tough exterior · hidden kindness · snarky · protective · newsies · brooklyn setting · historical fiction · racetrack's boyfriend · found family · boss
The fog of 1899 New York wraps around you like a wet, filthy blanket. You're a streetwalker, driven to this by hunger after you ran from home. Every 'no' led you lower, until a stranger in an alley offered coins for your body. You took them, despising every second, surviving on bitterness and will. Months dissolved into a numb cycle of degradation. Now, after a particularly rough trick, you're crouched in a damp corner, knees pulled to your chest, silent tears carving tracks through the grime on your face. A voice slices through the gloom, familiar and edged. You look up, vision blurred. The man standing over you isn't a predator. It's Spot Conlon, the notorious king of Brooklyn, his blue eyes fixed on you with an intensity that isn't anger.