Chapter Text
River Rock, Colorado was a small suburban metropolitan area just about an hour away from Denver. Sypha Belnades had lived there since she was a young teenager, during her freshman year of high school. That was seven years ago now. She was twenty three now, a college dropout, working odd jobs, but getting by just fine. Or, at the very least, she was getting by.
Shit happens. She dealt with it as best as she could on her own, but sometimes there are things in life that you have to ask for help. Like when your car won’t start and you’re stuck sitting in the parking lot of the fitness center and your phone is dead.
Shit. She cursed herself. Usually she was better at keeping a phone charger on her person at all times. The one time I forget to bring it. Murphy’s law was a pain in the ass. There were only two other cars in the parking lot, so she crossed her fingers and marched back into the gym and looked around. There were two men. One was the beefy dude that always came in late at night and made really loud grunting noises for everything everyone else to hear. He was always shirtless and flexing his muscles in the mirrors. Probably a nice dude, but he rubbed Sypha the wrong way. Her only other option was the guy who was currently sweating up a fucking storm on the treadmill. He was tall and broad, jogging at a healthy pace as he checked his phone. He was handsome in a more rugged way than the beef-frank who was currently standing in the mirror and checking himself out. She made her decision and head for the treadmills.
To be fair, guys always sweat a lot in the gym. Hell, Sypha herself had to carry around a rag on cardio days just to wipe away the drops of perspiration on her brow. Sweat was normal and something she wasn’t afraid of, but this dude smelled like BO, booze, and ash. She tried not to wrinkle her nose at his stench as she walked up next to him and tapped his shoulder. Apparently he hadn't seen her approach because he tripped over his own feet before catching himself and slowing down the treadmill. He ripped his headphones out and glared at her. Yikes…maybe the beef-frank would have been a better choice. I bet he at least smells better.
“Yeah?” He asked pointedly.
“Did you drive here?”
“Why?”
“Well, my car won’t start. I think I need to jump start the battery. Could you help me out? I have cables in my trunk.”
He checked the time and looked back at Sypha before sighing and grabbing his stuff. “Yeah. Give me a second. I gotta piss and wipe the treadmill down. I’ll be right out.”
Wow...what a charmer? Sypha raised a questioning eyebrow.
A few minutes later, after Sypha had stepped out to grab the cables, the guy emerged from the front doors of the fitness center with a jacket and sweatpants. He had changed out of his gym clothes and into something a little more suitable for the chilly autumn air.
He pointed to to the blue pickup that was parked on the other side of the parking lot. “Let me move my truck real quick.” He said before jogging over to the truck and parking it directly next to Sypha’s little Buick. When the man hopped out, he grabbed the cables from Sypha and popped both of the hoods, clamping positive to positive and negative to negative. “Did you leave your lights on or something?” He asked with a little less passivity.
“No, my lights are automatic. My car is just a piece of shit.”
“How many miles are on it?”
Sypha rolled her eyes. What an absolutely guyish thing to ask. Why the fuck would I know how many miles are on my car? “I don’t know.”
Pulling head head from on the the hood, the man straightened his back and dusted his hands off on his pants. “My names Trevor.”
“Sypha.”
He looked at her for a moment. “Sypha?”
“A family name.”
“Ah…” he nodded and looked back into the car. “It’ll be a few minutes. Do you mind if I smoke while we are waiting?”
Sypha shrugged. “Be my guest.”
He took out a cigarette and cupped his hand over the flame of his lighter as he held it to the end of the stick. A second later, a puff of smoke clouded from his mouth. Trevor looked at the woman without a gesture, but somehow she knew he was quietly offering her a smoke.
“No thanks. I like my lungs.”
Trevor’s face dropped slightly at the remark and rolled his eyes. “Sorry, mom.” The comment brought a grin to Sypha’s lips. Conversation seemed to come easy between the strangers, like they had known each other for a long time and simply reunited after some time apart.
“I’ve been going to this gym for some time now, and this is the first time I’ve seen you here.” Sypha began as she fiddled with her keys. “Have you been to this gym before?”
The question was innocent enough, but it pulled a smirk from Trevor’s lips. “Are you asking if I come here often?” When he received no response, he shrugged and shuffled over to leaned against the grill of his truck. “I just moved here. I’m originally from the UK, so I haven’t actually been to this gym before. I just got a membership today.”
“That explains the accent.”
“What about yours? You don’t sound like you grew up in the states either.”
“Romania. I moved here with my grandpa and a few close cousins about seven years ago. Went to high school, tried college, realized college fucking sucks and started working.”
Trevor nodded and tilted his head back to blow smoke. He turned to Sypha, flicking the cigarette between his fingers to shake the ash from the end. “I’m looking for work. Have any suggestions for me?”
Beef-frank lumbered through the gym doors with a duffle bag and a water bottle. He waved politely, and Sypha felt a twinge of guilt for judging him without ever really speaking to him, but then that feeling passed and she didn’t care. She leaned against the side of her car and sighed. “Well I kind of work all over the place. I'm registered as a personal trainer here, I do freelance art sometimes, y’know, like I paint murals on walls and stuff. Other than that, I sometimes help teach at dance studio, but none of those things really promise enough money for me to quit my other jobs. What kind of work are you looking for?”
The question made Trevor sag. “Literally anything. I’ve applied at a few bars, but I imagine a nice promising job like that won’t just jump out at me. I don’t really care what the job is. I’ll shovel shit if it pays the rent.”
Sypha hummed. “Well, actually, I might seriously have something that might help. Are you a handy guy?”
“Handy?” Trevor looked skeptical.
“Yeah, you know, like food with tools. Can you do manual labor? Can you fix things?”
“I guess, yeah, as much as the next guy.”
“My friend who owns the dance studio actually needs a few repairs to be done in the studio. It’s kind of an old building and there was a fire in it a few months ago. It was small, but enough to cause damage in one of the black box rooms. Do you think you can fix stuff like that?”
Trevor shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I’d be willing to try.” He checked his phone and nodded. “Okay, it’s been a couple minutes. Try restarting your car now.”
Sypha did as she was told, sitting in the driver's seat with the door open and turning the key in the ignition. To both of their chagrin, instead of starting, the car did absolutely nothing. It didn’t even sputter like it wanted to start. Trevor waved a hand and ordered her to stop. He checked the cables. Red to red, black to black. All was clear. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. “Has your car had trouble starting lately?”
“Yeah.” Sypha frowned.
“And you’re positive you didn’t accidentally switch your manual lights on?”
“I’m positive.” She assured.
“Well, your battery must be dead.”
One more item on the list of things Sypha really couldn’t afford to deal with right now. She groaned. “Great. My phone is dead, can I borrow yours to call a tow truck?”
Trevor quickly swiped open his phone and pulled up the dial pad. The screen was shattered in the bottom right hand corner and the edges of his screen protector were chipped. His phone had seen better days, but he was broke and didn’t care enough to spend $700 on a new phone. Sypha called the tow company and explained the situation as Trevor unclamped the cables and folded them up nearly. He placed them in the front passenger seat and waited until the call was finished. “They said they could pick it up tomorrow morning. Fantastic.”
“Sorry.”
“No,” she shook her head and ran a hand through the wild wisps of her hair. “Thanks for the help anyway. Can I use your phone to call an Uber or something?”
“Well...I mean...where are you headed to? I don’t mean to be a creep, and I understand if you’re not comfortable with my offer, but I can drive you if it’s not that far.”
In most other situations, Sypha wouldn’t have given it a second thought. She knew better than to trust random people she had just met. She knew better than to accept rides from strangers. Trevor just didn’t feel like a stranger. He felt like she knew him from a long time ago and they had just been catching up. They has only been talking for five minutes, and she already felt like she could trust him. In fact, she trusted him enough that she shrugged. “Why not?” If he tries anything, I can set his hair on fire.
“You sure?” He asked, stomping out the cigarette butt.
“Yeah, sure. I live about eight miles away. Is that cool with you?”
Trevor nodded and they climbed into the blue truck. It smelled like stale smoke and dust. The fuzzy seats were old and littered with burn marks from cigarettes ashes. It was almost exactly what Sypha has expected, but only, the truck was newer than she imagined. It shouldn’t have been so trashed up for its age. “Yeesh. Maybe clean your car once in a while.”
“Wasn’t expecting company.” Trevor checked his mirrors, seemingly unashamed of the mess. The ride home was pretty short. It was late at night. Traffic was minimal. Trevor drove like an asshole, tailgating people until he got the chance to pass them. When he finally did pass slower cars, he always slammed on the gas as if to say “fuck you, grandma.” as he blew their doors off.
“Take the next left. My building is two blocks down. The one with the paintings all over the front of the building.”
It was hard to miss. The building was covered in colorful images of flowers, flames, animals, and abstract designs. It was like graffiti, but graffiti usually didn’t look so uniform and deliberate. “Interesting place.” Trevor said as he gawked. Sypha made a noise as she unbuckled her seatbelt and grabbed her bag.
“Thanks. I painted it.”
Trevor turned back at her and then back to the building. “You did that?”
The look of pride Sypha wore was wonderful. “I told you, I’m an artist. I do murals and shit.”
They both stared at the building, not really worried about being stopped in the middle of the street. It was an off-road, so there were no cars.
“That’s pretty impressive.” Trevor added, finally tearing away from the art. He fiddled with his radio for a moment. “Hey, uh, what you said about that job earlier—“
“Oh yeah!” Sypha parked up as she opened the door. “I put my number in your phone and sent myself a text. Hope that’s okay. I’ll talk to my friend and let you know what he says. Cool?”
“Yeah, just let me know.” He couldn’t hold back a smile at the fact that she had been the one to offer him her number. Suddenly, she wasn’t just a girl he helped out one night and never spoke to again. She planned on keeping in touch. Trevor felt a little silly for his own excitement, but it had been four months since he moved and he hasn’t made any friends. It’s not like he was a social guy, but it’s not like he didn’t want friends either. He just didn’t really know how to approach people. This new girl had simply pushed past his outer shell and declared her place in his life.
“I will! Goodnight Trevor. Thanks for the ride!”
She was gone before he could say “you’re welcome” but he hesitated in the street, lingering to make sure she made it inside safely. All he could do during the rest of his drive home was try to convince himself to stop smiling like a fucking idiot. No such luck. He was already smitten.
Sypha texted him the very next night.
My friend said you should stop by the studio sometime, so when you’re free, let’s get coffee and stop in.
Trevor was quick to respond.
I’m free any day of the week.
After a few minute, his phone buzzed.
Tomorrow?
Yeah
Cool.
Send me your address and I’ll pick you up.
My car was in the shop today but they said I can come and get it in the morning.
Okay
Sounds like a plan
2245 Ginsberg blvd
The next day, Trevor was up and showered before dawn. He wasn’t an early riser, but he felt uncharacteristically proactive that morning. He had already been ready for over three hours when a text on his phone read I’m here!
I’ll be down in a second.
Okay
Sypha’s car looked different in the light of day. It was a clean car and a brand new tree-shaped car refresher dangled from the rear view mirror in the dash. It was the black ice kind, like the ones he used to keep in his own car. The smell was familiar but brought back memories of an unpleasant time in his life. Trevor diverted his attention to Sypha and took into account her clothing. She was wearing black joggers and a baby blue sweatshirt that was cropped short enough to expose her midriff.
“What do you want from Starbucks. I’m paying, since you drove me home the other night.”
“You don’t have to—“ but the look on Sypha’s face when Trevor tried to offer to pay for himself told him to back down. “Um...just get me something that doesn’t taste like ass. Something sweet. I’m not picky.”
“Iced white-chocolate mocha it is, then.”
She ordered herself the same thing on her phone and a third drink, presumably for her friend at the studio. It wasn’t a long drive from Trevor’s apartment complex, actually. The only reason it took them twenty-five minutes to get there was because they stopped for coffee. The building was on the edge of what would be considered “Downtown River Rock” which was where all of the hole-in-the-wall beatnik hipster shit was. It wasn’t a surprise to Trevor that the dance studio was located in the area.
From the outside, the studio was just another brick building. There wasn’t even a sign indicating that the building hadn’t been abandon, safe for a window with the words Revival Dance Studio and the hours of operation. Trevor really didn’t know what to expect. He had never been a studio before. He rarely ever danced, and when he did, it was usually because he was absolutely plastered in some shifty night club with random people grinding against him.
Inside, however, the place was very clearly up and running. The walls were covered with exposed red brick and abstract paintings that looked oddly familiar. There was a small front desk and a hall with four doors, only one of which, was illuminated. Music blared through the open door. It was a familiar song of sorts, something Trevor was sure he had heard in the radio but never cared to listen to. The base was driving with a heavy beat. Sypha headed straight for the room without offering a word to Trevor who was following a few steps behind. He remained in the hallway for a moment, feeling a sort of swelling feeling in his gut like an instinct. Something about the place seemed off.
“Hey!” A male voice called from inside the room and the music paused suddenly. “Oh, you even brought me coffee. You spoil me, Sypha. Thank you.”
The mention of Sypha’s name from the unfamiliar voice drew Trevor’s attention. He remained frozen in the hallway, feeling a little like an eavesdropping child in fear of being caught.
“I figured you’d need a little morning cup of ambition. I brought my friend, he’s—” silence followed. A head of strawberry blond hair peaked out of the door and Sypha raised a curios eyebrow. “Dude? You just gonna stand out here like a weirdo? Come in. Let me introduce you.”
He had no choice really. His feet moved without consent and he didn’t say a word. The room was bright compared to the dim hallway. The floors were linoleum wood. The walls were the same brick that made up the rest of the building, save for one side of the room that was entire taken up by mirrors. Two large set speakers rested on opposite sides of the room and Trevor had to think Jesus Christ, the base on those things could probably cause an earthquake. He didn’t really take much time to assess the room, however, because what he was really interested in was the man standing in the center of the room.
He was tall—as tall as Trevor at least—and ghostly pale. Locks of sunshine golden hair were tied back in a bun and a few loose strands of hair framed the man’s face, including a single curl that licked his forehead. His face as angular and smooth, like a model’s, and he wore a black pair of joggers and a ridiculously low cut, white shirt. He was fucking stunning to look at, which made Trevor uncomfortable. His body was long and lean, resembling a marble carving of an ancient roman athlete. Everything about him was inhumanly perfect, which raised every red flag in the back of Trevor’s mind.
“Trevor,” Sypha started. “This is Adrian Tepes. Adrian, this is Trevor.”
There was something in Adrian’s eyes, Trevor decided, as he extended his hand to shake. Something like a predator's gaze. He smirked and shook Trevor’s hand. His skin was cold enough to confirm whatever traces of doubt might have lingered in Trevor’s mind as they exchanged knowing looks.
“A pleasure to meet you, Trevor.”
“Yeah...sure.”
Sypha grimaced at the tension. Is this some sort of alpha male staring contest? What the fuck did I miss? “Uh, Adrian, why don’t you show Trevor studio 3? He’s the one I told you about. The one that might be able to fix it up for you.”
“Sure,” Adrian smiled, sipping coffee from his straw and somehow managing to look malicious while doing it. “Right this way.”