AN: First Newsies fic! I have no idea how dorm assignments work but we're just gonna assume it's first come first serve at their school. Google translate is most likely not my friend but is the only one I have that speaks Italian so please bear with me.

Spot vaulted out of the red pickup truck, pounding the roof of the cab with a fist as he landed on the asphalt. Yanking the navy blue beanie off of his head, he walked around the back of the car and unlatched the door to the truck bed. It was piled high with boxes and luggage, courtesy of the four other teenagers that had arrived with him. They had all decided to get to the university a week earlier than necessary to get better dorm assignments, so that morning they had packed their stuff and piled into Jack's pickup for the thirty minute ride from their town.

"Hey, Jacky-boy, get your ass out here and help me!" Spot called towards the still unopened cab.

The doors to the truck swung open, and out spilled Spot's friends. Jack hopped down from the drivers seat, and made a face at him.

"Well aren't you eager to go back to school? I never would have expected it from you, Spotty," Jack teased.

"Ah, shaddup and get your shit. I wanna have all my stuff unpacked by two."

Itey strolled around to the truck bed and began grabbing suitcases full of bedding to bring into the dorms. He passed a couple of boxes of books to David, and handed Dutchy a guitar, shaking his head at Jack and Spot's bickering.

"We've only been here for five minutes and you're already arguing about something," David sighed, slinging a duffle bag over his shoulder. "Don't you get enough of that at home?"

Spot ignored him in favor of waving at Blink, who had just pulled into the parking spot across from them. Blink's boyfriend, Michael something or other, grinned at David from the passenger seat. The two of them had gone to the same high school, and it was through David that the couple had met over the past summer.

"Heya, Blink. You got the rooms?"

"Yep," Blink replied, waving a handful of slips above his head as he got out of his car. "All right here."

Blink passed out their room assignments, and the boys began to split up and start moving their stuff towards the building. Their rooms were all on the same floor, except for Jack's, which was a floor below the rest of them due to his being a grade above the other boys. Most of them had ended up sharing with each other, but the name on Spot's slip was unfamiliar. His roommate was someone named Anthony Valenti, although the last name had been written on in pen with the original name crossed out, as if the school had gotten the kid's name wrong the first time. Spot wasn't expecting him to be there yet; classes didn't start for another week. But as he climbed the stairs up to the third floor, Spot wondered what the kid was like. He hoped he wasn't a jackass. Spot had dealt with enough bigotry in high school, thank you very much. He didn't want to room with another asshole who decided that being gay was a worthy reason for beating up a guy he didn't even know.

Spot's friends began to split off as they reached their rooms in the long hallway. Itey and Dutchy's room was right next to the stairwell. David and Michael (or rather, Mush, as Blink had reminded him) were about halfway down the hall. Blink and Spot's rooms were across from each other at the end of the corridor. Blink had gotten lucky, and the other bed in his dorm was as of yet unassigned, meaning he had the room to himself. Spot intended to take full advantage of this fact if his roommate was too much of a dick.

The last door on the right was ajar when he and Blink reached the end of the hallway. It had the number 320 painted on it, and a placard on the wall proclaimed that it's residents were Sean Conlon and Anthony Valenti. Valenti was scrawled on in a different handwriting that the rest of the words, another name blacked out by a marker underneath, just like on Spot's room assignment slip.

Spot shrugged at his friend and pushed the door the rest of the way open. He was not the first one to arrive apparently. His roommate had claimed the bed on the right, black sheets and a red comforter already fitted onto the mattress. There were textbooks stacked up on the desk, and one of the wardrobes was half filled with clothes. On the bed, more shirts and socks were spilling out of an open suitcase. His roommate was nowhere to be seen.

He must of gone out, Spot thought to himself. He surveyed the room, and began unpacking the boxes he had brought up.

An hour later, Spot's bed was made up with the blue-gray sheets his foster mom had given him, and all his clothes were neatly put away in the wardrobe. He had loaded down the small table next to his bed and the shelves on his wall with his novel collection, and Spot could already see how quickly he was going to run out of space. Spot flopped down on the sheets and let out a breath. Unpacking was exhausting. At a knock on the doorframe, Spot lifted his head up and saw Blink standing in the doorway.

"You done settling in?" Blink asked.

"Yep," said Spot, flopping back onto the bed. "Still no sign of the roommate though."

"I wonder what he's like. You think he'll be cool?" Blink mused thoughfully, settling himself in one of the desk chairs.

"I dunno, but I think he's Italian. His name seems Italian at least. Maybe he's an exchange student."

"Yeah, that'd be cool! What if he doesn't speak English?"

Spot was about to reply when someone walked into the room. Spot assessed the newcomer. He was attractive, Spot would give him that. His dark curls were pushed back from his face, and his eyes were a rich, dark brown. He was well built too, Spot noticed, despite being even shorter than he was. If he was being honest with himself, the kid was one of the hottest guys Spot had ever seen. Blink looked up, and grinned at him.

"Hi! Are you Anthony?"

The newcomer blinked at him for a moment, before replying.

"Y-yes," he said hesitantly. "I am Anthony."

He had a thick Italian accent, and it was clear that English wasn't his first language. Spot sighed internally. This would be difficult to deal with.

"I'm Ryan, but everyone calls me Blink," said Blink, seemingly unfazed, "And this is Sean. He's your roommate; I'm across the hall."

Anthony furrowed his brow for a moment and then brightened. He nodded in understanding and said, "I am called Tony!"

"Cool, nice to meet you Tony!" Blink responded cheerfully. "Where are you from? I don't recognize your accent."

Another pause as Tony worked out what Blink had just said. Then: "I am from Lotto Valentino, Italy."

Blink continued to make small talk with Tony, as Spot stared. The more he looked, the hotter his roommate seemed to become. He was getting more confident with his English as he and Blink continued talking, gesturing around with his hands. At the moment he was trying to explain where he had been. Apparently, he had gone down to the student cafeteria and got lost on campus. The story was interrupted, however, when a phone began to ring from among the boxes on the floor.

"Not mine," said Spot, his voice cracking a little. It was then that he realized that this was the first time he had spoken since Tony had arrived.

Tony looked at him, as if startled to see that he could speak, before shaking his head.

"No, me. My phone." He turned to dig around in one of the boxes, and Spot took the opportunity to admire his ass. Blink glanced over at him, and slapped him upside the head.

"Behave," he hissed. "He's your roommate! You don't even know if he's into guys."

Spot glared and was about to respond when Tony cut him off.

"Pronto? Mama! … Sì, io sono a scuola… Sì. Ti parlerò più tardi. Ti voglio bene. Ciao."

Good lord.

It was the first time Tony had spoken any Italian since he'd arrived. So far he had only spoken rudimentary English. Blink had needed to use simple words several times before Tony understood, and there had been several times where he had given up and changed the topic, but Tony had never switched back to his first language.

That turned me on way too much.

Spot wasn't sure how he could survive living with this guy.

The language barrier proved to be a hard thing to overcome. Tony only knew basic conversational English, and Spot's Brooklyn accent made it even harder for Tony to understand him. Spot had tried using a translator app to speak a little bit of Italian, but his pronunciation was so awful that he gave up after the first three failed attempts. The two had fallen into a routine with minimal speaking, and were getting to know each other by hanging out instead. Spot had introduced him to Mush and Davey when they were all studying in Blink's room, and they had discovered that Davey and Mush both spoke conversational Italian. Tony had greeted everyone with a "Ciao!" when he walked in, and David had replied, somewhat confused, "Perché stiamo parlando Italiano?"

Tony had grinned and began speaking in rapid-fire Italian to David, making Spot feel like his brain was going to short circuit. David continued to look confused, but began to relax again after a few minutes of listening to Tony ramble. Mush had joined in the conversation too, explaining that the two of them had taken Italian in high school as a language credit when he noticed Blink's bemused stare.

Beyond this, Tony continued to be frustratingly hard to talk to. Classes had started a week ago, and they had made no headway with overcoming their language barrier. After the fifth failed conversation in one morning, Spot had had enough.

"This is ridiculous!" he complained. "We live together, we spend all our time together, and I can't have a fucking conversation with you. You and your stupid Italian and bad English, while you just stand there somehow looking both goddamn sinful and adorable, which is completely unfair by the way! And I can't even tell you where I'm going for breakfast let alone flirt with you! I don't even know if you're gay! Which would be really, really great, but how will I ever know? I won't! You don't even know what I'm saying right now, you sexy Italian bastard. God damn it, this is the worst!"

Tony looked at him bemusedly, as if unsure whether he should be alarmed or amused. He gave Spot an apologetic smile and shrugged.

"Voglio che mi scopi così male. Idiota."

Spot threw his hands up. "What'd I tell ya? You and your goddamn Italian, you're too hot for your own good. God, is that a turn on. Fucking Italian."

After the first ranting episode, Spot began to talk to Tony more often. So what? It's not like Tony understood what he was saying. Sometimes he would just talk about his day. Something interesting his Irish Lit professor had said in class today, a funny moment on the quad when Blink got hit with a frisbee. Little things. Other times, he would complain endlessly about how much he liked Tony and how Spot though he was stupidly attractive. Tony would just smile and respond with something in Italian. Most of the time when Spot was talking about Tony, he would just respond with "anche tu mi piaci" or occasionally just "me scopare." Whatever that meant. Spot figured it was an apology of some sort for not knowing what he was saying.

Sometimes though, Spot would talk about himself. Spot hated to think about his past. He had no good memories of his childhood, not until he moved in with Jack and Kathy. His home life as a kid was shit. His mother was an addict and his father was never around. Whenever he did turn up, he drank and would get angry at nothing. Spot and his mother never came out of one of those nights without bruises. He told Tony stories about his parents. About the one weekend his dad came home and didn't drink. About when he was really young, before his mom got into her drugs. Spot's mother had overdosed when he was ten years old. That was when he had first been put in the system. He also talked about Jack and his foster mom. He had been awful when they took him in, but Kathy had been determined to keep him as part of their family. And slowly, after a few months, Spot had calmed down and warmed up to them. He had made friends with Blink at school, and he had met Dutchy, Itey, and Davey through Jack. He got into writing, and started collecting books. He told Tony about how stories helped him escape from his past, and how his therapist said it was some kind of coping mechanism. Spot thought that was bullshit, but he didn't care what his therapist thought, as long as he got to stay with Jack and Kathy. They had never been able to formally adopt him because his dad was always MIA when they tried to get him to sign away his parental rights. Spot knew they were his family in every way that counted though, so he didn't much mind.

Whenever Spot talked about himself, Tony would get uncharacteristically quiet. Usually when Spot would talk he would interrupt with some Italian remark (half of which seemed exceedingly sarcastic), but he never said a word when Spot told him about his past. He would just give him a sympathetic look and listen. If it had been anyone else looking at him like that, Spot would have socked 'em; he didn't take pity from anyone. But for some reason, it was okay when the person in question was Tony. Spot tried not to think too hard about what that meant. Sure, Tony was hot, and fun to hang around, but Spot didn't really know him at all. He didn't even know if Tony liked guys. Knowing Spot's luck, he didn't. He couldn't afford to actually start liking the guy.

Unfortunately for Spot, not liking Tony was a very hard thing to do. It seemed like everything he did just made it worse. By the end of the third week of classes, Spot was forced to come to terms with the fact that he had a crush.

"Bliiiiink, what do I do?" Spot whined. He was sprawled out across the spare bed in his best friends room; it seemed that no one was going to claim the extra mattress. Blink had piled blankets and pillows on it to create a makeshift couch. They were trying to study for their chemistry test the following day. They both had opted out of taking it the previous year as freshman in favor of taking LGBT Literature. Neither of them were getting much studying done though. Blink was texting Mush, and Spot was complaining about Tony.

"I dunno," Blink said offhandedly. "Try flirting with him."

"I don't even know if he's gay! That could end horribly!"

Blink didn't say anything for a few seconds. Spot rolled his head to the side to look over at him. He had been grinning down at his phone, but looked up when Spot moved.

"Mush says Davey's sister is having a party on Friday. His friend Race is gonna be there, so he wants us to go meet him."

Mush and David had another best friend from their high school that had supposedly transferred to Pulitzer University this year. The kid went by Racetrack Higgins according to David, and both he and Mush refused to tell anyone his real name. Apparently you only got that privilege if he liked you. No one had met him yet aside from Jack, who had been introduced to him at one of David's school events a few years back. Spot didn't know much about him except that he grew up in Brooklyn with David and Mush and that he hadn't yet declared a major.

"Are you even listening to me?" Spot demanded.

"Yes, Sean. Jesus, just invite Tony to the party or something."

Spot grumbled, but spat out a petulant, "Fine."

Techno music assaulted Spot's eardrums when Sarah swung the door open. He gave her an unimpressed look, which she returned with a smirk.

"Hello, Sean."

"Hi, Sarah. Your brother and his boyfr—I mean, your boyfriend—here yet? I'm only here because they made me come."

Sarah scowled at him, and turned to smile pleasantly at Tony. "Nice to see you, Tony, come on in."

Tony returned her smile. "Grazie, Sarah."

"Whatever," Spot grumbled, and shouldered his way past David's sister into the apartment. He scanned the room for Jack and David, and spotted Mush and Blink lounging on the sofa. He made his way over to them, Tony trailing behind him.

"Hey," he greeted them, plopping down on the arm next to Blink. Tony remained standing. "You seen my brother?"

"I think I saw him and Davey in the next room," said Mush. "You need him for something?"

"Nah, not really," Spot shrugged. "I just figured if you were all gonna make me come to this then you'd all better be here too."

Which was true enough. Spot would never admit that maybe he just wanted to see Jack. They hadn't seen each other much since they had arrived at school. Jack lived on a different floor in the dorm, and his class schedule was very different from Spot's, so they hadn't had many chances to hang out. They had grabbed lunch together last week, but it had been cut short when Jack realized he was late for his Human Behaviors lecture.

Spot left Tony chatting with Mush, and wandered off in the direction Jack was supposed to be in. "The other room" turned out to be a bedroom turned lounge. Jack and David were standing next to the futon with Itey and Dutchy, all of them clutching red plastic cups containing what Spot assumed was beer. His suspicions were confirmed as he joined the group; everyone's cup was filled with amber liquid except David's.

Spot raised his eyebrow at the clear substance, and David rolled his eyes at him.

"It's water, not vodka." He held up the keys to Jack's truck. "I'm driving everyone back to the dorm."

Spot nodded in understanding, and stole Dutchy's beer, taking a long drink from the cup. Dutchy squawked in protest, but just huffed when Spot handed it back. Jack turned to look at his brother appraisingly.

"What's got you in a mood?" he questioned. Spot gave him one of his patented 'fuck off' glares, and Jack raised his hands in surrender. "Whatever, it's your problem not mine. You come alone, or did you bring your hot foreign roommate with you?"

Spot's glare intensified. "Fuck you," he spat out, and took another swig of Dutchy's beer. "If you're so eager to meet him, go find Blink and Mush; he was with them last I saw him."

Itey's eyes widened. "Wow, you really like him don't you?" he said wondrously. Spot turned his glare on him.

Itey just smiled knowingly. "You never get this defensive about guys you just want to hook up with."

Jack snickered.

"You liiiiiike him," Dutchy sang. Spot scowled and punched him in the arm.

"Ow!"

"Fuck you guys." Spot turned to walk away from his so-called "friends," and ran straight into Tony.

"Sorry!" Tony exclaimed, reaching out a hand to steady Spot.

Spot waved him off. "It's fine, no big deal." Sighing he turned back to the curious gazes of his friends, and the slightly suspicious gaze of his brother. "Guys this is my roommate, Tony. Tony, this my brother Jack and some of his friends."

"Ciao!" said Tony cheerily.

"Hey, we're your friends too!" protested Itey.

"Ciao, Tony," greeted David.

"I suddenly understand the 'hot, foreign guy' thing," said Dutchy somewhat reverently. "Damn, Spot, you have good taste." Spot sent him a look that clearly warned him to back off if he knew what was good for him.

Jack still hadn't said anything. He was looking between Tony and David like they had both grown two heads. Spot figured it was all the Italian.

"I don't even know if he's gay, so quit it with the ogling, Dutch," complained Spot exasperatedly. "And anyway, I get dibs, I saw him first. He's my hot Italian roommate, not yours."

"Um, Spot—"

Tony said something to David in Italian with a wicked grin, and Davey started laughing hysterically. "No, permettono Jack per dirgli chi sei."

"You two talking about me?" Jack demanded, temporarily distracted from whatever had been bothering him.

Spot replied before David could. "Of course not, Jack, they're talking about how hot I am and how much Tony wants to fuck me."

"Certo," said Tony agreeably. Davey laughed harder.

Jack stared at Spot incredulously. "What the fuck are you doing? Even you aren't usually this blunt in front of people you like."

Spot rolled his eyes. "Relax, Jack. He doesn't speak much English; he has no idea what I'm saying."

"Sì, io sono solo un povero ragazzo italiano che non capisce niente che si sta dicendo," added Tony. David snorted and dissolved into laughter again.

Jack continued to stare at Spot as if he was an idiot.

"What?" Spot snapped. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Jack glanced over at Davey, who gave a slight nod. Jack's eyes widened in understanding, and a sly grin began to spread across his face. Spot eyed him warily, and began to feel a curl of worry in the pit of his stomach. What was Jack's deal? Did I do something?

"Spot," Jack started slowly, "Tony grew up with Mush and Davey. He's from Brooklyn. And speaks perfect English."

Spot's eyes widened. He couldn't process what Jack had just said. There was no way. Tony was from Italy. He didn't speak English. He couldn't. All those things that he had said, all the things he had told Tony about himself… A slight flush began to creep up his neck and he looked to David for confirmation.

Still laughing, Davey nodded and gestured to Tony. "Spot, meet Racetrack."

Tony grinned at Spot, and with a Brooklyn accent as thick as his said: "Hiya, Spot."

Oh, hell no.

"You fucker," Spot breathed, flush rising up to his face. "Oh, you absolute asshole you've been able to understand me this whole time. Every fucking word, you dick."

Tony—no, Racetrack—just kept grinning. "Yep. Ho ancora voglia di scopare me, però."

Spot rounded on David, who had started laughing again at Race's last comment. "And you! You knew from the beginning! Mush must have too," he realized with a dawning sense of horror, which was quickly replace by annoyance. "Wait a second, that means Blink also knew! And he didn't tell me! Oh, that fucker, I'm gonna kill him!"

By now, all his friends were in hysterics, Jack having collapsed on the futon behind him, unable to remain standing.

"RYAN LOUIS BALLAT, YOU PRICK OF A BEST FRIEND, WHERE ARE YOU?" Spot hollered as he whirled around and stormed out of the lounge. He entered the front room, and spotted Blink still on the couch he had left him on, with Mush curled around him drunkenly. Spot strode across the room and punched him in the arm, hard.

"Ow! What the fuck was that for?" Blink groused, rubbing the injured arm. "That's gonna bruise, you dick."

"Why didn't you tell me he spoke English, asshole?"

It took Blink a moment to process what he had just said, but when he did he burst out laughing. "Oh, fuck, you finally found out, huh? Oh my god, I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep that up! Jesus," He wiped tears from his eyes. "You hear that Mushee?" Blink said to his boyfriend. "Sean found out about Racetrack!"

"At last, he sees the light!" crowed Mush, nuzzling his face into Blink's side. "The clouds have broken and love shines free!"

Spot gave him an odd look. "Is he always like that when he's drunk?"

"What, you mean waxing poetic? Yeah, pretty much." Blink shrugged. "It's pretty cute though, you have to admit."

Spot sunk down on the couch next to his best friend. "Fuuuuck."

Blink patted him on the arm consolingly.

"I mean, how? Why? He talks fucking Italian on the phone with his mom, I had no fucking clue, I just…" He trailed off. "His name's not even Higgins, how the fuck was I supposed to know?"

"To answer your first question," said Blink, "his mother is from Italy, and he grew up speaking it at home. He actually was born in Lotto Valentino, he just moved to the States when he was a few months old. His dad's name was Higgins, but his parents divorced a few months ago, and he took his mother's name back. And as for why, he heard us talking about him maybe being an exchange student on the first day we were here, and thought it would be a funny joke. He knew we'd future it out at some point; he knew who I was from pictures Mushee had shown him."

"How long were you in on it?"

"Since the day we 'introduced' him to Davey and Mush."

"Fuck." Spot scrubbed a hand over his face. "Why'd you let me do this to myself, Ryan? You knew I was talking to him."

Blink smiled ruefully at him. "It was kind of cute. Also, you need to open up more. The way you bottle shit up isn't healthy."

Spot shot him a halfhearted glare, before dropping his head in his hands. "How am I gonna face him now? He probably thinks I'm an asshole. No one wants a gay asshole for a roommate."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that," said David, materializing out of nowhere and dropping down on the other side of Mush. "Race is kind of an asshole himself. Also, he's really, really gay. And thinks you're hot. Just saying."

Spot looked up at that. "He likes guys?"

"Very much," David confirmed.

"Jesus—I can't handle all this, I need a smoke." Spot got up and slipped out onto the balcony behind the couch, pulling a pack of cigarettes and his lighter out of his pocket.

"Mind if I join you?" The sound of the glass door sliding closed cut through the noise of the city filtering up from the streets.

Spot took a drag from his cigarette, refusing to look at the owner of the voice. "If you're here to laugh at me, you can fuck right off, Anthony."

"It's Racetrack actually, but most people just call me Race," Tony replied, unfazed by Spot's cold attitude.

"Well, ain't that great for them," Spot snapped back sarcastically. "The fuck do you want, Valenti?"

Race leaned against the balcony railing to Spot's left. He shrugged. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm not gonna tell anyone what you told me. It's none of my business, or anyone else's."

"Damn right, it's none of your business. I would never of said any of that shit if I knew you could understand me."

Race sighed. "Well, for what it's worth, I like listening to you talk." He smirked. "Especially about me."

Spot glanced over at him warily. "Davey told me you were gay."

"Did he? Oh no, whatever will I do now that you know my secret?" responded Race drily.

Spot straightened up and turned to face Race head on. "So it's true?"

Race gaze flickered down to Spot's mouth and he licked his lips. "No question."

"Interesting," Spot murmured. Distantly, he noticed that Race was a lot closer to him that he had first thought. Their mouths were barely an inch apart, and if he wanted to, Spot could count the freckles across Racetrack's nose.

"Voglio che mi scopi così forte che non sarò in grado di camminare al mattino," Race whispered, his breath ghosting across Spot's lips.

Spot let out a strangled noise that sounded something like "oh, fuck me" before he leant forward to crash their lips together.

The kiss was hard and desperate, the product of more than a month of pent up sexual frustration. Race fisted his hands in the front of Spot's shirt, and Spot ran his fingers through Race's hair. Spot moved his mouth to Race's neck and began sucking at his pulse point, eliciting a small moan from the shorter boy.

"I think," panted Race, "that's my line." His hands moved to grip Spot's shoulders, and he muttered something in Italian as Spot bit down on his neck.

"Jesus christ," Spot breathed, pulling back. "We're leaving. Right now. Let's go, c'mon."

Spot all but dragged Race back inside, ignoring the jeers from his friends on the couch. He was intent on getting back to their room as quickly as possible.

"Nice hickey, Race!" called David from where he and Jack were standing near the kitchen.

"Fuck you, Davey!" Race called back cheerfully, as Spot flipped off his smirking brother.

Mush waved at Race from the couch, as Spot frantically searched for his beanie so they could leave. Blink grinned at him and said, "I'll find it, go have fun."

Spot nodded in thanks, and turned to grab Race and go as Mush yelled something about true love and miracles across the room to his friend. Race saluted him as he and Spot stumbled out the front door, and then turned to Spot, eyes dancing mischievously.

"I'll race you back to the room."

"Oh you are so going down."

AN: Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated, and if someone wants to correct my shitty Italian be my guest.

~Lyssy