Race feels like he's seeing stars. He guesses it's something about the first time that does that.
Whether or not this is the first time he's truly appreciating his friend or the first time he's realizing he loves him are two very different things.
Thinking about this is simultaneously terrifying and spectacular, so he focuses on the terrifying and manages to push it into the back of his mind. For now. ( He hopes. )
They're sitting in a coffee shop below ground level, next to a row of high windows. Outside, walls stand encroached with ivy, with steps running up out onto the brick sidewalk above. Boston is busy at this time of day, and so is the shop. People bustle in and out of the doors, ordering and picking up coffees, chatting with friends, scrolling on laptops in the cozy booths. It's a chaotic and calming atmosphere. He and Spot always come here, to chat, to work on homework, to get a coffee.
He looks across the table at his friend, desperately keeping a straight face. Spot has been rambling for ten minutes, ranting with a slightly incredulous smile over this one bio professor that was giving him a hard time ( not that Spot wouldn't be giving him a hard time as well. )
It's strange, because Race is usually slightly chattier than Spot. They both talk a lot when they're together, but not today.
There was something ironic about the entire situation.
That's it. It's irony. Or something. Just... Just irony. Shit.
Race drinks his coffee meekly, trying to listen. Usually, it's easy to listen and respond. He doesn't mind listening to Spot talk. But right now, it's almost impossible to focus. What, with Spot's eyes literally glowing like stars in the light flooding through the window, and him running a hand through his light brown hair, and the tiny silver hoop he gave him on his birthday last year glinting every time he makes another wild gesture as he talks. This was special, too. Loud, talkative... smiling? Not the usual Spot. Otherwise, he was cynical. Sarcastic. Generally an ass. Though that didn't really matter when you really thought about it-
"Hey, Race?"
He jumps. Shit. Was I staring? I wasn't. Why would I be? That's stupid. I wouldn't be staring. Fuck. "Yeah?"
"I'm gonna get us two more coffees. Be back in five." Spot gets up, the buttons on his jacket flashing before Race is left alone.
Fuck. Race drags a hand down his face, trying to wipe away the daze. The face that I'm in a daze is fucking pathetic. I'm pathetic. What's going on?
He tries to think if this has happened before. He doesn't have to think very hard. Race's known Spot for a grand total of five years, since junior year in high school. They'd basically grown into "adulthood" together ( And there is was. The irony. When they'd first met, Race had mistaken him for a freshman. Spot had almost murdered him. Race doesn't regret a thing. )
He finds himself smiling. Then he stops. Wait. Fuck, Race, pull it together! He breathes in, and almost slams his head down onto the table.
Calming down, Race glances over at the line for coffee, seeing Spot almost immediately. He's got his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and his eyes are scanning the various quotes mounted on stylized wooden plaques lining the walls. There's a group of girls standing near him in the line, giggling and glancing over at him every once and a while ( and though Race can't deny the twinge he feels at that, ) Spot pays them to attention. There's no angry pout on his face, no arms crossed across his chest. He's content. And he's...
Race stares across the coffee shop and understands.
He gets up, striding across the paneled floor quickly. Nudging gently through a few people, he reaches Spot in seconds, grinning at the barista shyly before turning to his friend. ( His friend. Race doesn't know what to call him now. The panic is returning. This has to happen quickly. )
"Hey, Spot," Spot looks up, eyebrows drawing together in a question, but before he can open his mouth to speak, Race gives him the "I-desperately-need-to-talk-to-you" look. Spot closes his mouth, but he's trying to read him. "We actually have to go. Have a... Bus to catch. So sorry!" The barista just smiles at him. A moment of understanding passes between them, and Race thanks every hypothetical deity he can. Race then closes his fingers around Spot's forearm lightly and pulls him out of the line, leading him out of the shop.
As soon as the glass door shuts with a small jingle behind them, Spot tries asking questions. But Race keeps moving, running up the steps with Spot in tow. His grip slips down the the cuff of Spot's jacket, and Race can just feel his hand brush against his own as Spot stumbles up the brick stairway.
There's a small alcove in between the building the coffee shop thrives underneath and the bookstore next to it, and Race pulls Spot into it. There are fairy lights hung in between the windows of the two buildings that would stay shut off until the evening. The alleyway was short, but it wasn't dark, and it wasn't dirty.
But Race's head is spinning too fast to think about his surroundings. He turns to face Spot, who is now determined to ask questions.
"Race, what the hell is going o-"
The question is never finished with a pair of lips blocking it. Race had grabbed the collar of Spot's jacket, pulling him forward. Spot sucks in a breath, his eyes wide for a moment that seems to last millennia. Race's mind stops moving so fast, and for a second, he contemplates pulling away. Shit. SHI- But Spot tangles his fingers in Race's hair, closes his eyes, and Race is gone. They stay like that for a few seconds, the alcove an impossible whirlwind of quiet and incredible noise.
Then, Race pulls away slightly, finding himself still tangled in Spot's arms. His eyes widen, and Spot watches him quietly. "Shit. SHIT, I'm so sorry, Spot. I shouldn't have done that? The coffee shop was so loud and I couldn't focus on what you were saying and you looked really nice in the light from the window and i don't understand why I was feeling all these things today and I can't stop thinking about how it's possible I've felt this before and i didn't tell you this would happened and i should've asked you first or told you something because now I'm overthinking everything and I-"
Race finds himself being tugged in in the middle of a sentence, Spot's lips on his and his eyes wide open in shock for a few moments before closing. This kiss lasts only a few short seconds compared to the first, but Race is left starstruck. He opens his eyes slowly, staring at Spot.
"You overthink things. A lot. And talk. A lot," Spot's cheeks are flushed pink. "I needed to shut you up."
It takes Race a few seconds to respond this time. "Is shutting me up with kisses going to become a trend?"
"That's up to you. Are you going to keep talking?" There it is. The smirk. Race almost laughs aloud.
"Depends on how much you want to hear."
The fairy lights flick on.