Dylan hit the nail on the head hard, because Bryce’s eyes grew wide and several loud, nervous chuckles slipped out. “Distraction or not, that’s still using people. It doesn’t matter what you’re looking for, or even if you’re running from something. You don’t even have the decency to remember your date’s names. What, you date them until you get bored of them?”

Bryce exhaled, his nostrils flared, before shrugging. “I’m not going to justify the way I live my life.” He took a bite out of his sandwich before continuing, “There are worse people out there and you’re grilling me alive for how I date?”

Dylan nodded his head. “Yes, I am. Because it’s disgusting and cruel, and people deserve more respect than that. And there might be worse people out there, but they’re not here. You are.” Dylan scoffed, and, with a rush of anxiety sweeping through his chest, raised his water bottle before continuing, “I wish your future Soulmate luck in not smothering you in your sleep.”

Chris recoiled. “Wh…where’s everyone else?” he queried, looking around the empty Break Room.

The three coworkers at the other table even refused to look in their direction.

“My Soulmate will love me unconditionally,” Bryce pointed out, grinning.

“Where does it say that Soulmates have to stay together?” asked Dylan. “What about that they have to love each other always?” His eyes darted to the side for a moment before returning to Bryce.

Bryce spluttered in agitation. “Because, unlike you, I won’t end up alone. Because I know I’ll meet them, and they will love me.”

Dylan’s skin prickled at his reply. “I want to end up alone. Good for me.” He turned away and took a sip of his water bottle.

Chris sighed his hands uncurling from their spot in his lap, and went back to eating.

And a minute passed.

“What if it’s you?” asked Bryce.

Dylan blinked. "What if I'm what?"

“What if you’re my Soulmate?” Bryce clarified.

Dylan let out a sudden, and loud, "Ha! " before taking a handful of crisps in his mouth. “I don’t ever want to meet my Soulmate,” he said, voice muffled by the food in his mouth.

“Cuz your Glow’s defective?”

Dylan’s hands tensed, but he went on eating.

Chris nearly spat water.

The sound of a video recording beeped. Another followed shortly after.

Bryce, blinded the anger and resentment, must’ve known the impact of his words, but didn’t care. Dylan knew the impact of Bryce’s words too well already.

“Stop it, Bryce. That’s just rude,” Chris whispered, whose hands had begun to shake under the table.

“Listen to Chris, Bryce,” Dylan replied, his tone low and menacing. Yet his stomach still twisted.

“No, no. If you know me so well, why wouldn’t I want to meet my Soulmate? Get that unconditional love?” Bryce asked, leaning forward with a genuine interested. “What about you, though? Is it because the thought of being Soulmates with someone is scary?”

Dylan finally looked at him. “No, – ”

“So it is because you’re defective?”

“I am not defective!” Dylan shouted.

“For someone who gets so many ‘False Alarms’, I’d say you’re defective,” Bryce pointed out. “Maybe you just don’t have a Soulmate.”

“Good!”

“Guys, stop!” Chris cried, whose exclamation went unnoticed.

“Just admit you’re defective,” Bryce asked.

Dylan was ready to strangle Bryce without reservation. “Stop it!” he shouted.

“If only there was a recall for people like you,” Bryce pondered.

“Stop it!” Dylan brought his gaze back to Bryce, the two now staring daggers at each other; Bryce smiling because he knew, at that moment, he had the upper hand, and Dylan beyond angry, battling lingering comments of his worthlessness he’d heard through secondary school, and vengeful tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“Why are you so afraid?” Bryce finally asked. Dylan wiped his eyes, dropping his gaze from the other man. “C’mon, Dylan. You know the reason why I don’t want to meet my Soulmate.” Bryce glanced down, sticking out his lower lip. “Is wittle Dywlan scawred?”

Swallowing hard, Dylan looked up at Bryce and whispered, “I’m not scared.”

“Then w – ”

“I’m terrified.”

Bryce leaned back in his chair before he tentatively asked, “Why?”

“Because…be – ”Dylan packed up his lunch and stood to his feet with the intent of returning to his cubicle before answering – “Because nothing scares me more than the thought that I can become a nuisance to someone who once loved me. And fuck you too, Houghton.” Dylan then abandoned his lunch for the comfort of his cubicle.

Only one happened.

But Dylan’s words struck a serious chord with Bryce, who swallowed hard and played through the entire conversation in his head before losing his appetite.

It wasn’t the spoken-word gossip that people spread first, but the videos that were recorded by the unnamable coworkers. Bryce’s words were hard to escape for the rest of the day, sent around the office like a viral news article. Bryce was comforted by some – “It wasn’t your fault,” they consoled – while other mocked Dylan – “Hurts, don’t it? The truth.”

Regardless of the individual reaction, there was a universal agreement – that Bryce was wrong, and Dylan was the victim. Even Bryce was very aware of the new perception, and did what he thought was trying to win people back in his favour; Dylan just ignored it. But as the days wore on, and the week came closer to finishing, every project member lost a certain amount of respect for Bryce Houghton.

It was Dylan who noticed how people were more careful in what they said and how they spoke. Coworkers quick to dismiss him for his Glow spoke softly, every word a potential insult. The office became more sociable, an aura of community hanging like the overhead fluorescent lights. People cared. They were more courteous.

The genetic defect of the ‘False Alarm’ Glow was ignored. It was treated as normally as breathing.

But Dylan didn’t care. He didn’t want their pity.

Stevenson misinterpreted the shift of mood as lacking morale. So that Thursday afternoon, he agreed to the group driving down Friday morning and giving the pitch at the startup. He also allowed for their work to slack if it meant that their morale would return to normal, and so they could move on to another, or even separate, projects.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” asked Amber for the third time that day.

Dylan harrumphed, for the third time that day. “Amber, I’m fine.”

“I’m still really sorry that I wasn’t there to…kick his fucking ass,” she said, picking up her bagel sandwich and biting into it, pieces of tuna hanging on her lips.

“I still can’t believe he’d do that,” Travis added. “I mean, it’s Bryce we’re talking about. He’s like that kid from primary everyone liked.”

“I’m still angry that I wasn’t there to kick his ass,” Amber muttered under her breath.

“You’re fine, Amber,” Dylan replied. “Honestly, I-I just want to forget that it happened.” He’d already made Bryce’s character in his story die another gruesome death; he was over it for the most part. He looked at Chris, a worn smile spreading across his lips, before adding, “Chris probably stopped it from getting much worse.” In the back of Dylan’s mind, however, he was shaking his head at the comment, because Chris did nothing.

“I…didn’t do much,” said Chris, eyes down and trying to be modest.

Dylan frowned in agreement. He was tempted to verbally concur with him, but instead, he opted for a topic change. “So…we’re going to do the presentation?”