Chapter Text
The headline was simple. Fight breaks out in Brooklyn. Spot knew that wasn't rare, but it caught his eye, considering the fact that the third person had, most likely, been in a fight. It was a bit of a stretch that it was that fight, but there was also no saying it wasn't.
He sipped his coffee, having brought it back to bed, brow furrowed in thought, glad that it was the weekend, which was the time of the week when Race slept like the dead and was unlikely to wake up until at least noon.
At first, that had annoyed him, but now he was used to it, and even found it adorable. Race clinged to him, chasing warmth. He pressed a gentle kiss to Race's cheek, which earned him a soft sigh, as Race curled up to him, laying more on him than by him.
Spot set his coffee down, moved one hand to Race's curls, briefly, before reading the article. Too much added up, but they still didn't know enough to find out who the third person was.
Spot sighed, a quiet sigh, because he had left it behind, but still, it was his best bet of finding out what he wanted to know, even though he hadn't talked to Hotshot for months. Not since meeting Race. There was a moment of silence, time standing still, until the screen lit up.
York. Of course it had been York. He should've figured that out on his own, but at least it was a lead. It was something, a straw to grasp at, and straws was all they had.
Race was still fast asleep, and Spot really wanted to wake him, but that would, no doubt, result in a grumpy Race, which wasn't Spot's favorite thing. Better to just let him wake up on his own.
About thirty minutes later, Race did wake up, stretched, yawning.
"Good morning." Spot whispered, trying his best to sign it, even though he definitely wasn't the best at it, he still made the effort to try.
Race on the other hand, signed Good morning effortlessly, if only because he had been doing it for most of his life.
Race put his hearing aids in, closed his eyes as he had, taking a few seconds to get used to it, before he opened his eyes, looking right at Spot.
"You find anything?" He asked, leaned his head on Spot's shoulder.
"Maybe. Hotshot said York was involved, and then our mystery guy should consider himself lucky." Spot's tone was casual, like he was discussing the weather instead of the second soulmate they apperantly had.
"We don't know if it's a guy." Race pointed out, curling up to Spot.
"Oh we do. York refuses to start fights with girls after one kicked his ass. Plus, you're gay, I'm gay. I doubt the universe wants us to go straight all of a sudden."
Race laughed at the comment, which made Spot smile. God, he was ridiculously in love with Race. That laugh, the way his eyes lit up with it every time he laughed, it was something else. How he laughed like Spot was the funniest person in the world.
"Dork." Spot muttered, affectionately.
"You love me, Grumpy." Race retorted, teasing as ever. "Anyway, we gotta find this York guy."
The thing Race didn't know about York was that you didn't find York, York found you, if he wanted to be found at all, which he usually didn't.
"Guess we do. You sure you don't wanna get breakfast first?" Race shook his head.
"No. We get something on the go. You know the bruise is fading and without it, we're never finding the guy."
He had a point, Spot supposed, reluctantly getting out of bed, dressing, grabbing, without thinking, the old red and black striped shirt, that once had been like a uniform to him.