Dylan spent the night away from the hotel, imagining different scenarios that could secure his future for comfortable seclusion without a Soulmate. There were no situations he preferred.
He returned to his room at around six that morning to gather his things and head downstairs for breakfast. Dylan anticipated Bryce to be asleep, praying that the man's yellow Glow, or his own green one, wouldn't wake him.
Two metres away from the room's door, Dylan's Glow appeared, drowning him in longing and forcing him to note the absence of anxiety he'd grown accustomed to. He hissed at it.
Slipping off his shoes outside, he carefully pressed the door open and held his breath. It creaked open.
Bryce appeared asleep, his Glow echoing his heartbeat, the double cadence lighting the room in flashing yellow light. He slept on top of the duvet, clothes still on, shoes cast to the floor. The only significant differences about his appearance were his disheveled brown hair and the line of drool starting at the edge of his mouth. The room hadn't changed, either – the pub food sat on the floor between the double beds, Dylan's Revels wrapper on the desk, and his clothes strewn all over the place.
Dylan sighed in relief that two layers of Glow-Inhibiting cloth obstructed his own Glow. He contemplated, as he folded up his clothes and packed his things, changing out of them for something fresher.
Bryce stirred to roll over, but never woke up.
At the door, Dylan eyed the darkened bathroom longingly, his hands twisting against the handle of his suitcase. His mind laid out the consequences if he decided to wash up – Bryce could wake up. He could come in while Dylan was showering. He could try to talk about what happened.
But no sound made – the zipper closing the suitcase, the sounds of the neighbours waking up, even a maid shouting in the hall outside – had woken Bryce yet.
There was a lock on the bathroom door, too. And Dylan knew he could be in and out in under five minutes.
He was quick and strategic in his planning. He kept the pressure low, where the water moving through the pipes couldn't create a low rumble in the wall. A towel and his toothbrush, along with toothpaste, sat around the sink. A spare change of clothes sat on the closed toilet's lid cover. Shoes and socks placed on top of the toilet's tank.
He kept the remainder of his things outside. Dylan locked the door and began his day right.
One wall away, about a minute after the bathroom door locked, Bryce snorted and opened his crust-ridden brown eyes, groaning from the uncomfortable position he was sleeping in. He rolled onto his back and gathered the energy to rub away the crap from his vision, his muscles straining to do so.
He first noticed that he hadn't closed the curtains the night before, light flooding the room and blinding him. Bryce turned his head and saw the still-empty bed; he sighed, having hoped Dylan would've come back so they could at least talk about what had happened.
That light, fluttery feeling in his chest was what finally woke him up when his brain processed his Glow Feeling. It smacked into him like a runaway train. Bryce's Glow was reflected into the television screen directly across from him, forcing him to look away. Scratching his chest like he had hoped to peel it away, the gravity of the situation suddenly dawned on him.
In a sense, Bryce was right about his confrontation with Dylan last night. He knew he would suffer. He just didn't expect it to be like this.
"D-Dylan?" he whispered, voice cracking. Bryce slid his legs off the bed and moved towards the door to the room. He opened enough to see a maid at the far end of the hall pushing the hotel's cleaning cart. Sighing, Bryce closed the door and noticed Dylan's belongings stacked against the wall. 'Weren't they...by the bed...over there?' he thought, pointing to the vacant space by the wall.
It was this moment when his brain started processing what had happened. 'Oh, fuck, he's my Soulmate,' Bryce brooded, being washed over in a stunning sense of disappointment and anxiety, ignoring the euphoria blooming in his chest. 'That fucking 'False Alarm'er is my Soulmate,' he thought. Even Bryce was taken aback by his own words.
He returned to his bed and looped those words in his head over and over before his mind tried to spin it into a positive light. 'Maybe we can work things out,' Bryce pondered for a moment, the hesitation beginning to slip away. 'But am I really ready for this again?' Bryce's thoughts froze at the question; his response was a tentative 'Yes'. "At least we don't completely hate each other," he chuckled to himself. But his fingers twitched and twisted against the edge of the bed, ruffling the sheets. 'Right?'
A minute later, hearing the shower stop, Bryce froze and watched Dylan exit the bathroom. The two made eye contact. The colour ran from their faces, and Dylan fumbled with his belongings as he rushed out the door, shutting it with a hard slam.
Bryce wanted to shout for him to wait, but the words lodged in his throat. He wanted to chase after Dylan, but his muscles refused to move. Instead, Bryce rolled over onto his side and thought very carefully about what to do next.
Dylan strolled into the restaurant a few minutes later as they were setting up their breakfast buffet, tripping on a vacuum's cord before taking a seat as close to the food as he could. When the buffet opened, he ate some jam and toast before moving to the far side of the restaurant, tucking himself away in a corner so Bryce could come down and not draw attention to either of them.
He hadn't bothered to tell Bryce he could come down.
Amber, Travis, and Chris came down at about half eight and were collectively confused about Dylan's behaviour. They were more concerned that Bryce was going to miss breakfast.
"He's never missed free food," Amber noted, looking back towards the restaurant's glass-encased entry.
Dylan munched on a plain piece of toast, everyone not believing that he had already eaten; his stomach felt ready to burst. "I-I'm sure he'll come down eventually," he whispered, watching the same entrance with nervous energy. The lobby just beyond was populated with only a handful of people.
Chris ran his hands over his face and pushed back his bangs; his face was pale and rings hung under his eyes. He avoided looking at the breakfast foods in front of him. Chris's ragged breath suggested a feeling of nausea in his stomach. "Never again," he murmured under his breath, throwing back another glass of water. "Why do I keep agreeing to go out with you guys?"
Travis watched Chris stand to retrieve another glass before he turned back to Amber and Dylan, smiling cheekily. "He does a pretty good rendition of 'Dream On' when he's drunk," he told them. "He got most of the pub to sing, too."
Amber snorted before sticking a fork with eggs into her mouth. "How are you not hung over, Travis? You threw up enough gunk on the bed for three square meals."
He shrugged. Taking a sip of his coffee, Travis admitted, "I have a high tolerance, or at least that's what my mum says." He then picked up the croissant on his plate and began munching on it.
"Your mum's a wino," Amber replied, slipping the last of her eggs into her mouth. Travis elbowed her in the side.
Chris returned with two glasses of water in his hands, both glasses shaking. He groaned and brought one of the glasses to his lips. "Remind me to never go drinking with you or Bryce again," Chris mumbled under his breath, downing half the glass before struggling to eat. "Or anyone. Ever again." Chris's white Glow suddenly shone through his shirt, and he glanced around.
"Where is Bryce?" Travis asked, glancing back towards the lobby. "He's gonna miss breakfast."
"I have a question," Amber started, swallowing the flapjacks and syrup in her mouth. "Why were you – " She pointed to Travis. " – in my room last night?"
Travis shrugged. "I might have a tolerance, but I remember shit. Just 'Dream On,' and then that proclamation of love – "
Chris jabbed him in the side. "Yes, we all don't remember things," he quickly retorted.
"Amazing," Amber noted, astonished. "How do I miss all the fun?" She then picked up her orange juice, turned to Dylan, and asked, "How was your night in?"
Dylan froze, his breath lodged in his lungs as he felt, as if for the first time, longing bloom through his chest; his Glow confined to his two Glow-Inhibitor shirts. Hastily, he got up and spluttered, "I need the toilet."
Chris and Amber watched Dylan cross the restaurant before returning to their meals. "Does he get like that when he sleeps?" Amber whispered, taking a sip of her drink.
Chris shrugged. "I don't know. He sleeps so irregularly as it is..." He gestured to Dylan's spot at the table. "...so seeing that is a rare sight."
"Maybe he slept well, yeah?" Travis asked.
"H-hi, guys," Bryce announced, sitting down swiftly in the vacant spot next to Dylan, his plate piled haphazardly with two Belgian waffles, bacon, two eggs, roasted tomatoes, two pieces of plain toast, and corned beef hash. "What's going on? Are we good?" He then began shoveling food into his mouth.
Amber withdrew her hands in surprise. Potentially disgust, as well. "Okay, this is...probably the weirdest I've ever seen you."
"Whaaaaaaaat?" Bryce asked, spraying specks of food across the table. "I'm acting totally normal. Also, where's Dylan?"
Chris's eyes darted around the room. "Why?"
"No reason," he replied, cramming an entire piece of toast into his mouth. Bryce continued speaking, but it was completely garbled. His eyes were moving constantly.
"Did you guys get into another fight or something?" asked Travis.
Amber stood. "I swear to God, I will kick your ass here and now if you made fun of his Glow again, Houghton."
Bryce's eyes widened. He swallowed whatever mush was still in his mouth and said, "N-no! That – we didn't fight or anything!" But his eyes caught something from across the room, and he dove under the table. "I dropped my fork!"
Travis leaned over. Bryce's fork was untouched, having grabbed Dylan's by accident. "Mate, your fork is – "
Dylan swooped into view and grabbed his bag. A nervous, crooked smiled adorning his face, he blurted, "You know, it's such a nice day that I think I'll meet you guys at the station, okay? Bye."
Chris stood, his eyes following Dylan. "But our train isn't for another hour and a half."
Dylan turned but stumbled into an empty table, its cutlery rattling. "Who cares? It's a nice day."
"It's supposed to rain later."
"It's a nice day, okay, BYE." And Dylan promptly left the restaurant and the hotel, bystanders pausing to watch the flustered man hurry up the road and towards the station.
Bryce suddenly slammed his head on the underside of the table, which overturned Chris's glass of water and Amber's orange juice, Travis' coffee rippled over the edges of his mug, the crockery and silverware shaking. "Fuck!" he shouted, kneeling on the floor and rubbing the back of his head. Seeing the mess he created, Bryce stood, further spilling Travis' coffee and spreading Chris and Amber's drinks over the tabletop. "I'll go get napkins," he whispered, departing and leaving Amber, Chris, and Travis in disbelief.
After a moment, Amber drew in air. "Okay...I...does anyone – "
"No," the other two replied, shaking their heads in unison.
~ ~ ~
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.'
"Dylan!" Bryce shouted, slamming his reddened hands on the door. New life flooded through him, his hands opened and banging the door's frame. He kicked and screamed until his breath was gone, his chest heaving with light, euphoria, and exhaustion. Bryce didn't care if people on the street were watching him; he had to talk to Dylan.
Dylan sat down on the landing between the ground and first floors, his fingers wrapped tightly around his knees. "Please just go," he whispered.
Angry tears threatened to gather in Bryce's eyes, which pushed him to smash the door more. One of Dylan's neighbours leaned out the first-floor window and told him to stop the racket or they'd ring for the police. A stifled, defeated sob caught in Bryce's throat and, looking down through his yellow Glow, he exhaled, leaning forward and resting his forehead on the cool door. "Dylan, I don't know if you can hear me. Just – " He inhaled through his nose. "I need ten minutes."
Every fibre of Dylan's being told him to stop and hear Bryce out. 'What happened to just ignoring this?' he asked himself.
Bryce pounded on the door, his knuckles red and swelling. "Ten minutes. That's all I need."
Dylan's shoes shifted. He rose to his feet and, shaking profusely, found his hand around the doorknob. "Bryce?"
The man in question looked up at the peephole. "What? You there?"
"Only ten minutes?"
Bryce pressed his head against the door again, the cool metal soothing his headache. He nodded and smiled, a tinge of accomplishment spreading through him. "Yes," he answered, breathless. "Ten minutes."
The lock clicked, and Bryce found himself staring into Dylan's brown eyes, the light gone from his gaze. He opened the door and stepped aside, his stare low and distant. "Do you, want some," Dylan glanced at the red marks on Bryce's hands, "ice for your hands?" he whispered.
Bryce eyed Dylan, noting the mixture of shame and anger on his face. "If it's not too much trouble," he admitted, pulling his bag back to his shoulder. Dylan shook his head, pushed away his overnight bag, and let Bryce into the building, shutting the door behind him. "What, uh...what floor are you on?"
"...fourth," Dylan replied, turning and taking his bag towards the staircase.
Bryce's impulse was to groan and ask if it had a good view. Instead, he whispered back, "Okay." He followed Dylan up to the door of Flat 4B. Once there, Bryce pressed himself into the corner between Flat 4A's door and the wall, separating himself from Dylan.
Dylan noticed the growing distance between him and Bryce. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"Well, it's weird. Stop it." Bryce stepped out onto the landing, watching as Dylan opened the door.
Dylan slid in first to drop his keys on the counter. Bryce followed behind slower, staring through the large floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room that revealed the City's skyline, which would've been impressive if it had been facing the opposite direction. What Bryce saw was the seemingly neglected portion of the City – buildings that were built after the Great War, intended to be innovative but were now architectural eyesores; he winced at their presence.
"Nice view, isn't it?" Dylan asked, scooping up his bag into his arms. Bryce wasn't sure if this was sarcasm or not.
It was.
Dylan took this moment to withdraw from the living room and bring his things into the area designated as the bedroom.
Bryce studied the space. Pulling his gaze away from the windows, he took in the kitchen, a small space tucked away in the corner which was small and operated mostly with appliances that looked like they were rejected designs from two decades ago; the colour scheme was black-on-black. An island counter sat wedged between two columns embellished in a Greek design and black paint.
The dining room, which took the space against the windows by the kitchen, was occupied by several moving boxes yet to be unpacked, three wooden chairs, and a table with magazines under two legs.
The living room, to the immediate left of the flat's door, consisted of a yellow hand-me-down couch, a dark brown coffee table, two fading paint cans being used as side tables and stacked high with mail, with an aged television sitting on the floor against the wall; a standing coat rack filled the space between the coffee table and the door.
A small bathroom lied just beyond, a frosted glass door concealing a room decorated in blue and white tiles.
Just beyond the only room in the flat was Dylan's bedroom, which Bryce didn't think to see. 'Probably because Dylan would be pissed,' he reminded himself.
"What do you want?" Dylan asked from behind the curtain.
Bryce fiddled with his fingers. "I-I just wanted to chat." But about what, exactly, was what Bryce was still trying to piece together.
Dylan pulled the curtain away and re-entered the living space. He had removed his shoes and socks, intending to replace them with a different set, and tossed his jacket on the couch. "You've got seven minutes."
"I asked for ten, though," Bryce reminded.
"It took three to get from downstairs to this moment." Dylan pulled the curtain back and disappeared into his bedroom again. "You can begin."
"Thanks, your Majesty," Bryce replied, taking off his bag and sitting on the couch. "What are you doing?"
"Changing. I want fresh clothes. Is this really what you wanted to talk about?"
Bryce looked down at his Glow, which beat in-sync with his heartbeat. The euphoria was comforting for him, though; it was light and made him feel warm all over. Looking towards the bedroom, he saw Dylan's Glow similarly alternating brightness on the polished black floorboards. His heart dropped at the thought that Dylan was trying to ignore it.
Dylan couldn't see Bryce's Glow through the curtains of his bedroom but knew it was there. Hands plunged into his shirt drawer, he sighed, finally naming the feeling he couldn't, nor wanted to recognise the previous night. 'What do I do?' he thought. 'I don't know what to do.' But Dylan cleared his throat and asked, throwing on his shirt with shaking hands, "Are we going to talk? Because you have five minutes left."
Exhaling, Bryce glanced down to the floor, view obstructed slightly by his Glow. 'I guess not,' he mused. He closed his eyes and sank into the couch, and into the comfortable feeling of his Soulmate Glow.
Dylan drew back the curtain and entered the living area, watching Bryce bathed in the golden light of his Glow. Eye twitching, Dylan kicked Bryce in the shins, forcing Bryce to open his eyes. Dylan said, "Oi. You're not falling in love with me because of some positive psychological association bullshit."
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.