Caging Harry, Ian & Justin by Selina Song

Author:Selina Song
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Independent
Published: 2020-11-08T05:00:00+00:00

Dorm or Dungeon?

“How’s it hangin’, Ian?”

Not that Sean would know that, but his choice of words was oddly appropriate. Exhaling forcefully through gritted teeth, I discreetly adjusted my caged package to the best of my ability and whirled around. I made sure to hastily plaster a smile across my face.

“Hey man, it’s all good,” I shouted, my voice likely a smidge too loud.

Grinning, my tall friend stalked towards me across the lawn. I was about to enter the campus center all too gratefully; the first forty-degree weather day had driven even the die-hard frisbee fans indoors. The sky was overcast and made for a gloomy backdrop for the branches of trees thrashing in the harsh wind like ravers at Coachella.

“Just got out of class and looking for a study buddy,” he said. “Are you available?”

“I wish,” I replied, moving the straps of my backpack so they rested higher on my shoulders. “Got a shift in the campus center cafe.”

“I’ll do the gentlemanly thing and walk you in. Besides, in this weather, I could murder a chaider.”

A few red leaves skittered across our path as we ascended the concrete steps to the campus center. I flung the door open and entered the enveloping warmth provided by a heating system on full blast. Woodfell was quite vigilant about ensuring that no student was left out in the cold. This tended to be a problem later in the season when the classrooms started feeling like saunas.

“Let’s hope they’re not sold out of chaider,” I remarked.

“It’s mostly just chai and cider,” scoffed Sean. “How do you run out of those ingredients when it’s October and you serve sleep-deprived college students?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I am not in charge of Woodfell’s purchasing decisions.”

“I don’t mean you-you. I mean you as in the college.”

The campus center was a mid-century modern affair, with concrete floors, spacious rooms, white walls, and huge panels of glass on the sides and roof of the building. Despite the center’s cold design, the cafe still managed to be cozy: the scent of coffee and cinnamon greeted us as we entered and Norah Jones played over the sound system.

“Reporting for duty,” I said.

Melinda, who was stocking the chips display next to the cash register, smiled. “Ian, hey. I see you brought some company.”

Oh boy. There goes another girl, already totally smitten with my friend. Fortunately, I had Christina—or rather, Christina had me—so for once, I wasn’t bothered by it. In response to my thought about Christina, I became all too aware of the state of my imprisoned pecker again.

“Melinda, this is Sean. Sean, Melinda.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Sean, stepping forward to shake her hand.

“Do you mind making Sean a chaider?” I asked.

“Sure! What size?”

“Large,” he replied.

“Of course. That makes sense.”

Melinda disappeared behind the counter and into the bowels of the kitchen to prepare his beverage. Around us, seated students chatted and tapped away at their laptops. I went behind the counter, grabbed my apron from the peg near the coffeemaker, and quirked my eyebrow at Sean.

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