them brooklyn boys⚡️sprace

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FU-

Race kicked on the door of the Brooklyn Lodging House. When there was no answer, he let himself in. He was like a hybrid newsie, practically sold there now too. He made his way down the hall and into Spots room, where he found the boy sitting on his bed.
"Oh. Hey."
Race nodded, walking over to sit next to him and pushing him over to make room.
"moms puttin' more pressure on me than she ever did when we'se actually lived togetha."
"Ya gonna go back?"
"Shit, Higgins. No. I-my boys-and..you."
"Me?"
"Damn, Antonio. Can't ya see that I'm head over heels for ya?"
"Well I mean you kissed me so-"
"No. I mean, I think I L-I don't know. Feelins' are scary."
Shit. Was Spot Conlon actually about to use the L word. The word that had been stripped to its worst by the Newsies? The word they could only use for a person of the opposite gender? Love. No, that was Race imagining things. Because nobody had ever loved him and nobody ever would love him.
"Do ya love me?"
"What?"
Race had just gotten himself into deep shit, maybe.
"Oh-I'm Sorry. I just-sorry. Wow I really know how to fuck things up."
He laughed nervously shooting up from the bed and fumbling over to the door.
"Yes."
"Spot, ya don't need to lie. I'se-I ain't thinkin' straight."
"And I ain't lyin. I love ya. Antonio Racetrack Higgins. I love your smile, and your hair, and how your eyes sparkle and how you can practically light up a situation by just being. And I love how you ain't afraid of me."
Race took his hand off the door knob, turning slowly.
"If ya tell anyone I went soft on ya youse dead Higgins. Hear? Dead."
"Love you too, Conlon."
The newspapers he was supposed to be selling were laying in a pile in the corner. They could wait, his boyfriends lips on the other hand, could not. Jack would kill him, especially since he'd practically begged to get back on the streets. Jack was currently not a problem, though.

Race was a split second away from getting in shit when he entered the lodging house. Mind you, his spree with Spot had lasted longer than he would've liked to admit, and to sell all papers and be home on time he had to do the thing he didn't have the best face for. Lie. He had to stand outside in the 40 degree weather and pretend to be ten years old and dying of hypothermia, just so he could get back to the lodging house without a hounding from Jack. Sure, he could've not sold all his papers, but he was on a streak. It had been 4 months since he'd sold less than 3 papes, which was pretty good considering his constant mood swings. Sometimes he wanted to sell all the papers, other times he didn't even wanna get out of bed. Either way, he was not loosing his winning streak on fault of his lovers face.
"Racer."
Jack blocked the doorway. Honestly, if Race has the current strength to push him out of the way he would. All he wanted to do was flop onto his bed. The boy twirled the cigar in his mouth, he was kind of aggravated and tired right now.
"I ain't late Jackie. Move."
"Just wanted to make sure you was okay. Got a couple kids sayin' you was slower than usual."
"M' fine. Can ya please let me through?"
Jack held up his hands, as to surrender. Race didn't wanna sound rude ( sometimes he did, but this situation was not one of them ) but his eyes were heavy and there was no more feeling in his feet. He needed to lay down.

The sun was exploding with pinks and reds and oranges that night, when Spot received news that did not match the current vibe outside had going on.
"Spot. Can I, uh talk to ya?"
Hotshot mumbled after the majority of them had ate. The shorter boy was going to try to get some rest bu5 a chat with his right hand man wouldn't do much harm.
"I saw ya."
"Saw me what?"
"Race and youse, saw it through the window for a second."
No exaggeration, Spot could feel his heart sink to his toes and leap back up into his throat. His mouth went dry and his hands his cold.
"What're ya talkin' about?"
"Don't shit me Spot. I saw it."
"Well what're ya gonna do? Who they gonna believe? You, or me, King Of Brooklyn?"
Spot said, pointing down the hall where the rest of the Newsies bunked.
"I ain't mad. I really don't care. But if someone else finds out youse in deep shit, Conlon."
Spot sighed, and somewhere deep down he knew Hotshot was right. He knew that if someone else found out he'd lose his position as leader and be tossed to his death. This wasn't about him, though. It was about Race. He could not endanger Racetracks life. He hadn't cared about someone more since he couldn't even remember, if Spot lost him he wouldn't be able to live with the guilt.
"I.."
Spots words came out hoarse and scratchy. He didn't know what to say.
"Whadda I do?"
"My advice? End it. I know youse gots real feelings for each other, considering the passion in the kissing that I'se saw, but this-youse endangering both ya lives."
He was wise. And though Spot didn't wanna admit it, correct.