Newsies One Shots

How Hard Can it Be? - Spot/Davey

But it turns out it wasn't. Davey kept thinking about it, about how ridiculously unlikely it all was. Spot had a reputation, was notorious for being, not mean exactly, but definitely tough. He wasn't one to mess with and everyone knew that. Davey knew of one to many guys who'd tested this notion and had regretted it. Quite a lot most likely, judging by the state of them from the snatched glances Davey had caught.

That was last year, and now here they were; Davey actually going out with Spot Conlon, Spot actually being the sweetest dork with Davey. Still scary, but sweet. It had only been about three weeks and yet someone felt...longer? Davey really didn't know how to explain it so had just decided not to. He looked at Spot, who was experimentally swinging the bat in a wide arc again.

Spot glanced at Davey, checking the time as he did. "You wanna come play?" He asked, jerking his head in the direction of the pitch.

"Me?" Davey asked, knocked out of his thoughts. "I don't really play baseball,"

"Oh c'mon!," Spot said, stilling his bat to lean on it like it was a cane. "Everyone plays baseball,"

"Oh, I've played it," Davey said, putting emphasis on the past tense. "In primary school. With a tennis ball and a rounders bat. Not exactly top notch experience,"

Spot made a face, as if trying to figure out how using the completely wrong things would work. "C'mon, I'll show you!" He said suddenly, tugging at Davey's hand.

Davey, to no surprise, caved pretty quickly, looking at the genuine enthusiasm and determination on Spot's face. He was in no way an athletic person, preferring to read or write over anything and he honestly didn't know much about baseball at all so this should be interesting.

"Isn't the bell just about to ring?" Davey asked, following behind Spot onto the pitch and watching the scattered people putting away cones and helmets.

Spot shrugged a little, turning to face Davey and walking backwards. Davey was worried he would trip, but Spot, being Spot, seemed perfectly balanced. "And?"

"You have class,"

"They won't miss me. It's biology, no one cares,"

"Spot!"

"Davey!" Spot imitated Davey's tone.

"You're gonna get in trouble," Davey said, slipping a hand into his pocket.

"Nah, they've given up on me," Spot said. He sounded a little to pleased about that. "I physically cannot have any more detentions this week,"

"Let me guess: you're going to none of them?"

Spot nodded, coming to a stop by a duffel bag of equipment. "You're learning!" He joked, nudging the bag open with his toe.

Davey shook his head, but he was laughing as he set his book down behind an abandoned water bottle. He was learning, just slowly. Spot was an interesting person to get to know; all tough persona, but a bit of a dork sometimes. I mean, the guy gets called Spot, who scary did Davey really think he was gonna be? Davey had been meaning to ask Spot about that, his nickname. Everyone called him it, even the teachers (except one of the maths teachers, much to Spots visible displeasure) and Davey wondered where it came from. He'd remember to ask one day.