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Race woke up to somebody pounding on the lodging house door hard enough to rattle the windows.
At first, he thought it was morning already.
Then he realized it was still dark outside.
Then he realized the pounding hadn’t stopped.
“Jesus Christ,” somebody groaned from across the room.
Race dragged himself upright, hair sticking up everywhere, blanket twisted around his legs. “If that’s Davey again tell him I’m dead.”
“It ain’t Davey,” Jack mumbled sleepily from his bunk. “Sounds angrier.”
The pounding came again.
Race frowned.
Something in his chest tightened.
Because he knew that knock.
Short bursts. Fast. Impatient.
Spot.
Race was moving before he fully woke up, stumbling down the stairs and yanking the door open - and immediately froze.
Spot stood there breathing hard like he’d run halfway across New York. His cap was gone. Hair messy. Eyes wide in a way Race had never seen before.
Not angry.
Scared.
“Spot?” Race said instantly. “What happened?”
Spot opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Race’s stomach dropped.
“Hey,” he said softer, stepping forward. “Hey, c’mon.”
Spot shook his head once like he couldn’t explain it.
Then suddenly he grabbed the front of Race’s shirt with both hands.
And Race realized Spot was shaking.
Not a little.
Violently.
“Oh,” Race breathed.
Behind him, Jack appeared halfway down the stairs looking confused. Race didn’t even turn around.
“Jack,” he said quickly, still looking at Spot, “gimme five minutes?”
Jack took one look at Spot’s face and nodded immediately. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”
The stairs creaked again as he disappeared upstairs.
Race looked back at Spot.
“C’mere,” he said quietly.
Spot let himself get pulled inside without arguing, which honestly scared Race more than anything else could’ve.
Because Spot Conlon argued with everybody.
Race guided him toward the little couch near the cold fireplace. Spot sat down stiffly, elbows on his knees, breathing way too fast.
“Okay,” Race said carefully, crouching in front of him. “Talk to me.”
Spot pressed both hands hard against his face.
“I can’t-” His voice cracked unexpectedly. “I can’t breathe right.”
“You can,” Race said immediately. “You are breathin’. Just too fast.”
Spot shook his head harder.
Race had seen Spot furious. Bloody. Exhausted. Half-frozen after selling papes in snowstorms.
He’d never seen him like this.
Small.
“Hey.” Race reached up carefully, touching Spot’s wrist. “Look at me.”
Spot tried.
His eyes looked glassy in the dim light.
“There you are,” Race murmured. “Stay with me, okay?”
“I’m tryin’.”
“I know.”
Spot sucked in another sharp breath that sounded painful.
Race thought fast.
Nobody really talked about panic attacks. Not officially. But he’d seen enough boys break down after fights or bad nights or too many days hungry. Usually people just called it “losing it.”
Race knew better.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Do me a favor.”
Spot nodded jerkily.
“Count with me.”
Spot frowned like the words weren’t making sense.
“Just listen to me,” Race said. “Yeah?”
Another nod.
Race took a slow breath in.
“Like this,” he said.
Spot tried to copy him and immediately failed, breath stuttering halfway through.
“That’s okay,” Race said quickly. “Try again.”
Again.
Again.
Again.
Eventually Spot’s breathing started matching his a little better.
Not perfect.
But better.
“There you go,” Race murmured. “Good. Good.”
Spot’s hands were still shaking.
Race hesitated only a second before sliding onto the couch beside him.
Spot leaned into him instantly.
Like instinct.
Like he hadn’t even meant to do it.
Race wrapped an arm around his shoulders carefully, feeling Spot trembling against him.
“You wanna tell me what happened?” he asked quietly.
For a long moment, Spot didn’t answer.
Then, muffled against Race’s shoulder, he said, “Thought somebody was followin’ me.”
Race went still.
“Yeah?”
Spot nodded once.
“Probably weren’t even real,” he muttered bitterly. “I dunno. I just-”
His breathing hitched again.
Race rubbed a slow hand up and down his back.
“Okay,” he said gently. “Okay.”
“I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about it.” Spot’s voice sounded angry now, which was easier for him than scared. “Every noise sounded wrong and then I couldn’t breathe and-”
“You came here.”
Spot went quiet.
Then: “Yeah.”
Something warm and aching settled in Race’s chest.
Because Spot could’ve gone anywhere in Brooklyn. Could’ve handled it alone like he handled everything else.
Instead he crossed the bridge in the middle of the night and came to Race.
“You did good,” Race said softly.
Spot made a face immediately. “Don’t say that like I’m a dog.”
Race snorted. “You wanna treat for not spiralin’?”
“Maybe.”
“There he is.”
Spot huffed out a weak laugh against his shoulder.
The shaking had eased some now.
Race kept his arm around him anyway.
Outside, the city was still dark and quiet. The lodging house creaked softly around them.
Spot finally lifted his head slightly. “Sorry.”
Race frowned. “For what?”
“For wakin’ you up.”
“That’s the thing you’re apologizin’ for?”
Spot shrugged weakly.
Race turned a little so he could look at him properly.
“Spot.”
“What.”
“You never gotta apologize for comin’ to me. Ever.”
Spot stared at him for a second.
And Race saw it then - that awful flicker of vulnerability Spot tried so hard to hide from everybody.
“You mean that?” he asked quietly.
Race’s chest hurt.
“Yeah,” he said. “Course I do.”
Spot looked away fast after that, jaw tight.
“Oh my God,” Race said suddenly.
“What.”
“You’re gettin’ emotional.”
“Shut up.”
“You are. I can see it.”
“I will literally throw myself into the East River.”
Race grinned, bumping their shoulders together lightly. “There’s my terrifying Brooklyn tough guy.”
Spot rolled his eyes, but he melted closer anyway, exhaustion finally catching up to him.
“You wanna sleep?” Race asked after a while.
Spot hesitated. “…Can I stay?”
Race looked offended. “No, I was gonna launch you back across the bridge.”
“Very funny.”
“You’re lucky I like you.”
Spot’s mouth twitched faintly. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Spot was quiet for a moment.
Then he reached over carefully and tangled their fingers together.
Small gesture.
Tiny, really.
But from him, it felt huge.
Race squeezed his hand once.
“Get some sleep, Spottie.”
Spot hummed softly, eyes already drifting shut against Race’s shoulder.
And long after Spot finally relaxed completely, Race stayed awake just a little longer, keeping watch for both of them.