#is that i had my picture taken yesterday with my lil box of chocolates

[eunhos]

.

[racebox-of-higgars]

Christmas Kisses - sprace oneshot

It may not be Christmas anymore but I’m still gonna write it 

Crossposted on Ao3 at Racebox_of_Higgars 

Enjoy! 

“I think I’m having a feeling,” Spot groaned, flopping down onto Jack’s couch. “Make it stop.” Jack looked up from his painting, frowning at Spot.  

“How did you get in my house?”  

“I picked the lock,” Spot said simply, as if it happened every day.  

“As you do.”  

“Yes.” Jack narrowed his eyes slightly, then shook his head. Today was not the day for questioning things.  

“What feeling?”  

“Fuck if I know.” Spot gestured at the air in front of him. “ Racetrack! ” That only made Jack even more confused.  

Spot, he didn’t really do feelings. He would always bottle them up and ignore them until they became anger, which was far easier to deal with than whatever it was before. That earned him his reputation as the kid with the anger issues, which suited him just fine. It meant no one messed with him, or people around him, and as long as they were okay, he was happy.  

“You got a problem with Race?” Jack asked, turning completely away from his painting. He was invested now.  

“Yes! No! I don’t know.” Jack grinned, finally catching on to what Spot was getting at.  

“You like him, don’t you?” Spot screamed into the pillow and Jack snickered.  

Jack loved Race. Not in a romantic way, but Race was pretty much his little brother, and he would do anything to make Race happy. He had seen Race fall in love too fast then each time they would leave and he’d watch Race fall apart, each time losing another part of himself. Slowly, it had worn Race down, and though he didn’t let it show, he was always hurting. Every time he got into a new relationship, he would keep his distance, trying not to get too close Every time he would get his heart broken. Jack never liked any of Race’s boyfriends, but he liked Spot.

“So what do I do about it?” Spot asked. “Do I ask him out, or do I like stab him?”  

“You ask him out, dipshit!” Spot screamed again.  

“What do I do?” Spot sat up slightly, looking a Jack, and he actually looked worried. God, he was whipped.  

“Ask him on a date.”  

“What kind of date does one ask Racetrack fucking Higgins on?” That was a good question. Thankfully, Jack had known the fucker since they were basically fetuses, and therefore knew exactly what he would want.  

“Take him to the ice-skating rink, then get hot chocolate together and watch a Christmas movie.” Race was a sucker for Christmas, and it being just weeks away now, it was perfect timing. “If you’re feeling bold put up some mistletoe. He loves that shit.”  

“Race loves Christmas, right?”  

“Yup. If your house isn’t decorated he’ll fly through there like a glittery rainbow tornado.” Spot smiled at that. He could practically picture it, and he felt the blush creeping up his cheeks. “Dude, you’re fucking whipped.”  

“Shut the fuck up, I’ll still kill you in your sleep.” Jack just smiled and turned back to his painting.  

“Enjoy your date.”  

Spot knew what he wanted to say, but actually asking Race out was a whole other story. They were in the library together, a usual hangout spot (hehe get it), when it was cold, and Race was rambling on about some new thing he had grown obsessed with and Spot had listened diligently, completely enraptured by Race’s excitement. His sparkling eyes lit up with a childlike glee and a grin spread across his face as he looked out the window.  

“Spotty, look!” He cried. “They’re turning on the Christmas lights!” Race was entranced by the lights, almost like a child, but Spot wasn’t watching them. Spot was gazing at Race. He watched as the colours flickered over Race’s pale skin and the rainbow of lights reflected off his eyes. God, he was so in love with this boy it hurt, and if he didn’t get at least a date with him soon he was pretty sure he’d combust.  

Plans went out the window.  

“Go on a date with me?” He blurted, screaming internally the second it left his mouth. Race turned to him, shock written all over his face.  

“What?”  

“I-uh-I wanted to know if you, maybe, wanted to go on a date with me?” Spot stammered out, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Race smiled, somehow wider than he had when he was watching the lights.  

“Really?”  

“Yeah.”  

“Yes!” Race rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, like he always did when he was excited and Spot couldn’t help his smile.  

“Alright, uh, I’ll pick you up at 7, is that okay?”  

“Yeah.”  

“Oh, and wrap up warm,” Spot added, thinking about how cold it was likely to be on the ice later. Race nodded.  

“Okay, I’ll – uh – I’ll see you later?”  

“Yeah, see you.” Fuck yes!  

In Which Race Is A Third Wheel  

Racebox of Higgars:  GAYSGAYSGAYSGAYSGAYS!!!!

Mom:  Do you really need that many exclaimation marks?  

SantaGay: GAYSGAYSGAYSGAYSGAYS????

Mom: Don’t encourage him  

Racebox of Higgars:  GAAAAAAAAAAAYS!  

Mom:  What do you want?  

Racebox of Higgars:  SPOT ASKED ME ON A FUCKIN DATE!!!!

SantaGay:  HELL YEAH!  

Mom:  Finally

Mom:  It’s only taken him nine years.  

SantaGay:  what are you doing?  

Racebox of Higgars:  i don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me

SantaGay:  oooh, a man of mystery  

Mom:  Be safe.  

Racebox of Higgars:  i always am

Racebox of Higgars:  OH FUCK WHAT AM I GONNA WEAR

Mom:  Did he give you a dress code?  

Racebox of Higgars:  no, he just said dress warm

SantaGay:  black skinny jeans, that cream turtleneck you literally never wear, your fancy black coat, doc martens, a lil bit of eyeliner  

Mom:  Jack, you have fashion sense?  

Mom:  Why do you never dress up nice for our dates?  

Racebox of Higgars:  o shit

Racebox of Higgars:  thanks gays  

For the fifth time, Race examined himself in the mirror, scrunching up his face. Something was missing from his outfit. He had to admit, Jack’s taste was good (the eyeliner was amazing), but something was still missing. He rifled through his drawers, eventually pulling out the silver chain Spot had bought him when they were 14. It was simple, plain, but spoke volumes.  

Race had only just come out as trans. He was slowly swapping out his wardrobe for more masculine clothes, and they were going through his old jewellery.  

He held up  a necklace with a small owl charm at the end, grimacing. He hated that necklace. It wasn’t anything against it particularly, but more to do with how feminine it made him feel. He hated it.  

“Y’know,” he began absent-mindedly, “I used to love this necklace, but now I can’t stand it. It makes me really dysphoric for some reason, which sucks since I love wearing jewellery and stuff, but I can’t wear most of this.”  

“You can get more masculine necklaces,” Spot answered from where he was sitting at the foot of Race’s bed.  

“Well, yeah, but I can’t really afford it.” Spot frowned. “I don’t get any money at the moment, and I can’t work.”  An idea slowly formulated in Spot’s mind.  

“Race, I got you something,” Spot said sheepishly. Race turned, brow furrowing.  

“It’s not my birthday, or Christmas. Why?”  

“It ain’t much, but you were saying about it the other day and then I saw it and thought of you.” He held the box out to Race, who took it tentatively.  

“This isn’t gonna explode or anything, right?” Spot laughed, but shook his head. It reminded him of their prank war a month or so before, which only ended when Spot had broken his nose.  

“It shouldn’t do.”  

“Alright, good.” Race tore into the packaging with a newfound fervour,  dropping it to the floor because he was a firm believer that gift-giving should always be carnage, no matter what the occasion, then opened the lid of the box. Spot watched nervously, suddenly thinking that this was probably a bad idea, but Race’s face cracked into a grin.  

“You bought me a necklace?” He said incredulously as he carefully lifted it out of the box.  

“Well, yeah. I was out with Hotshot yesterday and I saw it in a window and it reminded me of the other day. If you don’t like it I can take it back I jus-“ Spot was cut off by a weight crashing into him, and arms wrapping tightly around him.  

“I love it, thank you.”  

Since then Race had kept it in pristine condition, carefully making sure it didn’t rust or otherwise get dirty or break. He carefully lifted the chain out of the box, much like he did all those years ago, and fastened it around his neck. Looking in the mirror, he smiled. It offset the outfit perfectly, matching with the silver buttons on his coat and just providing that extra little touch to the outfit. He took a quick photo and sent it to the group chat.  

In Which Race is a Third Wheel

Racebox of Higgars sent a photo  

Racebox of Higgars:  GAYS DO I LOOK OKAY  

SantaGay:  damn bitch  

SantaGay: if i wasn’t dating davey and you weren’t like a brother to me id tap that  

Mom:  He means you look good.  

Mom: He’s right, you do.  

Racebox of Higgars:  thanks gays  

Racebox of Higgars:  OH FUCK HES HERE  

Spot shuffled slightly outside Race’s door, flowers in hand. Were flowers too much? Fuck it, it was too late now. Race opened the door and Spot’s breath caught in his throat. Oh god, Race was gorgeous. Spot’s eyes slowly glanced over Race, taking all of him in, from stylishly messy curls, to his bright eyes rimmed by just a little bit of eyeliner to make them stand out, to his breathless smile, to the necklace at his throat, to those criminally tightly jeans, and Spot needed to stop staring.  

“Christ, you look gorgeous,” Spot breathed, still hardly able to take it all in. A blush crept up Race’s cheeks as his eyes skirted over Spot.  

“You can’t talk, you’re-“ he gestured wildly at Spot, “beautiful.” Spot had been called a lot of things, hot, sexy, handsome, but never beautiful. It surprised him, he loved the sound of it on Race’s lips.  

“I bought flowers,” Spot said, holding them out. “I hope it’s not too much.” Race smiled taking them from him.  

“Cyclamen,” Race pointed out with a smile, taking them from him. “You remembered?”  

“I’ve been doing some research into flower symbolism,” Race said, half hanging off the end of his bed. Spot looked up from his homework.  

“Yeah?”  

“Yeah. It’s actually pretty interesting. It’s weird to think that plants have so much  meaning . Like, take hyacinth flowers. Apparently they were created when two Greek God’s were fighting over one guys love  and one of them got hella jealous so fuckin killed the guy cus if he couldn’t have him no one could. The other one created the flower from his blood.”  

“That’s fucked up.”  

“I know. It symbolises rebirth now.”  

“Huh, but the guy wasn’t reborn?” Race shook his head. “Fair enough. Do you have a favourite flower?” Spot asked, partly out of genuine curiosity, partly out of hope that someday he’d be the one buying Race flowers.  

“Cyclamen,” Race answered easily. “They symbolise love and tenderness.” Spot smiled. Of course Race would like something like that. He was a hopeless romantic at heart. “Do you have one?”  

“Not at the moment. I’ll have to do some research and get back to you.”  

Spot liked lavender roses – blossoming romance.  

“Of course I remembered. I, uh, I had some lavender roses put in too.”  

“Your favourite,” Race recalled. “Blossoming romance, right?” Spot nodded, embarrassed. Race smiled. “I’m gonna go put these in some water real quick, wanna come in?”  

Race couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he carefully organised the flowers in the vase. Spot had remembered the offhand conversation three years ago. Not only had he remembered, but he had gone out of his way to get the specific flowers Race loved. The blush on Race’s cheeks darkened slightly, doing a little dance as he placed the vase on the coffee table.  

“You’re wearing the necklace,” Spot pointed out. Race rubbed the back of his neck.  

“Yeah.”  

“You still have it?” Spot was genuinely surprised. That had been eight years ago now, and yet the necklace still looked like it did the day he bought it.  

“Of course I do. I’ve kept everything you’ve bought me over the years.” Spot laughed.  

“Even the stuffed dinosaur?”  

“Especially the stuffed dinosaur.”  

“You’re gonna think it’s stupid!” Spot cried, a blush creeping up his cheeks. Race laughed, holding Spot back with one hand as he clutched the wrapped gift in the other.  

“Nope!” He answered, popping the p. “I’ve never found anything you’ve bought me stupid, why would I start now?” Spot groaned and backed off slightly, rubbing a hand over his face. Race eagerly tore into the paper , throwing it onto the pile left by Spot. He grinned, laughing. “I love him!” He said, pulling the blue stuffed dinosaur against his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around it. “I shall name him Steeb.” Spot shook his head, laughing. He had genuinely thought Race would hate it or think it was stupid. Race had been going through an obsession with dinosaurs, and of course he was always a sucker for stuffed animals, and thus Steeb had been bought.  

“Steeb?”  

“Yup!”  

Race pulled him into a tight hug, still laughing. “Thank you.”  

“Where are we actually going?” Race asked as they walked outside onto the freezing street. Frost coated the grass, and their breath hung before them, pockets of heat suspended in the cold air.

“It’s a surprise,” Spot said simply. Race forced his hands into the pocket of his coat to shelter them from the cold.  

“You know I don’t like surprises,” he mumbled.  

“Yes you do, you just say you don’t to try to get me to tell you shit.” Damn Spot and damn the fact that he knew Race better than anyone.  

“You brought me ice skating?” Race asked, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.  

“Yeah, Jack said you used to go a lot as kids.” Race grinned, kicking off his shoes and replacing them with skates, lacing them up tightly. Spot copied him, putting their shoes and bags into lockers.  

Race quickly made his way onto the ice, gliding like a pro and kicking off with a small spin, just to test it out. Spot got onto the ice and promptly fell on his face. Race, however, was lost in the moment, gliding and spinning and twisting, then leaping into the air. Spot watched in wonder as Race closed his eyes, lost in his movements.  

Race closed his eyes when he danced. Losing himself in the music, he would just close his eyes and let it take over. It would decide his movements for him, and he would follow along. Spot stood in the corner, mesmerised by the boy in front of him. A small smile crept onto his face as he watched Race. It was rare for Race to let Spot see him dance, so he took any moment he could. Watching Race, it was like he was made for this, with the way his body moved so gracefully, so purposefully. Spot loved every moment. No matter how hard he tried (not that he was trying), he couldn’t tear his eyes away.  

“Spot!” Race said excitedly, opening his eyes and pausing the music. “You came?” Spot smiled.  

“Of course I came, dumbass. I wasn’t gonna miss this.” Race bounced on the balls of his feet excitedly.  

“I’m on in half an hour. Just going through some basic stuff now to get ready.” Spot scoffed.  

“You call that basic?” Race ran a hand through his curls, damp with sweat.  

“I mean yeah, compared to what I’m doing in the show.”  

“What are you doing in the show?”  

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Race said with a wink.  

“Ever the cryptid.” They stood in silence for a moment, then Spot had to break it. “You’re not binding, right?” Race’s face fell and he subconsciously crossed his arms over his chest. “C’mon, you know it’s not good for you. Can we take it off before you go on?”  Race shook his head.  

“I don’t have anything else to put on.”  

“I brought a sports bra, could you change into that?” Race hesitated for a moment, before nodding. Race always struggled being safe when binding, so when he had events like this, Spot would always bring a spare sports bra and one of his hoodies for Race to change into. Just in case.  

He handed Race the sports bra.  

“I have a hoodie for you to wear after,” he said, handing him the hoodie too. Race smiled as he went into the bathroom to change.  

“Thank you.”  

“Spot!” Race cried, skating over to his side and offering out a hand. “Are you alright?” Spot shook himself out of the memory and took the hand, shakily getting to his feet. He immediately slipped again, but Race caught him, laughing. “You can’t skate, can you?” Spot shook his head. “Why did you bring me ice skating if you can’t skate?”  

“Because I knew you’d like it.” Race took both of Spots hands in his, so they were facing each other, then he slowly began skating backwards, locking eyes with Spot.  

“Thank you.” Spot tried his best to mimic Race, and soon they had a steady speed and rhythm going. “By the end of tonight I’ll have you skating on your own.”  

“I doubt that.”  

“Bet.”  

Race won the bet.  

“Wanna go get hot chocolate?” Spot asked. “Not the shitty watery stuff they serve here, we’ll go and get the good hot chocolate from the library.” Race rubbed his hands together to try to regain some feeling in them and he nodded.  

“Hell yeah.”  

The library’s café was a big reason why they always hung out there. They’d found it while studying one night, and it had slowly become ‘Their Spot’ over the years. All the staff knew them and their orders, and always greeted them with a smile. They knew all the staff by name too.  

“Thanks for this, Race.” Spot said, setting his books down on the table. Race smiled, setting his bag down on an empty seat.  

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it.” He glanced around. It was a cozy, quaint place. Squashy armchairs surrounded tables and the whole place was filled to bursting with old wooden bookshelves. Towards the back was the café, a large chalkboard with all the prices hanging above it. “Wanna grab food and stuff before we start working?” He asked, gesturing towards the café. Spot looked up, and nodded.  

“Yeah sure.”  

“I’ll pay,” Race said as Spot reached for his wallet.  

“But-“  

“No buts, I’ve got it.” Race tapped his card on the reader and took his mug of hot chocolate, laden with sprinkles, whipped cream and marshmallows back to the table. Spot sat down shortly after him, lifting the mug to his lips. Race took that moment to admire Spot, backed by the sunlight streaming through the large windows. His brow was furrowed slightly as he concentrated on his mountain of a drink, and the contended smile on his face brought out his laugh lines.  

There was whipped cream on his nose.  

Race burst into laughter at the sight of Tough Guy Spot Conlon with whipped cream on his nose. Said Tough Guy Spot Conlon looked up, brow furrowing more in confusion.  

“Is something on my face?” He asked.  

“There’s – there’s whipped cream on your nose,” Race said through laughter. Just to make Race laugh more,  Spot attempted to lick it off. He loved watching Race laugh. It was the most magical sound in the world to him.  

“Boys, can you quiet down a bit,” a waitress asked, “this is a library.” Race pressed his mouth shut to muffle his laughter and Spot wiped the cream off with his finger. That was the beginning of their library ‘study sessions’.    

They settled into what had become their corner of the library, curling up in two opposite armchairs, setting their drinks on the table. They had chosen a spot right next to a large window so they could watch people go about their days on the streets beneath them. Sometimes they would make up ridiculous stories about the people walking by, just to make the other laugh. Often, it would turn into a competition about who could come up with the funniest story. It would reach the point where they were howling with laughter, tears streaming down their faces, and the library staff would shake their heads fondly as they told them to quiet down.  

“Thanks for tonight, Spot,” Race said, a small smile on his face.  

“It’s not over yet.”  Race tilted his head. It had already been one of the best nights of his life, how on Earth was this not the end? “We’re gonna go back to my place one we’ve finished these, get takeout, watch a movie.” Race grinned.  

“A Christmas movie?” He asked excitedly.  

“Even better – a crap Christmas movie.” Race’s eyes lit up and he wiggled a little in his chair with excitement.  

“Oh my god, you are the best.” Race was obsessed with Christmas movies, but the shitty, cheesy ones that you laugh at because of how unbelievably  bad  they are, and Spot was his long-suffering companion who had put up with this bullshit for nine Christmases in a row now.  

“Can we watch a Christmas movie?” Race asked, draped over Spot’s lap. This was their first Christmas as friends, and Race was going to make it a good one.  

“Which one?” Spot smiled down at Race, automatically starting to run his fingers through his hair.  

“I dunno, something super cheesy. The kind so bad you have to laugh at it.” That was Race’s favourite kind of me. Probably why he enjoyed the Twilight Saga. Not because he actually liked the films (Edward was an abusive douche, he had physically fought someone on that before, and he would do it again), but because it was so easy to laugh at how unbelievably shitty they were.  

Spot nodded, opening Netflix and putting on some shitty movie.  

Neither of them actually watched the movie though. Spot was distracted by Race’s soft smile and how peaceful he looked. Race was distracted by the feeling of Spot’s hand in his hair and Spot’s arms around him.  

It had been a while since Race had been in Spot’s apartment, (they usually preferred to hang out at Race’s, he had a bigger TV for movie and game nights) and he looked around slowly. It wasn’t a big place, but it was still nice. He had a large, squashy sofa, plus an armchair, a coffee table that clearly had been cleaned recently. In fact, the whole apartment had that smell like it had been cleaned just a few hours before. Had Spot cleaned for him?  

“Do you want tea or coffee or anything?” Spot asked from the kitchen.  

“Coffee would be good,” Race answered, getting comfy on Spot’s couch. Spot set to work making it as Race glanced over the takeout menu. Then, he had an idea. “We should build a pillow fort!” Spot turned to face him, one eyebrow raised, a bemused smile playing on his lips.  

“A pillow fort?”  

“Yeah!” Race’s smile dropped slightly. “Unless you don’t want to. We don’t have to-”  

“Of course I want to.” Spot set the coffee mugs down on the table, plopping down next to Race. Race’s eyes lit up when he saw the mugs.  

“You still have those?” He asked excitedly.  

“Of course I do.”  

“Spot look!” Race exclaimed, pointing at a shelf. Spot put down the mannequin hand he was turning into a middle finger and turned to look at Race, who was holding up a matching mug set. They were plain white, except for black lettering. One said ‘his bitch’ on it, while the other said ‘his slut’. “They’re for gays!” Spot laughed, looking at the price tag.  

“And they’re only like, $3.” Race’s eyes lit up with mischief, the way they always did when he had a stupid idea.  

“We’re absolutely gonna buy them, aren’t we?” Race said.  

“Obviously.” Spot took them from Race and paid for them.  

Later, Spot handed Race the mug reading ‘his slut.’  

“Why am I the slut?” Race said indignantly.  

“Come on, we all know you’ve slept with like, half the guys in the school.” Race’s face fell a little.  

“You don’t mind, do you?”  

“You sleeping around?”  

“Yeah.” In truth, Spot did mind, but he wouldn’t say that. The only reason Spot had an issue with it was because of his  huge  crush on Race. But he supposed he had no reason to be jealous, it wasn’t like Race was his.  

“No, I don’t mind. It’s your body, you do what you want with it.”  

“Sometimes I worry if I’m doing something wrong. If, I dunno, whoever I end up dating doesn’t like it.”  

“Have you ever dated anyone long-term?” Spot asked, more out of curiosity than anything else. Race shook his head.  

“Nah. There’s people I’ve seen for a couple months or so, but never longer than that. They realise I’m fucked up and leave.” Race laughed bitterly, trying to add humour to the situation.  

“You’re not fucked up.”  

“Mhm, that’s not what they think.” Spot took Race’s hand in his.  

“Look at me.” Race hesitantly met Spot’s eyes. “You  aren’t  too fucked up. There’s no such thing as too fucked up to be loved.” Race blinked back tears.  

“Thank you.”  

“It’s alright, now shut up and take your slut mug.” Race laughed.  

“You do realise it’s gonna have to stay at your place, right? No home will let me keep this.”  

“We can keep it for special occasions.”  

They curled up together on the couch. Spot reached for the remote and started flicking through Netflix, putting on a shitty movie. Both pretended to watch the film, but they were both too focused on the close proximity. Both wanted to make a move, but neither knew the right moment. The distance between them was painful.  

Slowly, achingly slowly, Spot reached an arm around Race’s shoulders. Race wiggled slightly, getting comfy, before relaxing into Spot’s side, resting his head on Spot’s shoulder. Warmth spread from every point of contact, and he couldn’t believe he’d spent nine years missing this. He had spent so long pining for Spot, but never worked up the courage to make a move, instead throwing himself at any other guy who would take him to try to distract himself from his helpless crush, but nobody gave him the same feelings as Spot did. Spot was it for him, he had known for the last nine years, and he knew it now.  

Spot was screaming inside. Race was right here, in his arms, and he wasn’t pulling away. They were on a date, and it wasn’t painfully awkward. Since meeting Race, Spot had hardly dated anyone. He had a couple flings here and there, but none lasted long. None could hold a candle to the brightness of Race. Nothing could compare to the warmth in Spot’s chest he felt around Race, or the safety and comfort he hadn’t felt before, but with Race it seemed so easy. Everything was easy with Race.  

Race took the moment to look around the room. In the corner, there was a photo frame, with 9 photos in it. He looked closer at it, and realised it was one of the two of them together, each one taken a year after the one before. The first one was taken when they first met, before Race had come out, before he had cut his hair. The second one was just after he had cut his hair. He still remembered each one being taken.  

“Spot, can we take a photo together?” Race asked, fiddling with the ends of his hair.  

“Why?”  

“I like having photos with all my friends, I like keeping the memories.”  

“Sure. You want a selfie or are we gonna make someone take it for us?”  

“Should we get someone else to take it?” Spot nodded. “Can you ask them?”  

“Alright.” Spot took Race’s phone and walked up to a middle aged woman walking by. They spoke briefly, then Spot came running back, throwing an arm around Race’s shoulder. Race grinned, looking at the camera, wrapping his arm around Spot’s waist. A few seconds later, the woman gave them a thumbs up, and Spot ran back to take the phone back. Spot handed the phone back, leaning over Race’s shoulder to look at them.  

“Are they good?” Race nodded, smiling.  

“Yeah, really good.” Spot backed off slightly, wrinkling his nose.  

“Your hair got in my nose.” Race frowned.  

“Sorry. I’m gonna cut it shorter at some point.” Spot tilted his head.  

“Really? How short?” Now Race was gonna do a special trick called lying to avoid outing himself.  

“A bob, so around my chin length.” Spot smiled, picturing it.  

“Yeah, that’s gonna look good.”  

“You think?”  

“Yeah, it’s gonna be good.”  

Race pounded on Spot’s door, wiping the tears from his eyes.  

“Wha- oh.” Spot opened the door, face scrunched up in annoyance, but softening when he saw Race. “Oh, Racer, come in.” Race came in, sinking down onto the couch, fiddling with the strings on his hoodie.  

“Can I crash here for the night?” He asked, voice breaking. Spot’s brow furrowed with concern as he crouched down in front of Race.  

“Yeah. What happened?” Race hesitated, before pulling his hood down, revealing his messily chopped hair.  

“I cut my hair. I just- I couldn’t look at myself with long hair anymore. I got kicked out.” Spot frowned.  

“What do you mean you couldn’t look at yourself with long hair?” Race’s breath hitched and his heart hammered in his chest.  

“I-uh-I'm trans. I couldn’t deal with the dysphoria anymore. It hurts too much.” Spot’s eyes softened and he wrapped Race up in a tight hug.  

“It’s alright. I don’t care. Do you have a new name and pronouns you want me to use?” Race rested his forehead on Spot’s shoulder, trying to keep from crying.  

“Could you call me Antonio? I mean, I’ll still go by Racetrack and everything, but Antonio for my real name. And he/him pronouns.”  

“Sure, Antonio,” Spot said, trying the name out on his lips. Race’s face split into a grin at the use of the name.  

“Thank you.”  

“It’s alright.” Spot reached up to touch the choppy hair. “Now how about I sort your hair out?”  

“Please.”  

Race ran a hand through his freshly cut hair, examining it from all angles in the mirror, and he smiled brightly.  

“Thank you,” he said, turning and wrapping Spot in a hug. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”  

“Why don’t we update that photo we took last year?” Spot suggested, and Race’s eyes lit up.  

“Could we?”  

“I don’t see why not.”  

Spot threw his arm around Race’s shoulders, just as he had a year ago, and Race wrapped his arm around Spot’s waist, and they both wore matching grins as they looked into the camera. The woman taking the photo gave a thumbs up and Spot ran to take the phone. They looked at the photo, then back at the one from the previous year.  

“You look happier,” Spot commented. Race smiled.  

“I am happier.”  

“You kept those photos?” Race asked, nodding slightly to the frame. Spot tore his glance away from Race momentarily to look.  

“Of course I did. They’re my favourite pictures.” Race smiled, settling back on Spot’s shoulder. A blush rose in his cheeks as he felt Spot press a kiss to his hair, then his hand replaced his lips, fingers slowly carding through his curls. Race hummed contentedly, wrapping an arm across Spot’s stomach and leaning into his every touch. Now this, this was something he could get used to.  

The credits rolled, and by that point it was well past midnight. Race slowly sat up, regretting the loss of contact with Spot.  

“I-uh-I should go,” he said, moving to stand.  

“I’ll walk you home?” Spot offered.  

“Are you sure? It’s cold out.”  

“I’m sure, c’mon.”  

Somehow, the street was even colder than when they had gone out before, but neither of them seemed to mind. A snowbank piled up on one side, and Race struggled to contain his grin as the idea formulated in his mind.  

He knocked once, twice against Spot, playing it off as an accident, before shoving Spot into the bank. He erupted into laughter, but maybe it was too soon, as Spot grabbed his coat on the way down. Both of them shrieked as they landed in the snow, Race landing on top of Spot. They breathed heavily, making eye contact for a moment, faces flushed, but whether that was the cold or something else was anyone’s guess. Just as they had been staring long enough for it to become awkward, Spot finally made his move. He leaned in, like he had been longing to for years, holding the back of race’s neck and gently pressing their lips together. Electricity sparked through his body and he couldn’t quite believe he had spent years missing out on this. One of his hands subconsciously moved to tangle in Race’s hair, who tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss. The world around them seemed to melt away, and all that mattered was them, and this.  

“Fucking fags!” A voice yelled next to them. Spot was about to shake his head at Race, tell him to leave it, but Race was already on his feet.  

“Hey! What fucking century are you living in? So what I happen to be dating a man, please inform me of how I’m hurting you by loving him.  

“It’s against God’s will. You’re digusting,” the man said, rounding on Race.  

“No, I’ll tell you what’s disgusting – discriminating against people who have done  nothing  to hurt you, just because of a fucking book that was mistranslated. Wake the fuck up. People fall in love, they don’t hurt you by doing that, they just do it.”  

“Fuck you!” The man spat, turning to walk away.  

“I bet it’s fucking tiny!” Race yelled after him, turning back to Spot, who looked at him in amazement. “Sorry about that.” Spot shook his head, taking the hand Race offered to him and pulled himself to his feet.  

“That was amazing,” he said honestly, smiling.  

“I just- I couldn’t let him just  say  that y’know? I mean, I’ve heard shit like that for years, but I wasn’t gonna let him say it to you.”  

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”  

“That’s not the point.” Spot leaned up to kiss him quickly.  

“Either way, that was wonderful.” Spot had never seen Race angry like that before. Not when the Delanceys had constantly torn him down, not when he moved from foster home to foster home, not when he had gotten detention just for trying to use the right bathroom. But one homophobic comment and he had gotten furious like Spot had never seen before, and god Spot didn’t think he could possibly love Race more.  

Race smiled, hesitantly lacing his fingers with Spot’s as they walked the last few blocks to Race’s apartment.  

“Your house wasn’t decorated,” Race commented.  

“Yeah, I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”  

“I’ll come over tomorrow and help you decorate.” Spot didn’t get a say in it. Race was gonna deck that apartment out in so much glitter and coloured lights it would be like a very gay tornado had gone through and left parts of itself all over. Not that Spot minded. He would take any opportunity possible to spend time with Race. “I expect you up early.” Spot’s face dropped. “I’ll bring coffee,” Race added, solely because he knew coffee was the only way to bribe Spot into getting out of bed before 10am.  

“Alright, I’ll be expecting greatness. It better live up to the expectations Jack’s given me.”  

“It’ll be worse, I promise,” Race said with a grin.  

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”  

They slowed when they reached the door to Race’s apartment, lingering a moment before Race unlocked the door.  

“Uh, thanks for tonight, Spotty. I had fun,” Race said, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t really want the night to end, but at least he would see Spot tomorrow.  

“Yeah, so did I.” They shuffled slightly, neither wanting to end the night. “Are we- are we gonna do this again sometime?” Spot finally asked.  

“Are you kidding me? If we’re not doing this like, weekly, we’re doing something wrong.” Spot chuckled a little, before looking up. He laughed, seeing mistletoe hung in the doorframe. Race’s eyes widened, before he looked at Spot, blush rising in his cheeks.  

“Do you wanna-” Race’s question turned into a squeak as Spot crashed their lips together, pulling Race close. He was gonna take every damn opportunity to kiss Race that he could. He had already missed out on nine years, he wasn’t gonna lose any more.  

Slowly, they broke away, neither wanting to, but both knowing they had to. Their faces were flushed, eyes wide.  

“I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow, or would it be today now?” Race asked.  

“Technically today.”  

“I’ll see you later today then,” Race said with a smile.  

“Yeah, I’ll see you later.”  

They kissed quickly once more, then Spot disappeared down the street.  

In Which Race Is A Third Wheel  

SantaGay :  did you guys enjoy my surprise???  

Mom:  I told you not to.  

Racebox of  Higgars :  YES!