Sprace one shots

Paper airplanes

Wow it's been a hot minute...
So this is a 1950s au cuz I want to.
Spot is a greaser and Hotshot is Latino,fight me
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The air became crisp as the night fell onto the diner. Summer had just begun for the teens of New York City and already it seemed to be flying by. Spot and his so called "gang" of Brooklyn boys had taken a walk to Jacobi's Diner to spend the evening dancing with girls and slurping down as many milkshakes and sodas they could afford.

Spot had been eyeing the blond boy in the striped tee all night instead of dancing or flirting like the rest of his friends and Hotshot was done. "Spot, I swear on my life if you don't talk to him, I will for you." Spot took another sip of his cola before responding," He's straight. All the boys in this damn city are."

" Technically, you don't know until you ask."
" I'm not doing this."
"Fine.", with a huff, Hotshot began to rise for his place at the counter until a hand grabbed his wrist. "Hotshot."
"Well you're clearly not going to go!"
Spot tugged Hotshot back down to his seat and continued sipping his milkshake. The latino rolled his eyes and rested his chin in his hands.

Spot was ready to let his little crush go, but then something happened.

A paper airplane hit the back of his head.

Spot turned to the booth to see the blond boys whole face flush as he hit the redhead across from on the shoulder while the rest of his friends snickered.

The short boy turned to pick up the napkin turned airplane. Hotshot was looking over his shoulder now while Spot stared at the airplane. He gazed down at it... debating on what to do.
He could see the maker leaking through ever so slightly and some grease stains. Spot stared for a long while, apparently too long because Hotshot was getting fed up for the second time that night.

    Snatching the letter from his leader, Hotshot quickly read the note and smiled. Spot grabbed it out of Hotshots hands, tearing the letter a little. The handwriting was a little sloppy but readable, he stared intensely at the note.

       My friend, the blond one.His name is Race by the way,thinks you're cute but he's a wuss. What do you think?

    Spot smiled. " Shot, gimme a pen." Spot made a grabby hand at the raven-haired boy, who in return, dug into his front pocket to take is blue pen out for the shorter one of them.
   
    Spot scribbled harshly onto the already torn and fragile napkin. Not bothering to refold the plane,Spot simply folded the napkin square and decided to hand deliver it.
  
     His feet hit the floor and the whole world seemed to go in slow motion. He was waking to the booth and the blond boy,Race, whose full face flush was now down to a slight blush across his note and cheeks,looked at him. Straight in the eyes. Blue eyes met brown as Spot set the note in front of the curly haired boy with a wink. He turned and made his way back to his "gang" who was now crowded around Hotshot, listening intensely to what had happened.

      Meanwhile, Race opened the note with a small grin, reading quickly while his friends stared. He simply grinned a bit wider at them as he set the note gently back on the greasy diner table.
    I think he's quite cute. See you Saturday, same place, same time. Consider it a date.
   -Spot
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My writers block hasn't quite gone away so feel free to leave requests in the comments and I'll try to do them as fast as I can. I'll tag you as well.
I hope you enjoyed :)