A/N: Remember over a year ago when I said I was back? Okay, for real this time. What I wanted to note is that this particular chapter is HEAVILY influenced by a piece I wrote on ao3, popular in another niche fandom. If you find it, please understand that my wattpad time is not as...refined as what it is there. I find inspiration in my own work, I assure you. No copying, just my own work as a reference :) PLEASE let me know if you'd like to see me write anything specific for these two :) THANK YOU!
"This happens once every few lifetimes. These chemicals hit me like white wine."
-Taylor Swift, 'The Alchemy.'
The First Time.
They're running down Main Street when Crutchie realizes it, him and Jack Kelly. Jack's dragging him faster than the rest of his body can catch up. Their bodies bump and knock into well-dressed women and suited men. When deep breaths allow, Jack turns over his shoulder with a quick apology.
They're not running from anything particular. It's not that the Delancey's are chasing them or that the sun is about to go down. The selling day hadn't been particularly exciting. A lunch of sourdough bread and an okay-looking green apple hadn't turned any stomachs.
It had been Medda's theatre downtown. Their theatre, where they often spent time between the afternoon paper and the setting sun. Jack had made sure that they could make the matinee and, luckily, Medda had allowed them to sit in the balcony. Crutchie had laughed more than he had in a long time. He had smiled so wide, his cheeks hurt. But now, they needed to get back to the lodge and tell the newsies everything, before they could forget any details.
Eventually, Crutchie is unable to keep up with Jack at all and he slows down. As they walk, Jack rambles about what other possible songs Medda could sing. He ponders what else he could paint for her. "Maybe I could try a, ah, space thing," Jack chuckles, "or I could paint her some flowers, an illusion or somethin'. Maybe she'd like somethin' like that for the Spring."
Jack gingerly taps his hand against Crutchie's, the one holding onto his crutch. Crutchie's breath hitches and his heart pounds. A deciding thought comes to mind and he wonders if this feeling has always been there or if it is new. Maybe both. An adult tooth replacing a baby one. Under the gums, protruding from jaw.
"I don't know," Crutchie responds to Jack softly, almost without realizing it.
As they enter the Newsboy Lodge and Racetrack Higgins shouts that they're late, he finds himself agreeing.
—
The Second Time.
Crutchie is in love with Jack Kelly.
He knows this for a second time because it is Summer and the world is bright and good and overwhelming. There is always paint on Jack's jawbone.
—
The Third Time.
In the Fall that year, it rained like a warning to never come outside again. It's cold and half the newsboys are sick, including Crutchie. Jack has made it his mission to work twice as hard to make up for lost funds.
"I have my jacket," Jack shrugs. "It's just a little rain and we need the cash." He pulls on his blue button-up and only buttons a few of them as if to prove there are more layers to come.
We. Crutchie's heart beats with the word. His face heats up with fever and flush and Jack's eyes widen like he's hurt him. Crutchie smiles to prove he hasn't.
"Come back when the jacket gets soaked."
"Fine, fine, fine." Jack groans, but he's smiling, too. Crutchie wants to reach forward and button those last few buttons that Jack hasn't. He doesn't. Instead he thinks, fleetingly, that he wants to see Jack's arms again. To hold him close and say something unbelievable like "kiss me" or "love me" or "can you feel it? Like rain or sun on skin, can you feel it?"
---
The Fourth Time.
It's Winter again and their hands are always touching. They touch. On the street when passing a newspaper to each other. In the Lodge, when they sit a little too close together as the outside degrees lower. In line every morning, waiting for the new headline.
They touch and it's alive, like a planted seed inching towards a brilliant sun. Growing and growing, peaking at a beautiful bloom.
Crutchie feels it bloom one particularly cold evening. The fire is heating his face and Jack's hand is heating his. It's beautiful. Only beautiful.
"I hate how cold it gets in the Winter," Jack says, rubbing Crutchie's hand with his thumb.
---
The Fifth Time.
It's Spring, over two years after the Newsboy Strike of 1899 when they kiss for the first time.
It happens quickly, like decisions and storms and standing ovations.
It's nearly five in the morning, seven days before Crutchie's birthday, and Crutchie doesn't know where to put his feelings anymore. Soaked to the bone with a love that can't be replaced or attacked by blood cells. He isn't sick. He's gap-toothed and in-love. And he kisses Jack because his mouth is right there and Jack kisses him back.
Neither of them are sure what comes next. All they do know is that a confession spills from their connected lips like a river into ocean, an ocean into land. And that morning, the newsboys look at them like something is different. Crutchie wants nothing more than to take his profound feelings and throw them into the air like confetti or rice or streamers.
What comes next? Can everyone know? Can I be kissed again?
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JackCrutchie Oneshots
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