Outside the office, the hallway had fallen silent. The employees who had been gathered there earlier had already dispersed, leaving the corridor almost deserted.
Ahead of him, a man dressed in a tailored black suit and dark sunglasses strode directly toward him.
"Jones?" the man called.
"Bryce," Bryce said. "Or if you insist on using my surname, at least have the courtesy to put a ’Mr.’ in front of it."
The man regarded him without the slightest change in expression. He didn’t respond. Instead, he extended his hand, offering Bryce a small white box. It was completely plain, without a label or a single word printed on it.
Bryce studied it briefly before taking it. He didn’t bother asking where it had come from or who had sent it. Slipping the box into the pocket of his hoodie, he unfolded the building map and began searching for the areas assigned to him.
The deeper he ventured into the building, the more bewildered he became. Floor after floor stretched before him, each equipped with its own restrooms and maintenance areas. Was he really expected to clean every one of them? If that was the case, what exactly were the other janitors assigned to do?
"You’ve received the box. Do what I asked."
Vincent’s voice echoed through his mind again. This time it sounded worse than before.
Bryce ignored him.
Whatever was inside the box, Vincent could wait until he was willing to explain himself properly.
Following the map, Bryce made his way toward the nearest employee restroom. He had barely stepped inside when someone seized him without warning.
A powerful shove sent him stumbling backward into one of the stalls, the door slamming shut behind him before he could react.
Strong arms caged him in.
A broad chest rose and fell against him with heavy, uneven breaths.
Bryce’s heart lurched. Even before he looked up, he knew it was Vincent. The clothes, the familiar sensation of standing so close to him, and the unmistakable feeling of Vincent’s touch were enough to tell him who had cornered him.
"What are you doing?" he demanded.
"What did I ask you to do?" Vincent whispered, his voice rough with obvious restraint.
"You didn’t tell me what it’s for," Bryce shot back in the same hushed tone. "You can’t expect me to follow your instructions without giving me an explanation."
A quiet laugh escaped Vincent, but it held no amusement.
"So..." he murmured, "...you really can hear me."
His body radiated an unnatural heat, and every breath he drew seemed heavier than the last, as though he were struggling to keep himself under control.
Bryce immediately understood what was happening to him. Vincent was clearly struggling against the same overwhelming desire that kept consuming them.
Ordinarily, Bryce would have been overwhelmed by the same relentless reaction. Strangely, this time he wasn’t. He could still feel attraction toward Vincent, but the overpowering hunger that had consumed him earlier was absent, leaving him unable to understand why the difference existed.
Vincent offered no further explanation. Instead, he reached behind his neck and peeled away what looked like an ordinary band-aid.
The instant it came off, a powerful wave of his pheromones burst into the confined space.
The scent struck Bryce with such force that his breathing hitched. For one suspended moment, it felt as though the air had vanished from his lungs altogether before the intoxicating fragrance flooded them, rich and fierce.
His body grew hotter with every passing second as something inside him awakened. Every one of his senses became painfully heightened, overwhelming his mind until he could barely think straight.
Almost instantly, he understood what the patch was for. It wasn’t an ordinary band-aid at all. Somehow, it suppressed whatever force kept drawing them toward each other.
How it worked, he had no idea.
The only thing he was certain of was that it had something to do with their scents.
His hands instinctively reached for Vincent, but Vincent squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself a step backward.
"Put... put the patch on," he said, every word strained as though it cost him tremendous effort to force it out.
Bryce fumbled with the small box, his trembling fingers refusing to cooperate. The moment he managed to open it, several patches spilled onto the floor.
Cursing under his breath, he bent, snatched one up, tore the wrapper open, and pressed it against the back of his neck.
The effect was almost immediate.
Vincent’s breathing gradually steadied, and the violent rise and fall of his chest slowly eased. Bryce, however, experienced the exact opposite. Instead of relief, the heat raging through his body intensified, growing fiercer with every passing heartbeat.
"Put... yours... back on," he managed to force out between uneven breaths.
Vincent didn’t do it, instead, he stepped closer.
"Don’t ever come near this building without that patch," he said quietly. "If you run out while you’re still working here, ask for more."
Without waiting for a response, he unlocked the stall door and stepped outside as though it made no difference whether anyone else was inside the restroom.
"Why aren’t you putting yours back on?" Bryce shouted after him.
Vincent’s pheromones still saturated the air, growing so overpowering that Bryce’s legs finally gave way beneath him.
He collapsed onto his knees inside the stall, struggling to steady his breathing as the scent invaded every corner of his body.
"I want you to understand the consequences of refusing to wear it," Vincent replied without turning around. "Besides, since you’re stubborn enough that I had to corner you just to make you use it, you can endure the consequences for a little longer."
A surge of anger swept through Bryce.
Without stopping to think, he ripped the patch off the back of his neck.
The instant he did, Vincent froze.
He turned around so abruptly it was almost a reflex. His crimson eyes locked onto Bryce, burning with emotions so fierce they were impossible to separate. Anger was unmistakably among them.
"Just because I’ve been tolerating your..."
"I put mine on," Bryce cut in sharply. "Put yours on as well."
The pull between them escalated almost immediately, intensifying with frightening speed. Even knowing Vincent could easily overpower him, Bryce refused to back down, his gaze remaining fixed on him with stubborn determination.
Vincent released a slow, irritated breath. After a long moment of silent resistance, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his own patch, and pressed it back onto the side of his neck.
Only then did Bryce pick up the discarded patch and place it back where it belonged.