#ely writes

Race was leaning face against the wall, his head in his arms, trying to catch his breath.

How could he have been stupid enough to think they would be okay ?

It had been okay, really, for a moment. When they were at Jacobi's, all he could think about, all any of them could think about, was their small but significant victory. They had their picture in the papes ! They all let themselves drown in the euphoria, so that they wouldn't have to think about what had happened earlier.

And then it had all gone wrong, when they had gone back to the Lodging House and Specs had come in with the news of Crutchie. He had said that he was in the Refuge, trying not to look too concerned about it, which had made most of the kids feel better. At least he wasn't dead.

They couldn't know.

Then Specs had pulled Race aside with Albert and Finch, so that the youngest ones wouldn't hear them, and told them the other part of the story. That Crutchie was looking bad, real bad. That he could barely even walk. That the Spider was probably gonna take it all out on him, since he was the only Newsie they managed to catch.

So Race had to get out. He didn't even know where he wanted to go, he just needed something else. He didn't want to face the sadness, the anger and the fear in his friends' eyes.

He didn't understand why he felt this bad. Sure, they had all been soaked, but nothing they hadn't seen before. Except before they had never got in trouble all at once. Before, they had always had their leader here, to comfort them and tell them it was going to be okay.

So yeah, maybe this explained why Race was sad, and scared out of his mind, but somehow it wasn't the worst. He felt betrayed. Not just because of Jack, but because the one person that could have helped them had abandoned them.

Until that moment, Race had hoped he would come to help. Brooklyn wasn't just gonna let them loose, were they ? Some Newsies from Brooklyn had even become friends with the ones from Manhattan, they couldn't just let them get soaked without saying a word, right ?

Now he realized how stupid he had been.

He wanted to punch something.

He wanted to keep running forever, run so that all he could think about was his heart beating, his feet hitting the ground, his breath getting heavier. So that he didn't have to think about the bruises on his face. About Crutchie, about Jack. About Brooklyn.

But he needed to catch his breath eventually. So he stopped and leaned against a wall in some alleyway, his throat so sore he couldn't even let out the scream that had been growing in his chest.

Only then did he notice he was completely soaked. It had started raining at some point in the evening, and he hadn't even noticed.

Great. That's all we needed.

He almost wanted to laugh at how absurd all this was. He was just standing here, in the rain, crying and not even knowing where he was.

God, you are so pathetic.

"Hey, what are ya doing here ?"

The angry voice was enough for Race to hold back his tears. He felt a hand on his shoulders and stiffened, still not turning his head toward the newcomer. He didn't need to, nor did he want to.

He wanted to punch someone.

"Racer ?"

The other boy's voice softened immediately, anger replaced with concern.

"Hey, kid, ya okay ?"

Race chuckled darkly and turned around, throwing the other's hand off his shoulder.

"Yeah, Spot, I'm okay. No thanks to you."

"What do ya-" Spot frowned, realizing what Race looked like. "Wait, what happened to your face ?"

"Oh, so ya care now, uh ?", Race snapped back. He wasn't feeling like being nice, especially not with him.

"Racetrack, tell me what happened."

"Yeah ? So what ? So then ya can go back to Brooklyn and keep goin' on with yer life ?"

The king of Brooklyn flinched slightly. When he had told Jack he wouldn't help right away, he wasn't thinking those 'Hattan idiots would actually get in trouble. But of course they did, and it seemed to have gone about as well as he could have expected. Though this seemed worse. He had seen Race getting beaten up before, the boy had a talent for getting in trouble, but now he looked really messed up.

"We got soaked, if ya wanna know so bad. All of us. The Delanceys, and goons, dozens of 'em. Beat the shit outta us." Race spat the words out, glad to have someone he could aim his anger at. Even when he saw Spot frown and open his mouth to talk, he didn't stop. "Remember Crutchie ? He's in the Refuge, with Snyder the spider. And Jack might as well be dead for all we know."

"Wait, Jack is what ?"

"That's right. No that you'd care, anyway. Ya can go back to Brooklyn now, I can handle myself. We don't need you."

Race felt like he had crossed a line. He had never talked that way to Spot Conlon before. Probably no one had ever talked to Spot Conlon that way before. Except right now, he couldn't possibly have cared less.

"Listen, kid…" Spot didn't even know what he wanted to say. He couldn't possibly get mad at Race, not after what he had told him. I'm sorry ? Yeah, right. That sounded a bit easy now.

Race shook his head with a bitter frown and turned away. He didn't even want to look Spot in the eyes.

No. You don't want Spot to see your face. Stop crying. Hey, don't cry, stupid.

"Racetrack, loot at me !"

Spot grabbed him by the arm and forced him to turn around, but before he could say anything else the other boy pushed him back so hard he fell flat on the ground.

"Don't touch me !"

"Racer-"

"C'mon, Spot ! What, ya think ya can just show up and pretend like everythin' is gonna be okay ? Cause it damn sure ain't !"

He saw something flash in Spot's eyes, though he didn't know what it was. It wasn't anger, which surprised Race. Guilt ? Nah, not him. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn the king of Brooklyn was feeling… sad ?

That's ridiculous. Spot isn't sad. He doesn't even care what you's saying.

Well, Race didn't care, either.

When Spot got up and took a step toward him, a pleading look on his face, Race punched him in the chest. Not real hard, Race had never been a fighter, but Spot still looked pretty hurt.

Good for him.

Spot took a few steps back, wincing. If it had been anyone else he would have punched right back, but he knew Race had every right to be mad at him. "Racer, listen to me-"

Before he could say anything else Race tried hitting him again, but so weakly that Spot managed to catch his arm, forcing the boy to look at him.

"Race, look, I'm sorry ! I didn't think you would-"

"Yeah ?" Race snapped, trying to get Spot's hand off his arm. "Then why didn't ya show up earlier ? Jack and Mouth told ya we'd need help, didn't they ?"

Still gripping the boy's arm, Spot couldn't do anything but nod slowly. He knew he had messed up, but somehow seeing Race on the verge of tears was even worse than hearing his reproaches. He had never seen his friend snap at someone like this before. The only time Race had looked that messed up was…

When he got back from the Refuge.

"If ya had shown up earlier, none of this woulda happened ! Now Crutchie is in the Refuge and might as well be dead 'cause of ya ! Jack-" Race felt his voice breaking and fought back tears.

He refused to cry in front of Spot Conlon. He refused to cry for Spot Conlon. Oh, great, he was crying now.

"We don't even know where Jack is !"

Spot shook him by the arm, firmly enough for Race to stop talking. "Racetrack, will you just shut up and listen to me ?"

Race wanted to scream at him, to hit him as hard as he could, but he didn't even have any energy left. All he could do was nod, his look still dark enough for Spot to understand he should be careful.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay ? We should… I should have done somethin' earlier. I didn't believe Jackie boy and the Mouth guy were serious about this whole thing. And I didn't think you guys from 'Hattan would actually get yourselves into the fight."

"Yeah, guess we are that stupid." Spot struggled to hold back a smirk. Knowing Race, sarcasm was progress. Well, it was better than screaming, anyway.

"We's gonna look for Jack, okay ? All of us. And we'll find a way to get Crutchie outta there. It's gonna be okay, Racer."

Race couldn't help but snort through his tears.

"Yeah ? And how's ya planning to fix this ?"

Spot really didn't have an answer for that. Mostly because, unlike what Race had made himself believe, he was feeling guilty, and also because right now anything he could think of saying would feel insufficient, considering what he had done. Or rather, hadn't done.

So instead he did what he had wanted to do since he found him in the alley, what he had wanted to do ever since the day he met this annoying little shit that was Racetrack Higgins, all those years ago.

He kissed him.

He didn't know what he was doing, he hadn't planned to do this, none of them had. For a moment he thought Race was just gonna push him away and get even angrier. So when Race finally kissed him back, he felt relief wash over him.

Many thoughts flashed through Race's mind.

What the hell is happening ?

Oh yeah, kissing in the rain while crying. God, that's so pathetic. Can you get any more cliché ?

And finally did Spot fucking Conlon just kiss me ?

When they pulled away, both of them out of breath and eyes wide in shock, Spot noticed Race was on the verge of tears again and almost panicked. Okay, kissing him definitely did not fix this.

When Race reached for him, he flinched slightly, thinking the boy was still mad at him, but he threw his arms around Spot and clung to him like his life depended on it. After a moment of confusion, Spot hugged him back and waited for Race to stop shaking.

What the hell is happening right now ?

"We're gonna get cold" Race muttered eventually, his face crooked in the other boy's neck.

"Don't care." Spot answered softly, though he guided Race under an awning nearby to protect them from the rain.

He wiped Race's tears away with his thumb and pulled back a little to look at him.

"C'mon, gotta get ya back to 'Hattan."

Race nodded, still holding on to Spot, until realization of something seemed to hit him and he looked back at the other boy, furrowing his eyebrows.

" Wait- why were you even out there in the first place ?"

Spot sighted. "I wanted to talk to Jack. Like I said, I'm sorry I didn't come earlier."

Race's eyes widened when he realized what Spot had been trying to say.

"Ya don't mean-" His face was now beaming, and Spot smirked in return, happy to see Race seemingly back to his normal self.

"That's right, Racer. Ya got Brooklyn."

And, because he knew that was what Race needed to hear, he added "You got me."

Race punched him playfully, smiling. "You'se such a jerk, Spot Conlon."

"Racetrack Higgins, did ya just punch me ?" Spot was trying to look mad, and desperately falling.

"Yeah, what's you gonna do about it ?"

Spot shook his head with a smirk. This was gonna be complicated, and they definitely would need to have a long conversation about it later. But at least now they had something to hold on to. And in the following days, they would most likely be needing that.

It was a quiet morning and Roman, Logan, and Patton had just finished their breakfast. As usual for a Sunday morning, they sit together for a little longer to plan for the upcoming week. Also as usual Virgil hadn’t gotten up yet and Janus and Remus were still more among themselves most of the time. It was still, as it had always been, a thing between Roman, Logan, and Patton.

“There we go, kiddos.”, Patton proclaimed, putting down three steaming cups between them – black coffee for Logan, vanilla chai latte for Roman, and hot cocoa for Patton himself. “Thank you, Patton.” Logan answered already taking a sip while checking his schedule. Roman just nodded and started to distract himself with the steamed milk on top of his drink. He wasn’t paying attention to the schedule when Logan started reading out loud. Roman already knew that the upcoming week was not a busy one. He had checked that already – twice. There was something else he wanted to have Logan’s and Patton’s opinions on and very unusual for himself he was nervous about this special something. Because that something kept Roman up every other night ever since Thomas had started dating Nico. Roman’s head had always been full of ideas about dating and romance but lately, it had gotten worse. He wasn’t only thinking about Thomas’s dates anymore. More often than not he caught himself thinking about dates of his own and these thoughts circled more and more about a certain dark anxious side. And Roman knew he had to do something about this. Logan and Patton knew him the longest and each of them would bring very different concerns about this to the table. So maybe they could help his delusional romantic brain to stop thinking about Virgil this way before he would act on that thoughts and probably destroy every progress they had ever made. He could not risk this. For Thomas’s sake, for all of their sakes.

To his surprise, he saw Logan putting down the schedule. They couldn’t possibly be ready with everything by now. Then Roman realized that both Logan and Patton focused on him. “Roman, you’re clearly not paining attention at all. So let us proceed with the unavoidable detour you have planned for us. Maybe afterward we can focus on the actual task at hand again.” Logan did not seem happy about the situation but he didn’t seem annoyed either even though his words implied that he was. Patton of course was understanding as ever. “What’s wrong, Roman? You know you can talk to us.” He said and stretched out his hand towards Roman in case the creative side might want to take it for the conversation. Roman sight. Why was this so hard? It’s just Logan and Patton for god’s sake! Roman took Patton’s offer not completely taking his hand but touching it just enough to calm himself a little. “Alright, you’re right. There is something on my mind I want to talk about with the two of you. And it is a little different from what we usually discuss.” “Go ahead!” Patton encourages and Logan nods in agreement. Roman takes another deep breath. How to start this? But he keeps going. “Well, you know my thoughts about romance sometimes get a little out of hand…” Logan lifts a brow. “That might be an understatement, but proceed.” Roman does, not without sanding an annoyed glare towards the logical side. “Lately, these thoughts no longer just consider Thomas’s dating life but my own.” “Oh.” Patton exclaimed surprised but not shocked at all. “That’s not a bad thing, is it? It is possible for you to date, right?” He turns more to Logan asking the last question. “Right.” Logan agrees. “We as Thomas’s personality are able to have these romantic outgoings ourselves as long as we date others we can interact with and not interfere with Thomas’s everyday life. But Roman you already know that. If I remember correctly you had meetings like that before without consulting us. So what is different now?” “Yeah…” Roman starts a little uncertain. Last chance to just shut up and let it go. He turns towards his drink again and avoids either of the others’ glares.

Patton shifts a little and moves his hand from Roman’s just to take it properly now. “Roman, this is not about dating some hypothetical stranger, is it? Is there someone you’d like to ask out?” He asks very quietly. Roman still can’t look at them but he nods. “Is that not obvious? If you are thinking about dating someone you usually already have a person in mind. I still do not understand why you want to talk with us about this. If you want to date Virgil and he wants to date you too, that rally is between the two of you. Patton and I do not have a say in this matter.” Both Roman and Patton look up at Logan. “Virgil?” Patton asks confused while Roman just stares at Logan terrified. Was he that obvious? Logan seemed confused about their reactions. “Is this not what we are talking about? I’m sorry, Roman if I jumped to a conclusion here. I assumed that this is about Virgil considering the timing you choose to open up to Patton and me and the fact that the two of you got a lot closer lately.” Roman does not answer. He just stares blankly at Logan, feeling his face heat up. He must be blushing like a maniac by now. To his shook, Patton makes a little excited little happy sound. “Oh it is about Virgil, isn’t it?” The smaller side starts to hop up and down a little on his chair. “That’s so cute! You totally have my blessing to ask him out!” “What?” Now Roman is the confused one. “You don’t think this is a bad idea?” Patton immediately shakes his head. “No of course not, kiddo. If you make each other happy I could not be happier.” Roman turns to Logan to ensure himself that Patton was mental and him asking out Virgil was a really bad idea but Logan seemed relaxed about the whole situation, too. “You can’t be okay with this, right? I mean, I know this is a bad idea! You must have concerns about how these feelings would affect Thomas.”

“Well, …” Logan starts, fixing his glasses. “I’m not saying that I would not have any concerns about this at all. I’m always concerned about how feelings interact with our dynamic here but you do already have these feelings and thoughts about Virgil. Suppressing them might negatively affect your mental health and therefore Thomas’s. So I think that acting on your feelings is the more logical decision in this situation. The worst case, which is very unlikely, to be honest with you, is that Virgil does not feel the same about you. You still would know that then and be able to move on. More likely, Vigil had thought about dating you himself and you can figure out where this is going from there. Either way, a conversation with Virgil would give you valuable information about his feelings and you can act accordingly afterward.”

“I…” Roman didn’t finish his thought. This was not how he had imagined this conversation at all. He had been convinced that they would tell him to shut these thoughts down. He had counted on that to stop himself from actually doing anything about this. But now both of them encouraged him to act on his fantasies. Even more, they seemed to think that Virgil might actually want this, too. Roman could feel his heart raising. He wanted this so bad to be true. Even with all the scenarios, he had conjured up in his dreams, he just now realized how much he really wanted this. He hadn’t expected this a all. The feeling was overwhelming.

The staff of the Foxhole Library had a running bet. It wasn’t their longest-standing bet, nor the ones with the highest stakes, but it was surely the most exciting. The bet was simple: how long would it take until Andrew Minyard killed Neil Josten? A few had already lost the bet. Allison, although usually a formidable opponent, had bet on two weeks, but that had already passed. Matt’s bet, the usual optimist, had been surprisingly small this time, and the month had gone before him winning. They were at the six-months mark and only Nicky and Dan remained in the race. 

Andrew was in the process of annoying Kevin Day, one of the regular users of the library. Kevin Day might have been knowledgeable and a hard worker (too hard, in Dan’s opinion, the guy was holed up in the library with a mountain of books 12 hours 6 days of the week, more often than not skipping lunch) but he was also an insufferable prick. He complained about the state of the books, how the library’s options weren’t sufficient, even though they had the possibility to get him any book through interlibrary loan, the state of the facilities and other comments which would have been less annoying if they had actually had the budget to do something about it.

Dan didn’t particularly like Andrew. He was silent most times, scared the readers away and was generally unpleasant. Nonetheless, watching Andrew put back Kevin’s books as he brought new ones to his table was a source of entertainment on an otherwise quite boring day. Friday usually were, as most students were out partying while their favourite groups of older women usually came on Saturday. It took three trips for Kevin to caught up to what was happening, but by the time he went back to his table, Andrew had disappeared. Neil was instead there, smiling that particularly sharp smile of his.

“Kevin, so nice to see you again today,” Neil said. He was still holding his book cart with one hand, and a large book in his other arm. Dan briefly wondered if a heavy book had already been used as a murder weapon. She knew, at least, that they would be less lethal than Neil’s wit.

Kevin knew it too, as it’d often been to the receiving end of it. He grumbled something which might have been a greeting, might have been an apology, who knew and went back to his stack of books.

Neil, when he went back to Andrew, smiled at him, with that infuriating victorious grin that he had and simply said: “You owe me.”

Andrew’s pen snapped in his hand.

“Hey!” Matt said. “That was my pen!”

The look Andrew sent him was nothing less but ice cold. Matt quickly went back to typing on his computer right away.

📚.

Renee conscientiously adjusted her hijab. She’d chosen a pale pink today, which she’d matched to her nails. She was in the process of adding a new pin to secure it, a beautiful golden pin with a pearl, when she heard voices in the hallway. She opened the door quietly, making sure that her long skirt didn’t get caught in the gap when the door closed behind her, and followed the voices. 

 It was a quiet evening, and they’d just closed their doors, encouraging the last few stragglers out. The sun was streaming through the windows, warming the wood of the shelves and floors. Renee stayed out of sight, looking at Neil and Andrew. Neil was standing on the ladder, looking at Andrew.

Neil looked at the spin of the book he was holding. “Wuthering Heights,” he read, with slight disdain. 

“You seem to have time to discuss book choices when you should be ordering them.”

Neil raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean you like the book?”

“I do not like anything.”

“Honest people don’t hide their deeds,” Neil quoted. 

Andrew made an annoyed noise, more emotions than Renee had seen him do in a while. A small smile graced her face. 

“Book! You lie there; the fact is, you books must know your places,” Andrew answered back.

Neil let out a laugh. It was short and dry, almost like it was out of practice. “Moby Dick. Quite suiting for you, isn’t it?”

Renee hid her laugh behind her hand. Maybe it was time for her to leave. God would forgive her that small indiscretion.

📚.

Being at the reception was Allison’s least favourite place. She couldn’t show the work she’d put in her own clothes when she was behind the counter. Thankfully for her, Neil was with her today, whispering snarks about annoying visitors. 

Mrs. Canberry was unfortunately one of those ladies whose age hadn’t made them sweeter. Allison straightened herself and her jacket, a beautiful suit jacket made of purple satin, and put on her customer smile. “What can I do for you today, Mrs. Cranberry?”

Mrs. Canberry was wearing a dreadful colour between yellow or green. It wasn’t the colour per se, Allison objected to, but what it did to the poor tint of Mrs. Cranberry’s skin. “I would like to borrow a book,” the lady demanded.

“By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes,” Neil whispered, from behind her, where he was organising papers. Allison was quite certain he was just pretending to be busy so he didn’t have to talk to her, the traitor.

“I want to borrow Me Before You by Jojo Moyes,” Mrs. Canberry said.

“Madam, the book are organised by alphabetical orders. Have you looked in the shelves where it belongs?”

“I want you to come with me. I can’t find it,” Ms. Canberry insisted.

Allison took a breath and told herself at least she would have the opportunity to show off the beautiful suit she’d sewed herself.

“Shakespeare is the happy hunting ground of all minds that have lost their balance,” Andrew said, joining Neil behind the counter.

Neil scoffed. “James Joyce? You could not have chosen more boring in the classics?”

“Your taste is worse than a teenager's.”

“And yet, you quite like my taste.”

“I do not like anything.”

“We both know that is a lie,” Neil said.

Andrew pushed the stack of papers that Neil had been tidying off the counter. The papers fell in disorder on the floor. “No answer? The rest is silence." Neil teased back, with a small curtsy, clearly aiming to be as annoying as possible.

From a few meters away, Allison snapped a book shut. “Oh, those bastards!” She snarled.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Canberry gasped.

Allison took a deep breath and turned to her. “I apologise, Madam. I remembered what happened in this book. Unfortunately, I don’t believe you should read it. Why don’t I offer another suggestion?”

📚.

“I demand that the bet be cancelled!” Allison ordered, to the full Foxhole staff.

There was a chorus of displeased noises. “You’re just a sore loser,” Nicky said.

“Maybe,” Allison conceded. “But that is not why… Those two have been lying to us this whole time.”

“Something is rotten in the state of Denmark,” Andrew added, with his usual bland tone.

Neil laughed. “I thought you hated Shakespeare.” Everybody turned to him, instead of looking at Allison, looked at the way the freckles on his cheeks hiding in the creases that formed under his eyes when he looked at Andrew and suddenly it all made sense.

“This is bullshit!” Matt exclaimed. “Obviously now, we can all see Andrew will never kill Neil, they’re clearly dating.”

“You’re just saying that because you’ve already lost,” Dan protested.

“I would rather agree that we should let the person who’s chosen the most time win the bet then,” Renee said, from where she was sitting, her hands with pink painted nails neatly folded in her lap. “That would only be fair.”

The room quieted and as things often went when Renee talked.

In the end, it was agreed that the best course of action was to split the reward (the right to exchange any shift at any time) between the two remaining participants of the bet.

__

the quotes in following order

“Honest people don’t hide their deeds” – Wuthering Heights

“Book! You lie there; the fact is, you books must know your places” – Moby Dick

“By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes” – Macbeth

“Shakespeare is the happy hunting ground of all minds that have lost their balance” – Ulysses (James Joyce)

“The rest is silence.” – Hamlet

He had just spawned into a familiar yet unknown world. His name was Grian, of that he was sure, but that was about it. He was surrounded by trees, not having any idea how he got there, when suddenly a thunderous sound struck.

He recoiled at the sudden noise, bringing his hands to his ears and closed his eyes firmly shut. Immediately he opened them wide and looked around, but the landscape seemed undisturbed. Nothing had changed and yet Grian felt a constricting feeling in his heart.

Fear. Fear of what, he didn’t know yet, but something wasn’t right.

He rushed to a nearby puddle to look at himself; his worried reflection stared at him with its golden eyes. Grian remembered his eyes being blue.

Somehow, yellow eyes reminded him of someone… an ally? A friend perhaps?

Someone he owed something to.

Days passed, that booming noise came back a couple of times, but it didn’t struck fear in his heart like the first time he heard it. He had fought for his life, desperately trying to survive and preparing for what might come his way.

He was running through the woods when he met that guy. His eyes were a deep green and in them there was no hint of fear or worry despite the dramatic scar that ran across his face. Not a care in the whole world. He was even wearing a ridiculously fake diamond armour. 

He did not remember who he was or why he was so familiar, but a flurry of different emotions rushed to the surface of his muddled mind.

He’s the guy he owes something to. Had he already paid his debt? Grian thought the answer was somewhat complicated.

His carefree attitude was the worst thing about him. What would a guy like that really need from someone like him? Grian really only had his life to his name and he wasn’t certainly going to give it to this idiot.

And yet he knew that they once had some sort of bond, but he was frustrated by the fact that he couldn’t quite piece everything together.

Plus, that little cheeky smirk of his was taunting him, mocking his sorry state.

He knew he would never be able to pay his debt, first of all because he didn’t even remember what it was. Did it involve a pizza somehow?

Well, if he couldn’t be a friend that would only mean one thing: war.