Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies or any other media references I may make throughout the duration of this fic.
A/n: this is a continuation of my song fic 'I Think I Love You' (chapter two) if you want to follow up you should read it first!
The Men of Confidence
Chapter 1: What Our Parents Taught Us
Spot
Ever since I was younger and lived in a rough part of Brooklyn I thought I was a leader. I don't exactly know how I demanded such a power over people, being small compared to my peers, but I never questioned my good-fortune in areas such as this. I never would have thought I'd make it far enough to make it into university. I mean, I always knew I was bright enough, but motivation is what I lacked in terms of learning.
It seems strange now I'm sitting in my dorm room on my bed, surveying the whole thing, trying to remember if I ever imagined my life would be like this.
Toronto is a large city. Not a large as New York, but the largest in Canada. Three months ago when the semester started I'd never been out of America, we couldn't afford it when I was a child. Now Toronto is like home. My roommate, Anthony Higgins, is out. He's a New Yorker too, but from an area in upper-Manhattan. He'd been to Toronto on many occasions. Anthony is the problem.
I think he's out at work and I know I should be getting ready for class, which will start in twenty minutes, but I haven't moved since he woke me up at two o'clock this morning. I don't understand why he'd love me. Why he thinks he loves me. Most of all, I can't understand why I can't do anything about it.
My mom used to say: "Simon, when you grow up you'll get far in life. You won't be stuck here in Brooklyn forever. You can do anything you want to do."
And I believed her until one day when I was twelve and tried to fit a whole bag of marshmallows in my mouth. I got sick and puked all over the stained beige carpet. I guess Anthony is like an extra-large bag of marshmallows; I can't seem to get my head around what's going on. Anthony Higgins has me stumped.
The difficult thing about facing Anthony with my problems is that he has the same confidence as me. I'm not used to not being the leader, it's just too weird that someone else possesses such power over people, that someone else can get people to listen so easily. I thought that was something only I could do.
Last night, when I was lying asleep on my bed, soothed by the sounds of city streets and car alarms, he woke me up and gave me the biggest shock of my life.
"Spot," he'd said, using my nickname, "I think I love you."
I didn't know what to say, and he just looked at me helplessly, for once making me feel like I had the power in his presence, waiting for my response. But I didn't have one. I just stuttered and gaped as he watched. What could I say? Eventually he must've figured that I didn't hear him or something and rolled back over, but he didn't fall asleep because his breath never grew shallow and even like it does when he sleeps.
The only thing I'm really worried about is how I feel about Anthony. About Racetrack.
It's only November and the Toronto streets are freezing already. From the window behind Racetrack's bed I can see people bustling about, rushing to their jobs. If New York is the city that never sleeps, Toronto is the city that never stops working. Everything is always in perfect order, but at the same time jumbled about so I can't find my way.
When I finally drag myself from bed I know that there's no hope of getting to class, I'm already late. The thing I want to do is call Racetrack and talk to him, to find out what he meant. What I do instead is call my girlfriend.
She's out. She's probably in class. Her name is Kimberly Chastain but we all call her Cherish, a nickname that Racetrack made up for her. I swallow just thinking about it. Racetrack has become such an influential part of life these last three months. He showed me where to go for the best Bar-B-Q pork and rice lunches in Chinatown and he taught me how to bend the rules of the subway so I could ride cheaper on a student's pass. He introduced me to Cherish.
And he loves me. He loves me. Racetrack is amazing, he should be every girl's dream, he's kind, gentle, nurturing...why am I so stuck on this? How do I know this about him? Do I really pay that much attention?
I pick up a clean shirt I find on the floor and pull it over my head. It's kind of big and I realize it must be Racetrack's. He always smells like tobacco and—very faintly—of baby powder. That's weird because I don't think there's any baby powder in the room. It's like essence of Anthony. I sniff the collar and think about it.
Racetrack
The crowd in the coffee shop is unbelievable. Nervously I spot Cherish, Spot's girlfriend in the line and duck into the back room. How can I face her without blabbing everything to her? We were friends long before I met Spot and before she started dating him. I never should have introduced them, not considering the fact that I want Spot to myself.
Amidst the smell of dried coffee beans and sandpaper I find my solitude. I lean against a shelf holding filters and for the first time in my life really feel like crying. I never cry in public and I never cry over physical things. The last time I cried was when my grandfather dies three years ago. Now I'm sitting in the back room of a coffee shop bawling my eyes out. Spot holds too much power over my emotions, I feel out of control and I hate it.
Calm, cool, collected Anthony Higgins. Self-assured and self-confident was what my report card used to read in the teacher's comments on the bottom of the page. Always. If they could only see me now! How wrong they were, I'm not feeling especially self-assured or self-confident at the moment. I may feel self-conscious, but that's a totally different thing.
Simon Conlon can read me like a book. He knows exactly what I'm thinking, exactly how I feel about him
"Never let the competitor get the upper-hand. If they know how the play the game you'll never get back on top! Mystery and deception." That was always my father's motto. He must have told me that at least once a day. "It applies to everything in life," he said. It was like the new Art of War, he was the new Sun Tzu.
"I think I love you." That was a lie. I had lied to Spot. I do love him and I know it. I can't not love him, he's so perfect. His eyes are so deep and so, so blue. I look at him and forget where I am. I'm not a man anymore, Spot's reduced me to nothing more than a little boy, a poor, lost little boy. I just wish he'd find me.
My father wouldn't believe this if I told him. How could I have let Spot get the upper hand? How can I let him manipulate me in whatever way he pleases? I don't want Spot to love me, but, at the same time, I want it more than anything in the world.
The November winds are blowing red leaves around the Toronto streets, catching students in updrafts of cool wind and branches. They laugh and hurry on their way, desperate not to be late for class again. I can identify with everyone at University of Toronto. I don't think they can identify with me, how could they? My life is rolling down a hill, slowly picking up speed and assuring that I'll never stop.
I'm finally discovered in the back room by Dutchy. "Your shift's over," he tells me, "you have class, don't you?"
[End Chapter]
((What's you think? Should I add more dialogue and less though or what? Review to tell me! Or just to comment on random things, I love reviews!))
A/n: this is a continuation of my song fic 'I Think I Love You' (chapter two) if you want to follow up you should read it first!
The Men of Confidence
Chapter 1: What Our Parents Taught Us
Spot
Ever since I was younger and lived in a rough part of Brooklyn I thought I was a leader. I don't exactly know how I demanded such a power over people, being small compared to my peers, but I never questioned my good-fortune in areas such as this. I never would have thought I'd make it far enough to make it into university. I mean, I always knew I was bright enough, but motivation is what I lacked in terms of learning.
It seems strange now I'm sitting in my dorm room on my bed, surveying the whole thing, trying to remember if I ever imagined my life would be like this.
Toronto is a large city. Not a large as New York, but the largest in Canada. Three months ago when the semester started I'd never been out of America, we couldn't afford it when I was a child. Now Toronto is like home. My roommate, Anthony Higgins, is out. He's a New Yorker too, but from an area in upper-Manhattan. He'd been to Toronto on many occasions. Anthony is the problem.
I think he's out at work and I know I should be getting ready for class, which will start in twenty minutes, but I haven't moved since he woke me up at two o'clock this morning. I don't understand why he'd love me. Why he thinks he loves me. Most of all, I can't understand why I can't do anything about it.
My mom used to say: "Simon, when you grow up you'll get far in life. You won't be stuck here in Brooklyn forever. You can do anything you want to do."
And I believed her until one day when I was twelve and tried to fit a whole bag of marshmallows in my mouth. I got sick and puked all over the stained beige carpet. I guess Anthony is like an extra-large bag of marshmallows; I can't seem to get my head around what's going on. Anthony Higgins has me stumped.
The difficult thing about facing Anthony with my problems is that he has the same confidence as me. I'm not used to not being the leader, it's just too weird that someone else possesses such power over people, that someone else can get people to listen so easily. I thought that was something only I could do.
Last night, when I was lying asleep on my bed, soothed by the sounds of city streets and car alarms, he woke me up and gave me the biggest shock of my life.
"Spot," he'd said, using my nickname, "I think I love you."
I didn't know what to say, and he just looked at me helplessly, for once making me feel like I had the power in his presence, waiting for my response. But I didn't have one. I just stuttered and gaped as he watched. What could I say? Eventually he must've figured that I didn't hear him or something and rolled back over, but he didn't fall asleep because his breath never grew shallow and even like it does when he sleeps.
The only thing I'm really worried about is how I feel about Anthony. About Racetrack.
It's only November and the Toronto streets are freezing already. From the window behind Racetrack's bed I can see people bustling about, rushing to their jobs. If New York is the city that never sleeps, Toronto is the city that never stops working. Everything is always in perfect order, but at the same time jumbled about so I can't find my way.
When I finally drag myself from bed I know that there's no hope of getting to class, I'm already late. The thing I want to do is call Racetrack and talk to him, to find out what he meant. What I do instead is call my girlfriend.
She's out. She's probably in class. Her name is Kimberly Chastain but we all call her Cherish, a nickname that Racetrack made up for her. I swallow just thinking about it. Racetrack has become such an influential part of life these last three months. He showed me where to go for the best Bar-B-Q pork and rice lunches in Chinatown and he taught me how to bend the rules of the subway so I could ride cheaper on a student's pass. He introduced me to Cherish.
And he loves me. He loves me. Racetrack is amazing, he should be every girl's dream, he's kind, gentle, nurturing...why am I so stuck on this? How do I know this about him? Do I really pay that much attention?
I pick up a clean shirt I find on the floor and pull it over my head. It's kind of big and I realize it must be Racetrack's. He always smells like tobacco and—very faintly—of baby powder. That's weird because I don't think there's any baby powder in the room. It's like essence of Anthony. I sniff the collar and think about it.
Racetrack
The crowd in the coffee shop is unbelievable. Nervously I spot Cherish, Spot's girlfriend in the line and duck into the back room. How can I face her without blabbing everything to her? We were friends long before I met Spot and before she started dating him. I never should have introduced them, not considering the fact that I want Spot to myself.
Amidst the smell of dried coffee beans and sandpaper I find my solitude. I lean against a shelf holding filters and for the first time in my life really feel like crying. I never cry in public and I never cry over physical things. The last time I cried was when my grandfather dies three years ago. Now I'm sitting in the back room of a coffee shop bawling my eyes out. Spot holds too much power over my emotions, I feel out of control and I hate it.
Calm, cool, collected Anthony Higgins. Self-assured and self-confident was what my report card used to read in the teacher's comments on the bottom of the page. Always. If they could only see me now! How wrong they were, I'm not feeling especially self-assured or self-confident at the moment. I may feel self-conscious, but that's a totally different thing.
Simon Conlon can read me like a book. He knows exactly what I'm thinking, exactly how I feel about him
"Never let the competitor get the upper-hand. If they know how the play the game you'll never get back on top! Mystery and deception." That was always my father's motto. He must have told me that at least once a day. "It applies to everything in life," he said. It was like the new Art of War, he was the new Sun Tzu.
"I think I love you." That was a lie. I had lied to Spot. I do love him and I know it. I can't not love him, he's so perfect. His eyes are so deep and so, so blue. I look at him and forget where I am. I'm not a man anymore, Spot's reduced me to nothing more than a little boy, a poor, lost little boy. I just wish he'd find me.
My father wouldn't believe this if I told him. How could I have let Spot get the upper hand? How can I let him manipulate me in whatever way he pleases? I don't want Spot to love me, but, at the same time, I want it more than anything in the world.
The November winds are blowing red leaves around the Toronto streets, catching students in updrafts of cool wind and branches. They laugh and hurry on their way, desperate not to be late for class again. I can identify with everyone at University of Toronto. I don't think they can identify with me, how could they? My life is rolling down a hill, slowly picking up speed and assuring that I'll never stop.
I'm finally discovered in the back room by Dutchy. "Your shift's over," he tells me, "you have class, don't you?"
[End Chapter]
((What's you think? Should I add more dialogue and less though or what? Review to tell me! Or just to comment on random things, I love reviews!))