"We've been waiting almost a half hour now and we still haven't had our drink orders taken, which we would like. Food would be nice too, ya know…"

The customer was steaming. Literally. His ring-pierced nose puffed with steam as he shook his head, floppy ears moving back and forth with the gesture. The bull’s wife smiled apologetically and gave his hand a firm pat.

"Just two coffees with three sugars for us, sweetheart. Decaf for him."

"Hmph," her husband snorted.

"Right away, miss. I am so sorry for the wait, sir. I will have your coffees in a few minutes and then someone will be over to take your food orders. Thank you so much for your patience."

He walked away swiftly, feeling a familiar pair of eyes on him as he moved. It was hard not to glance back and tempt the Satyr who came in every, single day for his usual: "one coffee, black, and let me try something sweet you have". If he messed around with that Satyr, work would never get done. Still, he liked the feeling of being watched by him. It made his mind wander to thoughts of what may be hidden under the loose sweatpants the Satyr wore some days. Today was one of those days.

Behind the counter was chaos as usual: the baristas were rushing to complete overly-complicated orders, the cashiers held their tongues as customers yelled at them--most of the time unjustified--and the new waiter was always red in the face for cute, short guys that came in as customers he would never see again.

"Hey, we really need everyone to be at their best. We're a little overwhelmed with this late-afternoon crowd."

"S-Sorry," the new waiter stammered, grabbing his notepad and rushing off to a small table to take orders.

Luckily, the tables--once people had paid and left--were cleared quickly and efficiently, leaving no long lines of people waiting to be seated.

'I can't wait to go home and shower and forget this whole, miserable day…'

It wasn't enough that his pay was a gut-wrenching seven dollars and twenty-five cents. It wasn't enough that he hadn't received any tips in two weeks despite always being friendly, helpful, and polite to everyone regardless of their treatment of him. It wasn't enough that more than once a day the manager made explicit, sexual remarks toward him because of his race. Today, everything seemed to multiply by ten. But today was going to be different. Today…he was going to quit.

A written letter of resignation was tucked into an envelope and neatly stored in his zippered book bag, locked away in the small locker that he had "owned" now for six months. He told himself he would make it to a year as proof of resilience, but his spirit was days away from breaking completely. A letter of complaint and video evidence was emailed to the HR rep of the small cafe. Soon, word would reach the owner's assistant, then the owner. And she would lose it.

He was explicit in his writing, citing dates, times, first and last names of those present during situations, and the manager's name was mentioned so many times a Ctrl+F search of it would light up the entire letter with bold, yellow highlights. By tomorrow, he would be suspended, pending further investigation; then, terminated.

These thoughts played through the pastel-green-haired waiter's mind when his intelligence was insulted, challenged, and when his physical boundaries were invaded by the crude pig of a manager. Ironically, the manager was of the Elven race, made up of beings who--for the most part--carried themselves with pride and dignity and were usually viewed as respectful and polite, though distant sometimes.

"Excuse me," he said quietly, the manager now blocking his way out of the supply closet. He gripped a package of napkins when the manager moved and commented on the tightness of his pants. It was enough to make him vomit and roundhouse kick him so swiftly and forcefully in the crotch that his balls would literally combust from the impact. But he didn't. He held his breath and exhaled deeply as he handed the extra napkins to a frazzled, water fairy as she cleaned up a spilled smoothie. "Th-Thanks! Sorry, I should have been paying more attention, I know!"

"No need to apologize. It was an accident. I have to take an order to a table, but I'll be back to help you with to-go orders, okay?"

The bright, sparkling blue eyes of the fairy were brighter if possible and she clapped her hands together in thanks, quickly returning to clean up the mess.

'It's almost five now. Where is that douche?'

Having never met this newest addition to a long list of failed romances of his heart-eyed roommate, he already expected this latest one to be a no-show. Just as he was mentally writing off the guy, a Minotaur entered the cafe, strutting over to a table and sitting down across from said roommate. His presence seemed to scare off the lovey-dovey, red-faced waiter, who returned with embarrassment to the counter to hand order slips over to a barista.

'Ah, he did say his date was a Minotaur, didn't he? That walk and body language say "sex" and nothing else. This is "the one" he wouldn't shut up about this morning?'

He shook his head to himself, seeing how this would end before a conversation between them had even begun. He glanced down at the plate he held, a piping-hot scone with a small, silver dish of strawberry jam on it. There was also a dish of softened butter beside it, glistening from the sunlight that entered the cafe’s windows.

He walked carefully to a rounded table by the window, squinting a little from a sudden glare from the sunlight shining through.

"I am so sorry for the wait. Here is your blueberry scone with--"

"I thought you'd never speak to me." The Satyr looked up at him, smiling proudly as he took the small plate, their fingertips brushing against each other.

The sensation was more lasting than the worn-out waiter realized, feeling his face becoming warmer from embarrassment. 'Has it really been so long since I have been with someone? I can barely handle a subtle touch.'

"Is it just me or do we have some, unspoken thing going on here? I stare, you avoid; I don't stare, I see you stare at me from the corner of my eye. Maybe we could meet in the middle and just gaze at each other like idiots til you get off…work."

He was about to respond, but paused, choosing his words carefully as he looked over the subtle, curly, blue hairs that peeked through the white, v-neck shirt the Satyr wore. He liked his men hairy. Enough to run his fingers through, not lose a child in. But the eagerness and hunger in their eyes was cut short when the manager yelled the waiter's name annoyingly. They let out a mutual exhale of unsatisfied want.

"I'm done at six-thirty," he mumbled with disappointment. An almost two-hour wait. There was no way this guy would waste his time waiting for--

"I'll be here, no problem. You seem stressed out, so maybe I can help you release that?"

Instead of letting on anymore how badly he wanted him, he glanced away, his teeth lightly grazing his lip. There was a soft glint as his fangs caught a small beam of sunlight. For a moment, he allowed his more primal side to show through beneath his role of a soft-spoken, polite worker.

"It may take all night," was his final response.

He swiftly walked away, holding back a small smile when he heard a soft "damn" in reaction.

His momentary happiness vanished when he saw the manager, who smiled in such a sleazy manner at him that for a second he despised the ability to smile and all who had such an ability.

"Come into my office. We have to talk."

By now, the email was read by the owner's assistant, then relayed to the owner who read it herself. Now she was on her way. She loved making an entrance and shutting people down publicly. She has a zero tolerance policy for sexual harassment and discrimination in the businesses she oversaw. There was still an unspoken stereotype and fetish for Nymphs, both male and female. It was rare to find them in day-to-day jobs because they kept to themselves or worked for private employers to avoid being in the public eye. She knew of the waiter's presence, but had never heard anything negative about his experience in the cafe. Little did she know, he had been compiling a detailed report over the course of the past six months he has worked here, always ready to expose the harsh reality that he was not treated equally, but as a low-rank plaything.

Customers knew the owner's face and awaited her grand entrances and speeches to fill their water-cooler stories the next day at their own jobs. She spared no expense or time when it came to traveling to the work site and setting employees on the appropriate course in front of others and privately afterward, then through written and digital mail to make sure they got the message loud and clear: Your behavior is not condoned and it will end.

"I don't feel comfortable being alone with you." His voice lost any and all sweetness or gentleness. It especially lost all respect and caution.

He spoke loud enough for the manager and employees at the counter to hear, but soft enough that not one customer noticed the impending explosion from this lavender-eyed firecracker.

"What did you just say to me??"

His teeth and ears seemed sharper now, his height seeming greater. Customers were beginning to take notice of the building confrontation, the outside conversations quieting down to mumbles and whispers.

This did nothing to waver the waiter as he clenched his notepad to remain calm.

"I do not trust you. I do not respect you. I refuse to be alone with you. You belittle my work, my skills, my race, and my integrity. I will not have sex with you. I will not do anything sexual for you or with you. I am not a sex toy and I will report you for abuse of power, sexual harassment, and theft. I have credible witnesses who are prepared to face you in a court of law if this situation goes that far."

It all came rushing out. What if the owner never received his letter? His small outburst would be in vain without proof. He would be fired and only be able to come forward as a fired employee, who the manager could easily accuse of being a bitter worker seeking revenge for a “rightful” firing. Or so he thought.

The cashiers and baristas stared in shock and the other wait staff gasped in awe and disbelief. No one had ever told off the manager, especially not this bluntly. Customers were soon recording the scene on their cellphones as it unraveled.

The manager stood, staring dumbfounded down at the fed up waiter. His stance remained confident and solid, but inside he was having a mental breakdown. A car horn blared outside, but his outward pose was unmoved. Without a second to hide his emotions, the front door opened, signaled by the small bell above it. His eyes were a subtle, brighter lavender. With joy.

She read the email. She watched the video focused on the manager’s floor in which he explicitly asked for sexual favors in exchange for higher pay and a promotion for the waiter. She heard the several times the manager called him a “Nympho” among other, racial slurs. She was here. She was livid.

The entire cafe was silent as she tore into the manager verbally, soon opening the floor to other employees who had experienced one or two, negative experiences when alone with the manager, unbeknownst to the waiter. While the owner passionately recited the mission statement of her company, the waiter’s eyes fell on the Satyr, who was already staring back at him. The Satyr rubbed his small, blue beard, blatantly grinning at this entire production. He clapped silently as the owner finished her speech, chuckling softly when the waiter gave an awkward nod to her before walking quickly into the back to change his clothes.

It was 6:30pm.

His shift was now over.

“Wow, that was...really something.” The Satyr couldn’t stop laughing as the waiter pushed his arm playfully from embarrassment.

“You spoke so clearly and...well-versed. What was that last part? Say it again for me.”

“I have credible witnesses who are prepared to face you in a court of law if this situation goes that far. Is that really so unusual to say as a threat?”

“Not unusual, just...unique. I like it. You were really straightforward. I’m sorry I had to see your take-charge side in such a negative situation, though.”

“I am as well. But it had to be done.”

“Oh, heck yea! It was impressive nonetheless! Seems like when you set your mind to do something, you really go for it. Does that apply to...intimate situations, too?”

The Satyr’s voice lowered purposely, sending pleasant tingles through the waiter’s body. He let a soft gasp escape audibly, glancing to see his reactions were increasing the interest the Satyr felt for him. They soon approached the apartment door, the Satyr knowingly drinking in the waiter’s build as he rubbed his own shoulder.

“Stiff?”

“Somewhat. I don’t suppose you have any skill in massage, do you?” His eyes locked on the Satyr’s, unwavering and confident.

The Satyr felt his face warming as the waiter entered the apartment, unbuttoning his shirt when the door closed. Upon entrance into the bedroom, the off-the-clock waiter sat on the bed, his shirt folded on the nightstand. He kept on the white tank top underneath. For now.

‘Thankfully, we’re doing this at his place. There is no way he’s going to my zoo of an apartment.’

He took out his phone, contemplating a message to send his no-doubt-heartbroken roommate. He was there during the whole spectacle with the owner and was still there now.

‘He still hasn’t messaged me about what happened with his date. I hope he’s home already.’ To be safe, he sent a message to him, relieved to get an immediate response that he was alright and would be home before long, adding eggplant and wink-face emojis, followed by a goat emoji. Subtle.

“Do you want anything?” The Satyr sat beside him, now wearing a pair of baggy, gray shorts that revealed his blue-haired calves and shining, black hooves.

“No, I’m alright.”

“So...do you want to, well, you know?”

“Oh, before we go further...thank you for today. Well, for all the days you’ve been in the cafe. It always cheered me up and took my mind off of all the shit I endured. I know it sounds odd to thank someone for such a thing.”

“No problem at all, but did you just curse? I didn’t peg you as the swearing type.”

“Ah, because I’m a nymph? I mean, we’re not all dainty and--”

“Because you’re such a sweetheart.”

Instead of looking off with bashfulness and debating on what would be the most appealing reaction, he let himself gaze as the Satyr. He allowed the distance between their lips to almost close.

Still, the Satyr hesitated. “Are you sure you want to do this with me?”

“Satyrs don’t eat nymphs nowadays, do they?”

“Well if by “eat”, you mean--”

“Don’t finish that horrible sentence.”

It felt good to hear him laughing, to see him smiling, after months of untold harassment and ordeals. And when it came time to decide positioning, it was up to the Nymph to choose. No complaints from the Satyr. No complaints at all.