Author's Note: It was terrible. I was stranded in the middle of Maine on some obscure family bonding vacation, and inspiration hit me like a lightning bolt. And I had no computer access for three more days. AHH. But now, oh yes, now I am home and I can WRITE! HOORAY!

Disclaimer: I don't own any newsies or actual places or song lyrics or mentioned bands or anything. Any characters you don't recognize belong to me.

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"The name Floyd always made me think of a kind of fuzzy purple boa. It never struck me that it was a real name for a person. I think I've been scarred for life."

-Bumlets Michener

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I'd always been the kind of person who had extremely vivid dreams. It looked like one of those Homer Winslow paintings; I was sitting on a boat in the middle of the ocean, and there were dark clouds gathering in the east and the dim outline of a ship on the horizon. I needed to get to that ship before the storm reached me.

"Ah well, could be worse, eh? At least there aren't any sharks circling our boat," said Bumlets.

I looked at him. "Where did you come from?"

"Mother always said I came from heaven," he said, and he leaned forward and took one of the heavy wooden oars.

I revised my question. "What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Helping you try to get out of this mess you've dreamed up." He nodded at the other oar. "Here, take this and we can actually get moving."

I was always alone in this dream. I had had it before. I'd actually been having it almost every night for the past two or three months, and I still couldn't figure out what it meant. I would row desperately towards the ship, all the while getting farther and farther away as the storm drew nearer. I would wake up just as I collapsed, exhausted, over the edge of the boat and into the icy water.

"You don't really expect to reach the ship, do you?"

Bumlets smiled. He looked slightly different in the odd light — the colors on his face were stronger, the outlines more blurry. "Anything's possible," he said seriously, and he began to row.

It was exactly as I knew it would be. The more we rowed, the further away the ship seemed to get. And while the work was steadily draining me of energy, Bumlets seemed to be growing stronger as we went. "Aw c'mon, Swifty, don't give up now," he said, laughing and punching my arm.

His fist went right through my arm as though we were both made of a very fine mist.

"You can't play with us, Tom."

I looked over my shoulder, astonished. My brother Eric and a few of his friends were hovering several feet above the water, smirking at me. They were about twenty-five years younger, eight at the most, and looked just as cocky as I remembered them.

"W-what?" I asked stupidly.

"You can't play with us."

"Why not?" I demanded. I didn't know why on earth I was carrying on this conversation; I guess it was just the fact that there were actually PEOPLE in my dream tonight, and the change was intriguing.

"Because..." Eric looked surprised that I had talked back. He raised his eyebrows, thinking hard, and looked me over. "Because your hair's too messy. You won't be able to play right."

"I won't be able to play house because you don't like my hair?" I laughed.

"Well," said Eric coldly, "that is, unless you want to play the dog."

Knock, knock.

I was jerked most unpleasantly back to reality be a sharp knocking on my front door. I opened my eyes and found myself with my head on my desk, a little pool of saliva on one of the pieces of scrap paper. "Aw, nasty," I mumbled, sitting up and trying vainly to wipe it away with my sleeve.

Knock, knock.

"My, I'm pretty damn popular these days." I stood up and glanced in the mirror. A skinny, 25-year-old guy looked back at me, messy brown-black hair framing a bony face. I pulled the sleeves of my loose shirt over my hands and went downstairs, opening the door before whoever it was had the chance to knock again.

It was Michaela Bridges, smiling at me from underneath a Yankees baseball cap. I really should have shut the door in her face once I saw the hat, but for some reason I didn't. "Do you think my hair's too messy?" I asked her.

The smile faltered slightly. "Excuse me?"

"I think it looks cool, don't you? Kind of like Harry Potter, right? An Asian, 25-year-old Harry Potter wannabe?"

"Are you feeling all right, Tom?" she asked.

I pushed my rimless glasses up the bridge of my nose and smiled devilishly at her. "Never been better, Michaela. How can I help you?"

She didn't look convinced, but she let it slide. "I just wanted to check up on you, make sure you're okay," she said.

"Mika, nobody comes to my house without a real reason." Manet rubbed up against my leg and began to sniff my ass. I kicked her out of the way, and she bounded over to Michaela and started slobbering all over her arms.

Michaela managed to avoid responding to my comment by pretending to really be interested in scratching behind Manet's ears. I looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "So tell me, Mika, why are you here?"

"I dunno, Tom. I just wanted to talk to you." She took off her hat and ran a hand through her short, dark brown hair. She was one of the few girls I knew who actually looked good with a boy haircut. It probably had something to do with the bone structure in her face.

"Tom?"

I blinked. "What? Oh. Oh. Well, Mika, what do you want to talk about?" Here we go, I thought dully. She'll never admit that she's completely in love with my brother. She'll never admit that she only came over here because I'm his brother, because I'm the easiest way to get to his heart. Man, one of these days she just has to come out and say, "Tom? I want to break up Eric and Catherine's marriage and elope with him to North Dakota." I hope you don't mind that I've been using you all these years.

"Nah, I don't want to talk about Eric," she said unconvincingly after a minute. "I just wanted to hang out."

Liar.

"I'm kind of busy right now."

And you're a liar too.

Aw shut up.

There was an awkward silence in which I tried to think of a reason why I could be busy and Michaela looked doubtfully at me. Suddenly, a large white van pulled into the driveway. Redwood House Repairs was printed in bold, red lettering across the side. Bumlets. My savior.

Toulouse walked casually between my legs and promptly fell asleep on the porch. Manet, quickly growing bored of Michaela's half-hearted scratching, followed suit. Michaela looked at them for a second, and I used her few seconds of distraction to hurry over to car.

"Heya Swifty, how's it rollin'?" said Bumlets good-naturedly as he hopped lightly out of his truck.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. (Whoa, déjà vu.)

"Fixing your roof, remember?"

"I didn't realize you'd be back so soon." I smiled at him and went to the back of the truck. "Want me to help you carry anything?"

"Hold it," said Bumlets, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Who's the lovely lady?"

I looked back up at the porch where Michaela was still standing, staring at the pair of us. "Oh, that's Michaela Bridges. Mika, come over here for a second!" I called.

She shoved her hands into her pockets and edged over to us. "Listen, Tom, this isn't—"

"What's wrong, Michaela?" I asked, confused. "Here, this is Bumlets Michener. He's fixing my roof, and a good thing, too. It was totally falling apart on me."

"Nice to meet you," said Bumlets charmingly, holding out his hand.

Michaela stared at him for a second, and then she looked back at me, hands still in her pockets. "I really have to go," she said shakily. "I'll see you later, Tom." She walked quickly over to her car, climbed in without opening the door, and pulled out of the driveway.

Bumlets and I looked at each other. "I'm sorry," I said quickly. I didn't see why she had behaved like that. Maybe Bumlets' and my blatant flirting had creeped her out. Who knows, maybe she was homophobic! She didn't know that I was homosexual, after all, so perhaps the way I was acting with Bumlets alarmed her.

"Don't be." He opened the back of the truck and started pulling out his tools, carefully avoiding my eyes.

"I don't know why she did that," I said. "She's usually loud and obnoxious. I don't understand why she would pass up an opportunity to meet a c—" I stopped.

Bumlets came out of his truck, arms full of God knows what, the corner of his mouth tugging up. "To meet a what?" he asked evilly.

Don't blow it. I opened my mouth, trying to think of a cover-up story. Don't blow it.

The cover-up story didn't come fast enough. "A cute guy like you," I said lamely.

Bumlets smiled. "I am gorgeous. Perhaps that intimidated her." He handed me the box of random tools. "Here, hold this."

I beamed and took the box from him. Either he was very stupid or very gay. Or both, I reasoned, as he pulled his ladder off the side of the truck and began to lug it over to the house. "So who's this Michaela character?" he asked curiously, beginning to climb up.

"She's infatuated with my brother, Eric, and she uses me as a source of information about him which she can later use to break up him and his wife," I said honestly.

Bumlets looked at me. "You serious?"

"Unfortunately." I watched him climb up the ladder, trying not to look too much at his ass. Baby. "She's like his secretary at work or something."

"Really now? What does he do?"

"Lawyer."

"I'm not surprised." He reached down to take the box of tools from me. "He sounds like a bit of a prick — no offense, or anything."

"Oh, none taken; I totally agree. He's a complete loser, too. Guess what his kids are named?"

He smiled. "I dunno. What?"

"Floyd, Pansy, and Adora."

"That's horrible!"

"I know! Can you imagine going around at the age of nine and having to say 'Hello, my name is Floyd Jenkins and I have two younger sisters named Pansy and Adora and no friends'?"

Bumlets laughed. "I say we adopt the poor kids, change their names, and move into some random apartment in NYC where there will be no more roofs to fix!"

"Bloody brilliant, mate!" I chuckled. "Except for the fact that his kids are spoiled brats and..." I took a deep, dramatic, shuddering breath and started to sob. "And I could never continue my career as an artist if I were living in a crowded city! I'm incredibly claustrophobic; I need room to BREATHE!"

"Man, you should have been an actor."

"Why, thank you."

"Well I can't imagine you have much success selling your art here," said Bumlets, hopping down from the roof and wiping his hands on his blue jeans. "I mean, we're in Boxborough, Massachusetts. What the hell is there to find in Boxborough? It's frickin' nonexistent!!"

"Aw shut up," I laughed.

"Here, listen, I was thinking about you the other day. There's a good-sized art industry about twenty minutes away in Maynard, and I got their number if you're interested." He pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to me.

I wanted to hug him. (Partly because I just wanted to touch that amazing body, and partly because I was really excited about the selling opportunity.) I didn't, however. I settled on thanking him elaborately and wringing his hand.

"They especially like impressionism or whatever it's called," Bumlets added.

"Awesome," I said pathetically. (Yes, I was so excited I was reduced to using words like "awesome" to express my opinion.)

Bumlets grinned at me, flicking his head to get his bangs out of his eyes. "Well I should probably get started on the roof. I'll tell you how it's going in about a half hour, all right?"

"No problem."

He winked at me, and I walked dreamily back over to the porch, tripping over my sleeping dogs because I was still staring back over my shoulder at him. "I'm going to marry him," I whispered to Toulouse as I picked myself up.

I'm sure that if that dog had been blessed with speech, he would have said something along the lines of "Suuuuuure you are, you melodramatic, love-sick nutcase."

But, luckily, Toulouse could not talk, and I was allowed to remain in my dreamy state for the rest of the afternoon. And the loud hammering on the roof proved to be very pleasant background music as I painted.

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Shoutouts!!!

rumor: Whoa. Art history major. I'd better make sure I get this stuff right, then, considering I'm just a fan and really know nothing about art. All I really know is that I like it, and I'm hoping that's enough to get me through this fic, lol. Anyway, thanks for reviewing, I love you!

Erin Go Bragh: HOORAY! Thanks for reviewing!!

singin'-newsies-goil: I LOVE MOULIN ROUGE. Ewan McGregor is my best friend, I want to marry him. No, I am GOING to marry him. lol, I know, I'm totally heartbroken about AOL 9.0!! (That was an incredibly conceited thing to say.) Thanks for reviewing, I love you!

Checkmate: Pickles. I eat sour pickles for breakfast. :-) All right, so I don't, but I was eating pickles when the idea for this story came to me, lol. Anyway, thanks for reviewing, Toulouse gives his love back! :-D

Aelia O'Hession: HAHAHA, Newsies combo meals!! ((dies)) That's great, just great. Just for that, you get a special virtual review cookie because I love you. Thanks for reviewing!! ((hops away laughing hysterically))

Coin: Moulin Rouge is an AWESOME movie. AHH. (I saw the real place in Paris last year, actually, and it was kind of boring, but the MOVIE is great. lol) I'm actually not that big a fan of Toulouse's paintings, but he sounded like a great guy so I named the dog after him. I'm just weird like that. Anyway, thanks for reviewing, I love ya!

geometrygal: Yes, Swifty is about as cute as it gets. ((hugs him)) ((backs away as you start frothing at the mouth and growling at me)) ((leaps into Bumlets' arms)) HOORAY! And now we're all happy! Thanks so much for reviewing, I love you!!

Bobcat:slashgoil: Swifty/Bumlets is my favorite pairing, apart from Spot/Race. It's just too cute. :-D Thanks for reviewing, I love you!

ershey: Call me sick, but Swifty talking to his dogs turned me on. I feel like such a perv. Lol, thanks for reviewing, I love you!

Oxymoronic Alliteration: Well, you sound like you really know what you're talking about with art. I'm really just a fan of straight impressionism; it's simple enough for me to wrap my head around it but it's not boring. But I'm really just a fan; I have no idea what I'm talking about, lol. Anyway, thanks for reviewing, I love you!

SpotLover421: "Oh my!" Hahahaha ... It's the funniest thing in the world. I was away at camp for a week without any access to a computer, and now that I'm writing back to all my reviews I keep seeing people and being like "Aww, I MISSED them!!" It's kind of pathetic. Anyway, thanks for reviewing, I missed you!! lol

studentnumber24601: ((dies)) Too funny.

Sinhe: I love you too! :-D Swifty/Bumlets is my favorite pairing ever, they're just too cute together. Thanks so much for reviewing!!

Sapphy: Yeah, Swifty/Bumlets is very very hot. AHH. Thanks so much for the review, I love you!

Thumbsucker Snitch: Hooray for Swiftlets! ((does a happy dance)) Oh and by the way, thanks so much for the reviews on "AOL 9.0"! They were GREATLY appreciated, and yes, Nathan West is extremely hot. :-D

Dakki: HAHAHA! Yes, you must E-mail me and we shall begin to plot our evil scheme of a story. Mwahahaha. :-) OMG! He has EYEBROWS!! MY SMILEY HAS EYEBROWS! WOO HOO!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH omg this is great. Thanks for reviewing, I love ya! ((flies away with her eyebrow-smiley))

KyrielF: HOORAY FOR SWUMLETS!! ((does a happy dance)) Here, Kyriel, come and move to Alaska with me, Swifty, and Bumlets. It'll be fun, I promise! :-D lol, thanks for reviewing, I love ya!

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Author's Note: There is a little bug flying around my head and it's driving me insane. I mean, I know I'm incredibly sexy, but the fact that I attract men, women, plants, and insects is getting a little irritating.

((whispers)) The bug's gone.

Ahh, scratch that, no it's not. AHHHH! It just tried to fly up my NOSE!! ((closes eyes)) I don't want to be sexy, I don't want to be sexy, I don't want to be sexy...

Leave a review and I'll love you forever!

-The very unsexy Saturday ;-)