Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

—
Races POV

Mornings are always a rush.
Maybe even for people under regular circumstances they were a rush to get through. But he highly doubts anything compares to the stress of sleeping through an alarm and having to get ready for the day, while trying to corral an eight year old into getting ready for school, all within the span of a few minutes.

“Kid if you aren’t ready for school within the next thirty seconds I’m making you go to school in your pajamas!”
He shouts across the small flat. Most of his neighbors were either out at work, or if they aren’t they probably aren’t the type to care that much. At least he hopes. 

He’s bluffing of course. Mainly. He would rather call Dasher in sick from school than have to basically admit that he’s a bad parent to whatever teacher Dasher has this year. 

First days are always hard, he never woke up to an alarm easily but through the school year he always had his son who woke up at the ass crack of dawn coming in to get him out the door. Unfortunately it seems to be fading away with age and he’s getting easier to adjust to new schedules, so he had seemingly gotten used to sleeping in. 

But back to the first day. The first day of the school year is a complication every time. He had his son much younger than he would have liked and under circumstances that he prefers not to think about. Despite that Dasher was his everything, even if it may sound stupid he truly did love being a dad. Or maybe he just loved his kid. 

Dasher was an unruly eight year old in every definition of the word. With messy, mousey brown hair that can never be tamed and always sticks up in two places, a button nose that becomes flushed red in the winter and covered in light freckles in the summer as it is now. Wide doe eyes and lanky, scrawny legs that push him further than he would have thought possible for someone his age. 
He had truly earnt his name -well technically his name was Arthur. But he had earned the name Dasher through speed (as well as because it's a synonym of Racer) and through his doe-like looks. Well Dasher was the name of a reindeer but god, can he be bothered explaining the difference to him? no.

So every year he skips whatever he might have on to go in for the morning. 
It's this whole thing the school does, on the first day all the parents come in for the morning and meet the teacher, talk about curriculum and other stuff he fails to pay attention to. 

Each year he comes in and sits awkwardly through the lesson, suffocating under the glares from other parents and the teacher. Unfortunately having a kid in highschool means that you will always be the youngest parent in the room, even at twenty three it still stings. 
I suppose it’s hard to find a community within people who you have nothing in common with, even when they are the ones who are supposed to understand. 

Snapping out of his train of thought he gives Dasher a once over. No glaring issues and he’s dressed. Good enough. 
Without a second thought he ushers him into the old, beat up car and starts it. Pulling out of the parking area for the flat building and starting towards the school.

“Dad, how come I’m supposed to not wear pajamas but you are?”
Dasher asks, already knowing the drill and gnawing on a muffin bar in the passenger seat. Monster backpack clutched to his chest, fidgeting with the window in a way that makes him grip the steering wheel a little bit tighter because no he will not yell at a child for playing with something so small and inconsequential but damn he is already getting irritated for the day. 

One thing about coming in for the morning is that he deals with other parents, as already mentioned they don’t like him. Even though it seems to be a different group of white people each year they are united by hatred. Yay. 
These parents are in the situation where they can afford to take the full day off of their well paying jobs just for one morning. Looking over at him while exhibiting their wealth, chattering amongst themselves with whatever it’s become popular to over consume recently. What was it now? Stanley cups and lulu lemon or some shit. 

The rampant overconsumption always makes his nose twitch when he first walks in the door. An annoyed tick he picked up somewhere and could never abandon. And it will go again whenever he feels the eyes on him.
It’s the same each time. 

They give a side glance, then a double take, quickly looking away, favoring those around them who are more palatable. Glancing at each other with a silent unspoken ‘do you see this shit martha?’ and those around look back with an unsaid ‘yes I do Susan, can you believe it! The audacity’ Widening their eyes and then swiveling them over to look at him to indicate their point. 

Then they look down as he moves into the classroom, following Dasher with a scornful gaze, as if inspecting him. After that they only look at him when quite clearly talking about him from a distance. The eyes of a small group that they always seem to break off into flicking to him and then each other for a few times before they let out titters and giggles. Resuming the obvious shit talking as if he’s an idiot who won’t know. Or maybe they know he knows. 

Maybe they don’t care because who’s going to call them out on it? If he does it he’s ‘causing a scene’ and ‘crazy paranoid’ or ‘definitely high’ 

Why they always assume he does drugs he will never know. 

And it sure as hell won’t be another parent who does it, the hatred unites them. A scapegoat to unite them all. Without him it turns into a battle of passive aggression instead of microaggressions. PTA mum against other PTA mum, tired arguments between couples who have been married for far too long considering how much they clearly resent and hate each other. 

All in all the thought is enough to make him a little on the edge but he still refuses to snap at Dasher for something that wasn’t his fault.

“Hey bud, could you please stop playing with the window, and also what was it you said?”
Thankfully Dasher lets his hand slip from the window button, playing with his hair instead. Thank god for little mercies. In all honesty he hadn’t processed anything Dasher had said, too busy thinking about the hell he was walking into. 

Something about him just irks them. 

Maybe it’s because he’s still young and hot.

“I asked why I’m not supposed to wear my pajamas in public but you are wearing pajamas to the first day of school”

What. 

They pull into a red light and he looks down in horror. Fuck. 

He is without a doubt wearing pajamas -well sort of. 
A dirty pair of pants pulled overtop of pajama shorts and a pajama shirt that very clearly read: ‘feeling cute, might kiss your boyfriend later’ in rainbow lettering.

Thrift stores have slim pickings ok! Plus he thought it was funny. 

The shirt is not only declaring his homosexuality to a bunch of straight cis people but it was very clearly slept in. And yes he knows he shouldn’t make generalizations of the new group of parents before he meets them but it's the same every year. 

He resists the very strong urge to slam his head against the wheel repeatedly. Snapping out of his horror at the sound of honking. The light is green and they’re already late. 
That means no time to change.

“I didn’t notice I still had them on champ”
He mutters, sending a small smile towards Dasher as he turns down the school's street. Not sure if he should be glad they aren’t going to be too late or if he’s wishing it would take longer to get there. 

“That’s silly, you’re going to be embarrassed”
Dasher giggles, playing with the zipper on his bag and twirling the fabric attached around his fingers. 

“You’re in room nine this year right?”
He says instead of dignifying that with a response. The kid was right but he’s not going to admit it. Choosing instead to steer the conversation away instead. 
“Mrs Sapsford?”
He adds.

“Nuh-uh, Mrs Sapsford retired! You were at the assembly, remember? We have a new teacher now”
Oh god he was at the assembly. In his defense he only turned up to listen to Dasher say his little line since his class was hosting. He paid no attention to anything else going on -assemblies mean that he pays attention to Dasher's part and then takes a nap. Luckily nobody ever wants to sit with him so he can nap in peace and let the bell wake him up. 

The other parents probably notice but he doesn’t really care. They wouldn’t notice as much so long as he was at the back.

“So do we know who this new teacher is?”
He says, frowning. He liked Mrs Sapsford more than the other teachers. Which wasn’t much but still. She was no-nonsense and wouldn’t let anything distract students, which meant parents when they were on the premises. 

She was infamous between the parents for interrupting gossip sessions to make them sit down and face the front. While nobody had told him he had heard it. Although maybe it was wrong to think he could have small reprieves today.

“Nobody knows, it’s a big mystery, I heard from Billy that-”
He lets Dashers voice trail off as he pulls into the school parking lot. Thankfully devoid of parents -all of them had already arrived. Dasher was always going on about something, he loved the kid -of course he did. But he needed his time to mentally prepare.

Letting himself be dragged across to room thirteen by a chattering eight year old and inhaling sharply. 

Time to face the music.

—

As he enters he’s sheltered from the stares for a second. There's a small cubby area right in the entryway and a wall of the cubby shelves seem to divide the area off from the classroom. Dasher quickly finds his name and tucks his things in, pulling his dad along with him. 

The parents already seem to be arguing amongst themselves, or atleast discussing a ‘good for nothing punk who has no right to be in a classroom or have a kid of his own’ 
Well, it seems like he’s anticipated this year.

Great.

The thing about getting an extra twenty seconds in the cubby area is that everyone has heard the door open. Turning and waiting to see who has entered the classroom. Probably. He's guessing -but he’s never been wrong before.

As Dasher tugs him into the class he’s met with the usual. Although the way some of their eyes pop out of their heads at his shirt is enough to make him grit his teeth harder than normal. Quickly as possible he sends Dasher off to join the other kids, something he’s more than eager to do. Thank fuck he’s an outgoing kid.

Then as fast as he can manage without it looking too strange he walks across the classroom edge, shoving himself in the small area between the teachers desk and the storage cupboard. 

He almost shrieks when he looks beside him, having not noticed the other man tucked into the corner. Jesus christ. He had managed to contain the shout but apparently not his shock, as he sees the stranger raise an eyebrow at him.

“Christ ‘m sorry, didn’t see ya there”
It’s only now that he fully takes in the other man. He’s shorter than him by a decent bit, with their close proximity he actually has to tilt his head down to see him. His raised eyebrow is pierced and there's a slit shaved into the other one. His hair is dark and slightly curly, looking mussed with sleep, something the bags under his brown eyes contradict.

He's wearing a slightly oversized leather vest with small studs and spikes dotted across it, button and enamel pins arranged across the chest. That probably damages the jacket. Although it doesn’t appear as if he particularly cares.

Underneath he has a graphic t-shirt and some type of belt thing that looks like a pain to get on in the morning. His jeans are really cargo pants made of dark denim, ripped and sewn up again in multiple areas. Large and small patches dot across the patterns and there’s a few large chinks taken out of it that definitely do not look like they are there on purpose.

The last item of his getup is a large pair of chunky lace-up boots. Chunks of metal, chains and charms hanging off. He finds himself wondering if they would make little chiming noises as he walks. Maybe clanking whenever they hit the steel toe cap that looks military grade.

“Woah, you look awesome”
He says, slightly awestruck. 

“Thanks”
The strange man grins before looking over him. 
He flushes at the eyes scrutinising him in a different way than the usual glares. Suddenly more aware than ever that his jeans are dirty, the flannel pyjama pants he has on underneath are slightly visible from where the jeans hang low. His shoes are old and ratty, the doc martins being about as old as Dasher at this point. 

He knows his shirt is definitely not exactly socially acceptable and a size too small for him, curls hanging over his tired, gaunt face with no volume due to the fact that he needs to shower but just can’t find the time. Children need constant attention and by night time he’s exhausted. 

“Uh, which kid is yours?”
He quickly spits out before the stranger has the time to ask him what the fuck he’s wearing. A flush falling on his face as he messes with his hands nervously. 

“Actually, can I tell you a secret?”
The man asks, looking up at him with a mischievous smirk.
Oh god he’s a pedo or something isn’t he, he doesn’t have a kid. 
Obviously the world couldn’t give him a break -the one guy who’s somewhat like him and he’s probably a creep. 

“...yeahhh?”
He says hesitantly, trying to convince himself that he has it wrong.
The stranger goes on his tippy-toes and gets closer to his face before whispering 

“I’m the teacher”

Holy shit.

Chapter Text

—-

Races POV

What in the actual fuck.

“Excuse me” 

He manages to spit out. Words twisting up and dying on his tongue. 

Staring at the stranger with an almost cartoonish squint of disbelief. 

The man smiles, tapping the little magnetic tree on the desk to bring attention to it. The tree has polaroids attached, many areas left blank or empty, only covered with spare magnets because of how early in the year it is. Of the few polaroids there they all seem personal, the same people popping up in the different ones repeatedly. 

Few of them show the man in front of him and the ones that do are all group photos, although it does make sense to not want photos of yourself hanging around. 

“Oh my god you aren’t kidding”

It actually starts to compute what’s happening after a few seconds.

In his defense he runs on a few hours of sleep and a dream every day, over the summer holidays in particular. 

“That’s fucking awesome! Shit I was so rude, obviously you could be a teacher -you are a teacher I mean, the teacher. And fuck I shouldn’t swear in front of the teacher- fuck -wait no”

This has gone downhill so quickly it couldn’t have gotten down faster if he had put a tire on a slip-and-slide down a cliff. 

“No I get it man, I don’t look like you would expect”

The man -teacher shrugs and somehow is still smiling. Although it’s probably just him enjoying making Race suffer.

Great. 

He gets on his tippy toes again and leans in. 

“And between you and me, you seem like the coolest person here”

To be fair the bar is pretty low.

Although in all honesty, one of these kids can probably do a handstand. 

Therefore meaning while he may appear to be the coolest, whoever this statistically likely kid is, they are far superior.

The teacher backs up and looks at the clock, apparently deciding he had waited long enough and moving into the front of the room. Thank god. Race now had space to actually breathe. 

Not that the other man was too close -no, he has just managed to fuck this up in five diffrent postions so well he might as well have conceived another child. His internal freak out was making it a little hard to breathe, particularly when the subject of half of that freak out was directly in front of him.

The man clears his throat, frowning when nobody pays attention, looking over to him with a knowing look and rolling his eyes.

He feels a giddy smile dart across his face. 

The teacher does a series of claps and smiles as everyone turns to look at him, although most of it is a ‘shut the fuck up’ type deal, or if anything else a judgemental look up and down before he is again dismissed.

“Excuse me, your attention please, class is starting”

The groups all swivel to look at him with a mixture of blasphemy, horror, indignity, and confusion ranging from astounded face to astounded face. A collective disbelief falling on the classroom. 

“Now that everyone is listening, to start off I would like each parent to stand with their child just so I know who is who and we can sort the kids into a seating plan. I like the parents to know where their kid is in the classroom.”

There's a few moments of awkward murmurs, kids slowly leaving their little groups of friends that had been almost instantaneously formed and coming to their parents' sides.

Dasher makes his way back to Race and reaches up to grab his hand, tugging him towards one of the children he had been playing with. Race lets out a nervous laugh when the parent of said child clutch him closer as they look him up and down. 

“Okay! Now I would like to get four volunteers to tell me their favorite animal”

Strangely enough the children don’t seem to be clamoring as you would assume. A few come to raise their hands and have their parents lower them. Others staring warily at the teacher -or as warily as eight year olds can.

Dasher, who has never had any time or sense for social expectations or environments, shoots his hand up so fast he smacks Race in the face when he jumps up and down waving it. 

The teacher lets out a barely visible sigh of relief, sending an appreciative smile to Race before turning his attention to Dasher. 

“Alright, what’s your favorite animal?”

He asks, looking at Dasher as though that was a perfectly regular question. One that you might ask an equal or peer, not an excitable eight year old who is so happy he is the first one to answer that he’s shaking. 

“I like deer because they are the coolest animals ever” 

Dasher chirps, clearly very proud of his answer.

“Alright, this table here-”

The man taps the nearest table. It has a small blue mat in the middle with pen and pencil holders, and eight little chairs are positioned around it.

“This is going to be the deer table, if you want you can come and be the first one to sit here”

Turning to look at Race, Dasher motions towards the table.

He isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry about how it looks like Dasher is almost asking if he’s going to be okay on his own. The giddy grin he hadn’t noticed coming over his face from when the teacher smiled at him quickly slipping off before he covers it with a neutral mask.

On one hand he is a grown man and the proposal that he can’t stand in a room of parents and children without his own child for support is hilarious, but Dasher shouldn't be worrying about him and how he’s managing. 

If he learnt anything from his own parents it’s that you need emotional maturity to look after a child.

And that is definitely a red flag that he’s been failing at that.

Fuck. 

How the hell are you supposed to be healthily emotionally mature when you missed out on most of the time you were supposed to spend being emotionally immature?

He gives Dasher a small nod and what he hopes is an assuring smile. Dasher then immediately ran off to take a seat. -There is a reason that his name is somewhat speed related.

The teacher smiles, seeming to calculate for a few seconds before narrowing in on a boy in the midst of a small group of kids whose parents seemed to be absent. The one in question had light brown hair that fell in his eyes slightly, scrawny and buck toothed. 

Said child had been keeping an eye on Dasher for almost the entire time he was there for god knows why. Never approaching him, merely observing from a distance. Weird.

“What’s your favorite animal?”

The teacher asks, cocking his eyebrow in almost a challenge.

He sees the kid look between where Dasher is happily poking through the variety of items on the table and the teacher, looking directly at Dasher when he answers.

“I like birds because they are so much cooler than dumb deer.”

Dasher lets out a gasp at the blasphemous statement. Sticking out his tongue at the gangly offender who immediately responds by doing the same. 

“Uh, alright then, this table will be the birdie table”

The teacher attempts to distract by tapping on an identical table but with reds instead of blues. 

“And you can come and sit here if you want”

The kid looks around his group of friends nervously before nodding. Waving behind as if he’s never going to see them again when he takes a seat at the red table next to the teachers desk. 

Dasher pouts and crosses his arm, glaring daggers at the frail boy who instantly returns it. 

Thankfully the problem of participants seems to have been fixed, with two consistent repeats of the process children start to ignore their parents and clamor to be the one that picks their table. 

Distributing the children around the tables of eight evenly after adding a bug and fish as green and yellow tables respectively. The teacher seems pleased with himself, having carefully pieced the kids together masterfully. In fact the only reason Race really noticed what he was doing was because his kid was already seated and he wasn’t particularly invested in the other children. 

The teacher was pairing the children together -seemingly at random, and yet every table group resembled the groups from earlier when the children were loosely interacting. Any possible deviants from the group swapped into one better suited. While all groups had been mixed by one or three kids out of eight he couldn’t help but notice that the group of eight without parents accompanying them from the mat were all at the red table directly next to the teachers desk.

“One thing about me is I don’t believe in ice breakers or first introductions so we will be doing something a bit different”

Que the anxious and judgemental chatters that break out from the parents as if their world order was shattering when someone didn’t want to do something tedious and riddled with anxiety that happens every single fucking year.

“I want you to introduce yourself and then tell me a weird fact about yourself that never comes up in conversation that you think is pretty cool. I’ll start, my name is Spot Colon, you can call me Mr Colon or Spot I don’t mind, and I do not have a favorite type of turtle”

A few children gasp at the idea that this grown man doesn’t have a favorite type of turtle, clearly they cannot be expected to work under these conditions. Others giggle and chitter at the strange man, some seem confused at the idea that he has a full name.

“Now let’s go around the parents first”

Many huff or roll their eyes to which Spot seems to shrivel at. Looking legitimately anxious for the first time. 

“Anyone want to start?”
His voice trails off, looking around for someone who isn’t either a child or completely uninterested.

“I’ll go”

He finds himself saying, seeing Dasher send him a thumbs up and Spot visibly relax

“Hi, my name is Race, and a weird fact about me is that uh..”

God he should have thought this through. 

He looks down at the floor to avoid the glares and stares, hearing the chatter get louder. All focused on himself after he idiotically threw himself into the spotlight.

Resisting the urge to say ‘I was a teenager with a sex drive, god forbid’ he frantically wracks his brain for anything in his life that isn’t related to Dasher, university, or is not generally depressing.

“Uhm, I did high school theater and once got my leg stuck in a chair and fell over during a big dance number?”

He tries to keep his voice steady, only looking up to see the teacher's reaction.

Spot lets out a muffled giggling, grinning at him and looking over at a chair and then pointedly at him.

“Alright then let's go around the room in circle order”

Spot commands, looking at Race with a small smile and then quickly diverting his gaze.

—

It quickly gets boring after that.

You can only listen to so many white women brag about overconsumption so many times before you get bored out of your mind.

Race preoccupies himself by watching the kids colour in and chatter quietly amongst themselves. 

From what he’s gathered he was right, there is a kid who can do a handstand.
So now he knows for certain that there is a child cooler than him. 

Half the kids' parents are looking into divorce or probably should be, and all of the kids are too funny for their own good. Although it may be just how out of pocket everything is.

—

The classroom session goes better than expected -which wasn’t much. First days are always crappy icebreakers and unpacking. While most of those things had happened over the last while they were done so well, Race was actually happy to be ethical law 102 for this shit.

And he fucking loves ethical law.

They had made a tire-list of stuffed animals, foods and movies. The kids had chatted animatedly and argued vehemently for their side of the argument. It honestly reminds him of the debates he used to go to for fun.

Safe to say Race misses it. So did he participate in the discussions and occupy a good half hour of class time arguing with the teacher when the ranking activities were over.

Actually he had only realised that he really needed to shut up when he noticed he was getting strange looks while leaning over the desk and resting his back against the surface. Spot who was apparently super professional sitting criss-cross-applesauce on top of the desk. Head leaning against his hands as he animatedly argues the initial texture is alright but the after-texture leaves it undesirable. 

Apparently slime was very important at teachers college.

Maybe this year won’t be so bad?

He laughs awkwardly and stands up, moving over to the side to lean against the wall and continue talking in a quieter tone as the two exchange pointed looks at one of the women who had coughed with a little “hem hem” at them and snickering.

Or maybe not since Dasher is somehow maintaining an argument with the kid from earlier-

Chapter Text

Okay so sick kids suck.

Verbatim, just a fact. Nothing more.

Because some asshole kid got Dasher sick -but he rolls around the playground like a cartoon tumbleweed all day, so his immune system kicks ass. 

But do you know whose immune system is not kicking anything, like, not at all born kicking, born to die. Race . Apparently he was so insanely iron deficient that he wasn’t able to fight it or whatever.

He’s not a biology major so who really cares.

Main point is he’s paler than usual and looks like a little Victorian boy when he next shows up to pick Dasher up.

It’s not his fault he looks like shit.

His head is pounding and beating at his skull, mashing his brains into a pulp. The taste of bile haunts his throat from where it had clawed its way out of him. Also probably unrelated but his eyes were itchy and puffy, red mixing strangely with the dark circles under his eyes.

Managing to get pants on was an achievement in his books, considering he had spent the last week or so wondering how old a kid should be when they start walking home on their own, feeling guilty for missing any classes because he is paying for that shit. 

And also probably making it known that he was the worst person in those classes by probably getting others sick and sniffing loudly because he had a runny nose and no tissues, but also no urge to swallow his own snot.

But whatever, he was here, on time-ish, and for the first time in a week he hadn’t begged a friend to pick Dasher up because god schools are not good places for sick people.

That wasn’t out of fear for the safety of the kids at all. The kids would get over it and his own hatred for the environment the school had built meant he didn’t give a damn about parents.

His pants are jeans that he got off the floor, dirty and grotty, but it was convenient because he was also on the floor. So he was able to roll over and half tug them on without needing to get up and put in any effort. They were half seeped with sweat, which wasn't amazing for his reputation. He already wasn't well liked, he didn't need to smell bad. But it was fine since he was just here to pick up Dasher and leave immediately.

—

The ‘no climbing’ sign on the gate really makes the school look like a fun place to be, Race ignores the temptation to climb it just because someone told him not to. He settles with a very aggressive thought of ‘screw you, I do what I want’

As he walks in he has the sudden urge to check he isn’t repeating the earlier incident of pajamas in school, tapping his fingers against his thigh to try and chase it away and soothe him. It doesn’t really work.

It never does.

Stumbling in he’s hyper aware of all the parents picking up their probably grimey kids and walking them through the gates or sitting onto the sides as they watch their brats interact.

God he’s being unfairly mean to kids.

They haven't really done anything, but also one of them got him sick so fuck them.

He manages to blearily walk into enough walls that he makes it to the classroom, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Dasher, come on buddy we need to go home”
He mumbles, rubbing his hand against his temple.

“You didn’t seriously expect him to still be here right?”
A voice from behind chuckles good naturedly.

“I mean come on, he’s eight, he doesn’t want to sit in a classroom and wait for his dad! He’s out on the playground with his friends”

Race blinks a few times and notices the significant absence of Dasher in the classroom, turning around to either kill whoever was talking or thank them. He hasn’t decided yet.

When he turns Spot is sitting on one of the small book trays pressed against the window, arms leaning against the one leg that he has propped up. The other leg comes close to brushing against the floor and he very politely does not laugh at how short the other man is.

“Oh- shit. Uh- hi Mr Colon was it?”

He raises his hands and shoots awkward finger guns at him, trying to cover his embarrassment at the fact that he walked into an almost empty classroom and started talking.

“It’s Conlon but eh, close enough”

Spot shrugs, taking his foot off the table to let both of his legs hang down and leaning back.

“Honestly most of the kids just call me Spot so if that’s easier it works”

Race narrows his eyes, not in suspicion but just in doubt.

“The school lets you get away with that?”

“There’s plenty of things that the school probably shouldn’t let me get away with that I do”
The teacher grins, leaning forwards as he says it as if he’s letting Race in on some big secret. 

He shouldn’t be feeling giddy and giggly at it.

“What like the bondage pants”
He quips, looking somewhat blatantly through half lidded eyes at the teachers pants that absolutely should not be allowed.

“Well chuck enough carabiners keychains and supplies onto them and you can argue they are for practical use”

“ Right so that’s why there’s a chain with a little bag of crayons”

“You never know what you’ll need”

“What else is in those bags then”

“Keep being nice to me and you’ll find out soon enough”

Race suppresses a dorky grin. Hoping with a little too much of his heart that this is flirting. It has to be right? Probably.

His mind not-so-helpfully but oh-so-hopefully supplies that he could be meaning the very same thing that if not broken, would mean he wasn’t in this situation. 

And also would be something he would be very interested in finding use for with him.

Wishful thinking he knows.

The teacher looks hesitant before speaking again. For the first time avoiding eye contact and crossing his arms, tapping his thumbs against his arms.

“I know that it isn’t my place and that this isn’t exactly professional but are you okay? You just look..”
His voice trails off for lack of better word

Taking in the red water lines and puffy eyes punctuated by large dark eye bags pulling at his skin. The pale tone of his skin stretched thin over his bones making him look more sickly than usual. Bones more pronounced and pushing against him, gaunt and ghostly.

Hair mussed up with sleep and stress, sweat and oil having settled into it and stayed, no matter how many ways he rearranged it in it was glaringly obvious that showers eluded him.

Teased at the ends and limp at the top, it refused to sit in place properly and if he attempted to tie the small mullet situation he had going on back then he looked balding with how tightly the oil slicked hair sat against his scalp.

He had been wearing his shirt for a few days straight, adorned with small stains dotted across it and areas where it had been worn so thin it had started to tear. It hung loosely around his frame and made him look more gaunt then he already was.

The pants hung loosely over his hips and they were -well they were in the previously described state and looked rough .

Just in general he looked like a little Victorian boy from past the grave.

“M a bit sick”
He shrugs, ignoring the fact that he looks like death.

Spot looks concerned, biting his lip and hugging himself tighter with his crossed arms.

“I know it’s none of my business but do you at least have someone to take care of you? There’s been other people coming in and picking up Dasher recently so just- one of them is taking care of you right?”

He frowns, of course not. But he finds himself wanting to appease Spot, looking around just to double check Dasher isn’t in the area to point out his lying in the confused innocent way that kids often do.
“Well- yeah, yeah”

“Okay. And I am sorry that I’m butting into your personal life”

“No- it’s nice.”
Race sighs, looking at him earnestly. Waiting until Spot meets his eyes to finish.
“It’s nice to have someone care about me”

“I thought you said that one of the people who was picking Dasher up was looking after you?”
Spot narrows his eyes as he questions

“Oh- right yeah, they are. But just, you, I like that you seem to care about me”
Race says lowly, embarrassed at the admission that his attempt at recovery forced out of him.

“That’s uh- yeah. I do.”
Spot meets his eyes and nods. Suddenly seeming to recognise how weird that is and snapping out of it
“I mean I care about all my kids and their families, so, yahknow, that applies to you”

He laughs nervously and gets up from where he sat against the tray table, instead leaning against it and tapping his fingers, humming performatively.

“Oh- yeah, that uhm, that does make more sense”
He nods, and gives finger guns again before he walks away, muttering under his breath about what the actual fuck that was.

—

Dasher is on the playground when he’s found, hollering with a group of seven other kids as they dart around the playground in an overly complex and needlessly confusing game. There are six other parents adjacent to the area, all wrapped up in a conversation that if he was in his right mind he might concede that he should at least try in.

Playdates are important so that means knowing the parents numbers, locations, and the other kids is important as well. But so is trying not to hock up a lung and he has priorities here.

Eventually Dasher dramatically drags his legs along the wood chip ground and stands next to him and the two head out the gates. As they cross the street to where Race had parked his old beat up car he notices a group of about twelve students all waiting outside. Tightly grouped together, watching the cars and people going by with disinterest. 

He recognises the kid from the first day of school who instantly fixes his eyes on Dasher, a couple of the older kids muttering and laughing to each other as they notice. Dasher glares back and sticks out his tongue before running ahead and bounding over to the car.

Race holds in a laugh at how he pulls at the door handle as if there’s a chance it could be open. His car is an older cheaper model, meaning that he doesn’t have a click remote, he has to unlock it by inserting the physical key. Considering that both him and Dasher were built for speed it isn’t a great car because it slows them down, but any car is better than none.

As he turns the old engine on and hears it chug to life he watches the kids from the window of his mirror. 

Something with them feels ominous.

But he’s sick and feverish.

That’ll be all there is to it.

Chapter Text

You know, usually he doesn’t come down to the school often. A parent teacher meeting here, a first day there, and then drop offs and pickups. Overall he spent as little time as possible there. 

So can someone tell him why the fuck he was being called down to the school office midday.

It did give him an excuse he can lie to himself about why he was leaving criminal psych early -he thought it would be fun. Why the hell does it involve so much math about brain chemicals? 

Overall not as fun as he thought.

So a call from the school admin calling him in isn’t welcomed, however it happened during the right class. 

—

When he pulls up to the school and threads his way through to the office he feels thoroughly reminded of why he hates this place. And also as to why old people say it’s rude to stare.

The kids only look because they’re stuck in class with huge windows and nothing to really do, there’s movement so they look. He looks wildly out of place and obscure compared to what they usually see in their gated community so they look twice and keep looking. 

The small office feels smaller than it should be. The small waiting area next to the closed off room visible through a glassless window feels like some sort of cage. As soon as he goes in the secretary looks down her nose at him and raises her eyebrow. Giving him a once over and pushing her turtle-rimmed glasses back up her nose. 

“Mr Higgins?”

She questions, a thick syrupy undertone of sickly sweet condescension dripping off her tongue. Looking over to a door directly across from them in the hallway.

“Uh- yeah last time I checked?”
He mutters, not wanting to be necessarily rude because really she was just doing her job. But fuck if he wasn’t going to get pissy about it in his head.

“Sickbay, they’re waiting for you inside”
She says without ever looking back up at him, flipping through her binder and seeming to go back to her work. Raising her glasses to see the text better, seeming to have gone back to admin work instead of even pretending to care.

“I wasn’t made aware that Dasher had called in sick”
He narrows his eyes. The school usually told you when your kid wasn’t feeling well so you could prepare to be away from work for a long time, or if you would have to go back after pickup you could find someone to take care of them. 

“It’s just that I have a class after this and I cannot miss any more class time -if you had told me I would have had someone else pick him up and then take him home but-”

“I said he was in sickbay, not that he was sick”
She rolls her eyes dismissively, left hand coming up to make a little puppet that mimics him, the coworker that had just come in snorting. It’s honestly as if they think he’s dumb.

Race merely scoffs and looks into the camera as if he’s on the office. The only thing -there is no camera, he’s just making a face at the wall because he thinks it’s funny. 

He pushes open the sick bay door. It seems like a shitty design because it’s so heavy -how could a sickly kid even get in there. Although maybe he just has the strength of an actual infant.

Inside is an uncomfortable looking foam mattress with a terrible fabric that looks like it would squeak. A paper-like ‘blanket’ on top. On the left of the dark room with only white light is a shower? Which isn’t really comforting. Also why would you need it?

But he digresses. The thing that brings his attention is the three people on the bed. On the right crammed against the wall is Dasher. A quickly forming bruise against his cheek, others splayed over his arms. The occasional scrape and graze across them. Tears welling up in his eyes and he scrunches his face up and tries not to sniffle. 

Beside him is Spot, blood streaking from his nose and hair mussed up. Tugged in different angles and sticking out oddly. He wipes at the blood but it only really smears it further into his mouth. He gags at the initial taste, then doing something with his tongue that makes Race decide he should look to the right instead.

The kid who had been constantly glaring and fixating on Dasher was on the right. A bruise forming around the corner of his mouth and gravel streaked hands trying to locate what part of his mouth was bleeding. There were bits of gravel and dirt stuck in his grazes and cuts, bruises forming over him as well. Layers of skin torn off in chunks, making the filth cling to him.

“There was an incident” 

Spot mutters, blood dripping off his hands as he tries to stop the bleeding.

“I was hoping this could be worked out? And obviously it’s school protocol to call you”

“What- someone explain why some kid is apparently beating mine?”
Race scowls, holding back from going to hug Dasher and trying to keep calm. When he had moved into the room Dasher had shuffled further into the wall and pushed his cheek against the cool surface. Shaking his head while he makes pointed eye contact.

He’s not going to act like that didn’t hurt.

“Well that’s not quite how it happened”

Spot turns to his right to look at Dasher, raising his eyebrows and giving a soft comforting smile. Not the time gay thoughts. Not the time

“Dasher, would you like to explain to us why you did that?”

“I dunno”
Dasher shrugs, looking guiltily over at Race and then Spot, wiping away his tears and sniffling. Race prays it’s not blood in his nose that’s causing him to sniff.

Sparrow scoffs and rolls his eyes. Moving his legs so that he can lean his chin against one knee. 

“Dasher?”
Race questions. Moving closer to Dasher and holding his hand out before he draws it back as Dasher drops his head in between his knees, hands going over his head.

“My dad is not a whore” 

He spits out, moving forward so that he can glare at Sparrow and raise his eyebrows, widening his eyes and then looking back towards the wall. Wiping his tears again. The tear stains streaking over his face, the area under his eyes puffy and irritated. 

Race freezes, looking over at Spot who seems just as awkward as he does. Wide eyes with large bags pushing against his face that’s stretched so tight that you can almost see the skull. Why is that sort of hot?

Sparrow bites back 

“What?! He is, ‘s not my fault”

He scoffs and turns to face Dasher, the argument reigniting even with the adults present. 

“Woah! Okay! Everybody calm down, let’s just talk about this”
Spot urges. Visibly trying to let the cogs turn in his mind.

“Sparrow, why would you say that”

“Because he is?”
Sparrow reasons, raising his eyebrow and giving Race a look up and down and then looking back at Spot. He isn’t sure whether to be confused, angry, or concerned. 

“No, I mean why would you think that”
Spot says, seeing how visibly uneasy at Race and Dashers presence Sparrow is. Turning his back to them to block Sparrows view from them a little bit in the hopes of making him feel safer.

“Well the older kids at the home said he was. Because their parents are whores and had them young or whatever. So since he’s really young he’s a whore”
Sparrow explains as if it makes total sense. Spot nods along very seriously.

“Okay- that’s not the right thing. That isn’t what a whore is nor is it an okay thing to say”
Spot tries to explain, looking to the roof and inhaling deeply.

“Why not? Everyone at the home does it”
Spot looks uncomfortably towards them as Race shifts irritably.

“Right. I’ll talk about that with you later”
Spot turns back towards Race and gives an apologetic look.

“All I knew before this is that we were running some PE and just playing some sh- shortly planned game, Dasher punched Sparrow and they attempted to fight. Really the concrete did more than they did”

The two boys give him glares in unison and scoff, Sparrow sticking out his tongue and Dasher grumbling. 

“Okay sorry but we all know it’s true!”

Spot defends
“ Anyways , I broke it up, not before Dasher somehow managed to kick me in the face and I was generally roughed up” 

Spot explains, motioning to his general condition and sighing tiredly.

“Alright- well”
Race pauses. He had never really been in that situation before -Dasher makes friends easily and even if he doesn’t he would wear them down. He’s never not liked somebody let alone fought.

“Sorry, I don’t really know what to do now”

Spot nods reassuringly, easing him slightly. Spot had shuffled forward in his place on the bed to talk to Race, leaving Dasher and Sparrow to glare daggers at each other from the now sizable gap between Spots back and the wall.

“Right. Well since this was a misunderstanding then I think we can work it out easily enough”

Sparrow makes an indignant noise
“No misunderstanding! His dad’s a whore, I pointed it out. Not my fault”

“Sparrow, did you know that that is a very mean word”
Spot asks, turning to look at him and question him. Not at all accusatory, just a genuine question.

“It is?”
Sparrow cocks his head, frowning and looking as though his mind was just blown.

“Yes, and you know that it isn’t okay to call people names”

Spot nods, sending a sorry glance towards Race and frowning when Dasher rolls his eyes.

“Oh. Sorry Mr Dashers dad”

Sparrow says, gripping his arms together in a hug for comfort and a guilty expression falling across him.

“No, it’s okay kid, you didn’t know”
Race says, unsure of how to react, darting his eyes between Sparrow, Spot, and Dasher. Needing some confirmation that it was the correct thing to do.

Spot nods and gives him a little smile.

He preens, trying to be subtle. Committing the image of Spot with blood streaking from his nose, looking up at him with wide eyes with a dorky grin on his face and his legs slightly spread. Then coughing and internally berating himself because that is his sons teacher, what the fuck Race.

“Anyways, I’ll keep an eye on these two and make sure everything runs smoothly. But I don’t see any reason for big action. Neither of them need to move classes or anything. Just- for the love of fu- ther powers don’t do this again”

Both boys groan but bob their heads like little bobble toys. At Spots command they get up and toddle off to class. Spot lays back on the shitty mattress and lets out a long suffering sigh. 

“Fucking christ”

He mutters, hands going over his face and slowly pulling off, streaking more blood over his face and turning to gaze softly at Race.

“I’m really sorry about this. Sparrow- he isn’t- he’s in a foster home. And it just means that the older kids shape his views- and more importantly his vocabulary. I’m going to be working with him and the other foster kids on it but they aren’t eager to trust me so it’s slow going”

Race nods, pausing for a second.

“Wait- aren’t the both of them both beat up? Why would they leave”

“Oh- shit, that’s not-”

Chapter Text

Races POV

The itch is still there.

Been there for years, a buzz under his skin, a noise he can’t quite shake. 

His kitchen counter is cool against his cheek, draped over the surface. Slate grey skies have long turned to darker hues of blues. He should turn the lights on, but why lie to himself. All warmth is gone, from his home, from his heart. Soon from him.

His chest heaves, bile trying to claw its way up.

“Dad?”

Comes a feeble voice from behind him, uncharacteristically subdued as he stumbles into the room. Dasher clutches his matted stuffed duck in his hand, oversized pyjamas hanging off of him. His voice is shaky and groggy from sleep, his other hand resting against the doorframe. 

“Everything’s okay baby, let’s get you back to bed”

— 

Spots POV

He shouldn’t be thinking like this. He’s normally well behaved, or maybe he was never tempted or swayed before. Well not in the usual regard. Sure he made bad choices in the past, but he was never having to stop himself from openly thirsting over a stupid blond. 

And he hates that as soon as he thinks it his brain starts to argue that Race isn’t stupid. Okay he doesn’t necessarily have the best track record given that they met through the school Race’s son attends, but he’s not dumb. From what he’s found he’s sharper and whittier than you would think. The typical gay snark but it feels nice and it’s fun to banter with him, even if it’s rare and nothing will come of it.  

“Hey tall dark and handsome, you look like a sunburnt penguin”

“Jesus- fuck - I mean damn it Race”
He nearly jumps out of his skin, whipping around to try and spot Race, seeing nobody on the playground. He frowns, making a double take and turning in a circle multiple times. Playground bark moving under his feet until he’s dug himself a little hole. Dirt muddying his shoes.

“Look up”
A voice calls from above him. When he looks up Race is hanging on the monkey bars above him, his knees looped around the bar and hanging upside down. Hand outstretched towards him, the other trying to keep his shirt from hanging off him. It’s not working too well. The baggy neckline is pushing forward and from the angle it exposes some skin, not that he’s looking or anything. 

“What’s with the getup, you look unnaturally red”

Race cackles, coming down to bop him on the nose. Spot instantly swats his hand away for professionalism's sake. He flushes under his half washed off facepaint. It felt uncomfortable on his skin, dried flecks of paint cracking as his expression shifts. The sunburn isn’t helping, almost painful with the facepaint on the overtop.

“There’s a house colour day in a week or so, I just wanted to make sure my face-painting skills were on point”
He flexes his muscles jokingly, pointedly not looking at Race as he does so, for fear of what he sees. And he looks around before muttering.
“And the principal made us, apparently we need to have our outfits and makeup approved? But to be fair it might have just been me and a few other unconventional dressers.”

Race moves his arms, outstreatching towards Spot. Grinning at him and tilting Spots chin up so he can look him in his eyes. His shirt falling down to his chin. He blinks owlishly. He’s dumbly gawking at him if he’s being honest. Doing his best not to let his eyes wander, and even then the back of his mind can’t help but note that Race has a happy trail leading down to his crotch. 

“That’s so shitty”
Race says absently, or maybe it wasn’t absent and that wasn’t what he said. Honestly he wouldn’t know. Races hands are calloused, his fingertips have slight grooves in them. His brain stupidly supplies that it’s likely from guitar or some other stringed instrument. His mind quickly wanders. What type of instrument does Race play? He’s internally praying for electric guitar. What’s his favourite song? He flips over his favourite bands internally, would Race like them? 

He thinks he can feel Races thumb ghosting over his lip. His mouth goes to fall open suggestively, looking up at him through his eyelashes. Maybe he looks desperate, but maybe he doesn’t care. He lets himself entertain the idea of Race pressing down harder on his lip, pushing his finger inside his mouth. Or maybe something else.

He hears it before he feels it. A slight woosh, a hushed gasp sounding out from behind him. Barkchips sliding and making a slight crushed sound of small shoes that had been running and stopping too quickly. Someone digging their heels into the ground to stop themselves. 

Then a loud thonk sounds out. It sounds louder than it should. But less than a second later he realises. The loud smack of a rubber ball smacking against someone's head. His head. Feet pushing forward, one landing straight and the other one missing slightly and moving backwards. Arms go to spin in circles and try to grab at the air to find something to hold onto.

Eventually he finds his balance again. Flushing and whipping his head around to glare, a few seconds later reminding himself of where he is and who he’s dealing with. Luckily his glare fell short, much like the person -or rather, child, who he was glaring at. When he looks down it’s Sparrow. A guilty expression on his face. Or really a mix between indignant, prideful in a way, but it seems more defensive then real pride. Eyebrows pinched tight together in a clear attempt at defense. But his eyes betray him. Tears are clearly building in them. Too wide, much wider than normal. Anxiety building in the silence, gaze darting anywhere but him.

But each time they come to rest on him. The fear is clear as he takes a smaller step back. He’s biting his lip, but not the normal way. Sparrow is tearing the skin off his lip absently. Blood slowly starting to build up and spilling over. 

“Sorry Mr Conlon ”
Sparrow mutters, sniffing and blinking rapidly. Trying to keep the tears from falling without wiping his eyes. Hands clenched into fists so hard they’re turning white. The venom in his voice is clear at the last part, but the shakiness of it betrays him. 

Honestly he looks like he needs a hug. Something Spot is very tempted to run forward and give him. To scoop him up in his arms and hold him close. Although considering Sparrows more unruly behaviors in class, he would get his ass kicked, or- atleast Sparrow would try. 

“It’s alright Sparrow, and I did tell you guys that you can call me Spot, right?”
He says, keeping his voice soft and controlled, stepping a little closer to Sparrow. Who then flinches a little and then shifts back slowly.

Sparrow nods, whipping his cheek with the back of his hand and then his palm. Kicking away the rubber ball that had rolled to his feet. Spot looks back at Race for a second.

“I have to go, this wasn’t exactly professional anyways”
He says, stepping closer to Sparrow and making sure to not approach him directly. Side stepping and walking forward. Pointedly not looking back at Race as he steps away and nods his head, indicating for Sparrow to follow. 

—- 

The walk to the classroom was silent. Sparrow was quietly sniffling beside him which he chose to respectfully ignore. Making sure to take one of the longer routes to the classroom to save any embarrassment from Sparrow, the two of them dart through the less populated areas of the school so less people see.

When they arrive into the empty classroom Spot sits on his desk, making sure not to cross his arms so he doesn’t seem intimidating. He instead props his arms against the desk and watches Sparrow shift his weight from one leg to another. 

“Are you doing okay?”

Sparrows eyes widen. Looking up from the ground that he had been fixated on to tilt his head at Spot.

“What do you mean?”
Sparrow looks up at him slightly, looking more confused than the time when he asked Race how old he was because the man had to do math to figure it out. No- not the time to be thinking about Race.

“You’ve been acting out a bit recently, so are you okay?”

“Oh”
Sparrow shrugs, shifting his weight from foot to foot anxiously.
“Just kinda shitty with the house-colour day”

“Language”
He mutters. Taking a second to process it before he notices that for so many reasons that makes no sense.
“Right- okay, what do you mean?”

“Well, nobody at the birdies table has anything red that fits the school rules, so we’re going to be the only ones who are ‘different’ and I don’t want to be different” 

Sparrow shrugs, trying to dig his feet into the ground but twisting awkwardly instead. It’s clearly getting to him a lot. It really should have been a warning sign that a table of eight year olds were all pouting and huffing in silence while the other tables excitedly chatted about house colour day.

Thinking back, it should have been more obvious. Everyone in the school was sorted into four colours for their ‘house’. He decided to keep things simple and evenly divide students into houses the way that he had divided up tables. All the foster kids lumped together so they’ll have a sense of security.

But the colour days were more than that. Kids would gather at each other's houses with their special outfits so they could eat breakfast together. The foster kids live in a home. They wouldn’t have anyone to make a special breakfast, to help gather bits and bobs for an outfit. They wouldn’t have the same experience that is the entire reason schools still do the colour days. 

It sounds empty. Repeating the same hollow morning you do every day, waking up with a room that isn’t your own. Grotty wallpapers with odd textures, groves and marks from all those just as miserable as you who came before you. Did Sparrow have to share a room? Were they allowed to decorate? Probably not as much as you would wish though, not as much that would be making a space not for you and claiming a piece of it as your own.

Were the hallways as run down as the ones he’s seen? With walls that have been painted over far too many times in horrendous colours that clash with the ones remaining from what must be the last time. Trashy under the sea themes, rotted blue tack clinging onto paper bubbles on a green ceiling with purple trim. 

Or were they impersonal and cool as if it was- well almost a hospital. With cool tones of whites and metallic greys hanging sharp over the wall. Endless windowless hallways, tile flooring that make a clack as you walk. 

None of that is what a child deserves.

And to then come to school, lumped together as the kids who were ‘different’ for not looking right. Billboards for neglect and disrepair.

Shunted around as walking advertisements to be othered, judged, silently laughed at, seen as inhuman. 

“I can help with that” 

He offers before he thinks. It’s true of course. But probably something he should have thought of first.

“How so?”
Sparrow steps back from him a bit suspiciously, edging closer to the door and nervously shifting his gaze around the classroom and to Spot. Eyes too wide, too scared, too angry.

“I have like a bajillion red shirts that we can adjust to fit you guys -all of them fitting the school rules for what you can and can’t wear on colour days. And I can do something for you guys before class”
He suggests, internally thinking of ways he could alter his shirts. They were all the same really. Muscle tees with black stripes all in the same size. He had them for an old project he forgot about but he really couldn’t remember. He wasn’t a professional seamstress and there wouldn’t be enough time to do a decent job for all of them. But he’d still try. 

It was all he knew how to do.

He sends Sparrow out of class, already starting to draft up an idea of what he’d say on the phone with the caretakers from the foster home and ways he could alter the shirts to A. fit the kids. And B. be attuned to their own personal style. They deserve something that’s theirs and theirs alone to keep.

Blasting the sex pistols as he works through the self imposed work.

He has a feeling he’ll be doing that a lot with these kids.

There’s no question whether it’s worth it though.

Chapter Text

—

House colour day. Something that Dasher told him about the day before it was supposed to happen, which Race was wholly displeased with. Part of it was on him for not reading the school newsletter, but I mean- come on! So much of it wasn’t useful or interesting that it got ridiculous to try to scan for information that might be applicable to him. 

But, he had to try to scrape together something for Dasher to be able to wear. Luckily, you come by blue pretty frequently. Dasher already had blue shorts, he had a dark blue graphic tee, his too-tight running shoes really needed to be replaced, and he had insisted on wearing one of Races blue and white flannels. 

So, outfit sorted, and that was pretty much all Race was mentally checked in to do other than chucking a few extra snacks into Dashers lunchbox. House colour day came by every year, which means that by now he’s well set up to cruise by in the bare minimum like he does every year, sending Dasher through the gates with pretty much the same outfit as the year before. 

And so he staunters through the gates, somewhat satisfied with himself for going to the extra effort to drop Dasher off to class rather than just waving goodbye when Dasher got out of the car and walked from the parking lot to school. And that totally wasn’t an excuse to see the teacher who he had managed to actually get somewhat close with. 

Not as much as he’d have liked, but enough that he felt comfortable talking to him.

Although he can’t help but snicker when he sees the red getup, coupled with the other kids in the classroom.

Race had come a lot earlier than usual dropoff time so that he wouldn’t be late to classes because he was walking Dasher in, but that meant that he got to witness a frazzled Spot in a red and black striped muscle tee fussing over a bunch of kids in shirts that matched his to various extents, with all the shirts being oversized on the kids while form fitting to Spot. 

Race silently raises his eyebrows as Spot ties a girl's hair back in a ponytail using some extra scraps of fabric. “Hey” He cuts in, slightly confused on why everyone in the room was wearing matching outfits except for him and Dasher. “Uh- hey!” Spot says, seemingly slightly embarrassed, finishing the lopsided bow and sending the dark haired girl away to talk to Race. 

“What’s with the matchy matchy?” Race questions, crossing his arms and leaning over to tease Spot slightly. “I could ask you the same thing” Spot chuckles, looking between Dasher with his blue and white flannel that went down to his knees, and Race in his white and blue striped shirt. 

“We’re showing allegiance to the blue house” He responds, having honestly not noticed at all. “And I’m showing my allegiance to red” Spot quips back. Race raises his eyebrows, pouting playfully, deciding not to throw away a snarky comment about how Spots allegiance should be with him. 

Spot hums, looking over at the kids managing themselves and occasionally snickering when they glance over at the pair, reacting to that with a cringe of embarrassment. “Soooo… I saw that you didn’t put yourself down for the parent volunteer?” He questions, his leg bouncing somewhat awkwardly when he leans against the table, unsure of how to place himself. 

“Nah, I uh- I’m still in college. Community, but, still. I pay for classes, and I don’t have enough of a budget to skip just so I can hang out with Dasher. ‘Sides, I’m not exactly a studying kinda guy, if I don’t learn it in class I probably won’t try at home.” Race explains sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and watching Dasher out of the corner of his eye.

“Why, did you guys come up short on volunteers or somethin?” He asks, unsure of why on earth Spot would ask about why he personally hadn’t felt that he should volunteer. Casting his gaze over to Spot while he leans his hand against the desk. Spot had moved to be sitting cross legged on the desk, adamantly watching the kids and not looking at Race.

—

Spots POV

When it comes down to it, teaching isn’t all that interesting. 

Well, nothing that’s not consistent or repetitive.

Except for that one guy.

Who was for all intents and purposes, probably dating someone. I mean, there was someone taking care of him when he was sick. He said so himself. And Spot should be ignoring his hankering to know more rather than filing the information that he was still in school to the back of his mind so he can refer to it late at night. It was wildly unprofessional to be inquiring about his personal life, a total violation . Spot thinks, while opening his mouth to ask Race yet another question.

“Does your boyfriend not like to get involved with Dasher? Or is it not that serious yet” He says, freezing after he gets the words out. Oh god he was going to get so fired someday very soon. Smiling awkwardly, he tries to pass it off to an entirely befuddled Race, who looked as if he’d been asked at what size is it best for a puppy to be before you dropkick them. Which would be a combination of confusion that pinched his brows together, and what looked to be an offendedness that blew his eyes wide.  

“Or girlfriend! I don’t know, I just- your shirt that one time. But I shouldn’t make assumptions, and I am so sorry for asking, I don’t know why I did that.” Spot says before Race can get a word in, trying to do some damage control. 

Race seems to relax a little before speaking slowly. “I’m uh-.. I’m not seeing anybody? Not that I’m aware of” He chuckles, “I don’t got a partner, that other guy on the emergency contact sheet is just my most reliable good friend, not my boyfriend. For some reason there’s a two contact minimum? But- yeah.. I am gay though. Not that you need to know that.”

Oh.
Yay?

Spot blinks for a few seconds, deciding not to comment on things that he shouldn’t. “Yeah- you need two or more contacts in case the primary caregiver isn’t available or can’t be contacted for whatever reason. It’s an emergency safety thing that we have to have in place, most single people just do an aunt, a grandma, a friend, it’s whatever.” He covers, trying to put his attention to the only mildly appropriate part of that conversation he can comment on. 

But, because he’s a glutton for punishment, and apparently unable to resist this man for whatever reason, he presses on with a short comment.

“Was it your friend who took care of you when you were sick?” Spot asks, silently grateful that all the trouble that the group of birdies were getting up to was very clearly silently making fun of the pair. Race looks confused once again, “Nobody took care of me, I got a couple of mates to help with Dasher, but I was just dying on my couch slumped over my laptop for a few days. 

Raising his eyebrows, Spot throws a half hearted glare, “You told me you had someone taking care of you?” He groans, acting more like a concerned friend than his son’s teacher. Race's face snaps into a stiffly guilty expression when he’s caught out “Well- I sorta lied a little. Ish, I was taken care of in that a friend did my grocery shopping, and I had a bit of babysitting as well as drop off and pick up for Dasher. I’d say that’s care enough.” Race defends.

Spot huffs, but drops it. “Right. Shame you couldn’t be here as a parent volunteer, but I get why you can’t” He says, taking care in the placement of his words. “Why do you want me specifically to do it though?” Race asks again, seemingly desperate to know why him rather than any other parent. Or atleast, wanting confirmation for his suspicions.

“Eh, you’re cooler than them. I wanted a chance to have someone I’m forced to hang out with not entirely suck” Spot confesses, somewhat shielding the truth that he wanted to spend more time with Race. Surprised, Race's face softens slightly, leaning into Spot more to speak before he’s interrupted by the door opening.

Oh crap, he has a room full of about nine kids he’s supposed to be supervising and more soon to have arrived, that have very quickly started to come. Damn it!

Race's head shoots up, squinting at the analog clock for a few seconds before giving up and getting out his phone to check the time. “Shit- I’m gonna be late for class if I don’t hurry.” He curses to himself quietly, quickly getting up and kissing Dashers forehead, giving him a rushed goodbye before skedaddling out of the classroom.  

Spot’s smile slips off his face slowly, resigning himself to doing his actual job and greeting the parent and new kid who had arrived. Taming the slight red tint out of his ears that had somehow appeared and feigning normal.

Chapter Text

—---

Spots POV

After talking to the parents and greeting the kids, Spot settles into his chair, resting against his desk and silently stewing while he pretends to work. Repeatedly opening his email and clicking through random things before shutting it and reopening it on loop, never paying attention to the screen. 

So, Race was in community college, he was single, and he couldn’t read analog clocks. Well, the last one was dubious, but he appeared to be entirely lost while he looked at the clock on the wall before checking his phone for the time.

Spot looks up at the clock, chuckling when he notices that even the minute and hour handles were labelled. He gets up, adding a ‘if you can’t read the clock, ask for help!’ sticky note up next to the clock with a smiley face. 

Biting his lip, Spot resumes pretending to do something vaguely work related for a few minutes of stressing out and running over vague streams of thoughts that all revolve around Race. Only snapping out of it when he has his class and a few parent volunteers all inside the room and that he should probably actually do his job. 

—

The day is somewhat ordinary. The kids split up into their houses, and they went on to compete in different competitions with other kids their age, with the houses being randomly mashed together to verse each other. 

Spot follows along with his group of kids and parent volunteers, overseeing the birdies and a few others from another class in the same age group and maintaining schedule. Over the years, he could see how this could become very boring. But as it’s his first year as a teacher, it’s actually fun to get to go around with the kids, even if he’s not allowed to compete. 

There are a few close calls in the form of a scraped knee which was easily fixed with a dino bandaid, a girl taking a topple during tug of war, a few minor bits of confusion on what the rules were from some of the more vocal birdies, and Sparrow showing a tad bit of poor sportsmanship when beaten.

That was the main issue that he was running into. While some of the birdies were doing just fine, some others, Sparrow in particular, were having a lot of difficulty with taking the losses gracefully. It was never fun to lose, so Spot was willing to turn a blind eye to a few scoffs and scowls. So long as it wasn’t impacting the other team or anyone else, the kids were allowed to feel however they wanted about the loss. 

But upon reflection, he probably should’ve interrupted before things escalated. Entirely clueless, he had helped the kids line up in the right order for the simple race course that the kids had to get through. Some of the other races featured obstacles, but this one was just straight running. 

While some kids were sad about the plain track, Dasher, in the opposing team, seemed excited to not have to have obstacles weighing him down. Spot doesn’t even think about how this line up might not go well. What with Sparrow being a sore loser and Dasher being much faster than other kids his age. 

Entirely oblivious, Spot sets his kids up, listening absently to Dasher chatting about how proud his dad’s going to be if he wins. A small smile settling across his face. Dasher and Sparrow are next to each other in the lineup, but he sees no issue with this as the two hiss out angry attempted one liners when he’s not looking. 

The race begins, and Spot watches, cheering on the kids with a relaxed grin across his face. It progresses fairly well, and he doesn’t catch the start of it at all. Dasher's ankle folds in a bit, knocking his shoulder against Sparrow’s when he starts to fall. Ignoring the sting of the mild injury, he rights himself and presses. 

Sparrow, enraged, knocks his side into Dasher much harder, sending the boy who was already struggling slightly toppling down in an uncoordinated mess. Spot snaps to attention at that, just in time to see Dasher jump forward and yank at Sparrows leg before he can get away, with Sparrow flopping onto the track face first.

Turning back, Sparrow is quick to pounce at Dasher, tugging at his hair and landing what little punches he could while Dasher kicks at him. Shouting now, Dasher tosses his weight to the side, flipping them and wrangling himself through the flailing mess of limbs to sit on Sparrow's chest. 

Scratching and clawing at Sparrow right before Spot scoops him up, holding him at arms length while Dasher flails and tries to get back to attacking Sparrow. Settling him down, Spot gives hurried apologies to the adults around for the public incident, moving over to help Sparrow off of the floor and muttering sternly that he’d like to have a word with the both of them. 

—

Races POV

Race was totally staying awake in class. Criminal psychology wasn’t even necessary credit for him to obtain his degree, at least not this particular version of it. He signed up to do armchair psychology, not brain chemistry!

So what with his lack of sleep from the night before where Dasher had begged to play board games, keeping him up an extra hour and a half, he totally wasn’t nodding off. This he repeats over while gently and slowly dipping his head down to let it rest on his notepad. Blinking blearily up to the front of the lecture hall as his eyes start to shut. 

Sheltering himself from the cold sterile lighting of the classroom, he rests an arm over his head, only jumping up when he hears his ringtone blaring ‘Ur so gay’ by Katy Perry that he swears is just an ironic thing he did in highschool and never bothered to change. 

He hurriedly searches for his phone, eventually finding it in his bag and slamming his thumb down on the ‘decline call’ button. Nervously laughing at the attention fixed on him. “I’m just gonna- take this outside” he halfheartedly mutters. Slinging his bag over his shoulder and slinking out the backdoor as quietly as he possibly can without causing further disturbance. 

In the dingy hallway he quickly fishes his phone out, checking the number and cursing. School admin, what a delight. 

Hurriedly dialing back, he taps his foot against the cool tile floor, resting his back against the wall and hunching over to listen to the droning voice of the lady on the other end of the phone. God. 

“No- yes sorry, I couldn’t take the call so I dialed back… yes this is Antonio Higgins,” Race sighs, pausing and listening for a moment. “Right- I can come by,” He sighs, resigning himself to missing the end of class and starting to walk towards his car. 

—

Race pulls his car into the school's lot, dragging himself out and walking over to the school’s admin office. It’s somewhat disturbing to see all the kids running outside during the day given that he’s never come during the middle of the school day while house colour day has been on. It’s somewhat eerie walking through the outside section that is normally empty and is now roaring with noise.

Luckily, he’s able to quickly slip into the admin office, breathing a short sigh of relief. “Trying for a record, Mister Higgins” Race jumps, snapping to look into the disinterested turtle shell framed eyes of the secretary. “Uh-” He splutters awkwardly. 

“Two times in one month, must be” the other background coworker chuckles back, not acknowledging him in the slightest. “Sick bay?” Race sighs, making his best guess. The two nod at him and he stalks down the hallway into the dim room with a huff. 

Pushing open the heavy door, he’s met with a strong sense of deja vu. Dasher is pressed against the wall on the left, tear tracks running down his face, Spot is next to him, although this time not bloodied, and Sparrow is on the right side, hands cupped over small scrapes. 

Biting his lip to prevent from cursing, he doesn’t match Spot's shaky smile. “Uh- I think it’s probably best that we talk outside about this. We’ll be right outside so we’ll hear any funny business.” Spot says, pointedly looking at the boys who nod.

Race sighs, having not even said anything yet, pushing the door open yet again to stand with Spot, raising his eyebrow in a silent que for him to say whatever it was. “There was a fight..” Spot says, slight hesitancy tingeing his voice. 

“I gathered,” Race says dryly, “What happened?” He questions, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What details are you looking for exactly?” Spot says, unsure what to clarify. “Who started it? And don’t say it doesn’t matter because it does.”

Cringing, Spot looks away on his reply, “Well- I wasn’t looking at the start of it. But from Sparrow's account Dasher rammed into him from the side, so he did the same back.” Looking back, he can see a clearly shocked look on Race's face. “Dasher wouldn’t do that!” Race says quickly, trying to cover what very clearly makes no sense.

“...multiple adult accounts of it say that he did. And he did admit to it when I asked if he knocked into him.” Spot says slowly, seeing Race's face fall and screw up as he takes a turn being the one to avoid eye contact. “What does that mean now then?” He eventually gets out slowly. 

“I’ll have to set up a meeting to talk to you about it in more depth because I’m still needed for today, but… bottom line, two fights between the same two kids. If the school calls for a kid to be removed from the class to separate them, I’m removing Dasher.” Races eyebrows shoot up. “I’m sorry! It’s nothing about him, but Sparrow isn’t as sociable and wouldn’t adjust as well to being in a different class without any of his friends.”

Race sighs, leaning against the wall. “And Dasher starting it each time probably doesn’t help.” He huffs, seeing Spot give a small but sheepish nod. “It might not happen, and I’m gonna try to keep it from happening, but I know that if there’s more issues… the school doesn’t stand for physical violence. It’s really all I can do to keep Dasher out of the anti-bullying programs for now .” 

Race nods slowly, “And for today?-” he says, before freezing. Being cut off by growing volume in the other room. 

“He’s not gay!” The two hear Dasher shout when they burst back into the room. Stiffening at the scene. “Uh-” Race says, looking between the two. They’re not physically fighting, but they were clearly shouting. Sparrow has his fists balled up, having moved more into what was Spot's place on the stiff mattress. Dasher has shoved himself into the corner, tears that he tries desperately to hide running down his face. 

Race walks over, sitting next to Dasher and wrapping an arm around him. Something that makes Sparrow visibly seethe. Spot looks between the two, seeming to come to a fair conclusion. “Race… do you know if you’d be able to take Dasher home for the rest of the day? It’s too hard to separate them given the house colour day thing, but I think that’s the best option for the short term. I’ll see about emailing you on when we can meet to discuss things further.” 

Dasher tucks himself further into Race, seemingly ashamed of the major inconvenience. “Do I gotta?” Race half whines, seeing a slight smile come across Spot's face in response. “We do our best to not send the foster kids home early, it’s easiest for all of them. So if Dasher could go home…?”

Huffing, Race nods. “Great, then you can sign him out at the front desk and that should be all for today.” Spot smiles, doing his best to not get distracted by Race.

Race nudges Dasher, prodding him to follow as he gets up, smiling stiffly at Spot and walking slowly to the front desk, Dasher trailing behind him like a deflated balloon. In silence he signs Dasher out and begins to walk to the car. Eventually unlocking it and resting his head against the wheel for a long time before he starts the car. 

Fuck.

Chapter Text

—

Races POV

Dasher drags his feet through Races classes for the day. Sitting next to his dad and kicking his legs back and forth, silently agonizing that he’s so bored but not saying anything. He knows all too well how much trouble he’s going to be in for getting sent home early. 

Race sends him a few slightly apologetic glances, somewhat weighing his options, and by the second class he’s been given the back of a small notepad that he can draw in to pass the time. Although he’s pretty sure that’s just to try to distract him from Race, sitting slightly further away from him, whisper-begging his friend to take care of Dasher while he goes to work. 

“Jack- please! You know I wouldn’t ask normally, I can’t take him to work with me, I got in so much trouble last time!” Race pleads, playing on Jack's soft spot for kids. “I’ll pick him up as soon as I’m done, I swear .” He says, seeing Jack glance back at Dasher for a moment.

Jack makes eye contact with the kid, looking back at Race and huffing. “I’ve got studio work till eight, I won’t be keeping much of an eye on him because I’m in class, but if he’s lucky he’ll be able to sit near me.” Race breathes a small sigh of relief. “If we’re doing figure drawing, I don’t know if they’ll let him in though.” Jack says slowly.

“What? Why!” Race exclaims, quietening when he gets a few stray glares. “Greendale is a shitty school, but still, I doubt they're going to let an eight year old into a class with the nude models, man.” Jack whispers back. “If they don’t, I’ll see if I can let Al’ watch him, but you know he ain’t great with kids. Worst case, I drive him back to Meddas and you pick him up from there.”

Race cringes, “I don’t think I’ve seen your mom in ages. Probably since highschool.” He groans, “She ain’t judgin’ ya, honest. ‘Sides, she’ll probably just wanna give you a hug and tell you she’ll babysit anytime she can if you just say the word.” Jack chuckles, Race rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, because everyone's parents loved me back in highschool,” He scoffs. 

—

Work passes slowly, nothing of much note happens. Race is tired, customers aren’t always nice, he pulls a muscle in his neck at some point and spends the rest of his shift cursing quietly. Floorwork at a supermarket wasn’t exactly an inspired job, but it’s usually marginally better when he’s on checkout.
Today, he didn’t have that luxury. Instead, he was hauling around boxes of product and stocking shelves. A very glamorous life, he knows.

Finally, he’s able to clock out, not taking a moment to think before he stomps out to the car. When he yanks his keys out of the lock he sits in his carseat, pressing his hands against his furrowed brow. God he was going to have wrinkles sooner than he probably should.

Turning his keys in the ignition, Race tries to pull himself together. Sniffling slightly, he slots an old tool CD into the ROM reader. If he just keeps going then he can’t think about anything going on. A trait that truly reflects some good coping skills. 

Eventually, he pulls into the car park nearest the art campus. Getting out and trying to navigate his way to Jack's class. After walking into quite a few rooms that weren’t right, he manages to locate it, sneaking in through the back.

He focuses for a little before spotting Jack's scruff of hair close to the back. Darting through a few people before he can settle in next to Jack, apologizing when he gets in their way and trying to doge the dirty glares.

Jack is settled on a stool, propped up in front of where his sketchpad was balanced on his easel. Charcoal smudged over his fingers and smeared over his face where he had rubbed or placed his hands. Leaning his back against the stool is Dasher, little notebook and borrowed charcoal pencil in hand. 

Giving him a small smile, Jack nods to Race. “How was he?” Asked Race, cocking his head slightly. “Little bit fidgety for a bit, but I got him to just draw the figure or other people in the  class until he settled.” Jack hums, ruffling Dashers hair. 

Dasher swats it away, but he’s smiling. “Well, seems like we ought to get home and get you into the shower, you’re filthy” Race chuckles. Forgetting that he’s supposed to be mad. Having to be bored all day was punishment enough, right? Well, it will have to be for now. Race doesn’t have the heart to be mean.

Groaning, Dasher gets up, following Race out and staring at the students sketchpads as he does so.

—

It’s in the car when Dasher next speaks. Piping up from the seat next to Race, (He had somewhat recently gotten front seat privileges, Race had heard way too many horror stories of kids who were too small to be in there getting hurt to let him until he was well old enough).

“Do I gotta shower?” He whines, crossing his arms over his chest.

Race takes a moment to glance at him. “Uh duh” He chuckles at Dashers indignant scoff, “you’re filthy! You look like Jackie used you as a hand towel for his charcoal hands” Race groans, noting the charcoal through Dashers mousey brown hair, wipped over his face and the little handprints over his arms, not to mention his hands. Dasher giggles, relaxing slightly. Seemingly less anxious that his dad was mad at him.

—

Thanking god that Dasher was old enough to know how to shower himself at this point, Race takes the little alone time he can get. He uses the time to clean up, as miserable as it sounds. Resetting some of his space can be helpful. 

First comes the living room, picking his way through the variety of toys that are scattered on the floor. Tucking them away into the basket that sits next to the coffee table. Race fetches a washcloth and wipes down the coffee table, neatly stacking everything back into its place.

He’s halfway through tackling the much messier kitchen when his phone chimes out again. Making a mental note to change his ringtone, he picks it up. “...Hey? Who is this?” Race asks carefully, hesitancy laced through his voice. 

There’s a pause on the other end before the speaker crackles to life. “Spot Conlon, Dashers teacher” Comes the seemingly embarrassed speech. “I know who you are, Spot” Race half chuckles, stopping the cleaning to lean against the bench slightly. “What’s up? Is this about that meeting thing?” 

There’s a hum on the other end, “Yeah- yeah.. I just wanted to check if there’d be a time that’s good with you to arrange that” Race nods, walking over to his half unused calendar that hangs on the wall. “Uh-... I’m not free most weekdays.” He says after doing a mental list of what he has on for the next couple weeks. 

“I have classes and work during the day, I got homework and takin’ care of Dash in the evenings. I'm sorry, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to meet with you for a while,” Race says hesitantly, cursing internally. This was so not going to help Dasher's chances of staying in the class, but Dasher liked Spot! And more selfishly, he liked Spot.

Both from the practical standpoint of how nice it was that the teacher was around his age, and they got along well, so he felt a lot less alone, and from the incredibly selfish position that he might have a bit of a crush. 

There’s silence on the other end before Spots voice comes through again, slightly softer this time. “I mean… we could meet on a weekend day? I’m not supposed to but…” There’s a moment of silence, as Race slowly takes in the implication that rests there, too shocked to reply. 

—

Spots POV

“We wouldn’t be able to meet on school property, but maybe a coffee shop? I dunno, someplace that works for you.” Spot says, realising that it’s been silent for too long.

He’s tucked up on his couch, blanket laid over him. The space feels too big, too empty. Lonely. 

Maybe that was why he had called. Teachers have access to parents' personal details through admin, and he had used that to get Races phone number. That was probably an abuse of power, but he had wanted to hear Race's voice. It wasn’t technically against the rules, there were other teachers who did that all the time! 

Although they usually did that when the kid had done something seriously wrong and the parent didn’t know… but still!

The point was that he had not very subtly told Race that he cared about him to some degree through thinly veiled implication. And Race hadn’t said anything back. So that was that, whatever hope he had needed to end. 

“Or if you need we can just wait until you’re free, the school isn’t requesting immediate action because I can vouch for both of them being sweet kids.” Spot tries to cover, although he can practically hear Race's eye roll through the phone. 

“Coffee sounds good… my brother runs an art class for kids so he can get extra credit, Dasher goes every Saturday. If you’re free then, I’ll be using the library study rooms on a group project all day. I can easily step out for as long as needed to talk, if that works?”

Spot mulls it over, “The one by the apricot mural?” He asks, “I thought that was a peach” Race laughs, “But yeah, that one. In the downstairs section it’s all community crap, yahknow? So it’d be easy for me to walk all of what? A couple feet over to the cafe area from the group study areas.” 

He can’t help the smile that comes across his face. “Yeah? That works for me, I can make time… what are you guys workin’ on?” He can’t help but ask, trying to keep from hanging up. “Oh-? Uh- well we’re running a mock court case that we gotta present to the class, so we got into groups to form a legal team.” Race explains.

“Law? I didn’t know you were into that.” Spot hums, “You don’t know everything about me” Race teases back. “Try a bit harder and maybe you’ll find out..” he says, making Spot freeze. He blinks, his heart starting to race. “Oh yeah?” He asks, waiting for some sort of confirmation.

But he can hear a muffled shifting sound, and blurred conversation between who he can only assume is Dasher and Race. “Sorry- sorry, Dash just got out of the shower, I needa go.” Race sighs heavily when he brings the phone back to his mouth.

“Right- of course” Spot says, feeling almost selfish for wishing that they could’ve had a few more uninterrupted seconds. “So- Saturday, library cafe? Text me the details” Race says hurriedly, “Bye!” 

Spot can’t even say anything back before Race hangs up on him. 

God damn it.

Chapter Text

—

Race runs his hand through his hair for the millionth time, glaring at his reflection. “Does my hair look good?” he says, turning to Albert with a frown on his face before he goes through products that laid unused for the most part in his bathroom cabinet drawers.

“It’s fine man, you running your hair through it is just making it greasy” Albert shrugs, reaching over and purposefully messing up Race's hair. “Hey!” “You’re worrying too much, you’ll be spending the first couple hours with us anyways, nobody gives a shit about your hair.” Albert assures.

Race nods, but he still scowls as he sprays seasalt into his hair, shaking his head and messing with his hair using his hands. Tucking it into his bag and sighing, “We gotta go, don’t we,” He huffs.

“Jack won’t care if you’re a bit late, but cmon man, just bring a hairbrush and some spray with you and do your hair in the bathroom before you go to the cafe, stop wasting my damn time.” Albert chuckles, tugging Race into the living room. 

Dasher was practically vibrating where he sat on the couch. Saturdays were his favourite day of the week, the one day where he gets to go and be with his uncle Jack all day rather than feeling guilty for taking up his dads time.

Saturdays were also the day of the week that Race caught up on assignments, procrastinated study, took extra shifts if a birthday or holiday was coming up, and if he was lucky enough to have the time, he’d hang out with friends. 

With today being one of those days, it was packed as always. Races plans ranged from studying, to hitting on Spot, to Albert staying the night afterwards.

The sleepover was somewhat out of the norm, but he felt bad for putting their hangout off each week. Eventually Alberts offer to drive him and Dash to whatever they needed to do for the day and back won him out. What? Gas money is expensive! 

Race nods to Dasher who jumps up off the couch, gearing towards the door quick as lightning. “Hold up bud, we’re goin’ in Al’s car today, he’s driving me to the library after this” He says locking the door behind them as the three walk out and guiding Dasher towards Alberts car. 

“Dad, my car seat isn’t in Albert's car” 

Race groans, cursing loudly.
“Oh fuck me!” 

—

“Within what state is cannibalism not legal in?” Race groans in response, resting his head against the table. “Maine?” He answers, met with a buzzer noise from Albert. “Wrong! It’s Idaho” Race rolls his eyes. “Yeah what the fuck is up with that?”

Albert looks at him from over the flashcards, “What? Do you not want it to be fuckin’ legal? If you get it ethically then who really gives a fuck. Or life or death or whatever. The better question is what the fuck is up with you right now?”  

Race covers his head with his hands, huffing, “I don’t know what you mean,” He lies. “Yeah you do. You’re a law major-” “Stats major!” Race cuts in, “Law minor ” Albert corrects, “But this is stuff you’re usually good at. So what’s up with that?” 

Sighing, Race looks up. “I-... Spot said that he’d be here in ‘bout half an hour. Sooo I’m nervous” He admits, his face turning red. “Haven’t heard much about this Spot guy other than he’s cute and makes you panic a lot” Albert rolls his eyes.

“Oh jealous much?” Race huffs, “He’s cute, yeah. He seems sweet… makes me laugh. Total dumbass, and his forehead pinches together when he’s confused.” He says with a small dreamy sigh. “Yeah and I’m all of those things as well, but you don’t dress up to see me” Albert dismisses.

Raising his eyebrows, Race chuckles, “Yeah I know man, he’s just… somethin’ about him” He smiles, standing up and starting to fiddle with his outfit in front of the glass door that opens out into the library, using it to show his reflection. 

Albert hums, getting up and wrapping his arms around Race's waist casually. “Come on Racer… don’t worry, you look fine. Focus.” He says lowly, making Race pause slightly but continue messing with his hair. “Do you think my outfit looks good? Should I ditch the flannel?” he asks. 

It’s then that Albert notices that Race is wearing his least torn up jeans and his cleanest tight fitting t-shirt, rolling his eyes, he moves back to his seat. “Fucking hell Higgins, this guy isn’t even here yet and you’re drooling over him. I told you, you look fine.” Race pouts, “I don’t want to look fine, I want to look good.” 

After a moment Albert sighs, nodding. “Ditch the flannel. It’s cute, but it’s more of a scruffy comfy thing that I don’t think is exactly what you’re going for.” He mutters, going through the flashcards himself to test what he knows. 

Race smiles, walking over and kissing him on the cheek. “Thanks Albs” He grins, taking off his flannel and adjusting his shirt so that it’s mostly tucked in except a small section at the front. “Back to studying-” He says, right as his phone chimes.

Raising his eyebrows, Albert nods to the phone, “That’s him isn’t it, he’s here.” He huffs, giving Race a small smile. “Early,” He adds. “Yeah, I figured the others would get here before he did.” Race chuckles.

“Nah, Davey texted that he was running late and I said he could take his time. Plus the rest of the guys usually arrive late anyways.” Albert shrugs, sighing and standing up, squeezing Races hand. “Go get your guy dude.” he says, ruffling Racers hair and delighting in the scoff and scowl that comes from him as he grabs his satchel and darts out of the room. 

—

Spots POV

He had arrived early. Not by a few minutes, by twenty. He had been losing it at home, pacing back and forth, going over lesson plans and trying to write up activities with absolutely nothing behind it. There just wasn’t any point in him staying home for any longer, really it’s surprising that he lasted as long as he did before he even left.  

The anxiety doesn’t really ease when he’s there, knowing that Race is in the building but he can’t see him. He could show up at any moment really. Taking deep breaths, Spot shoots him a quick text telling him that he’s here but that there’s no rush for Race to come immediately.

Spot keeps himself busy by ordering coffee. Just something for himself, he wasn’t sure what Race wanted. But it gives him something to do while he waits. Blundering through the interaction before finding a place to sit and settling down with his number card.

After a few minutes, he sees the door to the library entrance swing open, his head darts up as it does every time that door opens, and he sees Race coming in. Adjusting his bag and looking around, seemingly somewhat nervous.

Spotting him, Race walks over, sliding into the seat across from him. “...hey, uh- what’s up?” Spot nods, “Nothin much, I already ordered but I wasn’t sure what you wanted so… if you want coffee I’d advise that.” Race hums, crossing his arms and smiling, “You didn’t order for me?” he says in a teasing tone.

“Well I haven’t half a mind what you’d want, Mister Higgins” Spot says coyly, very aware of the playful tone seeping into his voice. “Guess” Race says slowly, placing his hands on the table and leaning in slightly. “Hot chocolate, extra whipped cream, extra marshmallows.” Spot jokes, seeing Race smile. 

“You’re quick.” Race says simply, “You’re quicker” Spot shrugs, “Yeah… I like that” The other man says before turning on his heel and walking over to the counter. Spot is left hanging onto the conversation, finding Race's words lingering slightly. 

It’s here, when he has time to stare, that he pays more attention to what Race is wearing. His shirt is tight, boasting some tech company name and a cool design that Spot is half sure Race isn’t affiliated with. His jeans are wide around his heels but tighter around his hips, and his double eyelet belt wrapped around his waist and held his pants up a little higher than they’d normally sit. Simply put, he looks good. 

He pauses his staring when Race has finished his order, pretending to look at the tile wall over to the side that boasts old movie posters. Pointedly not looking to Race until he’s about three feet from their table. “How do you take your coffee then?” Spot asks, genuinely curious.

“Cheap and caffeinated. Whatever I can get the most caffeine out of for the least amount of cash, I’ll take.” Race shrugs, “A man of taste I see.” Spot laughs, flitting his eyes across Race. “Eh, I’ll save the more distinguished tastes for when I’m not still in college.” He hums in response.

“About… Dasher?” Race asks after a small lull in conversation, trying not to seem too pushy about the subject. “Oh- of course. Uh… well things are complicated.” Spot says carefully, Race only rolls his eyes, “just tell me, Spot.” He sighs.

“The school doesn’t want to suspend him, nor do they want to move classes. Him going home early is already punishment, he’ll get away with a week's lunch detention.” Spot says simply, “Basically nothing happens but he eats lunch with you for the week?” Race raises an eyebrow. “So long as I’m not on duty, yes.” 

He pauses for a moment, his face pinching in confusion. Fuck he looks pretty like that. The small pout that falls over his lips is almost adorable, it makes Spot want to kiss it off of him. “Then why’d I needa come here?” Race asks eventually.

“Because this has happened before. And both times Dasher kinda… started it. If he gets into another fight with Sparrow, then it’ll start to be questioned if it’s just better to seriously separate them.” Spot frowns, “I like having Dasher in my class, but Sparrow has higher support needs and he can’t be moved.” 

Races face falls slightly. “So keep Dasher in line or he’s moving class?” He asks, his voice tilting up slightly at the end. “Pretty much. He’s doing well on his school work, no genius but he’s not doing poorly, he seems to be friends with those at his table, and he’s good at reading. I wanted to talk on how we could both help to keep him out of trouble.”

Nodding, Race slowly comes around. “Right… well I know there’s going to be no permanent separation and I don’t want Dasher to move classes, but could you try to keep them away from each other? Or just- don’t put them together if that makes sense.” He asks, Spot nods slowly. “Yeah, I could do that for sure.” 

Race smiles, “Thank you…” he says, “I don’t know what to do from home. I don’t get much time with him because I’ve got stuff to do during the day, so I don’t know if I could just spend more time with him and like- drill good values into his head more than I’m already doing.” He admits, a little begrudgingly. 

“Well, we do run an after school program? I know it’ll probably keep him away longer, but it’d give you two and a half hours ish to get through things you need to do. That way you aren’t splitting your attention between him and your stuff.” Spot offers. 

There’s a pause as Spot’s coffee is given to him, and he thanks the server before starting to sip on it, waiting for Race’s response. He seems to be considering it, but something is holding him back on it. “I-... don’t those things cost? I don’t know if I can…” He says, pink tainting his ears.

Spot's eyebrows shoot up and he mentally kicks himself in the leg. God he should’ve thought of that. “...right. They’re not too costly, but that’s not my place to uh…” He takes a sip of his drink to avoid speaking. “I-... I don’t know how I can really offer any help at home in a way that’s appropriate.” He confesses. 

Race gives him an odd look, “What do you mean?” He says slowly, “...as a professional, I’m not supposed to get too involved in your private life. Outside of school that is.” Spot responds, trying to keep the wince out of his voice. “Of course. Yeah.” Race says, seeming a bit put out. 

“Doesn’t mean to say that I won’t help..” Spot says after a moment's silence. “As a friend. If you’d allow it.” He mutters hesitantly, unsure of what else to say. When he finally looks up at Race, he’s surprised, but not angry. “Is that allowed?” “Probably not”

Race grins, “Then yeah, let's be friends.” Spot smiles, offering his hand out to shake which Race does. “Friends… right. Yeah. So what does that mean?” Spot asks, cocking his head.
Although he’s trying not to overstep, the development feels significant.

“Well, like all of my friends, I’ll probably never spend time with you because I’m busy. That is, unless you spend the night, but I’ll occasionally ask you for gas money, a ride home, or babysitting.” Race lists, Spot raises his eyebrows in response. “Sounds like a pretty crappy deal” 

Shrugging, Race nods. “Pretty much. I don’t got time for friends who don’t have classes with me and therefore notes I can borrow.” He chuckles, “Well, how about I look after Dasher when you study and we hangout after he goes to bed?” Spot offers, trying not to pushing things too far.

“Mister Conlon! On school nights? Scandalous” Race teases, “I’d like that… but we’ll see how things go. Who knows, you might turn out to majorly suck.” He hums, sipping at his drink. “I mean- I’m gay? So kinda.” Spot jokes.

Gasping, Race mocks an offended hand against his heart as if wounded. “Mister Conlon! Was that a dirty joke?” Spot rolls his eyes at the dramatics, “Why yes, Mister Higgins , it was.” He chuckles, enjoying the uptilt of Races eyes and the shake of his shoulders as he laughs. 

“This meeting wasn’t much about Dash” Race eventually says through a comfortable silence. “...yeahh. There wasn’t much need for a meeting since not all that much can really be done other than begging him to not punch Sparrow. So long as it’s not a physical fight, there’ll always be a little legroom.” 

Race gives Spot a soft smile and tips his cup up to his mouth, using it to partially hide the slight dusting of pink across his cheeks. “Well. I’m still glad we met up… and I’m glad that you wanna be my friend.” Spot nods, “Me too…”