I know. :? Not really a drabble...but I couldn't think of anything shorter. That's why this took a bit longer... Sorry!

Disclaimer: Sue me if you dare! You will just be wasting your money! I own nothing but a laptop and a copy of Newsies; and I shall die before you rip either of those things from my fingers! Oh, and btw, I am in fact Italian from a very Italian town; and yes I know there are subtle Italians...I just haven't met one yet. lol.

Prompt: Façades, Swimming, and Sleep Talking

"Spot…Spot, I love you…" Racetrack said after taking a large breath and slammed his fists into the table. He'd wanted to say it for so long, and had decided to finally take the plunge. Sean was his friend, part of his social circle of best friends; but not actually a best friend in himself.

Racetrack's been having sexual identity crisis for as long as he could remember, growing up on the streets you'd think it wouldn't be that bad. But he HAD been raised by nuns for the first six years of his life and because of that it stuck with him that it couldn't be; and he'd spent many a night lying awake in bed hating himself for it.

He didn't even know what it meant at first, but every time he'd see one of the older newsies take off his shirt in the hot sun he couldn't help but stare. When he began to understand what that could mean he couldn't bring himself to even contemplate it. For about three years he was perfectly happy to make up excuses and try to stick with them.

"I just think about guys because…I'm curious about what I'll look like when I'm older…"

As he grew older and his hormones began to kick in he just came up with new ones.

"It's not that I like boys, I'm just so sexually frustrated I'd have sex with anything!" Was his most common lie; probably because it wasn't actually that far off…he was a teenaged boy...

He wasn't alright living this kind of lie, but he told himself he was. He began dating girls, hoping, begging the God that told him what he felt was wrong, to allow him to just like these girls. He could date them for maybe two weeks before he grew completely disgusted with them. The same breasts that he heard other boys fawning over just seemed like disgusting fat to him, and their other feminine parts that the boys couldn't stop obsessing over made him shiver.

Eventually he couldn't stand it anymore and just decided to live a life of celibacy, deciding that if he couldn't have sex with boys he wouldn't have sex with anyone. Which, again being a teenaged boy, worked for about a half an hour.

Eventually either the worst or best thing that could ever happen to him happened. Over the years he had grown to be pretty good friends with the other boys of his lodging house; and they always talked about their friend Spot. Always telling jokes about what he'd done and what he would do next; and when Racetrack finally met him, he knew why.

He tried to hide his feelings for months, passing them off as either jealousy or admiration, but never wanting to consider attraction. What finally threw him over the edge was when Spot invited all of the Manhattan newsies to the docks to go for a swim one July afternoon. Of course Racetrack wanted to go; actually growing to be pretty comfortable with the blonde and also not wanting to pass off the chance to swim…he could never handle the heat...

His heterosexual façade broke, however, when they were changing. He had taken off his shirt quickly and looked up off handedly to see Spot pealing off his sweat soaked shirt and reveal his pale chest and flat stomach. The teen pulled the shirt over his head and flipped his hair out of his face in what Racetrack saw as slow motion and his jaw dropped.

He didn't know what was happening but began feeling very uncomfortable and ripped his eyes away from the boy's half naked form. He instantly dove into the freezing temperatures of the river and was quite relived that everything was seemingly back in its place. He, however, could not shake the thought of a shirtless Spot Conlon and was haunted by how much he enjoyed that thought.

Several months passed and Racetrack couldn't help but try to spend every waking moment with Spot. He'd been selling in Brooklyn practically his whole career, which gave him a pretty good excuse to cross the bridge so often; but the fact that he had stopped going to the races in order to spend extra time with the blonde was a fact that none of them needed to know. Any time he spent with Spot he could feel his profession of adoration on the tip of his lips, but he would reel himself in before they could escape. He even stopped drinking around Spot in fear that he would get drunk and do something stupid.

Racetrack knew his façade was fading fast and he began to feel consumed by the feeling. He would lay awake at night staring at the bunk above him just thinking about himself, Spot, his feelings, and everything. It was beginning to rip him apart and he knew that it was time to tell Spot. If Spot rejected him he'd most likely be too proud to say anything to anyone so he was probably alright in that area. And if he could just get the words out he could have Spot reject him and he could start to get over this infatuation as soon as possible. It was all working out for him, or at least he thought.

Turns out what sounds perfectly feasible while lying in your bed in the middle of the night doesn't always turn out that way in the real world; however, and Racetrack spent many a day starting conversations with, "Hey, Spot…I gotta tell you something…" To which Spot would turn his head and his hair would fall slightly in his face, and Racetrack would get too distracted and too frightened that Spot would no longer want to have anything to do with him if he were to tell him and he would make up some joke or story or something and chicken out last second.

Apparently honesty, however the best policy, was also the most difficult and it took him weeks to finally get the words out. When he did, however, he got a response he was not expecting.

"I know." Spot smiled and fixed his necklace from where the knot had fallen to the front.

"What?" The Italian asked in disbelief and turned to look at him.

"Most people do love me." A cocky grin played on his features, "But the difference is, I love you too." He stated with an air of confidence and self assurance that almost mesmerized Racetrack into not actually hearing what he'd said.

"What?" He repeated; his eyes wide.

"Yeah, I've loved you for a real long time, actually. You just been too wrapped up in loving me that you didn't notice." He grinned nonchalantly; only Spot Conlon could be so cocky and collected during a conversation such as this one. He then walked over and placed a sweet kiss on Racetrack's lips, a quick and easy one but one all the same. They received a few looks from Spot's boys around them, but the leader did not seem to care; confident they would not leave him over something as trivial as whom he chose to date.

"How'd you know I liked you though?" Racetrack said after a couple minutes of him thinking.

"You're Italian, subtleties aren't your specialty." Spot joked and Racetrack punched him in the arm playfully, "But really, I have birdies everywhere, Race, and you apparently mention me pretty often in your sleep." The blonde laughed as Racetrack hid his face in embarrassment.

So, I don't know if its okay for me to post this for Racetrack week as a "submission" per se-but I shall try and will take reprimandations if need be. On that note; you should totally check out http:/newsiesforever(DOT)webs(DOT)com/ :)