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Albert and Race’s friendship had always worked in a very specific way.
They insulted each other, Albert stole Race’s cigs, they roughhoused- and that’s just how it was. The grins they shared, the joking shoves and the inside jokes, the late nights spent talking and the looks they exchanged when someone else said something dumb were all evidence enough that they were friends without having to say it, and the banter was just all part of the fun.
But when the wrestling became more about pinning the other down than winning and cigarette stealing was becoming more and more frequently for Race’s attention, Albert began to realise that perhaps he wanted more than just that friendship- and he hated every second of it. He didn’t want to be gay surrounded in a lodging house full of other boys who would doubtlessly tease him- and there was no absolutely no way he would fall for his best friend, who probably wasn’t even gay. Not that he was.
Albert just occasionally felt himself blush and try his best not to look when a friend took his shirt off around them, or have dreams about cute boys kissing him (or more, which was always bad for his self hatred in the morning). A cute boy in particular. But that didn't mean he was gay, he was just imagining kissing his best friend, and that was- Ugh. Albert sighed in frustration at his blatant lack of heterosexuality and lay back on his bed. Okay, he was a little gay. Pretty gay. Really damn gay when he couldn't get the thought of running his hands through that blonde fucking hair and trailing kisses down his neck and collarbone and- Jesus Christ. It was pretty undeniable at this point.
But that didn't mean anyone had to know, and that was Albert’s solution. Secret gay. Gay only at night. Kind of like a superhero identity, he thought, but gay. Not that superheros couldn't be gay- though he couldn't name a gay one. Albert silently apologised to all gay superheros he might have offended. Who knows, he thought. Maybe the gay ones just happened to be the mind readers, and then he'd be really fucked. He could just keep his sexuality a secret from the other guys, and it'd be fine- nobody had to know.
When the other guys talked about girls, any of their recent dating adventures or ones they found pretty while selling, Albert just nodded along, occasionally throwing in a vague comment. The fact that he was never actually going out with girls was never mentioned, except for when the other guys teased him a bit- assuming that he just couldn’t get a girl. Though annoying, it was better than any other assumption they could make, so Albert played along, acting pissed and letting them tease him.
But one day when there was a big game of cards in the common room, Jack casually mentioned a guy who he’d been with a few days earlier. Albert looked up, freezing- but the other guys kept asking each other for cards, Race grinning that dumb grin of his he got when he knew he was winning as he told Finch to go fish. When it got to Albert’s turn, Race elbowed him after he didn’t do anything for three seconds, still looking at Jack. “What? You got a problem?”
Albert shook his head, coming back to reality. “Uh, nah. Crutchie, you got any threes?”
Race gave him a look, but he didn’t say anything until later that night.
When Al was lying in bed trying to get to sleep, Race climbed up the ladder to his bunk, sitting at the end of his bed. Albert sat up, raising an eyebrow.
“Race? I thought you said you wanted to sleep early-”
“Do you got a problem with gay people?” Race asked, then paused. “Or bi people or, y’know, whatever. You get what I’m asking.” Albert had to hold back a groan. Oh, god. This was gonna be real awkward no matter what direction he went.
“Uh, nah,” he shook his head, and Race looked skeptical.
“Then what was up when we were playin’ Go Fish?”
Albert shrugged. “I was just surprised at how Jack came out, that’s all.”
Raise raised an eyebrow. Albert shrugged again. Race shrugged back. “Alright, cool. ‘Cause I’m not straight.” Wait, what. Albert’s neck snapped up to look at Race, who was clearly watching for his reaction- and before he knew anything, he was talking.
“I- Me neither.” Fuck- those words, me neither, were the first vocal admission of his sexuality. If he was being honest, it was like a huge weight was taken off his chest, leaving his shoulders light, even when he’d barely intended to say them. And now he knew the other guys wouldn’t judge him for sure, and hell, his best friend wasn’t straight either- what was there to lose? “I’m gay. I wasn’t telling anyone, ‘cause I was worried ‘bout how everyone’d react. But then Jack said it so casually, ‘n no one even cared-”
“And that’s what surprised you?” Race laughed, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, Al. You don’t really think they’re a buncha homophobes. I mean, halfa them ain’t straight themselves.”
“What?” Al blinked. “Like who?”
“Oh, come on. You’ve seen Blink and Mush, haven’t you? They’re pretty much eye fuckin’ every time I see them, ‘cept sappier. It’s gross as fuck. And if Romeo’s straight, I’ll eat a whole packet a cigs. And- c’mon, look at the rest a them, man. Do you even got a gaydar?”
Albert shoved him, though had to admit he had a point. Now that he thought about everyone individually (or as couples for a fair few of them)... Yeah, a bunch of these guys weren’t straight. And more importantly, Race wasn’t straight. That put Albert on a whole other level of pining- because now it was actually a possibility that Race was feeling the same things. Rather than denying it because Race was straight, therefore anything between the was impossible, Albert now over thought every little interaction and constantly argued with himself if he was being hopeful or there was a chance. The things he felt when Race sat on the end of his bed and he scooted closer to Al, when they would stay up late talking until they could barely keep their eyes open, and Race had to hop down to his bunk. And Al thought, maybe he even got the urge to stay in Al’s bed, the same way he always had a little hope one night Race would fall asleep before going back down, if only because he wanted to sleep beside him, as gay as that was. The thoughts that plagued him with guilt before were now something that could even give him hope.
That night, after a few more hours of chatting, Race hesitated before climbing back down to his bunk. Albert noticed, and though he didn’t say anything, he fell asleep smiling and thinking about the moment of hesitation.
The next day wasn’t much better, when they were talking and Albert could almost swear Race had been leaning closer and closer until he all of a sudden he was at the top of the distribution line and waving to him, going off to sell in Sheepshead as usual. Or the day after, when he and Race had watched a movie in the common room together, and Race had put his head in Albert’s lap, and let him play with his hair and Albert swore he caught Race looking at him instead of the movie. Albert tried his best not to get his hopes up, considering that it barely felt like a few months ago that he was still violently denying his sexuality, and there was no way his first crush would like him back- but no matter what he did, it all came back to hoping Race was feeling the same butterflies.
A week of tense moments and almost-confessions later, he and Race were out on the fire escape one evening, talking and arguing over if the moon classified as an unidentified flying object (They both only agreed that the moon was, in fact, an object, but nothing past that). Rolling his eyes, Race took out a cigarette. “The moon ain’t flyin. It’s in orbit, dipshit.” As he was about to light the cig, Albert grabbed it, grinning and putting it in his mouth.
“Oi! Gimme that back, asshole.”
“Nah. Light me up,” Albert grinned, leaning forward and making Race roll his eyes again.
“You don’t even smoke ‘em,” and he grabbed for it, but Albert was faster, taking it out of his mouth and holding it above his head where Race couldn’t reach it. Race jumped and Albert moved back, laughing tauntingly- though he was soon shut up by Race pressing him against the wall, and kissing him hard.
Race was kissing him. Racetrack Higgins had his lips on his, and had him pressed up against a wall, and maybe his brain was having a bit of trouble functioning because holy shit. Albert was in so much shock at first he dropped the cigarette and his eyes went wide, an obvious blush spreading across his face. But just as he was about to lean into the kiss properly, Race pulled away, picking up the cigarette and grinning as he put it into his mouth. “I win,” he laughed.
“I swear to fucking God, you better get that outta your mouth.”
“Uh huh, why’s that?” Race teased, and Albert grabbed the cigarette again, but this time to throw it aside so that he could kiss him again, properly this time. Race didn’t even bother objecting to the cigarette stealing this time, instead his hands found themselves around Albert’s waist and Albert’s around Race’s neck, Albert pressed against the wall once again. The kissing was sweet at first but soon turned desperate and intense, because fuck, if he had known kissing Race would be like this he would have done it ages ago.
Albert pulled away, and Race leaned forward at first, clearly not ready to end the kiss yet, but Al gave him a rare serious look. Race raised an eyebrow, and Albert finally spoke. “Are you into me?”
Race laughed. “I'm making out with you, aren’t I?” Albert shoved him, and he rolled his eyes. “Alright, seriously? Yeah, I am. I thought you'd been implying you like me all past week, so I figured y’know, why not go for it?”
Albert grinned. Yeah, the only thing better than Race kissing him was him saying that he did in fact like him. “So, you wanna be together then?”
Race grinned. “Fuck yeah I do.” And Albert took that as an invitation to kiss him again, to which Race eagerly responded.
The cigarette was left on the fire escape that night, long forgotten.