I am in love with every OC I make. I hope you're enjoying them. Why do I bring this up? Well you're getting two new ones :)

Get ready to meet a lovely older m/f couple!! 

Heads up, this is gonna be a long one (when is it ever not a long one haha)

Okay, so, this is suuuper long, 5000+ words, hope it only entertains and doesn't bore you...

Enjoy! :)

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Today it wasn't Fabrizio that pointed them in their new direction, but Andrea and Giacomo. They're on their way to a little bakery right now. Spot is once again handling the directions because Race cannot be trusted with directions. 

And, as they navigate to this bakery, they talk about something they've been speculating.

"So just what is the relation between Andrea and Giacomo?" Race questions passionately, hands gesticulating. "I thought I had them figured out."

"Me too," Spot agrees. "But there seems to be something new to their relationship."

"There is! There must be! They've been acting differently lately. I've known them for a decade. This is definitely something new."

"But can romantic feelings build up after spending so much time together as friends?" Spot wonders.

Race glances over at Spot, amused smile on his face. "I mean. That's what happened with how I felt about you."

"Oh right-right," Spot stammers, a little flustered. He pretends to study the piece of paper with the address very closely, as if trying to look for any details he missed.

Race grins. Got him.

Making Spot flustered is one of his favorite things, because he knows that he's the only one capable of doing that.

"Still," Race draws back the conversation to where it was, "it's really interesting. I mean no matter what they have a deep bond. But it's still fascinating to watch, and you can't help but wondering what kind of relationship they have now. Like, if they love each other or are in love with each other."

Spot nods slowly, thinking. They're not the only ones who might be in love. He's playing back the conversation he had with Miss Heather the other day, after they reunited Alara and Adelaide.

"Did I see ya eyein' Alara?" Spot asked Miss Heather curiously.

"Can't a gal look at another gal?" Miss Heather responded with a smile.

"Well sure," Spot answered, "but I thought you already had eyes for Miss Medda."

"I have eyes on both of them."

Spot blinked. "That can happen?"

"Sure it can. I believe you can love more than one person at a time. I mean, when you have several siblings you can love all siblings, right? And not choose just one? And you can have several friends and love them all the same, right? So why can't I be interested in more than one person at a time?"

"I guess that makes sense," Spot conceded. "I've just never thought of it like that before.

"Is it because you only have eyes for your Mr Racetrack?" she teased him.

"Hey!" he blushed as she laughed.

"Miss Heather has taken a liking to Alara," Spot tells Race.

Race glances at him. "Weren't you tellin' me about how she had taken a liking to Medda?"

"Well yeah. But Miss Heather told me that she felt attracted to them both."

"Really?"

"Yep."

Race smiles. "Love is truly a wondrous and curious thing."

Spot smiles. "It is indeed."

Before too much time goes by, they reach their destination: a little bakery called The Sweetness of Our Home.

Spot looks at Race. "Who's going to go in first this time?"

"How did you know I was just about to say after you?"

Spot huffs and shoves Race lightly as Race chuckles.

"Don't worry Spot, my nerves are okay today," Race reassures him. Without another word, he opens the door, and Spot follows him inside.

Race is hit with all the good smells of freshly baked bread when he enters. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. At this point, he doesn't even need to eat anything; just smelling it is good enough.

A middle aged couple greet them from behind the counter. "Good morning, good sirs! How can we help you today?"

Race has to stop himself from placing down all the money in his pocket and saying give us your best. Instead, he says, "we're friends of Andrea and Giacomo."

Their eyes widen immediately. "Ohh, you know them?"

Race nods. Then he grins. "I don't know if they've mentioned me. I'm their handsome friend several years younger than them."

"Are you a gambler?" the man asks him.

"I...yeah."

"That's not a good question," the woman argues with a smile on her face. "They're only friends with gamblers!"

Race laughs. "That's very true."

"So why do they send you here?" the woman questions.

"Well, they thought we all might benefit if we had a little chat," Race responds, not quite sure if he wants to ruin the present atmosphere like he knows he will the second he mentions Them. "Share stories. Because they feel we all have plenty."

Well, that ain't a lie. 

I'm not quite improvin' the truth like Jack always says though. I'm more along the lines of...leaving out a little of the truth.

They take that pretty well, nodding slowly, murmuring to between them in a tongue Race has not heard before. They turn back to Spot and Race and smile warmly. "We shall prepare you some of our best, then."

Race grins. "Why, thank you very much."

Within a few minutes, they come out from the counter with a tray of several delicious looking pastries and glasses of water. Race's eyes light up at the sight as his mouth waters and his stomach growls a bit.

They set the tray down and gesture for Race and Spot to sit.

"My name is Racetrack," Race introduces himself as he sits down.

"Mircea," the man responds. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Racetrack."

Race smiles. "Likewise."

"I'm Spot, or you can call me Sean," Spot introduces himself next.

"And I'm Tomo," the woman introduces herself. She distributes the glasses. "A pleasure to meet you two." She raises her glass, and they all clink before hydrating.

(A/N: so I wouldn't feel left out, I clinked my water glass to my laptop and took a sip of water haha. This is your sign to do the same! You are a part of this cheers now! Remember to hydrate!! Hydrate or die straight!!!)

"So," Race begins, eyeing the tray, "what delicious foods do we have today?"

Mircea gestures to the slices of pie in front of them. "These are placinta cu mere and placinta cu branza dulce--apple and sweet cheese pie. These are traditional desserts from my homeland that my mother taught me to make when I was young. I did not know which you would prefer, so I brought both." He gestures to the braided bread. "This is Challah bread. My family is Jewish, you see." He motions for Race to go ahead and try it, and even Race understands that cue and doesn't wait for a second sign. He closes his eyes as the wonderful taste hits his mouth.

Tomo gestures to a bread. "This is anpan, a type of kashipan. It's a sweet roll filled with red bean paste. Very popular where I come from."

Spot takes a bite. "This is very good! What did you say it was called again?"

"Kashipan!"

Race tilts his head. "Pan? Like...bread?"

She nods, smiling. "Correct. My land was visited by the Portuguese in the 16th century. That is why we share the word for 'bread' with them."

Race makes a little ohhhh sound through his mouthful of food.

Spot elbows him. "Race, remember your table manners. Don't talk with your mouth open."

Race swallows. "And who are you to criticize me about manners, newsboy?"

"Consider that we are with different company than our normal crass crowd."

Race sees the point but continues to mutter unintelligibly under his breath. He takes another bite. It's just too good.

"So," he asks through a mouthful of placinta cu mere. "Where is your guys' homeland?"

"I came from Romania," Mircea says, "and she came from Japan. We arrived to Ellis Island the same day, in the spring of 1890."

"I didn't know anyone," she adds. "I did not know much English. I was very lonely in a place so crowded."

"We had to wait for so, so long for them to let us into the country," he continues. "To make sure that we didn't bring over any sicknesses."

She laces her fingers with his. "And we found each other there."

He squeezes her hand. "That we did."

She snaps her fingers. "Instant attraction. Like that." 

"It was just like that," he agrees. "But neither of us spoke good English. But I was actor, I could make motions she could understand, and she is a very talented artist."

With her free hand she slaps his hand that is currently on her other hand. "Stop! That is not true!"

"Dragostea mea, we have been over this many times," he tells her, chuckling. "That's how we could communicate! I made movements and you made art!"

Race and Spot smile as they bicker lovingly.

Spot glances at Race. I hope we're like that when we're they're age.

"Well, anyway," she turns back to Race and Spot, "we stuck together on Ellis Island. Then stuck together in Brooklyn."

"We learned English together."

"And we worked hard, day and night."

"At the factories."

"But that was no way to live!" she exclaims, slapping her hand on the table. "So we stopped."

"We figured out what we wanted to do was bring a little bit of ourselves and share it with the city," he says. "Provide a little bit of home for the people like us, provide a new experience for those already here."

"And we thought, what better way to do that then through food?" she smiles. "Of course, our lands are different, and do not have all the same ingredients. So we had to choose what kind of food we wanted to do."

"And we decided that there was enough sour and salty foods," he continues. "So we decided on sweets."

"I noticed that you have extra low prices," Spot comments. "Why is that? There's nothing wrong with it, for sure, but I've noticed these last few years that almost everyone has been raising their prices, at least a little. Why haven't you, yet? If that's okay to ask."

Mircea and Tomo look at each other before answering. It's obvious that after being together for over ten years--they are incredibly in sync.

(Spot glances back at Race. Will they be that in sync in ten years?)

"Well, we know what it's like for people just entering the country," Mircea answers slowly. "And we know what it's like for those who have been here a little longer but are still getting low pay. They cannot afford much, and they like our food, and we don't want to take away their joy by raising our prices above their reach."

"It's unfair to ask our neighbors and friends to pay more for the same thing if their wages are still the same," Tomo adds passionately. "They are already betrayed by their bosses. Why should they be betrayed by us?"

"I like that," Race states instantly. "Not the betrayal part, but your reason for why you're doing this. I know I'm not saying this in the right order, or maybe I'm not saying the right words at all, but, well, I just want you to know that I like your thoughts and what you're doing." His face heats. In times like this he wished he could talk normally. But they're smiling and nodding, so hopefully he didn't sound too bad.

"Isn't it hard, though?" Spot asks softly. "To not raise your prices when everyone else has? Isn't it harder for you?"

The pair exchange another look, in sync. They turn back to them.

"Yes, it is hard," Mircea agrees slowly.

"But it is so, so worth it," Tomo finishes, eyes shining.

Race smiles. "Now I know why Andrea and Giacomo like you two."

Mircea nods. "They are two great souls."

"Bah, they don't like us because of our ideas, they like us because they love our food!" Tomo jokes with mock scorn in her voice, getting them all to chuckle.

"They sure do like their food," Race agrees. He takes another piece of challah bread. "And I'm the same."

"So how did you become friends with Andrea and Giacomo?" Mircea asks him.

"Well, I found them in an alleyway when I was eight." Only after those words in a nonchalant voice come out of his mouth does he realize how shady that sounds. "It wasn't as bad as that sounds. I was never in any danger. I heard them call out to me inside the alleyway and I went in. It was fine, nothing bad happened."

"Race, you are not making this better for yourself," Spot cuts in, shaking his head in exasperation and amusement. No wonder Jack was so overprotective. This boy had no sense of self preservation. It's honestly a miracle that he's gotten this far.

Race shoves Spot lightly. "Nothing happened. We just played cards."

"What if they were murderers?"

"But they weren't! They were just two young adults playing cards in an alleyway!" he turns to face the couple to get back on track. "They figured out real quick from my looks that I'm Italian. My name--my birthname, Antonio--all but confirmed that for them. I was born in America, and... wasn't raised by my birth family, so I knew none of it. They helped me learn about my heritage, and we've been friends ever since."

"My brother is named Antoniu," Mircea tells him. "You know, Romanian and Italian have the same roots. We're not so different, you and I."

Race smiles. "No, we really aren't that different."

"I may not come from the same place as you, nor have a similar language," Tomo says, "but we do have pan. And we have festivals and food and music and dances and family and friends." She turns to Spot. "You are not like them either, but you have all those too, right?'

Spot nods slowly. "My family came from Ireland. We...we do have all that, but I never learned it. Wasn't too close with my parents." But then he thinks about the newsies. About Christmas dinner and their tradition to have the pies before the turkey. About singing through the streets when they felt especially alive. About all the newsies he calls his brothers. "But actually? I think I did have all that. The music, the food, the family. With the people I chose to surround myself with. The newsies."

Tomo's eyes gleam as she nods vigorously. "Not a culture born into, but a culture made. Just as beautiful. I too did not have good relations with my parents. That's why I come here alone. I'm sorry that you didn't have the opportunity to learn about the ways of your homeland." She puts her hand on his. "But it looks like you have found something better, it would seem." She smiles.

He smiles back. "Yeah." He squeezes Race's hand. "I guess I have."

Race squeezes his hand back.

As the conversation hits a lull, Race glances at Spot with a questioning look, trying to ask without speaking if it's a good time to bring up the really important part of their visit. It only takes a moment for Spot to understand what Race is trying to convey, and he gives a nod of approval.

Race takes a breath and faces the couple again. "True, most of what we do with Andrea and Giacomo is gambling. But...we're also all in the business of fighting Them."

The couple still.

Race takes a sip of water nervously, wondering if this is going to be the end of the couple's warmth.

"Andrea and Giacomo thought it would be good for us to talk," Spot cuts in smoothly, having his own nervousness akin to Race's, trying to fill the silence before things might take a horrible turn. "Because it might be good for you to get some closure, and for us to learn more about the people who were a part of the movement long before we ever came along."

Although Race is still tense, he relaxes his shoulders slightly. Even if this takes a wrong turn, he'll know that they did what they could.

"It was very tough," Mircea begins slowly. "We had not even been in America for two years."

"It was rough being an immigrant," Tomo continues. "But it was rougher to find out the truth about the lucky Americans we heard so much about."

"Of course, it was only natural for the immigrants to be the ones to notice that there was something amiss," Mircea continues. Race and Spot both relax and settle back down once they see that the story is starting. "Not only because we were not yet used to it-"

"But because we were the ones mostly targeted," Tomo finishes bluntly.

Mircea tips his head in acknowledgement. "Because we were not blinded by trust that the rich had our intentions in their heart. Many American-born people refuse to believe it, and so they don't see it. Or they do, and they look away."

"We're American-born," Spot cuts in, "but we see things too. I think that has something to do with us bein' newsies, who also don't have much say in society and are often treated like the dirt under their shoes."

"There's a meeting point there, isn't there?" Race realizes out loud. He holds one palm out vertically and intercepts it with the fingertips of his other hand. "Where there's an overlap between immigrant and the workin' folk."

"There is," Tomo agrees, nodding with approval. "I'm glad you can see that. Because they cross, and, well..." she tears one of the kashipan. "You start off with two: American-born, and immigrant." She looks back up at them. "But we just pointed out that there is a cross, right?" she tears the halves into quarters. "So now we have four, right? American born and rich--or at least, wealthy enough. They don't pay attention to nothing. Then you have American born and poor--the ones who work. They are American, but they are lower, you see? And then you have us immigrants. There are a few who have immigrated who do have wealth--so even though they are immigrants, they still have the benefits of money, right?" She points to the last quarter. "And here is the lowest of the low. Poor immigrants. No money, no birthright citizenship." She looks up at them again emphatically. "Now, I don't want you to compare your struggles to ours. Maybe we have more struggles as immigrants. But that does not make your own struggles less. And even within these quarters there are more halves and quarters--possibilities that I've never thought of, or never heard of. They all overlap. You cannot look at it as if it were black and white."

Race really resonates with that. Because sure, he's American. But he's one of New York's workers. Sure, he doesn't have a job right now, but newsie was as much as an identity as a job, one that many looked down on. And sure, he does not have to struggle with his legal rights to be here. But he still struggles to get by in a world that was not built for a mind like his. And Crutchy and Blink don't have to struggle with minds that work differently, but Crutchy has to deal with being a poor kid with a bad leg, and Blink has to get through each day with only one eye. David's sister Sarah is a woman living in a man's world. Boots has to deal with being treated differently because of the color of his skin.

So they all have their own struggles. And just because one person has more on their plate doesn't mean others struggle less. It's all nuanced, interwoven.

And it makes sense for there to be a lot of overlap.

Come to think of it, it makes less sense for it to be common to find a person with no struggles.

Mircea kisses Tomo on the cheek. "Have I told you how eloquent and amazing you are, anata?"

Race blinks, trying to figure out what that could mean in Romanian, if it's close to anything he knows in Italian. But judging from the way Tomo beams, he figures it must be her mother tongue instead.

"Nihongo sounds so beautiful when you say it, iubitul meu," she smile.

Race can't help but smile too. "So...do you both speak Romanian and Japanese?"

"Yes," Mircea and Tomo answer in sync.

"So you learned each other's languages?" Spot asks.

"Of course!" Mircea affirms.

"So... how many more languages do you know?" Race asks curiously. "Besides English?"

The couple exchange a look, as if the question is not easy to answer.

"Well, I speak Romanian, Yiddish, English, Japanese, Spanish, Russian, Hungarian," Mircea responds first.

"And I know Japanese, English, Romanian, Cantonese, Mandarin, Korean, Tagalog, Spanish, Portuguese..." Tomo keeps listing off languages.

Spot blinks. "Are we talking like. Fluently?"

"What counts as fluent?" Mircea asks with a light air of amusement. "Would you be intimidated if I said I was fluent in them all?"

"Very," Spot answers in full honestly.

Mircea chuckles. "Well, today is your lucky day. I do not know every word of all of these languages--yet."

"I do," Tomo cuts in, getting the three of them to chuckle.

"That's really cool," Spot says with a smile. "I wish I could say the same."

"Don't worry, you have time," Tomo winks at him. "We are both over 50. We have had plenty of time."

"I hope so." Spot glances at Race. "Race? Everything okay?"

Race was thinking I have got to learn more languages so emphatically in his head that he didn't even realize he spaced out.

"Hm? Oh." he shakes his head to clear it. "I'm fine. I just...want to know as many languages as possible."

"Well what do you know now?" Mircea asks with genuine curiosity.

Race swallows. His beginning trilingualism is being to pale in comparison to their language counts (Mircea has 7!! Tomo has 9!!). "Well...I'm fluent in English and Italian. I'm trying to learn the dialects of Italy. Like the Neapolitan dialect, the Genoese dialect...I'm also getting proficient in Spanish. I know a couple words in a couple other languages...but not too many. So...right now my fluency count is low, my proficiency count is so-so, and my basics are...all over the place."

"And that's okay!" Tomo exclaims. "You don't just learn a language overnight. It takes time, it takes..." she makes circles with her hand. She turns to Mircea. "¿Qué es la manera para decir exposición en ingles?"

"Mmm, è esposizione in Italiano," Mircea muses. "Ma si tiene la equis..."

"Exposure?" Spot and Race offer.

"Sí!" Mircea and Tomo exclaim.

Tomo carries on her explanation as if nothing happened. "It takes time, exposure, many, many days, talking, and no giving up." She winks. "However, as you see, there is a danger of too many languages. You mix them up!"

They all laugh again for a good long while.

"...what were we talking about again?" Race asks after some time.

"We were talking about Them," Spot murmurs, not enjoying being the one to bring the mood down, but knowing he has to.

"Right."

All of them settle, the light airiness evaporating.

"So..." Race starts. "How did you...find out about all of it?"

"We noticed two things," Mircea begins. "One, the raise of prices but lower quality of items. The number of 'accidents' reported in papers. Second, we noticed our neighbors disappearing."

"This was when we were a newly opened shop," Tomo continues gravely. "We were terrified we were going to be next. By then, Andrea and Giacomo were our faithful customers. We asked them if they knew anything about it."

"They told us all that they knew. And so we learned the truth about the ones who own this city, and what happens to those who defy them."

"And we could not turn away," Tomo adds firmly, fire in her eyes. "So we joined them--Andrea and Giacomo, that is. Did what we can. For four years we aided each other."

"They would often bring displaced people to our house," Mircea says. "we gave them food and some space to stay while hiding from Them."

"We couldn't do that forever," Tomo continues regretfully. "We needed money for ingredients and food, and had not much space."

"Did you two ever happen to come across Fabrizio, by any chance?" Spot asks.

Their eyes light up. "Yes! How do you know about Fabrizio?"

"He's now a friend of ours," Race says. He can't help but blurting out, "Mr Jameson and the Gambler are our friends too."

Spot can't help the amused grin tugging at his lips. Race and his Gambler.

Mircea's eyebrows raise as Tomo's eyes widen. "Honto? ¿De verdad?" "Davvero?"

Race nods. "Davvero." He waves his hands. "Anyway, continue."

"So we helped move people to Fabrizio," Tomo continues. "We were involved in some of the Gambler's missions on the front lines, too. We did whatever we could. Until..."

"Until...?" Spot nudges gently after a few moments.

"One spring day, our fourth year in America. Andrea and Giacomo said that they were going to go on a dangerous mission. We...did not see them after that."

Race does the math. They came to America in 1890, four years later would be 1894, he would have been ten...he snaps his fingers. "I remember. I remember that day."

It all comes back vividly. How he spent the day with Andrea and Giacomo. Went to Brooklyn, met Spot for the first time, not yet knowing how much they would come to mean to each other. Came back to the lodging house and was asking questions about his family so he could tell Andrea and Giacomo what he learned. He went to their little alleyway, and...they weren't there. He remembers how something felt inherently wrong in that moment. Like something had shifted. Like he was not supposed to be there.

"It was...sudden. And...I missed them." Race swallows. Spot puts a hand on his.

Sure, they've all been healing. But on the other hand, he remembers clear as day his ten year old self's confusion, sadness, and fast-beating heart.

"We were afraid again that we would be next," Tomo continues sadly. "We did not withdraw completely, but we stayed hidden. We still helped how we could, but we did not go out boldly like Andrea and Giacomo."

"It sounds like you had people counting on you though," Spot points out. "It sounds like you made a smart decision laying low, and not depriving all those people of your help."

Tomo blinks gratefully. "Thank you, for that. It's as if you know I still hold guilt in my heart."

"I understand," Spot sympathizes. Out of habit he reaches for the key around his neck...and feels the jagged edges that he's still getting used to, from when he jammed that key frantically into the lock of the door that had trapped him and Ray, desperate to get to Race. Stargazer's last gift to him before he was taken, now broken.

"But we freed them three years ago," Race states. "Surely they came back to see you then?"

"They did," Mircea reassures him. "They did not find us right away, but they came back to us when they were ready. They had been through a lot in the five years we went without seeing each other."

Race nods. "They did." 

They haven't told me all about it.

In fact, they haven't told me much about it at all.

Race understands, though. It's hard to be vulnerable and talk about your darkest moments.

Gently, he asks, "Did they tell you what happened? What we did?"

They shake their heads. "They only said we wouldn't have to worry about Them anymore."

"Well, here's why." And so Race launches into his story, starting off with Stargazer, Spot supplying many details, Annie Kelly, the notes under Stargazer's floorboards, Jameson, the Gambler, Ray, being Taken, finding everyone who had been taken, and putting Pulitzer behind bars. The whole time as he is projecting dramatically and gesticulating, Mircea and Tomo watch, rapt, giving him their utmost attention.

"...here we are, this rag-tag group of outcasts, misfits, and resisters, walking away free," Race concludes his tale. "We made our way to Central Park, and everyone went home."

To his surprise, Tomo starts clapping. "What a wonderful story, Racetrack!"

Race finds his face heating up. "I mean...I just told it how it was..."

"No no," Mircea protests. "You have a gift for telling stories."

"Oh." Race averts his eyes, feeling warm, unsure what to do with that. "I...thank you. Grazie."

Mircea smiles warmly at him. "Prego."

"Is this why those two sent you here?" Tomo asks. "To tell your story and for us to tell our story?"

"I...yeah, pretty much. And they recommended your baked goods."

Tomo laughs. "That sounds like them. Wait one moment." she goes behind the counter and puts some pastries in a bag. She gives it to Race. "Here. This is a thank you from us to you, and Andrea and Giacomo. When you see them, please tell them we miss our favorite customers."

Race smiles. "Will do."

"And you'll be seeing us back here," Spot adds. He glances at Race. "Right Race?"

Race nods vigorously. "Oh yes." His stomach is already pleased at the idea. "And we're going to tell our friends about you and this place." He looks at Spot, mind racing. "We know plenty of newsies who are immigrants or direct descendants of immigrants, who might also want to share their stories. I don't know specifically about bein' Romanian or Japanese, but they'll enjoy your food regardless! And we know a coupla folks who are Jewish so they would appreciate it to, and...and..." he turns back to the pair. "We'll tell lotsa people 'bout ya."

They grin. "We appreciate it."

"Are you ready to learn your first word in Japanese, Antonio-san?" Tomo asks him.

He grins widely. "Yes!"

"To greet someone, you say konnichiwa," she says, letting him repeat it, play with it. "Hai. Yes. And one way to say goodbye is sayonara. But that is too final! You say it only when you will not see that person again! So I teach you better way to say goodbye. Mata ne."

"Mata ne?"

"Hai. Mata ne."

"And how do you say thank you?" Race asks. He glances at Mircea. "Both Japanese and Romanian."

"Arigato-gozaimasu."

"Mulţumesc."

"Arigato! Mulţumesc! Grazie!"

Tomo hugs them. "See you soon, you two!"

They hug her back. "We'll be back."

Then they shake hands with Mircea.

"A pleasure to meet you," he says.

They smile. "Likewise."

They wave to each other as Spot and Race walk out the door.

The door closes behind them and Race takes a deep breath. "I enjoyed that. Thoroughly."

"Me too."

"There was just...so much. It felt like..."

"Like we could stay forever?"

"Yes! Like that! And just...the sense that we're all connected, you know? That we are different but not too different."

"Exactly. And they were so kind."

"The kindest! And incredible. Just...you can tell that they have good souls, you know?"

"Oh yes."

A few beats of silence.

"So we can agree on two things, right?"

"What's that?"

"First of all, we are definitely going back."

"Uh huh."

"Did I also see you sneakily leave a quarter under a pen?"

"I did."

"Alright good. And one more thing we can agree on?"

"What's that?"

"Andrea and Giacomo are not going to see the sweets inside this bag. We will pass along Mircea and Tomo's regards but they have to go b ack to get sweets themselves."

"Oh, for sure."

------------------------------------------

Little comedic ending :)

OH MY GOSH IT FINALLY ENDED WHY THE HECK DID THIS FUNNY LITTLE CHAPTER END UP TO BE 5000+ AND TAKE SEVERAL DAYS TO WRITE

Soooooooooo huge author's not incoming. I honestly don't judge you if you skim through it.

The name Mircea comes from the Slavic word Mirče, meaning "peace, world".

"Tomo" is one way to say "friend" in Japanese. I learned this from our tour guide named Tomo, who was the sweetest.

"Dragostea mea" means "my dearest", and "iubitul meu" means "my beloved" :)

So as I found out, there are maaany different ways to come up with terms of endearment in Japanese, many involve the first name and adding honorifics. "Anata" is one term of endearment that in some cases means you, but in a romantic sense it's more along the lines of my darling, my dearest, or saying "oh, sweet you." And this website (90dayjapanese.com) also noted that mostly women said this because men are more reserved with verbal emotions, so I thought it would be nice if Mircea was the one to say this word :)

Absolutely DEVASTATED that Japanese melonpan--another type of kashipan--wasn't a thing until 1910-1950s depending on the source. As someone who just came back from Japan, those things are d e l i c i o u s. I highly recommend!! I miss themmmm

"Code switching" to describe the switching of dialects was invented in the 1950s, or else Spot totally would have responded to "who are you to criticize me about manners, newsboy?" with "It's called code switching. Please try it" haha.

Spot thinking "it's a miracle that Race has made it so far" comes from my joyfriend telling me on multiple occasions that they are not sure how I'm still alive haha. Because I am like Race, and maybe I do some stupid things too haha. So honestly I understand why they wonder how I'm still alive haha. (Bonus- in the recent times they've said they aren't sure how I'm still alive, they preface it with "again, I'm glad you're still alive, but I still have no clue how you made it this long" haha) 

So where did I get the inspiration for "small business who doesn't up their prices" from? WELL-there's this Thai BL called Moonlight Chicken produced by GMMTV, fully available on Youtube, and its main character is a man named Jim who owns a little restaurant and refuses to raise his prices because he knows the people in their neighborhood can't afford it. It's a sweet show about poverty, solidarity, not having much but having each other, first love, breaking out of harmful relationships, learning to love again, the hardships deaf people face, and dealing with loss...it's hard to believe that an eight episode show can cover all this and do it beautifully. I would not rewatch it because I know I will ugly cry again but I do highly recommend it. It's definitely worth the watch.

I'm just so in love with the idea of "we're not so different, you and I", okay? I love it so much. I have also traveled to many places, and time and time again I see that we are not so different. We laugh, we love, we live. We sing, we dance, we grieve, we celebrate. We play games, we tell awful jokes, we make fried dough, and pass down stories. This world tries to convince us that we are incredibly different from each other. And while it's true we might have different traditions, and we might look different, but we have a lot of the same values. We understand what it's like to be a child, because being a child is a universal experience. We all experience happiness and sadness. We all love laughter and enjoy being silly. Don't let them take these things away from you, okay? They'll tell you that your stories and ways of life are too different for you to understand each other, and that there's no way you could ever get along. Well, look them in the eyes and tell them you're wrong.

One of these "we're not so different, you and I" moments that will always be a core memory for me was when we were visiting rural Quechuan communities in the Andes of Perú. We made bracelets and played soccer together. On one of these days, I was making a little plastic lace lanyard, because that's what I do. Well, we were in a village, known for their tejido, their weaving. Well one of the women saw me and asked if she could try. I showed her how it was done, and she added a few more rows onto my lanyard. And true, I worked with plastic lace and she worked with alpaca wool, but we were both weaving. And I got to help weave a bracelet out of alpaca wool! The lanyard is one of my prized possessions, and my bracelet never leaves my wrist. So there's my special little anecdote. Even in the other hemisphere, in a community that lived so differently from what I was used to, we were able to share a moment. We were able to smile and say we're not so different, you and I.

Wow. This took an hour to edit. Which makes sense because it took several days to write haha.

Will we be seeing Mircea and Tomo again? Most definitely :)

I hope you enjoyed reading this 6000 word chapter (!) as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

Please, no homophobia/transphobia/aphobia, profanities directed at other users, hate etc in the comment section.

Best,

~Your Beloved Author (who thinks learning languages and sharing cultures is one of the most beautiful things in the world)