“You know what? Fine. Keep the bike. It’s a thousand years old, anyway!”

I snatch the umbrella and take off. The guy’s good. Weaving through all the people, still able to keep a steady pace with me, slowly riding the bike without so much as a wobble. Shit, is he going to follow me all the way home now?

“Hey, wait a sec! Aren’t you going to tell me how I did? My interview. How was I?”

“Go away, please.”

“Your manager seemed to dig me. How much do you earn a month, by the way?”

“GET. AWAY. FROM ME.” I don’t care about the dirty looks anymore; we’ve already created a scene.

“Whoa, whoa. Calm down.” He looks concerned but he’s still freaking smiling. “Take it easy. We’re the same, remember?”

“The same what? I don’t know you.”

“Cybelle.” Zaniel swings the bike sharply and blocks my way. He’s serious now. “It’s Cybelle, right? Please, just … look, I’m sorry. You’ve been on your feet all day, chasing after little kids for who knows how many hours. I thought you could use a laugh. And a hearty meal. And another fellow gaijin to keep you company.”

Nope. He’s not cute enough to wipe the teacher glare off my face right now. I want my fucking bike back.

“No? Okay. Sorry. I thought that would be funny. I’m sorry. I know you think I’m the world’s creepiest dude right now, but if you give me a little more time, I can explain everything.”

“What? You mean there’s more to this lucid nightmare?”

“I’m going to ignore that.” He gets down from the bike with a smirk and hands me the plastic bag. “Here. Your dessert. A peace offering — the first of many.”

I’m very careful not to make physical contact as I take it from him. “Thank you.” He’s still holding onto my bike, though. I entertain the idea of pushing him to the ground and pedalling like the devil is after me, but I’m super full. I wonder if that was part of his plan, too. We stand there in the drizzle, awkward and out of things to say. Then some jackass walks right into me from behind, pushing me right into Zaniel. He catches me as I stumble into him. He blushes instantly. I pull away.

“Man, it’s really starting to pour. Come on. Let me take you somewhere special.”

“Yeah, no offence, but it’s getting late and I think I’ve had enough of special this week.” I look down, past my food baby at my dessert package. It’s a small, adorable box with wire handles and a tiny fox-faced character hand-drawn on the front and a speech bubble saying, “Thank you, come again!” in English.

“Well, we can’t stand here making googly eyes at each other in the rain all night.”