"I am here to study." Dmitri explained in the club.

"Why here?"

"It is the best place in the world to learn."

"Doesn't Russia hate America?"

He laughed at that. We were both drunk, in a booth separate from the We Don't Mention the Z-Word party. The lights of the club were up and we were all being told to get out but no one was moving; we could hear each other now.

"No comment."

"Well played."

"And what do you do?"

"Nothing."

"Ничего?" pronounced 'Nichego?'

"Say something in Russian." I grinned, steering the conversation away from my lowlife existence.

"Like what?"

"Kiss me."

He leaned in, and very seductively said, "Поцелуй меня." pronounced, 'Potseluy menya'. I scrunched my nose up and said, "Nah," before turning away. He laughed and pulled me back around to his now very familiar lips. We parted.

"I'll be in Washingon for a few days." I told him, kissing him lightly between speaking. "Can I see you tomorrow?"

"Give me your phone."

I couldn't help smiling like a goofball while I fished it from my pocket and I passed it to him. He dialed his own phone and showed me it ringing. I took my phone back and saved him as a contact as he did the same for me. I held up the phone to take a photo of him, and he pulled a face with his tongue out fully and his eyes crushed up, raising his horns in the hand he didn't hold his phone in. He held up his phone and I hooked my fingers into my mouth and pulled a hideous face. We laughed. It was all so easy and comfortable.

"I'd still like to see you safely home." He told me and I chewed my tongue,

"You won't try to force you way into my bed?"

"I'm hurt," he mocked me, hand to his chest again, head bowing and coming back up with a smile to assure me, "I am nothing if not a gentleman, I promise."

"What was it you said?" I smiled as his face hovered before mine, looking to his lips, "Potsely menya?"

"Close enough." He smirked, his hand behind my ear now, the other around me, pulling me against him.

It was time to go, and we gracefully (or as gracefully as you can while drunk) exited the club and hit the night air.

Our walk to my hotel was funny, we followed my phone's navigation in circles and strange routes into the morning. At least, as a hostel, it was never actually closed. As the sun rose he held my head gently and I liked to imagine the sun broke over the horizon as we kissed for one last time before parting. I was sorry to see him go, but I was sure I'd see him the next day. Sure, I was also nervous he would have no memory of me and a picture on his phone of some deformed idiot that would do little to prompt him to investigate, but as I hit the pillow I passed out and didn't wake until my phone started pinging in the afternoon.