The rooftop glistened with the recent fall of rain, the breeze scattering scraps of paper and leaves across the dampened blacktop. As the sun disappeared below the horizon, and the last of the colors faded from view, Racetrack Higgins closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, breathing in the scent of spring. There was a chill in the air as night replaced day, the remnants of winter sill hanging about. Blooms had started to appear here and there, but were now huddled in on themselves for the evening, determined to avoid the still cool temperatures. Racetrack felt himself starting to doze off, which seemed earlier and earlier these days, the effects of getting up before dawn taking hold.

"What are you doing up here Higgins?" A voice, cool and raspy, startled him from his slumber. Seeing Racetrack jump, the older boy laughed, his face wrought with amusement.

"What'd you do that for Conlon?" Racetrack spat. "Ain't nobody tell you howta not wake a guy up?"

"Sure, sure." Spot Conlon slid down the wall next to Racetrack. "Got a smoke?"

Racktrack reached into his pocket, producing a pack of cigarettes. He handed one to Spot and took another for himself, lighting both with the pack of matches he'd swiped from someone's pocket. Breathing in the cigarette seemed to settle him somewhat, his heart having sped up from Spot's unexpected appearance.

"Ain't this Jack's spot?" The blond boy asked, blowing smoke rings out into the night sky.

"Nah." Jack Kelley spent a lot of time on the rooftop, mostly alone or with Crutchie, dreaming of the day Santa Fe became more than just an idea.

"Why was you sleepin'?" Spot asked, eyeing Racetrack suspiciously. "It ain't barely quittin' time and you're snorin' like it's the middle of the night."

"I ain't either." Racetrack countered. "Just resting my eyes a bit."

"Yeah whatever you say." Spot told him. "Territory pay well today?"

"The usual." Race answered. They were silent a moment, the Race asked, "What're you doin' over here Spot? Ain't you afraid Brooklyn'll fall to rubble without you?"

"Nah, I got a couple of my guys looking out for me." Spot shrugged. He stubbed his cigarette out and tossed it onto the rooftop. He glanced at Racetrack who was staring out into the night. "What's up with you?"

"What?" Race asked, flicking his own cigarette to join Spot's. "Nothin'"

"Yeah, sure." Spot scoffed. He knew Race would never admit to anything so he didn't say any more about it. After awhile he noticed the goosebumps running down Racetrack's arms, the shiver that caused him to tremble ever so slightly, and the determination in him to hide it. "You cold Race?"

Racetrack crossed his arms, both out of defiance and in an effort to halt the shaking his body kept trying to display. "Course not."

Spot ignored him, taking off his own jacket and holding it out to his friend. "I don't want your jacket Spot." Race grumbled, though it did seem awfully inviting.

"Just take the damn jacket Racetrack." Spot ordered, but Racetrack shrugged him off, sitting forward momentarily in attempt to block the wind that was now whipping at his exposed skin. Spot rolled his eyes and draped the jacked over his friend's shoulders. "Don't you dare try and give that back. Not now that you got your Manhattan stink all over it."

Race smiled and curled the jacket around himself, savoring the warmth left by Spot's body heat. He leaned back against the wall once again, gazing at the stars that were now starting to appear. It was difficult to make them out against the street lights and buildings, but if you looked hard enough you could see the light winking back at you. Spot glanced at Race, a smile playing on his lips.

Spot was tough, known for his fierce leadership and commandeering attitude. No one messed with Spot Conlon, but that also made for a lack of true friends. Racetrack was one of a handful of guys he'd considered actual friends, not just suck-ups or leeches. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he cared a lot about Race, and knew they would do anything for one another. He couldn't say that about most of the guys he ran with. They'd fight beside him when necessary and they took orders without a fuss, but when shit got real, they'd bail. Race never did.

Lost in thought, Spot didn't realize Race had drifted back to sleep, laying his head on Spot's shoulder. Spot, being a night owl, stayed put, watching the moon glow in the night sky. Eventually he fell asleep too, his head tipping to the side, his cheek resting on the top of Race's head. The next time he woke, it was to the sound of screaming and it took him a moment to realize it was coming from Racetrack.