Newsies One Shots and Short Stories

Sprace- Do You Hate Me?

(TW: A bit of police violence. (This is not an accurate depiction of today's police, but it fits the story) And sorta smut? And swearing? Is that one? I don't know, but just playing it safe. 

Also, for some reason I've been imagining Musical Race, but Movie Spot. You imagine them however you want, but this is how I see them in my head. And we're going to say that they're both 17-18ish.

Lastly, for the sake of my sanity, we're just going to say that Race has brown hair.)

We've all heard of love at first sight, right? When you see someone and your mind just goes, 'That one. Right there. I want to love them and only them forever.' 

And we've also heard of enemies at first sight, right? When you see someone and your mind just goes, 'That one. Right there. I want to murder them in their sleep.'

Well, neither of these describe the relationship between Spot Conlon and Racetrack Higgins. 

It wasn't love at first sight, nor was it enemies at first glance. 

Their first meeting wasn't all that bad, but afterwards, they just loathed each other. After that, anytime they saw each other, it ended in a fight. They hated each other with a passion, and everyone around them knew it. 

The Brooklyn Newsies knew not to bring up Racetrack Higgins, whether their king was around or not, if they didn't want to get soaked. 

The Manhattan Newsies knew that just the mention of Spot Conlon's name would launch their resident gambler into a crappy mood that would continue for the rest of the day. 

But what all the Newsies knew, even the ones from the other boroughs, was that you never, under any circumstances, left the two alone together. The last time they had been left on their own for fifteen minutes, both boys had black eyes, Race had a sprained ankle, and Spot had a broken wrist. 

Still, for some reason, Racetrack crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, onto his enemy's turf, and went to sell at the races. Every. Day. 

Race thought he never got caught because Brooklyn's king didn't sell near the bridge, but little did he know, Spot's selling spot was just down the street and around a corner from the races, and every day, on his way to sell, he always searched out the brown haired boy, and wondered why he came to the races every day.

<^> <v> <^>

Spot Conlon had woken up at 3 a.m. to the sound of crashing from the floor below, and, upon getting up, discovered one of the bunk beds in their lodging house had broken. 

They rearranged a few mattresses so all the boys would have a place to sleep, then Spot sent them all back to bed and walked up the stairs to his own room. 

Why does he have his own room, you ask? Well, you see, it's because... (drumroll please) 

He's the King of Brooklyn, what did you expect?

Anyway, when Spot got back to his room, he couldn't sleep. Instead, he spent two and a half hours lying on his bed, until he decided it was time to get up. Then, he dragged himself out of bed and got ready, before waking the others up. 

He walked into the middle of the other boys' room, took a deep breath, and bellowed. "Up an' at 'em, boys!" 

All the Newsies scrambled out of their beds and stood up. Spot took a quick look around the room, giving a small nod of approval until his eyes fell on two boys still in their beds. 

He sighed and turned to face the rest of the Newsies. "A'right boys you know the drill. Go get ready. Ace, Hotshot. Gimme a hand with these two." He ordered, gesturing to the two still sleeping boys, Snapper and Storm.