Race kicked at the dried crispy leaves riddled all over the ground, they crumpled under his foot which was a bit empowering. He imagined they were the annoying customers that purposely didn't tip because he was too preppy. He stomped a little harder that time.

Him? Preppy? Race was obviously the kind mysterious type that everyone loves.

Preppy. As if.

He idly walked around the park, laughing at children, awing at couples, barking at one dog which he was to never speak of again.

But now he was just standing there, in the middle of a field, trying to de-escalate his rapidly growing heartbeat because he was waiting on an email for maybe the biggest break of his life.

Snap.

Race frowned, was that a camera? And turned around. A man in the distance was taking pictures, his camera pointed right at Race.

Race felt his heart pick up, he wasn't paranoid but some weird eerie stuff has been happening to him lately. Besides, he has the right to feel a bit off-put by someone randomly snapping a picture of him.

Maybe he should call Jack, expect for he couldn't because he noticed he was the only one in that park which made him panic more, and when he panicked his hands shook, and when he's hands shook he couldn't move them or use his phone, when he couldn't use his phone to call Jack he panicked more.

He raised a now shaking arm to his heart. He was shaking for nothing, but he swore he's seen that man before despite how far he was.

He needed to calm down, it wasn't a big deal, it's just a photo dammit.

Something fluttered from directly behind him. Yelping he whipped back to see a dazzling Cardinal fly across the sky, the man snapped a picture of that and Race felt oh so stupid.

Of course the picture wasn't of him, why would it be? That's ridiculous. He was a grown man for heavens sake.

Despite the false alarm, Race still felt significantly less safe, and immediately walked to his car. Ignoring the snaps behind him, he got in his car. He needed to focus otherwise he wouldn't be able to drive, and they only needed one car accident in the family.

In the car ride home, he rung Jack, just to hear his voice.

Of course Jack was probably on the job and didn't answer, which meant Davey was also not available, and Crutchie was on his trip healing the world, Albert took the extra shift, which left him with Katherine or Spot.

He called Spot, Katherine already thinks he's unstable enough and has tried to book him six therapy appointments.

Spot answered on the 3rd ring, no Race did not count.

"Hello? His gruff voice said, which meant he was under a car right now. Race smiled softly, he loved it when Spot answered the phone like a 90 year old grandpa.

"Hey Spotty!" Race cheerfully sang.

"Okay, what happened," Spot asked. Always one to cut to the chase.

"Nothing happened," Race said oh so convincingly.

"Your voice just rose like 3 octaves, how are you so good at poker?"

"I count the cards," Race said honestly.

The other line got quiet, "that is a conversation for another day, I will not be forgetting that. But you still have to tell me what happened."

Race sighed, turning on his turn signal, "it's stupid."

"It often is with you," Spot agreed.

Race chose to ignore that, "I just thought I saw someone taking a photo of me in the park and I freaked out."

"Wait what the hell? Someone was taking pictures of you?" Spot's voice was laced with concern.

"No, they were taking pictures of the bird behind me. I just... got scared and wanted to talk to someone." Race blushed, glad Spot couldn't see him.

"Want me to come over?" Spot asked, and oh boy. Race almost forgot how he was the only person as overprotective as Jack.

"No, I'm fine. I need to get some chores done anyway, my dishwasher hasn't seen sanction for weeks." Race said pulling in, truly feeling better.

Spot was obviously reluctant not to ignore Race and come over anyway. Race didn't need to see Spot to know that.

"Alright, well I got to go. Call me if you change your mind."

"Will do, bye Spotty." Race hung up the phone.

When Race got home, he procrastinated with the dishes a bit by folding the laundry. He hates how gross the dishes were and the food that always ended up on his hand. But he also hated folding the laundry so he procrastinated on that with mopping the floor. But before he mopped the floor, he had to vacuum the floor. Before he could vacuum he had to take out the trash so he could throw away the dirt.

And by that rate he didn't get to the dishes until 12 o'clock at night, which left Race in a pissy mood.

"Stupid dishes and stupid night." Race groaned scrubbing rather angrily.

He looked outside to glare at the moon, but as he looked outside, a figure behind his bushes moved. Race screamed and dropped his dish on the ground, the plastic plate plattered on the ground.

Race started breathing heavy again, grabbing a knife, wishing he'd gotten that gun Jack always pestered him about. Still staring at the window, looking for the figure he swore he saw, he reached around and grabbed a flashlight as well.

He creeped outside, phone on speed dial with 911 if necessary and shone the light into the bushes, finding... nothing.

"Huh?" Race said, looking around again.

Then he heard obnoxious giggling, and hated his life again.

Over the corner into the neighbors fence was the stupid middle school boys who have been terrorizing him for weeks. Throwing balloons at him, TP-ing his house, and even though they swear it was the dog, he knows they pooped in his yard.

When he was in middle school he was shivering because his dad sold all his clothes to buy drugs and had to walk around in his underwear in the New York winter until Jack was able to steal some clothes.

Part of the reason Jack became a cop was the juvenile delinquent program he was forced into to help encourage good behavior was run by a lot of cops who were very kind to him. For every one that was rude, there were seven who would hug him when he admitted to being scared.

Or so says Jack, frankly all Race can remember is being pulled into a cop car when Jack ratted on the family, separated for weeks in the foster care system.

He hated middle school boys.

Growling with frustration he turned around, almost missing the man jogging in the middle of the night. Who jogs at night anyway?

He walked back into his house, shut all the doors and windows, and locked them for good measure.

He never did like looking at the moon, it always seemed to be laughing at him.