closed to public

some ppl love a closed loop, an end, a finality to every situation. me, on the other hand, i hate ‘em.

i’ll purposely stop watching TV shows before the final episode. i resolutely say, “See you later!” as opposed to 'bye.’ and classic me, i’ll push ppl away before they can shut me out.

this is what I’m currently working on, accepting that things end and tht’s ok. it’s why i have an ouroboros tattoo, to remind me tht every ending is actually another beginning.

anonymous asked:

Sprace when they decide to go from friends with benefits to a couple

Neither of the boys can pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but both were fully aware that a change was taking place. One that vaguely reminded Racetrack of when winter finally melted into spring.

There was less of the Italian being shoved into the brick walls of alleys, his back raw from the cold and rough edges. Spot’s hand found a more permanent place in Race’s hand rather than down his pants. Sometimes Race sneaks into Brooklyn late at night just to be held in the smaller boy’s arms instead of the squeaking of the floor boards and muffled groans that the other newsies pretend to not hear.

They weren’t brave like Jack and David. Able to lean in far too close when they are in public, surrounded by judging eyes. Finger’s tangled in one another hair and being able to taste the other’s laughter when the sun is out. Longing stares and open affection.

Surprisingly it’s Spot who brings it up. They are sitting on the docks, the stars bright in the night sky, missed curfew forgotten about as their toes dip into the water.

“What are we?” He mumbled, voice cracking slightly. Race hums softly in confusion from his place next to Spot, on his back with his arms behind his head.

He looks at the other, waiting for the question to be repeated, just to make sure he heard it right. When they make eye contact Spot gulps, hands shaking slightly. It’s times like these he wishes he had never taken Jack’s advice to just ‘go for it’ and got handsy with whatever the Manhattan newsies was to him.

Almost 15 minutes pass and Spot still hasn’t spoken up. Suddenly he’s overwhelmed with nausea and as soon as he feels Race softly wrap himself around the Brooklyn newsie he’s hurling into the ocean. He’s trembling but all he can think about is how fucking digesting it is that Race is kissing him slowly without even flinching at the taste of vomit and how that’s not something that fits into their entire ‘in the shadows’ dynamic they have going on.

“We’s somethin’ Spot. We’s somethin’ good.” Race breathes, having pulled Spot into his lap at some point, hand rubbing at the other’s back.

The lighter haired boy’s head is spinning but somehow the shallow breaths from the other are keeping him grounded.

“But what?” He questions after a long moment, avoiding the Race’s eyes, who just laughs lightly.

“Just us.” He responds, and for some reason Spot takes it, allowing himself to relax, a lazy grin stretching across his face.

Racetrack pulls him in for a short kiss, dropping his head to Spot’s shoulder after they part.

“Figure it out later. Right now you look too damn good in this moonlight or whateverthefuck to ignore.” He slurs, and Spot’s rolling his eyes but doesn’t protest as Race’s hand slides under his shirt.

Everyone notices the change but no one has the guts to mention it. Jack gives his fellow newsies a knowing look which they choose to ignore, but the pair allow themselves to dwell in the warmth of what David would call love.