Skittery popped his knuckles, finding himself with nothing else to do. He was tired, he was cranky, he was sore in every muscle. He hated this job. He hated coming up and down those same creaky stairs every day to go to sleep and do the same thing over and over again until he died. Or hit adulthood. Whichever came first. So he decided that coming with Racetrack to Sheepshead Bay to watch the races was because he needed spice in his life. It had nothing to do with the fact that he dreamed of running his tongue over Race's lithe little body and threading his fingers into his dark hair. It had nothing to do with that. Not that he'd try anything. He was exhausted.

Tiredly, he rested his body on a bench, trying to get some sleep. No dice. Everyone around him was screaming and even with his eyes closed he could feel the disapproving stares from the "dignified" people in the upper tiers.

"Isn't this great, Skits?" Race's voice made him open his eyes.

"Great," he lied, forcing a smile on his face.

Trying something new was not a good idea…

Afterward, they were walking back. It was a long way back what with the trolley strike still going on.

"So did you like that?" Race let out a whoosh of air.

Skittery couldn't believe how much his face had transformed at the racetrack. How his eyes were alight with joy as he screamed for the horse of his choice. It was almost like a magic spell and once they left the magic downs, he went back to being the Racetrack that he knew and—secretly—loved.

"Yeah," he lied again, the hollow words coming easily to him as they did with most newsboys.

Racetrack smirked at him. "No you didn't. You were asleep Skits."

Skittery smiled a little himself through the exhaustion. "You got me. I hated it."

"Well at least you came," he stared up at the slowly blackening sky. Skittery couldn't tell if it was black from the ever pressing night or the excess of coal in the air. "No one comes with me."

"I thought you liked it like that…"

Race lowered his head but only a little so he could stare his taller companion in the eyes.

"No one wants to be alone," he said, voice catching.

It was only for a moment but it was the closest Skittery—or anyone for that matter—had seen Race in any close way, shape or form to crying. Then it was gone and he was smiling again.

"Come on, Skits. I wanna hurry back. Jack said somethin' 'bout us all goin' to Tibby's and I don't wanna miss that."

Skittery started to follow him but paused, knowing that it was now or never.

"Hey, Race," he called. "C'mere for a minute."

"What?" he suddenly looked irritable. "I thought you was tired. I mean, if we walk then you can sleep…in a bed."

"I can sleep later," Skittery shook his head. "C'mere."

Race walked over to him. "What?"

Skittery used his finger to tilt his head up and kissed him tenderly on the lips. Right in the middle of the street, just a mere hundred yards from the downs.

"Now you're not alone," he said, immediately feeling kind of stupid for not saying something better.

Racetrack's lips twisted into a smile. "Tibby's can wait."