Rooftops are for Lovers (Newsies)

Excuse Me, Mister

   Racetrack Higgins felt like a beggar with no luck. Then again, he basically was a beggar with little to no luck. Being a newsie wasn't sunshine and rainbows. That wasn't the point. The point was, he couldn't get Mr. High and Mighty Spot Conlon to notice him. Well, notice him the way he wanted him to. God, he sounded like such a girl. There were times where he thought the other boy knew how he felt, but then he'd do something that made Race second guess himself.

Spot Colon also felt something. Something very emotional towards the older newsie. He ignored it. What else could he do? He was Spot Conlon and he wasn't an emotional person. He wasn't a boy kisser either. At least, he wasn't supposed to be. One thing he knew he was, was confrontational.

It was and Monday, and for most people, who had stable lives, it was the first day of work for the week. No one seemed to want to buy a paper because their money was all spent. Still, the newsies were out yelling the most absurd headlines, hoping to make a enough to eat that night. Spot was one of them, he had to survive too. Unlike most newsies, he didn't have a certain selling spot. That day, he was selling at Sheepshead Bay. Racetrack was not happy.

"Excuse me, Mister Conlon, but what are you doing here?" he asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing, selling papes," Spot glared, "this is my territory," he reminded the other boy.

"Fine." Race said, not wanting to start a fight.

The two sold their papers surprisingly fast considering they were both there. They decided to watch the races. Racetrack obviously betting. He lost, like he usually does. Spot laughed at his reaction. A genuine laugh, not the bitter, sarcastic laugh everyone was used to. Racetrack smiled despite himself. He could help but stare as they made their way through Brooklyn.

"What are you looking at, Higgins?"

"You, Conlon," Racetrack replied, smirking. He suddenly felt brave.

"Well cut it out, you look like a lovesick mutt, you look queer," he said before turning away from the older boy.

"Well so do you," Race shot back. As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted it.

"What'd you just say to me?" Spot stopped walking.

"I said... you look like a queer. You wanna know why I said that?"

"Why'd you say it?" the taller boy inched closer to the small Italian until they were nearly nose to nose.

"Because you are a queer." Before he could blink Race was being pushed up against a wall in an alleyway.

"Well so are you."

What happened next surprised the both of them. Spot grabbed Race by the shirt collar. He didn't kiss him, though. He buried his head in Race's shoulder and started shaking, sobbing, screaming. At first he didn't know what to do, but then he decided to do what came naturally. He wrapped his arms around the other newsie. It was shocking seeing the 'King of Brooklyn' so fragile and vulnerable.

Spot looked up, his eyes were red. Without saying a word he tentatively reached up and touched Race's face.

"Tony," he said in a small voice so unlike his own.
"Yeah, Brian?"

"Kiss me."

Spot Conlon was someone you listened to. So, Racetrack listened.  

**  **  **

Because in our hearts we all know that Spot is a big softy and very emotional.