Sometimes, Spot Conlon grew quiet.
He wasn't ever the most talkative person to begin with, often preferring to do his talking with his fists. But every now and then he would have a smart comment to let slide, or a proclamation to make to his boys. He was their leader, after all, he couldn't leave them in silence.
So, on days when Spot Conlon grew quiet, quieter than usual, it was cause for worry. Race was always the first to notice, watching as Spot's eyes would grow darker, and his posture slacken. He would quietly excuse himself from wherever they were and wander off on his own, leaving the boys to talk amongst themselves without him. Race never followed him, never wanted to bother him in these moments, but one night that changed. One night, Race wondered what would happen if he took those steps after him, if he went out of his way to discover the cause for Spot's isolation. On that night, he got his answer.
It was already dark out. Some of the Brooklyn boys had come to see the Manhattan newsies and share dinner with them at Jacobi's. Not even thirty minutes in, Spot had excused himself, stepping outside for what he said would only be a minute. When two passed, Race got up from his seat and followed him outside, stepping into the cold air.
It was mid-November, and the world had already grown dark with the changing of the season. Race pulled his coat tighter around himself, watching as his breath came out in foggy puffs. He looked around, searching the area and eventually seeing a solitary figure across the street, sitting on a bench underneath a street lamp.
Race made his way over to Spot, plopping himself down on the bench next to him. "What the hell you doing out here in the cold?" he asked, looking Spot up and down.
Spot rolled his eyes. "Shouldn't you be inside eating ya dinner?" he questioned, eyeing Race seriously.
"I could ask you the same question, but seeing as you didn't answer my first one I suppose that won't do no good," Race retorted. "Come on, what you doing out here? Come back inside where it's warm."
"I likes it out here," Spot said, looking around him. "It's quiet."
"Yeah, like a cemetery," Race mused. "Ain't nothing too special about that."
"Then go back inside, Race," Spot said, pointing back to Jacobi's.
"Not until you come with me," Race responded, getting comfortable on the bench. "So, how's about you tell me what you got on your mind?"
"Ain't got nothing on my mind," Spot said, though he didn't sound convincing.
"Oh yeah?" Race asked. "Then why's you got that thinking look on your face?"
Spot furrowed his brows. "You'se a pest, you know that, Higgins?"
"Hell yeah I am," Race said proudly. "Come on," he added, nudging Spot. "Spill the beans."
"It ain't nothing," Spot said, shrugging.
"Aw, come on, it's gotta be something," Race coaxed him, nudging him again.
Spot shoved him lightly. "Would ya stop that?" he snapped.
"Not until you tell me what's going on," Race said, nudging him once more.
Spot groaned. "You'se impossible?"
"I know," Race said, grinning. "But so is you, so ain't we quite the pair?"
Spot laughed. "Yeah, quite the pair alright."
He grew quiet again, looking down at his hands in his lap. There was a small smile on his face, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Hey, come on, what's wrong?" Race asked, his tone a little more serious now. "Really, has something been bothering you?"
Spot looked back up at Race, staring into his eyes. "Race, I . . . I'se been thinking-"
"Well, that's cause for worry," Race joked, laughing.
Spot glared at him, shoving him once more.
"Alright, alright, I'se sorry, I'se sorry," Race said, holding up his hands in surrender. "What you been thinking about?"
"I'se been thinking, damn I don't know," Spot groaned, running his fingers through his hair. "Race, you'se a good kid, you know that, right?"
"You sure you'se talking about me?" Race asked, pointing at himself.
"Course I'se sure," Spot answered. "You'se . . . you'se like a brother to me, no not like that," he muttered, shaking his head. "But you'se like family, you know?"
"What is you getting at, Spot?" Race asked, confused.
Spot gritted his teeth. "Never mind, it's nothing."
"No, come on, tell me," Race encouraged. "I want to know."
Spot frowned. "I think I . . . I think . . ." he groaned again, rubbing his hands over his face.
Race leaned in closer. "Yes?" he asked.
Spot looked over at him, his face only inches away from the other boy's. "Aw, to hell with it all," Spot said, grabbing Race by the collar and pulling him forward, planting a kiss on his lips.
Race didn't know how to react, simply sitting there and letting the situation take place. When Spot pulled away, Race stared at him blankly, unable to decipher in his head the moment that just occurred.
"Well, say something," Spot snapped, smacking Race on the back of the head.
"What the hell am I supposed to say to that?" Race asked, smacking Spot's hand away.
"I don't know, tell me you liked it, or you didn't so I can beat your ass and pretend this never happened," Spot said.
"Why is you beating my ass, you'se the one who made the move!" Race snapped.
"Just tell me what you'se thinking," Spot groaned.
"I'se thinking . . . I don't know what I think," Race admitted. "I'se got no idea at all what to think."
"So, not good, huh?" Spot asked, a dejected look coming over his face.
"I didn't say that," Race said quickly. "But, I don't know if it was good, either."
Spot frowned. "Oh," he said.
They sat in silence, neither knowing what to say. A million thoughts were going through Race's head, and none of them made any sense to him. Spot Conlon? King of Brooklyn, kissing him? How . . . how was he supposed to react to something like that? Was he supposed to like it? Hate it? Be indifferent? Race wasn't sure.
Maybe . . . maybe he just needed more information to work with?
"Do it again," Race said quietly.
"What?" Spot asked, looking up at him.
"I said do it again," Race repeated, turning to look straight at Spot.
"What the hell is you talking about, Higgins?" Spot asked, and before he could get another word out Race was grabbing him by the collar and pulling him into another kiss.
Sometimes, Spot Conlon grew quiet, but nothing shut him up quite like Racetrack Higgins.