It was in this moment when someone from another department passed by; they smiled hesitantly, almost obligatorily, at Dylan before looking away. Dylan’s chest filled with anxiety while the other’s remained blank, empty even. Even Dylan’s green Glow slipped from around his collar, lighting up his neck. When they finally passed, he sighed, “God…fuck.” Yet Chris lingered, holding the plastic edging of the cubicle walls before Dylan turned to him. “And if you’re going to ask, please don’t. I’m just – I’m not in the mood right now.”

This was what Chris needed. He leaned over the partition and asked, “Please? I’ve read studies somewhere that going out with friends can help relieve stress. And I promise I won’t do anything. Just dinner. Or, or – ”

“No.”

“ – the Natural History Museum. Their ‘Soulmate’s exhibit just got renovated. They’ve got some good food trucks by the entrance.”

“No,” was Dylan’s answer.

Chris nodded, and, despite a defeated but determined look on his face, departed back to his cubicle.

Dylan reclined back into his chair, remembering the first time he had been asked out by Chris – “Would you want to get a bite with me after work? Or on the weekend?”

The man sighed and ran his fingers up and through his hair, putting his eyes against his palms and regretting being so harsh to Chris. ‘Feelings are a tragic thing,’ Dylan mused, glancing back at what he had written.

In an instant, the skull tilted, a loud cracking sound slipping through her computer’s speakers. “Come now, Sandra. I would like to play.” Still frozen, Sandra felt its bony digits run along her shoulder. “I’ll be sad if you don’t want to play.” She couldn’t speak but shook violently as she felt the rough fingers of its hand run up her neck and under her chin. “Such a healthy girl, too. Won’t you reconsider?”

‘Utter trash,’ he thought, shaking his head and deleting most of it. Minimizing the document, Dylan went back to working on sample coding for the project.

The day droned on, and so did the pounding of the rain. By nine that evening, only a handful of people remained, including Dylan, who was still wrapped up in his work. The overhead lights began flicking off before only a few remained on, making the long room look almost abandoned.

Turning off the lamplight and his computer, Bryce stood up and cracked his back before slinging his bag over his shoulders. He passed three cubicles and whispered his goodbyes to other coworkers before arriving at Dylan’s cubicle, watching his project partner still immersed in work.

Dylan was only writing three lines of code over and over, a notebook displaying colours and their corresponding codes opened beside him; picking them was such a frustrating task.

His stomach twisting, Bryce leaned against his desk, waiting for Dylan to see him. When he didn’t, Bryce tapped him. “Dylan?”

The man in question turned and caught sight of Bryce; the immediate response was a frown on his face. The rings under Dylan’s eyes were prominent. “What?” he asked.

Bryce swallowed his spittle and inhaled slowly. “Stevenson said he doesn’t want you here past nine anymore, remember?”

Dylan sighed and closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead with his palms. Overwhelmed with work and the burning sensation of crying behind his eyes, his head slipped through his hands and fell onto his keyboard, where he sighed again. He swallowed away that burning feeling and inhaled. “Whatever,” he mumbled against the keyboard.

“…Dylan?” Bryce asked.

He sat up and drew in air, lifting his head from his desk and beginning to gather his things. “Yeah. Uh, give me…ten minutes, okay?” Dylan turned away.

Bryce’s foot bounced against the floor. “…I’m sorry,” he said. But Bryce had said it so quietly that Dylan hadn’t heard him. He cleared his throat and asked, a little louder, “Want, want to walk out with me?”

Dylan glared at the other man. “Is this is you trying to make up for your comments? If it is, it’s not going to work.”

Bryce shook his head and rested his fingertips on the edge of the cubicle wall. “No, I…well, yes, but…I want to walk out with you either way.” He sighed and licked his lips. “Dylan, I’m sorry. I…sometimes, I just say things without thinking.” Though there was a small part of him that genuinely believed his offensive comments.

Dylan paused in contemplation, not realising he was already nodding. “You don’t have to stay around.” He looked at Bryce. “I don’t want your pity.”

His skin prickled again, but not out of agitation. “I…I-I have nothing against your kind.” Dylan’s nostrils flared. “N-no! I-I meant I don’t have anything against you.”

Dylan shook his head and looked away. “Wow. Nice save, Houghton.” He went back to typing.

“Dylan.” He looked back to Bryce. “Stevenson doesn’t want you here now.”

He licked his lips and groaned. “Fine.” He turned to begin packing his things. “Don’t wait for me.”

A warm smile spreading on his face, Bryce leaned forward against the edge of the wall. “It’s fine. I don’t mind waiting.” Dylan turned to retort, but then looked away. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy. I’ll wait.”

He wasn’t watching but heard Bryce’s response. “Thanks,” Dylan whispered back, downloading his work onto a spare flash drive and gathered up anything he might need for completing his sample coding. Jamming it all into his brown leather messenger bag, he saw Bryce still standing against his cubicle wall. “Get lost.”

“I said I would wait.”

He began to leave the cubicle before turning around abruptly and shutting off the desk lamp. “You couldn’t have waited by the elevators or something?”

Bryce straightened up. “I said I would wait.”

Bringing his bag up and around his shoulders, Dylan smiled wearily before putting his desktop computer to sleep. The two moved five feet from Dylan’s desk before he asked Bryce, “So…” He licked his lips, the taste of small talk bitter and uncertain. “…what are your plans for tonight?”

One step ahead of the other man, Bryce stopped. Eyes wide, he turned back to Dylan and inhaled in realisation. “Shit. Fuck. I had a date,” he murmured, pulling out his phone and, whispering the obscenities over and over, preceded ahead, waiting for his cellular’s ringing to end. Entering into the nearby stairwell, Dylan watched, almost in intrigued amazement, while Bryce left him alone.

At that moment, Dylan contemplated moving back to his desk and working in the almost darkness of the office. He glanced back over his shoulder to note the lack of bodies in the room, but Stevenson’s office was still lit. Jaw tensing for a second, he proceeded to the stairs to head out to the nearby metropolitan transit station.