Sprace Chatroom {Discontinued}

Twelve

Sorry if this is bad. I literally just wrote it, and it's like 3am here. I couldn't figure out how to write this chapter so there's aloooooot of jumping back and forth. I hope you enjoy!
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Race was panicking. He would type out his message before deleting the whole hung and trying again. He's repeated this about ten times, and Spot was going impatient.

Spot: What is it?

Spot: Spit it out already

Race shouts loudly and throws his phone into the couch. "I can't. How can I tell him like this!? Over a stupid text!" He begins to pace. "How do I tell my best friend that we made out!" He rugs at his hair as he burns a hole into his floor.

~~~~~

Spot's anxiety was off the charts. Why won't Race spit it out? Rip the bandaid off already!

Spot: Race

Spot: Race I've seen you typing

Spot: What kind of paragraph or whatever are you sending me?

No response.

Spot rolls his eyes. "Just get it over with. Tell me you don't want to be friends anymore. Tell me that it was disgusting."

He stares down at the phone in his hands, "Just send something already."

~~~~~

Meanwhile, Race was rambling and has pulled out a few hairs as well. He ignored his phone going off, knowing that it was Spot. "What am I going to do! Why did I think doing this without preparing was a good idea? That's right! I didn't think!"

He finally slumps into the couch, "I'm an idiot."

~~~~~

Spot couldn't take it anymore. If Race wasn't going to say it, he was. He doesn't want Race to think that he doesn't know anymore. The elephant in the room needs to be mentioned.

Spot - Race: We made out at Jack's party

~~~~~

As if in sync, they both drop their phones at the same time. They both sent the same exact text at almost the same time.

Race was shocked that Spot knows.

Spot was expecting something... else.

They both sit there, staring blankly at the wall in front of them. That is, until one of them picks up their phone and starts typing.