Bryce remained physically close with his coworkers for the remainder of the journey, which forced Dylan away.

Once on the train, however, Dylan’s two Glow-Inhibiting shirts were enough to cover him and his Glow.

The seating arrangement had been almost the same to the previous day – Amber and Dylan sharing a row, Chris sharing his row with Travis, with Bryce now seated between a stranger and a wall. But the two New Soulmates weren’t far enough away from each other.

Dylan wasn’t ready for someone to notice their Glows.

Bryce needed to talk to Dylan before anyone asked about it.

But the train car was in a weekend lull, so passengers were scarce; this was in Bryce’s favour, who moved to the far end of the carriage. The others, noting his behaviour from breakfast, watched him, troubled.

Dylan buried himself in his writing to avoid the conversation.

When the group hesitantly moved towards Bryce, Dylan remained seated in his chair, opting to use the lavatory in the next carriage instead of the one right next to Bryce’s seat.

Graffiti decorated the door to the toilet – NO DUDS WANTED.

Amber, Travis, and Chris spoke anxiously of Dylan’s isolation.

“Wh-why does it matter?” asked Bryce. “If he wants to be alone, let him.”

Amber frowned. “He’s still our coworker. And he’s my friend.”

Bryce pshawed. “He doesn’t have friends.”

Chris leaned over into the aisle, his face seen between Amber’s back and the seat; Travis popped his head over the seat behind Bryce.

The woman glared. “Okay, Houghton. Do you know why I’m nice to him?” Bryce recoiled but nodded. “Because I know he likes me.”

Bryce’s nose wrinkled. “You’re joking, right? He doesn’t like anyone.”

“Untrue,” Travis announced.

Amber’s eyes widened. “Travis, you worked with him first, yeah?” Travis nodded, affirming the claim. “What was he like?”

“Nervous, withdrawn, just like anyone who’s new at a company,” he indicated. “He was snarky and…didn’t really like anyone in our group. Except me. And Chris.”

Bryce shifted in his seat, pressing his back against the window. “Why?”

Travis contorted his face for a moment. “I dunno. But,” he continued, “I knew he liked me because he came out with me and Chris a few times.”

The New Soulmate shrugged. “So?”

“Have you ever seen him go out with anyone?”

“Well, no, but – ”

Chris broke in. “He willingly asked me for feedback on the website he was designing that time, too.” He shrugged, the hints of a smile on his lips. “I thought it was admirable of him, since he’s, like, the person who’d do everything alone.”

Amber followed up. “When I worked with him, he got me a present at Christmas.”

Bryce’s brows furrowed. “So?”

“Yeah, you know who else he got presents for?” Amber physically counted her fingers as she continued, “Chris, Travis, Stevenson, and that security guy in the lobby.” She looked back to Bryce and finished, “Dylan might be a sarcastic ass at times, uncouth even, but when he likes someone, you’ll know it. He’ll try to put the energy into being nice in his own weird way.” She paused. “And what we know, is that he really doesn’t like you.”

Chris and Travis began discussing Bryce’s serial dating as a potential reason, but that explanation was drowned out by the blood rushing in Bryce’s ears. He shook upon hearing this, his fingers trembling against his knees. Bryce turned and glanced out the slightly scratched window, resolved to try and rectify that.

Upon arrival at their terminal station, the New Soulmates hastily parted ways after saying quick goodbyes to the other people in their group.

But Bryce, who’d planned on leaving the issue of Dylan for Monday, lingered when getting on his respective train. He hesitated when the doors opened. He watched them close before the train rushed into the underground tunnels under the City, taking a gust of fresh air with it. ‘Shit, fuck,’ he mused, turning to run to the other end of the station for another metropolitan transit line.

Dylan had missed his train by mere seconds, waiting at the far end of the platform listening to music, wrapped up in his own world. He checked the time on his phone three times before swallowing, debating if he should visit his mother’s flat. His foot tapped out the beat of a pop song he liked from years ago.

Bryce watched from just over two metres away, hiding behind a small elderly man and his wife.

He was careful when getting on and off the train, following Dylan slowly towards his flat in an attempt to talk about what they would do in the privacy of his home. ‘He’d appreciate that, right?’ Bryce wondered, a sickly lump forming in his throat and the realisation that it might’ve not been the brightest idea.

But if there was one thing Bryce hadn’t planned on, however, it was actually getting into Dylan’s flat. The front door locked upon it closing and his flat door probably did the same.

If there was another thing Bryce hadn’t planned on, it was general proximity. Bryce bordered a too-fine line between being too close to set off their Glows and being too far away that Bryce could almost lose sight of Dylan.

Dylan’s eyelid twitched in stress and agitation. He took back alleys and side streets in an attempt to lose Bryce, but this only encouraged the man to get within proximity of him. Dylan’s own Glow felt like it was pulsing, and he had to mentally suppress that sense of yearning that Dylan had for Bryce. But he was angrier that Bryce was stalking him, regardless of the reason.

Finally, at the entrance to his building, Dylan opened the door and waited.

Peering from around a corner, Bryce noticed Dylan standing in the door, motionless. “Dylan?” he asked, slipping out and moving closer. “Can we talk?”

‘There we go,’ Dylan thought, sighing again and stepping inside. “Bryce, go away.” But as Bryce grew closer, Dylan dropped his bags to slam the door.

Bryce’s fingers managed to slip past the door, which slammed hard on his knuckles. “God, ffffuck!” he shouted, withdrawing his hands and shaking them hard against the lukewarm air, the scent of rain prominent. Seeing the door closing again, Bryce stuck his foot in to stop it, but Dylan’s weight pressed the door shut before Bryce could prop it open. His overnight bag slipped from his shoulder and began its descent down his torso, a sickening sense of defeat making his stomach turn. “Dylan, please. I wanna talk about this with you.”

Dylan turned to head up the stairs to his flat, shuddering when the sound of Bryce’s fists hitting the metal door reverberated up the empty stairwell. He shut his eyes tight and clenched his teeth, forcing himself to take another step. ‘Only one more metre,’ he thought, his steps growing heavier the more stairs he climbed. ‘I can’t do this right now.’