Newsies Oneshots 2.0

What Actually Happened-Ikeshot

Hotshot wrung his hands, but breathed steadily. He paced the living room floor but his steps made no noise. Ike could only watch him.

He sighed at the sight of his husband, rubbing his eyes. "Baby, please stop moving. You're making me nervous."

The Brooklynite chuckled, and stopped pacing just in front of the TV, and his hands suddenly found his pockets. Even through his smile, he could see Ike's concern, which only left worry to fill him.

This was the only secret he'd ever kept from the other—God, they were married, and they still had secrets, and not the fun kind where one says "peekaboo" and the other giggles at the flowers he got him. No, this was a big secret.

A secret so big, Hotshot swore not to tell anyone until he was ready to kick the bucket. He didn't know what Ike would do if he knew. Even though it ate at him like black mold on the walls of his old apartment—he thanks God everyday Isaac Guzman asked him to move in together—he had yet to scratch that bite. Even now he hesitated.

It's not like it didn't eat at Ike either; he spent countless nights wondering what Hotshot was dying not to tell him, going as far as reviewing his husband's follower list on Instagram to see if anything changed. He deducted Hotshot was beat by a random guy on the subway, which was likelier than he'd like to think, but Hotshot would've told him that. And he would've won the fight.

The image of Hotshot's black eye remained a memory in Ike's mind. The pitiful look on his face at the dinner party they went to six months ago when he asked etched his brain as well. It wasn't like he hadn't seen Hotshot with a black eye before, or any bruise not of that caliber, but he'd never seen someone so in need of pity, even if they didn't want it. Even though his eye was back to normal, and shining in his honey-colored glory, the idea still remained.

He was glad they were doing this now, on a Sunday. "How about you sit down with me? It might be easier to talk."

Hotshot obeyed like a lap dog waiting for a treat. "I'm sat."

"Great", Ike exclaimed, and he placed his hand in Hotshot's hair, watching as he visibly relaxed. He really was like a dog. "Let's talk now, okay? Maybe we can bake cookies after and watch a movie."

"What kind of movie?"

Ike sighed, and rolled his eyes. "Fine. We'll watch Mission Impossible."

Hotshot smiled, and hummed at the feel of his husband's fingers on his scalp. "It might be a lot to handle."

"I'm a big boy, I think I'll be fine."

Despite the relaxing sequence—Hell, just being close to Ike was relaxing—Hotshot felt his heart rate speed up in an unfamiliar way. He rarely broke his promises, but he supposed this was Ike he was bending the rules for; his husband, the love of the next few lives he'll be having. Even if he did promise himself to take this secret to his grave, Ike was more of a Hades type, and he would've seen it anyway.

Ike continued massaging him, and the courage to open his mouth swelled enough to begin a fall of words. "So, like...six months ago, I spent the weekend at my parents', right?"

Ike remembered that. They'd spent nearly an entire afternoon kissing and hugging before Hotshot had to go to the airport, headed to Vermont where his parents bought a house just a few weeks before. He wanted a feel of the transport there and how hectic it would be, since he would be visiting there more often than before. Then again, the last he went was six months ago.

"I really did have a good time there", Hotshot promised, understanding Ike's worry when his hand stopped grazing his scalp. "I spent time with my mom and dad, and I saw Celia and her kids. Charlotte has grown a lot since we last saw her. Her two front teeth fell out so she's got a snaggle tooth smile, but she just smiles even bigger when you mention it."