Bryce rubbed his shin and glanced back through his Glow to the floor. “I’m…not going to fall in love with you.”

“Good,” Dylan responded, walking back to his room to retrieve socks, pulling the curtains closed behind him. “Now what did you want to talk about? You have four minutes.”

Bryce licked his lips and wondered how the phrase the question. But what came out was not nearly as elegant as he’d hoped for. “What if we tried the Soulmate thing?”

Dylan froze, his hands still shaking. His eyes closed and, begging some higher being to change the circumstances, nervously chuckled. “W-why?”

Bryce thought Dylan had sarcastically laughed at the question. “I don’t know.” Bryce glanced up and stared at the faded curtain’s pattern. “Dylan, I don’t know if we’re going to work. I really don’t.”

“You’re not selling this that well,” Dylan noted.

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to try.” Bryce stood up and rubbed his hands together, the reddened, raw skin tingled with pain. “I know you’re probably thinking that this won’t work, or that you’d rather do anything else besides what I’m asking,” Bryce sighed, “but I want to try. I really do.”

One of his shoes laced up, something in Bryce’s plea struck a chord with Dylan.

“We could do one date,” Bryce continued, unsure if Dylan was even listening anymore. “If it doesn’t work, we won’t do it anymore. We’ll pretend this doesn’t exist. We’ll go back to how things were before, okay?”

Dylan pulled back the curtain again and walked over towards him, two shirts in hand. “And if I said no?”

Bryce’s mouth felt dry. “I mean, I can be persistent,” he pointed out, trying to be nonchalant before realising how cocky it made him sound.

“So I should just save us the time and just say ‘yes’?”

Bryce didn’t answer; he didn’t know how to spar against someone who could fight just as well as, or even better than, him.

But Dylan shook his head slowly and handed him the two Glow Inhibitor shirts. “Take them. I don’t want to be blinded every time I see you.”

‘They’re too small,’ he thought, but folded the shirts and slipped them into his messenger bag. “Thanks,” Bryce whispered. Looking up, he continued, “Look, I get that we’re not in an ideal situation. I get it. Dylan, as much as I don’t want to be your Soulmate, I am.”

‘Still not selling it that well,’ Dylan thought. “The feeling’s mutual,” he replied snidely.

Bryce clenched his jaw. “Please, we have to stop being like this to each other,” he whispered.

“Why? I’m fine with the present arrangement of this with you.”

Bryce’s hands shook; his eyes shut tightly again, and he mentally held his tongue. He finally met eyes with Dylan. “Then tell me what you want to do. I…I just don’t know what to do.” Bryce stood up and stepped forward once. “We’re Soulmates. We don’t have to like it, at all. But we…I need to try for something.”

“I don’t, though.”

Bryce threw his head back and groaned in agitation. “You know, I wish you luck in not having your Soulmate smother you in your sleep.” But the agitation suddenly turned to fear and shame, the statement followed up with, “No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just – I’m just frustrated. I-I-I feel like I’m running up against a wall and I don’t know what to do.”

Dylan waited for a moment, to see if something would signify that Bryce wasn’t being genuine, that he’d want exactly what Dylan wanted – tolerated animosity and even ignorance. But his Soulmate’s hands shook at his side, an earnest, pained, frustration remaining on his face. ‘You have to admire his determination,’ Dylan thought, taking in a deep breath to assess his feelings. He held up one finger, a hard look on his face. “You get one date, understand?”

Bryce perked up, his breath laboured, and nodded. “Yes, only one. Only one.”

“No, Bryce. You misunderstood. You get one date. That means one chance.”

Bryce bobbed his head aggressively. “Yes, yes. I’m fine with that.”

“I pick the date, and you pick what we do.” Dylan paused and shifted his weight to his other foot. He crossed his arms and added, “Preferably something classy, like dinner and…a movie, or something. Or just dinner. Something where we won’t run into anyone we know.”

Bryce nodded again, the hints of a smile spreading across his face. He couldn’t help but find Dylan’s requirements amusing. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Good.” He glanced Bryce over before adding, “Do you want some ice?” Bryce blinked, not understanding what Dylan was saying. “For your hand? It looks swollen. Unless you’re fine with that. But I said I’d get ice for you.”

“Oh,” was all Bryce could say, looking down and noticing the reddened edges of his hands. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Dylan gestured for them to move to the kitchen, where he retrieved a bag from a low drawer and filled it with ice. Wrapping it in a paper towel, he gave it to Bryce, who placed it gently over his hand. “Thanks,” Bryce whispered, to which Dylan nodded with pursed lips. An uncomfortable silence subsequently filled the room, in which Bryce tried to fill it by asking, “Who is your decorator?”

Dylan found the comment funny but didn’t outwardly say it. “Why?”

“It’s just…kinda…”

“Bad?” Dylan asked. Bryce bit his tongue but nodded. Dylan shook his head in agreement. “Who would want a flat that needs more of an overhaul than a rusted car?”

“You?” asked Bryce tentatively.

Dylan smirked, critiquing the colour scheme, or lack thereof, in his head. “I like to think that the last people in this flat were either witches or they were deeply enamoured with post-industrial London.”

Bryce laughed, the bag of ice slipping from his hand and onto the floor, which he quickly retrieved. “I’m placing my bet on witches. There’s some post-industrial architecture in here, but not a lot. There’ more…really ugly postwar stuff.” He pointed at the refrigerator and noted, “Probably liked vintage stuff.”

“And how do you know about the architecture?”

Bryce shrugged, a cheeky grin on his face. “I had too much time on my hands at uni. I studied architecture for fun.”

Dylan’s nose wrinkled. “Why?” Bryce’s response was a nonchalant nod. “I mean, I guess it’s practical for your field of work.” His frown lessened.

“I enjoyed it a lot, actually.” Bryce’s eyes dropped to the ice bag on his hand, a soft expression on his face. Rubbing his bruised hand, he noted, “You know, you’re really nice when you wanna be.” Bryce’s Glow began beating through his chest.

“Aaaaaaand your time’s up.” Dylan’s face morphed into his usual face of disapproval and anger. “Don’t get used to this,” he replied, retrieving Bryce’s coat from the couch. “Now get out.”

“Wha?” Bryce smiled and watched him. He hadn’t heard Dylan at all.

Dylan clicked his tongue and grabbed Bryce’s shoulder, pulling him along towards the door. “Get out of my flat. I have things to do.”

Bryce stumbled out, nearly crashing into Flat 4A’s door. “Why’re you being so rude? I’m hurt because of you, you know.”

Dylan entered the hallway and closed the flat door behind him. “You know,” he began, locking his flat, “I am sorry for hurting you, but I didn’t ask you to pound on my building’s door. And, you’ve overextended your stay. So I’m not sorry for kicking you out.” But when Dylan turned, expecting Bryce to be disappointed, he was met with a wide grin. “Why’re you so happy?”

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you apologise.” Bryce glanced down at the linoleum floor, his smile weakening and his Glow beating. “I just…hope that I can stay on your good side now.”

“You weren’t on my good side to start with,” Dylan replied, pushing past Bryce and proceeding down the stairs. Stepping onto the third floor, Dylan paused and turned his head. “I’ll give you a date Monday or the day after, okay?”

“That’s okay,” Bryce replied, his warm smile undiminished.

Once at street level, Dylan made sure the front door had closed all the way before saying his farewell. The two shook hands before he whispered, “One. Date.” He grimaced. ‘At least then he’ll be off my back for good.’

Bryce nodded. “Only one.” His smile softened. ‘Oh God, what am I gonna talk about when we go out?’

Dylan turned away first, heading up the road towards Milner Street; his mother’s flat was only a 12-minute walk. ‘Good God, what have I done?’ he thought, feeling Bryce’s brown eyes digging into the back of his neck. His anxieties spreading through his head, Dylan quickened his pace.

Bryce watched him depart, wondering why he stepped a little faster. Swallowing hard, he turned on the balls of his feet and headed towards the nearest metro station.

The two finally parted ways, and their supposedly restful weekend apart began.