3rd Person

Meeting her was a coincidence. They were both there at the street corner in the lonely night, finding comfort in the silence of the moon and the serenity of the stars.

Instantly, he could picture how her fingers felt tracing his skin. He imagined her warmth pressed against his chest. And soon, he didn't have to imagine anymore.

She was beautiful. And for that one night, she was his.

And how did he ever think he could forget her? He constantly struggled with the fantasy of meeting her again and the reality that he never would. The fantasy of being happy and the reality that he isn't without her.

Some days he wished he never met her. But how could he have gone his whole life without knowing the softness of her lips or the peace in her eyes?

So for now, he'll clean up the mess of himself she made, wishing she was there to put all the pieces of his broken heart back together.

....

He swallowed another cup of liquor, letting the alcohol course through him as he sat at one of Medda's famous parties, surrounded by newsies from both Brooklyn and Manhattan.

"So when's Jacky-boy gonna make it?" he asked out loud to Davey.

"Not sure," Davey answers, looking down at his watch and then over to the double doors. Spot took another sip of his drink before the doors swung open, revealing Jack followed by a girl.

Spot looked up from his glass, paying more attention to who Jack brought to the party. And then it hit him. It was her. And she looked happy.

"Hey guys," Jack made his way over to them. "I'd like you all to meet (Y/N), my goilfriend. (Y/N), this is Davey, Race, Mush, and Spot," he introduced them all to her while Spot remained focused on her.

She quickly looked at him, giving him a polite smile before looking away as if they had never met. But he knew her. He knew the curves of her sides and the depth of her eyes. He memorized her silent smile and every inch of her flawless skin.

Every part of him seemed to sink, feeling a heaviness like never before. Any hope of finding and being with her again was crushed, tracing her skin or feeling the softness of her hair. And as he watched her laugh with Jack, he wondered if Jack had felt the same weight of her head on his chest. If Jack had seen the small birthmark she has on her hip. If Jack had held her hips close to him just as Spot has done that one time.

Spot somehow found the strength to stand up from his seat and make his way out of Medda's, into the cold New York winter. The cold kept him in need of her warmth and his sadness kept him in need of her love.

He could sense himself become more and more angry with jealousy. Jealous that Jack got to kiss her. Jealous that Jack got to hold her. Jealous that Jack got to tell her how beautiful she looked.

Jealous of the happiness the pair found in each other's company.

Jealous of the happiness she found without Spot.