I don't got the rights to newsies, I don't even got 5 cents!
The Manhattan lodging house was full of life and laughter one chilly October evening, despite the less than ideal weather conditions outside. If one were to simply stand outside the door, they would be able to hear everything crystal clear.
But what you don't know is that all the 'Hattan newsies weren't celebrating. They were... Well... To put it mildly... Jeering.
It all started when Racetrack came home after selling...
Race walked into the lodging house, a skip in his step and a huge smile on his face. He had a DATE tonight, a hot date nonetheless, and life was looking good.
General hellos greeted him as he walked in, and he answered every single one of them. He was in too good a mood to leave any little ankle biter hanging.
"What's up with you?" Blink asked him, to which Race happily replied:
"Nothing!"
Now all the boys were around him, asking questions and- you guessed it- jeering.
"Didja win at the races?"
"Nope! Lost all my earnings!"
"Didja punch Delancey in the face?"
"I wish!"
"You got a hot date or something?" Mush scoffed, eyes widening when Race's jaw dropped. "You do! You do have a hot date!"
"What? N-No!" Race scowled, crossing his arms.
"Oooh, Racetrack's got himself a lady friend!"
"Is she a richie, Race? Is she paying for dinner?"
"Blonde? Brunette?"
"I bet she's a real looker!"
"Aw, I can see her now... Long curled hair, perfect body, shorter than Race... A match made in heaven!"
"Damn right he's shorter than me." Race blurted before he could stop himself, grinning at their surprised faces. "Could you tell him that for me? He still thinks he's taller than me, the bum."
Everyone was silent, eyes wide as they gaped. Suddenly, there was a sharp rapping on the door. Race laughed, shooting up from his seat and flinging open the door.
Standing in the doorway, in all his glory, was Spot Conlon. His hair was gelled back nicely, his shirt and trousers cleaner than usual. Even his red suspenders shone brighter. He was smirking, like he always was, but still pulled Race in for a quick peck before he grabbed the Italian and started to leave.
"Later, losers!" Race gave them a sloppy two fingered salute, allowing himself to be dragged away by the Brooklynite.
The newsie's mouths were agape, eyes bulging out of their heads. They started looking to each other, mumbling slightly.
"Did that just..."
"What...?"
"What was that..."
"Did you just see that...?"
"Did that really just..."
"Did he really..."
"He really did..."
No one was sure who started it, but suddenly they were snickering, then chuckling, then laughing, then absolutely howling with laughter, clapping their hands and rolling around. They had to have been at it for a good hour before they died down, knowing full well that they would probably never know what had just happened.
And honestly... They weren't sure if they even wanted to know.
Some things were better left unsaid.
Okay, guys, for real... Don't hate, okay? This is not a serious fic, and I'm not even sure if I ship these two! It's up to you to decide 'what just happened', because honestly, I'm not sure. Was it a prank? A fling? Were they just bored? Tell me your theories in the comments!
(Flames will be used to light Morris Delancy's facial hair on fire)
Hey world! It's
-Charlie
