Taste (Scomiche)

Fine

Scott's laugh echoed in the wind, bouncing off the brick buildings around us. "Only you would hate chocolate ice cream."
"Hey, it's not my fault! It's just my... tastebuds!" I lamely excused myself.
"Well your tastebuds are a part of you, aren't they?" His hand slid into mine as if, even though we were playfully arguing, he craved my touch.
I took the initiative of intertwining our fingers and swung our combined hands ever so slightly between us.
"What else don't you like, huh? Beyoncé? Nature? Puppies?"
Suddenly there were footsteps behind us. A group of guys had exited a bar, chattering, but nothing too slurred. I think they had been watching the football game that was being broadcasted locally, considering I heard a few team names mixed in.
I chuckled. "Not liking chocolate ice cream isn't a crime, Scott." My words were buried beneath the hollers of the men behind us.
Somehow, he heard me just enough. "Says who?"
"Uhhhhhh, the law?"
"Let's go ask the police right now. C'mon I dare you. I bet you anything they'll say I'm right. Not liking chocolate ice cream is a crime." He could hardly contain the small giggles escaping and playing his lips.
"I hiiiiiiiiiiighly doubt it." I often did this to bother him. Scott would do anything to prove he's right; he had always been headstrong like that.
A gruff tone took over the usually friendly voice. "We're going to the police station."
"Scott, c'mon. We'll get in trouble for disrupting."
"You're such a scaredy cat," he taunted.
The group was approaching faster, and suddenly I could hear more distinctly what they were saying.
"Disgusting faggots," one muttered under his breath, referring to our hands.
Scott's mood transformed quickly, striking like lightning. His grip tightened on my hand.
"Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve," another quoted the familiar, annoying saying. I gritted my teeth, but kept silent.
The other added, in the most nauseating voice, "Cock sucker."
They were firing insults like bullets, trying to wound us. There were five in that group, that were now going around us, and three had made a rude remark. The other two kept their lips pressed together and walked obediently behind. One of the ones who had already spoken, pointed to me and hissed, "That one's the biggest fag I've ever seen."
They all laughed, heading out of sight, as if they were skating on the horizon.
That broke Scott. "Come back here!" He yelled after them. "You filthy trash, come back here and say that again!"
"Scott!" I hushed. "Let it go, don't start a fight."
He continued to yell a few things about fighting them, but all we heard were snickers from the group rapidly disappearing.

Later, hanging out on my sofa, I decided it was time to talk about earlier. "Scott, with those guys tod--"
"Oh God, I could've just knocked them out. They're not allowed to call you that. They--"
"It's fine," my voice assured, condemning his.
Scott's mouth gaped open. "It's fine? Fine? No. It's not fine. Who do they think we are? Do they think because we're gay, we can't hear them? That all of our feelings evaporated at birth? What is it? They shouldn't be calling you that. Especially you. You are--" His hands were curling into fists as he got angrier and angrier.
I cut him off for the second time. "I can handle myself."
"Mitch, I just wanted to protect you."
"Protect me?" I scoffed, rising to my feet. "You were trying to fight them."
"That's how I protect." He said it simply and confidently.
A disgusted look twisted my features. "Why do you feel the need to 'protect' me? I'm a big boy. I think I can handle being called a fag."
He tensed at the forbidden word. "I'm your boyfriend. It's my job to protect you."
"Well, you're not going to be my boyfriend for much longer if you think of me as a job."
Scott went slack-jawed in disbelief, processing the threat. It took him a few moments to say, "Are you telling me that if I don't let you completely take care of yourself, you'll break up with me?"
Out of sheer stubbornness, I nodded sternly. "That's exactly what I'm saying."
Upset, he shook his head. "You're unbelievable." I shrugged, basically agreeing. He continued, "Well, I'm never going to stop protecting you."
Defiantly and with power, I asserted, "Then I guess we're broken up."