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It was midday when the clouds rolled in.
Race scowled at the sky, his hopes of making it to Sheepshead dashed as fat droplets fell from the sky. Taking shelter under a nearby canopy, Race watched with sagging shoulders as the rain endlessly poured down. He’d be lucky to leave Brooklyn without every inch of him soaked.
Running through his options, Race thumbed through the last of his newspapers. He’d only be losing a few pennies if he used them as cover for the rain. He’d done well on his last round of bets and figured it wasn’t the worst that could happen.
Holding the papers over his head, Race’s first step was hesitant as he could barely see through the sheet of rain. A flash of lightning made him jump and the newspapers were becoming a scrunched mess in his hand.
“You just gonna stand there all day or what?”
Whipping his head towards the voice, Race let out a sharp laugh when he saw Spot standing in the rain, protected by a large umbrella. It almost seemed to engulf him and Race would be lying if he didn’t find it inviting.
“Where’d you nick that from?” Race grinned at Spot as the Brooklyn newsie came over to him.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Spot shot back, then holding out the umbrella a little bit and motioning to Race. “Come on back to our lodging house. Rain’s not gonna let up any time soon.”
Again, Race took a moment to think things over. At least, that’s what he tried to do. His heart was tugging him all the way towards Spot and with a final sigh, Race joined him under the umbrella. While the wide brim covered them both well enough, Race found himself pressed to Spot’s side as they made their way through the sopping streets.
Edging out of the way of carriages, Race didn’t miss how Spot grabbed onto his arm to keep in close, but he made no move to free himself from the grip. With Spot’s stern look on the path, Race didn’t dare question it either.
At last, the lodging house was in sight and Race could only stare down at the hand that remained on his arm. Pushing Race inside first, Spot stayed out for a moment to shake off the umbrella, then propping it up against the first wall he came across.
“You’re just gonna leave it?” Race raised an eyebrow. If Spot trusted his newsies that much, Manhattan had some things to work out.
Spot shrugged, heading towards the commons area and sitting down at one of the tables. The room was quiet with boys reading the paper or caught up in their whispered conversations. A few waved to Race but otherwise, his presence went unnoticed.
Grateful to be out of the rain, Race sat next to Spot, following his gaze out the window as thunder shook the room.
“Manhattan’s going to be swimming with the fishes at this rate,” Race attempted at a light joke, biting on his lip when the corners of Spot’s mouth turned up.
“Hope you’re a good swimmer,” Spot winked, then turning his attention to a young newsie who had snuck up behind him.
Race could feel the blush creeping up his neck and he distracted himself by searching his pockets for a spare cigar. As he did so, he couldn’t help watch Spot and the younger newsie. Both oblivious to the storm outside, Spot guided the boy through his stumbled reading, a rare patience Race had seen only once before. Giving up on his search for the cigar, Race pretended to stare out the window, but his attention was solely on Spot tutoring the boy.
When the boy could finally read the paragraph without a mistake, Spot sent him on his way with a reassuring clap on the back. Turning to look down at the table, there seemed to be a tinge of pink on Spot’s face, but Race wasn’t sure.
“You’re a good teacher,” Race nodded towards the boy, expecting a cold Spot in return.
“Thanks, I try,” Spot mumbled out as his hand ran down his face. “Some of them, I wish I could do more for, you know?”
Race blinked, unsure of how to approach. Spot never opened up when there were others around. He looked tired, calm, the exterior broken for a brief moment when thunder pulled both of them from their trance.
“You’re doing the best you can. I think that’s all they could ask for,” Race spoke under his breath, praying Spot caught every word.
He eyed the room nervously, but no one seemed to look in his direction or laugh at him, so he figured it had slipped under them.
Spot stood up then and Race’s stomach flipped. He couldn’t tell if Spot was angry until he saw the Brooklyn newsie motion to the stairs, his hand grazing along Race’s as he passed by. Swallowing, Race followed behind Spot as they went up, up, until they reached a small hallway with a window at the end.
“Thanks, Race. Means a lot, hearing that from you,” Spot’s voice was low, his arms crossed as he stood in front of Race.
Race shook his head, scratching the back of his neck. “Glad to hear. Why you speaking so quietly though?”
With a smirk, Spot uncrossed his arms and took Race’s face in his hands. There was a moment, Race melting into the touch before Spot’s lips touched his own. Sighing, Race reached out and grabbed hold of Spot’s shirt. The two stayed that way for longer than planned, their kiss breaking into a variety of small pecks and drawn-out breaths.
Race’s hands uncurled and he laid them flat on Spot’s chest, his fingers toying with the fabric.
“You’re a sap,” he grinned, turning into the thumb that caressed his cheek.
“Just for you, pretty boy,” Spot returned the cheshire look. “Maybe someday I’ll be able to do more than just touch your arm in the streets.”
Race made a noise of agreement, wishing they could show the world. He cared for Spot dearly and he knew Spot felt the same. They had to stay safe, but when it was just the two of them in an empty hallway, Race couldn’t help but wonder if their wishes were so impossible after all.
Glancing out the window, Race could see the sun start to poke through the clouds and he bit the inside of his cheek. His papers were forgotten, but the day was still young.
“All right, go on to Sheepshead,” Spot rolled his eyes, guessing Race’s plans.
“Why don’t you come with me?” Race asked, his heart leaping in his chest.
Time ticked by slowly, Spot’s stare a little nerve wracking before Spot shook his head with a grin.
“You and your face. Convincing me to do everything.” He kissed Race’s cheek before leading them back down to the first floor.
With Race following excitedly behind, he crashed into Spot when the boy stopped just before the front door, giving a sheepish grin as he backed away. With a pointed look, Spot snatched the umbrella he had propped up earlier and tapped Race on the head with the handle before the two of them headed out the door.
Out in the streets, Race couldn’t help jump into his excitement of Sheepshead and talking Spot’s head off. He could see the hint of a smile on Spot’s face as he jabbered on, his hand brushing against Spot’s every so often.
What they had was theirs and Race knew he never wanted to be anywhere else.