Embracing His Syn (Nothing Special 2)

Syn desperately wanted to find Furious. He knew the man was alright. Surely he was able to take a gut punch, but he wanted to talk to him. Syn knew he may have already fucked up. Without thinking, he’d pushed Furi behind him like he couldn’t defend himself. But when Syn saw the pain of that punch flash over the man’s beautiful face, his protective instincts rose with a vengeance and he’d acted. He looked back and forth from the bar, to the door, to the college assholes, wanting to run and find Furi, but he couldn’t leave his perps unattended until the uniforms got there.

“Um, Officer. I’m sorry okay. Can you get that guy so I can apologize to him and then I promise we’ll leave and never come back,” Preppy damn near whined his request. He wasn’t so confident anymore. Didn’t want daddy to have to come bail him out of jail.

Syn heard the sirens and knew the officers would be in soon. He turned to preppy and a deep frown contorted his face. “Fuck no. And I better never see you guys in here again.”

Collective ‘Yes sirs’ came from the kids that had sobered quickly at the thought of going to lock-up, even if it was just for one night. As the police led the guys out and into squad cars Syn hurried back to the bar, but there was no Furious.

Syn didn’t even think twice. He made his way to the end of the bar and lifted the top, coming behind the bar. The two girl bartenders looked at him in shock and Syn flashed his badge again. “Where’s Furious?” he asked, using his authoritative cop tone.

“He left,” they said in unison, still looking at him strangely.

“Damnit,” Syn hissed and raced out of the pub.

He looked anxiously up and down the sidewalk and saw Furious sitting on the bench, head hanging low, waiting on the bus. Even though he had a hoodie pulled up and hanging low over his forehead ... Syn knew it was his ma– He’s not my damn man, he’s just a friend.

Syn approached his new friend with all the confidence in the world but wasn’t prepared for the angry, haunted eyes that looked up at him when he slowly removed Furious’ hood. Syn sucked in a hard breath and blew it out slowly before finally deciding to speak. “Furious. Are you okay?”

No answer.

“Are you hurt?” Syn was really concerned. Furious looked detached, closed in on himself.

“Bab–” Shit. “Furi,” Syn quickly corrected. “Please answer me. Look my place is right there.” Syn pointed in the direction of his building. “If you want you can come up and talk. I can take you home later.”

It was a few long and very intense minutes that Furious didn’t move or say anything.

“We’ll just talk, okay?” Syn tried again.

Thanks a lot MARTA. Perfect timing. Just Syn’s luck that the bus pulled up to the curb and the air doors swung open.

“Furious, I just want to talk.”

“No thanks, Detective.” Furious' voice was so deep and angry, it’d felt like Furi had struck him. Syn swallowed a hard gulp.

That was the second time in a matter of minutes that his title had been used nastily against him. Syn didn’t give a fuck about his stoner neighbor showing his distaste ... but coming from Furious, it stung. Syn’s adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he worked to think of something, anything, but Furious was already half-way to the back of the bus. He watched him plop down into his seat and throw his hood back over his head. The bus driver looked at Syn a split second before closing the doors and merging back into traffic.

Syn wanted to punch the bus bench, the light pole, any damn thing. What was really pissing him off was that he didn’t know what this was with Furious and how the man got under his skin. Yeah, he knew Furious was gay, he’d all but said it, but it was very clear he wasn’t interested in Syn. He needed to let it go. He’d find another bar.

Syn trudged back across the street and took the elevator to his floor. As soon as he walked into his apartment he felt a prickle of something unfamiliar slither down his neck. His entire place was dark, so he didn’t flick on the lights just in case he had an intruder. If it’s you Stoner, you picked the wrong fucking night. Then a smell hit him. Coffee. Syn let out an annoyed grunt, running his hand across his beard.

“Is this what I have to look forward to Lieutenant? You and Day breaking into my place any time you feel like it?” Syn said hitting the lights.

Day was sitting in his small kitchenette, leisurely drinking his usual jumbo cup of coffee while God stood next to him leaning casually against the wall, his massive arms crossed over an even more massive chest. His long chestnut hair was pulled back into a ponytail. God’s leather coat was draped over the back of the chair Day sat in. With no coat on, God’s guns looked like something you’d see in a drug kingpin movie. Silver Desert Eagles with gold appointments. Sexy, rolling, script etched into the long metal barrels ‘In God We Trust’. The black grips had large lions' heads etched into them. Syn had never seen anything like them. No doubt, they were gifts from his lover. Those cannons were attached to his sides, secured in his black leather shoulder holster. Very few people got to see the twelve-inch, military-style, serrated blade that he kept sheathed and tucked under his left arm. Syn had heard stories of that blade’s handiwork. God’s gold badge hung suspended around his neck by a long silver chain and rested it the middle of his chest. The black lettering ‘Lieutenant’ etched into the gold.