A/N: Hello everyone! Vix here with a brand new fanfic for a (kind of?) crack pairing that I so-happened to fall in love with. After obsessing over them for a few weeks I've finally come up with a decent story! It's an AU, entirely, in which Jim and Dimitri are normal people on this normal earth in present day. For those who've been following my stories on deviantART and elsewhere, everyone knows my stories are never normal. There's always some weird shit going on, and if not that, then it's just downright depressing and someone dies. Trust me on this, I promise I won't kill Jim or Dimitri. This story is about a funny quirky relationship and therefore there shall be no random tragedy! :'D

I hope you guys enjoy it!
Also- if you don't know what the phobia in the title means, you'll find out eventually =u= or just look it up, I really don't care xD


Chapter 1

The first thing Jim Hawkins thought to himself as he was laying on the ground, face-first into the pavement was this-

Are you kidding me!?

It wasn't his fault the light had turned red that fast. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he slowed down his motorcycle like any normal person would because wow, big surprise! The light turned red. That means that most people stop. Sure, Jim wasn't the best driver- he sped too much, he got lost in the feeling of the wind whipping his hair back and the rush and excitement of speed... but he wasn't a moron, unlike the dipshit behind him.

He slowed down, pressing gently on the brakes when something slammed into him, and he was in the air in a moment, and then his head was spinning inside his helmet (which for the first time in a long time he agreed to wear, after lectures from his mother), and his body was sore. Some idiot slammed into him at the light, and sent him flying off, and now he was laying on the street like a sack of potatoes and people were probably laughing at him.

"Sir, are you alright? Sir!" A man's frantic voice was near his head and he felt his shoulder being gently shaken. Jim felt nothing but anger at that point; he wasn't hurt at all, but his motorcycle probably was, the motorcycle that meant the world to him. And the price would be costly, and it's all because of some idiot behind him that was texting or dozing off or-

"Don't touch me!" He hissed, sitting up and ripping off his helmet in exasperation. Jim's eyes blazed with anger, and he staggered to his feet, glaring at the man that spoke to him. He only studied the guy for a moment- pitiful brown eyes, a hand in his caramel-colored hair... he looked so guilty, but it didn't make Jim feel sympathetic at all. He was furious.

He quickly focused his attention to his motorcycle, rushing over to it and checking the back. He scrunched up his eyebrows as he stared at a dent right in the back, along with a tire that was quickly flattening. Jim grit his teeth, sighing in frustration and running a hand through his hair. "God dammit..."

"I'm so sorry, sir, I wasn't paying attention-" The man's voice came back to Jim, and in blinding fury, he whipped towards the brunette.

"Sorry won't fix this!" Jim snapped, gesturing with his arm towards the weakly rumbling motorcycle. "I can't afford to fix this thing because some... some idiot like you wasn't watching the road!" His chest rose and fell with anger, but mostly desperation filled him now. He hung his head and rubbed his temples in dread. "Mom's gonna be so pissed at me, we can't pay for this... shit..."

"Look, excuse me, but you're not giving me a chance to speak here," the man spoke up again, and Jim lifted his head, peering through his dark brown bangs. He was still angry, but his rage had calmed down. He decided to let the blundering idiot talk for a moment. "It was completely my fault, so I think I should take responsibility. Can we exchange information so I can pay for this?"

Jim stared at the man in shock, freezing in place for only a minute. But, once the fact settled in, Jim wasn't gonna look stupid and act super thankful. He wasn't done giving this man a piece of his mind. Though, he didn't want to piss him off too bad, or else he may just leave and not pay at all, and then Jim would really be fucked over for good.

"You know this will be expensive, right?" Jim started, narrowing his eyes. "Like, hundreds of dollars." The man nodded, his mind completely unchanged. Jim studied his face closely, but only saw complete honesty and guilt. He took a second to look over the guy's clothes; he was wearing a dress shirt, button up vest... he dressed nicely. And...

... holy shit, he had a beautiful and expensive car. Acura RLX, all in its gleaming jet-black glory. Jim stared at it for a moment, though decided not to look too awe-struck and contain his pissed-off demeanor. He set his helmet down on the seat of the motorcycle, brushing off dust from his fingerless leather gloves. He felt wind rush past him as cars drove around the two, honking their horns. Occasionally, a man with road-rage screamed at them to get out of the way. Though, Jim only flicked a few of them off, and then turned his attention back on the man who was rustling through his coat pockets.

"Again, I'll cover every penny," he said, pulling out a business card and a pen, scribbling down a few things and holding it out to Jim. Jim took the card, looking down at what he had written. His phone number and insurance. He flipped it over in curiosity, seeing the man's extremely extravagant name- Dimitri Floydorovich Sudayev. Jesus, what a mouthful. It was as pompous as his car.

"Well... Mr. Sudayev," Jim spoke slowly, leaning against his motorcycle and crossing one combat boot over the other. He lifted his eyelids and stuffed the card in his pocket, then held out his open palm. "I'm not as prepared as you and don't happen to have anything to write on or anything to write with. Mind lending me a card and pen?"

Dimitri placed the card face-down in his hand, and Jim took the pen, writing his name down, his number and his insurance. He handed it back to Dimitri, crossing his arms. Dimitri smiled a bit, which baffled Jim- what was the moron grinning about? He had to pay for some guy's insurance that he didn't know, and it'd probably be a hinderance to him, and yet he was smiling?

"What's so funny?" Jim snapped, and Dimitri lifted his eyes up, shrugging.

"Nothing, I'm just glad I can help," he responded. "Because, like, I do feel really bad about all of this. I shouldn't be trusted with such expensive things, and yet my parents still lavish me with this stuff."

"You sound ungrateful," Jim murmured, crossing his arms indignantly. "Well, anyways, I've gotta call a tow-truck to help me get out of here and home, so thanks for all of the help." He sort of spat out the last few words, feeling grateful that Dimitri was paying but also still pretty pissed that his motorcycle was screwed up and it wasn't even his fault this time.

"My pleasure," Dimitri responded, oblivious to Jim's sarcasm. Though, instead of leaving, he stood and watched Jim as he pulled out his scratched-up flip phone and dialed the number to the towing company, which he had saved in his contacts because this was probably the fifth time this year he has gotten in an accident. He explained to the man on the other line where he was and what happened, and then hung up, stuffing the phone in his pocket. He sighed and dropped his shoulders, glancing back at Dimitri, who was still standing there like an idiot.

"Why are you still here?" Jim asked slowly, raising an eyebrow in confusion. Dimitri's lips perked up into a smile, and he leaned forward a little.

"I just want to make sure the tow-truck gets here," he explained. "I would hate to leave you out here and all. If they don't come I'd get someone to pick you up."

"Just how rich are you?" Jim questioned bluntly.

"Quite," Dimitri said with a small laugh, "Quite rich. It's my family. My father has a high position in the government. I couldn't tell you what he does, though, all I know is that it makes a ton of cash." He grinned that quirky smile again, and Jim stared at him blankly. This guy looked so... sophisticated. He's one of those people you'd expect to have a british accent and use long complicated words that no one else understood. Though, to Jim's surprise, he was pretty... casual. Like a normal dude stuck in some rich family.

"What about your family?" Dimitri questioned earnestly, catching Jim a bit off-guard. It was like they were having a conversation, like friends would. It was freaking Jim out, but it felt so normal he couldn't help but to respond.

"My mom owns a small restaurant," he said shortly, not wanting to mention his father. Hoping Dimitri wouldn't ask, he elaborated just a bit. "It's called Sarah Anne's. Down on 88th street, near the bookstore."

"I've never been there," Dimitri commented, and paused as if he was thinking about something. "I'll stop by someday."

Jim didn't particularly like the idea of that, in fact, he'd rather stay away from rich people, but he didn't object. "We're best at bakery goods. Our bread is home-made."

"Sounds fantastic!"

Right about then, the tow-truck pulled up behind them, and Dimitri turned to Jim, holding out his hand. "I better get out of the way. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Hawkins." Jim almost didn't take his hand, but he did anyways, shaking it weakly before Dimitri rushed off into his expensive car and drove away. The truck inched closer and two men began attaching his motorcycle to a hook on the back.

Jim sighed and ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs back before they fell forwards again. Why was he cursed with such bad luck?