Newsies One Shots and Preferences

A Common Flirt

Word Count: 967
Working nights at Jacobi's is always a wild card. Some nights it was a calm and quiet place, others it was rowdy and hectic. However something was certain no matter the night, someone will always flirt with you. As a waiter, it is a gold mine, but as a person it makes you feel morally ambiguous. It is mostly harmless, just banter- is what I tell myself every night before I go to sleep.
Jacobi is taking a personal day today, so I have to open. He always gets there two hours before we open so the newsboys have a place to regroup. So I have to get there two hours early. He told me to have glasses of water-filled, so that is what I did for the first few minutes. Until I heard the bell ring signaling that the first customer was here. Peaking out from the kitchen I see a boy in worn-out, patched clothing and a cap, no debatably a newsie. He is followed in by another boy in similar clothing, his cap on backward. I grab two cups of water and begin to make my way towards them. They don't bother with the chairs and rather sit on the table. I place the cups of water beside them and begin to walk back to the kitchen.
They aren't going to tip me, so why should I talk to them? As if I spoke aloud I begin to hear a similar question. "Where's Jacobi, he at least acted like we were going to buy something else" one of them remark. I turn around on the balls of my feet to face them again.
The other boy is quick to reply, "yeah but Jacobi doesn't bless our eyes. It would be an honor to hear her speak" the boy with a cigar hanging out of his mouth says.
Usually, a comment like that would earn an empty flirty reply, but he isn't paying. It isn't right to flirt back. We stare at each other for a few seconds, his blue eyes are challenging me. "Consider yourself blessed," I say, completely mucking up. Usually, I would have come up with something better, but I shouldn't have even bothered in the first place. Before I turn around again I see the boy with a cigar hanging out if his mouth, turn to talk to his friend. The bell rings again, prompting me to go back to the kitchen to get more water. On my way back I hear footsteps follow me to the kitchen. Once I turn around I am met with the familiar eyes of the cigar-smoking patron.
The cigar he is smoking is cherry and it fills the small room. How can a newsboy afford a cherry-flavored cigar? However I am not complaining, the sent is inviting and it makes me feel at ease, even though I am in a small room with a stranger. He shuts the counter blinds so I cannot see the customers outside, is he going to kill me?
"This is staff only," is all I muster up to say. I am going to die, this is where I die. I begin to start spiraling out of control, but I try my best to maintain confidence on the outside.
The boy is still staring at me, studying me before he speaks again, "Has anyone ever told you, you are beautiful".
Taken aback I nervously start picking at the skin around my fingernails, "yeah, but it means more coming from you" I flirt. Usually, I flirt to get tips but now I am flirting because I want to. Even though the situation looks like the start of something terrible, I feel the safest in his presence. There is no reason I should, he is a stranger to me. I don't even know his name, but something about him is familiar, it is comforting. After a few more flirty exchanges he leaves and I begin to load up my tray with waters.
Once I enter the dining area again I see that cigar boy and his buddy have left. I shouldn't miss a customer, but I do. The rest of the newsies all try to flirt but I don't respond. I don't even talk for the rest of the day. Once another waiter comes in I tell them I feel ill and go home. Why is a common flirt giving me all of this trouble?
Something about our interaction was different, it made me feel special. He made me feel special. I always told myself I would not rely on a boy to keep me happy but I can't help it. Something about him just lifts me up, and I am determined to find him again.
Luckily I don't work tomorrow, giving me all the time to search for him. After an hour or two of searching my feet refuse to let me walk another step. The scolding sun has probably turned my skin all red at this point. As I start to head back home I hear the voice of the boy. He is yelling about some headline-making his voice easy to follow above the noisy New York street.
I can tell he is beyond this next corner, but as I turn it, I stop in my tracks. The boy from yesterday is kissing another girl's hand. He is smiling from ear to ear as he begins to spin her now. How could I of been so foolish, how did I think I was special? I can feel tears rush to my eyes and I try my best not to let them escape. How could I of fell off the tricks of a common flirt? I don't even know his name, but yet I thought we were special.