B.U. | Grizz Visser (The Society)

spilt milk

part five.

Leaving the lecture hall, the two boys stayed tied at the hip, Sam holding his notebook tightly to his chest with both hands while Grizz lazily held his in one hand, falling at his side. They were caught up in conversation about their ASL class, how the professor seemed to be off her rocker about her recent divorce and probably shouldn't be teaching this term. Things were going well, up until a group of boys approached them.

"Yeah, she'll be showing up to teach in her pajamas with tubs of Ben and Jerry's," Sam chuckled, signing along with his words to Grizz. The boy leaned in toward his friend, catching a whiff of Grizz's pine cologne. Sam instantly tightened his grip on his book, biting down on his lip to contain his smile.

The group, consisting of three burly looking boys, watched as Sam used his sign language to communicate with Grizz.

The boy in the front, being the obvious ring-leader, stepped toward the boys, stopping them in their tracks. He lifted up his hands to sign to Sam, curling his fingers and holding them to his thumb on one hand and sticking his finger through the hole it made with the other.

"Princesses planning your next gay tea party?" the boy asked, pouting his lip distastefully.

"Watch out man, the little one might cum watching you," another boy spit, a deep laugh emitting through his clenched teeth.

"Definitely takes it up-" the last one began to say, cut off by the ring-leader.

"Does the little one understand human talk?" The ring leader laughed at his own cruel joke, earning similar tones of amusement from his friends.

Grizz wanted to say something, to speak up for his friend. His mind raced, trying to form a coherent sentence, trying to find an insult to throw back at the idiotic group of boys who picked on the innocent. His contemplated in his head, something he often did in these kinds of situations, and found himself in extreme doubt. If he were to stand up for Sam, would these boys pick on him, too? Would they out him? Grizz had never been made fun of for anything he was seriously insecure about, and he wasn't sure he was ready for that. His palms began to sweat; the way they always did when he panicked. His mouth moved faster than his brain and he croaked, "guys, I'm not gay, chill out."

"You might not be, but watch out, I think you might want to hide your cock," the second boy grumbled, reaching into the large sports bag on his shoulder.

"Let's go," the ring leader spoke again, motioning for his two friends to follow. The last boy stepped towards Sam, holding a cup of iced coffee in his hand, and proceeded to pour the liquid down the front of Sam's shirt.

"Later, darling," he cooed, then hurried after his friends.

Grizz watched the boys walk away, gritting his teeth together like he might explode. He watched as the second boy pulled a football from his bag and tossed it into the air, then caught it in his fingers. Of fucking course. They were football boys.

Sam's short and rapid breaths increased with every passing second, feeling both the humiliation of having a drink poured down his shirt and the sticky, wet sensation of the coffee drenching his skin and chest. Sam turned on his heels and ran back inside the building to the closest bathroom, nearly in tears.

Grizz's heart sank in his chest as he watched the boy, unsure of how to react or how to help. Nothing like this had ever happened to a friend of his before. After a moment of contemplation, Grizz bolted after Sam, bursting through the door of the bathroom. He found Sam at the sink, attempting to wash out the coffee stains on his shirt, his cheeks dripping in streams of tears.Grizz's heart broke at the scene, watching Sam cry over something he could've potentially stopped. Grizz could have stopped this. He should have stopped this. Why couldn't he?