Emilio Francine De Ramos

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The sharp blare of my alarm clock shatters the morning silence. I groan and slap my hand over the snooze button, my eyes still heavy from another night of little sleep. The time glares at me in bright red digits, 7:00 AM.

“Another day, another class in purgatory,” I mumble to myself, rubbing my tired eyes.

1 more year, just 1 more year, and I’ll graduate. I hold onto that thought like a lifeline, clinging to the hope that someday all of this will be worth it.

Being a 22-year-old Architecture student at St. James University, the kind of school that makes headlines for its alumni list alone, is surreal. It's one of the most prestigious universities in the country, a breeding ground for the elite. We're talking children of senators, tech moguls, oil heirs, and award-winning actors who roll up to class in imported cars like it’s no big deal.

Then there’s people like me. Students who don’t come from legacy families or million-dollar trust funds. Students who don’t summer in Europe or throw yacht parties for fun. People like me only step foot in a place like this because of one of two things: sheer dumb luck or a scholarship that probably gave the admissions board a nosebleed. Guess which category I fall into?

I came from a province area that was very far from where I am now, but to study here in St. James, I had to leave home and stay in a dorm provided by the school. It was a tough decision, leaving my mom and my younger siblings, Mikayla and Michael, twins currently in high school.

Our family has been through a lot. My father died of a heart attack when I was just ten. He was the cornerstone of our lives, and when he left, everything fell apart. Mikayla and Michael were only two years old and still needed milk and care. My mom, our superhero, became both mother and father overnight. She was a public school teacher by day and sold treats after she clocked out from school. Mom worked tirelessly to support us. Her sacrifices became the fuel for my dreams. When I graduated high school as valedictorian and received a full scholarship at St. James, it was her victory as much as mine. 

Now here I am, a dorm-dweller juggling college and part-time work at a convenience store. My shift runs from 6 PM to 12 AM, but sometimes I extend it to cover my colleagues when they have emergencies. Last night was one of those nights, 6 PM to 5 AM straight. One of my co-workers, Melissa, had to excuse herself when she had to rush her son to the hospital after catching a cold for days. Of course, I said yes when she asked me to cover her shift. I couldn’t say no to the situation after all. By the time I collapsed in bed, it felt like my eyes were closed for only a moment before my alarm dragged me back to reality.

Dragging myself out of bed, I shower and put on the school uniform, because yes, St. James enforces uniforms, even for college students. I was too exhausted to cook so I headed to the convenience store for breakfast. It’s become a habit to grab food there, where I also earn my living.

As soon as I push open the store’s glass door, Jennica, my bubbly coworker, greets me with an overly enthusiastic shout.

“Emil! Morning!”

“Jen, can you keep it down? It’s kind of irritating honestly,” I groan, heading straight for the ready-to-eat section.

“Oh sorry Emil,” she chirps. “Not enough sleep, I suppose?”

“No shit sherlock, I covered Meli’s shift earlier, I only had an hour of sleep,” I mutter, grabbing a tuna onigiri and a chocolate drink.

“Damn, well technically it’s your fault for being too kind but don’t worry, Meli said she’ll treat you to coffee tonight.”

“Really? Okay. She had me at coffee.” I say with a grin, knowing how easily I get bribed by caffeine. Typical college student, I guess.

Jennica laughs, shaking her head. “What the hell, all that for a cup of joe? You’re easy to please, you know that? Like if someone treats you, you’re happy throughout the day.”

“What? It’s free. Free is something you don’t say no to,” I say with a wink. 

“Whatever you say, Emil. Well you better get going, your class starts soon. Also breakfast is on me today,” she adds, putting it on her tab.

“Yey, thanks a lot, Jenn! Love you!” I give her a quick side hug before rushing to catch a cab to school.

The ride to St. James takes only five minutes, traffic permitting. I bite down on my onigiri on the way, sipping on the chocolate drink to chase away the drowsiness. The cab drops me off near the university gate, where I flash my ID to the guard and head towards the Engineering and Architecture building.

Just as I’m about to enter, a familiar voice calls out.

“Emil! Wait up!” I turn to see Yuwan Zion Machenzo, my best friend since childhood, sprinting toward me, breathless.

“Late again, Mr. Machenzo?” I tease, smirking as he catches his breath.

“Sorry, I forgot to set my alarm,” he says sheepishly, running a hand through his tousled hair.

“Forgot or just didn’t want to get up?” I nudged him with my elbow.

“Why would I not attend school when you’re here?” He winks at me, his playful grin making my heart race.

“I-Idiot,” I mutter, trying to mask the blush creeping up my cheeks.

Our friendship goes way back. We were inseparable as kids, two peas in a pod, always together, whether we were playing at the playground or getting scolded by our parents for staying out too late. Then, one day, everything changed. His family moved to the city, and just like that, he was gone. I remember crying myself to sleep the night they left. For years, I thought I’d never see him again. Fate, however, had other plans. On my first day as a freshman, he spotted me at the orientation event, grinned like no time had passed, and walked straight up to me as if we’d never been apart.

Yuwan and I hang out all the time now. Despite having different friend groups and class schedules, we often find ourselves gravitating toward each other. If I finish class early, he’ll sneak out just to have lunch with me.

We’ve carved out this quiet little routine. We grab coffee after morning lectures, walk around campus when the weather’s nice, random convenience store runs, especially when he knows it was my shift. He remembers the smallest things, like how I hate soggy fries or how I drink iced coffee even in the middle of December. He’ll show up holding my favorite snack or text me memes at 2 a.m. just to hear me laugh. There’s something comforting about being around him. Like slipping into an old hoodie you forgot you loved. Even when we’re sitting in silence, it never feels awkward. Just easy.

There is something that bothers me, but in a way that doesn’t really make me feel uncomfortable, and that is him a bit touchy, too touchy. He’ll ruffle my hair, drape an arm around my shoulder, hold my hand like I’m his lover or something, sometimes rest his head against my chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And every time he does, my heart does somersaults.

What makes it worse, or maybe better, is the way he reacts afterward. Like the other day, when his fingers brushed against mine as we reached for the same bottle of water, he didn’t let go. Not right away. And when I looked at him, his ears were bright red. He laughed it off, stammering something about static electricity, but the way he avoided eye contact said more than his words ever could.

Other times, he’ll do something so casually, like lacing our fingers together while we walk, then suddenly realize what he’s doing and pull back with a flustered smile, cheeks pink, eyes wide. “Sorry, habit,” he’ll mumble, scratching the back of his neck. But then, a few minutes later, he does it again. Like he can’t help it. Like touching me is something his body does before his mind can stop it.

I’ve tried to ignore it, but it’s no use. I’ve fallen for him. It’s not like I haven’t dated before, I had a girlfriend back in high school, but for Yuwan? It’s different. It’s more intense and more confusing. I’ve come to terms with being bisexual, but I’m scared, scared that he might not feel the same, or worse, that he’s straight.

He’s hard to read. When he's around me, he’s sweet, almost... affectionate. But when he’s with his other friends, he’s like your typical boys, loud, exaggerated, and competitive. I can’t tell if the way he acts with me means anything more, and that terrifies me.

“Where do you want to eat later, Emil?” Yuwan asks, his voice a deep rumble that sends shivers down my spine.

“Anywhere, as long as it’s not too expensive. You know I can’t afford fancy places.” 

“How about that new Italian restaurant down the street? I’ve been craving pasta. My treat.”

“Yuwan, you know I hate it when you treat me and you don’t want me to pay you back,” I protest. I know I said I wouldn’t take no for an answer if it’s free, but Yuwan is an exception. I can’t always say yes to him if he always gives me free stuff.

“Who says you must pay me back? I just want to treat my best friend.” Best friend. Ouch.

“Just let me treat you next time, like coffee or bubble tea or whatever you want,” I say, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice.

Yuwan grins. “You just have to accompany me, you don’t have to do anything in return.”

“Okay…” I reply, forcing a smile.

As we reach our classrooms, Yuwan turns to me. “Text me when your class is over, okay?”

“Yeah, see you later, Yuwan.” 

As I watch him walk away, a familiar heaviness settles in my chest. I want to tell him how I feel, but the fear of rejection holds me back. What if he doesn’t feel the same? What if he’s disgusted? What if he tells everyone? It’s a risk that I’m not ready to take. For now, I’ll keep my feelings buried deep inside, hoping that maybe, just maybe, that one day he’ll feel the same. But until then, I’ll remain his best friend, and nothing more.