--author's note.
It's been forever since I've written anything on this. So getting back into the swing of it was interesting. As of late, I've been in a serious car accident and am pretty much sore like nobody's business. My car has been totaled, and I'm pretty much stuck at home, and thus... chapter three! Haha, really, it sucks beyond belief. Mm. Pretty short chapter all in all. Thanks for the reviews. And I really WOULD suggest listening to Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" before/during/after reading this... because it will suddenly all make sense as to what cycle I'm going in, I swear. But yay for the slashy end of this chapter!
--disclaimer.
I still don't own Newsies. Or "Bohemian Rhapsody". Go figure.
--chapter three.
Dutchy knocks warily on the door outside of Morris's apartment. He clutches a bottle of pills that Jack has given to him and shifts his weight back and forth, hoping that the old woman who lives next door won't open her door and ask him to help feed her cats.
Delivering things for Jack has slowly become less and less worth the money that Dutchy receives. He runs a hand through his blonde hair and shuffles his feet again. The door swings opened and Morris stands, looking a mixture of tired, angry, and insane.
His hair is rumpled and his suspenders hang loose around his hips and Dutchy's eyes trail down to the gun in his hand. Shrugging it off as just something Morris does, Dutchy indicates the bottle by shaking it and says, "From Jack."
Morris smirks, "Since when did Jacky-boy stop making his own deliveries?"
"He's in Brooklyn today," Dutchy lies, "Had some business with Spot, y'know?"
Morris raises an eyebrow in obvious disbelief, "Yeah. I bet that's where he is."
Dutchy shuffles and tosses the bottle at Morris, who closely examines the contents of the bottle, "It is."
"There's some missin'."
Dutchy shrugs, "I didn't take 'em if that's what you're gettin' at." He feels his heart beating faster in his chest. His lies are getting thinner, and he has not forgotten about the gun gripped in Morris's hand.
"Now.." Morris starts, pacing around behind Dutchy into the hallway. He checks to see if there are any neighbors hanging about, and sees no one, "Why would I think a thing like that?" He asks, his voice positively dripping with disdain. He grips one of Dutchy's shoulder's tightly with his hand, and with the other, he holds the gun against the side of the blonde boy's neck. "'Cause I know Blinky Boy's the one who takes these... not you. You're too drunk to realize what's in this little bottle. So I know ya seen 'im. And I wants ya to give him a message for me, okay?"
Dutchy nods slowly, with much restrain and the muscles in his neck twitching.
"I want you to tell him that he'd better watch his back.. and Mush's. 'Cause when I find that apartment of theirs, they're gonna be deader than Oscar ever was."
Dutchy forces down the impulse to mention that there is no way to be deader than another person, as there is a gun pointed at his jugular.
Morris pushes him down the hallway, and Dutchy falls onto his hands as the door slams shut.
He takes a breath in, turns his head, and runs.
---
Blink wakes before Mush does. Mush's arm is thrown carelessly across his torso, and his leg is tangled with Blink's.
Blink does not dare to move, for fear of disturbing Mush's peaceful snoring. Instead, thoughts run rampantly through his mind.
He has to leave. He can't stay here and endanger Mush any longer. He can't pretend that he didn't shoot Oscar, or that he isn't still under the threat of death.
He has to leave, or he has to kill Morris.
Blink doesn't realize that he's shaking.
Instinctively, Mush grumbles and tightens his grip around his roommate, shushing him quietly and slowly rubbing his hair. Blink shrinks back into him and grumbles something under his own breath. Mush responds by simply massaging his head a little bit more.
"Mush.." he mumbles, "Mush."
Mush groggily makes some sort of incoherent sleepy noise, and Blink smiles. It is such a Mush sort of noise, Blink notes, to mumble a bit before he can for real words, and then sentences.
He then remembers what he is saying, "Mush... what are you doing?"
"Mmm. Sleeping."
Blink almost laughs aloud, "No really."
"With you."
"What?" Blink is perplexed, but still doesn't move, because despite Mush's apparent lapse out of consciousness, his grip is still tight around his middle body.
"Sleeping. Sh. Sleeping with you. You. Sleep."
Blink closes his eyes again. But all he thinks is of Oscar's face.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but I have to leave you again.
He has to leave this again.
He has to leave Mush's arm around him, his warm breath in his ear, and his fingers slowly massaging the back of his neck. The relationship he cannot describe, the feeling of worth and importance he has around his darker skinned roommate, and the feeling he has lying in bed with him, bodies entangled and moving as one breathing creature.
Blink turns beneath Mush's arm to face him. Mush grumbles, mildly annoyed to be woken from his sleep again.
"Mush, I'm sorry." He whispers quietly.
Suddenly Mush's eyes are wide open. Big and brown, Blink can hardly keep from wanting to pull away and hide from him rather than look into them. "Stop apologizing and go to sleep."
"No really, I am." Blink says, more hushed, but more urgent.
Mush runs a hand on the side of his face.
"I know. Blink, I-"
The corner of Blink's mouth twitches, and he tilts his head down.
"Kid?" He tilts his head down to lock eyes with Blink's, and Blink sees in them his forgiveness. He sees in them what he has been looking for since the moment the gun shot was fired. Possibly before.
"I'm not leaving you, Kid, okay? Not ever." And Mush brushes his lips against Blink's forehead lightly, but in a way that he never has before.
And Blink does what feels right for the first time in years. He presses his lips against Mush's. For a brief moment, he is frightened that Mush will pull away and leave him alone with a bottle of pills again.
But Mush deepens the kiss and pulls Blink even closer to him.
Without breaking their mouths apart, Blink mumbles, "Not ever."