A/N: HI! I don't really know what this is, I kind of got inspired to write a coffee shop AU for Romitri, and this is the first chapter for it! This fic won't be too many chapters, but I'm aiming for long chapters, and I'm a slow writer, so it could take a while to update. But please, enjoy, and tell me what you think!

DISCLAIMER: Title credit goes to Paramore, because I'm not creative enough to think of a good title, and obviously the character's are Richelle Mead's.

The coffee shop I work at opens at five fucking o'clock. As in, in the morning.

I mentally curse out my boss as I start the opening routines that are neatly listed in the folder. Open the till. Get out and slice the cakes. Start the coffee machine. Make the filter coffee. Stock up on tea bags, milk, napkins, coffee beans, coffee mugs, coffee sleeves and coffee fucking to-go cups.

I don't even like coffee.

My hatred for coffee and this coffee shops' insane opening hours, (and they were literally insane, because until this day, I have not seen a sane person enter the store before six thirty) did not help the beating headache reminding me of how little sleep I had gotten. Lissa had dragged me to the library for an emergency study session, with the promise of some take out dinner on her expense. By the time she officially declared the session finished, all the decent places had been shut for hours.

Because their bosses understood that they needed sleep to function.

"Morning." Stan grumbled, brushing by me to make his usual morning latte. His face was set into his ever present frown while his hands moved efficiently.

"I'm pretty sure morning starts when the sun rises, which, you know, is in about two hours."

"Don't give me this shit today, Hathaway. And clean up the mess over there. Thank Ashford for not doing it last night, like he was supposed to."

I complied, but made it very clear by my slow movements, and low groans, just what I thought of his commands. As he walked into his office, back to me, he ordered over his shoulder, "And don't forget to smile!"

I was smiling while I was flipping off his back with both hands.

Halfway through picking up littering napkins, the doorbell rung, warning the arrival of a customer. The clock said it was five twenty five. Unbelievable.

Ready to make sure this customer knew just how rude they were being by entering this shop so early, I spun around, mustering the meanest glare I could with the pounding headache I had. But damn, was I not expecting what I got. The man that entered was mid twenties, and seriously fucking hot. Hot in the tall, dark and handsome kind of way, nailing every single marker dead on. He was around 6'5, making him a head taller than me, dark hair pulled back, with strands escaping the leather band, and a just all around beautiful face. The only characteristic that could've landed him in my "insane" customer box, was the long leather jacket he wore, which I think are called dusters. He obviously didn't seem the understand that it was slightly unnecessary, considering the temperatures were at a record high for September.

He stopped at my glare, but did not look threatened at all. He did continue staring at me though, which lead to some confusion on my part, until he gestured towards the till and the coffee machine. Oh, right. I walked to the till to take his order, him following on my heels.

Once I rounded the corner, I forced out the pleasantries I had to. "What can I do for you, this ridiculously earlier?"

"Just a coffee, with some milk please." He didn't seem to be taking my hostile nature very serious as he started fishing out some cash. Damn it, his voice sounded as good as he looked. It was tinged with some sort of accent too, Eastern European maybe? I had always been shit at distinguishing accents.

"Okay. Name?" I was not through with my hostile spiel as I grabbed a to-go cup, hoping it would send the message loud and clear that he was not wanted here.

"Dimitri." He replied, putting down the exact change, before I had even stated the price. Good looking, and a pleasant customer.

"Oh, that makes sense then." I mumble, not registering he could hear me, as I scribbled out his name.

"Excuse me?" Dimitri raised one of his eyebrows, arching it perfectly. Fuck, that made me irrationally jealous to see.

"Well, you're Russian, right?" He nodded as I set about his order, making a double espresso shot. I watched over my shoulder to see him nod, and continued, "And Russia is what, like nine hours ahead of us?"

"Depends where in Russia. We have eleven time zones."

"What?!" I spun around, only half filling his cup with boiling water. "Eleven?! That's ridiculous! You guys really need to downsize!"

His eyes showed me he clearly found my ignorance amusing, but his expression didn't give too much away.

"I'll pass that advice right on, thank you. Putin will be glad to hear it," he said.

I let out a snort, before returning to finishing the coffee. "Anyway, getting back to the point, we will generalise Russia and say you're around twelve hours ahead. That means, since you're running on Russia time, it's actually five thirty in the afternoon for you, which is a totally acceptable time for you to be getting coffee at a coffee shop."

I hand him his boiling coffee with milk after finishing my theory. Something about what I said seems to be striking him as funny, even though I hold by it.

"What kind of logic is that?" He asks, bordering on smiling.

"Oh, it's my own special brand of Rose logic." I say, tapping my name tag.

"Since I've been living here for years and am not jet lagged, let me propose another idea, Rose."

"And that is?" I say as placing my hands defiantly on my hips, not willing to show what him saying my name does to me.

"That," he leaned in conspiratorially, "some people enjoy mornings."

I lean away, shaking my head.

"Nope, that's definitely not it. I will tell you what I told my boss: the morning doesn't start until the sun is somewhere near the horizon. Right now, the sun is still 12 hours away, in Russia."

He shook his head, finally smiling, before looking down at his coffee.

"Dimitri," he said unexpectedly, and I was close to placing him back in the insane customers box. Then he turned the cup to me, showing me where I wrote Dmitri in barely legible scribble."I have three i's in my name, not two."

"Well, Dimitri with three i's, I would tell you I will spell it right next time, but since I'm a barista, that will never happen. Now, please, let me never see you here this early again." I said with the biggest, shiniest, most non-threatening smile, following Stan's exact instructions.

He smiled back, stating, "We will see," before turning around and finding an armchair to sit in by the window. Somehow, I felt more threatened by his last words than he was by mine. What happened? Had I lost my ability, which I am very proud of, to threaten people?

I continued with the rest of the morning activities, like cleaning down the shelves, sometimes shooting a glance at Dimitri. He had pulled a book out of thin air, and was deeply engrossed in it, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me.

By the time the regulars started arriving just past six o'clock, he was on the way out.

—-

Lissa pranced in at nine thirty, looking peppy, holding a Starbucks coffee in her manicured hand.

"Really?" I shot her coffee a look, before returning to the order I was making. "Stan will burn a puppy if he sees that."

She looks stricken at my comment. "Don't joke about that, I will start an animal rights protest right outside this place if I hear of Stan hurting any puppies. You know I have my contacts."

I rolled my eyes at her. "Liss, I know too much about your animal rights contacts."

She looked satisfied at my response, and continued, "Anyway, I really needed the caffeine hit after yesterday, I couldn't wait 'til here. I will buy something though… do you still have those scones? I'll have that."

I handed my customer their iced caramel latte, wishing them a good day, and then moved onto putting a scone on a plate for Lissa.

As she was finding the cash, I finally start to relax, since the morning rush was over. My mind started to wander, and when she handed me a twenty I would now need to break, I asked, "Hey, did you know Russia has eleven time zones?"

She stopped picking at the scone.

"Yeah, it kind of figures, considering just how huge Russia is." She says.

"That's crazy though! It's morning in one part of Russia, afternoon in another, and evening in another!"

Lissa nods and chews her scone, not leaving the counter.

"So," she draws out, "was he cute? The guy who told you about this?"

In response, I throw a piece of her scone at her face.

—

It's my third year of college, and this semester, by some sort of miracle, I had managed to get all my classes to start after eleven a.m. But apparently, due to the karmic energy thinking my life was going too smoothly right now, Stan managed to overhear me bragging about it to Mason.

I was so close to quitting on the spot when I saw the work schedule for September/October and all the five a.m. shifts I would have.

I am hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt. I remind myself as I get out of the bed every day.

I cannot afford to quit. I repeat to myself, as morning shifts pass by in a breeze of angry customers and annoying co-workers.

I need an education. I tell myself every time I punch in at work at four fifty nine.

But now, the normal morning ritual changed slightly. The last mantra I repeat to myself is: Maybe Dimitri will come today.

—-

The first time he returns, after four days and two morning shifts, my annoyance wins out. No matter how cute the customer, making me work before six a.m. was downright rude. And also, he was interrupting me while I was applying mascara.

I stick the tube away and glare as he makes his way across the store. He looks just as good as last time, and my glaring still does not seem to affect him in the slightest.

"Did you not understand me last time? We're not actually open."

"Really? You want me to ask your boss about that?" He says, already looking for change.

"Don't drag my boss into this. He's busy stealing the pacifiers from babies and stepping on ducklings."

"One coffee with milk, please." He says, while handing me the cash. His hands were warm and rough over mine.

"Stop being so goddamn courteous and be insulted enough to never come here again." I respond, while doodling his name on a cup and getting to work.

"You are going to have to try harder, if that's your goal. I have three sisters who made being rude to me a mission while growing up." He smiles at the memory, and I realise I want to hear more about this mysterious guy and his weird morning habits and his family back in Russia.

"Are you really challenging me? Because, let me tell you, I broke a girls arm in high school. It was not accidentally either."

I scanned his face for a reaction, but the only response I got was, "I think I'm a little stronger than a teenage girl."

Seriously? Will nothing freak this guy out? I literally just told him one of the worst things I've done. Well, one of many.

"Sure you are." I say, scanning his chest and arm muscles. "After this, you'll probably go work out, then have a healthy and fibrous breakfast, and then start your nine to five job."

When he didn't respond, I continued, "God, I hit the nail on the head, didn't I? You're one of those people that has gotten their lives just totally figured out."

Somehow, that made him even more attractive to me.

With a rueful smile, he counters, "And you're one of those people who brags about breaking the arms of teenagers."

"Hold up," I hold his finished coffee out of his reach. "That was a threat, not a brag, but I do see where I went wrong there. Next time I wanna threaten someone, I'll say I broke the arm of this early customer who was super buff."

I hand him his coffee, after he's done shaking his head at me. He was about the reply, but I get surprised when I hear him laughing instead. Is there anything about him that wasn't attractive? It was unfair.

"Really? Dimitri with three eyes?" He asks, his brown eyes twinkling with laughter at the little drawing I had done on his cup. Instead of writing i's, I had drawn a little eye in their places.

"Yes, I'm pretty funny, aren't I." I give him my shit eating smile, and then I wonder how this encounter had progressed from me glaring at him to genuinely smiling. "Now, go drink your nasty coffee and let me finish my makeup."

"You don't like coffee?"

After I shook my head, he starts laughing even more. He muttered something about irony, but I was too focused on my mascara to really listen.

—-

I thought we'd hit a jackpot when Lissa and I had found this apartment a few months ago. It was affordable, walking distance from campus and work, and the toilets seemed to flush properly. There was nothing to complain about, which lead Liss to sign the lease basically on the spot. The place lived up to its potential. There were no complaints to be made during summer. We had had a very dry summer, which was why, when the storm session started, we were not prepared in the slightest.

The roof was fucking leaking. And everything was wet.

The water had already shorted most of the electrical appliances, so right now I was racing to save all the (expensive) college books and papers and notes that I could, while simultaneously trying to set up buckets and tins and even an ashtray to try and collect all the dripping rain water.

"Grab some more buckets or bins or something, would ya?" I yell at Lissa, while trying to spread a plastic sheet over the couch, which was already very wet at this point. My hair was plastered to my skull, so much so that I barely saw Lissa enter the living room with two more buckets and her phone wedged between her shoulder and her ear. She had been trying to reach the landlord for over half an hour now, and she looked about ready to strangle him.

I found places for the two new buckets, and then sank to the floor with a kitchen towel to start cleaning puddles.

"No, no- I need his personal number. No, I don't care that you shouldn't be giving that number out, his work phone is off and this is an emergency. Yes, an emergent emergency- Look, everything we own is being drenched-"

Before Lissa could finish her explanation, I took her cellphone from her and started talking myself. While Lissa's good natured presence had a positive effect on many occasions, this was not one of them. "Listen up. Either give us his number, or I will personally make it my life's mission to be as big an inconvenience to you as you are to us right now. And trust me, I am a motherfucking big inconvenience when I put my mind to it. So please, do us both this favour and take the easy way out, which would be by giving us the damn number."

There was silence on the other end of the phone while the landlords' secretary mulled over my vague threats.

"I could be outside your front door demanding that number in about twenty minutes. Would you rather want that?" I ask.

With a sigh, she answer, "Fine. Just don't tell him it was me."

I wrote down the number she gave me, and hung up. When I looked up at Lissa, she looked slightly awed.

"Amazing. No matter how many persuasive speech or rhetoric classes I take, your threats will always be more effective."

Lissa then tries to snatch the phone back from me to call the landlord. What she didn't account for was the slickness of my fingers due to all the water, and this sent the phone flying, right into a bucket of dirty rain water, finishing its fall with a loud plop.

I jump down to grab the phone out the water, but the damage was already done. I look at Lissa, who stood completely still, waiting for a reaction after the initial shock, but boy, was I not expecting what I got. She took one look at the soaked phone and started sobbing her eyes out.

She took the phone from me and hurried towards the kitchen, trying to stifle her cries with her other hand, and I followed on her heels.

"Lissa? Lissa, what's wrong?"

"My- my phone…" She started filling a plastic bag with rice, before placing the phone in the bag.

"Liss, you know the rice trick normally fixes it. Remember how many times I dropped my phone in the toilet? Shhhh, it'll be okay." I wrapped my arms around Lissa as she sunk to the floor clutching the bag of rice to her chest.

"I can't- I can't-" She cried, uncontrollable, heartbreaking sobs shaking her frail form, and I moved so that her head was resting on my shoulders.

"Everything's so fucked. How did we get here? The apartment has no roof, we have no family, I am behind on all my assignments, he proposed to me-" Her ranting was interrupted by her sobbing, and I hugged her insanely tight, trying to transfer all my love and comfort for her through the touch.

I hush her, slightly rocking back and forth, noticing how a small puddle was forming not far away. There was a time I had been ridiculously jealous of Lissa. At sixteen, Liss had had a loving, albeit repressed, family that allowed her a happy childhood. She grew up in a financially stable, borderline rich, environment and had her first proper relationship with the "dream guy"; she had even gotten a early application scholarship to an ivy league. By seventeen, her family had died, and all the rest of it didn't matter to her anymore. She became seriously depressed, and no money or relationship she had could fix it. The only one who could slightly help, was me. I was her last piece of family left, while she had always been my first piece of "family". Although, even now, she still had the family fortune and the same "dream guy", I know she would give both up in a split second for me if she had to, just as I would. She had already proven that once, when she refused her ivy league acceptance to go to the same second rate college as me. It made my heart swell, even though this was as much for her, as it was for me. We couldn't be separated, no matter who tried.

Once she quieted down, I started to try to find out what caused this breakdown - other than the dead phone, of course.

"Wait, so let's backtrack. Aaron… He proposed?!"

Wordlessly, she nodded against my shoulder. Her tears had soaked straight through my shirt.

"So, um… What did you say?"

"I told him," her voice was shaky, but humour leaked through, "I told him I'd think about it. He did everything exactly by the book: the dinner was so romantic, with roses and candles and champagne, and he looked so dreamy, and the ring was beautiful and exactly my style. And oh my God, the speech he gave? I couldn't have written anything better. Yet, when it came to an answer? I told him I'd think about it. As if he were offering to open a joint savings account. Which, I guess he was."

Lissa had slid down, so her head was resting in my lap, and I was running my fingers through her silky hair, an action I knew she enjoyed and calmed her down.

"Well, dude, I think it's about time I say this." I said.

"Hmm?" She raised an eyebrow.

"You…" I hesitated, "You don't love him. I mean, you love him, of course. Just… not in the right way, and you know this, deep down. It's the reason you didn't accept. He's comfortable, and easy, and fun, and there's no surprises, so you've confused that feeling of security with love."

Lissa didn't respond, keeping her eyes closed as I kept going with my fingers.

"Aaron, he's a part of your life from before the- the crash. Your parents and brother met Aaron, as your boyfriend. So obviously, you would want to stay with him, because your parents and brother won't meet your next boyfriend. But, love is something special, at least from what I've heard, and you really should not settle on this. They wouldn't have wanted you to."

Then there's a silence as I wait for her to react. I know for sure that I would have been mad at hearing this from someone, but with Lissa, it was always hard to tell exactly how she'd react on matters concerning her parents.

"You know," she cracked open an eye with a serene smile, "for someone who's such a pessimist, you're ridiculously idealist."

I laugh with relief at her response, pausing my fingers. "I know exactly how bizarre my personality is. Now, let's try to save what little there is to save of this apartment."

"Hmm. No, there's no point. Keep doing the hair thing, instead."

—-

Dimitri's third visit had officially made it a routine for me. Profusely swearing at him, and even adding obscene gestures, didn't affect him at all. On his forth time at the shop, I was so hungover I barely passed him his coffee before I had to excuse myself to the bathroom. It wasn't until he had left that I realised I didn't even charge him, but it turned out he had left the exact change on the counter. Thank God Stan never leaves his office before seven thirty, because that could've gotten me in a lot of trouble.

By the fifth time Dimitri came, I rolled my eyes at his entrance, making it clear for him to see, but I had to turn away and begin making his coffee before he arrived at the counter, because of the treacherous smile that stretched across my face. It was hard to admit, but seeing him cheered me up just a little bit.

"So, I've been doing some research to fix this whole, eleven time zones problem." I start.

"I didn't know it was a problem." He rubs his eyes, the only sign that might alert attention to how early it is. You know, aside from the darkness outside.

"We both know it's a problem. Apparently, although China technically crosses five time zones, after some civil war, the government just decided to say 'fuck it' and abolished time zones all together in China, so now they only have one. Do you think anyone has told Putin that that was an option?" I finished his coffee and passed it to him, fingers brushing his a little longer than necessary. If he noticed, he didn't draw any attention to it.

He looked slightly impressed and slightly exasperated.

"I understand that time is simply a social construct, but if you turn eleven time zones into one, all you do is create a mess. While the clock will say five a.m. over all of Russia, it will actually already be afternoon is some places and even evenings in others. Not to mention how that will mess with the circadian rhythms of the people. And also, which time zone do you choose to be the prominent one? I think doing what the Chinese did will cause more problems than it will solve."

"Wow," I raise my hands in a sign of defeat. "That was way too much analytical thinking this early in the morning. All I needed was a 'Great idea, Rose. I'll leave you a tip for thinking of that.'"

I caught a glimpse of a smile on his face, which was soon replaced by bashfulness as he said, "Sorry, I forget about the American tipping culture," before throwing a few coins in the jar.

"You're forgiven," I say, since the change would probably add up to around three dollars. "Now back to the point: I actually think I'd enjoy living in a place where five a.m. is actually one p.m. Like, my work hours would be so much more doable."

"Well, mine wouldn't. My nine to five job would actually be from six in the evening to two in the morning." Although all our transactions were through, Dimitri continued hovering by the counter. Not that I wasn't enjoying it.

"Ha! I'm liking the aspect of this time skewed place more and more." I grinned at him, and starting fiddling with my ponytail to hide the nerves I was getting in anticipation of my next question. "What do you do, though? I mean, you know where I work, and how this works into the stereotype of the broke college student I am embodying, but I think I deserve to know how I can stereotype you, aside from the Russian stereotype you already got going, Comrade."

I shut myself up, and hope he doesn't notice the heat rising into my cheeks.

He quirked an eyebrow at the nickname, but didn't mention it. Thank God. His eyes were trained onto the hands in my hair, as if I were doing something much more fascinating than adjusting the hair tie. "Um, I work at a law firm. Pretty low in the food chain right now. I also teach self defence classes twice a week."

"Oh. So, you're the hero type. Defender of the downtrodden. Saviour to the broken." I had been told by a shrink my habit of compartmentalising people was extremely unhealthy and would lead to me being disappointed in the people I was categorising. Not that it stopped me from doing it.

"Well, not exactly hero; it's a lot more complicated than that. But, I guess that's the goal."

"Of course it is. Isn't it always?"

Dimitri smiled at me, as if he had just figured something out. "Well, to us? Maybe. But I can promise you, there are people out there with very other ideals."

The doorbell rang, and snapped me out of my Dimitri haze. Apparently, it was already time for the regulars to start coming in, and I was seriously behind on the morning tasks. Dimitri took this as his cue to leave, waving before finding his place at the window, but I realised how many questions I still had to ask. Or what I could still tell him. I didn't even mention Liss was also studying to be a lawyer.

Oh well. Next time.

—-

Over the years, I had developed a certain talent that other's envied. That being, I was completely able to zone out people yelling at me, which came in especially useful when it involved Stan yelling. Mason had yet to master this skill, and that is why, when it came to rush hour at the coffee shop between eight and nine a.m., he stood at the coffeemaker so I could shout the orders at him. Also, he might be better at actually making cappuccinos and shit, but you'll never hear me admit that.

"Mase, two iced lattes, and another salted caramel latte." I yell, before phonily smiling at the next customer.

I could feel his annoyed stare at the back head. "For the love of God, can you not just write it down?"

"I would, but that would be too easy for you. You've already dropped college; I'm just training your mind so cobwebs don't grow up there."

Mason turned around to hand two older ladies their cappuccinos with a 'have a nice day'. They smiled back as if they had just fallen a little bit in love with him and his fiery mane.

After that, his smile turned condescending, "How cute, you think you can help that? You can't even add up the coins to make the proper change."

I twisted round to smack him. "Shut up, that happened no more than like, four times."

"Four times that I witnessed. I'm gonna start asking around."

I glare at him, but then I see Stan's stare from across the room, so I start taking orders again. This is an age-old game Mason and I play: the 'who is dumber' game. Mason gave me plenty of ammunition when he dropped out of college his second year into a business major and took a year long trip around south-east Asia. I gave him a lot of material by… well, by just being me.

After a few more customers come in and forget to leave tips, the wave calms down and for a few minutes the happy chattering of the late morning customers, mostly pregnant women and old couples, calms me down. Then, a thought strikes me.

"Mase!" I turn to face him, gripping one of his biceps, "Wow, have you been working out? Without me? We should really put all those muscles to some practical use."

"Oh no. What are you trying to rope me into?" He shot me a suspicious look, while cleaning the coffee machine.

"Nothing, nothing," I say in a singsong voice, "I was just wondering if you had plans this weekend, you know how terrible my separation anxiety gets when we're separated for too long."

He rolled his eyes at me, but I could see in his smile that my comment pleased him. "Eddie got us tickets to a new club opening at a place called Butchers on Saturday. I'm really psyched, I heard it's gonna be bloody."

"Um, I'm offended! How come I wasn't invited? You know my love for gore… But I mean, I could forgive you, if you just stayed awake after Butchers and came straight over to my place."

"What? Why?"

"Well, Lissa and I are kinda moving Sunday."

Realization dawned on him. "Right! The ceiling! You guys found a new place so fast?"

"Yea, it's just a few minutes from the dorms, so we got really lucky. I swear, Liss hypnotised him or something to make him let us moving in so fast. So… how much would I need to annoy you to get you to agree?"

"Sorry, no amount will work, I'm on babysitting duty for my sister Sunday." He looked apologetic, but I knew he was bullshitting the sympathy.

"Oh, you suddenly remembered that?"

"I do have family obligations once in a while, Rose. Otherwise, I'd love to be at your beck and call every other minute of my life." His sarcasm didn't help me out.

"Well fine, go play happy family. I'll have to find another victim," I say, just before a good-looking twenty year old with bronze hair walked through the door. He looked like he walked right off the runway. Not an ideal candidate, since he looked lanky, but it'll do.

"And speaking of the devil," I flashed the new guy my most seductive smile, wishing I was wearing my hair down, so I could play with it. Instead, I leaned over to give him a better view of my chest. Cheap tactics, I know.

"Are you thinking clearly? A random customer? Rose!" I could feel the disapproval and jealousy leaking off Mason behind me, but I didn't let it bother me. I start to think about another random customer. Dimitri had come in this morning, and I tell myself the only reason I was checking out his arm muscles was to evaluate how good he would be at moving.

I snap out of that thought when this new guy gets to the counter.

"Hi," I say.

"Hi," he responds, eyes flashing down my shirt. It's ridiculous how easy this was gonna be.

"What can I do for you?" I continue smiling, not breaking the eye contact.

"A cortado, please." He also doesn't break the eye contact as he hands me the cash. His fingers linger on mine. Along with the money, he gives me a business card. I had to give it to this guy, he knew how to be smooth.

"Okay," - I look down at the card to identify him - "Jesse, your cortado will be up in a minute. Are you taking it to-go?" I made a big action of slipping his card down my front jean pocket, and enjoyed watching his eyes linger on the rest of my body.

"Y-yes, I am. Wish I could take you to-go too." He said, licking his lips.

Wow, that was one of the worst pick up lines I've heard. But if I'm one thing, I'm no quitter, so I reply: "Sorry, I'm not part of the package deal, you'll need to pay extra."

After winking at him, I scribble his order, name and my phone number on his cup before giving it to Mason, who looked like a cross between a disapproving father and jealous boyfriend.

While the order was being made, I take the opportunity to actually get to know Jesse. Apparently, he has a business bachelor and is now working for his fathers' firm. It was easy talking, because he could ramble on about himself, but he never got around to asking me what I did, other than being a barista. When Mason came with the coffee, Jesse looked down at the number I wrote, and I shrugged.

"Just returning the favour. Hope to see you soon!" And with that, Jesse was gone. Now, it was time to wait.

Mason stared at me.

"What?" I cross my arms, reflecting his posture.

"Are you serious about this trust-fund baby, or are you really so desperate for help moving this weekend?"

I hummed, "Can't it be a mix of both?"

He looked baffled, "That guy has never had to lift a box in his life! There is no way you will get him to help you move."

"I can be very persuasive," I smirk, giving him the same man eater smile from before. Mason looked like he was about to fall over. I was being cruel; I knew of Mason's crush, so I was just playing with him at this point. Maybe punishing him for not being available.

Then, I feel the buzzing of my phone, and see a text from an unknown number. Hook, line and sinker.

——-

"What… are you doing?"

I spin around, surprised at how easily he had snuck up on me, to see Dimitri, hair messy, due to the stormy weather, and a bandage around his right hand and arm. He was wearing a nice sweater today, which was stretching very nicely to accommodate his wide shoulders. Damn.

"Nothing," I shoved the cards back into their hiding place, and return to the till to serve him the usual. Yet, before I start, my hands hesitate.

I turn once again, to see Dimitri trying to tame the mess that the wind had done to his hair. When he sees me looking at him, he gives me a 'What do you want?' kind of look.

"How about a little variation? For once? I'm tired of making the same coffee, and people tell me mixing up habits are good for the health."

"Okay," He conceeds, which completely throws me off pace, because Dimitri is not the kind of person that seems to buy into my bullshit.

"I'll have a coffee…" he continues, "without milk."

The conversation skips a beat as I stare at him, deadpan.

"Now you're just fucking with me."

He smiled, in a way which gave away that he most certainly was.

"Fine, I knew convincing you would be hard." I start with the regular coffee routine, "But like, I'm cramming for a psych test right now, on all sorts of mental diseases, and I'm pretty sure coming to a coffee shop just to order plain coffee and none of these other caramel-y or gingerbread-y drinks was a symptom for some disease."

"Is that what you were doing over there? Cramming?" He points to the to-go station, where we had lids and coffee sleeves, and where I had also hidden some flashcards I had stolen from Lissa. I had a bunch spread out over the whole shop, so I could have little study sessions while doing the usual morning chores. Dimitri have walked in on me while I was filling up the station with the essentials, and also trying to remember what exactly somatic symptom disorder is.

I was always glad when Lissa and I have a shared class. We usually tried to fit one class we both found interesting into our schedules, although our majors were vastly different. I mean, if nothing else, extra credit was always good. This semester, we had both decided on trying out 'Abnormal Psychology', which sounds a lot cooler than it actually turns out to be. Apparently, Lissa had already known this before signing up for the class, yet hadn't warned me, so I felt completely justified when I took her meticulous flashcards for ab psych out of her bag before work today.

"Well yeah, we have a test next week, which is worth like twenty percent of our grade." I, however, had no time this weekend to study, since I was packing and moving, so now seemed like the perfect time to study.

"And what class is it for?"

"Abnormal psychology."

"You're a psychology major?" He seemed surprised.

"No… I'm doing a degree in social work. This is an extra credit class." For some reason, admitting my major caused a flush to go over me. It felt personal, as I had only recently decided this to be my major.

"So, the hero type, huh?" Dimitri parroted back the words to me from a previous conversation, with a sly glint in his eyes, and the grin that stretched across my face would under normal circumstances have been embarrassing.

"Along those lines, yes." I had to break eye contact with him at this point, cause I could barely contain my giddiness at having some sort of inside joke with Dimitri.

"Tell me, does telling your customers they're mentally ill ever help business?"

I hummed, "Definitely, it actually helps attract customers. My hourly rate as a psychologist is very price competitive."

He rolls his eyes fondly, before buying the coffee and taking it from me. He goes to sit down at his usual table in the corner, by the window, and was already absorbed in some book when I look back at him a few seconds later.

I return to the to-go station, to finish up filling it up and to finish those flashcards, and then I move onto straightening up the magazines scattered on coffee tables and the various array of chairs. Intermittently, I find the flashcards I hid just before my shift started.

'What are the main categories of the DSM-5, and which disorders have become more developed since the previous edition?' Lissa's loopy cursive stares up at me, and the only thought that repeats itself in my head is I don't give a fuck I don't give a fuck I don't give a fuck I don't give a fuck…

Studying and school had always been tough for me. College definitely did not seem to be in my cards, especially considering my high school grades. But, after Lissa's family all died, I knew I could not leave her alone at college. I got into the best college I could, which was one of Lissa's safety schools, and after two years, I ended up being the only sophomore still without a major. That was, until I got a verbal beating by one of my advisors and chose Social Work, because I had always been a very street smart person.

I mindlessly continued cleaning and straightening the tables, until I reached the one in the corner. The one Dimitri was sitting at, completely engrossed in the book, yet I still had the feeling he could sense where I was standing.

Before I really thought it through, and before I even considered Stan kicking my ass for it, I plonked down onto the worn armchair opposite Dimitri and grabbed the stack of flashcards from under the newspapers from yesterday.

Dimitri looked over the top of his book, which had an image of a guy and a horse on it, and said, "Hey."

"Hey," I responded, before we both engrossed ourselves in our choice of (forced) literature. It was surprising how comfortable I felt, just doing my own thing with him so close to me. I had always been one to fill any sort of silence with chatter.

It was around the fifth flashcard that I felt his stare on me.

"What?" I looked up to meet his intense eyes, focused just above my eyes.

"How can you look so confused at material you've already gone over in class?" He asked, and I realized he was looking at my scrunched eyebrows. Attractive, Rose, well done.

"I swear I have never heard of half of these terms before."

"And were you listening in the lectures? Taking notes?"

I snorted, "These aren't even my flashcards."

I got my second eye roll of the day. Unexpectedly, he reached over and grabbed the cards out of my hands smoothly.

"Let me help. I did a course on psychology too." He said, eyes scanning the questions. Before I was finished gaping at him, he was already asking the first question: "What is the difference between the cognitive, behavioural and biological approach to psychology?"

When I didn't respond, he looked up again. His look challenged a response from me, and I was definitely not backing down.

"Fine, let's see. They're all medical models to treat mood disorders. The biological approach is the easiest, because the theory is just these disorders are caused by the physical or biological factors, like genetics and neurotransmitters. The behavioural approach is about how, the environment and stimuli affect our behaviour and manage to condition us into certain behaviour. Therefore, through a change of environment, we also change our behaviour… or something along those lines. And cognitive is, um, about mental pathways and mental functions?" - Dimitri nodded, to urge me along - "Well, cognitive looks at the way a patient thinks, like how they process information, what functions they use, like their memory, or their sense perception."

When I finished speaking, heat rushed to my cheeks as I saw the proud smile on Dimitri's face. Man, does he look good.

"I knew you could do it." I smiled back at him, but he cut me off as I opened my mouth, "No time to slack though, we have quite a few cards to go through."

That was how we spent a good twenty minutes, and I could feel myself getting more and more confident in my answers. I still didn't know a lot of answers, but just listening to Dimitri tell me the answer in that deep voice of his was a treat of its own.

"Okay, so dissociative disorders are when-"

"Hathaway!" Stan's roar made my jump to my feet and nearly fall onto Dimitri. "What in the hell do you think you are doing?"

Snapping back to reality, the clock told me it was just past six, and I was very much behind on the chores I had set out to do. Stan was approaching close, looking about ready to pop a clot. Uh oh.

I shot Dimitri a smile, and whisper to him, "Okay, thanks so much for the help, I really appreciate it."

"It was fun," he replied, looking as if he had also just been caught doing something illicit.

I was just able to hide the cards down my shirt, knowing Stan wouldn't put his hands down there. This only seemed to enrage him more.

"Hathaway." His voice was low, so Dimitri wouldn't overhear, but the warning was clear. "You better get your ass moving in less than a second, or that ass will be very unemployed. Also, you are getting five minutes of your pay pulled."

And with that scolding, I returned to the hell that was work, with a little more knowledge of abnormal psychology.

—-

02:51 from "Jesse" - Hey, I'm at a club, wanna join? ;)

04:07 from "Jesse" - Guess you were asleep, sorry for the late text.

04:23 from "Jesse" - I had a real fun time last time we met, how about a round two? I'll make it up for having to go so early the last time ;)

04:34 from "Jesse" - How did moving going, by the way?

I arrive at the lecture hall, winded and fashionably late from my shift at the cafe. Slipping into a seat at the back, it takes me all of seven minutes to get bored of the econ teacher going on and on about supply and demand. I pull out my phone to re-read the texts Jesse sent last night, not replying and not giving a fuck that he could see I'd seen them. I fucking hate his stupid winky faces. I opened Lissa's contact and start texting.

11:43 to "Liss3" - i cant believe i slept with him

11:47 from "Liss3" - it sounded like you were enjoying yourself :P

11:49 to "Liss3" - i was faking

11:50 to "Liss3" - but seriously, what was i thinking

11:54 from "Liss3" - lol

11:55 from "Liss3" - i think your thoughts were along the lines of, 'if i sleep with on Saturday, he'll pass out and he'll stay the night, so when he wakes up on Sunday, he has to help us move because he'll feel indebted cause i slept him'

11:55 to "Liss3" - see that sounds like such a great plan! ingenious! how did that not work!

11:57 from "Liss3" - cause you slept with a fuckboy

11:57 from "Liss3" - what was his excuse again? :P

12:00 to "Liss3" - omg dont remind me. ill never hear the end of it from mason

12:01 to "Liss3" - he said he can't lift heavy things or put pressure on his wrists

12:01 to "Liss3" - because he sprained them PLAYING GOLF.

12:01 to "Liss3" - PLAYING GOLF LISSA.

12:02 from "Liss3" - ahahahahahhahhaha :D at least now you can cross sleeping with a "weak-wristed guy" off your bucket list

12:04 to "Liss3" - ive been with a gay guy, so it's already crossed off

12:05 from "Liss3" - ROSE. Limp-wristed is a slur, dont say that. its really offensive :/

12:06 to "Liss3" - sorry, sorry!

12:06 to "Liss3" - Bad joke, I apologize. seriously 3

12:07 to "Liss3" - anyways, what are you up to? This prof is boring the shit out of me

12:10 from "Liss3" - Im in the library now, I went to my criminality prof's open hours :)

12:10 from "Liss3" - now im going to study for that psych test that's like 20 percent of our grade tomorrow.

12:12 to "Liss3" - neeeeerd.

12:13 from "Liss3" - hey, do you know where my flashcards are? for psych? i swear i put them in my bag.

12:17 from "Liss3" - ?

12:21 from "Liss3" - you took them didn't you,

12:26 from "Liss3" - bitch

——-

When Dimitri came in Wednesday morning, I was surprised at how sore my muscles still were when I started making the coffee. Moving had been an organised chaos, with me being the brawn and Lissa the brains. Since my recruiting didn't go exactly as planned, I ended up carrying most of our belonging up the four flights of stairs alone. But it was ridiculous that my muscles were still bitching at me, three days after the move.

I started stretching out my arms and legs, hoping to relieve some of the pain, but I only realised how strange my actions must have appeared until I turned to face Dimitri, who seemed to have registered my movements.

"Sore?" He asked.

We could do things that would make me sore in the best kind of way… I push that thought out as soon as it enters my head.

"Yeah," I said, wringing out my wrists. "I moved apartments on Sunday, and both places didn't have elevators. So it was down three flights of stairs in my old apartment and up four flights in the new one."

"That's a lot for your muscles to take. Did you stretch afterwards?"

"No," I said in the most 'dub' voice possible, "I didn't work out. You only need to stretch after work-outs."

"But you moved apartments, which required strenuous physical activity." He replied, in the most 'duh' voice possible.

"Well, yeah."

He raised an eyebrow at me, and let it be silent for a moment, as if hoping it would click in my mind. What he didn't seem to understand yet, was just how stubborn I was. So I raised my eyebrows right back.

He ended up being the first to talk, with an eye roll.

"That's the definition of a work out."

"And you're the definition of a smartass, smartass." I crossed my arms, but at the sight of his smile in response to my comment, I felt my soreness evaporate. God, did his smile do sacrilegious things to me.

"Just… maybe stretch next time." He raised his hands in defeat.

"God, please let there not be a next time. I don't need the ceiling to collapse on me again."

"Hmm? Your ceiling collapsed?"

"Well, not literally, but basically. The ceiling had so many leeks in it I don't know how it didn't collapse. We should probably sue for reckless endangerment. Do you know any good lawyers?" I winked and grinned, leaning forward.

He leans into me as well, on a microscopic level, but I'm taking everything I can get. When he realises what he's doing, he leans back and seems shocked with himself, but regains composure fast.

"One or two. You might have a case there but… I don't know if you could afford me."

Was he… Was this his strange way of flirting? Because if it was, it would definitely be something I could get into.

"Helping out two college girls pro bono is good for the public image. It could even get you some sort of 'valiant hero' award."

He smiles, and I realize the colour of his brown eyes is so dark, it's hard to distinguish between the pupil and the iris. They were intense… and intoxicating. We slip into a silence of looking at each other, which passes all too quickly when Dimitri shakes himself out of it.

"You know, I had a leaky roof as well, when I was a kid. I think I was twelve, and it was the middle of winter so the snow was about a metre high, surprisingly little for that time of year, and the roof just got too wet, so it started snowing in the living room."

"No way! Shit!"

"Yeah, you never appreciate just how wet snow is, until its inside your house. But basically, all the roads were blocked due to the snow, and the handyman in our town couldn't reach us, so my mother, grandmother and I had to get up on the roof in the evening and cover all the holes with extra wooden planks. The problem was, first we had to find the leaks, which were all covered in heavy snow. The story ends in my grandmother and I getting a bad cold for about a week."

I laugh, more in awe than anything else. If this guy had been this tough since his childhood, then I had some serious catching up to do. He's smart, he knows how to fight and now he's handy? I might have just fallen a little in love.

"I feel like any time I have a shitty experience, you can just one up me with the 'Russia edition' of the same experience. Like, what if I told you about the pregnancy scare I had at seventeen?"

He raised his eyebrow, and let there be a moment of silence before responding.

"I'd tell you my big sister got pregnant at seventeen and kept the baby."

"See! You'll always one up me!"

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to collect some loose strands back into his ponytail. He wasn't successful, but oh, did I appreciate watching this.

"Well then, I'd rather you don't have more bad experiences, because then I wouldn't have to experience a worse version of it."

"Wait, what? What kind of logic is that?"

"I think it's what you would like to call Rose logic." His eyes twinkled with mirth. He really seemed to enjoy it when he managed to baffle me. I couldn't have that.

"Hey, do not mess with the master of Rose logic. I have made men cry with that logic." He smiled, not making eye contact, and I could sens he was steeling himself for something.

"All I'm trying to say is: next time you need help with something like this, I'm always willing to help. I've moved a pretty long way from home, so I'd consider myself pretty good at it, and also, I heard I might get a 'valiant hero' award if I help two college girls pro bono?"

Oh.

His smile, mingled with his words, cause my brain to scramble for a moment. He offered to help me, a near stranger, move. Me, the person who had deceivingly slept with someone, just to try and get them to help. I really didn't deserve this kind of man, but yet…

"Thank you Dimitri, I will definitely call you next time I have any minor inconvenience in my life."

I cringe at the lame joke I made, but also at the fact that it made aware that there was no contact between me and Dimitri other than these mornings at the coffee shop. I didn't have his number, nor did I know his last name, so there could also be no social media stalking. Although he doesn't seem like the social media type.

But all Dimitri does is smile, and it's a sweet smile which I return, and then we're just smiling at each other like complete idiots. What is happening to me?

He turns to leave and go sit down to read the Western that is always with him, but before he can go I force myself to ask,

"Dimitri… What's your last name?"

He looked surprised, but answered, "Belikov. Dimitri Belikov. What's yours?"

"I'm Rose Hathaway," I say.

"Nice to meet you, Rose Hathaway."

I wave him off and return to my other duties, but this dumb smile Dimitri installed on my face wouldn't leave. What a dumb crush I was having. He probably had a girlfriend and a put together life. He wouldn't want to deal with the mess that comes with being with me.

But those facts didn't stop me from pulling out my phone and deleting Jesse's number once and for all.

Dimitri would have helped me move.

—-—-