Adrian Ivashkov shakes my hand, smiling at some private joke. I try not to let it feel like he's laughing at me rather than with me. If Gerry knows him well enough to get him to lend us a mixing desk, he must be a decent guy.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Rose Hathaway," Adrian says. He has a very attractive voice; low and smooth with just the touch of a rasp from the smoke. But in spite of the room smelling like a frat party hotbox, Adrian's green eyes maintain a surprising degree of focus as they take me in.

It's more of a calculating look than an appraisal, like he's trying to place me. And sure enough, his next words are: "I feel like I know you from somewhere."

"No," I laugh. "I definitely think I'd remember meeting you."

"I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not," Adrian smiles. But it looks to me as though it doesn't quite touch his eyes. "I'm sure you look familiar," he presses.

I shrug, a little confused at his intensity. "I work with Gerry a fair amount. Maybe you saw me at a gig."

"Hmm. Maybe."

He doesn't sound like he believes me, but there's nothing much I can do about it.

Adrian takes the resulting silence as an opportunity to pull deeply on the hookah. The bubbles writhe cheerfully in the glass belly for a moment, then he exhales a puff of smoke and a few rings for what I assume is my benefit.

"So you work with Gerry," Adrian muses. "You're a sound guy?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"You're not the first person to make that joke," I inform him.

"Ah, the worst thing a creative can be is unoriginal."

He has the decency to look sheepish, so I decide to throw him a bone.

"Not that you seem to suffer from that particular problem," I say. "I follow your work."

His face brightens. "So it was a compliment then, that you'd remember meeting me."

I almost laugh. "I can only imagine that most of your introductions are as memorable as this one."

He thinks about that for a moment, a grin on his face.

"I like you, Rose Hathaway," he decides. "You're a firecracker. Maybe we should work together sometime."

This time I actually do laugh. "I'm flattered," I reply, "but I do live sound. The nuances of production are above my pay grade."

"I think you're selling yourself short," Adrian says. "I heard the recording of that show."

I blink. Adrian Ivashkov just complimented my work. But also, that recording shouldn't have been accessible to anyone outside of Dimitri's label.

"How did you..." I start, but trail off as Adrian rises from his seat

He moves so incredibly slowly that I'm reminded that he must be pretty high. The pipe dangles forlornly from the edge of the coffee table while Adrian crosses the room. What I thought was a fancy sideboard turns out to be an impressive media system, cleverly concealed behind panels and cupboards. What is it with rich people hiding their stuff?

Adrian rummages around in some drawers and cupboards for a bit, and I let my eyes wander around the rest of the room. It's sparsely decorated from what I can see, and quite impersonal. But my eyes snap back to Adrian as he makes a noise of triumph.

"Take this," he says handing me a tiny silver thumb drive. "Listen to it when you get a chance. You'll see what I mean."

I look down at the silver shape sitting in the palm of my hand. "Uh, okay. Thanks."

I stash the drive in my pocket, not entirely sure why he thought it was so important. When I look back up I find Adrian back at the hookah, having resumed a comfortable cross-legged position on the sofa.

Silence descends as he occupies himself. I don't have anything else to say, and I'm starting to feel a little awkward. I restrain myself from idly swinging my arms.

On the whole, I'm not really sure what to make of Adrian. He seems well intentioned, if a little... mercurial? But then again I'm immediately hesitant of anyone who isn't sober, especially of I don't know them. Euphoria makes people unpredictable, and when you don't even know what they're going to do in the first place, it becomes a recipe for disaster. It's probably time for me to go.

"Well, anyway, thanks again for loaning us the mixer," I say, "I'll leave you to your day."

"This is my day," Adrian responds with a sweeping gesture around the room. He's taken another lungful, and his words sound strangely muffled, as though he's speaking through a velvet curtain. "You don't want to join me?"

He tilts the pipe in my direction to underline his offer.

I shake my head. "I would, but I've got someone waiting for me in the car."

Adrian shrugs. "Call them up. The more the merrier."

"Thanks, but we have to get back. It was great to meet you."

He sits back with a laugh, and takes another pull. "Well, can't blame a guy for trying. Little Maestro with your shadowy hair full of secrets."

Uh...okay then. I turn towards the door and take a step, intent on regaining the clarity of some fresh air. But there's a sudden, loud crack, and my body freezes. My heart rate immediately kicks into gear. I spin around to find Adrian with his fingers poised in the air and the look of an epiphany on his face.

"Your hair! That picture, it was you!"

My heart is still pounding. "What?"

"I understand why you want to get back to him," Adrian says in a level tone. His eyes seem to bore into mine, but I can't look away. "He has a way of drawing people in."

"I'm still lost," I say, but the first sneaking tendrils of dread are taking root in my stomach.

Adrian laughs as though I've told a joke. "Are you? Just so you know, that gossip piece was right," he pauses, and my heart sinks.

But then it stops altogether at his next words:

"Dimitri is very good at breaking hearts. Protect what you hold dear, Little Maestro."

I feel the blood drain from my face. His words give rise to a flurry of questions. In fact I open my mouth to deliver them, but Adrian is pulling on the pipe again and I realise that I'm probably not going to get straight answers out of him. And maybe Adrian isn't the one who needs to answer me in any case.

Adrian doesn't acknowledge me as I turn and quietly leave. I'm standing outside his door, and my hands are shaking as I try to wrap my head around what just happened. The only thing I can make out with certainty is that Adrian and Dimitri know each other somehow, and it feels distinctly like I'm getting caught in the middle.

As I think about that, anger begins to take over from the shock. It warms my cold limbs, and spurs me forward. It feels like Adrian was toying with me, and that adds fuel to the fire. Because if Dimitri had had the courtesy to fill me in a little, Adrian wouldn't have been able to dance around the gaps in my knowledge.

I'm angry that Adrian was stoned out of his fucking tree and that I had to deal with it alone. I'm angry that he dropped all of this cryptic shit on me, and now I have to sort it out. I'm angry that Dimitri didn't say a word to prepare me for what I was going to walk into. And now that I think about it, I'm angry that he let some grudge stop him from coming with me into a potentially dangerous situation.

But I'm also angry that Dimitri and I just had our first date. I should be allowed to enjoy being happy and giddy, to internally prance through a meadow with butterflies or some shit. I don't want to fight. I don't want to get into whatever history is here right now. And yet Adrian Ivashkov took that option away, and I suspect that he was only too happy to be given the opportunity.

I barely stop myself from slamming the car door, and Dimitri looks up from his phone in surprise. His dark eyes flick across my face, and something seems to soften in his own.

"So you met Adrian then," he says. His tone is light, I think he was going for joking.

"I did," I say shortly. "Is he generally better when he's not stoned?"

Dimitri winces, as if my question hurt. "I was kind of hoping the smell was unrelated."

"What, that I just decided to light up in the stairwell?" I retort. "And thanks for reminding me there's another reason I need a shower."

Dimitri frowns. "Rose, are you okay?"

"No," I reply simply.

He nods. "Okay. Dumb question I guess."

He still sounds like he's joking, and I feel my irritation spike in response. "You just let me walk in there looking like an idiot," I tell him crisply. My volume rises with every subsequent word. "And I...he...UGH!"

My frustration bursts forth and I smack the steering wheel like a child, then cover my face with my hands. I know I'm being irrational. And I know we need to talk this through. But in the darkness behind my eyelids, I also realise that being parked outside Adrian's apartment is probably not the best place for us to talk about this. Partly because I'm considering going back in there just to slap him.

So I sigh and turn to Dimitri.

There's sadness plain on his face, and it causes an echoing twinge in my chest. I don't want to make him sad. But I also know that he messed up, and we need to sort this out. Just not right here.

"Wait," I interrupt, as he opens his mouth to respond. Part of me wants to hold his hand in order to ground myself. But I need to be my own anchor right now.

"I'm still angry, and we need to talk about this. But not here."

"You're right," he responds after a beat.

Another breath proves necessary. How does he sound so normal?

"Do we need to go back to the hotel?" I ask, trying and failing to keep my tone neutral.

Dimitri shakes his head. "Somebody will have checked out for me."

"Okay so we drive back. That gives us almost an hour."

"We can go back to my place if you'd like," he says. "It's closer."

I nod curtly and start the engine.

Dimitri places a hand on my wrist. "Are you good to drive? I know you're upset. I can do it, if you want."

His clear concern for me is a balm on my anger, and it allows me to see the humour in his offer. I pointedly look over at the way he's almost folded in half sitting in the front seat of my tiny Micra, even though the seat is all the way back.

"I think we're fresh out of legroom," I reply.

And to his credit, he smiles back as though the conversation we need to have isn't hanging over our heads. "Story of my life."

But the reality of our situation seeps into my smile, and I find myself sighing.

"And besides," I add. "This way we're not staring at each other's faces the whole time. It's just a bit more mental space."

"So what you mean to say," Dimitri says with a quiet smile in his voice, "is that you're giving me more space?"

"Well," I hedge. "I mean, yeah. I don't want you to feel like you have to tell me everything. I don't want..." I grit my teeth, "that fucker to have forced your hand."

Dimitri thanks me softly. I can tell he's moved, which is sweet. But I personally can't stand the thought of Dimitri opening up to me purely because Adrian gave him no other choice.

We're on the main road, and I focus my attention back in front of me. A quick glance over my shoulder proves that it's clear to change lanes, so I do. Our slip road is coming up soon. Once we're on the highway I can devote more of my mind towards our conversation. Dimitri seems to have realised this, because as I merge onto the highway and tuck in behind a silver Subaru, he takes a steadying breath.

"Roza, there's something I haven't told you."

I can't think of a response that doesn't sound sarcastic.

"Yes," I say eventually. "We still have a lot to learn about each other."

"True." I hear the tension in his voice, it sounds like he's trying to prepare himself for something. "It's just that this is something some people put a lot of emphasis on."

There's an undercurrent to his words, one I can't quite place. He sounds hesitant, sure. But there's almost more to it. Like resignation. Or fear.

I remain silent, giving him the time he needs to tell me whatever it is when he's ready.

He takes a breath.

"Rose," he says. "I'm bisexual."

Oh.

I blink once. "Okay," I say. My voice comes out a little stiff.

I guess it makes sense. Despite his cocky front, Dimitri is really private about his life. I'm only beginning to learn what he's like off stage, and I get why he wouldn't want to tell just anyone what his sexual preferences are.

But with that said, I have a sinking feeling in my stomach about the nature of the situation with Adrian. I find myself wondering if there wasn't a more nefarious reason Dimitri didn't want to come with me.

"Okay?" Dimitri repeats, with a touch of incredulity.

I shrug. My mind is busy racing through the possible explanations, running through everything Adrian said and the way the Dimitri reacted. My thoughts take on a panicked edge, tying knots in my stomach at the potential implications. And as the most likely scenario begins to solidify in the forefront of my mind, I feel my anger beginning to return.

"Rose, I know it's a lot to take in," Dimitri says quietly. "But I'm still the same person. It doesn't change the way I feel about you. If you need time to think about it, I understand."

The tone of defeat in his words filters through to my spiraling brain and effectively halts my thoughts in their tracks.

"Wait, what?" I ask. "What would I need to think about?"

I quickly glance at him just in time to catch his awkward shrug.

"Whether or not you still want to be with me," he answers.

I frown. He's being vulnerable with me, I remind myself. It's important that I reassure him.

"Dimitri," I sigh. "This doesn't change anything. You're attracted to men and women. I'm a woman. That's not what I'm worried about."

He exhales his relief, and I see him tilt his head back against the headrest in my periphery. I wish I could let him enjoy the feeling for a little longer, but my own chest feels tight with anxiety.

"You and Adrian were together." I say.

My heart beats in the silence, after what I'd intended to be a question came out as an irrefutable statement. I look over at Dimitri, for whose shoulders have resumed their earlier tension. He presses his lips together briefly, and it's all the confirmation I need.

I look back at the road because I need to breathe.

"Did Adrian tell you?" Dimitri asks.

I shake my head. "He didn't have to. I picked up on the general vibe."

The car is silent apart from the wheels on the tar beneath us. In another world, I imagine Dimitri and I enjoying the drive back together. Maybe we're listening to the radio, or taking the chance to ask lighthearted questions in the giddiness of new feelings.

The present atmosphere is about as far from that shining picture as it could possibly get. But hey. At least we're still learning new things about each other.

"You should have told me before I went in, Dimitri."

He whispers something in Russian, and my hands involuntarily tighten on the wheel.

"I know," he finally replies. "It was just so sudden. As soon as you closed the door behind you, I knew I'd fucked up."

It's an acknowledgement, but not an apology. I'm not going to ask for one though, there are other things I want to clarify.

"Did you know he'd be high?"

"No," he replies. His voice sounds tired. "But if I'd had time to think about it, I would have known it was a possibility."

I nod. That's fair.

Only one thing left to ask then.

As soon as I voice my question, my cards will be on the table. I don't want to look jealous, though part of me is. I don't want to sound insecure, even though we've been on exactly one date and I have no security.

But I have to know.

"Do you still have feelings for him?"

Though I try my hardest to keep my voice level, the muscles of my throat constrict.

He doesn't answer right away.

I can't tell if he's thinking about the question or if he's busy constructing a response. I try to steel myself either way.

"Take the next exit," he says, pointing at the sign.

Is he having a stroke?

"What?" Surprise lends my voice some extra volume. "We're only halfway."

He points again, his motion sharper and more agitated. "Just. Please."

Is he having a stroke? Nevertheless, I do as he asks. I'm even more confused when he requests that I pull into the lot at the first gas station we see. Emergency bathroom break? Or is he planning on running off into the wilderness rather than answer my damned questions?

"I don't like being ordered around for no reason," I inform him hotly as I pull into an empty bay.

"Yeah, well I don't like talking to the side of your face because you won't look me in the eye," he shoots back. "This is important. And I want to be able to see that you understand what I'm telling you."

My eyes widen. Fuck. He has to still have feelings for Adrian, and this is how he tells me so that he can make sure I get it. Or maybe he'd rather catch a ride with someone else, because I pushed too far.

Dimitri looks me dead in the eyes, and this time there's no escaping the intensity of his gaze.

"Roza," he starts. "I handled things badly. And I'm sorry."

A deer in headlights, it's all I can do to nod.

"I'm going to tell you why," he continues, "and hopefully it will make things clearer."

He's so serious, I'm able to find my voice. "Whatever it is, Dimitri. You can trust me."

That makes him smile. "Oh, I know."

He reaches out briefly to touch my cheek, and I close my eyes for a second to better savour the feeling.

Dimitri takes a breath. "I froze when you said his name..."

I try to swallow the lump in my throat.

"... because I couldn't stand the thought of scaring you away."

My eyes widen, going straight to his face to check if I heard right.

"Is it so hard to believe?" he laughs. "Adrian and I came to our natural conclusion. I still care about him as a person because I know about some of the demons he's trying to fight."

Relief floods through me, making me giddy. So there wasn't some darker reason that he didn't tell me, and it feels pretty stupid to have worried about it in retrospect. In fact, my smile starts to fade as I recall our conversation in the bar.

Dimitri panicked, and that's understandable. He should have handled it better, but then I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I start to feel ashamed of myself.

"I know you said jealousy has been a problem for you in the past," I say carefully. "I'm sorry I put that on you. I don't want to scare you away either."

Dimitri's eyes seem to shine for a moment.

"Thank you Roza," he says softly. "You know, I want you on my crew because you're talented. You understand the how my music works."

I feel my cheeks heat around my smile.

"But," he continues, enfolding my hands in the warmth of his own. "I want you by my side for this tour because I can't stomach the alternative."

My heart contracts.

"Dimitri," I whisper.

He's leaning towards me over the console, and suddenly I need to kiss him. My fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt and I pull him towards me. I get a close up view of the fire in his eyes for a second before his lips crash into mine. I hadn't anticipated how quickly the heat would build.

At first it's just because I need to be close to him. I need the reassurance of his presence, I need to know that we're okay. But I feel his lips move against mine, soft and light like butterflies. I feel the pressure of his hand at the back of my neck, as he desperately pulls my mouth closer to him. I feel his tongue, hot and wet in my mouth. And desire builds in my belly, rising like a tidal wave and with the force to match.

Dimitri pulls back, his breath washing over me. His face hovers less than an inch away.

"Bathroom?" I breathe.

He looks like he's going to agree. But then he groans.

"I cannot fuck you for the first time in a gas station bathroom, Roza."

I close my eyes. I want him so badly it almost hurts, but he's right. I sigh.

"You know, I'm starting to think the whole badboy thing is just a marketing ploy," I say teasingly. "You're way too respectful."

Dimitri chuckles. "Imagine that," he replies, then he lowers his voice in a way that makes my stomach clench. "Just FYI, if it wasn't our first time I'd consider it."

"So not helping," I manage.

He laughs. "Oh, sorry, I didn't know you wanted me to help."

I roll my eyes, but his grin is infectious.

"Okay," he says through his smile, "how about I make it up to you when we get back to my place?"

I don't even wait for him to finish his sentence before I start the car, and the sound of his laughter as a result creates a beautiful harmony with the sound of the engine. The atmosphere as we travel back could not be more different to the first half of our trip, and I find myself relaxing into the pure pleasure of Dimitri's company. But one strange thing is that I find myself having trouble sticking to the speed limit.

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! If you're enjoying the fic, please let me know by leaving a review. I've been having trouble with my FF email notifications, and it's quite irritating. But I promise I do make time to log in and read your thoughts, which never fail to make me smile. I've also given up on maintaining a posting schedule, so if you'd like to keep in the loop, please feel free to follow and favourite.

Writing this felt like being stuck in dialogue purgatory. I know what I wanted to write, but it just was not flowing. Particularly with Dimitri coming out, I wanted to make sure that the conversation was more on the realistic side. So I ended up rewriting it twice. But it ended up as a much better length, which I will try my best to maintain from here on out. Google Keep makes me feel like I'm writing so much more than I am, I'm going to have to switch to something else.

The VA universe and the characters therein are the sole intellectual property of Richelle Mead.