The Soulmate System

ARC I - 1. Your Glow Colour is Revealed in Childhood

According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves.
– Plato, Symposium

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Two Glows shone bright, and the two embraced ten feet away, crying into each other's shoulders; they'd been waiting for this moment their whole lives. But Dylan Matthews rolled his eyes, flipped them off under his desk, and looked back at his horror novel instead of his work.

Polite applause followed a moment after, and Dylan succumbed to an involuntary rush of anxiety in his chest, his green Glow peaking out through the neckline of his shirts. He glanced out the windows twenty feet away from his cubicle and groaned.

The curtain of rain slapped the floor-to-ceiling glass panes. It distorted the view of heavy traffic right under them, yet the neon signs of the restaurants and shops across the street glowed brightly against the dismal scene.

"Matthews," came a voice. His eyes heavy, Dylan turned his head and glanced through his bangs up at the broad-shouldered Jacob Stevenson. "You awake?" he asked. Stevenson didn't wait for a response. Dylan's supervisor dropped the three binders of someone else's work on his desk. "You've been promoted." His tone was flat.

"What?" Dylan said, eyes growing heavy, withholding a yawn.

"You're now on the 'Tully Tiles' campaign."

Dylan picked up a binder and looked it over. "Wait. I thought Atchison was web-designing it."

Stevenson's eyes dropped. "She's on...sick leave," he said. His eyes returned to Dylan. "You've been here about a year, and you're still unable to keep up with deadlines. Don't fuck this up." He began moving off before turning back to Dylan; he pointed his finger and glared. "And I don't want you here past nine anymore. You have a home. Go to it." Stevenson stepped back from the edge of Dylan's cubicle and headed towards his office.

Dylan swallowed, his jaw tensing as he brushed his charcoal-coloured hair back up and over his forehead. He sighed, a burning pain behind his eyes.

And he succumbed to another involuntary rush of anxiety through his chest, this one pounding. His heart hurt, and his lungs froze for a moment. Dylan whimpered for a moment, and when it finally passed, he sat back in his chair, breath heavy.

He cursed his life through his teeth.

By ten o'clock that morning, the team in charge of the 'Tully Tiles' campaign gathered in one of the monotonous windowless conference room to go over their notes.

Somewhere in the alley, a car's horn bled through the cinderblock walls of the building.

Dylan opened the door with his foot and kicked it open, the three binders and his laptop tucked under his arms. Inhaling the stale air, he stepped in and pressed the door closed with his back.

"Dylan?" accountant Chris Walton asked, walking towards the struggling man. They had already been informed of Atchison's departure.

"I can do it," he hissed, but Chris grabbed his laptop and two binders from him. Dylan groaned and sat down across from him.

Amber Lawson, the only woman in the room, smiled and whispered, "Hi, Dylan," before looking back at her work.

"God, your eyes," Chris noticed, leaning forward over his financial analysis papers. "When was the last time you slept?" The only response Dylan gave was a glare. Chris had asked one too many times about the deep-coloured rings that hung under his brown eyes. Chris's hands wandered across the table towards Dylan's outstretched fingers. "Are you okay?" Chris asked.