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Shoveling a handful of chips into his mouth, Race sighed. Another Friday at home, getting lost in whatever bullshit reality show was on TV. This week was Big Brother week, apparently; the channel had been re-airing the show’s best seasons— if such a thing existed for the competition program.
Race was hanging halfway off his futon in his bedroom. Rows of dangling lights and paper chains decorated the space, overlapping posters and impromptu murals filling up the wall so the room had a cozy, claustrophobically full feeling. Usually, anyway. This was his safe haven, one of his favorite places, but tonight, it felt drab and gray and cold. Race was bored.
The blond picked up his phone from his chest to see that he still didn’t have any notifications. He checked his ringer, which was still switched on, and he checked his Do Not Disturb settings, which were still turned off. He huffed again and set his phone back down.
He wasn’t really expecting any texts tonight. Jack was out with Dave, some special date planned for their monthiversary. Albert was out of town with his family for a distant cousin’s wedding. Finch and Elmer were cramming for the SAT, which they were taking the following weekend. Spot was… well, Race didn’t really know. Point was, his broody boyfriend wasn’t with him, probably off studying or doing something productive and boring.
Still, with everyone gone or pre-occupied, Racer couldn’t help but feel like he was missing out and wasting away. He was itching to go and run and do. A surprise call would’ve been nice right about now.
The annoying Broadway guy of the season lifted his leg on screen again, chattering about some alliance he had with another competitor. As Race considered how the guy vaguely looked like someone he used to know, a harsh clack sounded from his window.
Barely looking up, he shook his head. Freakin’ birds never watch where they’re going. But then another clack, then another, then a louder crack came from the glass.
Okay, so probably not a bird.
Racer sat up and craned his neck to look out the window behind his futon, but nothing looked out of place. Setting the chips down, Race crawled to his knees and peeked out, looking further down the roof to his backyard. Just as he did, a piece of gravel shot out of the dark and into the glass, startling Race with a shout off his couch and on to the floor.
He scrambled up and threw the window open in time to see Spot chuckling from his place in the center of the yard, a handful of rocks in his palm. The boy had his signature red hoodie and jeans on, his strings uneven and his pants baggie. His wavy hair was tousled and his sneakers were scuffed up and Racer felt his stomach tighten into a knot.
“Howzit?” Spot asked with a smirk, lobbing another rock to land on the windowsill, narrowly missing Race’s head.
“Better, now,” Race grinned. “Whatchu doin’ here?”
“Kidnappin’ ya, I hope,” Spot replied, shoving the extra rocks in his jean pocket. “You comin’, or ‘m I gonna have to climb up and steal ya the hard way?”
“Gimme a sec,” Race promised, pulling his shoulders back into his room. He patted his pockets before searching around his desk for his wallet and keys. He pulled on a scratchy blue sweater, rolling up the cuffs of his jeans and sliding on his sneakers. Doing one last onceover of the room, he turned up the TV’s volume a couple clicks before crawling out of the window and carefully closing it behind him. He picked his way over to the side of the house, where windows were scarce and the central AC units rattled loudly.
“Ready for me?” he asked, ducking to a seat and dangling his feet over the edge of the roof.
“Always, pretty boy.”
With a bit lip, Racer dropped down, his landing softened by the older boy’s hands catching him under his shoulders.
Spot leaned up and captured Race in a kiss, candid and soft. They fell into a quick embrace, Race running his hands up Spot’s scalp.
“’Bout time you rescued me,” Racer mumbled into Spot’s hair.
Spot pulled back and looked up at Race, threading their fingers. “So sorry, sweet’eart. Didn’t mean ta keep ya waitin’.”
They snuck their way around the side of the house and down the street a couple doors. Spot’s beat up Corolla was parked on the curb up the street, lit up by a yellowing streetlamp.
“’s fine, I was only dying of boredom,” Race whined. Spot chuckled low in his chest and kissed Race’s knuckles.
Now at the car, they split up to get in. Race fell into the passenger seat, immediately clicking through the radio and plugging his phone into the auxiliary cord. After setting the music— their shared playlist, curated painstakingly over the last few months— Race leaned over the center console and kissed Spot again.
“So, where we headed?” he asked. His fingers drummed on the empty to-go cup in the holder.
Spot started the drive out of Race’s winding neighborhood, humming to the music. “Was thinkin’ we’d hit a drive thru, then I wanted to show you a spot.”
Race nodded, already building an order in his head. “The Bell, huh?”
“Where else?” Spot chuffed, his hand dragging up to sit on Race’s thigh.
The two fell into easy banter, pausing to sing along to a chorus every so often. They drove through their shitty town, the thin roads repetitive and familiar.
Race looked over the dashboard as they jolted along, miscellaneous sun-bleached snapshots of their lives crudely taped across the panel. There was a photo strip from the booth at the mall, taken during Racer’s lunch break at the smoothie place. Next to it sat a polaroid of Race in Spot’s lap, a souvenir from Jack’s bougie vintage birthday party. Hanging sideways next to the AC vent was the letter Race wrote to Spot when he was away for the holidays last December, in which he swore he’d never do another Christmas without his favorite Grinch. Other keepsakes from their escapades littered the dash, layered and eclectic, and the view always made Race’s blood sing.
The wind was warm as it curled in soft gusts from the open windows. The blond’s curls fluttered in the breeze, just long enough to brush over his eyebrows. He kept catching Spot’s eyes on him, sneaking glances across the cab and, at one point, nearly missing their turn.
“Jesus, you gonna keep us on the road or what?” Race teased, smacking Spot’s bicep before scratching his fingers up and down the boy’s forearm. “Whatchu lookin’ at, anyway?”
“Just my pretty boyfriend.” Spot’s drawl was punctuated by his sideways smirk, his round eyes meeting Racer’s for a long blink before turning back to the road. A burning heat coiled in Race’s core at the look, and he wondered which dimly-lit parking lot they passed would be the least conspicuous for a quick handsy little pit stop.
Before he could make up his mind, they pulled up to their evening’s dining. As they rolled around to the order window, Spot said, “Y’know, I think Hot’s workin’ t’night.”
As if on cue, Hotshot’s wiry voice rang through the speaker, welcoming them to order when they’re ready.
Spot went to speak but was unceremoniously silenced by Race, who threw a palm over his mouth.
“I got this,” Race whispered emphatically.
Spot knitted his brows. After a moment of contemplation, he huffed a defeated sigh as he leaned back and away from Race’s hand, the pinch still in his brow but a smile now on his lips.
“Yeah, hi, um,” Race started, swallowing his laughter as he clumsily strained to lean over Spot’s seat. “Can you tell me… do the cinnamon twists have nuts?”
“Uhh, no. No nuts,” Hotshot replied briskly, dry and confused.
“Could I get them added?” Racer asked, trying desperately to sound naively sincere. This was a performance of a lifetime he was trying to pull off, after all.
“We don’t have those.” Hotshot sounded exasperated, and Racer could picture the crease in their forehead. “So do you still want the cinnamon twists without nuts?”
“Damn, really? That’s just too bad. I just… love me some nuts,” Race barely got the joke out, wheezing a laugh as Spot groaned and shoved him back into his seat.
There was an audible sigh through the speaker. “Real funny, guy. Look, I don’t get paid enough—”
“Hot, it’s us,” Spot laughed.
There was a pause before, “Fuckin’— I knew that was Racetrack!”
“Yeah, you know how ‘e is,” Spot turned to Race then, making eye contact but still talking to the speaker. “He just… ‘e just really loves nuts.”
Race’s chest heaved and tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t help it, really. He just thought he was maybe the funniest person alive at the moment, and he adored that his boyfriend decided to play along this time.
“We’ll take the usual,” Spot said over Hotshot’s gagging groan. He moved to pull the car up before the speaker could get in a proper response.
At the first window, Hotshot was still tapping in the order as they shook their head. “You just think you’re so funny, huh?” Their brow was creased exactly how Race pictured it.
“Well, yeah!” Race squished himself next to Spot to peek his head out to their friend. “I’m fuckin’ hilarious!”
Spot handed over his debit card, shrugging in conceded approval. “I mean, it was pretty good.”
Hotshot only huffed, putting the payment through and shoving the card and receipt back to them. “It was delinquent—”
“Now that’s a five-dollar word! Didn’t know ya had it in you,” Racer teased, earning an eye roll from the worker.
“See ya, Spot,” Hotshot hissed pointedly as they flipped off Race.
“Good luck with the rest of your shift, kid,” Spot saluted.
The car moved up to the next window. Spot quickly grabbed the drinks and bags from the poor new girl, who looked frazzled and wouldn’t make eye contact with them. Her headset matched Hotshot’s, and Race felt his cheeks warm a little at that— if he’d known Hot wasn’t the only one listening to his routine, he maybe wouldn’t have acted the ass so much. Maybe.
Settling in their seats with the precious cargo, Spot turned out of the parking lot and drove down the highway. Race reached in one of the food bags and grabbed a chip, handing it over for Spot to wordlessly take in his teeth. He mumbled a thanks as he chewed, his hand finding its place on Race’s lap again.
All was right in the world.
The main highway through town opened up as they turned away from Main Street toward the suburbs. Perfect homes with vinyl siding and rot iron sconces, rolling neighborhoods of pristinely manicured yards that made Race itch, zipped by in a blur.
“If ya ever catch me buyin’ a house in a neighborhood like one a these, I expect ya to shoot the clone that took my place,” Race sighed out, watching as dozens of the same façade blinked back at him.
“Duly noted,” Spot chuckled back.
“We’s buyin’ something in the city,” Race went on. “Or rentin’. ‘m not picky like that. We just can’t stay here forever. I won’t stay in this shithole town for the rest of our lives, you know?”
Spot was quiet for a moment, his thumb rubbing a circle on Race’s pant leg.
“We’s goin’ somewhere bigger,” Race decided.
“Yeah,” Spot agreed, quiet but sure. “We are.”
Racer nodded and turned back out to his window. Past the monotonous dollhouses, near the eastern edge of town, streetlamps grew farther apart and traffic lights were exchanged for stop and yield signs.
As the roads wound around, dark and woodsy, Race began to find less familiarity with the area. “So you weren’t kiddin’ about kidnappin’ me, were ya?”
Spot turned to smile at Race briefly, his hand gripping Racer’s thigh a little tighter. “Scared, baby?”
“Not really,” Race shrugged. “I figure any’un stupid enough to abduct me‘ll realize how mouthy I am and return me soon enough.”
That knocked a hearty laugh out of Spot, who moved his hand to pull Race’s head over to kiss into his hair. “God, I love you, you know that?”
A wave crashed under Race’s ribs, a hot blush blooming across his chest. “Love you, too, Spotty.”
Race curled his legs under himself and wrapped his hand with Spot’s. “But seriously, how much longer?”
“Another mile er two. Not long.” Spot kissed at Race’s knuckles again before gently placing his hand down so his hands were free to turn down a dirt road. The little sedan’s bald tires tried their best not to squeal along the uneven path, and Spot’s turning on the brights did little to actually add to their visibility.
Soon, the car slowed to a stop in the middle of an empty field, tall grasses and plants radiating out in all directions a few dozen yards from the car’s parking spot. “Here we are,” Spot said, unbuckling his seat belt and turning the keys, shutting off the engine but leaving the stereo playing softly.
Race leaned his head out the window and looked out to the valley of unkempt weeds and wildflowers. “Spotty, where is ‘here’ exactly?”
Spot only chuckled, grabbing the drinks from the cupholders. “You’ll see. C’mon, ’s almost time.”
Still confused but always along for the ride, Race unbuckled, grabbed the food bags, and rolled out of his seat.
Spot was already sitting up on the hood of the car, his hoodie shed and laying over what would be Race’s seat. His t-shirt was tight across his sturdy torso, and the sleeves did sinful things to his large biceps. He smoothed out the fabric of his sweater and patted it lightly.
“A throne fer my prince,” Spot announced, his voice nasally as he put on an awful accent.
“Oh, why fank you, my good sire,” Race responded, accent equally terrible. He hopped up on the hood, settling on to Spot’s hoodie. They divvied up the food and, as they dug in, Race hummed in appreciation. “Mmm, thank you, baby. I needed this.”
“Yer always sayin’ that,” Spot replied, shoving his shoulder into Race’s lightly.
“’nd I always mean it!” Race whined back.
As he chewed, Race looked above him to the stars. The moon was a dull crescent at the edge of the tree line, and his breath was taken away when he realized that, without any clouds obscuring the atmosphere, he could see blooms of purple and pink dappling the sky.
Suddenly, a flash of white streaked across the horizon, quick as a shot.
“Did you see that?” Race spluttered, rice nearly spewing out of his mouth. “A shooting star!”
He scanned the sky and caught another, a slower one this time, but just as bright. Before he could share his luck, he saw another. Then another. Then a couple more, until—
“I saw online there was a meteor shower t’night,” Spot said, low and sheepish. “Thought I’d bring my sweet’eart out to see it.”
Race tore his eyes from the stars and looked at Spot, who was already looking him over. Spot’s scraggly waves and tanned skin and cute little moles shined under the flashes above them. “You…” Race tried, but he didn’t know where to begin. He looked up again, eyes big and bright as he stared out to the streaking sky.
Spot quickly wrapped their food up and stuffed it back into the bags, scooching over to pull Race into a leaning embrace against the windshield. They laid down, their legs tangled in a knot and Spot’s arm under Race’s head like a pillow.
“All for you, baby,” Spot whispered, his lips dragging on Race’s temple.
“Yeah?” Race laughed, still airy and incredulous. He could hardly blink, unwilling to miss a single second.
“O’ course,” Spot said, and the thought made Race’s skin burn. He could feel Spot’s eyes on him again, and that made him blush even worse. Another moment of easy silence drifted between them.
“You are my world, Racetrack,” Spot admitted. His voice was hard, something serious and final solidifying the vocabulary. “Yer everything. All of it.”
Race could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Turning to meet Spot’s unrelenting gaze, he swallowed a frog and gave a watery smile.
“I ain’t quick like you; I don’t got a whole elaborate speech to share my love for you, like Shakespeare or Byron or nothin’,” Spot went on. “But, baby, yer my whole world. So I figure ‘s only fair I give you the stars.”
Race’s chest burst like a bubble at that, energy surging down his limbs as his head spun. This boy.
The blond brought a hand up and cupped Spot’s neck, toying with his baby curls and pulling him into a searing kiss. There were no words. “I just— I don’t…”
“Finally gotcha speechless, hm?” Spot pulled him closer as they shared a laugh.
Race pecked him one more time before turning back to the show around them— his show, these raining heavens, the most unforgettable gift. As the shower continued, Race wondered how easy it’d be to pluck one of the meteor tracks out of the sky to pin on the dashboard.
*
Spot kissed Racer’s temple, lingering to smell the lavender shampoo in his hair. He pulled away slightly to take in his whole face, those tiny freckles and pillowy lips and eyes so bright and blue.
So, the meteor shower was a hit. He tried not to preen too hard, knowing he did good by his baby.
Race looked so young like this, laying here under the stars. This unruly child of the universe; a floating leaf in the breeze; a dancer, untethered and fluid. Breathtaking.
Spot was happy to sit there forever, sharing the night with his love.
This was, admittedly, never the plan. Not the meteor shower, but all of this.
Nose to the grindstone, good grades, and a sports scholarship at an important school; Spot had had his academics, his career prospects, his whole life planned out for him by his parents. He would go to a big university, and get a good respectable job, and buy a house on a nice street full of other nice houses with his good wife and his couple of good children. He didn’t know any different, this pressure that compounded and compressed him like a vice, and he had been agreeable, if a little ambivalent.
As Spot got older, the image shifted to cut out the wife part of the equation, much to the disappointment of his father. He would be busy anyway, he had reasoned— he would have no time for a relationship with all the other big plans. A marriage, or partnership, or whatever else they wanted to call it, just wasn’t in the cards for a guy like him. And he thought he could be okay with that, swore he would be, and maybe at one point he was— but that was before he met the blond dynamo who turned his life upside down.
He never expected to find a connection in his hometown, let alone a reason to care enough to leave it. And Spot certainly didn’t expect this whirlwind of a boy to take his heart in his hands, mold him like clay into something softer, less prescriptive, more loose and passionate and real.
Spot’s eyes raked over Race, watching his soft lashes flutter under heavy blinks. This boy who had his own plans— had plans for the both of them. We’s goin’ somewhere bigger.
Visions of other lives danced in Spot’s periphery. Just out of reach, dozens of timelines, different futures he could have had, plans that had been written and organized and pushed on him. They piled up, playing on a reel in the back of his skull.
Race yawned, his tongue curling and his body twisting inward, and he snuggled deeper into Spot’s chest in his wavering wakefulness. “Love you,” the blond murmured into Spot’s shoulder. Out like a light.
A door was closing as Spot pecked Race’s ear in response, nuzzling his nose to the boy’s cheek.
Those futures, his parents’ big ideas, flashes of ceremonies and trophies and travel for one— he’d trade them all, every single one, to stay just like this. He didn’t want them, couldn’t bear to passively sit by and take them. A thousand of those lifetimes were worth nothing compared to what he had with Racer. What he would have with Racer.
He wasn’t kidding when he said the boy was his whole world.
A galactic miracle was spraying above them, and Spot was in awe of his once in a lifetime view: the love of his life, this perfect storm, a flash of lightning in a bottle who loved him.
Loved him for real. On his good days and his bad. With his scowls and his smiles. In his stupid car in this stupid town. Enough to take him out of this stupid town. More than any plan anyone made for them. More than anything.
And though Spot considered looking up to the sky, those splashing stars, brilliant ribbons of gold and white among the watercolor universe, he couldn’t take his eyes off the miracle in his arms. His lover, his number one; this impossible boy sleeping through his meteor shower.
Spot pulled Race in closer, planting kisses along his scalp, memorizing every curl and line. Fuck the meteor shower. For the rest of the night, this and every night, Race was all Spot could see.