them brooklyn boys⚡️sprace

AHSKSKSJSJSJSJHSJAJWK

"I don't know."
Race answered, his eyes were fixed on the ground.
"If someone screws someone else over it turn into something. Which could turn into something. Which could turn into Turf Wars."
Spot sighed, somewhere deep down he knew that what Race said was a possibility.
"Hey. Don't stress. No matter what, we got each other's backs. Right?"
"Uh..yeah."
Spot clapped Race on the back and tugged him off the bench. He was caught in his eyes for a second before coughing awkwardly.
"Hey. I have an idea."
"You do?"
Race asked sarcastically, a grin sneaking onto his face.
"Shut up Higgins. And, yeah. You meet me in the middle of Brooklyn Bridge tonight. 10:30. I'll show you something Ise like to do to calm my nerves."
"O-ok."
"See ya there."
Race watched as Spot walked off, he then realized that he was shaking. His whole body. Was it out of excitement or nervousness? Race couldn't tell.
-
"Jack."
Race burst through the door to find Jack sitting on a bed, alone. Nobody else was in the room.
"Jack?"
He looked up.
"Where is everyone?"
"Eating. In the otha room."
Jack switched glances around the room, like he was trying to look at anything but Race.
"Race Ise gotta tell youse somethin'."
He got up and went over so they could have a conversation without it being awkward.
"You gotta promise you won't tell."
"Anyone?"
"Anyone."
Race nodded, a motioned vaguely for Jack to continue. He hesitated for a second.
"Listen. This is going against all rules of..this century, but..."
Jack looked around one last time before spitting something out that Race could barely understand.
"Davey gots feelins' fo' me. And I has 'em for him too."
It took a few seconds before it finally dawned on Race that Jack wasn't speaking in terms of platonically.
"Oh. Okay."
"Okay? You gotta elaborate Racetrack."
"I mean, I'm fine with that. I mean, Spot Conlons kinda pretty. Don't press me though."
The two stood face to face for a few minutes of silence.
"What about Kath?"
"I..I don't know."
Race nodded. He would accept his friends no matter what, especially Jack. He practically raised him. It was the least he could do.
"Well since wese sharin' secrets, I'm goin' out tonight. Gonna meet Spot at the Brooklyn Bridge. He wants to show me somethin'."
Jacks eyes widened.
"Does youse think-?"
"What? No? I don't-that's. No."
Jack smiled at him, raising his eyebrows.
"Ok? Fine. What if I does? He don't like me. I ain't gettin' my hopes up."
"Whatever. I'll bet you a dolla somethin' happens though."
Race sighed.
"Deal. But nothing is gonna happen."
Jack shrugged.
"Fine. You'll see when I come back and talk about how nothin happened."
Said Race with a humph, as he started to exit the room.
"Hey race? Thanks."
"No problem."
He finished leaving and he went out the door. Hopefully this wouldn't be as awkward as he was expecting.
-
Race walked along the bridge, he couldn't see behind him and he couldn't see in front of him. Just the pitch black darkness and hazy glow of the street lamps in the distance. Race could tell when he was nearing the middle of the bridge because he could see the silhouette of Spot.
"Hi."
Spot spun around, apparently he hadn't realized Race was there.
"Hey."
"What am I being showed?"
"Yell."
Race tilted his head.
"Yell?"
Spot nodding, climbing up onto the bridge and balancing on the side. The freezing plunge to death was about 600 feet away, and all it took was a slip of the foot.
"Just yell. Out, down, above. Scream. I swear to god it helps."
Spot screamed in the direction of Manhattan, Race laughed, heaving himself up so he was standing next to him on the side. Race thought it was funny, it probably looked like they were about to commit suicide together from afar.
"3,2,1-"
Race yelled this time. He yelled abut his parents, and about having to sleep on the floor sometimes, and having secrets, and liking spot, and about so many other things that he'd wanted to just scream about for god knows how long.
Race turned around hopped off back onto the pavement.
"Okay now get down from there. You're scaring me."
"Aw? Am I? Sorry I'll just-"
He slipped. Race screamed ( again )  before he realized that Spot was dangling from the bridge, about to fall to a cold, icy death in the waters of Brooklyn.
"Help me Asshole!"
Spot barked, reaching the free hand up for Race to pull him up with, the other was gripped tight to the bridge. Race wiped his hands to make sure they weren't sweaty, and with all his might he grabbed Spot and yanked him over the side. The two collapsed next to each other on the road, both gasping for breath. Spot started to laugh, it was a silent chuckle at first and then full blown, wheezing hysterical, laughter.
"Why is ya laughing!? Youse just had a near death experience!"
Race tried to get him to stop but he just kept snickering.
Neither of them were thinking straight, that was for sure. So, because Spot knew that whatever happened on that night probably wouldn't be remembered and/or spoken about ever again, he rolled over and kissed Race. On the lips. They weren't drunk, at least Spot didn't think they were. So, anyway, when Race didn't pull away Spot was genuinely confused. The boy he had fallen head over heels for couldn't possibly have felt the same way, could he? But then he did pull away, and Spot freaked out and stood up.
"That's not-we can't."
Race nodded, getting up.
"I get it. We can just walk away and pretend this never happened."
"But..I don't wanna do that."
Race looked from the spot where his eyes were fixed on the ground.
"I don't either."
He started back to Manhattan, Spot followed behind him. Neither of them could brush off what just happened and never talk about it again.
"Did youse mean that? Or was that just..just a thing?"
Spot breathed out a silent laugh.
"It's 1899 Racer, do ya think Ise would kiss a boy if I didn't mean it?"
Race smiled to himself, fixing his eyes on the ground again.
"No."
—————————————-
Um. I suck at writing 800 words. Sweeet lord.