Sander and Robbe, Minute by Minute

Fucking Losers

TRIGGER WARNING: HOMOPHOBIC COMMENT & ATTACK

Outside, they kissed shortly and started crossing the street; they walked closed next to each other, keeping their contact. Robbe's arms was around his shoulders, and he jumped onto his back. Sander laughed and grabbed his legs to support him; carrying Robbe on his back. Robbe giggled delightfully, and kissed his hair and the side of his face. Sander put him down when they reached the bike lot and they kissed again.

"My place or yours? Please say yours." It was late, so his mom was probably sleeping, but it still could be awkward. Even so, he would snuggled Robbe in, if he had to.

"Yours," Robbe murmured.

Sander snorted a laugh and started kissing him. He pulled his body to him, and kissed him more intensely. He was so drunk in love and desire.

"Hey f**gg*ts. Ass fuckers or what?"

They broke away and turned to the sound.

It was some men, probably three or more, standing some distance from them on half-shadowed side street. Their hoodies were up and they looked drunk, holding bottles in their hands.

One of them said, "Fucking f**gg*ts."

Sander could felt malice radiated from them.

"Hey loverboys!"

"Homos!"

Some whistles and derisive laughs. They were walking toward them.

Robbe turned and about to unlock his bike.

Sander stopped him and said rapidly, "No. It will take too long."

He grabbed his arm and started pulling him away roughly, urgently toward the pub nearest them. It was just next to an alley to his left. "Run!"

"Gays. Pussies. Are you scared or what?"

"Don't go away pussies!"

"Come on dudes!"

They were running now. Sander could saw the light from inside the pub, the people laughing and chatting through the front glass. Fear and panic were filling his mind and body, he kept his hold on Robbe's arm. He could heard the men chasing them, cursing.

There were sound of breaking glasses close to them and he felt a pin-prick on his hand. Suddenly he was jerked back to a stop. Sander turned, one of them had reached them, and he was grabbing on Robbe's jacket from behind. Robbe screamed.

Sander threw his shoulder bag toward the man, and then he kicked him as hard as he could around his middle body. The man had let go of his grip to throw up his hand in front of him and stumbled back, probably more from surprise than pain. He was already unsteady to begin with, and only half-grabbing on Robbe.

Sander pulled harder on Robbe's arm, half-dragging him and running towards the safety of that light. It was not that long of a distance but it was as good as miles. They finally reached the front door and Sander fumbling, opening the door, and shoved Robbe inside and went in after him.

He was breathing heavily, bending over, looking through the glass toward the street. Cold sweat covered his neck and arms. The men were cursing outside, but they didn't go nearer. One of them threw the bottle in his hand toward the pub's direction. He watched them gathering around his bag and rummaging inside.

Sander was breathing better now and he got up. Some people near the door had noticed their entry and watching them. He looked around and saw Robbe sitting on the floor, his face was pale and blank. There were some people near him, croaching, talking to him. Sander went to him. A boy looked up when he approached them.