"Can I try some of yours?"
"It's the same flavor."
"But yours looks nicer."
Vincent batted away Eugene's spoon. "Don't be a prick."
Eugene said nothing and tried again.
"Don't touch it! It's mine."
"It's mine, too."
"The ice cream belongs to Jerome. My name is Jerome."
"Your name is Eugene, Eugene. Don't play games."
"Jerome Eugene Morrow."
"Do you change it daily?"
"When it suits me."
"And today it suits you, because you want to steal my ice cream."
"My ice cream."
"Eugene, you are NOT me."
"Aren't we attempting to scam the world into thinking the opposite?"
"We're not scamming the world into thinking you are me. We're sharing Jerome and letting the world think what it wants."
"And yet, one day you'll stand on the surface of Titan wearing my name."
"I pay you for it."
"You're renting it out."
Vincent frowned. "That I 'rent' your name doesn't mean my ice cream belongs to you."
"Don't you find this a tad bit unfair?"
Eugene banged his spoon on the table. "Just give me the bloody ice cream!"
"Eat your own!"
"If we share Jerome, we should share ice cream."
"Are you serious?"
Eugene caught Vincent's eyes. "Yes."
"Are you doing this just to bother me?"
"Will you go away if I give you ice cream?"
"What for it, then?"
Eugene shrugged and smiled. "Can't I sit peaceably at my own dinner table?"
"Our dinner table."
"Jerome's table," Eugene suggested slyly.
"Wait," Vincent said, placing the flats of his palms on the table and leaning forwards. "Does 'Jerome' wash the dishes?"
Eugene shrugged. "No?"
"Who washes them?"
"Does Jerome spend all day at the academy?"
"Does Jerome pay the bills?"
In response, Eugene tipped his chair on its back wheels, rocking a bit. His eyes grew lidded, and he said flatly, "Does Jerome own this house? Does he bottle his blood and hair and piss every day? Does he sit in a fucking wheelchair because he has no-fucking-LEGS? Where's Jerome right now? What's he doing? Do you even know him at all?"
Flushing, Vincent ducked his head. "I'm sorry."
There was silence.
"Now give me your ice cream."
"It's entirely melted," muttered Vincent.
"So is mine."
"We could…" Vincent motioned towards the bowls. "…Switch, if you wanted."
"But they're the same flavor."
"I'll just give you mine, then."
"That's a brilliant idea."
Vincent leaned over the table and passed him the bowl. "Happy now, Jerome?"
Eugene took a long drink from the side of the bowl. He wiped his mouth. Then, all the while keeping eye contact with the other man, he picked up his newly acquired bowl, held it above the space next to him, and dumped its contents onto the carpet. "Very happy, Vincent."