them brooklyn boys⚡️sprace

...

3 days passed. Slowly. Spot barely let Race out of his sight, until he was forced to go work him. He was up and walking within a day and a half, plus a limp. Hotshot called him Crutchie a couple times, claiming it was an accident. Spot had also gotten fairly overprotective. If anyone mentioned Race in a way that wasn't talking about how he was a perfect ray of sunshine, he'd tell them to shut it.
"Ise can go back to 'Hattan today."
Race said, shaking Spot awake.
"No. You stay here."
The other boy whined, shouldering him off.
"Spot."
"I want you to stay here."
Race felt a shock if electricity, like, confirmation that Spot actually liked him. That this wasn't some cruel joke. His face melted to a smile as he laid back down.
"Ise leavin' at 12."
"Fine."
Spot mumbled, with a vague sly smile, knowing he'd just won the argument.
-
12 came around before Spot would've liked. Nobody questioned the fact that neither of them had come out of the room since around 9pm the night before. They were both to tough for that. It's not like they melted into each others arms and didn't separate their lips for hours as soon as the door was closed. Nope. Race had to practically drag Spot out of the double bed they had been sharing.
"Cmon!"
"Nooo. I wanna stay. Here. With you."
Race was flustered, to say the least. The last time he'd been shown this much affection was before his mother died. Before he was a Newsie. Before his name was Racetrack. Before he wasn't normal. When he was Antonio Higgins, who lived in the large house on Maple Street with his mother and farther and baby sister. But then his mother died, his father got laid off and started to drink, his sister couldn't survive without food, and everything went to shit from there. Plus, soft Spot was rare. His expression barely changed in public.
"Spot."
Race whined, continuing to tug on the other boys arm.
"Jack'll kill ya. I..don't want that."
He let go of Spots arm and sat back down on the bed, grabbing Spots face in his hands.
"Put on ya tough boy face. We'se been togetha' for 4 days. Almost a week."
Race mumbled connecting their lips.
"Ya really know how to convince me Racetrack."
" 'S my charm!"
He grinned, finally tugging Spot off the bed.
"Get dressed. We'se got a long walk."
Race stated, tugging off his shirt and throwing a new one on.
Spot did the same and the two snuck out of the lodging house, not that anyone was still there. The walked seem longer than usual, probably due to Race's temporarily gimp leg. Normally, Jack would kill him twice if he slept in this late.
"Conlon."
Jack hissed, as the two boys arrived at the Manhattan Lodging House.
"Ya said youse would 'ave 'Im ovah here by 9! 'S almost 3:30!"
"Yeah, yeah. We got caught up in stuff. No big deal."
Spot whipped is head around  before kissing Race quickly.
"Bye Racer."
Race held up his hand, he didn't necessarily want him to go.
"Bye.."
Jack grabbed Race by the arm and dragged him into the lodging house, after a minute of watching Spot run away.
"The guys in the black coats, we got a lead."
"Since when is we a detective agency?"
"We ain't."
Jack said, entering the room that most of the boys shared.
"Racer! Where've youse been?"
"Brooklyn."
Race mumbled, glancing around the room.
"Jesus. What the hell 'appened to ya?"
"Brooklyn."
Race said again.
"That Spot Conlon, he ain't got no right to be treatin' people like this."
Races eyes widened, at the realization that they'd misunderstood.
"What?! No. Spot-he...saved me. Weren't for him and Hotshot I wouldn't be livin'!"
"Yeah, right. Spot Conlon let ya stay in the Brooklyn lodging house for three days. Fed ya. Kept ya warm. Sounds real to me."
"Race ain't lyin'. I went to see em."
Jack said, pushing his way through the crowd around him and and the other boy. Race smiled to himself. Spot Conlon really had lost almost 3 days of selling for him. Him. Boring old Racetrack Higgins had his very own person who was willing to lose almost a week of money for him. And that, he thought, was pretty damn special.
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