All three murmured in agreement. Dylan sighed, feeling another tinge of anxiety in his chest; how many times he felt it, he wasn’t sure. “If we’re already deciding on who’s rooming with who, I don’t want to room with Bryce.”

“You can room with me, if you want,” Chris chimed in, a hesitant smile on his lips and a hint of blush on his cheeks.

Dylan grimaced at the thought.

Amber looked at Chris and rolled her eyes. “Chris, you can room with me. I’m sure Dylan would want to spend a night where he isn’t freaking out about his workmates jumping him in the middle of the night.” She glanced at Chris and apologised, though both he and Dylan knew there was an ounce of truth.

“At least it’s better than going back to my flat,” Dylan muttered, hoping the three hadn’t heard him.

They had heard him but were unsure of why he made the comment, but they didn’t ask him to elaborate.

~ ~ ~

Dylan occupied a small studio flat in an ugly grey building fourteen miles to the northwest of the office building. A seven-minute commute via the Metro-transit from his flat, it was an unimpressive large room of ash-coloured plaster and blackened hardwood floors, which occupied the side of a building that barely caught any sunlight. There was one room – the bathroom – with every other room using pillars or curtains as a means of separation.

He hated the flat with a passion but took it because of its proximity to work. If he hadn’t taken it, Dylan would’ve been living in a hostel even further away from work, looking for a place to call his own in a bad, and expensive, housing market.

Because of the ensuing rent, Dylan never had the monetary means for significant repairs or anything of the like. A starry-eyed Dylan bought two buckets of blue paint when he moved in, but were now used as side tables and collecting dust, their labels fading.

He spent more time at his mother’s flat, a suite of rooms in a neoclassical city block within walking distance from him, where the colours were bright and varied, the indoor greenery was plentiful, and the dog was almost always pleased to see him.

“You spend far too much time here,” his mother told him as she reclined on the couch, the statement becoming an occurrence whenever Dylan came to visit.

“Why don’t you tell Sarah that? Or David,” he’d always answer back from his armchair across from the couch. “They’re never here.”

His mother smiled, clicking her tongue and bringing with it, the pitter-patter of the Jack Russell Terrier named Piper. The dog’s eyes darted between Dylan and his mother before hopping up on the ottoman between the two and sitting down, waiting to be pet.

Dylan chuckled and reached out to scratch Piper behind her ears. He paused for a moment before continuing, asking cautiously, “Mom?”

Mrs. Matthews looked up from her magazine that had been retrieved from the coffee table, the loose bun on her head bouncing backward. She tucked her free strands of hair behind her ears. “Yeah?”

“I’m not defective, am I?”

Tossing the magazine to the table, she leaned forward and, scooting Piper out of the way, looked straight at her son. “Who said that to you?” his mother asked, ready to maim someone.

Dylan clenched his jaw, his chest awash with anxiety again, before admitting, “Someone at work.” But he looked up before attempting to further explain, “He was talking about dating, and – ”

“Did he make fun of your Soulmate?” she asked, a separate train of thought detracting the woman from what the conversation was about. “Wait, you met your Soulmate?”

“Wh – no, Mom. He was talking about dating, and said that I have…” He released his jaw, eyes darting down. “…that I have a defective Glow.”

Mrs. Matthews shook her head. “He shouldn’t have said that,” she replied, reaching for her mug of tea on the coffee table.

“He did, though.” Dylan paused, still contemplating the question in his head. “But, do you think that I’m – ”

“Never,” she answered, reaching out to scratch Piper on the head. “Sweetie, your Glow is yours, and the fact that he…made fun of it like, like you two were in primary school just shows how mature he is.” His mother leaned back into the couch. “Who was it? An intern?”

Dylan didn’t want to answer the question but obliged out of child-like compliance. “No, it was our project’s artistic designer.”

“So why were they making fun of you?” she immediately asked, pondering the title for a moment. But she paused and added, “I don’t know who that is. Is he on your team thing with Amber and Travis and…who’s that guy who likes you?”

Dylan nodded. “Bryce Houghton?”

“No, no. His name started with a C or a K.”

“Chris?”

“No, I don’t think that was it, either.”

Dylan sighed. “Do you want to know who made fun of me or not?”

Mrs. Matthews blinked, bringing herself back to the conversation. “Yes. Who was it?”

“Bryce Houghton,” he replied. But his mother didn’t recognize the name at all. “I mean, I don’t really talk about him because there’s nothing to talk about.”

Mrs. Matthews shrugged. “Then tell me.”

Dylan glanced down. “I told him that he uses people.” He looked back up and continued, “I mean, but he does! Bryce’s like the kind of guy who’d date some girl until he gets bored. He has multiple dates lined up all the time. He doesn’t even remember some of their names.”

Mrs. Matthews picked Piper up and placed the dog down on her lap. “Are you a little jealous?” she asked.

Dylan shook his head. “Why? No. Why would I be?” he asked. “I mean, I know for a fact that I don’t want to meet my Soulmate.” Dylan looked at his mother, a sad, knowing look in his eyes.

She sighed. Piper sneezed. “Dylan, you know I don’t agree with what you’re doing.” Dylan nodded, and his mother paused again. “But you know that there’s still a chance for you to meet them. You don’t really have control over that.” Mrs. Matthews tucked some loose grey hairs behind her ear before asking, “But aren’t you a little curious?” Her son shook his head. “Well, if you do meet them, go along with it, okay?”

Dylan nodded with a tired smile hanging on his lips. He paused for a moment, feeling the tinge of anxiety spread through his chest again. Tugging on his collar, the soft green light shone up his neck. He groaned and asked, rather displeased, “Is that guy next door here?”

His mother cracked a smile. “I don’t know,” Mrs. Matthews began, holding back stifled snickering. “But apparently, your Glow does.” Dylan put the collar back, patting it against his neck and making sure his Glow wasn’t showing. Watching him, she frowned before whispering, “I wish you didn’t wear those.”

“If you can stop the Glow Feeling and the Glow from happening all the fucking time, then I’ll stop wearing them,” he snapped but dropped his gaze in shame. “I’m sorry, Mom. It just…makes me feel…normal.”

“I understand,” she whispered back. “And I’m sorry for nagging you.”

Dylan sighed. He met her gaze again and continued, “I just…for once, I just want to look down and know it isn’t glowing.” He tugged on the shirt again, revealing his green Glow. His finger released the shirt, the neckline snapping back into place. “With the shirt, I can. Even if I know it’s glowing, I can pretend it isn’t.”

“I know. And I’ve asked this before, and I know you don’t like me asking. You really don’t want to meet your Soulmate?”

He shook his head. “That’s kind of the aim, Mom,” Dylan admitted, reaching out to pet Piper on the head. The dog’s tongue fell out of her mouth to reveal a toothy canine smile, happy that two humans were petting her. “What did you feel when you met Dad?”

Mrs. Matthews smiled for a moment before a frown took its place. “My Glow Feeling for your father was warm. It felt like sitting in front of a fire, but in my chest.” She carefully spread her hand out across her collarbone and exhaled, remembering the warmth that came from her distinct Soulmate Glow Feeling; her own deep purple Glow slipping through her fingers. “It was such a…a comforting feeling.”

Dylan blinked, eyes glancing down to think if anyone, past or present, had made him feel like that. To his own relief, however, no one had. His future path was still fixated on the idea of comfortable seclusion.

Though out of sheer curiosity, Dylan asked, “Will it feel the same for me?”

His mother shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.” She began chuckling. “You remember Rebecca? From school?” Dylan nodded. “She’s met her Soulmate, but she said it was like she was going to throw up the first time!” Her chuckling broke out into obnoxious laughter.

Her son couldn’t help but crack a smile. Piper jumped, frightened of the woman’s cackling, and leapt to the ottoman. She sniffed the air around Dylan before looking ready to leap onto his lap.

She did, her paw getting uncomfortably close to stepping on his groin.

His mother departed to the kitchen to put the mug in the sink, still giggling. Dylan’s eyes followed for a moment but returned to focus on giving Piper a “much deserved” back scratch. The dog looked back to him, tongue hanging out of her mouth, looking as though she was smiling.

Dylan could see the dark rings under his eyes reflected in Piper’s. ‘They’re getting darker,’ he thought, frowning and looking away from the image in the dog’s eyes. He wanted to feel the restful feeling that came from a good night’s sleep, but he couldn’t remember the sensation anymore. Instead, his evenings consisted of him staying up through most of the night, with him sometimes deciding to work at his secondhand dining room table that wobbled.

A hand fell on his shoulder, which broke him out of his contemplation. Piper stood and hopped to the floor, shaking her fur before proceeding to the kitchen. His mother sat down on the ottoman and kissed his fingers. “I’m glad you come to visit. Your siblings don’t do it enough.”

Dylan smiled, a genuinely soft smile that he rarely showed anyone. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, squeezing her hand gently. “I’ll always try to come to visit as much as I can.”