do you ever think that you're so scared of people leaving that you just decide for them? You make up these stories that I'll leave and then just… leave! All to avoid getting hurt."

Jack's mouth goes dry. His eyes are as wide as saucers, and he can do nothing but blink.

"Don't you think it hurts hearing you make all these plans contingent on me not being there? As if I wouldn't be at the station wishing you off!" David says. His voice shakes and sounds watery, but he's not crying—not yet, but he looks like he might.

"Well, I'd offer ya' to come with me but I don't think that's in the cards," Jack finally snaps, getting defensive. He straightens his posture, his palms digging into the metal grating beneath him. "You'se got all this stuff waitin' for ya. I ain't gonna get in the way."

"Why isn't that in the cards?" David asks incredulously. "What do you think will be waiting for me? I'm going to be a teacher, Jack. There's nothing special about that."

"What—like you'd come with me if I asked?" Jack laughs. It sounds absurd. David's got this family that's so perfect it's right out of a story. He's going to get his diploma—he imagines everyone in the area will want a piece of David Jacobs.

"I would if you just asked me!" David yells, and they both freeze. David's voice echoes off the surrounding buildings until it's silent. They're both panting, emotional and upset for reasons Jack couldn't explain at this point.

The window opens, and they both jump. Sarah's head sticks out, and she asks, "Are you two okay?"

"Yeah, we're—" David’s voice cracks, and he pauses to clear his throat. "We're fine, Sarah. Go back inside."

She looks between both of them, probably not believing David because he's the worst liar in the world. But Jack's not looking at her. He's looking at David.

I would if you just asked me!

Jack doesn't notice when Sarah has left until David turns back to him, looking more guarded than he ever should around Jack.

It bursts from him before he can stop it, because then he says, "Are you offerin'?"

David takes a deep breath, licking his lips. He suddenly looks tired. "Are you asking?"

Jack doesn't know. Is he asking David to run away with him to Santa Fe? Can he ask David to leave everything behind for him? Can Jack leave everything behind? Imagining a life in Santa Fe is a lot different from actually going to Santa Fe. Yeah, he can, and he would.

Jack is selfish like that. He wants Santa Fe, but he also wants David. Now that someone introduced the option to him, he doesn't just want it. He needs it. He could go without food for a few days. He doesn't need a bed to sleep—the street will work just fine. But he needs David like a man so thirsty he would drown for it.

"Will you run away with me to Santa Fe?" Jack asks, breathless.

David's face falls. He doesn't look happy, and Jack's afraid he'll say no. Of course, that's not the case when he whispers, "Of course I will. Why didn't you just ask me that in the first place?"

Every last feeling of fight leaves Jack then, and he lets his forehead drop against David's shoulder. He smells like old books and faintly of the dinner Esther made: chicken soup with matzah balls. The ink from their papers has long since faded as the night progressed. The first thing David does when he gets home is kiss his mother's cheek and then wash his hands. Next, Esther will kiss his cheek as well, and she'll tell him to follow David into the kitchen. "You can't eat with your hands all black," she used to say before it became instinct to follow David before she could remind him.

David smells like home. He smells like Jack's home.

"I don't know," is all he can say, his voice muffled against David's shoulder. He's tired, too.

David's arms come up to wrap around Jack. He says, "I'm going to ask Aba if you can stay the night."

"I'd like that."

It's silent for a long time. They both lean on each other. They hold each other, and Jack's afraid David will disappear if he lets go. Maybe that's silly. Maybe Jack is just stupid. But that's what David is for; he's here to knock some sense into Jack when he can't do it himself.

"We'll have to wait until I take my graduation test, though," David mumbles, his breath tickling Jack's ear. Jack chuckles, and all he can do is nod.

He doesn't have the words to describe what he's feeling. All he knows is that he's not alone, and David is coming to Santa Fe with him. Something in him settles—something rabid and previously terrified of the world. Something small that tried too hard to be big. It's more than he ever could have asked for.

The thing about nights at the lodging house is that Racetrack will somehow always be able to get a poker game going. Jack doesn't know how he does it, or how he always drags Jack into it, but he suspects Racetrack to be some secret genius. Or not, considering he's getting his ass whooped. All for a few peanuts and bottle caps, but it's embarrassing, nonetheless.

It's mostly the older kids gathered around the shaky wooden table. One of the legs is loose, which causes it to wobble when any weight gets put on it. Jack, Racetrack, Crutchie, Kid Blink, Bumlets, and Dutchy are all gathered around the table with old cards distributed among them. Jack doesn't know where Racetrack got the deck, but he doesn't really care either. He holds his cards close to his chest, knowing the kinds of tactics these boys might use to win because he himself uses them. On the table in front of him sits his hat, which he'd taken off once he'd sat down. He'd been twirling it on his hand earlier, but was forced to stop if he didn't want anyone stealing his cards.

Which is just stupid because he shouldn't even be over here gambling all his peanuts away. He should be over with David, celebrating. He just graduated—which is just crazy to Jack. Not only does his fella have a diploma, but it also means they'll be on their way to Santa Fe soon. They've already gotten their train tickets. He's practically vibrating with nervous excitement.

David, Mush, and most of the littles have gathered on the other side of the room around the bunk beds. David’s got one of his books out, and he’s reading out loud to them. They must like it because they’re completely enraptured by David’s voice. They’re all either sitting on the floor or piled on the beds, and all their eyes are solely on David.

Seeing this scene, Jack can see why David would want to be a teacher. He can see how he'd be good at it. Despite his having a rocky start with a lot of the newsboys, especially the littles, he’s good with them. He’s good with kids in general. They like it when he reads to them once they've tired themselves out by the end of the day. He tells them fun facts and tidbits of information he learns at school or from books he reads at the library. When he does his homework at the lodging house, some of them like to watch, and he'll narrate his process and what it means. Most of it goes over Jack's head, but hey, maybe the younger kids will be smarter for it.

A sudden feeling of grief washes over him, and it's so unexpected it nearly bowls him over. David won't be able to read to the littles like this anymore; Jack won't be able to watch. There won't be anymore poker games that need alcohol to keep the game friendly, otherwise they all just end up throwing the cards down and tussling. He won't have any of these people in Santa Fe, and that's a thought that hurts a lot more than he thought it would. He almost wants to stay an extra day just to savor it all. He would if the tickets weren't so damn expensive. It took the combined efforts of Jack and David, saving every extra cent, to get enough for them by the time David graduated.

Because as much as it hurts to leave, Jack knows he would've gone crazy if he had to wait any longer. He'll still have David.

He wonders how they would react if they knew about Jack and David's relationship. Would Crutchie still love Jack for his differences, knowing what it feels like to be alienated for something he can't control? Maybe Medda wouldn't mind. She's always been the progressive type. Would he become an outcast for it, word spreading to all the newsboys in New York. Extra, extra! Jack Kelly is a queer! Read all about it!

The last few months Jack has looked closer at the boys and how some of them act around each other. He's never one hundred percent sure, but sometimes he thinks he sees something between Kid Blink and Mush. But the odds of that have got to be close to none. He's just trying to find an ally in a world that hates him. He learned long ago how dangerous that can be.

Even if none of them would accept Jack and David, that's fine. They never have to know. Jack will be a good memory at the very least. He just didn't expect it to hit him this hard.

It's an hour later that Jack and David usher Les out the door. The sun has already gone down, and they're pushing David and Les's curfew dangerously close. The Jacobs are pretty lenient all things considered, or so David says, but one thing Mayer doesn't budge on is their curfew.

Les ends up on Jack's back during the walk, Jack offering to carry him when David looked like he might explode if Les complained one more time. The kid was basically asleep by the time they left, and they'd make better time without him dragging his feet. He's nothing but skin and bones, skinny as a beanpole and all of eighty pounds, but after a while, even Jack's arms get tired. It's almost a relief when they reach the Jacobs' apartment, except that Jack is incredibly nervous.

The thing is, David waited until the very last second to tell his parents that they're leaving. And while Jack couldn't admonish him for it, seeing as if it weren't for David, he would've dropped off the face of the Earth to get to Santa Fe, but he still feels guilty. Esther and Mayer Jacobs have been nothing but kind to Jack. Lying to them just feels wrong, which is such a foreign feeling that he could laugh. He doesn't want them to think he's stealing David from them. That's exactly what he's doing, but he's so desperate for their approval that it hurts. Even if it's nothing like getting a girl's parents' permission to marry her, it feels comparable. They don't know Jack and David are… a thing, or whatever it's supposed to be called.

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs, I know you love your son very much. I also care for your son very much. I promise to take care of him. Besides, you have another one.

Yeah, he probably shouldn't say that. In fact, he shouldn't say anything at all.

He's tempted to drop Les and run back to the lodging house for the night. If they get angry, he's sure David can deal with it, since he's their son and they love him and all. Or that's what he assumes would happen.

How could you do this to us, David? We've done so much for you just for you to run off with that street urchin! Oh, Mayer, I feel faint! Hold me while I convince David to stay!

Yeah, that doesn't sound like Esther. It sounds more like a play he'd see on the street. But he still hears it in her voice, and David's quiet, I'm sorry, Ima. You're right, I'll stay.

His chest feels a little tight, and that flight instinct comes rearing its head again. He glances at David out of the corner of his eye to gauge his mood. One of Jack's favorite things about David is that he can't hide what he's feeling for the life of him. His poker face is nonexistent. So when he sees David biting his lip, picking at the skin around his nails nervously, he feels just a little better knowing he's not alone.

With the hope that Les is asleep on his back, Jack whispers, "Do you think they'll be angry?" They stand outside the apartment building, neither of them reaching for the door.

Jack forces his feet to stay, and wrangles his mind into not wandering into thoughts that would deter his mission to be there for David during this. He's already anxious enough, and by the looks of it, so is David. Esther won't faint. She's not going to demand David stay or insult Jack while doing so. David isn't going to back out. They've already bought their tickets.

We already bought the tickets, Jack repeats to himself like a mantra. We already bought the tickets.

David inhales shakily, forcing his gaze away from the building to look at Jack. His eyes flick to Les and then back to him. "I don't know," he says honestly. "I hope not."

"What are ya' gonna say?" Jack asks.

David squeezes his eyes shut, takes a breath, shakes his head, and finally opens the door. He holds it open for Jack, closing it gently behind him so it doesn't slam shut. They have to walk up four flights of stairs before they get to the Jacobs apartment, which Jack could honestly do without. Climbing the fire escape might be easier than this. Or maybe it's just nerves that have him out of breath, his chest and legs aching under Les' weight. It's not usually this much of an issue. Jack likes to think of himself as fit, for the most part.

Walking into the apartment, a wave of warmth hits Jack. It's reminiscent of the first time David brought Jack to have dinner with his parents, carrying Les home after witnessing the trolley strike. Esther doesn't panic this time as she comes over to kiss them both on the cheek.

"Welcome home, David. Jack," she says warmly. Les lifts his head from Jack's shoulder with a groggy, unintelligible mumble.

"Hi, Ima," David says, his smile shaky but filled with love.

Jack sets Les back on his feet, keeping a hand on the kid's shoulder in case he stumbles. He follows David into the kitchen to wash their hands, and it feels like any normal night. None of them say anything as they scrub their hands. Black ink slowly swirls down the drain, and Jack watches it, mesmerized.

Esther has already finished dinner, and the smell covers the apartment in a rich scent Jack has only ever known in the Jacobs' home. It's both comforting and nauseating as he takes his usual seat beside David. Jack lowers his head while Mayer prays for the family, but his eyes survey everyone at the table. Les sits on his other side, his short legs swinging under the table, eager for his mother's food. Sarah is on the other side of David. Her hair, the same sandy brown as Les and Esther's, pulled back into a neat braid, travels down her back. She sits primly, her back straight against the chair and her hands folded neatly in front of her. Esther sits similarly to Sarah, but she styled her hair into a bun, with a few strands falling to frame her face from working in the kitchen. She still has her apron on because she always forgets to take it off. Mayer leads the table in prayer. His injury healed long ago, so he's able to prop his elbows on the table and fold his hands in front of his face.

David has his hands folded close to his chest, his head tipped down toward them. His brow is furrowed slightly, a contrast to the way he normally looks during prayer. David has always had this peaceful look on his face whenever he listens to his father pray. It's as if all the stress from the day will just roll off David's back in a way Jack will never understand but always be a little envious of.

He's anxious, Jack thinks. While everyone's eyes are closed, Jack puts his hand on David's thigh and squeezes reassuringly. A bit of tension falls from David's shoulders for his effort. David untangles his hands, curling one in a loose fist over his mouth while the other covers Jack’s hand. He keeps Jack’s hand on his thigh until Mayer finishes his prayer. They both snatch their hands back before anyone can open their eyes.

Silverware clinks against plates as everyone eats. It's quiet for a while, and Jack's nerves build the longer it goes on. At least the food is delicious, as always. Esther's an amazing cook; it will be just another thing that he'll miss. Her cooking might be better than anyone's in the entire world. Santa Fe won't have this.

Is there kosher food in Santa Fe? Jack thinks, a little panicked. Will David be able to eat? What even makes food kosher?

Jack kicks David's shin under the table, and Jack is impressed when he doesn't flinch. David looks at him from the side, narrowing his eyes, but says nothing about it. Then he cleared his throat. Everyone at the table looks at him. "So—um," David starts. He looks at Jack again and stuffs food into his mouth to stall. Jack sighs, taking a bite for himself.

Mayer raises an eyebrow, looking between David and Jack. "So…" he prompts, but neither of them speaks up. "How was selling today, boys?" he settled on when the silence went on for too long.

"It—it was good," David says. He places his utensil on his plate and digs in his pants pocket. He reveals his half of their earnings from the day and hands it over to Mayer. "We sold almost two hundred papers today."

"Oh, wow," Esther says. "That many?" David nods.

"Les did all the hard work, though," Jack says, elbowing Les in the side. He squirms away but preens under the attention.

Les kicks his feet out, and he's lucky he's still short—otherwise he'd probably kick Sarah. "Yeah! I sold a whole ton of papes today! It's because I'm cute."

"Papers, Les," David corrects.

"Papers," Les says, almost rolling his eyes before he stops himself. Jack assumes it's because Esther and Mayer don't find the attitude as funny as the newsboys do.

Sarah uses her utensil to push her food around, watching David to catch his eye. When it doesn't work, she leans over to bump his shoulder. "So, David?" she asks. "What were you going to say?" Jack knows David would never outright refuse his parents if he can help it, but Sarah always makes him fold like a bad hand in cards, whether he wants to or not. He sometimes suspects she's a secret witch or something. That would be fun. And terrifying.

David licked his lips, his eyes flicking from Sarah to Jack and back to Sarah. "Well, I…" he paused, looking down at his plate. "We have something we need to tell you all." The tension has returned to his frame, but this time Jack can't do anything to help. He takes a deep breath, then another, and then another.

Esther's face pinches with worry, and she looks to Jack for answers. Jack opens his mouth, closes it, and then says, "Uh—well, we'se been savin' for a while, and…" Jack starts, tapping his pointer finger against his plate. The nail clinks against the glass without rhythm. "In a few days we'll be leaving for Santa Fe."

The entire room went silent, and out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Les's mouth drop open.

"Tomorrow, actually," David says quietly.

Jack frowns, turning to David. "I thought we still had a few days." David simply shakes his head. Well, that changes things. Jack has the urge to run back to the newsboy lodging and say a proper goodbye. They all know already—Jack told them a few days ago—but that was with them all under the impression they still had around a week left.

David really waited until the very last second, huh?

Mayer splutters, but Esther beats him to the punch. "Tomorrow? Since—David, since when has this been something you wanted? For how long?" Her palms lay flat on the table; she looked like she'd resisted the urge to shoot up from her chair at the last second.

"Why are you only telling us this now?" Mayer almost snaps.

David winced, and Jack sank in his chair. Neither of them had anything to say to that, not immediately at least. Jack felt as if his mind had been wiped of the English language entirely. He's not accustomed to adults he actually likes being upset with him. It's as if he's failed somehow. Jack looks at David out of the corner of his eye, and the other boys' fidgeting fingers catch his eye. At least Jack isn't alone in the feeling.

Well, he supposed they aren't boys anymore. They're both adults in the eyes of the law and, apparently, their own. They're moving across the country in the next twenty-four hours.

"I…" David starts, and both his parents' eyes single in on him. Jack feels like he can breathe now that their disappointment is not directed at him. "I didn't want to say anything until we were certain of the plan. We only bought the tickets two days ago, Aba."

Mayer sighs. He rubs the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Why didn't you tell us two days ago then?" He says. "Or better yet, before then. We could've had more time to prepare, or deter you from this altogether."

"I didn't want to be deterred," David says, frowning. "Aba, I'm a man now. I can make my own decisions."

"And those decisions are to take a train across the country? What about your family, boychik?" Mayer says, his brows furrowed with hurt.

"Don't—call me that," David says, sounding frustrated now. "I'm not a child."

"We know that, David. But don't you think we should get a say in this?" Esther says. She folds and unfolds and refolds a napkin in her lap, so similar to David when he's nervous or distressed.

David opens his mouth and then pauses. It's as if the room sits in suspense, waiting for him to answer. But he doesn't—he turns to Jack for help. Both Ester and Mayer looked at Jack now.

Jack feels frozen for a moment. He thinks about excusing himself because this doesn't feel like a conversation he has a place in. But then he remembers David is his fella. They're going to be leaving tomorrow. It has to be his place.

"Well, uh…" Jack starts, racking his brain for the right thing to say. Something that won't have the Jacobs forcing David to back out immediately. Something that won't embarrass David. "We just didn't want ya' to spend our last days here missing us before we'se even gone," he decided on. David looks grateful.

The table is silent. No one touches the food. Assuming they're in a similar state to Jack—he doesn't think he can stomach another bite. Esther closes her eyes, turning her head away from them. Mayer can't seem to decide who he wants to look at, and his eyes flick between Jack and David.

Suddenly, Les pipes up in a small, quiet voice and asks, "Are you gonna come back?" Nobody answers Les at first, and he's a little panicked as he repeats himself. "You're gonna come back, right?"

"We might," Jack says slowly, offering him a comforting smile. Or, he hopes it's comforting. "But we'se moving there, Les."

"But—but what about Chanukah? And—why can't you just stay here? There's lots of good things here," he protested, pouting so his bottom lip was pushed out. Jack's heart cracked. He doesn't know what to say.

"Well, if we can afford it, we could probably visit durin' Chanukah?" Jack said. David whispered his name reprimandingly. He can hear David's voice say in his head, You can't make that promise. But Jack thinks Les deserves a little hope. "And we can write to ya' as much as possible." His words don't seem to assuage Les of his hurt.

"David, are you sure about this?" Sarah asks, interrupting them thankfully. When Jack turns from Les to her, her hand is covering David's. It stops him from fidgeting momentarily as they lock eyes, and Jack can't look away from them. Jack considers Racetrack and Crutchie to be his siblings, in some sense of the word, but the bond David and Sarah shared was different. It was intuitive on a whole different level that Jack could never even fathom. To be frank, he used to be jealous.

They seem to have a silent conversation that lasts seconds but must seem longer to them. Sarah bites the inside of her cheek and nods, albeit unhappily. David smiles sadly and turns his hands up to hold hers. "This will be good for me, Sarah. Trust me."

"I do trust you," she says.

David's smile becomes less somber. He squeezes her hand and says, "Then trust me on this."

Mayer and Esther turn to each other, and he can guess what they’re thinking only because he knows David’s face like his own by now. He knows their expressions are all David’s as well. They look resigned, a little heartbroken, maybe. They look like David.

"David…" Esther says, softer now. “This is a big decision for you—and surprising, too. You’re just so young and it’s so far away.”

“We won’t be able to help you all the way in Santa Fe,” Mayer continues for her.

David shakes his head, squeezing Sarah’s hand again. This time it seems more self-soothing than for Sarah’s benefit. “It’s not like I’ll be alone. Jack will be with me,” David says.

They all look to Jack again. He grins, shrugging his shoulders. Then he says, “Don’t worry, Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs. I’ll keep this troublemaka’ in line!” He threw his arm around Les’s shoulders. “Besides, what do ya’ need him for when you’se got the best of the Jacobs’ family right here?”

They both just stare at him, though Les is at least smiling now. Jack holds his grin, though it becomes strained as the silence stretches on. Fuck, he should’ve kept his damn mouth shut as he planned.

The silence is finally broken with an undignified snort, which he’s shocked to find came from Sarah of all people. “You just want David to yourself.” Her hand covers her mouth, but her eyes wrinkle at the corners to show her smile.

“I know. I’se selfish,” Jack admits with a teasing lilt to his voice. He hopes it comes off as a joke because it’s definitely not a joke. They can’t know that, though.

David rolls his eyes. He picks up his fork to resume eating, but before he takes a bite, he says, “Aba, Ima. Please trust me on this. Trust Jack.”

Dinner is quiet after that, and once they’re finished cleaning off the plates, Jack and David rush off to his and Sarah’s shared room. Jack sits on David’s bed while the other man sits on the floor with his legs under him. He reaches under his bed and pulls a suitcase out. It looks old and as if it's gone untouched for a very long time. Jack assumes it’s what he used when moving from Poland to New York.

“You haven’t started packing yet?” Jack asks, surprise coloring his tone. “That’s not like you.”

David bites his lip, shrugging as he folds clothes and places them neatly in the suitcase. “I didn’t want them to ask questions.”

“That’s another thing,” Jack started. “I’se surprised you waited until the last second to tell.”

David pauses, his shoulders slumping. He tilts his head to look at Jack, his eyes searching Jack’s face. He doesn’t know what David’s looking for, perhaps just thinking, but after a moment he says reluctantly, “I guess I was just… scared.”

Jack slides off the bed to sit beside David. He sounds faintly incredulous when he says, “Of what?”

David shook his head, smoothing the clothes already placed in the case to stall. "I don't know," he breathes. "I guess I didn't want to disappoint them. I know that's stupid."

Jack tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. "I don't think they'se disappointed in ya', Davey."

David shrugs. "Doesn't matter now. We're leaving tomorrow anyway." He resumes his packing, avoiding eye contact with Jack.

"It matta's," Jack says simply.

David's mouth twists to the side, but he doesn't respond. Jack puts his hand on David's shoulder and lets the conversation die. If David doesn't want to talk about it, then he'll talk Jack in circles until he's dizzy. That's just how he is.

Eventually, Jack has to set up where he'll sleep, which is just a spot on the floor with a few extra blankets Esther crocheted and a pillow. If David didn't share a room with Sarah and they weren't afraid of Esther and Mayer walking in, Jack would just sleep on the bed with David. Unfortunately, that's not an option for them.

But in Santa Fe, it will be. Jack imagines they'll get a place together—two bachelors to everyone else, and belonging to each other behind closed doors. Maybe they'll live on a farm away from people, with horses and cows and other such animals. Jack doesn't know what exactly is on a farm or what he would do, but cowboys have horses, and they live on farms—probably. They'll be free and happy. They'll be unbound by the expectations and chains of society, and even the streets Jack grew up on won't have a say in how he lives his life.

Jack lays one blanket on the floor, and even though it won't soften the wooden floor much, it'll be better than no blanket under him. He throws the pillow where his head will be and wraps the second blanket around his shoulders. He rubs it between his fingers for a bit. He wonders if Esther would let him take one of her blankets with them. It's so soft. She would say yes if David asked her.

Jack looks over to the bed—where David sat down for a break after he finished packing—to ask, but David is already asleep. He's on his side with an arm hanging over the edge of the bed, still fully dressed. His mouth is slightly open, a sliver of white showing through his lips. The pillow squishes his cheek, and it's adorable enough that it makes Jack pause. He can't help but admire David and how beautiful he is, even while asleep.

Maybe it should've been after they fought a strike together. Maybe it should've been when they kissed in that alley, soaked to the bone and hurt. Maybe it should've been when David promised to stick by Jack's side, to run away to Santa Fe together. Maybe it should've been a million other things, but it's this moment that Jack realizes he loves David. This moment that's so calm and domestic. Is this what his future looks like? Will Jack be able to go to bed and wake up in the morning to David's face just like this?

He imagines curtains on their windows, pulled back to let the sun wake them up every morning. They share a bed, huddled close because even though they have a full-sized bed, they still prefer to be as close as possible. They'll get dressed together, Jack able to watch David strip without being worried someone will see his wandering eyes. They'll make breakfast before work and eat as quickly as possible because Jack will be late. David warned him he would, but Jack couldn't stop staring at David, knowing he had the right to.

Jack smiles. It's exactly what he wants. He could die happy knowing he'll get it. He's floating just thinking about it.

"Jack?" he hears, and he makes a startled noise as he spins around. It's Sarah, standing in the doorway to the bedroom with a grim face. It sends a spike of fear up his spine. Did she see? Does she know? Will she tell?

Fake it 'til you make it, Jack. Be casual, Jack thinks. "Yeah?"

Sarah's brows pinch, and the breath she takes is deep. She looks as if she's working herself up for something. She closes the door, effectively shutting out the rest of the house. "Is David leaving to be with you?" she asks.

Jack tries not to make it obvious how cornered he feels, frozen in place. She seems to tower above him now, her standing by the door and Jack sitting on the floor. It's disconcerting; she's usually a few inches below his eye level. The topic of conversation doesn't help much either.

"We'se going to Santa Fe together, yeah," Jack says. Maybe playing dumb will make her drop it.

"No," Sarah says with a frustrated sigh. "Are you two…" She looks at David instead, her gaze softening slightly. "Leaving to be together like… a man and a woman would." Jack refuses to answer her at this point, swallowing the spit that's gathering in his mouth.

This could destroy the future he's only just created for himself—a very tangible, very fragile future.

Sarah sits on her bed, her hands folded politely on her lap. The silence between them stretches for a while. Jack can hear the quiet breaths coming from David to his right and the muffled sounds of conversation from the other side of the door.

"I…" Sarah paused, taking a deep breath. "I won't be there to help him. And—and I have to know you'll be by his side. Even if it means being like that with him. I don't care."

"You don't care?" Jack asks, eyes wide.

"David never cared much for girls," Sarah says. "And you two aren't as subtle as you might think. You look at him like Aba looks at Ima." Jack's eyes look to David without meaning to, and they get stuck. "Like that."

"Are ya' gonna tell?" Jack asks.

Sarah shakes her head. "I just want him to be happy."

Jack nods his head. "We will be."