Page 16 of Sypher

The problem was, Illyria was running out of time.

Sypher didn’t have time to rest and recuperate.

I needed his fucking brain, now.

“Mr. Fedorov? Mr. Payne told me. I can find her for you.”

With a surge of panic, I dashed toward him, my fingers clamping onto his arm as I hauled him out of the room, the air thick with tension. Knowing the quicker I could help him regain his composure, the better for everyone involved.

With every stride that distanced us from the throng of people, the tension visibly eased from his shoulders. As soon as we were inside my office, I quickly shut the door with a decisive click and turned to face him. Taking ahold of his face, I whispered, “Danny, look at me. Tell me where your head is at?”

With a pained wince, he muttered a barely audible sound, his eyelids pressed tightly together. “I failed them. They hate me.”

“Shit.” Cursing in a hushed tone, I embraced him tightly, my arms wrapped around him, then I reached out and switched off the lights, plunging us into darkness.

In the sterile silence of my office, the only sound was his tiny breaths ghosting against my neck while I held him, trying to calm the raging tempest in his mind. I’d been here before, hauling him back from the precipice, the icy grip of fear tightening around his heart. I knew this wouldn’t be the last time. Sypher, despite his intellect and outward confidence, was a man deeply scarred by his experiences, clinging precariously to sanity. The veneer of his public persona barely masking his inner turmoil.

I didn’t know how long I stood there with him in my arms, but when I felt his body relax and his breaths even out, I knew he had finally fallen asleep. Carefully picking him up, I carried him over to the small cot I kept in my office when I was too tired to walk home. Making sure he was comfortable, I grabbed a blanket and covered him up. Without thinking, I reached for that one lock of unruly hair that always seemed to cover his face and moved it to the side.

“You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, don’t you?” I whispered, then closed my eyes, shaking my head.

A desperate longing consumed me—to be the person he ultimately turned to, his most essential need in this world—yet he remained emotionally unavailable. In the meantime, my encounters with him were brief and fragmented.

Tiny little bits that left me craving him more.

Right then, at that very moment, we were worlds apart, both of us on the opposite side of heaven, and until we found our way to the middle, we would never have the one we wanted most. He could deny it all he wanted, but the electricity that crackledbetween us whenever we touched, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air—I knew he wanted me just as much as I wanted him.

Only he wasn’t ready to admit it.

Until he was, I would be patient.

I would wait for him and be the friend he desperately needed.

The only sounds in my small office came from the low hum of my computer and the occasional click of the mouse while I toiled through the night and into the morning on my tracing program, careful not to disturb Sypher’s rest. Frustrated by the lack of progress, I continued on, allowing him the much needed sleep his exhausted brain craved. Initially, he was quite restless and agitated, tossing and turning. Eventually, his body relaxed, his breathing slowed, and he drifted off into a peaceful and deep slumber.

To be frank, in all honesty, I had assumed that the rhythmic clicking emanating from my keyboard was what had actually calmed him and sent him off to sleep. The cadenced, soothing clickety-clack of the keys on my keyboard was a sound as familiar and comforting to him as the very act of breathing itself, a constant and reassuring presence in his daily life. Almost like a soothing lullaby used to lull a baby to sleep.

Time and again, I couldn’t help but steal glances at him, mesmerized by the sight of him while he slept. I had a feeling that he would eventually leave and that we would end up right back where we started. I made sure to commit the memory to my mind, storing it away along with other such memories as a way of ensuring I wouldn’t forget it.

Sypher was born a Golden Skull. Inheriting his cut from his dad.

I was prospecting to be a Soulless Sinner.

Two different clubs from two different backgrounds.

Besides our shared passion for computers and our membership in motorcycle clubs, we had little in common. While I favored the elegant melodies of classical music blended with the improvisational spirit of jazz, Sypher’s tastes ran to the powerful riffs of hard rock and the twangy rhythms of country bluegrass. He liked sports and hanging out with his family and friends. I preferred the solitude of running and the occasional matinee in the theater district. He wore jeans, grungy T-shirts, and black biker boots. I preferred tailored slacks, a fitted Henley, and designer shoes. While my body remained unmarked and free of any adornment, his was a canvas covered in numerous tattoos. Despite our vastly different backgrounds and personalities, a connection still existed between us, defying all expectations of incompatibility.

I knew it, and so did he.

Where I was comfortable in my skin, he hid beneath his.

And that right there was the problem.

He was still grappling with the fact that his attraction to men triggered a complex and unsettling cocktail of fear and excitement—a reality he had yet to fully accept.

Well, more like his attraction to me.

It wasn’t until Sypher reached college, a period marked by a newfound sense of freedom and self-acceptance away from his family’s watchful gaze, that he began to experience what could be defined as true romantic feelings. During his time at school, Sypher experienced a significant period of personal growth and development, which was typical for teenagers as they transitioned into adulthood. Despite his popularity and seemingly effortless success with women, I believed hisunexpressed emotions for me created considerable turmoil and uncertainty within him.

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