Javey Oneshots

Tipsy

"I don't know Davey, you sure?" Race questioned.

"I promise you Race, I'll be responsible," Davey responded calmly. He walked over to where the rest of the guys were drinking and smoking. He got out his lighter and lit the cigar, inhaling slowly. To not prove Race right, he suppressed the tiny cough he felt coming by clearly his throat. As the evening faded away and the night welcomed everyone at the lodging house, Davey's anxiety that he always had - even if it was just a tiny thought in the back of his mind - was miraculously fading away as well.

Race, who was totally gone by the time the moon was up, was blabbering on about something he deemed so important to everyone's life.

"No no no, because then, I swear to you, I swear on it, then he looks at me, he looks at me and goes 'I could get used to you being on my turf' and I just nearly fall over, you know? I was, I swear to god guys, I nearly fell over. Does that mean something because I sure as hell thought it did."

Everyone laughed at Race's drunken state and his sudden willingness to talk about Brooklyn.

"Oh, so now you open up to us about why you've been making so many trips across that damn bridge," Davey said with a laugh while gently throwing his hand up in the air. The other newsies around him were slightly shocked at his forwardness and lack of awkwardness. Especially the lack of awkwardness, since that tended to follow his every move like an aura, his every word like an accent to a foreign land no one had ever been to.

"Oh c'mon, we've all known this is about Spot for a while now," Albert chimed in, breaking the silence of the newsies. When Race wildly moved his hands around in an alcohol-soaked defense - a poor defense at best - the newsies roared with laughter at the sight of him. Face red, cigar in hand, eyes moving around trying to find anyone who would claim they were oblivious to the obvious romance between the Brooklyn boy and the Manhattan newsie that Race so desperately wanted to happen.

Davey was one of the people laughing, and loudly at that, as he picked up his glass and took another swig. It was unlike him to not be worried, but he enjoyed not feeling tied down by the what ifs and the crawling nerves that might've been someone looking at him weird because of something he just said or did.

The night rambled on along with the stories being told by countless Manhattan newsies that kept getting better by the second. Once it hit midnight, however, Finch said something that made Davey feel a bit funny.

"Heya guys, why's Jack not here? He never showed up."

"Now that you mention it, I don't know why he's not here. I saw him head back to the roof, maybe he wanted to paint or something," Crutchie said helpfully.

Davey felt his face get hot at the mention of Jack. Usually when he thought of him, his stomach turned into knots and he thought about all  the reasons why those looks and brief touches meant nothing. But not tonight. Tonight, when Davey thought of Jack, he could only imagine how beautiful he was, and how it was obvious that Jack liked him back. How his jacket fit so nice and tightly over his torso, how his hips swayed ever so slightly as he walked through the streets of New York, yelling made up headlines to passerbys. How his lips looked so soft, and how the moon would glint off his face....his body...

"Hey Dreamy Davey, come back down to Earth why don't ya!" Race yelled.

Davey, instead of nearly hyperventilating and glancing around, just rolled his eyes and told him and easily thought of a lie about how he was trying to remember what his mom told him about tomorrow. Race seemed to accept that answer and everyone just let him go back to daydreaming, as it was one of the only times they'd seen him peaceful in a long time.

Suddenly it hit him. He had to go see Jack. It didn't matter if he was painting, sleeping, daydreaming, whatever he was doing. He was going to go see Jack and he had not a doubt in his mind that Jack would immediately stop what he was doing.