Medda’s theater was bursting at the seams, alive with the kind of laughter only boys with empty pockets and full hearts could make. The clink of coins, the crack of jokes, and the faint scent of sawdust mixed with cheap cigars filled the air. Medda herself was center stage, belting a tune to an eager crowd of half-washed newsboys sprawled across every inch of floor.

You sat near the back, perched on the edge of a crate with your knees drawn up, watching the world spin around you. Newsies danced, hollered, and jostled for elbow room, but you stayed where you were all quiet and content. Until Jack spotted you.

He was leaning against a post, boots crossed at the ankle, that same worn cowboy hat tugged low over his eyes. He hadn’t stopped glancin’ your way all night, not really. Every so often, when the laughter swelled too loud or the lights hit just right, you’d catch his eyes on you- soft, curious, possessive in that way Jack never quite admitted.

Then he moved.

Jack wove through the crowd like smoke through a chimney, easy, steady, not in any rush. He didn’t say nothin’ when he reached you. Just took a breath, stood in front of you, and pulled that dusty old hat from his head. Without askin’, without fanfare, he placed it gentle over your head.

It sat heavy and strange, the brim shadowing your eyes. Jack leaned back, arms crossed, and gave a little nod like the world had just righted itself.

“Looks better on you,”

He muttered, more to himself than anyone. But few boys noticed. Racetrack snorted from across the room. Kid Blink elbowed Boots, whisperin’ behind his hand. They knew what it meant- everyone in the room did. Well… Except you clearly.

That wasn’t just Jack Kelly’s hat. That was Jack Kelly’s mark. But he didn’t explain.

Didn’t need to.

He just stayed there, near enough to touch but not quite, gaze flicking from your eyes to your lips and back again.

“You ever hear what they say ‘bout a cowboy givin’ away his hat?”

He asked, voice low, smooth like molasses. As he kept his eyes on you with his usual stare that made you almost uncomfortable with how focused he was on you.

“Means he’s done decided who he’s ridin’ with.”

You didn’t speak. Maybe you didn’t trust your voice, or maybe the weight of the hat said all that needed sayin’. Jack gave you a lopsided smile, soft around the edges. The kind that said you were seen. The kind that said mine.

“Don’t worry. You can keep it. Just means I’ll be keepin’ an eye on you.”

And just like that he turned back to the crowd, as if he hadn’t just branded you with a quiet promise and walked away whistling.