Holy shit, he was going to be sick.

Spot rolled over to squint at the sun shining unabashedly through the lodging house window as he felt a sudden-and violent-urge to vomit. He stumbled haphazardly through the mass of sleeping and snoring boys around him, nearly tripping over Jack Kelly's still form laying almost across the doorway to the washroom before finally dropping to his knees in front of the nearest toilet and retching the entire contents of his stomach.

What the hell even happened last night?

Spot wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, falling exhaustedly onto his bottom as he attempted to make some kind of coherent sense of the Brooklyn party that had taken place the night before. But all he could pull out of the fog that used to be his brain were just a few random snippets of faces and dialogue holding no particular rhyme or reason.

Great. Just fucking great.

The whole purpose of the party last night had been for he and Jack to get a chance to talk through the newest shows of aggression that several Queens newsies had been exhibiting over the past few weeks. Two of Spot's newsies had been bloodied up pretty badly within the last three days and Spot had wanted to discuss possible strategies with the Manhattan leader while also hopefully securing a pledge of his support to help Brooklyn if needed.

But all Spot had been able to rummage out of his extremely muddled thoughts were a few random words he had shared with his newsie Rummy and a blurry conversation that had apparently taken place between he and Sarah Jacobs.

Sarah Jacobs?

Spot had always had a friendly relationship with David "the walkin' mouth's" sister, was always unfailingly gentlemanly in front of her. But beyond a quick hello and a commentary about the weather, what the hell did he have to talk to Sarah Jacobs about?

"You look sad."

The words came back to him just as another heaving wave of nausea overtook his body. He coughed in discomfort, squeezing his eyes shut to stop the room from spinning before realizing that it had been he who had approached and uttered these very words to her. Spot leaned over the toilet again as more of the interaction began to float across his brain. She had been standing by herself on the opposite side of the room from Jack, a distance in her eyes and a growing frown on her lips. And he had felt strangely pulled to her, perhaps from the copious amounts of whiskey he had already downed, or the slight feeling of concern that had filled his stomach at her visible discomfort. Whatever the impetus had been, he had approached her to ask if she was alright only to be even more confused by her response.

"I don't hate him, y'know. For being happy without me."

Spot had paused, raising his eyebrows in surprise at her very candid assertion. Of course she had been talking about Jack, their mysterious break-up having been officially finalized earlier that week with the promise that they would remain close friends. Spot had been well aware of the impending end to their romance for months before that moment and had not been surprised when he had heard the news. Because….well…..because he knew how Jack was.

But for some reason he had not avoided the very uncomfortable subject with Sarah, instead choosing to offer, "You want some fresh air? I'm about to go out for a cigarette and wouldn't mind the company."

She had quickly aquiesced to his invitation, following him onto the dimly lit porch as he rolled and lit a cigarette from his pocket.

"Did he tell you?" she had asked a little stiffly, his eyes traveling to her dark brown ones as he had shaken his head.

"News travels fast," he had murmured before taking a heavy inhale from his smoke.

"Yeah I bet it does," she had confirmed with a wry smile in response. "Especially when the King of Brooklyn's on the receiving end."

He had laughed good-naturedly at her prodding jest, a somewhat comfortable silence falling over them for several moments. But, having suddenly felt a need to be candid with her in return, Spot had looked toward her and said, "You're a smart girl. You didn't see it comin' from a mile away?"

At this, Sarah had chuckled herself, before finally shrugging and saying, "I don't know how smart I am, but anyone with eyes could see it coming. So of course I did."

Another several moments of quiet had filled the space between them, almost as if they both had been attempting to relay the unspoken truths of the situation silently to each other. But then Spot had found himself quickly adding, "Well, anyone'd be lucky to have you on their arm, Sarah. So his loss is the rest of our gain."

She had smiled toward him, a beautifully radiant look that had near knocked him off his feet. And before he had known what he was doing, he had leaned in and captured her lips with his.

Oh fuck.

Spot groaned in utter remorse as he again leaned over the toilet in front of him to vomit for a third time. He couldn't remember what had happened after that, if he had apologized, if she had pulled away or responded in kind.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

But before Spot could fully explore any more of the memories leading up to or following that instant with Sarah, he heard a familiar voice croakily say, "Ya alright in there, Conlon?"

And his chest tightened as Jack Kelly poked his head around the wall, smiling good-naturedly at Spot, saying, "Last night was somethin' huh?"

Spot smiled half-heartedly in response only muttering, "I couldn't tell ya." as his stomach sank at the sudden realization of how much he had enjoyed the feel of Sarah's lips against his own.