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“What are we?” Race asked one night while they were laying on the sloped roof of the of the old church.
Spot had found a way to open the small window at the back of the attic a while back and, though it was a difficult climb, the fresh air and twinkling sky were well worth the injuries that any fall would incur. They had intended on watching the meteor shower that was supposed to appear tonight, but it had been an exhausting week, leaving the boys desperately fighting off sleep as they waited for the spectacle to begin.
“What you mean?” Spot was laid back beside him, and Race rolled sideways to look at the other boy. The bastard wasn’t even trying to stay awake, his eyes closed as he let out a quiet yawn. He had his arms folded back underneath his head, shirt riding up to reveal the space between his belt and navel, and Race couldn’t help but stare at the freckles that appeared on the exposed skin. “we’s newsboys?”
“Not like that,” he corrected.
“Then what?”
Race gestured vaguely between them, unable to find the words for the question that had been plaguing his mind as of late. “Y’know, me ‘n you… us… Whatever we got going on here.”
“We’s friends” Spot said simply, not bothering to open his eyes.
It wasn’t quite the answer he was looking for... Albert was his friend, Skittery was his friend, Jack was his friend… but Spot? He was something else entirely. From the moment they met, Race knew it’d be different with Spot. They knew each others deepest secrets, the vulnerabilities they had learned to hide, they talked about their dreams for the future, and were there for each other when the reality of their bum odds set in... To call them friends would be an understatement, and if Race didn’t know any better, he’d be insulted.
“Friends don’t kiss, Spot” Race tried to keep his voice low. They wouldn’t be sighted by any passers-by while it was so dark out, but they didn’t need to be drawing any unnecessary attention to their position. “You’ve said you love me.”
“I do love you.” Spot reassured like it was nothing, finally opening his eyes as his face scrunched up with confusion. “wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.”
“Well then…”
Spot turned his head to look at Racetrack with a frown, “I don’t see what the big deal is, who cares about any of that anyways.”
“Well maybe I care,” Race snapped, frustration fueling the sharp tone in his voice. Spot rolled his eyes with a quiet scoff that would have been impossible to hear were they not lying so close. “I’m just saying there’s gotta be a better word for what we are than friends.”
Spot was being stubborn, Race thought, following some pointless social rule that Brooklyn made up to enforce their power hierarchy that he refused to let go of for even a moment.
There was a rumor—more like a general knowledge—that Brooklyn newsies didn’t have time for romance; Finch had told him once that boys regularly got soaked for having sweethearts. Race had always assumed that that was one of those before-Spot things—considering Finch hadn’t actually been to Brooklyn since the boy became king—and had probably changed over time through the new leadership. Thinking on it now, he couldn’t come up with a good enough reason why that would be the case. Maybe he thought Spot would be the type to not care about stuff like that and assumed that particular rule would have been long-since faded out.
Whatever he thought, it would seem that that was not the case, as Spots demeaner changed entirely.
“There’s lots of words for what we are, Racetrack. I don’t fancy letting myself be called any of them.” There was a venom in the harsh whisper, his hands coming down from behind his head as Spot coiled back like a snake ready to strike, and the shock of it took Race aback for a second before he noticed the glint of fear in the smaller boy’s eyes and realization hit; Spot was scared.
It wasn’t a look that Racetrack saw often. In fact, the only other time he remembered seeing anything close to it was a couple years back when a little had fell in at the docks and Spot had to jump in after him. The look was as foreign on his face as rage was on Race’s own, and any hint of anger within him dissipated at the sight. It broke his heart to see it now, while they were together in their safe space. It wasn’t right.
Race searched for the words—something, anything that could fix this—but his mind came up blank.
“I mean it, Race.” Spot continued in the silence, his voice now carefully even, “You know what happens to people like us? You think the refuge is bad, but you ain’t never even seen what they do when they thinks a fella’s a queer. We ain’t careful and they’ll send us up the creek, you understand that? We’s lucky to get these nights together as is.”
It was true. It was all true, and it was terrifying. Spot was still coiled, though the venom had dissipated leaving a frightened boy in its wake. They both knew there was no danger between them—it would be a cold day in hell before either of them betrayed the other—and it was so easy to forget that the world did not understand the kind of bond they shared.
Spot spoke in a near whisper, in a fragile voice that was meant only for Racetrack to hear, “We got a good thing going here, Race. Why d’you want to risk that?”
“We don’t gotta tell nobody,” Race half-heartedly protested, “we can keep it a secret like we’ve done everything else.”
“No.” Spot sighed, resignation washing over his features, “you give it a name then you’s liable to let it slip. Trust me, it ain’t safe Racer.”
He was right, Race knew he was right—he’d scream his declarations of love from the rooftops if he could—though that didn’t make it any easier. They stayed silent for a moment before Race dared to reach forward, slowly and surely until his hand was ghosting over Spot’s; not quite touching, but close enough to feel the sweat radiating from his skin. Oh how he wanted so badly to hold him close, to tell him that it would all be alright. But he knew better than to lay his hands on Spot when he was upset; this was as close as he dared to venture until the other boy made it clear he wanted more.
But Spot didn’t take his hand, instead turning away entirely and staring off into the darkness. Race sighed, looking back up to the sky. The lightshow had yet to begin, and he wondered if they’d come out here for nothing. That would certainly be the perfect end to this shitshow of a night.
It was a while before Spot spoke again, the words coming out bitter and hopeless, “We’s friends, Racetrack. That’s all we are. All we can ever be.”
“Friends who love each other…”
He had to strain his ears to hear the broken whisper that Spot gave, “Maybe… but no one can know”
“No one has to know but us.” Race reassured.
“No?” The venom was back, Spot hunching in on himself once more as he spun around to bring them face to face, his voice piercing the air between them, “I know you, Racetrack. You telling me you wouldn’t be happier not having to hide something like this?”
“Of course, I would!” Race threw his hands up, trying his best to keep his voice down. “Of course I’d be happier getting to love you in the open! I know what the world is like, Spotty, I ain’t stupid. I knew from day one we was never gonna get to be like normal folks. But I’ll take being with you over any of that every single time, okay? You’s worth the risk.”
“This ain’t no game, people die over this.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you’re not thinking it through,” Spot said, he was eerily still, so much so that Race was worried that he had actually pissed him off and was about to ruin everything. But then Spot continued, “it ain’t just about you and me either, we both got people that would be worse off without us. What would happen to Jacky-boy if you got shipped off, huh? What about Crutchie or Albert or that little loverboy you’s always talking about. Its not just you and me you gotta consider here.”
And Race hadn’t considered that, actually. He’d never really thought about how the things he did might affect those around him, none of the boys really ever did. It just wasn’t what was done in their profession—every man for himself and whatnot—because at the end of the day, who could you trust but yourself? But Spot had proven him wrong about that, so maybe he could be trusted about this as well. Maybe he was right in that there was more to be lost than just his life in all of this. He’d always been the smart one when it came to stuff like that.
The younger boy opened his mouth as if to speak again, probably to say something else that would drive his point home and end their argument once and for all, but Race interrupted before he got the chance.
“Shhh” he pointed upwards at the sky where faint streaks of light were finally beginning to appear. It was a beautiful sight, moreso than most else what New York had to offer, and for a moment their worries were lost as they took it all in.
“You’re right.” Race relented after a while, “I know how it is Spotty, you got a reputation to protect and kids that rely on you. I don’t expect ya to risk that all for the likes of me, okay? What we have here is good, and if this is all you can give than I’ll happily take just bein your friend. I meant it when I said I’m yours, no matter what.”
Spot was quiet for so long that Race thought he might be having a fit. He turned back to face Racetrack with a scrutinizing glare, his icy eyes melting as he let out a long sigh, a slight smile tugging on his lips, “you’s a sap, you know that?”
“Mmh, you love it.”
“Yeah. I do” and then he was throwing himself into Race’s arms.
Between the two of them, Spot had always been the more reserved one. He showed his affection in small ways: remembering Race’s favorite things, making sure he was well fed and taken care of, offering subtle affectionate touches whenever he could. But this? This was beyond anything Race had expected from Spot tonight.
It was like all the weight of the world had melted away and was replaced with the weight of the boy he held so dear. Spot smelled like sweat and seaweed, evidently due to the current heatwave they’d been suffering through driving the boys to the river to swim, but Race didn’t care about any of that and instead was perfectly happy just to be smothered by the overheating lump that was Spot Conlon.
“It ain’t right,” Spot mumbled into his neck, “ain’t what you deserve.”
“I don’t know, I think I’m getting a good deal outta this. I get a prime selling spot and the toughest guy in Brooklyn lookin out for me? Seems worth a little secrecy to me.”
Spot shoved him away with an amused huff, rolling onto his back once more and opening his arms to pull Race into his favorite place in the whole world: close against his chest.
“I knew this was all a ploy for you to take Sheepshead” he entertained, settling his arms around Race’s waist, “remind me again what I get out of this arrangement?”
“You get valuable information on Manhattan. I’m a reliable source you know.”
“Most of the time.”
Race gasped in mock offence, “you know I would never lie to you.”
“Not knowingly,” Spot corrected, “but I’ve heard you’s known for your bum tips on the ponies.”
“You lose one bet and its like you can never be trusted again.” Race huffed, allowing himself to sink into the embrace.
Spot laughed in response to that. Not one of his subdued laughs either, but a real laugh, one that was for Race’s ears alone. It echoed through him, lighting up his face in the most beautiful way, and Race relished being able to bear witness to such a sight.
Above them, stars shot through the sky in faint flashes of light. It was a nice enough view, all things considered, and had they been having any other conversation, it might have even been romantic.
“Best friends” Spot said after a while.
“What?”
“That’s what we are. That’s what I can give you.”
Best friends. It was a compromise, a heavy one at that. It was barely anything to hold onto, a step more than friends, but nothing that could be used against either of them in the long run. But Race saw it for what it was, a promise. Maybe one day they’d find a better word for their relationship. Maybe they’d have the luxury of arguing over terms of endearment without having to worry about the outcome, they’d be free to call each other what they pleased, and Race could tell the world just how much he was in love with Spot Conlon.
He heard once that a wish made on a shooting star was bound to come true. And so, as he held onto his best friend as if for dear life, Racetrack looked up to the sky and wished for the world to understand. He looked to Spot and wished people like them were allowed to love freely, that they didn’t have to hide and deny themselves happiness. He closed his eyes and wished for a long life with Spot by his side.