It was a chill, gray morning. The thick clouds seemed to hang low in the sky, making New York seem smaller, less easily escapable. One look out the window had made him groan and desire desperately to go back to sleep, but he couldn't. He would have to wade out into the cold, biting winds, and the puddled, slippery streets with their curbs of brown snow. Not that it was unusual. The newsies sold papers in rain or shine, but today what he had to do was more important than selling papers.

As he stared down out of the window he turned over the conversation he had rehearsed in his mind again and again the night before. He had laid awake for several hours after the boy's low chatter and muffled conversations had ceased. He had listened as deep breaths turned to snores while he played out the scene in his mind. It was important he did this and did it right; but for all it's import, the thing he was to do today was even less inviting than the cold streets and only intensified his desire to return to his bed.

"So how'd ya sleep?"

Mush asked him that question every morning and every morning he would give the same answer. His single, almost permanently arched eyebrow always seemed to make people think he was joking. Perhaps he was, but it didn't feel like it today. Mush, as always, walked away laughing at his witticism. He supposed that today was just another day to the smiling, cheerful boy. A day to do the same old things over again. He could not help but envy Mush.

As they left the Lodging House in a group, he let the other boys draw in front of him. Every boy was wearing all they clothes they owned, which was to say, not much. Their breath puffed from them like miniature versions of the thick ones overhead as they laughed and shouted to one another. Their early morning playfulness was louder and more exuberant than usual owing, no doubt, to the bone-crushing cold that had hit each of them like cinder block to the face as they left the relative warmth of the Lodging House.

They were jumping up and down, hugging themselves to maintain some body heat and already jogging down the street. Clearly, they were intent on getting inside the gates of the distribution center which offered a little more protection from the freezing winds. He, however, did not follow them.

In a strange way, he was grateful for the crappy weather. No one paid him the slightest attention as he palmed his back cowboy hat up onto his head and turned deliberately to head in the opposite direction. On the corner he gave the empty street one last sweeping gaze.

* * *

His blue eyes scanned from left to right, something he did often. There were no familiar faces in sight. No one had followed him. It was imperative that this was the case since his reputation was at stake. It was a reputation he had built for himself as cold and emotionless. One that he backed with an ice-blue stare and a gold-topped cane. He nodded his approval and jerked open the door that he had stopped short of, his hand on the knob.

It was warmer in here, but smelled worse. He had traded the biting cold for the stench of sweat, vomit and desperation. The tiny bar was a long way from his usual haunts and he had planned it so. Today he wanted to be left very much alone.

Today was March 14th, a day that turned up every year, but always surprised him. It was not the actual date that surprised him, nor that it occurred once a year. What surprised him were the emotions that rose up in him each March 14th, and that, after all this time, he still could not hold them back.

So, like a puppy with it's tail between it's legs, he slunk away to some bar to drown his shame in alcohol. Each March 14th made him feel disappointed in himself. He was not the cold, emotionless leader he always portrayed. He had some feelings somewhere in there and feeling were a weakness; something to be rightly ashamed over.

He slumped into the nearest barstool and pulled out a rather bent cigarette, wanting to calm his frustration. As he struck the match and received only a few sparks, the feelings settled on him like lightly falling snowflakes. Snowflakes made of lead. He could practically feel their weight.

Frustration, anger, fear, sadness and doubt. They seeped into him like poison and spread, each giving way to another something he had not felt pang him since the last March 14th.

He struck the same match again, but did not produce a flame.

Self-hatred threatened to consume him over a tiny matchstick. Why could he not do it? And not just the match, why could he not squash those feelings? He did so on every other day of the year without any difficulty. Was he really that weak?

He struck the match again.

* * *

The light and heat flared for a moment and then died slightly and flickered in the chill breeze as he cupped his hands around the end of his cigarette while he lit it. Then he leaned back against the park bench and inhaled deeply, shaking the match out.

"Ugh, you know I hate it when you smoke those things."

His lone blue eye flicked from the ember of his smoke to the blond girl sitting next to him. With her pale, perfect skin and emerald eyes she would have been very pretty if she didn't have her nose wrinkled and her eyes narrowed in a look of complete loathing.

"You know, I can't get that smell out of my clothes anymore. Even my hair smells like it."

He shrugged and arranged his face in an apologetic expression. It was something he did often when he had no idea what else to say to her. She seemed to always gather from it what she wanted though, and it had become a close ally of his lately when dealing with her.

"Why don't you quit?"

"Cause I don't wanna." He answered her truthfully.

"Not even for me?"

Her eyes rounded and softened. She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows at him. He smirked slightly as he inhaled deeply from his cigarette and exhaled, letting the smoke drift lazily away. She tilted her head the other way now, still giving him the full impact of her dazzlingly green eyes.

As well as his apologetic expression worked on her, the sad green eyes worked on him. He chuckled a little as he recognized it. Then he ground his cigarette out on the park bench beside him and looked over at her wide smile.

* * *

She showed both rows of pearly white teeth when she smiled. Her high cheekbones raised, causing her eyes to almost disappear into slits in the top of her head. It was not really a smile that made her prettier, but it was sincere and happy. It was an infectious sort of smile and he found himself grinning back.

"What can I get'cha, sweetie?"

He had been eating here for the better part of three weeks, almost daily if he could afford it. He would have liked to say it was because of their sandwiches, which were good and cheap, but in reality, it was because of her.

Her smile ran a chill down his spine and gave him a reason to get out of bed each day. Her presence was warm and soothing, like a candle. A day without her smile was like a day without air. For him, she was the moon and all the stars in the sky. She was his sun peeking out from white puffy clouds on an endless blue backdrop. More so especially, on days like today when the real one refused to shine.

And he would never tell her. He knew it as surely as he would be back the next day and that she would smile at him. He would never tell her what she meant to him because he could barely pluck the courage to respond to her with a 'hello'.

"Youse alrigh', sweetie? Ya look a little lost today." She said passing a hand in front of his eyes.

"M'fine." He managed, as he felt his ears burn.

"Good, so tha usual den?" She asked as she reached out and ruffled his soft brown curls fondly.

Her touch sent something like an electric current coursing through him. The words he had been trying to form were lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth. He felt his heart leap up into the vicinity of his Adam's apple. He wasn't sure he'd be able to speak even if he did manage to find any words rattling in his empty head. So he nodded wordlessly at her and she flashed him one more of her brilliant smiles before she turned from him and swayed back across the little restaurant.

He stared at the back of her as she walked away.

* * *

He did not need to see the front of her to recognize her. The dark brown hair that cascaded softly down her back was achingly familiar and the bright red bow perched atop her head was proof enough of her identity. She was just as short as she had always been, which was to say, even shorter than him, if that were possible.

He had stopped dead in his tracks close enough to hear her when she spoke and even her voice was exactly the same as he remembered.

"I'm looking for Vitalino Moretti."

One or two of the newsies that she had posed the bald statement to had looked up at him. There was obviously little doubt in many of their minds who she referred to. Still, he did not move. For a moment, he contemplated running. She had not seen him yet and surely the other newsies would cover for him.

"Lots a newsies go by lots a names 'round hea." Specs piped up, sensing the other boy's obvious hesitation. He was ever so observant. "Maybe youse can tell us what he looks like?"

"Well, he's Italian, dark hair and eyes, kind of short and he looks-"

"Like me." He had spoken without really thinking about it's consequences.

A second later, she had turned on her heels and thrown her arms around his neck with enough force to rival a hurricane. She knocked the cigar clean out of his mouth and his hat askew on his head with her over-enthusiastic greeting. When she finally released him, her face was alight with happiness, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Oh Vito, I've missed you so much!"

Once more she threw her arms around his neck and he found himself grinning and hugging her back despite having seconds before wanting to flee her very presence. She kissed his cheek and squeezed him once more before letting go. He offered her his arm and settled his cap back on his head with his other hand.

* * *

The thin material did absolutely nothing to protect his ears from the chills winds no matter how low he pulled it on his head. He breathed into his cold hands and rubbed them against each other before covering his ears with them. They felt about cold enough to fall off.

Next to him, the smaller, much younger newsie watched and emulated. He did not understand why it sparked annoyance in his mind. The kid was always hanging around, always watching him and repeating his actions like a weird, slow-motion game of 'Simon says'. He ought to have been used to it by now.

Maybe it was the weather. Not only did he have to stand out in the cold, trying to scrape a living, but the cold winds meant that any sensible person was indoors. Only a fraction of the people that usually milled about on a nicer day remained and they all seemed hurried to get where they were going and out of this foul winter day.

An older couple, clad in thick coats passed them. He held up a newspaper and beside him, the kid did the same. The elderly man pressed a penny into the kid's hand and took the newspaper from him and they passed on. His annoyance mounted.

It must have shown on his face, because the kid offered him the penny with round eyes and a guilty look. He shook his head and closed his eyes, reminding himself that the kid was just a kid. He didn't have any control over his age, or that people generally tended to favor buying from him. In fact, on more than one occasion the kid had remarked that he wished he were older.

The kid smiled up at him and he began to feel a little better, though he would have felt much better if he could just get inside out of the cold.