Shouldn't You Be Asleep (Newsies | Sprace)

Chapter 1

God, I hate long days at the office. I walked into the apartment slipping off my shoes and jacket. Heading toward the bedroom I stopped in the hallway to see that there was a faint glow coming from the living room. Slowly I walked down the hallway to investigate.

I was surprised to see my husband sat in the middle of the couch wrapped in a blanket watching tv. It was almost one in the morning. Race should've been asleep hours ago. "What are you doing up still, Race?" I asked from the doorway.

Race's eyes moved from the tv to me, and tiredness was clearly evident in them. "I was waiting for you to come home." Of course, he was.

"Babe, you don't have too. You should be asleep yourself not waiting for me," I said crossing the room. I lightly kissed him on the forehead.

"How was it at the office today?" Race asked me pushing his blanket off himself. He stood up and about fell over but I caught him. I could feel his hip bones under his pajama pants, he needs to eat more.

"Boring," I chuckled, "What did you have for supper tonight?" I watched as panic slipped over his eyes.

"I forgot to eat supper," he mumbled to himself not looking me in the eyes. "I'm sorry, Spot. There are leftovers from last night's lasagna if you want some. I could heat it up?"

"That sound lovely," I answered. I watched my husband make his way into the kitchen. It was an unofficial rule that I not allowed to cook. Race loved to cook and me personally I burnt water once.

I leaned over the breakfast bar watching him move through the kitchen. He made it look like such an art even if he was only warming up lasagna. "Race you need to eat more," I commented watching him pulling his pants up.

"I know. It's just I'm not always hungry," he said starting the microwave. Last month at our yearly checkups the doctor was concerned about Race's weight. He'd always been a stick, all the ways through high school. Sure he ate but having such a high metabolism. He burnt it as fast as he ate it.

"It's ok. You're trying and that's all that matters," I said walking around to kiss him. My finger found their way to the back of his neck and the small chain that hung around it. On the chain are Race's wedding band and two dog tags. One that explained who he was and another with my information on it.

Race had always had the dog tags for as long as I had known him. When he was little it was his mother's information and not mine. Race tended to wander an awful lot and get himself lost. Race never knew but in the one with his own information was a tracker chip.

When we got married his mother had told me about the tracker and gave me the password to it in case he ever got lost and I couldn't find him.

"Did you do anything today?" I asked him messing with the strings of his sweatshirt. Technically it was my sweatshirt, but he had claimed it as his now.

"Oh there was this old lady who came in today and she was from London. She had the funny accent and everything," he explained messing with the sleeve. Race worked at the bakery at the end of the block. Every day there was a new story about how one of his coworkers almost burnt the place down or one of the unique customers he had.

My thoughts we instructed as Race slipped out of grasp and went to the microwave that was beeping. Race took out the Tupperware container and set it on the small kitchen table. Quickly he grabbed two plates along with silverware while I got out two glasses of milk.

I set the glasses on the table as Race split the lasagna between the two plates. You could clearly see which was mine because there was significantly more pasta on it. Once Race was sat down I slid his plate over to mine pushing some of my own lasagnas onto his plate.

"Spot," he mumbled as I pushed the plate back to him.

"You are not leaving this table till you eat that," I said between bites pointing at his plate. I watched as he slowly picked his way through the lasagna, pushing the pieces of tomatoes on to the far side. "Why did you buy the sauce with the chunks if you aren't going to eat them?"

"Because you like them," he said before taking another bite.

"Race you cook what you want to eat how you want to eat it. I will eat no matter what you make," I said. This is what he did. He made dishes that I liked and he didn't. I eat almost anything but Race is a little more particular when it comes to his food. But I will give him props he did put mushrooms in the lasagna, I know those were not in the recipe.

"I'm done," He said tilting his plate up to show me a semi-clean plate except for the pile of tomato chunks on the side. I finish my last bite as Race chewed on his bottom lip.

"Stop that," I chastised standing up and grabbing his lower lip in between my fingers. "You are going to make it bleed if you always chew at it like that."

Race did it when he was nervous, anxious, or panicked. He did it a lot of the time when he was bored as well, I don't even think he knows he does it to be brutally honest.

"Sorry," he mumbled pushing out his chair and walking towards our bedroom. I watched him climb into bed as I changed into a pair of sweatpants. Slowly I slid under the cover and wrapped my arms around Race's waist pulling him into my bare chest.

"Night Race. I love you," I said into his angry mob of blonde curls.

"Love you too, Spot," Race mumbled rolling over burying his head into my chest before falling asleep.