prompt: none
ship: sprace
cast: uksies
genre: just some fluffy confessing stuff with a little bit of hotshot and spot being stubborn
tws: none!
———
Maybe it was that dammed smile that made Spot finally figure it out. Maybe it was the sunset, but regardless of what it was, the subject of her affections was a 'hattan boy; Racetrack Higgins.
They'd know each other for a long while, after all Race's track was on Spot's turf and she basically considered him Brooklyn. Spot made sure that her newsies knew Race wasn't an outsider, which caused a few rumours but they died quick.
Spot won't ever forget that sunset when the rumours came true.
She and Race had finished for the day and decided to have dinner on the pier together, no particular reason, they just enjoyed each other's company. The music there was more pleasant on the ears than anywhere else.
Spot took a bite into her bread and declared, "Ise consider this a success,"
"Me too," agreed Racetrack, "what happened with you t'day?"
"For starters, officer didn't interfere when I nicked this lovely meal to share with you,"
Her manhattan friend nodded along, "The horse I wanted to win finally did,"
Spot's eyes widened, "How rich are you now? Bigger pockets than Pulitzer?"
Race looked crestfallen, "Didn't say nothin' about betting on her,"
"Ah.."
A beat of silence passed, "But hey," he said, "it won't be forever," and he struck Spot with the grin.
Backlit by the sun with the light catching on his golden curls, Race looked angelic.
'Hey,' thought Spot, 'Nah, nah, nah, this isn't allowed!'
Little did Spot know, fanfiction is free reign, and every little thought and emotion towards Race just.. clicked.
She recognized that sick feeling in her stomach not as hunger, but as that queasy feeling when you love someone? Idk, author is aromantic.
Spot must've had a funny look on her face since Race asked what was up.
"Nothing," Spot managed to say, turning away from the 'Hattan boy,
No, no way. Not in a million years. She couldn't get distracted with a relationship, Brooklyn needed her.
"I'm just.. tired,"
"I'd best be headin' off, then. Don' wanna upset The Mighty Spot while she's tired and grumpy," the blond teased. He got up and started to leave.
Spot followed, "I ain't tired enough. I'm walking you back to Manhattan," she announced, taking stride next to Race.
"Alright," Race shot her a smile, "Escorted by Brooklyn's Queen herself, I'm honoured." He gave her a light hit on the arm.
"Don't make a habit of it, Higgins," Spot knocked him back, maybe a little too hard.
"Ow.."
"Sorry,"
"It's fine,"
———
Months later, Spot found herself at that pier with that boy. She listened to him ramble about the Manhattan boy shenanigans and the latest news and headlines he had gotten.
"Anything great with you, Colon?"
She was sick of this, this waiting and this.. she didn't know how to define it. Sick of him not knowing? Maybe.
"Yeah," she took her chance, "I'm brave enough to do this,"
Spot grabbed Race's suspenders and pulled him down to her height.
And they kissed.
As they parted, the whole word seemed to hold it's breath.
Race went to speak, "Why'd you stop?"
That caught Spot off guard.
"I don't have too," she said. Spot let go of the suspenders but kept her arms around Race who looked into her eyes with a sense of curiosity and.. and love.
Spot finally knew it, she loved him, and he loved her.
Their foreheads pressed together, they stayed locked in that moment for a while.
"How does it feel to be King of Brooklyn?"
Race chuckled, "I didn't know I'd get a promotion out of this,"
"You've had that promotion for a while now," Spot picked up her pimp cane and booped Race on the tip of his nose.
"Does this mean I've made the fearsome Spot Colon a softie?"
