It wasn't until several months later, when Bryce had begun to make peace with his childhood demons, when Dylan desired to venture off into the depths of a new dream that his Soulmate supported wholeheartedly, when a letter clad in periwinkle and stamped in royal blue ink arrived in their letterbox.
It was an invitation to the twenty-third Matthews's Family Reunion.
It was now close to eleven months since the two discovered they were Soulmates.
"Do you want to go?" Bryce asked, dropping groceries on the counter and beginning to put things away.
Dylan clutched his coffee cup, the warmth spreading through the porcelain and moving in waves up his arm. "Not really, no." Despite the wishy-washiness of his answer, Dylan's tone was definite.
"Do you think your dad'll be there?" he asked. Dylan tapped his nose. "Is that really enough for you to avoid your family reunion?"
"Really?" asked Dylan. "You want go down that road?"
Bryce raised his hands in defeat. "Fine. I get it." Dylan downed the rest of his coffee and slid it across the counter towards Bryce. "I mean, you did get to meet my family – "
"Bryce, the final answer is no."
"I'm just sayin' that I'm a little curious about your extended relations."
The man stopped, inches from the seclusion of the bedroom. "No."
"Ok – "
Dylan glared sternly across the room. "That's. Final." Bryce sighed and turned back to the kitchen sink, possibly because Dylan's angry glare still unnerved him, no matter how many times he'd actually seen it. He was just about to turn the faucet to wash the remnants of their breakfast away when Dylan called out, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to go 'Angry Dylan' on you."
"I know you didn't," Bryce whispered back, listening to the running water.
"Bryce?" Dylan hesitantly asked moments later.
The man in question turned away from the running water and replied louder, "I still think you should go. Even if it is just so you can see the family you like. And, you have a way better family than I ever had."
"That's subjective," snidely replied Dylan, who exited the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. When Bryce caught sight of this, he merely stared. "Give me a chance to think about it?"
Bryce blushed unintentionally. "Uh...y-yeah. Sure, sure," he answered, looking away back to the dirty dishes.
"Leave them. I'll do them after my shower, okay?"
He began turning his head, asking, "Are you s – " when Dylan's hand fell to his wrist. He hadn't anticipated Dylan being so close. Bryce suppressed a lustful whine, and the urge to bruise his boyfriend's lips with kisses until Dylan forgot what he was going to ask. But Bryce blinked away the fantasy.
"I'll do them after my shower, okay?" Dylan asked again, his tone quite calm. It was the earnestness that Bryce first noticed, that softened the colour of his eyes until they were nearly a honey colour. Bryce nodded, withdrew his hands and turned off the running water. "Now go get ready," he continued. "We'll be late for work."
To say that nothing changed at work would be a mixed message. Finally the little picture of Dylan's parents was presented, unobstructed by the pencil and pen receptacle; the faux plant replaced with one that needed attention. The lemon cleaner was replaced by an air freshener that made Dylan's cubicle, and everything within a five-foot radius, smell like lavender and vanilla.
Chris resigned from his hopes with being with Dylan, and slipped into the new relationship with Michael. It had been excessively tedious, watching Chris slowly, and sadly, shrug off his unrequited love for Dylan and attempt to accept Michael as his Soulmate. But it seemed that, even months after starting the new venture, problems continually arose between the two on how the relationship should be handled versus how they wanted to handle it.
The grueling months of the two New Soulmates stumbling allowed Dylan and Bryce to reminisce on the start of their venture, although most of it was unpleasantish.
"He plays the television too loudly; I-I feel like I can't even think before bed, sometimes," lamented Michael, who joined the former project members in the centre of the day in the third floor Break Room.
"I like watching television before bed," replied Chris, his arms crossed over his chest.
"You know what I like to do before bed? I like to meditate," snapped back Michael.
"Well, you don't have to stay at my flat, then. Take the train home," suggested his Soulmate.
Dylan and Bryce exchanged glances, but shared the same thought – 'Was I this bad?'
"These problems are juvenile," replied Amber matter-of-factly.
"Sometimes, I, I-I honestly think I could slap him," muttered Michael.
Dylan learned forward and spoke sternly. "Amber's right; most of your issues are silly and childish."
Both New Soulmates clenches their jaws simultaneously; as of they both couldn't bear being in the wrong. "But – "
"No," spoke Travis suddenly. Eyes turned slowly to the Soulmate-less man as he continued, "There aren't exceptions. Chris, be respectful of him. Michael, be respectful of him. Honest to God, this is silly. And it shouldn't be coming from me."
The two instinctively put down their heads in defeat.
"Is he honest with you about stuff?" asked Bryce after a pause.
Chris' eyes shot up and stared, like he was ready to begin sobbing. Michael looked and replied, "I don't know. Sometimes, he...his stories conflict with what he's told me already."
"Yeah, start there." Bryce glared unimpressed at Chris, speaking no words. Eyebrows bouncing up onto his forehead, Chris gave in.
"I'm sorry, Bryce," he moaned, leaning forward over the table and keeping his hands in his lap.
"Well, I don't really care," Bryce replied. "Treat Michael like you'd treat...Dylan, if you were in a relationship with him."
"Which I'm not," Chris spitefully put in.
Dylan glared, even more unimpressed with Chris, before suddenly standing from the table. "I'm done."
Chris fumbled to his feet simultaneously. "Dylan, wait. I-I'm sorry...!"
"I don't care," Dylan replied, eyes facing the wall in front of him. "I wasn't kidding when I said you aren't getting my sympathies anymore." Dylan slowly twisted his head and continued; "Look at you, stumbling over yourself like you've just pissed off your mother. Get over it." And the man departed back to his cubicle.
There were moments afterwards where no one spoke. "Is he actually that terrifying when he's mad?" queried Amber quietly.
Bryce nodded his head. "He's a force not to be reckoned with. Though it was partly my fault."
Chris sank slowly into his chair, looking gutted. "I...I thought he was, just saying that. I, I didn't...didn't think he was..." The light slowly disappeared from his eyes.
Michael glanced to the empty doorway where Dylan left from and shook his head disapprovingly. "He shouldn't of brought that up again," he whispered, even is there was some truth in Dylan's words.
Bryce stepped back and sighed. Before departing, he spoke, "These are things that you work out with your Soulmate. Talking to friends is a backup, but you should really work this out between yourselves." He paused in the archway leading to the hall before adding, "There's a reason why you're Soulmates; it can't just be random." And with that, he departed from the Break Room, absentmindedly leaving his lunch behind.
The time that elapsed between then and when Bryce arrived at Dylan's desk was approximately two minutes. His Soulmate worked diligently, picking colours from a large booklet for a new project; what came out of Bryce's mouth were four words: "We need to talk."
Dylan raised his eyebrows. "That's ominous," he replied, shrugging off the words like they had been spoken everyday.
"Dylan," Bryce stressed, which brought Dylan's eyes back to his cubicle's visitor. "We need to talk."
And Dylan put down the booklet slowly, an ajar frown slowly encompassing his face, and invited Bryce into his area. "What is it?"
As Bryce fumbled with his thumbs, he pressed his back up against the hardwood wall covered in fire-retardant materials and slid down to the floor. "I...I know that we shouldn't be talking about this so openly, because you like things like this to be private, but..." Bryce's eyes floated up, hoping to find objection written across Dylan's face, but found nothing. Instead, Dylan slithered out of his desk chair and pushed it to the side, sitting cross-legged with his shoulders under his desk. "Sorry, it's stupid."
Dylan sighed, wiping his eye with his hands and sighing. "Bryce, you're sitting in my cubicle demanding we need to talk. It isn't stupid. What is it?"
"N-no," he insisted, beginning to stand suddenly. "It wasn't – "
"Bryce," Dylan insisted, and Bryce froze. In a single word, Bryce felt every hair on his neck stand on end, momentarily reminding himself that he wasn't nine years old and in trouble. "What is it?"
Bryce's legs gave out, and he fell to the floor, hard, with a thump. "I want to fight tonight."
Dylan cocked his head. "Well, I...I, thought we were doing pretty well. Why?"
"I want to fight about not going to the reunion."
"I said – "
"No. I-I want to fight. I know it's stupid, but I want to, to try and convince you."
In that moment, Dylan wondered, with a confused expression on his face, what he found so endearing about Bryce that would make him agree to such a ridiculous request.
Bryce's red-brown eyes glanced momentarily to him before asking quite earnestly, "Can I try to convince you?"
'Oh yeah, his horribly cute sincerity,' he thought. It was, naturally, a begrudging one. But Dylan shrugged and got up on his knees. "Fine. You can have your 'fighting' chance." The two stood simultaneously before Dylan tugged on Bryce's sleeve. "But I will win."
And quite predictably, the two fought well and hard that warm evening. Their raised voices echoed through the opened windows of their flat and down Richmond Mews. A passerby raised their phone to their ears, watching the almost-orange light shine through the windowpanes cautiously, quietly speaking to the police about a public disturbance.
Dylan won the fight.
Round two started around eleven that same night. The police arrived at their door and told them to keep it down upon hearing the reasoning.
Bryce won, only because his voice was starting to fade. Also because Dylan felt bad for battling against a Soulmate who couldn't speak. So round three occurred that following morning, the two speaking in lowered tones. Round four occurred the following lunch break, wherein most of the points were rehashed and a final decision came to.
In lieu of a thirty-third birthday present, which was only one month away, Bryce won the battle, and the two would venture to the far edge of the City for him to see, as Dylan put it, "a neighbourhood that inspired either depression or underachievement. Or both".
Public transit only could take them so far; half an hour outside the City, they transferred onto a suburban line heading out west. By the time they got off at their destination, they found themselves staring into a large building skeleton cloaked in dark blue tarpaulin; a grocery store sat behind it. The sun had begun to set, and, even with the scattered colours on the horizon, Bryce felt an unnerving tinge of remorse.
But he smiled, and looked to Dylan with that broad grin in the hopes that something would shake away that remorse. That large, toothy smile slipped away when he noticed Dylan, staring sadly into the neon red that hummed quietly back at them. "A hobby shop used to be there," he whispered, Dylan's fingers brushing gently against the handle of his suitcase. "Welcome home," he murmured, turning on his heels towards one of the many-parked cabs at the side of the station.
Their journey wasn't over yet. Quarter of a mile away sat a dingy two-storied building sitting on the corner of Hamptons Terrace and Approach Road. A sign overhead named the square Victorian structure the Belford Hotel & Pub.
Bryce grimaced at it upon exiting the cab. "Don't make that face," Dylan scolded from inside the black car. "And move. I need to get out still."
"We're staying here tonight?" Bryce asked nervously. The streetlight on the corner was out and the shadows stretched the block.
"Would you rather go all the way out to Hadley Wood? That's another ten minutes we could've been sitting down on th – "
"Stop, stop. I get it." Bryce sighed, and took his bag as Dylan paid the driver. "You're being irritable."
"Well, maybe, because we're here – "
"Stop," Bryce spat quickly, his tone soft. "Because I know that isn't the reason."
Dylan blinked, and followed Bryce almost sheepishly into the hotel lobby.
"Welcome to the Belford, lads," came a cheerful voice from beside them. Both eyes turned to see a bald man grinning broadly, his neatly trimmed blonde beard adding to the hipster appeal; unfortunately, both Dylan and Bryce were put off by his approach. "I'm Stephen. Do you have a reservation?"
Bryce struggled with his words for a moment. Finally, as if snapped back from whatever world he was in, Bryce whispered, "Y-yes, we...have the reservation under 'Houghton'? H, o, u, g, h, t, o, n?"
The man licked the fuzz around his mouth and typed the surname into the old PC computer. A crooked smile broke out on his face before he exclaimed, "Yes, Houghton! Yes, you're in the system." His blue eyes lifted from the monitor for a moment before looking back at it. "It, says that you've booked a room with a Queen bed. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
Stephen smiled. "Fantastic. I'll just need some identification, and your credit card, and we'll be all set."
Bryce obliged. "Where's, uh...where's Deanewood Side?"
Stephen looked up. "Deanewood Convention Centre?" Bryce nodded. "About a kilometre up Leicester Gardens. It's the next street over. If you've hit the Earlport Bakery, you've gone too far." Stephen withdrew a paper map from within the front desk and circled the convention centre. He then slid a small brass key across the marble reception countertop. "Up the stairs, to the right."
Bryce nodded his thanks, and then departed with a quiet Dylan leading the way. "Do you know him?"
Dylan shook his head. "No. Maybe we went to school together, but I don't remember him." He sighed. "Trust me, tomorrow will be considerably worse."
"Can you prep me?" he asked, climbing up the stairs. "What's it going to be like?"
"Like you panicking about my meeting your family," Dylan told him flatly, holding his hand out for the key to their room. "Be prepared for...me one year ago."
Bryce handed him the key. "God, I don't want to go through that, again."
"Have I really lost my edge that much?" he asked, pushing the door open.
"Mhm," was Bryce's slightly muffled reply. "You're much more approachable now that you're softer."
Dylan glared. "I find that offensive."
Bryce swung his bag on the bed. "I find you offensive."
"You're offensive."
"Your face is offensive."
The conversation paused before Dylan smiled broadly. "I love you," he whispered.
Nerves and euphoria bloomed in Bryce's chest, and the colour of sunlight burst through his shirt. "I love you, too."
Dylan pulled back, blinded. "Can you put the Glow away?"
"You know it doesn't work that way," he responded, covering his golden Glow with his hands with little success. "I wish I knew how to turn it off. It's done its business."
"Oh yeah," Dylan agreed, pulling back the covers and kicking off his shoes, socks, and pants. "You're not looking for any new Soulmates, are you?"
Bryce crawled forward over the bed and planted a chaste kiss on Dylan's lips. "If I haven't told you already, you're the only Soulmate I want to be paired with."
Dylan blushed, but squinted his eyes and replied, voice shaking slightly, "Don't say mushy things to me."
"I think you like it, though," came Bryce's smooth response.
"Damn positive psychological association bullshit," he replied, leaning forward to kiss Bryce. "It's all the Soulmate Feeling's fault."
"Absolutely," Bryce breathed when their lips momentarily separated, a soft smile hanging on his mouth.
"You're not – " A gentle kiss graced Dylan's lips momentarily. " – listening to me, are you?"
"Oh no, I am listening," he breathed, kissing Dylan again. "You're just too sweet to stop kissing."
"Ew."
"I know."
With one more kiss, Dylan pressed his hand into Bryce's chest. "I'm tired, Bryce."
Bryce hung his head with a sigh, and crawled backwards to the other side of the bed. "I'll read a little downstairs, okay? You can have the room to yourself."
Dylan shook his head. "You can read up here. I don't mind."
"You sure?"
Dylan nodded, drew the curtains, and slipped under the covers. Bryce kicked off his shoes and sat down on the duvet. "Your body blocks most of the bedside lamp anyways."
"Wow. Rude," said Bryce in a low tone. But this didn't stop him opening the pages of The Family Montegraph and listening to Dylan's steady breathing until he, too, fell asleep.