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hello i'm kc and i really like newsies
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quick question so there’s a scene in some monkees episode where davy and mike do a knock-knock joke that goes “knock knock” “who’s there” “woo” “woo who?” “woohoo!!!” bUT WHAT EPISODE IS IT someone please help a pal out
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you leave the newsies fandom for two years and come back to find that now spot is the italian one? my mind is blown what about anthony higgins and sean conlon...ohmy gosh this is so wild, do people still read everything you’ve done wrong
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grounds of brooklyn: a playlist for sean and tony
weak - AJR ; issues - julia michaels ; your song - rita ora ; for the love - hearts & colors ; me and my broken heart - rixton ; filthy rich - evalyn ; i wanna be yours - arctic monkeys ; sleeping with a friend - neon trees ; location - khalid ; boys will be boys - benny ; hard feelings/loveless - lorde ; stay together - noah cyrus ; stop the world i wanna get of with you - arctic monkeys ; i like me better - lauv ; my dilemma - selena gomez & the scene ; in the next room - neon trees ; queen of (k)nots - matt nathanson ; young god - halsey ; bite - troye sivan ; whiplash - selena gomez & the scene
{listen on spotify}
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breathing in your dust | a sprace mix
[listen]
o1. i wanna be yours - arctic monkeys // o2. dead oaks - now, now // o3. video games - lana del rey // o4. wildest moments - jessie ware // o5. use somebody - scala & koalcny brothers // o6. angels - the xx // o7. mad about you - hooverphonic // o8. brooklyn - woodkid // o9. do i wanna know - msmr // 10. saucer eyes - snowmine // 11. heart wants what it wants - christina grimmie
#YES#I FINALLY FOUND IT#I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR THIS FOR TEN YEARS#TEN#YEARS#AND ITS HERE#yes thank you#sprace#playlist
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the bright sunlight
summary: The words Spot thought he’d never see.
read on: archive of our own
The Outsiders and the outsider, sitting at the round cafeteria table. Noise surrounds and Spot cannot focus. Maybe he’s nervous, but he’s certain that can’t be it.
The grey table has eight round seats, seven empty. It is tucked into the unknown of the vast hall and Spot is tucked with it. This is the first foster home that has caused him to switch out of Brooklyn and into the Manhattan school district. He decides it will be the last.
He is starting to comprehend the words of his book, gripping the well-worn cover as his brain recites the words he’s already memorized. He begins to turn the page, looking up to grab his water and finding himself staring into a smile. God, that thing is bright.
He does not speak to the kid - he is short and full with bright skin and curly hair. Spot knows quickly that he could take him in a fight.
“Hi, I’m Racetrack. You can call me Race.”
Spot stares at him, eyebrows lowering. He doesn’t plan on calling him anything.
“Can I sit with you?”
Spot is too taken-aback to refuse. Why would someone so friendly want to sit at a table where he cannot make a friend?
And then Race starts to talk.
He has already gone through most of his sixth grade schedule within the first minute and said at least two words in a different language, apologizing the first time but failing to notice the second. Spot does not realize that he is listening until Race describes his friend, Jack.
“Jack?” His voice is small. He had not spoken before.
“Jack Kelly. You probably know him. He does everything! He leads every sport team, paints almost everything you see on the walls, and knows everyone…” Race is still talking as Spot processes the name. He’s almost sure that Jack Kelly was the name of the one of the other boys in his foster home.
Race continues to talk through the entire lunch and Spot lets him. Spot does not want to talk and the room is noisy anyways.
The bell rings and Race leaves with a bounce, saying goodbye and thanking the other boy for hanging out with him. Spot blinks. He had not done anything for Race.
***
For some reason that failed to present itself to Spot, Race came back. Every day. He brought his voice and Spot put his book down. He had listened at his foster home and discovered that Jack Kelly really was in the next room over. Spot almost laughed at the coincidence.
It took a few days, but Race finally remembered to breathe and decided to ask Spot a question. Spot heard it, head down, and took it in, but did not realize it was a question directed at him.
After finally hearing Race repeat himself a few times, Spot shook his head at his book before turning to raise an eyebrow.
“I said, what’s your name? I can’t believe we’ve been friends for almost a week and I never learned your name!” Race was laughing and Spot almost leaned too far over and fell. After a second to compose himself, Spot dared eye contact.
“Spot.”
“Spot?
“Yeah, what’s it to you?”
Race laughed, bigger than usual. He felt accomplished.
“Nothing, I like it!”
Spot ducked his head, facing the comfort of his book, and prepared to listen.
“So, Spot, whatcha reading?”
Spot didn’t turn this time, heart beating too fast. He wasn’t supposed to socialize here. Had Race called him his friend?
“To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“That sounds good. You like to read?” Race had to lean in to hear Spot. Spot certainly was not going to move closer.
“I guess.”
“Why?” Race was relishing in his triumph and decided he would harvest as much information as he could about his friend.
Spot had never thought about it. He didn’t enjoy thinking about the comfort and escape that he craved from books either. He didn’t need that stuff. It was just fun.
“Books are painless.” What the heck did that mean? Spot decided he was done talking.
“I like that.” Race took a breath, ready to start again, but Spot’s flickering eyes warned him not to.
“Well, thank you for talking to me. Same place tomorrow?”
Spot did not reply but Race took that as a yes.
Days past with laughter. Spot always listened Race.
***
Months after Race became Spot’s friend at the start of the school year, on a Tuesday night in February, Jack mentioned Race at the dinner table.
Jack Kelly was outgoing and fearless. He was not afraid of Spot’s prickly glares. From Spot’s first day at Medda’s, where Jack had already been for three years, Jack was fond of finding words that made Spot scowl. Spot respected it. He and Jack had an agreement by this Tuesday night. They fiercely made the other one uncomfortable, but would not let anyone else do the same.
“So, Spot, I’m hearing that sometimes you voluntarily talk at school. Should I prepare for the apocalypse?”
Spot rolled his eyes.
“It’s not good to spread rumors, Jack Kelly. But I guess it must be the only reason people voluntarily talk to you, huh.”
Medda blinked over her mashed potatoes, unsurprised but unapproving.
“Boys, be nice.”
Jack’s eyes sparkled with ammunition. Spot glared.
“You know Race is my best friend too. I could find out everything about you.”
“I don’t tell him anything. I don’t even talk to him.”
“Getting defensive?”
“He’s not my best friend. He’s not even my friend.”
“Don’t tell him that. Don’t wanna break the kid’s heart, do you? He’s always so excited after lunch.”
“Why doesn’t he just sit with you?” Spot’s words were challenging. Truthfully, he asked himself this question every day.
“You gonna tell him to?”
“Maybe.” He wasn’t.
“No, you won’t.”
“I don’t want to subject anyone to spending any extra time with you. That would just be cruel.”
“It’s okay to have friends, Spot. Friends remind you that there’s love in the world.”
Spot, Jack, and Medda turned towards the other boy at the table, struck by the contrasting kindness at dinner. Crutchie smiled at them, knowing he had successfully disrupted the argument. Spot tried not to scowl. Crutchie always ended arguments without a fair winner and it was incredibly aggravating; this time, Crutchie’s smirk was both annoying and relieving. At least the conversation was over.
“You’re right, Crutch,” Jack said, smiling fondly. They had been at Medda’s together for years. Crutchie, a grade below them, had become Jack’s brother. Spot did not think about becoming brothers with these boys.
With that, Medda called the boys to clean up the table and settle down for the night. Spot was almost to his room when he heard his name. Jack was calling him from his own door.
“Hey, you know you’re welcome to sit with us at lunch. Don’t be scared of me. We’re brothers now.”
Spot glared at Jack. Jack returned to his room, knowing he was not going to get a reply. Spot did not think about becoming brothers with these boys.
***
Spot and Race did not move to Jack’s lunch table until the next year when the two seventh graders found a few nervous sixth graders sitting at their hidden table. They laughed as if it hadn’t been them the year before.
Jack’s friends were fun, Spot decided. Race had been loud, but the group was louder. Spot decided this was the main drawback. He did not have the same quiet time that he had gotten with Race. As if it was the noise.
His new friends liked Spot. He was grumpy and snarky, but they found this amusing. A thoughtful boy, called Davey, was delighted when he saw Spot walk towards the table with a book every day. He talked to Spot more often than Spot would have liked, but the conversations were always enjoyable.
Race stuck by Spot. Once, when the group was yelling at unbelievable volumes, Race had turned to Spot and said, “What, you scared of a little noise?” Spot wasn’t sure why he remembered this moment. Maybe it was the way Race said it, as if he truly wanted an answer. Maybe it was because he had noticed that Spot was uncomfortable.
That had been eighth grade.
Eighth grade had been the year Spot decided maybe it would be okay to use the word ‘friend.’ In a formal, invulnerable way. It was just a title, like a job that sensibly labels what someone does. Spot never got attached. This was the longest he had stayed at a foster home. People only like charity when it’s easy.
Race talked to adults as if he was one. Medda loved him. He came over every day after school and Medda was always excited to see him. Spot didn’t know why. Medda never hung out with the boys. Why would she want him to come over?
Jack and Crutchie were always there too. And sometimes Davey. They were all in the same friend group, so Spot thought that this was also practical.
“What next?” Jack asked from an old armchair in the basement, legs thrown over one armrest as if he had been there for hours. They had been.
“Cards?” Race suggested. He always suggested cards.
“I’m sick of playing rummy with you,” Jack sighed.
“You’re sick of losing rummy to me,” Race teased, sending a confident grin to Spot from the other side of the couch. In terms of making fun of Jack, they were a good team.
Race looked back towards Jack and his chair. Jack always claimed the same armchair, the only armchair. Crutchie stretched out on one of the couches, legs extended. He always looked so relaxed on that couch. His right leg had never developed properly so it curved before his knee and twisted at his ankle. It seemed like Crutchie had traded a proper leg for optimism.
Race, Davey, and Spot sat on the other couch, which was comfortable enough. Crutchie always offered a spot on his couch, which Davey had taken once, sitting at Crutchie’s feet. That had only happened once because Spot and Race could not be trusted on the couch together. They were both too eager to pick a fight. Therefore, Davey was the designated mediator.
“How about poker?” Race finally asked. Spot and Jack knew how to play already so they taught Davey and Crutchie that night. Neither of them asked how the others had learned poker.
They played a lot of poker, mostly for toothpicks or candy. Sometimes for Davey to do their homework. Race won most of the time, but Spot would occasionally beat him. Spot never kept what he won.
***
The start of high school was uncomfortable. The small boys were thrown into a big world. Spot was only in art class with Race, Crutchie was still a year below in middle school, and he almost never saw Jack anymore. He had joined the football team along with every other team. Try hard.
But they still had lunch.
“Hi, Jack!” Davey was always glad to see Jack.
“Hey, Dave. Good day so far?”
“Yeah.” Davey smiled. Spot knew he was glad to see his best friend. Jack spent a lot of his time practicing for something or other.
“Wanna go for a walk, Spot?” Race asked, raising his eyebrow at Spot as he frequently did.
“Huh? Right now?” Today he was reading A Tale of Two Cities.
“Yes, Spot. Let’s go.” He grabbed the book and Spot’s elbow, yanking him off his stool. They were soon walking around the empty fields.
“Why are we here?”
“I wanted to give Davey and Jack some alone time.”
“Alone time?”
“Yeah,” Race said quietly. The unfamiliar volume of Race’s voice made Spot’s heartbeat quicken. Spot was wondering how to make Race less nervous without caring, watching Race run his fingers over Spot’s book.
“You ever hear Davey talk about girls?”
“No.” All Davey talked about was school. And his friends. Spot was wondering what this had to do with Race’s small voice.
“Yeah. Me either.” Race kicked at the dirt, creating clouds of dust. “I hope he knows he can trust us.”
“He does.”
Race stopped walking and looked at Spot. Race was not smiling like he usually was. The skin underneath his eyes was darkened and his lips were chapped. Spot smiled at him.
“Are you smiling?” Race was laughing now. Spot decided he had been successful.
“Maybe.”
“What a day.” Race was grinning now. He handed Spot’s book back to Spot and rubbed his shoulder in gratitude, slowing his movements.
“Let’s go back inside.” Spot followed him.
***
Davey didn’t come over as often without Jack there. Crutchie had joined the middle school’s drama club in order to make friends at his own school, which of course worked. Crutchie was contagious. But it also made Davey less keen on coming over. Spot and Race were either fighting or laughing over an inside joke. It wasn’t ideal for Davey. Plus, Jack always had some game for Davey to attend.
By the end of freshman year, Spot and Race had watched every movie they had ever wanted to watch, plus too many they despised. They were a tough pair to impress.
It was the summer before sophomore year when Medda walked down into the basement to find Spot and Race arguing over The Lion King. They were on their couch, facing each other as they teased one another. Race was on his knees with his finger in Spot’s face. Spot was cross legged with his hands gripping his knees, leaning forward to maximize his threat. Medda took a picture before announcing her presence.
“Boys?”
They snapped out of their world, faces eased and knees touching. Race grinned at Medda with all of his teeth. Maybe it was that smile which caused Medda to adore Race’s presence, Spot thought.
“Sorry to interrupt, I just need to talk to Sean for a few minutes.”
Spot smiled at Race, as he had begun to do more often, before standing and silently following Medda upstairs.
“Hey, honey. I wanted to ask you how you would feel if I adopted you.”
Spot blinked. A home?
“Yeah. That’d be okay.”
***
Sophomore year meant Crutchie joined their lunch table again. He brought a friend: some baby-faced kid named Mush. He was sweet and it gave Crutchie someone to talk to. Davey and Jack were arguing more often. Spot and Race were arguing less often to give them room to do so.
“Pot, Jack? You know that’s a drug, right?”
“Jesus, Davey. How old are you?”
“I just hope you know how marijuana can disrupt the functioning of your brain cells...”
At the other side of the table, Spot and Race tuned them out.
“I just hope Jack doesn’t leave this lunch table. Davey would go mad,” Race whispered to Spot, leaning against his elbow to turn his body towards his friend.
“You’re worried about him,” Spot whispered in response.
“Jack is really important to Davey.” Race was watching the two of them argue. His eyes were full of pity, but the way Race was avoiding Spot’s eye made Spot think of fear.
***
The two of them were sitting in Spot’s basement the next week. Race liked to come over and Spot always opened the door.
They went to Race’s house occasionally, but they preferred Spot’s basement.
Mrs. Higgins was a plump lady who was always wearing an apron. She smelled like basil and always gave Spot a hug. Mr. Higgins was a large man and an in-charge man. He seemed friendly enough, always smiling at Spot and Race when they came home, but the fur of his mustache created the countenance of a fan egging on a wrestling match. Appropriately, Mr. Higgins was a strong proponent of the philosophy “boys will be boys.”
Alas, Spot and Race only had Race’s small bedroom to hang out in at the Higgins apartment and it had no television. The television in the living room was always taken by Race’s little sisters. They loved Spot and it freaked him out. The Higgins family was full of huggers.
Race was sitting on the floor, sifting through the DVDs on the bookshelf. He was talking about something and Spot was absentmindedly replying, monotonous as he lounged on the couch with his arms stretched out along the back cushion, watching Race.
Race had decided on a movie and popped it into the old player before jumping on the couch beneath Spot’s forearm. The cloth of Race’s t-shirt was soft, Spot noticed. Race shivered.
“I think we should have our own Christmas this year.”
“What?” Spot turned to face Race. Race had a freckle right below his hairline.
“Us boys. You know, like after our family stuff. The twenty-sixth or something.
“Okay.” Spot had never expected to have two Christmases, let alone one.
“No gifts or anything. I’ll cook and Crutchie will probably help. He likes to mash potatoes, doesn’t he? We’ll have to use Medda’s kitchen - my house is a no-go - but she’s so awesome that she’ll let us have our day. Jack and Davey will get along if it’s just our friends. They really do like to get along. Plus, then we’ll be able to argue some. I miss arguing with you.”
“Anytime you want, Higgins. I will fight you and win.” The hair on Race’s eyebrows was almost auburn.
“It’s not like you never have the opportunity.” When was the last weekend Race slept at his own house? “Anyways, you tell your brothers and I’ll find a way to break it to Davey. It’s too late this year, but maybe next year I can get my grandma to make extra raviolis. Mine barely compare, you have to try hers.”
“Got it.” Spot was too busy thinking about how Race needed some chapstick to realize he was making traditions.
***
Christmas was joyful. Medda bought Spot an e-reader that he hadn’t stopped staring at. Jack made fun of him Christmas morning. Race took it from him the next day and replaced it with a package.
“I know I said no gifts, but I saw this and couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”
Spot tore off the funny pages and found himself staring at a fresh copy of The Outsiders.
“I noticed yours was all banged up. Funny how you read it at least once a year.” Spot found it funny that no one else got anything wrapped in funny pages.
***
The year almost seemed to drag. It was hotter than usually and the aggressions of high school years only added to the heat. Davey and Jack were grimly dedicated to each other, always softening their quarrels before anything dishonest was said. Spot learned from them that disagreements do not demean friendship.
Summer did come. Spot’s purple fingers were thankful. His basement was just cool enough and he found himself there with Race every day. Some things never change.
“I’m bored. We always just sit here and watch movies,” Race whined one Thursday at the end of June, dramatically laid across the couch, head propped up by Spot’s thigh.
Spot looked down at Race. He couldn’t decide if Race was tanned or sunburned.
“You want to go home?”
Race seemed startled by the suggestion. He met Spot’s eyes. They were hard and emotionless. Spot had many years of practice at keeping them neutral.
“No, never.” Race sighed grandly, attempting to cut the atmosphere. “I just want to do something different with you, that’s all.”
Spot was staring at the wall now. There was a crack in the plaster, traveling down to the trim in an immaculate line of white. He could see the cement crumbling.
“Like what?”
“I dunno.” Race was sitting up now, slumping against the back cushion now.
“What’s got you so moody?” Spot watched the plaster fall. If he turned his head, he could smell the pasta sauce that always lingered in Race’s breath.
“Nothing, I’m good. What do you want to do?”
“What do you want to do, Race?” Spot let his head fall back, letting it roll to face his friend. Race had a curl loose around his right ear.
And then Race kissed Spot. And then Spot kissed Race. What else is there?
“Sean! Anthony! Do you want me to order a pizza?”
Spot leapt onto his feet, leaving Race giggling under his breath. Spot had the sense to turn on the previously blank tv. Medda reached the bottom stair as Spot was resettling on the couch, skin a calculated distance away from Race’s.
“Jack won’t be home until later and I think Charlie is sleeping over Michael’s house but I’m happy to order some pizza for the three of us.” Medda was unphased. They were watching the Food Network.
“Thank you for always taking care of me, Medda. I would love some pizza.” How was Race unphased? Spot dared a glance. Race was smiling up at Medda.
“You’re a gift to this family, Anthony. Extra cheese?” They nodded as she pulled out her cell phone, walking back upstairs. “I’ll call you two up when it comes.”
Twelve steps on steps and a door pulled closed. One second, two seconds, three seconds…
Race started to laugh. It was almost nervous, the way it consumed him. Spot only had to look over, to glimpse the sparkle in Race’s eye, before he erupted into laughter alongside his friend.
They bent at the waist, foreheads closer, as they held their stomachs and the other’s shoulder and laughed and laughed and laughed…
***
This began to happen a lot. Spot found he liked the taste of pasta sauce and Race’s laughter, which shouldn’t have surprised him. Not when Race’s laughter had become the white noise in his head as he tried to fall asleep at night.
No one should know, they decided. No one would understand, they reasoned. Spot didn’t even understand. He didn’t want to. Not when he was stretched upon Race, hip bones sharp against Race’s stomach, long legs taking his toes beyond Race’s soles. Race’s t shirt was pulled down, the threads of the collar snapping with the inattention. Race was giggling. Spot was smiling against Race’s chest, purposefully low on Race’s torso. Spot was careful.
***
Junior year made Davey wild. He was constantly shaking, blood full of caffeine and anxiety. Jack spent less time with the football team. Davey needed him.
That was why Spot and Race found themselves joined by Davey and Jack in their basement. Race didn’t seem bothered. He could laugh anywhere, always grinning as bright as the sun even in the rain of Jack and Davey’s bickering. It was humorous to them now too. Jack and Davey were always on the verge of praise.
Spot, consistent with his pointed, pithy attitude, sat silently on his and Race’s couch, leaning a breath towards Race’s shoulder. Race always moved closer when he laughed, anyways.
“Is this all you guys have been doing without us? Watching stupid movies?” Jack was teasing. Davey was finally relaxing.
Race looks at Spot and Spot looks back. They laugh together and Race’s hand twitches.
“This is literally all we ever do.”
***
Time went on, as it usually does. Davey and Jack were fun (they had all grown fond of playing old board games now) and Spot and Race still had their own time together. God bless Jack’s busy schedule. Junior year was busy in itself and sometimes all Spot and Race did together was homework. Spot always seemed to have more.
“Less than three months and we’re seniors,” Race realized in mid-April. He was laying on Spot’s bed, surrounded by math worksheet after math worksheet, with an occasional textbook.
“Wild.” Spot was perched at the top of his bed, tucked into himself atop his pillows with one hand on his book and the other tapping his pencil against Race’s ankle.
“We’re the same age as all those teenagers in every movie we’ve ever watched. We have all that high school stuff going on.”
“All that high school stuff.”
“Yeah, like sweet sixteens and drama and prom and everything.”
“Racetrack, we haven’t experienced any of that.”
“Yeah, well maybe we should.”
“You wanna get into a fight? Start some drama?” Spot’s book was closed. He was on page 258.
“Well, we could do that.” Race was sitting up now, cross legged and facing Spot.
“What, you don’t want to fight with me? Know you’d lose?” Spot leaned forward, chin up but eyes on Race.
“Don’t wanna lose anything.” Spot leaned back. Race continued. “How about prom?”
“You should go if you want to.”
“How about you?” Race knew Spot. He made vicious eye contact with Spot, knowing he would lock into vulnerability.
“I dunno. That’s a lot of money.” Spot couldn’t look away.
“Medda was excited to hear that Jack is going.”
“Yeah, but he’s going with Sarah. I don’t have a girlfriend or anything.” Or anything.
“Go alone. It’ll be fun,” Race broke the thin ice. “I’ll be there.”
Spot decided he would consider it.
***
Prom night was foggy and damp. Walking through the air required pushing through heavy mist. You could only see what was right in front of you. Spot wasn’t even sure he could see that.
Sarah and Jack looked good. They matched and exemplified high school. Davey had gotten his friend from newspaper club, Katherine, to join him for the night. She was Sarah’s best friend so the two pairs coexisted wonderfully.
Mush was able to attend prom too, standing in Medda’s dining room with a blushing hand in his boyfriend’s. Kid Blink, as the baseball team called him, was a junior and a good friend of Jack’s. Crutchie was delighted by his best friend’s success. Spot was delighted that no one seemed to mind the entwined hands of two boys.
Race looked good. Spot decided he could think this because Race seemed like he had tried to look good. As Race’s best friend, Spot felt like he was in the proper position to confirm his friend’s intentions.
“You look good, Higgins.” Spot nodded up at his friend from where he was sprawled on a dining room chair. His long legs always seemed to tangle him.
Race seemed a little startled that Spot had said these words out loud to him. Usually they were only told through laughing kisses on ears or soft fingers trailing upon hidden skin. Race was always good at poker though. Neutrality was clear to those who did not know him like Spot did.
“You bet I do, Conlon.” Spot got up, watching Medda take a picture of Davey tying Jack’s tie. Crutchie was trying to help Blink pin the flower onto Mush. Sarah and Katherine had gone to the bathroom, Spot remembered vaguely.
Race was close to Spot now. He knew from experience that if he tilted his head slightly to the left he would be in the prime position to kiss Race. He didn’t. Not even when Race complimented his bowtie.
They stood on opposite ends of the group during pictures. Spot wasn’t sure who initiated that. It just happened. Purposefully.
Spot didn’t eat anything at prom. It was in a local country club with fake plants and everything in the room made him too crazy to eat.
The eight of them sat at a round table; Katherine and Sarah had let Davey and Jack sit next to each other. Blink and Mush had been long lost to the dance floor. Race was next to Spot. Spot was thankful.
Easy conversation breezed through the suffocating club. Race was relaxed and lounged on the crafted wooden chair. Spot was leaned on his elbow, listening to Race talk about how a random couple had gotten together. Spot thought for a moment that he could be doing this anywhere else much more comfortably. The birthmarks creeping down Race’s neck, journeying beneath the collar of his tuxedo, helped Spot accept his situation.
“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” Race said suddenly. He was laughing. At what, Spot didn’t know. He didn’t respond as he watched Race wink at him before pushing in his chair and leaving the hall.
Spot watched his friends talk across the table. They were laughing at something when Jack noticed Spot watching them.
“What do you think, Spot?”
“I think I’m going to the bathroom.” Spot was getting up now, locating the door which he had watched Race walk through. If Race could find the bathroom, so could Spot.
Upon walking out of the grand hall, Spot did not find the bathroom. He found a long hallway instead, carpeted by the seventies. The pale blue foam beneath his feet led Spot a little ways down the strip before a hand interrupted his search, pulling him through a door Spot had not noticed. He soon found himself pressed against the very same door. Pressed against himself, Spot realized, was Race.
“Hey, you.” Race was breathing heavy.
“Find the bathroom?” Spot commented, looking around what seemed to be a cleaning closet. He was too distracted to wonder why the country club had such a large cleaning closet.
“Nah, but I did find you.”
Spot let Race kiss him for a while, relaxing for a sweet second. After relishing in the warmth of Race’s actions and the shiver of Race’s hands, Spot angled his body to push Race against the door. Spot did not stop to appreciate Race’s beautifully crisp white shirt, hastily unbuttoning it so that he could press his teeth into Race’s skin. Spot noticed every birthmark. Race’s skin was more important to Spot than any shirt. Race laughed and Spot continued, down and down. Everything in the room was making Spot crazy.
***
Race left the room first, an uncountable number of minutes later. Spot recited the first lines of The Outsiders to calm himself as he waited to leave. Distracted, he took a wrong turn and ended up outside the actual bathroom. He went inside. Might as well.
“Spot!” Jack was washing his hands when Spot walked in. He didn’t respond.
“I thought you went to the bathroom ages ago.” Jack’s cheeks were red and he was glowing. He looked to Spot like someone who had just been kissed.
“Needed some fresh air. You having fun?” Spot was leaning against the door frame.
“Yeah, lots. You?”
“Mmhmm.” You could say that.
***
The summer before senior year left Spot and Race breathless. Preparing for college left them with much to do. They were forced to run through the summer. Any time left to catch their breath was spent taking the other’s away.
The schedule of September was welcomed thankfully. Weekdays were usually spent at Spot’s, usually taking them to Spot’s room. To do homework, of course. Race had a hard time resisting the television and the noise of the after school programs irritated Spot. Spot was less irritated when Race had a hard time resisting Spot.
Their homework always got done, however. Spot worked as if it was his means of survival. Race thought Spot believed it was.
That is why Race woke up one Friday night in April - or perhaps Saturday morning - to find the light on. Spot was sitting at his desk, writing furiously.
“Babe, come back to bed.” Race’s voice was comfortable.
“Don’t call me that.” Spot didn’t stop moving his pencil.
“Spot, come back to bed.” Race was rolling his eyes, knowing Spot’s ears were turning red.
Spot stopped his pencil and turned back to look at Race, arm over the back of his chair. His fingers were agitated and bending. He was thinking elsewhere, but he smiled at Race.
“I just thought of something and I had to add it to this.”
“What are you writing?”
“Just a speech.” Spot was mumbling, turning back to his desk.
“Why do you have to write a speech? You gonna talk?” Race’s tone was teasing and inquisitive. He knew that is he never asked, he’d never know.
“They said I have to. For graduation.” Spot hadn’t started writing again.
“For graduation? But only the valedictorian speaks at graduation.”
“Yeah.”
Race almost screamed (only remaining silent for the sake of poor Medda), throwing the sheets back and galloping over to Spot.
“You’re valedictorian?” Race whispered, hands holding Spot’s face softly. His thumb trailed a brush of freckles. That Irish skin.
“I guess.” Spot’s ears were very warm.
“You work so hard,” Race bent to ease Spot’s lips to his own, eventually kneeling as Spot responded.
Spot broke the kiss, smiling subtly at the proud grin that dazzled Race’s face.
“So are you saying that you thought of something for your valedictorian speech while you were lying in bed with me?”
Spot made a face.
“Well, yeah.”
“How romantic,” Race teased, smirking as he took his hands off of Spot’s face.
Spot faced his desk again, moving his legs under the table.
“Not really. We’re not dating or anything.”
Race stood, looking around the room. They were both wearing a pair of Spot’s boxer shorts. Race had just caressed Spot’s face and received a smile in return. They had done this so many times before.
“Why do you have to lie to yourself?” Race spoke quietly as he returned to the bed, curling with his back to Spot.
“We’re not dating.” Spot said, reminding himself.
“Yeah, but we sure are doing something.”
“Yeah.” Something Spot was thankful for.
***
Graduation day came, as all days do. Spot lead the march of robed graduates through the gymnasium, echo of rain against the roof. Race cried when he spoke. Perhaps others did too. Peers he did not know approached Spot afterwards to compliment him on his work or his words. Not one of them had wanted to hear his words before. Perhaps someday people will learn to listen to others.
Groups of solid colored seniors huddled in the school afterwards, snapping emotional pictures and reminiscing about the years they had spent together. Spot walked through the flowing sea of family. He saw the Jacobs family taking a clumsy family photo, David shaking and Sarah glowing. Sarah caught Spot’s eye and winked. Spot smiled back. A lot had changed.
His journey led him to find Medda taking a picture of Jack holding Crutchie. Crutchie - still littler than the rest of them - was laughing and laughing. Spot laughed at his brothers. He didn’t even notice his mind had called them his brothers.
Further down the hall, Blink waved at him. He had an arm around Mush’s shoulders, talking to a group of boys who were presumably on the baseball team with him. They were all smiling. Spot considered the reactions.
Still, Spot continued. He had seen some younger Italian girls closer to the gym. The youngest, who was fascinated with Spot, had asked him to tie her shoe, which he did. She had jabbered about something, as Higgins children do, and Spot had smiled at her. That’s all she needed. After silently agreeing to half-hug the middle daughter, who was fascinated with Spot in quite a different way, had been able to begin his search.
Still, Race was nowhere to be found.
“There you are!” Race found him first, as usual.
Spot felt his arm being jerked to the side. He landed in a small nook of the hallway, between lockers and a strip of wall next to a wide door frame. The hallway was empty, save the two of them, and it gave an air of unease as well as power. They owned the school.
“Hey,” Spot whispered to Race’s nose. Race swore and grabbed Spot’s hand, tearing him down the hallway and into a distant classroom.
“You just...” Race breathed, closing the wood door and taking off his lopsided cap. “Look so…” The zipper on his robe was stuck so he just pulled it over his head. “So hot right now.”
Spot laughed, skin reddening as he followed Race’s movements. Soon the classroom was theirs.
***
The boys, after composing themselves, found themselves on the forever end of Medda’s camera. Still in their graduation attire, Race settled beneath Spot’s arm as it draped comfortably across his shoulders. Medda didn’t need to say smile.
***
Race had to work that summer. Some family obligation to his dad’s restaurant or whatever. Spot was grumbling too much to listen too hard. He had a job too - in a local newspaper office organizing files - but his inner priorities were not devoted to his occupation. Race held that position.
Spot spent his free time in his room, writing or moping, depending on the prefered term. He was staring out the window when he heard footsteps.
“Hey, Spot. Whatcha up to?”
Spot continued to watch the leaves rustle in the summer wind as he replied to Jack.
“Nothing.”
“Literally! You look so bored.”
Spot turned to scowl at Jack, who was leaning in the door frame with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. He was wearing a Columbia t-shirt.
“Nice shirt.”
Jack had the confidence to look proud. Davey was going to Columbia in the fall.
“Anniversary present?”
“Jesus, Spot.” Jack was laughing, as he rolled his eyes. “We’re not together.”
Spot’s snorted and shook his head. Jack was settling on Spot’s unmade bed, ignoring Spot.
“So when did you and Race start sleeping together?”
Spot did not let himself twitch as he put on his best disgusted face and turned his chair.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“So you can joke about my nonexistent relationship with Davey but I can’t comment on your very obvious relationship with Race?” Jack was smug in his smile.
“We’re friends, Jack.”
“Like me and Davey?”
“No, you and Davey are married. Race and I have a normal friendship.”
Jack’s shoulders lowered. He had been hoping to tangle Spot in his own words.
“You know you can talk to me, right?” Jack was quieter than usual, more serious than usual.
Spot hesitated, before slowly saying, “I’m talking to you right now.” His eyes remained emotionless and steady, holding contact with the vulnerable eyes of Jack.
“You know I know about you guys, right? It wasn’t a guess.” Jack was not afraid of Spot. He was only afraid of making Spot uncomfortable.
“You’re full of it.” Spot’s eyes were narrowed and his grip on his chair tightened, in frustration and to keep them steady.
“You know I’m bi, right?” Jack cared about his brother. He wouldn’t be sitting on Spot’s dirty sheets trying to coax some emotion out of him if he didn’t care.
Spot thought for a second, considering his last six years with Jack.
“Yeah, that makes sense.” He paused. That was comforting. “So you are married to Davey?” Spot knew how to maneuver a conversation.
“What? No! Just because I like guys too doesn’t mean I have to like Davey.”
“So you don’t?”
“Fhgkshjg-”
“Exactly.”
“Quit it. We’re friends.”
“Yeah.” Spot turned in his chair, grabbing his pencil and sending Jack the message that he was done.
“I like you guys together. You balance each other. Remember back in the day when all you guys would do was fight?”
Spot didn’t answer, but Jack was smart. He knew people.
“I’m glad you’ve channeled your affection into something healthier.”
Spot whipped around, thinking of all the ways he could destroy Jack.
“Affection? I have no idea what that is.”
“Yeah, right.” was all Jack got out before Spot pounced, jumping from his chair to the bed so that he could tackle Jack. Jack just laughed as Spot began growling.
“What is going on in here?”
Spot was digging his elbow into Jack’s back, earning nothing but a ticklish giggle from Jack. They both looked up to see Crutchie, grinning.
“Spot’s pretending he’s not with Race.”
“I’m not with Race!” Spot continued to jab his brother’s back.
Crutchie was smiling, serene and knowing all at once.
“I hope you both figure out what’s important to you.” Then he balanced on his crutch and walked away.
Spot glared at Jack, but got off of him. Jack didn’t say a word as he got up and walked towards the door. Spot was glaring out the window again when he heard Jack pause in the door frame.
“You can lie to me all you want, but please stop lying to yourself, Sean.”
Spot sighed and watched the wind go by.
***
College was new. They were all still in the city and time would not wait for them. Spot felt like he always had something to do. His classes made him feel important, but they required a lot from him. He found himself thinking of Davey. He had always made homework feel like it was worthwhile.
Spot made friends, sort of. There were people he spent time with. They talked to him about his papers or his band t-shirts. His roommate, Itey, whose real name Spot could not remember, was always willing to engage in conversation about iconic guitarists. Spot enjoyed his time at school. He even bought Medda a sweatshirt.
Race was right down the street, having a ball. He came over to Spot’s dorm most weekends if he could, always laughing with some wild story to tell of his shenanigans. Spot liked to listen to Race.
“And..and then, you’ll never believe this, he started ranting in Italian and only us native speakers could understand what he was saying and the things he said about the whole thing was nuts. Absolutely nuts.” Race was sitting on Spot’s bed, cross legged and rocking with his laughter. Spot was next to him, leaning against the wall and smirking at Race.
“You’re absolutely nuts.”
Race winked and sighed contentedly.
“What a gentleman.”
Itey was gone for the weekend; he lived in New Jersey so he went home when he could. Spot could walk down the street to drop home, but some had to drive to see their family. Spot wondered when he had found a family worth seeing.
After some comfortable silence, Race suggested a movie. They set up an old John Wayne film on Spot’s computer and lay down, the computer balancing on Spot’s hip bones. Race curled into Spot’s side. To get a better view, of course.
Race fell asleep with fifteen minutes left. The end credits rolled and Spot sighed, on the verge of sleep himself. He closed his laptop with a yawn, leaning to slide it on the nightstand.
“How’d it end?” A sleepy voice sang to Spot’s ear.
“Horribly.”
“Good.”
Spot only laughed as he let himself relax. He was inches from sleep, centimeters. It was so close he felt it brush his skin as he floated into its grasp. He was barely in the living world when -
“I love you.”
Spot pretended he was asleep.
***
It was raining the next morning. Race slept in, given the luxury of a Saturday morning. Spot was up before the sun, given the cumbersome gift of a constant mind.
No love, no love, no love, no love, no love, no love, no love, no love, no love.
Spot was sitting on his desk, wrapped around himself as he watched the rain. He had been repeating his lifelong mantra for hours. It hadn’t been long enough.
“Whatcha doing there, buddy?”
Spot jumped a bit before shrugging. He wanted to turn around but he knew stupid Race wouldn’t be wearing a stupid shirt and that made Spot feel stupid.
“You okay?” Spot heard the rustle of sheets and the soft pressure of Race’s feet on the carpet. Soon Race’s head was on Spot’s shoulder. He smelt like Race. Spot shoved him off.
“Jesus, you’re not. What’s up?” Race seemed as though his skin was offended but his heart was concerned.
“Nothing, Race. I’m fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Am not.” Spot defensively glared at Race. Race’s hair was tangled within itself. Spot wanted to laugh and run his hands through it. He shook his head at himself.
“You’re right. You are a good liar. But not to me, Spotty.”
“Stop.”
“What’s got you so prickly?”
“I’m always prickly.”
Race laughed and rubbed his hand down Spot’s arm. Spot’s body betrayed him and shivered.
“Yeah, you are. That’s what I-”
“I swear if you continue that sentence, Anthony.”
Race paused. He looked in Spot’s eyes, searching and hopeful. His lips were pursed in nerves.
“Oh, I see. You’re gonna be a whiny coward about this.”
“We’re not dating! You don’t get to...feel...like that. About me.” Spot’s shoulders were contracting around his body. Stay small enough to hide, he remembered.
“So you define yourself by labels, do you?” Race was too good.
“What, I never said...you can’t do that! It’s not that simple!”
“You love me, but you can’t say so because you don’t think you’re allowed to? Sounds kind of simple.” Race was backing up so he had room to pace. He was ready for battle.
“I’m not allowed to!” Spot didn’t realize the implications of his words, but Race did. His understanding warmed his heart and heated his ammunition.
“Says who?” Race stopped pacing to stare at Spot, half a testing smirk on his lips. Spot wished that Race were ugly.
“Says...I don’t know! Stop it!” Spot was shaking and shaking and his fingers were numbing.
Race sighed when he saw Spot digging his nails into the palms of his hands. He walked over to Spot and held out his hands face-up, letting Spot take them himself. He did. Race ran his thumbs over the indents, resuming eye contact.
“I love you.”
“We’re still not dating.”
“Why not?”
Spot didn’t want to think about it. Why weren’t they dating?
“Books are painless.”
Race didn’t seem quite surprised by Spot’s response. He smiled knowingly. He had the right. Who knew Spot better than Race?
“You have to know pain to appreciate them. Love is the same way.”
Spot decided he liked that. Then he decided to kiss Race.
#sprace#spot conlon#racetrack higgins#newsies#newsies fic#newsies fanfiction#javid#jack kelly#davey jacobs
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the truth about love
summary: Mr. and Mrs. Higgins meet Race for the first time.
read on: archive of our own
warning: mild mentions of homophobia, badly translated italian :)
Wind pushed against any second thoughts, whispering taunts and epithets of cowardice. Commitment had been confirmed. They had volunteered themselves to rejection.
Spot glanced at Race, forcing himself not to be tense. Race was worried enough, anxiously tapping his foot as he looked at the world outside of the car window through unfocused eyes.
The wind was rustling the auburn leaves of the highway trees, disturbing their comfortable peace. Spot scowled at the crackling branches. They didn’t know upheaval. They weren’t driving their boyfriend to his parent’s house for an Italian Catholic Sunday dinner. Trees didn’t need to come out to their parents. How rude of them to even tremor.
The New York suburb of Race’s childhood was just forty five minutes out of Brooklyn, just forty five minutes from the dorm which Spot and Race shared. Race’s parents were delighted that Race had found a closeby college with friends whom he could be close with. They were pleased when Race had asked them if Spot could come over for dinner. It would have been a disgrace to lines of ancestors if Race had left his roommate without dinner on a Sunday. He had to come.
But Race knew he had to be honest. Race knew who he was. Race knew what Spot meant to him. Race knew that last night’s sleepless thoughts of self-encouragement had made him as ready as he knew he ever would be. Race did not know, however, what would come of his open revelation.
The green sign screamed at the pair from overhead. Exit 43. Ten minutes left.
Spot reached to Race’s knee, resting the back of his hand on the fabric and inviting Race’s fingers to join his own.
“How you doing?”
Race felt the warmth and pressure of Spot’s hand before turning towards the driver’s seat to respond.
“I am preparing for the world to end.”
Spot chuckled, eyes still on the road as he guided Race’s hand to his lips.
“Happily?”
“With you?” Race joked, quivering in his smile.
Spot turned slightly to raise his eyebrows at Race.
Race sighed, “This is gonna happen. I just gotta...do it.”
Spot smiled, though grim. His grin was trapped beneath the windshield, as the outside world was full of ridiculously typical family homes. One on the left, two on the right. Backyard on the left, helmeted family biking on the right. Race was looking green.
“That one. Pull in there.”
Spot obeyed the quiet voice and rounded into the drive. Park. Brake. Engine off.
Their hands were curled into each other, together, empowering.
“I love you.” Race quaked.
Spot lifted the corner of his mouth. An unsteady breath with a safe, present clutch of hands.
Spot let Race open his own door and enter his old world. His feet traced his childhood steps, with the foreign Spot balancing slowly behind. Race took a deep breath as he lifted his hand, curled into a cold, distant fist. One last glance at Spot for lovely fortitude. He would knock. He would, he would-
“Antonio! Amore mio, oh, come here.”
Race was stunned into a hug, hand still clenched in preparation for the latent knock that never came. He peered bashfully at Spot through a hole in the entwined embrace, receiving a jesting eyebrow raise in response.
“Oh, Antonio. I heard your car pull into the driveway and I could not wait. It’s so wonderful to see you!”
Race weaved his way out of the hug, still holding his mother’s arms as she grasped his.
“Hi, mamma.”
“Oh, it’s so good to see you.”
“You too, mamma,” Race replied, wanting to mean it. His mother’s eyes were so warm and her hands so protecting. He wished he could be what she wanted.
“Oh, and this must be Sean! It’s so nice to meet you, come here!.” She jerked Spot into a hug, drowning his thin Irish bones in Italian skin. Race laughed and felt too comfortable. He was glad he was who he was, if only to love this moment.
She gripped Spot’s shoulders as she let go, veiling his shaking muscles with her wild grip.
“Come, we must eat!”
Race brushed Spot’s hand as he lead him into the foyer. It was full of framed photographs of gap-toothed school pictures, lining a white hallway that led to a cornucopian kitchen. Spot smirked at the young face of Race before turning to the grown, slightly flustered countenance. Race was composed enough to wink at Spot before his mother whirled around to haul the boys to the dining room table.
The table was set, with wildflowers in a sky vase in the center. Clean chinets were placed on vinyl mats at four seats. One end was empty and the opposite was full of a wide man. He had thick eyebrows that were set atop his eyes, comfortably judging with authority.
“Hello, Antonio. How are you?”
It seemed like Race should have bowed or offered a sacrifice. But he just grinned carefully and chuckled a bit.
“Hey, Dad. I’m good, thanks. It’s good to see you.”
Spot smiled at the scene. He’s sure he saw this in a classic sentimental painting. Alas, he knows there is more beyond the ornamental frame.
Mr. Higgins shook Race’s hand, crinkling his eyes though hiding his closed-mouth smile beneath his pruned moustache.
“You must be Sean.”
Spot froze in the shadow of the door frame. He let his eyes seek comfort in Race before balancing his body on his spine, assuming military posture.
“Yes, sir. It’s nice to meet you...sir.”
Race rolled his eyes, too fond to notice how awkward the communication was. Mr. Higgins just chuckled, like a mafia gangster might, and reached out his hand. He was not leaving the head of the table.
“And you. I am glad that Antonio got a roommate that he didn’t hate.”
Spot raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah...me too?”
Mr. Higgins chuckled again in the same gruff, superior manner.
“Good kid.”
Mrs. Higgins shuffled in with too many dishes of various sauced foods.
“Sit down, boys, eat!!!”
The smell forced them to oblige.
After dinner, they sat around the dirty dishes, laughing over small talk. Spot hadn’t said a word, only listening to Race relax. Spot had heard of storytimes and holidays and game nights and laughter. Race loved his parents and his parents loved the Antonio they knew, Spot knew that much from his first loud, Italian dinner. If only love lasted.
“So, Mamma...Dad...I have something...to tell you guys.”
He looked at them, eyes naturally drifting to meet Spot’s as they moved from his sauce-soaked plate to the dark eyes of his parents.
“Antonio?” His mother leaned onto her toes, ready to leap into a comforting hug or a defensive battle. His father’s expression remained blank, hidden behind thick walls of shadowed hair.
“I’m…” His eyes left the room. “I’m really happy to be here...at home...here...with you guys.”
Spot’s exhale surprised him.
Race’s mother leaned back, clutching her hands to her heart.
“Oh, Antonio!”
“He just wants to get out of doing the dishes,” Mr. Higgins retorted, mustache twitching with a scoff.
Race laughed timorously and looked down. Spot’s skin itched.
“Oh, be quiet. He’s worked hard and deserves a break. You boys go on upstairs. Your video games are still plugged in, Antonio. Allora avanti! Go on!”
Race looked at Spot and Spot looked back, both too stunned to grin. Slow motion filtered their movements as they pushed in their chairs and left the dining room. Spot murmured an unheard thank you before following Race out of the room and up a set of carpeted beige stairs.
One corner turned and a door opened before Spot was leaning against a navy wall, watching Race shove his hands in his pockets and sit on his bed.
Spot chuckled at Race’s careful smile, leaning his head back against the cold wall. Turning, he watched Race’s childhood unfold on the walls. Calendars with ancient years, photographs of laughing boys, band posters.
“Thank you for coming with me.” Race breathed, rocking the springs so that they screamed.
“Not a problem.” Spot slowly led his legs lead him across the room. “So I heard video games.”
The two took themselves to a bean bag for some Mario Kart, which Spot lost miserably because “They don’t call me Race for nothing!”
Race had leaned into Spot’s shoulder, laughing in his ear. Spot’s raised hair chilled his body. He had left his skin in Brooklyn. His tongue chapped his lips, anticipating interruption. He would not kiss Race, he would not kiss Race, “Swept the round again, Spot!”, God, he wanted to kiss Race...
“Ciao, boys! Dinner is all cleaned up, come down for dessert!” Mrs. Higgins broke the fragile safety. Spot’s blood left him.
“Sweet, Mamma, thanks.” Race was getting up, smiling at his mother, eyes away. Mrs. Higgins smiled, pleased, and returned downstairs.
Race gave Spot his hand, raising Spot from the engulfing bean bag to stand in front of him, so close he could have felt Spot’s breath if he wasn’t holding it.
“Hey.”
Exhale.
“Hey.”
“We should probably get going in a bit, if we want to leave before five,” Race said to Spot’s eyes.
“Yeah.”
“I find it amusing how much more composed I am than you. This is my coming-out dinner.” Race was joking, fingers following familiar patterns on Spot’s palm.
“I’m nervous so you don’t have to be. It’s called support, Racetrack.”
Race laughed, letting his lips find Spot’s cheek in less than a moment, before tugging Spot towards the door.
“C’mon. I miss biscotti.”
Spot watched Race walk to the door, toes curling around nineties carpet.
“They love you, you know.”
Race didn’t turn around.
“Yeah. For now.”
Mr. Higgins hadn’t moved. Spot spent the first few minutes of dessert trying to guess how tall he was while Mrs. Higgins entertained herself with Race’s academic affairs, proud and contented. Race was telling his plate of biscotti his grades.
“And you, Sean, what are you doing at school?”
Spot’s nerve ran around the house. Upon its return, he cleared his throat.
“English.”
Mrs. Higgins’ pink face rounded as she smiled, but Mr. Higgins spoke first.
“English?”
Spot felt his blood pool in his feet. Maybe he’d melt.
“Uh...yeah. I like to read, sir. Mister.” Men horrified Spot. How ironic.
Mr. Higgins only nodded as Mrs. Higgins fussed.
“Don’t let him frighten you, caro. He used to read plenty before numbers and math took over. Reading is so cute!”
Spot blinked.
“Er...thanks.”
“I have a boyfriend.”
Slow followed the rapid confession. Not one heart dared to beat.
“Sean. Sean is my boyfriend.” Race was only loud enough to be audible, unwilling to repeat himself.
Mr. Higgins choked on his throat’s surprise, murmuring “Jesus Christ.”
Mrs. Higgins veiled her eyes, pressing them tight, pressing her mouth tight. Silence. Spot responded to their silence with silence. Race tried to do the same, but was breathing too hard.
“We should go,” Race stuttered and stood, pursuing Spot’s willing hand and planning to be in Brooklyn by the end of the minute.
“Antonio?” The tense air pressed the word to Race. He froze at the front door, his old front door, the entrance and the exit.
“Yes?” Spot only saw Race’s words.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to school.” If Race closed his eyes, they would release his years of disguise. His mother looked back at him.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
Spot stepped forward, building protection, prevention. Race let himself slink into his next words.
“I don’t want there to be a first time that I am hurt by my parents.”
Mrs. Higgins felt her heart twitch.
“I don’t want to hurt you. If you left now, you would be making that decision for me.”
“But God...the crosses...saying grace before meals, going to Church every week, sin, sin, sin.” Race’s skin inundated red. Spot used his wrists to tie his hands unmoving.
Mrs. Higgins took her son’s hand, looking to Spot before contact. He raised his chin, watching so she knew she was being watched. He was there.
“My God believes in love.”
Race’s heart hovered and soared, ending in a gripping hug with his mother, his first hug.
Alive in the foyer, they all caught sight of Mr. Higgins, standing for the first time at the end of the hallway. He was taller, scarier than Spot had expected.
“Thank you, Antonio, for telling us.”
Race blinked, embracing his tears now and letting his years of loneliness dance away.
Race tripped over to his father and grasped the beginning around his wide shoulders.
“It’ll…” Mr. Higgins cleared his throat, trying hard to find appropriate words. “It’ll take some time before I’m used to this. Before I get it right.”
“I’m glad that we have time.” Mr. Higgins let his arms down and hugged his son back.
Spot suddenly realized he was being hugged by Race’s mother, listening to Italian words in a sweet, desperate voice. She smelt like pasta sauce, the same pasta sauce Race made on rainy weekends. He felt his life rewind and start again, with hugs.
After Race had embraced his parents a few times more, words light and light bright, his hand joined Spot’s.
“Thank you for dinner, mamma. We’ll come back.”
“Grazie, amore miei.” My loves.
They floated down the walkway, together. Spot thought once and opened Race’s door for him. Race waved at his parents through the windshield as Spot walked around the back of the car to the driver’s side, never planning on standing between family.
Race stared at his house through bright eyes, through the chipping garage door, through the freshly opened walls, to freshly opened hearts.
Spot started Race’s car, an old friend from the gift of high school years.
His hand rested on the gear shift. Race’s hand rested upon Spot’s.
Spot looked towards Race, Race looked towards Spot. They both looked towards the future.
Spot smiled and laughed a little.
“Well, that went well.”
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sprace “i’m sorry i ended up falling for you”
spot and race have fire in their hearts.
read on: archive of our own
The door creaked, warning Race before allowing a gush of cold air to collide with his face. The utility company must have seized their heat. He shuddered through his sigh and braved the breeze.
Upon entering the living room, Race realized Spot was nowhere to be found. Sometimes he would send a loud, usually incoherent greeting from the kitchen, other times he would merely grunt in response to Race’s call. Perhaps he needed to be induced into conversation.
“Hey, Spot?”
Grunt. There it was. It came from the couch where Race had suddenly noticed a large lump of dark blankets. With closer inspection, two icy blue eyes presented themselves from black holes in the fleece.
“You okay in there?” Race said with a fond chuckle.
“Yeah, get in.”
Race toed off his shoes and zipped up his sweatshirt before cramming into an open fold. Soon, his eyes were aligned with a chapped, lopsided grin.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“You’re cute when you’re cold.”
Spot smiled at Race’s shoulder, still unfamiliar with casual compliments.
“How long has the heat been off?” Race smiled and leaned closer to Spot, softening the question.
“Um…” A shrug and flinch. “It was cold when I got home.”
“Okay…” Race rolled his shoulders back and took a deep breath. Deciding to move on for now, he leaned into Spot’s shoulder, drooping his weight onto the other. “How was work?”
“Fine. How about you?”
“What was fine about it?”
Spot ignored him, “Did your boss like your assignment?”
“Spot, how was your day?”
“I told you. Fine. Your turn. That’s how it works,” Spot wriggled, uneasy and awkward.
Race positioned his chin upon Spot’s shoulder.
“Spot.”
“Literally nothing happened. I don’t know what you want from me.” Spot was squeezing his shoulders up, lifting his body in hopes of floating away.
Race held his breath. Spot was heating into an unpredictable flame.
“Okay. We can either talk about the insane amount of work you do for a company that does not appreciate you or we can talk about the fact that one of us forgot to pay for the heat.”
“Fine,” Spot challenged, throwing the blankets off of them into a helpless splay of warmth on the floor. “Have it your way, Anthony.”
Race threw his arms up and let their heavy anger drive them back down.
“What is your problem?”
“Nothing!” Spot hissed. “You’re the one who started it.”
“By asking you how your day went and actually caring about the answer?” Race countered.
“I just- you’re just so- I can’t- argh! Just stop it! I can’t believe you.”
“You are so confusing!”
“You’ve made that clear! Why the heck are we even here? We can’t even pay for heat let alone get along! And we’re not even dating.” Spot was turning blue from the frigid air and his strained temper, heaving unevenly.
“What?” Race froze, craving comfort from Spot as well as repressing the desire to sock him real good.
“I-I don’t know!” Spot screeched, voice cracking in a growl as he leaned his elbows to his knees, jerking his hair with his hands. He let out a sharp breath as he let go, standing up slowly with rigid fingers. “You…you should go.”
“Spot…”
“It’s cold. I’m cold. It’s not like we’re boyfriends or anything. You don’t need to ask me how my day went or…or tell me I’m-I’m cute. or whatever. We’re friends who just live together. And now I guess we like to sleep together. Isn’t that all?”
“Is that all to you?” Race wasn’t sure Spot heard him. Race could barely understand his own words.
“You should go.” Spot was trembling. It must have been the cold.
“Okay.” Race turned slowly. Maybe to give Spot a chance to grab his arm and wrap him in apologies. Maybe because he could barely stand.
“Just…just go somewhere warm. Please.” Spot trailed behind Race, body wishing it was running away.
Race stopped at the door, his insides swirling with red anger and confusion. He turned, muscles stiff and clenched and unwilling to move.
“What about you?”
“I’m fine.”
“Without me?”
Spot hid his eyes, clenching them closed. No nod, no regard to Race’s statement at all. Perhaps that was the answer.
“I’m sorry I ended up falling for you.” Race closed the door with his words.
“Yeah. I’m sorry I fell for you too,” Spot told the door. But the door didn’t care. Not like Race.
***
two days and fifteen hours later
“Hello, is this Anthony Higgins?”
“Yes, this is he.” Race had barely pressed ‘answer’ in time. He was not expecting a call from the hospital.
“Right. I’m calling for the Regional Hospital. You’re the emergency contact for a Mister Sean Conlon?”
“I am?” A passing coworker raised an eyebrow at Race’s scattered façade.
“Are you familiar with a Mister Sean Conlon?”
Race almost laughed. Familiar? He’d only known everything about Spot since they were in middle school.
“Yes, I am. What do you need?”
“Well, he is doing just fine…He only needs a ride home.”
Race’s mind blanked before being invaded with a plethora of imagined situations.
“What? Is he okay?”
“Yes, Mister Higgins. I just said he was fine. He just needs you to come pick him up here. Emergency gate, please. You were the only number on the list or else I would offer to call another.” The doctor seemed slightly irritated by Race’s inconsistency, though Race assumed it was probably better than his patient’s.
“I’m coming down now. Thank you for calling.”
“That is my job, sir.”
Race ended the call, after several sweaty failed attempts, and grabbed his phone. Stuttering an apology and an rambling explanation over his shoulder, Race was out the door.
***
Race almost slipped on the blinding white floors as his shaking steps carried him to the desk.
“I’m here for Sean.”
“You will have to be more specific, sir,” the receptionist sighed at him. She appeared close to yawning. She must have been there for hours.
“Sorry, Conlon. Sean Conlon. C-o-n-”
“Room 312.”
“Thank you.”
Race forced himself not to run as he searched for his room number. He finally found the clean sign and whipped into the room, hand on the door jamb to rotate his body around.
His body came inches in front of Spot’s, who became paralyzed in the midst of pacing.
Race’s hand reached out for Spot’s face before Race’s brain forced his heart to freeze.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Spot spat, continuing to storm aimlessly around the room.
A feminine laugh filled the room before a matching voice followed, “I see you’ve found him! You must be Anthony.”
Race turned towards the voice, which belonged to a young nurse decorated in bright scrubs. Her eyebrows rose as he turned and she blinked a few times before throwing on her model smile.
“I’m Mikayla. I’ve been in charge of keeping an eye on him.”
“Thanks. Is he okay?”
She laughed casually, as if on a first date. Spot and Race shifted their eyes towards one another like they would have before, connected laughter in the back of their throats.
“Oh, yes! He passed out at work this morning. He was incredibly cold and hadn’t seemed to have eaten but we’ve been able to get his body functioning properly again, all set and warm.” She sent a falsely fond smile at Spot, who was pointedly scowling at her. “He is a prickly one! But I think he has a good heart. He heated right up when he heard we called you!” She stepped closer to Race, but he was looking at Spot. “You must be a wonderful best friend.”
“I don’t know. What do you think, Spot?” Race was standing incredibly straight to maximize the distance between the nurse and him, yet he still managed to smirk at Spot.
Spot scrunched his mouth, grinding his teeth.
“I think we have to go.”
The nurse stepped back bashfully, batting her eyelashes in apology.
“You’re right. Spot needs some warmth. I trust you can give it to him.”
“Right…” Race laughed slightly, motioning for Spot. “C’mon.”
Spot lifted his chin and stomped out the door after Race.
“Wait, Anthony!”
Race smiled hurriedly back at the girl. “Mm?”
“Do you think…maybe I could get your number?”
“I’m sorry.”
***
Spot followed Race out of starched hospital, noiselessly save the loud smirk dancing on his face.
Race opened the passenger door for Spot, as he always did, before looping around the front of the car to sit in the driver’s seat. Once settled there, seatbelt on and key in the ignition, Race finally looked over at Spot.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Spot’s smirk slid into a scowl, but he sighed and slouched into the seat, head in hand as his elbow balanced on the ledge of the windowsill.
“I’m fine.”
“That’s what you said before. But here you are three days later and you haven’t eaten.”
Shrug.
Race rolled his eyes and decided to focus on driving. When he finally pulled up to Jack and David’s apartment complex, Race jumped out of the car. He had been holding his breath and the fresh air was calming. All he wanted was a hug.
It was barely noon so Race searched his key ring for the worn label that Davey had spent hours making at his makeshift craft table: J+D.
After the door screamed at the two boys to cut the tension, Race revolved around.
“Okay, Spot. We’re talking now.”
Spot kept his head down, plunging his hands deep into his pockets.
“Why did you freak the other day? Things had been fine. No, things had been great. You had been great. What gives?”
Mumble, mumble. Spot wiped his face on his shoulder, avoiding any confrontation.
“Sean.”
Spot’s head snapped up and he tried to narrow his eyes. They blurred and he sniffled in their fog. “Anthony.”
“I’m here for you.”
“Then tell me what this whole thing means!”
“What?”
Spot spun in a circle, searching before laying his arms out in front of him, directed at Race.
“This thing.”
“This…thing,” Spot spluttered, gesturing between his heart and Race’s.
“Okay…what do you want it to mean?” Race was comfortable enough to take a reassuring step forward, but too hesitant to be anything but subtle.
“Stop, stop, stop!” Spot’s muscles were clenched in internal combat.
Silence.
“Race…this wasn’t supposed to happen.” Spot drooped his arms, surrendering to his feelings as he finally made eye contact with Race. His face shined with fresh tears.
“Do you wish it hadn’t?” Time froze, though Jack and David’s apartment was adequately heated.
“No.”
“What are you saying?”
“Are you really sorry you ended up falling for me, Race?” Spot’s throat trembled in a repressed hiccup.
Race started towards Spot, careful to maintain eye contact and permission, though the prudence was unecessary. Spot was pleading for Race to make the first move.
“I…am so thankful,” Race began, slowly and sincerely, “that I have fallen for you, Spot Conlon.”
Spot breathed out a thankful swear before he reached for Race, reached for warmth and they united in a burning hug.
“So you just wanted clarity?” Race kindly whispered into Spot’s ear, not yet satisfied with the explanation.
“I was confused, Racetrack,” Spot muttered into Race’s shoulder.
Race opened the hug and let his hands rest on the sides of Spot’s arms.
“Whaddya say we clear it up and go on a real date, called a date, with each other as dates?” Race smiled softly, admiring Spot’s attempts not to appear vulnerable.
“Yeah, okay. I’m starving.” Spot grinned at Race, his eyes thanking Race.
Race only laughed and rolled his eyes as he followed Spot out Jack and David’s door, realizing suddenly that their hands were grasped together.
And their hearts were warm.
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feel free to request for newsies ships :)
(my faves are sprace and javid)
nearly 200 writing prompts // feel free to reblog
Angst:
1: “ Give me a chance. ”
2: “ Not you again.. ”
3: “ Leave me alone. ”
4: “ I don’t love you anymore. ”
5: “ Why do you hate me? ”
6: “ I lost the baby. ”
7: “ I thought you loved me. ”
8: “ I don’t need you anymore. ”
9:“ I can’t believe you! ”
10: “ We cant keep this up forever. ”
11: “ You’re a monster. ”
12: “ I hate you. ”
13: “ Don’t leave me… ”
14: “ You’re a disappointment. ”
15: “ Don’t die on me– Please. ”
16: “ I never meant to hurt you. ”
17: “ Are you upset with me? ”
18: “ I wish i’d never met you. ”
19: “ I’m going to kill you! ”
20: “ Please don’t hurt me like this. ”
21: “ Thanks for nothing. ”
22: “ Dont call this number again. “
23: “ Why did you spare me? ”
24: “ You need to leave. ”
25: “ I’m sick. ”
26: “ I’m dying. ”
27: “ I wish i’d never met you. ”
28: “ I thought we were family!”
29: “ There was never an us. ”
30: “ So that’s it? It’s over? ”
31: “ I fucked up. ”
32: “ I came to say goodbye. ”
33:“ He’s dead because of you. ”
34: “ I don’t deserve to be loved. ”
35: “ About the baby… Its yours. ”
Love:
36: “ I’m so in love with you. ”
37: “ Dance with me! ”
38: “ Isn’t this amazing? ”
39: “ I wish we could stay like this forever. ”
40: “ Will you marry me? ”
41: “ I’m pregnant. ”
42: “ I need a hug. ”
43: “ You’re special to me. ”
44: “ I’m going to keep you safe. ”
45: “ Do you trust me? ”
46: “ Can I kiss you right now? ”
47: “ You’re cute when you’re angry. ”
48: “ I’ve liked you for awhile now. ”
49: “ Lets have a baby. ”
50: “ We’d make such a cute couple. ”
51: “ I want to take care of you. ”
52: “ Can we cuddle? ”
53: “ It’s lonely here without you. ”
54: “ I can’t stand the thought of loosing you. ”
55: “ Shut up and kiss me already. ”
56: “ Are you flirting with me? ”
57: “ Is that my shirt? ”
58: “ How did we get here? ”
59: “ You own my heart. ”
60: “ You’d be a great dad. ”
61: “ You’d be a great mom. ”
62: “ I want to protect you. ”
63: “ Whats the matter? ”
64: “ You’re so beautiful. ”
65: “ Did you do something different with your hair? ”
66: “ Is that a new perfume? ”
67: “ Stop being so cute. ”
68: “ You’re making me blush! ”
69: “ You’re teasing me again… ”
70: “ This is why I fell in love with you. ”
71: “ You’re the best! ”
72: “ They’re going to love you, don’t worry! ”
73: “ Oh, Are you ticklish? ”
74: “ Of course I remembered! ”
75: “ You’re one hell of a girl. ”
76: “ You’re one hell of a guy. ”
77: “ Are you jealous? ”
78: “ Hold me and never let me go. ”
79: “ Stop hogging all the blankets! ”
80: “ Lets run away together. ”
General:
90: “ Catch me if you can! ”
91: “ I’m fine. ”
92: “ Are you drunk? ”
93: “ Are you high? ”
94: “ We cant go in there… ”
95: “ Give it back! ”
96: “ Well this is just great. ”
97: “ Don’t touch me. ”
98: “ Not sure if you could tell, but I’m not exactly a people person. ”
99: “ This was fun— Lets do it again sometime!”
100: “ I didn’t do it! ”
101: “ I did it… ”
102: “ I don’t remember that! ”
103: “ Well that’s pretty rude of you to say. ”
104: “ Get that thing away from me! ”
105: “ You owe me. ”
106: “ Do you believe in aliens? ”
107: “ Do you believe in ghosts? ”
108: “ Are you hitting on me? ”
109: “ Why are you naked? ”
110: “ You did what?! ”
111: “ You have… Superpowers? ”
112: “ Why are you bleeding? ”
113: “ Where did all these puppies come from?”
114: “ Don’t make me come over there myself! ”
115: “ That wasn’t funny. ”
116: “ This tastes horrible. ”
117: “ This is delicious! ”
118: “ Are you mad at me? ”
119: “ Stop ignoring me… ”
120: “ I love that show too! ”
121: “ Can I borrow that book of yours?”
122: “ Lets blow this joint. ”
123: “ Let me help you with that. ”
124: “ Take that back! ”
125: “ Wanna go see a movie with me? ”
126: “ No way, that’s so lame. ”
127: “ What are you listening to? ”
128: “ I brought you your coffee. ”
129: “ Don’t fuck this up. ”
130: “ Run! ”
131: “ Lets run away together. ”
132: “ I haven’t slept in four days… ”
133: “ Your turn to do the dishes. ”
134: “ Was I really that drunk? ”
135: “ Was I really that stoned? ”
136: “Give me back my phone! ”
137: “ You’re an asshole. ”
138: “ Are you cold? ”
139: “ This place gives me the creeps. ”
140: “ I swear my house is haunted. ”
141: “ Did you hear that? ”
142: “ It’s just your imagination. ”
143: “ Just how stupid do you think I am? ”
144: “ Stop being such a baby. ”
145: “ Go back to bed. ”
146: “ Are you okay? ”
147: “ I can take care of myself just fine.”
148: “ Thanks for helping me back there. ”
149: “ Since when have we ever been friends? ”
150: “ What on earth are you wearing? ”
151: “ I can’t feel my legs! ”
152: “ Stop texting me weird stuff so late at night. ”
153: “ Put me down! ”
154: “ There’s only one bed… ”
155: “ It isn’t what it looks like! Okay.. Maybe it is… ”
156: “ How did I loose it? ”
157: “ I read your diary. ”
158: “ This is awkward. ”
159: “ Didn’t you read the sign? ”
160: “ Do you think you can teach me that? ”
Below is NSFW prompts.
Please if you’re rebloggling tell your followers if you’re interested or not in taking these sorts of requests.
Sexual:
161: “ Bite me. ”
162: “ Make me. ”
163: “ Fuck me. ”
164: “ Stop teasing me so much… ”
165: “ Do you like it when I touch you like that?”
166: “ Okay.. This is new. ”
167: “ Want to head back to my place and have a little fun? ”
168: “ You’re in trouble now. ”
169: “ What a pretty sight. ”
170: “ Bend over. ”
171: “ On your knees. ”
172: “ The food looks great but.. There’s something much more delicious i’d like to eat right now. ”
173: “ Lay back. ”
174: “ Take off your clothes. ”
175: “ Well, fine; just this once. ”
176: “ I’m waiting. ”
177: “ You’re so beautiful. ”
178:“ As you wish. ”
179: “ First one to make a noise looses.”
180: “ You have no idea what you do to me. ”
181: “ If you’re bored; Wanna have sex? ”
182: “ Ive wanted this for so long. ”
183: “ Car sex looks so much more easier in the movies. ”
184: “ Can I touch you? ”
185: “ Open up. ”
186: “ No strings attached. ”
187: “ Already? Do I really have that much of an effect on you? ”
188: “ Mine. ”
189: “ The nights still young. ”
190: “ We cant do that here! ”
191: “ Behave. ”
192:“ What did you just say? ”
193: “ Good girl. ”
194: “ Good boy. ”
195: “ Come here. ”
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“why aren’t we making out?”sprace
open doors
summary: Spot and Race disconnected because they wanted to connect. As Davey and Jack will tell them, all you have to do is anything.
read on: archive of our own
Racetrack Higgins slouched against the dorm door, neck arched to lean the side of his head against the painted wood.
“Dave?” he mewled through the door, knocking again listlessly.
“Yeah, Race, I’m coming,” Davey shouted hurriedly, making a whole lot of noise.
Soon, the door was thrown open and Race found himself facing a heavily-breathing David Jacobs. He was genuinely smiling at Race, perfectly brushed teeth shining in Race’s face. Even that light hurt his head right now.
“Hey, Race. What’s up?”
“I need to talk to you.” He walked right through Davey’s spaghetti arm holding open the door, refusing to look at the sunshine in the window or on Davey’s face.
“Hey, Race.”
Race looked up to see Jack Kelly reposed on Davey’s desk chair, outstretched legs catching him as he spun the seat side to side. Race had thought he had recognized Davey’s sweatshirt.
“Oh, good, Jack. You’re here too.” Race could feel Jack roll his eyes in response, a gentle chuckle paired with a quick eyebrow raise acknowledging the obvious.
“It’s pretty early, Race. Especially since I know you’re hungover from last night.”
Race groaned at Jack’s mention of last night. Someone had thrown a banger and Race’s friend group had decided to abuse their alcohol supply. Well, Race had. He had needed to flood his brain with beer.
“He was up, so I’m up,” Race mumbled, flopping unwisely on Davey’s bed.
“Spot? You don’t have to get up just because Spot’s up, Race. You’re never going to sleep past six am for the rest of your life if you do that,” Jack joked.
Race just groaned louder, throwing his arms up and attempting to crush his head between his hands.
“That’s the point. That’s why I’m here. I want to get up every morning at six am with him.”
Jack and Davey exchanged amused glances before Davey walked towards Race, sitting next to his lamenting figure. He put his hand on Race’s shoulder and gave him a soft, almost motherly smile.
“Why don’t you tell him this?”
“And ruin a lifelong friendship? No way. That’s why I came to you. So you could tell me exactly what to say so that I don’t almost tell him when I’m drunk like I keep doing.”
His friends laughed but Race was not entertained. His clenched eyebrows shut them up pretty quickly.
“Well, I’d say you should just tell him how you feel-”
“Okay, Mom, I’ll definitely do that. Thank you,” Race sassed, sitting up much too quickly. He teetered for a second before standing surely and making his way to the door.
“Really, thanks for trying. I just gotta…do it. You’re right,” he said, worn. He gave the pair a smile before shutting the door behind him. He sighed on the other side. He just had to do it.
***
“Hey, Spot.”
“Oh, hey, Davey. What’s up?” Spot said mindlessly, smiling without looking up from his newspaper as Davey sat next to him.
“Not much. Just breakfast.” Davey put down his yogurt and sat with a sigh.
“Mmm.” Spot wasn’t really paying attention.
“Sleep well after Saturday’s party?” Davey asked casually, adjusting his glasses as he relaxed into his yogurt.
“Yup, you?”
“Yeah, yeah. Good.”
Spot closed the newspaper and turned to Davey.
“Can I ask you something?”
Davey stopped spooning yogurt and looked up at Spot.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Do you know what’s wrong with Race?”
“What? I-uh-no, I don’t,” Davey hoped his glasses hid the nervous shifting of his eyes as he forced them to stare back at his vanilla greek.
“Oh, okay. He’s just been off so I was worried,” Spot admitted.
“You’re a good friend, Spot,” Davey said simply.
“Can I tell you something?” Spot blurted, folding his paper carefully.
“Of course.”
“I think…” Spot took a deep breath, eyes closed and hands shaking. “I think I’m in love with him. Which is crazy. And I think he figured it out so now he’s acting funny. I asked him if he wanted to hang yesterday after he got back from your place, yeah? And he said no. No! And then he laid in bed instead.”
Davey’s spoon froze in his mouth. What a world.
“That’s odd. He seemed like he was in the mood to hang out with you yesterday.”
“He hates me now, that’s it.” Spot’s knuckles tightened and he looked ready to crumble the perfectly-folded newspaper in his hands.
“Um, no, I don’t think that’s it,” Davey stuttered, fervently wishing that Jack was there.
“It is. I have to back down forever.”
“Spot.”
“I’ll be okay, Dave, thanks,” Spot said shortly, making a move to get up.
Davey stood up quickly, dropping his spoon on the table and almost knocking his chair back.
“No, Spot. You’re his best friend, regardless of any other feelings. He deserves to know how his best friend feels about him,” he said quietly.
“Yeah, you’re right,” Spot breathed, running his hands through his hair. “Okay, I’ll give it a try. So that Race will feel better.”
“Awesome, Spot. See you later,” Davey smiled, giving his friend’s arm a friendly pat before letting him leave.
***
“Jack, you’ll never believe this.”
“Spot professed his undying love for Race?” Jack suggested casually, biting his pencil as he and his homework lounged on Davey’s bed.
Davey’s chin hit the floor and he made a slightly-offended noise.
“How’d you know?”
Jack shrugged, “The two have been in love for years. You’ve seen them watching a movie together. They always look like they’re about to kiss.”
Davey hummed as he sat in his desk chair.
“You’re right…what do we do?”
“Easy,” Jack said, sitting
up. “Invite them somewhere and then ditch them.”
“Perfect.”
***
“Davey and Jack should be here soon…” Race stammered nervously, refreshing his phone over and over to avoid looking up at Spot.
Spot sighed as he leaned back on his arms in the pizza parlor’s booth.
“Forget it. They’re screwing.”
Race hesitated before laughing falsely. Spot gave him a raised eyebrow in response.
“Jesus, Race. What’s up with you?”
“Nothing!” he shouted all too quickly.
“Yeah, right. You hate me all of the sudden,” Spot confessed, contracting against the table over folded arms.
Race’s eyes widened and he shook his head, “No, no. I do not hate you.”
“Then chillax and talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“I-uh,” Race searched for something to say, incredibly frustrated. “Fine, Spot. You win. Like you always do.”
Spot scoffed, “C’mon, Race. Don’t be like that.”
“Why, ‘cause it’s true? Because, no matter what, I can’t say no to you?”
“Well, you better start learning how if we’re going to be friends,” Spot challenged, chuckling.
“Yeah? Well, maybe I don’t want to be friends anymore.”
Spot’s face discolored and his smirk went limp.
“What?”
“Maybe…I don’t want to be your friend.”
“You don’t?”
Race took a breath and scratched at the table cloth.
“Yeah. Maybe…maybe I want to kiss you.”
Spot balked, trying to catch air or something to say.
“Forget it, Spot. I’ll just go-” Race stumbled, standing and beginning to pocket his keys.
Spot stood with him.
“Wait, Race, hold on.”
Race cocked his head and lowered his eyebrows, heavily annoyed with himself.
“What, Spot?”
“Why aren’t we making out right now?”
Race paused for the quickest of seconds before breathing out, “God, you’re hot,” and pulling Spot out the door.
In a nearby booth, two terribly disguised college boys lowered their menus and high-fived.
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“hey sorry but i kinda ran away from home so let me stay over tonight” sprace
and i thank you
summary: To Spot, safety is Race.
read on: archive of our own
*warning* mentions of physical abuse and homophobia.
“Spot.”
“Hey, Race, long story. Can I sleep here tonight?” Spot was standing in the doorway, eyes too busy thinking to properly meet Race’s. His face was blotched with wet streaks and Race noticed his blood was beginning to push against the skin near his eyes, swollen from tears. Hopefully.
“Yeah, yeah, of course. You know you’re welcome anytime,” Race’s words left his mouth without any thought. Spot needed him.
“I know.” He smiled a little, Race thought he saw, as Spot toed off his sneakers and began his walk up the stairs to Race’s bedroom, asking softly over his shoulder, “You coming?”
Race followed his boyfriend, running his hand down his face with a deep breath. They walked silently, well-versed in the art of traveling to Race’s room without waking up his family.
Shaking breaths clouded the bedroom as Spot gave Race a smile that told him not to ask about the blood. He climbed into Race’s bed, curling in the middle and giving one long breath out.
Race followed him in, curling around his shivering body.
“Spot, I’m going to ask.”
“Don’t.”
“Spot.”
Silence. Always a tough guy.
“Spot, what can I do for you?”
“You’re doing it.”
“Great. So you can tell me what’s going on.”
Spot sat up and glared at Race.
“Spot, I see you every day.”
“Lucky you.”
“Yes, lucky me. I’m very thankful.” Spot rolled his eyes, but flopped back down and snuggled into the nook under Race’s arm.
“Anyways. The bruises. What’s been happening?”
Mumbled sass echoed from inside of Race’s armpit: “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Your skin is always black and blue, babe.”
Silence. But Race persisted.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me now. But I care about you and I’m here for you. And I need to know that I’m not risking an early death by my parents for no reason if they found you sleeping in my bed.”
“My charming personality and hot body not reason enough?”
“Ha-ha. Obviously it’s your impeccable humor that gets me,” Race joked, smiling broadly into Spot’s hair.
Spot didn’t respond right away, instead taking a deep breath, steady this time.
“I ran away from home.”
“Forever?”
“This time, yeah.” He was quiet and small, yet could feel so very heard and impressive in Race’s encouragement. “I’m not going to let it all happen again.”
“That’s good. You don’t deserve it.” Race didn’t know what ‘it’ was. Not exactly.
“I know. You taught me that.” No lifted head, no eye contact. Confessions were usually made into bedsheets and warm skin.
“Was it worse tonight?”
“No, but I wanted to get out. I didn’t want to just crumble into a hole forever this time. I had places to go.”
“Places to go?”
“Here, I guess.” Race beamed and began to trace the familiar lines of Spot’s hair, weaving and twirling and there.
“So you left?”
“Ran right out. I thought he would follow me. Or she would beg for me to stay. I might have if she did.”
“You did what you had to do. You’re barely seventeen. She’s already made her choices.”
“Maybe.”
He had said all he needed to, pulling his shoulders to his ears and unraveling his arms from under him so that he could instead wrap them around Race’s torso.
“Can I stay here?”
Race smiled inside his lips as Spot asked please with a kiss to his ribs.
“Of course you can. Just come by tomorrow morning and ask my parents.”
Spot laughed, faintly but real.
“They love me.”
“You’re my best friend, why wouldn’t they?”
Race could feel Spot smiling slightly against him, twitching at intermittent bits of pain in his face.
“Because I’m in their half-naked son’s bed.”
Race turned onto his back, letting Spot reposition with his head on Race’s chest as Race stretched his arms up over his head. He smiled despite Spot’s truth. It had come out of Spot’s mouth.
“Good point.”
“You know me,” Spot retorted sleepily.
“Thank God.”
#tw: abuse#tw: physical abuse#tw: homophobia#sprace#fanfiction#newsies#newsies fanfiction#spot conlon#racetrack higgins
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Conversation
Spot: Given the choice of anyone in the world, who would you want as a dinner guest?
Jack: Honestly, I would choose Dave.
Spot: Aww. And I would choose a janitor, because I'm about to throw up.
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jack: [pulls back curtain while davey is in the shower]
jack: are we -stop screaming it's just me- are we out of cereal
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I’m drugged up on cough medicine and right now sounds like a great time to tell you how hot you are and pass out in your car.” "You passed out in my car because of strong medication and now I have to figure out how to get you home and avoid taking a picture of your cute sleeping face.” Sprace
floating
summary: Spot’s cold medicine caused him to unfold inside out. On the inside, he is soft smiles and stars.
read on: archive of our own
“In you go…easy, you’ve got it.”
Spot wobbled as he fell into the passenger seat of Race’s old Camry, slurring, “My hero.”
Race rolled his eyes as he shut the door after buckling Spot in. Spot had tried to scare his cold away by taking some cough medicine. A lot of cough medicine. Enough cough medicine that Race got a call to come and pick him up from the hospital. The nurses had all laughed at him when he ran in to find Spot, who had gasped when he saw Race, saying “This is him, guys! I told you he was beautiful.”
Race pulled open the driver’s door and laughed to himself as he buckled up (safety first) and started his car.
“Race?”
“Yeah, babe?” He quickly glanced over at Spot, grinning when he saw Spot slumped into his seat, chin pressed into his chest as he looked at Race fondly.
“I love you.”
“I know, Spot, I love you too.”
“No, like, really,” he whined, trying to sit up, unsuccessfully as he flopped and slid around the seat.
Race reached across the center console and grabbed Spot’s hand, bringing it to his lips.
“Oh, wow, Race, you’re so hot,” Spot breathed, giving up his efforts to sit up and falling back against his seat.
Race laughed, rubbing his thumb across the chapped skin of Spot’s hand.
Soon, their soaring apartment building came into view, ancient Brooklyn bricks hugging the warmth of home.
“Get ready, love, we’re home.”
Race squeezed into a spot against the sidewalk, letting go of Spot’s hand to slide his car into park.
“Okay, Spot, you rea- Spot?”
He was fast asleep on the seat.
“Oh gosh, you’re so cute,” Race murmured, brushing Spot’s hair off his face as he took his phone out of his pocket. “Man, you are going to kill me tomorrow.” But Race just laughed as he snapped a picture.
He uploaded his picture for all of Spot and his friends to enjoy before locking his phone and taking another look at Spot. He was peaceful, smiling slightly in his sedated sleep. This was a moment. Race reached over Spot to slowly recline his seat before stretching out his own. With a click of his car’s locks and one last look at the summer sky, Race fell asleep, laughter floating from his lips and hand tight around Spot’s. This was it.
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- I invited a bunch of people over to watch a horror movie and it’s kind of cute that you hide behind my back every time you hear creepy music Sprace
you scared?
summary: Spot Conlon was hard as rock and fearless. Yeah, right.
read on: archive of our own
“It’s my turn to pick!” Jack whined, throwing himself dramatically onto the couch, “I haven’t picked in forever.
“Settle down, cowboy. You can pick,” Davey comforted with an affectionate eyeroll.
“Awesome. Horror movie marathon. All of the Paranormal Activities.”
“C’mon, Jack. It’s March, not Halloween,” Spot scoffed, reposed over the couch with his legs draped over Race’s lap.
“Horror movies are good all year long, Spotty. What, you scared?” Jack sneered, pointing the clicker at Spot as the cursor hovered over ‘play.’
“No, don’t be ridiculous. Put the damn thing on.” Eyes were narrowed now. Spot Conlon would not be ridiculed.
“It’s really not a problem, there’s tons of good movies out there that aren’t scary-”
“Shut up, Davey. We’re watching Paranormal Activity,” Spot grumbled, folding into himself and leaning against Race for support.
Race looked at Davey with a raised eyebrow and they laughed. Jack and Spot were constantly trying to crack each other. They were usually successful.
The opening scene began and progressed, enthralling the four friends with its disturbing mystery.
The movie was about a third of the way through when Race realized that he was sitting on top of Spot.
Sometime during the movie, Spot had wormed his way under Race so that their bodies were parallel and he could hide his face in Race’s hair.
“Uh, Spot?” he whispered with an underlying laugh, careful not to offend Spot’s fragile ego.
“Mm?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just…you smell good.”
“O-okay…” Race had to try with diligent determination to keep it together.
The movie continued, with Jack’s critical commentary, before approaching the thrilling climax.
The main character suddenly released a terrifying scream and Spot flew into the air, displacing Race and creating a heaping mess of limbs.
“Jesus, Jack, you watch this stuff for fun?”
“Wimp,” teased Jack as he clicked off the tv when the credits came on, “Don’t worry, Spot. We can’t all be fearless heroes like me. We don’t have to watch the rest of the series,” he smiled brightly at the disgruntled Spot and grabbed his keys, phone, and Davey’s hand as they left Spot and Race’s apartment.
“Have a good night!” Davey shouted through the crack of the door as Jack brought it closed.
Spot grumbled as he crawled out from under Race and sighed his way to their room.
Race let him whine as he got ready for bed. When Race entered their room, drying his face with a washcloth,Spot was plopped face-first on top of the comforter. shoes on. Race laughed under his breath before discarding the towel on the floor and moving to untie Spot’s old sneakers. Spot groaned as he lifted his feet to help Race out.
“I wasn’t scared.”
“I know, big guy,” Race chuckled, tossing the shoes aside and tearing back the sheets so that Spot could actually get under. Spot obeyed their cozy call and curled under them. Race followed, facing Spot and running his nose against his boyfriend’s, giggling, “I think it’s pretty cute.”
“Cute?” Spot Conlon didn’t want Jack to think he was cute. But…he certainly didn’t mind if Race did.
“Definitely. I’m going to have to try to scare you more often.”
“You couldn’t scare me,” Spot scoffed confidently, rolling his eyes.
“We’ll see about that.”
***
“Spot, I think we should break up.”
Spot’s head whipped up from the book he was reading, eye inflated with alarm as he stared at Race on the couch next to him.
Race erupted with uncontrollable laughter, barely breathing out, “I scared you!”
“Oh, you little-”
A tickle fight ensued.
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You’ve been my neighbor for almost three years but every time you come home drunk you try to walk into my flat. It’s 2 am and i’m tired… Wait are you singing ‘love is an open door’ from that frozen movie? Sprace
with you
summary: Race always opened the door.
read on: archive of our own.
“Hellooo.”
Right on schedule.
Race heaved himself off of his bed, emptying out any hostility with a sigh. He heard a key wiggle uselessly in the lock, followed by a series of unending, frustrated knocks.
He was still knocking when Race finally made it to the door and gave it a tug.
“Hello, hot stuff,” Spot said.
“This isn’t your apartment.”
“I know, I was thinking the same thing. This isn’t your apartment!” Spot laughed, leaning against the doorframe and giving Race a grin. This happened every weekend. Race’s neighbor would show up on Race’s doormat, try to jam his key into the door, and then knock until Race answered. He always did. Then, Spot would pass out on the couch and be gone before Race woke up, the water and aspirin also gone from the coffee table. Sometimes Race saw him around the building, but Spot would only give him a nod and occasionally a smile if he accidentally made eye contact. Race knew some of Spot’s friends - they had definitely been to at least one party where the other was there - but Race only knew his name from the apartment’s list in the foyer.
“C’mon. Open my own door for me,” Spot snorted, goofy grin still intact.
“This is still my apartment,” Race sighed, but loosened his grip on the knob.
“But darling- love is an open door with you,” Spot said calmly, raising an eyebrow.
“Wait, what?”
“Those aren’t the next words. You repeat the ‘with you.’ It’s okay, we can try it again. Love is an open door with you,” Spot said again, singing slightly this time.
“Just come in,” Race groaned, stepping aside for Spot.
“See, love is an open door. I love you.”
Race just shook his head as shut the door while Spot flopped onto the couch.
“Goodnight!” Spot yelled into a throw pillow.
“Yeah, yeah.” Race dragged himself back to bed. He never could figure out why he let this go on.
***
The morning light refreshed Race’s face as it poured into his bedroom. A sunny Sunday. Just what he needed. He exhaled happily into his pillow as he turned over onto his other side.
That’s when he heard footsteps.
Right. Spot.
Race glanced towards the clock, surprised to see it was a little after nine. He had tried to catch Spot before but he was always gone before seven. This was new.
Race couldn’t pass up this opportunity so threw his oh-so-warm blankets aside and threw himself out the door and into the mainroom.
Spot froze in the middle of tying his shoes.
Race froze too, chest heaving as he realized he had finally done it.
“Gotcha.”
“Oh, man, I am so sorry.”
Race stuttered. He had no idea how to react to an apology for making yourself at home in a stranger’s apartment.
“Uh…it’s good?”
“No, seriously,” Spot said, abandoning his shoes and turning towards Race, Brooklyn accent less erratic than it was at night. “I have no idea why I always do this.”
“Hey, don’t worry. It makes me laugh.”
Spot ignored him, gripping his uneven hair, “And you let me! Like, what is that?”
“Umm…well, I mean…I sort of know you. You’re friends with Jack, aren’t you?”
Spot snorted, “Everyone is friends with Jack.”
The corner of Race’s mouth lifted naturally.
“Well, true. But you live next to me and you’ve slept in my apartment almost every week for three years-”
“Jesus.”
“-so I’d say we know each other pretty wall.”
“Oh God,” Spot groaned, head in hands.
“Hey, man, really. Don’t sweat it. I told you that it’s just funny by now. So believe me,” Race smiled, sitting comfortably next to Spot on the couch.
“Fine, fine,” Spot murmured. “Can I at least make it up to you? Pay you or something?”
“Nah, don’t worry about money. But you could let me make you breakfast.”
Spot stayed over more often.
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Text
Near
summary: you don’t need glasses to see how much Race and Spot love each other.
read on: archive of our own
Race knocked on the bare white door, playing the familiar song on its surface. He did this every day, smiling. He liked what came after.
“Hey, Race. It’s open.” There it is.
Race spun the knob and loped into Spot’s dorm.
“Hey, babe, what do you wanna- what the hell are those?”
“Mmm?”
“What are you wearing?”
Spot was lounging in his bed, still in his pajama pants, warming in the morning light.
He had a book in his hands that he was reading, to Race’s astonishment, through a pair of drugstore glasses.
“It’s nine in the morning. My pajamas?” Spot retorted, glasses still pointed at his book.
Race was gawking. He was slowly making his way to sit on the edge of Spot’s bed, eyes never leaving his boyfriend’s face as he studied the new addition. They were thin-framed, comically similar to those worn by John Green in his Crash Course videos, and reflecting the morning glow. Race hadn’t thought it was possible for him to see Spot in an even more radiant light.
“You’re wearing glasses.”
Spot’s head snapped up and his book snapped shut.
“My eyes suck.” He was itching to take them off, hide them away and hide his embarrassment along with them. But, Race knew, Spot Conlon refused to be humiliated.
“You don’t. You look hot.”
Spot smirked and cocked his head. “That right?”
“So right,” Race laughed, crawling up the bed to sit next to Spot, who gave him a rather lavish ‘hello’ kiss.
“So, scholar, what are you reading?” Race asked, leaning against Spot’s shoulder as he picked up Spot’s book off the comforter.
“Well, I was reading The Outsiders...again. But now I am hanging out with you.”
“What a gentleman.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“You’d do anything for me,” Race teased, still staring at Spot’s glasses in fascination.
“Don’t get too carried away.”
“Would you wear your glasses more often?” Race entreated, giving Spot a smile he couldn’t refuse.
“Only because I need them.”
Race laughed. Spot wore his glasses more often.
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