A/N: Well, here's chapter two! Please keep in mind that daily updates will not be the norm, though. I don't want to disappoint, but the reality of the matter is that I can't always sit down and write when I want to. Life sucks, but this is why I must become a published author — so I can sit around on my ass all day writing. :D

Anyway, THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU for the wonderful reviews. I try to make a point of responding to as many reviews as I can, as I always appreciate feedback, but for those of you I can't reply to, THANKS! Love you guys!

Without further ado, here's the chapter - a little longer, as promised.

Disclaimer: Do I still have to do this after the first chapter? Who knows? XD

The sun woke Tino before his alarm clock, so he got up a little early and turned it off before it could sound unexpectedly and scare him out of his skin. He took a quick shower and went through his morning rituals of dressing and brushing his teeth and hair. Refreshed and ready for his mid-morning lecture on the criminal mind, he left home with enough time to stop at his favorite coffee shop, the 24 Hour Espresso.

"Tino! Good morning!"

A blond man behind the espresso machine waved at him with gusto, almost knocking over his coworker who was growling something about the receipts being in a strange place. Tino returned the American's grin and thumbs up, hoping he noticed how far down his nose his glasses were sliding before they fell off altogether.

Jones, Alfred. Age 23. Diagnosis: Severe Hero Complex.

Tino stepped up to the counter and pulled out his wallet, smiling as a tall hot chocolate was ready before he had the money out to pay for it. The baristas here probably knew his tastes better than he did, and trusted him to the point where the student manning the register didn't even check to see if Tino had given exact change— he always did. Alfred aside, Tino knew most of the people who worked at this shop; it was one of the most popular places of employment for starving college students in the area.

"On your way to a lecture this morning, Tino?" the student at the register asked, brushing his dirty blond hair out of his eyes with an agitated motion. Tino smiled as he recognized the cashier instantly.

Kirkland, Arthur. Age 26. Diagnosis: Suffers chronic hallucinations, anger management issues.

"Yes," Tino replied, sipping his coffee and stepping to the side so the next customer could order. "I figured you were too. Are you having to skip it?"

"No," Arthur grumbled, giving the next customer their drink and change, "but I might be a little late. Not only do I have to put up with hero boy here fiddling with all the switches on the espresso machines, the bloke who worked the graveyard shift last night left the receipts a mess. I've got to straighten them up before next shift takes over…"

"New guy?" the psych major guessed.

"No, Berwald has actually been working here longer than I have, but his system is… not very… well, actually, I'm not altogether certain he has a system."

Tino choked on his sip of hot chocolate. "Did you say Berwald?"

"Yeah," Arthur replied. "Someone has to work the night shift seeing as the big sign out front says '24 Hour Espresso', and Berwald always gets stuck with it. Why do you ask? He a friend of yours?"

"Um, no, actually," Tino sputtered, trying not to be too obvious about what his intentions were. "So wait, he works here?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "What did I just say?"

"Hey, give the kid a break!" Alfred cut in, upsetting Tino's beret to tousle his hair. "You can't expect him to focus on what you're saying when your eyebrows are that size!"

"Excuse me? You— You— BRASH AMERICAN GIT—! I'LL KILL YOU!"

Tino finished his drink quickly and left before he had a table thrown at his head. He was much more interested in making a note of the new information he'd gotten on Berwald than watching the baristas get into a frap-fight behind the counter, but only because he had a lecture to get to and couldn't afford to waste time engaging in whipped cream warfare. He pulled out his notebook and began writing as he walked, a habit that was probably pretty dangerous but which never seemed to cause him trouble.

Wednesday

Gained some interesting information on the patient. Patient apparently works a late shift at the 24 Hour Espresso. Involvement in illicit activities cannot be entirely ruled out at this juncture, however.

Tino nodded to himself and closed his notebook, tucking his ballpoint pen behind his ear. He found his way to the lecture hall he was expected to be in and grabbed a seat next to one of his classmates and comrade in completely illegal profiling.

Héderváry, Elizabeta. Age 24. Diagnosis: Prone to dangerous obsession with people or things, often misses social cues and speaks without semblance of discretion.

"Oh, Tino! Always so prompt!" Elizabeta greeted. "Did you finish your hypothetical analysis of the Arlovskaya case, with consideration of environmental and early childhood influences on the accused?"

"N-no…" the Finnish man sputtered, visibly paling. "Were we supposed to…?"

"Nope, but you're so cute when you're terrified for your life!" the Hungarian woman enthused, pulling Tino into a bone crushing hug. "Awww! I just want to take a picture and keep that expression forever!"

"Breathing—!" he gasped, waving his arms futilely as he was nearly cuddled to death. "Elizabeta! Please—!"

She released him with a regretful pout, but settled into her seat peaceably enough.

"So, did you finally get up close and personal with tall, dark and Swede-y?" Elizabeta asked, sorting her class notes out from her personal profiles. Tino nodded but sank into his seat a little. Sure, he'd established contact with Berwald, but Tino couldn't help but feel a little fear when even his name was mentioned.

"More like 'tall, dark and abjectly terrifying'," the blond mumbled. "I had no idea… he's pretty intense."

Elizabeta gave him a sympathetic look and patted the crown of his head through his white beret.

"I know where you're coming from. Roderich doesn't seem as threatening as Berwald, but he's still pretty hard to crack if you know what I mean."

"Yeah," Tino said. "How's that going, by the way?"

Elizabeta smiled and was about to start in on what was bound to be an interesting story about her first time speaking to Roderich, but was cut off as the professor brought the class to order. With a promise to continue her story later, she and Tino got out the materials they would need for taking notes before settling in for the lecture. The house lights dimmed around them, and the slideshow accompanying the presentation blinked into life on the projection screen.

"And now," the professor announced, "the criminal mind."

Berwald woke up late, as he usually did, and ambled out of bed as if he had no particular place to be. He picked his glasses up from the bedside table and put them on before checking his cell phone. He hadn't expected it to be noon already, but there were no signs of panic on his face as he dialed his voicemail. This was exactly why he scheduled his courses for late afternoon and early evening as opposed to first thing in the morning— he could work late shifts anytime he needed without having to choose between a class or catching up on sleep. He was more of a night owl anyway.

The first message was from Roderich, a stingy Austrian guy in his Economics class if he remembered correctly:

"Berwald! It's Roderich. I've been asked to call you on behalf of Mr. Moldova about you constantly skipping lectures. It's all well and good for you to pick up notes afterwards, but you really need to actually show up for class more often! Geez! Anyway, best regards."

Berwald deleted the message with an unreadable expression. Great. Scheduling evening courses had seemed to work out well for him before Mr. Moldova's lectures and the beginning of his shift at the 24 Hour Espresso came into conflict. He moved on to the next message.

"It's Lovino, you Swiss bastard. The gang's meeting up again Friday night to get drunk and harass the tomato bastard. Be there or I'll kill you. Or something. Whatever. Bye."

Berwald deleted that message too, mentally chuckling at the Italian's perpetual short temper and bad manners. When would he figure out that Vash was the 'Swiss bastard', not him? Who knew. Making a mental note to check if he could go meet up with the rest of the gang, he moved on to his last message. He noted with a vague sense of hostility that it was from his landlord, Denmark.

"Oy! Ber…nard! Whatever! You skipped Ec class again, huh? If you're not gonna finish the course, you might as well ask the school for a refund, dumbass. You could use the money too, seeing as I have to raise the rent again! Haha, I really didn't want to, but Norway and I—"

Berwald practically crushed the delete key into the body of his phone. He hated Denmark to a severe degree, but he had to deal with it because this was the only place he could find within reasonable biking distance to school and work. Speaking of which, his first class of the day started in thirty minutes. Tossing on whatever was clean out of the slowly dwindling pile of clothes in his laundry hamper, he finger combed his hair and pulled on his favorite navy blue jacket before striding out the door.

And then striding back in. He'd forgotten the bag with all of his school stuff in it.

As he closed the door again, he was reminded of his strange encounter with his next door neighbor the previous night. Berwald wasn't used to people making an effort to talk to him unless they had a class or a shift with him, and felt embarrassed that all he'd managed was a nod at the other man's greeting. He seemed fairly pleasant from what little he knew of him, but he had never really shown up on Berwald's radar until last night. As he recalled their brief meeting, all the thoughts circulating in his mind seemed to blend together for a moment and he wondered if …Tino…? (yeah, if he remembered correctly, his neighbor's name was Tino) was going to have a problem with the rising rent, or if Denmark was selectively targeting him with his little rate hike.

Berwald took the last flight of stairs quickly, straddling his beat-up but dependable motorbike the moment he'd unlocked the garage and checked to make sure Denmark hadn't let down the tires again. He kicked it into life and started off down the road, his coat once again making him look like some sort of prince (though probably of the mafia persuasion, if that even existed) riding to war.

Of course he was only riding to his first class of the day, but he would've been riding to war if, at any point in history, it had been defined as 'Advanced Carpentry'.

Really, just because he looked like he could earn a good living as the dictator of a small country didn't mean he couldn't enjoy making cabinets.

A/N: Somehow, the idea of Berwald menacing people in woodshop makes me laugh. I figured it would be more in line with his character to have him attending vocational classes rather than serious academic ones, thus the carpentry. Plus, I like making Ikea jokes!

Reviews are much appreciated! Drop me a line if you feel like it!

Once again, thank you for reading to the end!

- C