“The last time I checked, we are at a university, and I am a student here.”

Kaizer casually pulled a cup of cold matcha coffee from his bag and took a sip from it. I rolled my eyes in discomfort. “There are other seats. Go there and get away from me.”

“Regarde autour de toi. Look around you.”

I looked around the auditorium and found out all seats had been filled out. Drat. I sighed in defeat.

“In your mind, you’re probably cursing me to death like the three priests being led to the garrote, but don’t worry. I won’t mess with you”—he looked away from me and unto the professor who is currently speaking of debits and credits—“yet.”

I gave him a stern look, mentally saying Don’t you dare, you son of a bitch before he nonchalantly pulled out another cup of matcha coffee. I gaped in awe. “W—what—?” I stammered before getting a hold of myself. Is he going to drink two cups in this shitty class? He nudged the cup into my personal space with a green sticky note in it. It was written in sans serif so legible and, well, a bit of exuding elegance.

Touché, bitch.

“That’ll be your company address, the temporary password, your schedules—since I took a copy of your class schedule from the registration certificate; don’t ask me how I got that—and my number in case some shit happens at The Espresso when I’m not around. Qu’en penses-tu?”

“No hablas francés, so could you please shut the fuck up?” For someone who is currently doing nothing to me, he does shake my sanity.

Kaizer said no words after that, and he continued to ramble his pen on the yellow paper. I took a side peek and noticed his notes were full of accounting concepts and computations.

“Assets are those that the business owns. These include the business’s cash, equipment, subscription, prepaid expenses, inventory, and other things that will provide the business economic benefits to strive and live long.” He took a look at me, and I swayed my eyes towards my paper nonchalantly. From my peripheral view, I saw him shrugging. “Maybe you ask yourself, ‘Why someone like me?’ For starters, you’re a valuable asset. I won’t be sugarcoating this, but you suck at professionalism; you try and grab me by the collar wanting to punch me for all the bad stuff I did to you for oh-so-long years of your existence.” I rolled my eyes and sipped at the matcha coffee; again, it was on par with my taste.  “Work-wise, you’re diligent, you stand on your ground, and you could probably talk shit to other Karens out there when they say the matcha coffee looks dull to the taste. You can also catch up to many a task at a spark of lighting to the ground.”

“You talk too much nonsense for a businessman, don’t you think?” I drank the matcha coffee to the bottom of the cup. “I just hate your entire existence, and if you don’t want me to hate you more than necessary, could we only talk at work? That would be much of a blessing for my four years in here.”

He didn’t respond after that. I saw Roxie at my side, trying to focus on the topic the professor was talking about but getting swayed by my bickering. Wait, was I bickering?

Nonetheless, the room seemed too heavy for my sanity. I went out of the auditorium and into the restroom a few meters away. As I entered the restroom, I saw a handsome young lad wearing the blackest of all-black polo shirts I had seen in my entire life. It seemed to me that the shirt was hanging on to its dear life because of his chiseled bulkiness. The polo shirt was partnered with a pair of cream pants enveloped with a brown leather belt. He has blond hair, and he’s around 5’10”, I guess? Either way, he seemed yummy. He was standing behind the urinal, concentrating on how to aim his sword to perfection.

I slithered in on the urinal beside him and aimed my shot. To be honest, having a stone-hard cock while peeing is not the most suitable idea, especially when the one your fantasy wants to get pounded on is right beside you. How random.

“Uh, bro, did you have a stiff neck? You’ve been staring at me for 10 seconds straight.”

I—what? In shame, I turned my face the other way. “S—sorry; I—I didn’t mean to . . . stare like that.” D—did I just stammer like that? Oh, boy, the first impression is trying to ruin my shot at this guy.

I heard him zipping his pants; I glimpsed at him looking at me. “Chill, bro. It’s not like that’s actually a problem, is it? It happens; I got used to it.”

“Still, I mean no harm.” I scratched my face in shame. I felt red throughout from ear to ear, as if going to puberty another time around. I zipped my pants closed and pushed the button at the urinal to flush the pee out of existence.

“I know.” He stretched his hand unto me. “The name’s Gale; just gay with an L.” I burst out laughing at his joke. That actually lightened the tension, and I got the courage to look at his face. His ocean eyes complement his chiseled face and a small mole on his left cheek. He has a round face, and seemed like one of the well-dressed rich kids out in the town. His skin is as white as a marble. He was a marble statue that melted and became a literal human being. He was Galatea, and I am Pygmalion, sans the fact that I’m no womanizer. Joke’s on you, I’m gay.

Below his shirt is what seems to look like a third leg that could rip apart my life whole, nonstop. Wait a minute; did I just imagine being a bottom to him? Huh, and here I thought I was a full-fledged top ramming other’s holes till it creams out. Not that I’m a virgin—heck, I had my first night when I celebrated my 18^th birthday with my now ex-boyfriend . . . who dumped me for someone with a bigger dick two weeks later. We had planned this a week before, and I had researched more on what to do at the time, and I knew I did the right job in slamming his rose-colored hole till it cried white liquid. I guess the new boyfriend gave him something that he could cry about, literally. After that, I was moving on him by swiping right and making a wild night. It helped. Sort of.

I took his hand and shook it. “Arthur. No, not that king who pulled the Excalibur from the ground. Maybe a different Excalibur, yes?”

The ringing of the bell interrupted my dilly-dally, and I realized I’d be late for my appointment with the Public Information.

“It was nice meeting you, Gale,” I said and composed myself, “but I have an appointment on the ground floor of this building, and I left my bag at my classroom. See ya!”

He smiled, and I went on my way. Goodness gracious Lord of all Lords, just what I need to clear my mind of that fucking Kaizer!

“Roxie, you won’t believe what I just saw at the restroom!”

“Probably a 12-inch juicy cock that you want to ride on but didn’t?” I shot a glare at Roxie before laughing my insides out.

“I’m a top, you woman,” I told her while walking outside the auditorium, “but I’m willing to get topped to that guy I saw at the restroom a while ago. He was like the textbook definition of a Prince Charming, geez. I feel like butterflies are flapping inside me.”

“Is it just me, or you’re hunting for men you wanna go to bed with? ’Coz girl, I want to hear more about this guy.”

I told her more about this guy and how he was nice to me even though I looked like one of his stalkers for staring at his body for so long. She was all ears when I was telling my tale of horniness. I ended my story with how the bell rang and bid him goodbye.

“Wow, Arthur; you sure do have a magnet on delicious men. Could you share some of it with this transwoman?” I gestured a crown above my head and passed the invisible crown to her.

“I bless thee with my charm that thou could find a fuckable man who will ram your hole till you say no more.” We chuckled and ambled to the Public Information, where the operator told me that I could get my ID at that time.

“Seymour, Arthur Reyes, yes?” The operator asked, confirming whether he heard my name correctly. “Marketing Management?” I nodded to both questions before he pulled out an ATM-sized card bearing my name, my student number, and other prominent stuff I had filled out when I was still in the Philippines.

Well, look at that handsome young lad in the picture! I might say the shirt really accentuated my physique well. Kudos to Roxie for her God-given eye for fashion.

“Enough peering at your ID, Mr. Seymour. I know, I know; I’m a good photographer; you don’t need to rub it on me.” I deadpanned at his narcissism. He pulled out a maroon-and-gold lanyard and an ID case from the drawer and gave it to me. “Welcome to Saint-Louise, Mr. Seymour.”

I guess he’s right. Arthur, welcome to the University of Saint-Louise.

“To 158 Street, Northwest,” I told the taxi driver as he tried to maneuver his way downtown.

“That’ll be around 28 loonies, kiddo.”

“I’m sorry—what?”

“28 Canadian dollars. Hold on—” He looked at me and examined my whole life before looking at me in the eye, dead center. “An international student? From China?”

“From the Philippines, actually.”

“Oh, what a pleasant surprise! My wife is a Filipina. We’ve been together for like fifteen years now, and we’ve been blessed with three children. They’re chaotic, but they’re the best thing that happened to me.” I smiled at his enthusiasm, but my mind was stuck at the overwhelming 28 dollars. Is gold only a centavo here? I don’t understand!

His eyes went back to the road, concentrating. “We’re in 158 Street; what’s your house number?”

“8304.”

He looked back again at me; this time, he looked at my ID carefully. “You’re a Seymour? Perhaps, a child of attorney Carla?” I looked up in confusion. Is that how well-known Auntie Carla is here in Edmonton?

“I’m—I’m a nephew of hers.” I tried to hide my surprise. He stopped the car in the front yard of the house. “Auntie Carla doesn’t have a child, let alone a boyfriend.”

“Don’t mind about the fare. I’m waiving it.”

“Oh, thank y—what?” I looked at him, stunned. “But why?”

“Attorney Carla helped me win my case against a what-could-have-been-lost murder case of my brother way back ages ago. I really thought we were going to lose the case, but then, she showed her might and slapped the defendant shut, and made her confess that she stabbed my brother to death! Oh, have you been there, you’ll see for yourself that Carla is a miracle God has given to me and my family.

“That is why, as a thank-you gift to her, I make sure to drive her and her relatives free of charge. After all, if it wasn’t for her, my brother may have never seen justice. That alone is invaluable and cannot be mitigated by a lot of money.” He pulled out a calling card—it said Zephyrus Windsor—and gave it to me. “The name’s Zephyrus, but you can call me Uncle Zep. Just a shorthand for any occasion you forget my name, which I hope you don’t. Call the number on that paper, and Uncle Zep will come to your place like a zap in the wind.”

“T—thank you so much for this. I appreciate the nice gesture.”

“In return, be like your Auntie Carla; willing to defend what is right amidst all the tempest and tornados.”

“I will. Thank you, Uncle Zep.”

“Je vous en prie. Au revoir.” I left the taxicab, and he went on his way, disappearing behind a large truck that was also in front of the house. Wait, could it be that—?

“Arturo, mi hijo, you’re just in time; your things from the Philippines have just arrived. Go and help us get your stuff to your room.”

Just when my luck was good, it got better.

After we moved my stuff, I went and organized them into my psychiatric ward. The books I have left at our house, the piano and violin on the side, and my desktop computer and printer are there, along with some knick-knacks. I placed the multi-genre books in the pre-installed bookshelves that were here before I got here. The electric piano was placed on the other side of the room, above a luxurious mat Mom and Dad bought in the Philippines, and the violin was hung above it. Courtesy of Auntie Carla, we set up the ethernet connection from the house router to the desktop, which means I also have to sign an agreement that I will give my share on the payment of the internet, among other things my family had agreed upon at the land across the Pacific Ocean. Not a big deal to me since my supposed-to-be job with—I shuddered—Kaizer might cover those expenses. I just hope he sticks to his words, or I’ll beat him to a pulp, like what he did to other kids during junior high. Come on, gays also have fists; why not use them for something that could benefit the whole of Earth?

As I opened my desktop computer, I typed in my password and smiled when it worked; apparently, I almost forgot the password to this four-year-old computer, and I almost had a heart attack when I realized it. I quickly opened my Portfolio account, a newly built social media website that boomed during the 2020s, and checked my notifications. I rarely opened my Portfolio account on the phone because of how busy I got on the very first day of my college life.

Kaizer Licht Woodsworth, Jr. sent you a request for friendship. That line was the first line I have seen and it ruined my entire evening. You always find ways to ruin my mood, do you, Woodsworth?

I rejected the friend request and went on to check my schedule for the current term. Tomorrow at 1:30 in the afternoon, I have Marketing 101. French 111 will be at—wait, 9 in the evening? Do the students here look like night owls? Oh, well, never mind.

A ding in my computer urged me to check my Portfolio account, and there was one message. From Kaizer.

Hi, Art! Just gonna let you know the shop starts at 9 sharp. You’ll need to be here at 8.

Ah, yeah; tomorrow’s the D-day, yes?

Worry not about the mall; just show them your ID—which I’m pretty sure you have already, given your personality of leaving no stones unturned—and they’ll give you a mall pass.

I’ll start a meet-and-greet with the other employees, and you can start at 1 pm and return after 4 till 6. I’ll send to your e-mail your full schedule this term, along with other rests, shifts, and leaves. Feel free to ask more.

Oh, and I’ll be paying for your transpo, no worries.

Yada-yada, thanks for ruining my lovely evening.

I took the Post-it note he gave me a while back and typed in my email address and password. Sure enough, when I checked my mail, the schedule was there.

From: hr@tem.ca         Reply-to: kwoodsworth@tem.ca

To: aseymour@tem.ca

Re: Schedule for the Spring Term ʼ24

Good day, Mr. Arthur! We are thrilled to work with you during the spring term of The Espresso Machine. Attached herewith is your schedule for the said term. As a full-time employee, you are expected to fill 8 hours a day for five days a week. Should you have the need to go under time or overtime, or even a change in schedule, you may refer to the HR team or directly to the email indicated in the reply-to section.

Have a nice cup from The Espresso Machine!

Brewing,

HR Team