Second sunset chapter within ten chapters :)

So they are gonna have a lil deep talk...

And then it's gonna lead into...something else (angst...)

(Don't worry though, with me angst always includes hurt/comfort)

Enjoy! :)

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"So are you going to tell me why I came back to find you a little on edge?"

Spot sighs. "I had a feeling you were going to ask that."

"I'm very perceptive, Spot. Can't get anything past me."

"I can see that," a wry smile. Then he counters: "then can we also talk about why you came back to me definitely looking like something was wrong?"

Race hesitates, biting his lip. "Okay. But you have to tell me your thing first."

"I tell first, you go second?"

"Deal."

"Alright then." Spot sighs as he gathers his thoughts. "It's just...they said a lot of bad things. And it was hurtful stuff. And I don't want you to hear it."

"It was about me, wasn't it."

Spot takes a moment. Two, three, four, then... "Yes. Yes it was."

Race purses his lips. "Figured."

"But what they said wasn't true at all," Spot says quickly. "And I don't want you hearing it and believing it-"

"I can handle it," Race says dryly. "It wouldn't be the first time I've heard something negative about me."

Spot stops. "I thought the Manhattan newsies all took good care of you."

"Most of them did for sure. I was definitely closest to Jack, Kid Blink, Mush, Crutchy, Ray. They were always nice to me. Sheeny and couple others were too. But there were others who would say things sometimes, sometimes when they thought I couldn't hear and times when they knew I definitely could. Some of them learned I couldn't identify faces easily, so they would purposefully dress themselves drastically differently just to tease me." Race takes a deep breath. "I appreciate that you wanna spare my feelings, Spot. I really do. I'm just...tryna articulate that it ain't nothing I haven't handled before."

Spot puts his hand on Race's. "But you shouldn't have to handle that. No one should be saying stuff like that to you."

Race just shrugs. "Can't stop 'em." Then he turns to Spot, still kicking his feet dangling over the docks. "So. What's the hot gossip on me now?"

Spot smiles as Race tries to make light of the situation. But he plays along with the light tone. "It ain't nothin' ya wanna hear, sweetheart."

"I'm tougher than I look. Try me."

Spot exhales deeply, and Race becomes more serious again.

"They were asking me about how physically intimate we are." Every word feels like it's being pulled from his throat. He doesn't want to talk about this.

Race sits on that for a few moments. "And you told them that it ain't nothin' more than cuddles and kisses, right?"

Spot nods. "I did. They...wondered how I was satisfied with just that."

"Can ya blame them? Sometimes I wonder how you're satisfied to."

Spot turns around instantly, frantic expression. "You do?"

"C'mon, Spot. We ain't kids no more. I know what everyone else likes doing. Well...everyone except me." He angles himself a little away from Spot, curling his shoulders in.

"No, no no," Spot tells him quickly, frantically, remembering what Mallard told him. "It ain't wrong that you don't want that. I think about it sometimes, sure, but you don't deserve to put yourself in a vulnerable or uncomfortable position just because you think it would make me happy. Nothing makes me happier than you just being you. And if all you want for the rest of your life is just cuddles and kisses...well then I'm happy to oblige for the rest of our lives."

A smile tugs at Race's lips. "Thanks Spot. Really. But...are you sure that you're content with just that?"

Spot holds Race's hands. "I will always be content with what we have now."

Race grins. Spot grins back.

"So, is that all they said about me?" Race asks. "They didn't mention at all about...what's going on up here?" he points to his head.

Spot sighs. "Unfortunately they talked about that too." He looks back at Race's face, intent on making his personal thoughts known. "But you know I love you for who you are, right? All of you. And I've always loved your mind that works differently. I hope I've made it clear."

"Actually? Considering that you've been saying it for literal years now, I think that message actually has gotten into me."

Spot blinks, surprised. "It has?"

"I believe so."

Spot grins. Suddenly he wraps his arms around Race. "I'm really glad, Race. I'm really glad you believe it now."

Race hugs Spot back. "How can I not believe it when Spot Conlon has never lied to me?"

"And I'm not about to start now!"

"Good."

After a few beats, Spot pulls back, biting his lip. "Are you sure that you're okay hearing that some people said some awful stuff about you, though?"

Race shrugs. "Can you ever get used to it? I'm not sure. I think it will always hurt. But I think I can tolerate it better now. I also have you when I get too in my head. So...I think I can handle it, at the very least."

Spot puts his hand on top of Race's. "And you'll always have me when you get too in your head. I promise."

Race grins.

After a few moments pass, Spot asks gently, "Now can you maybe tell me what happened with you?"

Race takes a deep breath. "Yeah. And, I mean, it's probably not going to make any sense, but..." and so he launches into a description of the building he found after following the butterfly, how he felt being there, and how it felt off. "I've never encountered anything like this. It's just like...that building had some bad energy, and maybe there was something more sinister going on around there before this new building but...I just...I just felt it in my soul, y'know? If that makes any sense?"

Spot ponders it. "I get it. I mean, I don't think I can say I fully understand what you went through today, but I understand how it feels when something is off. And I know Brooklyn pretty well, do you maybe want to take me back there and I can probably tell you a bit about it?"

"Mmmm..." Race thinks on it. "Maybe. But I don't wanna encounter it soon if that's okay?"

"Totally. I'm not gonna make you face anything you aren't ready for."

Now it's Race's turn to put his hand on top of Spot's. "Thanks, Spot. I mean it."

"Of course."

And so, with nothing more to say, they gaze out to the horizon, to look at the wonderful sunset of colors, kicking their legs together, holding hands.

And then Race proceeds to compare the sky to a Renaissance painting and Spot has suddenly found a better view to look at than the sunset.

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Race is following the butterfly again, leading him to where he found The Building only hours earlier. But this time, it's nighttime.

And the building is on fire.

He cries out, hoping that someone will hear him and come help, but no one does.

He sees a shadowy figure slink off into the darkness. He just knows that this person is the one who caused the fire.

He tries running--whether to the person, to the building to try to find if there is anyone in there who needs help, or to run away from the fire--but his feet are stuck. It feels like he has the heaviest chains in the world keeping him from moving his feet.

But suddenly he's no longer standing outside the building: suddenly he's in it, on the third floor.

He starts screaming. For help, for anyone who can hear him. He coughs as he runs through the halls.

He doesn't see any sign of life in any of these rooms. All he sees are bodies already claimed by the fire.

"CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME?" he screams.

He hears a faint whisper. "Antonio..."

He spins around, trying to find whoever said his given name.

"Antonio!" It's more urgent now.

He spins around, trying to find whoever spoke.

"Antonio...viva, per favore..."

Whoever it is, they're asking him to live.

He bites his lip. "But what about you?"

"Non ti preocuparti. Solo tu hai bisogno di vivere..."

'Don't you worry. Only you need to live.'

Then the voice starts singing a ninna nanna, one that his grandmother has sung for him.

Suddenly, the building starts to collapse. Frantically, Race takes off, trying to make it out of this building alive, still crying out for anyone that needs help, for anyone to please come help him.

He's so close to reaching the door when a bunch of planks fall from above him and-

Race wakes up with a start, gasping, eyes watery. He tries to breathe slowly but all that's moving in and out are quick, shallow breaths.

Spot wakes, wrapping an arm around Race. "Race? Sweetheart, what's going on...?"

Race starts crying, and so Spot instinctually curls Race into his chest. "Shh, shh, shh, it's okay, Race. It's okay. I'm here. Nothing bad can hurt you while you're here, okay? I'm here. It's just a dream, just a bad dream..."

Race tries taking deep breaths to mirror Spot's. After one long exhale his body shudders, and he can't control the (albeit softer) sobs that leave his body.

Spot never stops stroking the back of Race's head. "It's okay. I'm here. We're here together. Nothing can hurt you here. It's okay. Everything is going to be okay."

Race grabs his hand and squeezes tight. Spot squeezes back. "It's okay. It's all going to be okay."

Slowly, gradually, Race's breathing slows. He opens his eyes, still shiny and wet, and blinks gratefully at Spot. "Thank you, Spot."

Spot kisses Race's forehead and hugs him tighter. "Of course."

And so they spend the rest of the night like that, in each other's arms, Spot stroking Race's head gently. And after awhile, Race falls asleep again, this time dreaming about curling up with his lover to watch the stars above.

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I hate writing hurt but I love hurt/comfort.

Man, not an easy chapter to write.

I'm doing what I can to make sure Spot doesn't infantilize Race. Of course it's natural for him to want to protect Race from hearing awful things said about him, but that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve to know. Especially when he asks Spot to tell him.

Mannn I really don't like angst :( I wish fluff was enough to count as a plot :(

(I say that even though I know that the Feels hit the most after angst when they are helping each other through)

Yeah, I think that's all for this chapter.

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

Best,

~Your Beloved Author (who is shaking their head sadly thinking "it's way too early (10:30 am) to deal with this kind of angst)