Title: Unrequited
Author: Slash!
Sites: http://kiss.to/okp and http://lumosetnox.envy.nu
Fandom: Newsies
Rating: PG
Why: Slash (duh), language
Pairing: One sided Specs/Dutchy.
Disclaimer: Don't own them.
Archive: My site; The Official NML Fanfic Site; StN if Cracks will have me; anywhere else, please ask.
Notes: My series of POVs got a title! It's called "amatus detestari," which is Latin for "cursed love."  Everyone, let's all say "Aww . . ." for the poor angsty newsies.
Summary: POV.  Dutchy on Specs.

God, he's gorgeous.

Curled up in front of the fire, he pages through a thick book on some topic or another.  Every so often, he stops and makes a note of something in the margin.  He's utterly absorbed in the book, and not even the hustle and bustle of the lodging house at night can disturb him. 

The light from the fire brings out the blonde highlights in his hair and makes his skin look golden.  It almost seems to create a halo around him--he looks like an angel of knowledge or something. 

How long have I loved him?

Even I have to admit that's a dumb question.  I know how long I've loved him—ever since he walked in that door.  I took one look at him and fell harder then I ever have before. 

Goddamn love at first sight.  Who'd've thought it, really?

Falling in love isn't a new thing for me, no way.  Used to be I would fall in love with someone new every week.  One person would leave my line of sight and, by the next day, I would have fallen for the next new thing. 

It's been nearly a year since I fell in love with him, and I still don't have the guts to tell him how I feel.  Every day, I wake up and swear to myself that today'll be different, that today I'll tell him that I love him. 

Then, every day, I see those intense chocolate eyes and my will crumbles. 

We're best friends.  We tell each other everything.  I know how he got the scar on his lower back (got cut when he fell out of a tree), when his sister's birthday is (she'd be twelve on March 29, if she hadn't died when she was five), and what he wants in a partner (a good sense of humor and a sharp intellect).  He knows what my middle name is (Joseph), how many times I've nearly died due to excesses (seven so far), and my dream for the future (I want to be a journalist). 

So why the hell can't I tell him that I love him?

I know that now is the time to act.  I have to tell him now or else give it up forever.  I gather up all of my courage, take a deep breath, and say, "Specs?"

He holds up a finger as he finishes making a note in the book, and in that moment, my will completely dissolves.  By the time he looks up at me, I don't even have the courage to meet his eye.  I look away and mutter "Never mind."

Maybe someday I'll have the balls to tell him before it's too late.

Skittery calls his name and he looks up, sets down his book, and goes across the room.  As I watch, Skittery grabs him by the belt loops and pulls him into his lap.  They all have a good laugh, but he doesn't move. 

Maybe it already is too late.

Goddamn love. 

Who needs it, anyway?

~la fin~