Disclaimer: I still don't own Newsies. But I'm working on it. Promise.

Author's Note: I know it's been forever! Even worse then last time, and I apologize. But I've been really busy what with graduating and all. Oh, and I couldn't help writing one more chapter of pointless Sprace cuteness before destroying their lives forever, lol. I hope you enjoy it, if you're even still out there. I hope you are. Give me some feedback on this, okay? It will motivate me to get the next chapter up quicker.

Emotions ran high the following morning in Brooklyn. While Spot and Race lay sleeping like babies, Spike and the others were downstairs in heated argument.

"It's all ya tawked about yestahday," a boy yelled, "Are ya tellin' me ya losin' ya noive?"

Spike grabbed the boy by the collar and, slamming him against the wall, hissed "Didn't ya see who's cap is outside da door? It ain't Spot's, dat's fah shoah, and it ain't none a' ours. It's dat boy's – da one dat used tah come around all da time in da summah. Da short one from Manhattan. Now, ya tellin' me ya want me tah jus' waltz right up dere an' take care a' Spot in front a' him?"

But the boy was relentless, "Kill him too, it'd –"

Spike punched the boy in the stomach before he could continue with his logic, "Well dat's real smart," he yelled as the boy doubled over and fell to the ground, "It's gonna be hard enough jus' gettin' rid a' Spot as it is – ya want me tah get one a' Kelly's boys too? Brooklyn's gonna be weak. Dere ain't no way in hell we gonna take on Manhattan. No, I ain't pissin' off Kelly any more den I hafta."

The boy on the floor groaned his agreement.

New morning sun was flowing through the same dirty windows which had witnessed the boy's professions of love the night previous. They were waiting now to see what would follow the desperate sentiments of two lonely newsboys.

Racetrack was awake already. He lay quite still, wrapped up in stained bed sheets. Spot was still snoring peacefully beside him. The Brooklyn king was surprisingly serene when he slept. Race would have pictured a snoozing mess – limbs all askew, intolerable snoring, drool perhaps. That's how all the Manhattan boys were anyway – Race had come to learn firsthand that Cowboy was not a morning person. But Spot, well, Spot was a different story entirely. He slept curled in a frail little ball, quiet as anything; lips parted only slightly, arms wrapped tight around a lumpy pillow that had taken Race's place some time over the course of the night. His eyes were calm behind closed lids, and his breathing was steady – Race even thought he saw the hint of a smile.

A small sigh escaped Race then. He could hardly believe what had come to pass between Spot and himself. Only a few months after Spot had poured his heart out to Race, here they were, lying side by side;having traversed that final stage of a relationship which follows acquaintance and then friendship. Romance. Though Race didn't know if he could rightfully call it that. They had slept together, but what would that mean now in the light of day? It was true he loved Spot. Months worth of confusion had manifested themselves all in the night previous. Every question answered, every unclear emotion clarified. Every worry calmed, every pain soothed.

Just as these thoughts settled in his brain, he became aware of the fact that Spot was wide awake and staring at him. Race hesitated. He didn't know if he should smile, or frown. To apologize profusely for what they'd done, or hug the boy beside him and confess his feelings. Spot seemed to sense the uncertainty, and he sat up. "Well, ya still here …" he said quietly, "Which is more den I expected."

Race sat up too, his eyebrows creased in apprehension. "If ya want me tah go Spot, just say da woid …"

Spot shook his head. They spent a long time in silence. Race took the time to notice that at least half the time they were together, neither of them were speaking. They were just staring at each other, or the floor, in awkward silence.

Spot was biting his bottom lip. He was well aware of what they had done the night before. But he knew that he himself had gotten swept up in the moment – perhaps the same held true for Race? He knew his feelings were real, but he was worried about Race. So before anything else was said, before the situation progressed any further, he asked,

"Whatcha thinkin', Race?"

Race frowned. "I dunno," he said honestly. "What do you mean?"

"What do ya want?" Spot asked.

Race thought he must have been imagining things. Spot Conlon putting someone else's feelings before his own? Race couldn't be sure, but he didn't think it had ever happened before. The only thing for it was to be as honest as he possibly could be.

"I want you."

Spot felt himself smile. Race smiled in return. And suddenly all the tension was gone. Both boys were laughing as Spot grabbed Race's shirt collar and slammed him down on the mattress. They were kissing and smiling and both were completely content, Spot straddling Race in the middle of the mess of blankets around them. Race broke apart after a few minutes and looked Spot square in the eye.

Spot raised an eyebrow, but Race continued. "Didja mean whatcha said last night?" he asked.

Spot smiled impishly. "If ya give me sex like dat every time, Race, I'll say it ovah an' ovah till da day we die."

Race grinned – it was Spot's sick was of being sentimental. Race leaned forward and put his lips right up next to Spot's ear, and he said the words, the only words, that could melt the heart of the toughest newsie in New York. "I love you, Benjamin."

Spot closed his eyes, the smile leaving his face. He let the words sink in; let them enter his brain like oxygen for the first time. Let them seep into his bloodstream and intoxicate his entire body with ecstasy.

Race tried to lie back down, but Spot's arms were around him in an instant, and they lay down as one. Race closed his eyes too, letting Spot's body weigh on him, letting Spot's scent make him dizzy, letting Spot's hand find his own …

Neither knew how long exactly they were lying like that. But eventually Race felt the sun coming in through the window hot on his face and he whispered, "Spot, we already missed sellin' dis mornin'. I gotta get back tah at least sell da aftahnoon edition. I ain't got any money as it is – I can't be missin' good sellin' days."

Spot sat up reluctantly. "Ya really gotta go?"

Race smiled. He'd never realized before how cute Spot could be, pouting as he was now. "I really gotta go. I'm shoah Jack's gonna be wonderin' where I've been. I been gone since yestahday mornin' ya know."

Spot nodded and rolled over to let Race get up. Both stood and began dressing in silence. Every once in a while, one would go over and steal a kiss from the other. A few minutes later Race was standing in front of the cracked old mirror, straightening his hat. "I look okay?" he asked seriously.

Spot smiled, "Whatcha askin' me for? I'm gonna tell ya dat ya look good no mattah what."

Race chuckled as Spot came up behind him and wrapped his arms around the Italian's waist. "But ya look bettah like dis," Spot corrected himself.

They smiled together, and together they walked to the door. When they reached it however, Spot stopped. "Uh, Race?" he said,

Race stopped too, "Yeah?"

"My boys can't know." It was hard, but it had to be understood.

Race frowned only for a second. He knew that Brooklyn was the most important thing in Spot's life. Race wasn't about to pretend that he could replace that for Spot. Loving the Brooklynite as he did made it easier for him to accept this.. "I can tell Jack an' da boys though, right?"

Spot grimaced. He could only imagine the amount of relentless teasing that this would cause. But he nodded anyway. "I guess," he said with a smile.

"Walk me home an' we can tell 'em tagethah," Race bribed.

Spot smiled, "It's impossible tah say no tah ya Race …" he mused.

Race nodded approvingly. He was about to open the door, when another thought occurred to him. "Spot?" he asked suddenly. "Dis means …well, dis means ya ain't gonna love nobody but me right?"

Spot smiled at Race's innocence. He kissed the boy gently on the side of the head. "I couldn't nevah love nobody but you."

Race nodded and they walked downstairs together, both feeling like the whole world were merely floating around them. Nothing weighed down on them anymore, nothing worried or upset or frightened them. Except perhaps the thought of losing each other.

Spot didn't even bother telling Spike that he was leaving. Just walked right out. But Spike noticed, sure enough, and sent two sentries to watch for the king's return.

The late fall sun was shining bright. Leaves were crunching underfoot. The chilly air had that smell of oncoming snow – perhaps the first of the year. It would bring with it winds of change which would affect countless lives.