Chapter Text
Prior to the summer of 1899, if anyone were to ask David Jacobs when his life really started, he would’ve easily told them it was his first day of school. That was when he learned to read, write, and do all the things his parents said would land him somewhere great one day.
Now, though, he will say, with confidence, that his life truly started the moment he ran into, or rather, was run into by, a sweaty, overzealous newsboy in the middle of a square in Lower Manhattan.
David is walking to the distribution center with his younger brother, Les, just moments away from beginning their work as newsies, when said sweaty, overzealous newsboy in a red neckerchief crashes straight into his right shoulder, knocking himself and Les off-balance.
“What do you think you’re doing?” David asks, bristling in preparation for a fight.
But instead of a fight, David is met with the charming, endlessly youthful smile of a boy about his age and crinkled hazel eyes that seemed to shine with mirth. He does his best to keep his expression neutral.
“Runnin’!” cries the boy, and he starts off again, leaving David to watch as his head spins with intrigue. Who is he? What’s he running from?
David’s latter question is answered rather swiftly as two grown men in bowler hats tear past him, knocking him square in the chest. Figures, he gripes.
Massaging his shoulder with one hand and grabbing hold of Les’ vest in the other, David rolls his eyes and continues their walk to the distribution center, still grumbling about the clearly reckless tendencies of his soon-to-be-coworkers. Les says nothing, opting to simply take in the rush of the morning, for which David is exceedingly grateful.