It's hard for me to believe that I've written eleven whole chapters and none of them are sprace. Enjoy 970 words of fluff.

Unspoken: implied or understood without being spoken

It's an average day in Brooklyn, and Spot spends it in patient anticipation of meeting up with Race after they sell all their morning papers. They have a competition on days like these, when Race spends the morning and afternoon in Brooklyn rather than the evenings; whoever sells their one hundred papes and gets to whatever meeting place they're using that day first wins, and since Race made it last week by shoving Spot aside with a surprising amount of force as he'd run the last few feet, Spot has a score to settle.

Somehow, though, Race is already in the alley, waiting for him, by the time he gets there. "Oh, you're finally here," he says, exaggerating his movements and the tone of his voice. "I thought I'd have to wait forever-"

"Shut up. It's not like you win anything, anyway."

"No, but I do beat you," he retorts with a smile, unfazed. The effect is ruined, somewhat, when he sits down and grabs Spot's hand to drag him to the ground. However, Spot's waited all day for this, so instead of letting himself get pulled down besides Race, he makes sure he lands half on top of him, instead, and draws him into a kiss.

Race pulls back after a moment, grinning.

"What?" Spot inquires, a hint of annoyance present in his voice. Race just keeps smiling.

"You're really something, you know that?" He moves so that he sits beside Spot, laughing when he raises an eyebrow in confusion.

"Yeah. You'se real smart, for one thing."

Spot scoffs. "Flattery ain't gonna get you nowhere, Higgins."

That teasing, playful smirk is back, the one that Spot wants to find annoying but can't think of as anything but charming or attractive. "You know where to put boys so they sell pretty good without getting in each other's way, and you're real good at all the politics stuff with other boroughs. You'se a real… strategist, that's it. A real strategist." As Race does that weird playful head tilt, shake, whatever, Spot can't help but want to punch the goofy grin off his face. Instead, he swats at his arm.

"Aw, shaddup," Spot gripes. Race giggles, but ditches the silly demeanor, leaning in conspiratorially.

"No, really," he insists, "If there's anyone that deserves flattery, it's you – not that your ego isn't already bad enough as it is." Spot finds himself laughing a bit, and doesn't miss how Race seems pleased with himself for being the cause of that laughter. "For one, you take care of all your boys, and don't go saying it comes with the job, the last couple kings didn't give a shit about anyone but themselves. You're a good fighter, of course. And then there's how you're… responsible, sorta… what I mean is, I never go more than a few days without betting away my money, but you always know what you're doing. You never get panicked when things start to go south, and if you don't know what to do you get it figured out."

Spot looks up when Race seems to have finished, raising his eyebrows. "You come up with all that?"

"Yeah. And you'se a real good kisser, too."

"That so? Maybe I ought to prove it," Spot says, moving in, but Race pushes him away.

"Nope. Not until you complement me." Rolling his eyes, Spot obliges.

"Well, first of all, you're real good looking. Handsome."

Snorting, Race replies, "How about you tell me something I don't already know?" earning him a playful shove.

"Shut up, I'm getting there. You're brave."

"How's that?"

"All that betting you do has gotta take some kind of guts. Most other guys would play it safe, but you never do that, even if there's nothing for you in it. Look at how you'll fight for the younger kids even if they isn't from your borough."

"Hm," Race hums as he nods, considering it. He's moved from leaning against the alley wall to leaning against Spot's side, facing away from him, slouching so much he's almost laying down.

Spot takes it as a cue to start again. "You're always having fun. Even if things aren't going too well, you find a way to enjoy them. I think it's real amazing, how you keep your spirits up when things don't go your way."

Sitting up, Race leans away, angling himself so he can see Spot. "It's not that way all the time, you know," he comments, prompting a scoff.

"Of course not." They fall into a peaceful quiet then; Spot soaks up Race's presence beside him, and is almost startled when Race suddenly twists to collapse onto him, wrapping his arms around the shorter boy.

"I love you."

Although Spot doesn't repeat the phrase back, he does return the hug and respond, "You're so amazing, Race." A moment passes as they enjoy each other's embrace, content.

"Wasn't I promised a kiss, Higgins?"

Smirking, Race replies, "Damn right you were," and slides a hand to the back of Spot's neck before just looking at him. His smile evens out and Spot can read all the awe, happiness, and complete love in his expression as they breathe together.

And then Race's gaze flicks down to his lips and he closes the gap between them. With Race clinging to him like this, it's impossible not to wish he'll never let go, and Spot keeps kissing him until they have to separate to breathe. Even then, they don't let go of each other. As Spot leans back against the wall, Race buries his face in his shoulder. Spot smiles gently.

"Racetrack?"

"Hmwhat?"

"You're… you're just… I…" Spot stops, troubled, exhaling as he gives up with a slight shake of his head. Race tightens his hold on him.

"I know, Spot," he murmurs. "I love you too."

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