Newsies Oneshots 2.0

Beautiful Boy-Ralbert

Friends, I have switched teams. I'm sorry.

I'm a Ralbert shipper now, but only for the live. 92sies is great, but thinking about it, livesies Sprace doesn't make any sense to me. It's hard for me to write them because I don't know when or if they ever really meet.

Plus, Albert deserves some love, too.

Anyway, WARNING: dysphoria.

But enough of that. I hope you enjoy!

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He couldn't move. Racetrack Higgins couldn't move.

To him, that was weird every time it happened. He was always moving, he always had something to do. Whether he was bouncing around his friends, or running around the school's track field. Even when he was sitting down, listening to music, his mind was coming up with mini worlds that only he knew about. But he couldn't do anything.

It's not like he didn't want to. His mind was screaming at him to get up, to do the things he said he was going to do yesterday. He promised himself that he would take a shower and be productive—that always worked. He said he was going to be okay and go out with his boyfriend today, but he didn't feel like seeing anyone but his Nonna and Nonno. They were the only ones who understood anything.

Race sighed, wincing at the pain in his chest. That was his own fault, he knew that. Davey and Jack had both warned him—mostly Davey warning he and Jack both—not to wear it for more than eight hours, and of course Race didn't listen. He went home from the perfect day feeling like a bolder was crushing him, and he woke up feeling like his ribs were broken (but they weren't; his Nonna checked).

He couldn't bare to look at himself, which is part of the reason he hadn't showered. The mirror was too close, and the closer it is, the greater the chances of him glancing at himself. He already had to look at the things he could see—his hands, his legs, his hips—and sparing even a thought to his chest would've sent him over.

So, showering was a no, as was binding. His Nonna set specific instructions for him to not even put on a sports bra for at least a few hours, just to give his body time. But he didn't want time—Race wanted to be a normal boy, even if it was for a few hours.

He heard three knocks on his door, inspiring curiosity without the will to do anything about it. The person that knocked could be holding a check for one million dollars, or be a serial killer waiting for his next victim, and Race would still be in bed—unless they had chocolate mini muffins, then he would shoot out of bed immediately.

"Racer?" It was Albert, Race could've known that if the redhead was muffled by a bandanna tied around his head. He had such a different voice from everyone else: it was naturally sarcastic, and his accent wasn't something just anyone had. It was hard to tell where he was from, which is why Race didn't believe he was from the Eastside for the first five years of them knowing each other. "You sleeping?"

"No", Race stated dreadfully, ignoring the door's clicking as it opened. "What are you doing here?"

"Gee, don't be excited to see me", Albert chuckled, but Race didn't find it funny. "I wanted to check on you."

Race hummed as the bed dipped next to him, feeling Albert's legs almost line up with his own. He wanted so badly to turn around and lay between Albert's chest, but he didn't need to see Race like this. No one did. "I'm fine, Allie."

"Okay", Albert accepted, and Race faced the difficulty of knowing if he believed him or not. "Did you eat?"

"Just woke up", Race sighed, burying his face into his pillow. He heard Albert chuckle softly, and for once, he spared a small smile.