For all my worries about what we still need to face together, I sleep like the dead. Maybe it has something to do with the sense of safety I feel just by being near Dimitri, or maybe it's simply my body informing me that there is in fact such a thing as too many orgasms. Regardless; I sleep deeply and peacefully all through the night. That is, until with a profound sense of deja vu, I reach out to touch Dimitri in my sleep. My hand encounters only cold sheets.

Sure enough, when I open my eyes to confirm there's no sign of him next to me. For one heart wrenching second I'm half convinced it was all just a dream. But no, I realise, the room around me is much larger than mine, and the bedsheets are grey instead of white. So I sit up and grab my phone off the nightstand, quickly checking the time. It's 6:30 AM.

In a few short hours I'm going to have to leave, and apparently Dimitri has developed an annoying habit of not being in my bed when he should be. So even though it's early enough that I could go back to sleep, instead I opt to get out of bed and wrap myself in the robe that matches the adorable cotton pyjamas Mia bought for me.

"Oh, she likes you," Dimitri had noted with amusement when I showed him the leather travel bag Mia left for me on the coffee table last night.

I had been meaning to just grab whatever she'd gotten me so I could get ready for bed, but the sheer amount of things inside the bag admittedly piqued my curiosity.

"No," I'd replied, fishing out one of the sets of lingerie from the side pocket and dangling it in front of Dimitri's face with a smirk. "Apparently she likes you."

And yeah, let's just say he was incredibly appreciative of that particular choice when I tried it on for him.

But even as I smile while recalling the events of last night, my footsteps are hurried as I pad down the hall in search of my boyfriend.

The office and studio are both dark and silent, and the kitchen and living room are empty too. I make my way down the hall checking the other rooms, and honestly it's a little insane that I still haven't seen all of them. This apartment is huge; it must take up the entire top floor of the building, and yet there's no sign of Dimitri by the time I reach the last door. Which I open. Only to find a damn staircase leading to the storey below.

I swear, when I find Dimitri I'm going to insist he gives me a full tour. Why on earth does one man need so much space?

By the time I'm halfway down the stairs, I suspect I have my answer. The distinct clink of a barbell reaches my ears, and sure enough I arrive on the bottom landing to find myself in a fully kitted home gym. Though I'm not sure how many other "home gyms" have a steam room and single lane swimming pool.

Dimitri is at the weight bench, casually benching what looks like most of my body weight. He's wearing headphones instead of using the sleek looking sound system I can see, which I imagine is so he doesn't wake me. I want to ask him about it, but he is very clearly in the zone. So I'm content to wait for him to finish his set before drawing his attention. Naturally that wait results in me using the time to ogle him while he's otherwise occupied.

God, he looks incredible. There's a general glow of exertion about him; something about him being hot and sweaty makes me recall those taut muscles gleaming in the bedroom. His hair is tied back like usual, but a few pieces have come loose around his face. He strains to complete each rep, the veins in his forearms standing out against his skin. There's a strip of skin visible where his t-shirt has ridden up, paired with those grey sweatpants that should honestly be illegal. Especially for him.

Dimitri racks the barbell and sits up to shake his arms out, but a smile breaks across his face when he catches sight of me.

"Roza," he pants, pulling his headphones down around his neck. "Did I wake you up?"

I blink and clear my throat, trying to hide the wayward direction of my thoughts from reflecting in my tone.

"No, I just woke up and couldn't find you," I assure him breezily.

He smiles. "Sorry króshka, I should have warned you I'd be up early."

Dimitri stands up to grab his water bottle, and takes a long drink. The full sight of his form has my heartbeat stuttering. He's all tall and magnificent and I want to-

If your legs are this sore, imagine how much worse it will be in more sensitive places, I internally chide myself. But I only just manage stop myself from drooling at the way his shirt hugs his chest, the way those pants leave almost nothing to the imagination.

Dimitri lowers his bottle and swallows, then immediately catches me staring. You'd think that the resulting embarassment would break the grip he has on my senses, but even though I feel my cheeks heat, knowing he knows exactly what's running through my mind is just making this hotter. The effect this man has on me is insane.

I'm rooted in place by the look in his eyes, even as he takes a step towards me. Then, with visible effort, he stops.

"Eddy will give me so much shit if I don't finish this session," Dimitri says, his voice rough.

I can see the conflict playing out on his face, and my heart throbs in response. So I decide to do the decent thing and stop distracting him.

"You're right," I say. My voice comes out all breathy, but then I chuckle. "I should let you finish your workout. How much longer do you have?"

He glances at the clock. "Maybe twenty minutes? But then I'll still need to stretch and shower."

"Okay," I nod. "I'll be in the kitchen when you come up."

As much as I'd love to watch him continue his reps, I know that I need to just let him work. So I smile and turn away, and out the corner of my eye I see him blow me a kiss before sitting back down on the bench.

Trying not to dwell on the numerous fantasies that rise up, I direct my thoughts along a different path. I mean, his body is incredible, yes. But it clearly takes an insane amount of work for him to keep it up. We were awake quite late last night, and I wish he'd told me he had to be up this early to workout. So since I couldn't make sure he got more sleep, I decide to make it up to him by cooking breakfast.

Ever since I first set foot in his kitchen and Dimitri shared his bread with me, I've wanted to try it out. Despite the aesthetic bullshit of hiding all the appliances, it's all sleek and modern and intentionally designed. So I'm already itching to get started as I open the refrigerator to formulate a plan.

It's better stocked than some supermarkets, of course, which means that it's pretty easy to decide on what I want to make. While I'm in the kitchen, I do take the time to locate the pots and pans as well. In my search I even manage to find the coffee machine, and I have to admit that maybe my issue with all the cupboards is a me problem.

With a solid plan of action, I know that if I start cooking now everything would be stone cold by the time Dimitri joins me. So I put what I need out on the counter and go back through to his room to get ready for the day.

Dimitr's en suite bathroom is nothing short of magnificent. Much like in the dining room, there are massive windows flaunting the view. But here, instead of tables and chairs, a luxurious claw footed tub is the centerpiece. It's the type of bathing environment that promises to heal your very soul, and I almost let out a groan of longing.

But I don't really have time for a soak in the tub, even though it would be the perfect remedy for my stiff muscles. So I opt instead for the gorgeous glass shower. As I strip off and step into the shower I notice that the showerhead is bigger than my face, and I concede that while it's no hot bath, it's probably a very close second. But when I reach for the faucet, movement in my periphery catches my attention. After the initial moment of gut wrenching panic, it turns out to only be my reflection in a large mirror on the opposite wall. And in my resulting relief, I find that my eye is drawn to something that I'd entirely forgotten about: Dimitri's writing is still sprawled across my side.

The sight of it brings back the shining memory of that perfect moment; the happiness I felt at our intimacy, and my throat tightens. As much as I want the hot water to ease my tired muscles and wash me clean, I don't want to lose the reminder of that just yet. So my shower ends up being pretty short, and at a very strange angle.

I get dressed and brush my teeth, and I'm astounded once again by Mia's attention to detail when I find some moisturizer and sunscreen amidst the toiletries she bought me. I must remember to thank her again.

Then a little while later Dimitri comes into the kitchen, and I give myself a mental pat on the back for how perfectly I timed everything. His hair is still damp from his shower, and the spicy note of his cologne adds to the smell of my cooking.

"Hey Comrade," I say over my shoulder as I flip the omelette in the pan. "You want to sit at the counter? It will be about two minutes."

"That smells really good," he says appreciatively. I hear the legs of the barstool on the tile as he drags it back.

I shoot him a quick smile and then turn back to the pan. My teeth capture the tip of my tongue in concentration while I carefully ferry the omelette to a plate, and I can't help my grin of victory when it makes it across in one piece. It's golden brown and perfect. My father would be proud.

"Okay, so," I begin as I turn to bring Dimitri his breakfast, "I really didn't feel like separating the eggs to make you an egg white omelette." I shrug. "But I grilled the bacon instead of frying it, added baby spinach and tomatoes, and grated the smallest amount of parmesan I've ever put on anything in my entire life."

I don't feel the need to tell him the runner up is when I was on a health kick and decided not to fully obscure my bowl of pasta with parmesan shavings.

The plates make a satisfying sound as I set them down on the marble countertop, and I look up to find Dimitri with his phone out and the camera pointed at me. Naturally I go red.

Dimitri laughs and shifts the camera on to the food, then he stops his video.

"You're incredible, Roza," he says, grabbing my hand. "Thank you."

"I'm glad I get to do this for you," I smile. But I glance at the phone still in his hand, deliberating.

I take a breath. "Hey, Comrade?"

"Yeah?"

And then I chicken out. "I'm assuming you want coffee?"

"I do. Do you want me to make it, since you worked so hard on breakfast?"

"I think I've got it. But you can supervise if you want."

I convince Dimitri to add a protein shake to his coffee and his scepticism immediately shifts to surprise when he takes his first sip, which makes me laugh. But his reaction to his first bite of omelette blows that out of the water.

"If you're trying to show me how much I'm going to miss you, I promise I already know," he informs me with a groan. He closed his eyes as he chewed, making noises of appreciation.

"Don't remind me," I reply, attempting to make it sound like a joke. But at the knowing look he shoots me in response, I continue honestly: "I just want to make the most of our morning together, while I can."

"You're amazing," he repeats. I offer him a smile that tries to communicate everything I can't say to him. He looks at me for a long moment, affection softening his features. "You know, the last person to make me a home cooked meal was my Mama."

That gorgeous face shines with happiness, like it always tends to when he talks about his family.

I'm suddenly struck with the desire to take a picture of him, so that I can keep it forever. But I don't want to ruin the moment. So instead I say: "I hope feeding her son means I'd score points."

But then I think about what I just said, and try not to wince. God, the thought of meeting his family is terrifying.

"No need, I'm pretty sure she'd love you," Dimitri smiles. "Besides, it's my grandmother you have to watch out for."

I really hope he's kidding. But it also makes me wonder if I should tell my parents about him? After brief consideration I think I'd rather be trampled by a horse than have that conversation with Abe and Janine.

"Maybe it's a little soon for parental introductions," I mutter, and Dimitri chuckles.

"You don't think your dad would be a fan if you brought me home?"

My mouth compresses. Abe would probably be delighted, actually. But I also know he'd ensure Dimitri accompanied him on a walk at some point, to "get to know him better." That conversation would likely be littered with threats of bodily harm. Which I have mixed feelings about.

"My relationship with my parents is a little unusual," I summarise for Dimitri. I'm sure we'll have more than enough time at some point for me to fill him in on my upbringing, but I really don't want to bring the conversation down right now. So I let it end at: "Lissa's approval is probably more important to me than theirs is."

Dimitri takes a moment to think about that, taking another bite of his omelette. "Damn. Another reason I wish I could join you in LA."

He's so sincere, it's just adorable. And I can't help but laugh. "You and me both, Comrade. Anyway, what are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"Uh, they want to shoot the announcement for the tour promo," he replies, with a level of calm that perplexes me. "They'll probably get me to do a couple of other things while I'm all fancied up."

I dubiously check the clock, which Dimitri notices.

"Don't worry Roza," he smiles, "we're still good for a couple hours. I only have to leave at ten.

My chest aches at the thought, but I do my best to swallow the feeling.

"So what are you going to get up to?" he asks.

I have to think about it. "Well I need to address the whole Mason thing with the crew," I muse. "And I mean, I was overpaid too. So I don't know what they'll want to do about that."

"Wait," Dimitri interjects. "You're going to let them decide what you do with your money?"

I shrug. "The extra money, sure. I was already paid a higher rate than usual."

Dimitri frowns.

"I mean, if I don't tell them about it then I'm no better than Mason," I explain. "I'd never voluntarily bill that high."

"Mmmm, and yet the label paid it happily."

I sigh. He's starting to sound like Tasha. "It's about honesty, Comrade. At the very least, if I'm not open with the crew now, it could bite me in the ass later."

Dimitri opens his mouth to respond, but then pauses, considering. "I see what you mean," he says carefully. "But only in this specific case. I'm just worried you'll let this affect what you bill for the tour contract."

I blink. That's actually a fair point.

"Have you thought about figures yet?" Dimitri presses.

"I haven't," I admit. "But it is a whole different issue than the Mason thing."

Dimitri shrugs. "As long as it doesn't make you undervalue yourself on the tour." Then his lips twitch. "Personally I'm all for you taking everything you can possibly get from the label. Especially considering the headline artist requested you specifically."

I roll my eyes, but can't resist a smile. "I'm sleeping with the headline artist, Dimitri."

"You might not want to tell them that," he laughs. "At least until the terms are set."

Ugh, he's so damned sweet. Abandoning my mostly finished breakfast, I walk around the counter so I can wrap my arms around his waist. The lithe muscles of his back press into me, solid and reassuring. And god, he smells like heaven.

"Look at you, caring about my financial well-being," I laugh.

He spins around on the barstool so that I'm standing between his knees instead. The warmth of his embrace enfolds me, long arms looping over my own so he can tug me to his chest.
"I care about your well-being in general, Roza," he clarifies, voice rumbling above my head.

"Thank you," I say quietly into his chest. His arms tighten in response, and it echoes in my heart.

The words I want to say to him burn unhelpfully on my tongue, and I squeeze my eyes shut to repress the urge to blurt them out. But it's fruitless. So I silently mouth them into his skin.
"I love you, Dimitri."

I can tell by the pressure of his chin on top of my head that he can't see my face, but I'm assuming he felt the motion of my lips.

"You okay?" he checks.

"Yeah, I'm just singing something," I lie.

But he seems to accept it without question.

"That reminds me, do you want to work on the song some more?"

I pull back with a laugh. My eyes flick over his face, expecting to see a smile. But by the look of the raised eyebrow I find instead, maybe it wasn't a joke.

"I gave you my thoughts on the song last night," I tell him, confusion now colouring the laughter in my voice. "I'm not really sure how else I can help."

"Well, it's more of a collaboration at this point," he shrugs, then grins. "Besides, I like watching you work. It's hot."

Even as I roll my eyes, my bottom lip catches between my teeth. This man can turn me on like a light switch. Not that I can do much about that right now.

"Dimitri," I start, my voice low. "It's not that I don't want to..."

He interrupts me with a laugh. "I can appreciate your hotness without having to act on it, Roza."

And yet I'm not sure that I can say the same for me. But he continues on his original train of thought.

"I wrote a draft of the second verse, so do you maybe want to lay it down and work on some harmonies together?"

His excitement is contagious, and I'm unable to resist. So I follow him through to his studio, although his legs are so long that I almost have to jog to keep up.

"You don't collaborate much," I note with a frown as Dimitri turns on his computer and checks the inputs.

"No," he agrees distractedly. "It takes a lot of time that I don't generally have, plus the label tends to reject most of what I write these days."

I nod, but I anxiously rub my thumb over my fingertips.

"And what you said yesterday, about it being intimate?" I ask.

"Well, yes," he admits, "that too. In fact I've only really worked with one other person on some songs."

We've arrived at the reason for my anxiety, but I realised that I never actually told him the thumb drive. So I take a breath.

"Yeah, so just me and Adrian."

Dimitr's eyes immediately flick to mine in askance, and I try not to look too guilty as I shrug.

"He gave me the album you worked on together when we dropped off the soundboard."

He sighs. "I have no idea why he did that." But then his gaze sharpens on me. "Did you listen to it?"

I nod, and he looks a little sympathetic.

"What did you think?" His tone is definitely a little softer, more curious.

"I think you should release it," I tell him honestly. "Like I do get why you'd be worried. But your creativity is well matched, and the tracks are really good."

Dimitri looks distinctly relieved. "I'm glad you liked it, Roza," he smiles. "Unfortunately the issue of releasing is is a whole seperate thing. Now do you want to see what I added to our song?"

I sit in the chair at Dimitri's direction, and we spend our remaining time together going through the new verse he wrote and trying to come up with a bridge. And honestly, I completely get what he means about that intimacy of watching someone work. He's absolutely fascinating.

That fire in his eyes is catching, and the openly intent expression on his face has me itching for a camera once more. He's so clearly passionate and excited and adorable, I keep finding myself just staring at him as he works. And fuck, apart from all of that, he's just plain impressive. He knows all the shortcuts, where to find everything. His knowledge of sound rivals my own. He works quickly and decisively, adding layers and filters and nudging wayward notes into key. But inevitably, I catch sight of the time.

"I should probably go."

Immediately that light in his eyes seems to dim.

"I wish you didn't have to," he says softly.

I press my lips together, as the only semblance of a smile that I can manage. In answer he wraps me in his arms and holds me tightly for a moment. I try not to look at his face when he pulls back, and the pressure of his embrace is replaced by a steady building pressure in my chest. My emotion swells as I gather my things and he walks me to the door. And the crushing weight of having to leave again is what finally gives me the courage I need to ask him.

"Can I take a picture of us?" I blurt out. I'm nervous, so it's all in a rush. "Just for me to have," I continue a little slower. "I won't post it anywhere."

Dimitri's eyes sweep across my face.

"Of course, Roza," he says simply, and smiles when he takes in my expression. "You were scared to ask?"

"Not scared," I mumble. "Just. Awkward."

And maybe a little scared, I admit to myself.

He laughs. "There's really no need for that, króshka. I'd love a picture with you."

My heart squeezes as he leans his head against mine and snaps some photos. And when he pulls me in for a kiss I melt into him, forgetting everything around us for a few blissful seconds that I wish could stretch forever. But alas.

"Good luck for the shoot," I tell him, trying my damnedest to keep my voice bright.

"Thank you, Roza."

"And text me when you can?" I add hopefully.

"Of course," he assures me, squeezing my hand. "And I'm sure I'll be able to find a couple of hours to see you before you're off to LA."

I smile. "That would be amazing, but please take care of yourself first. You're under so much pressure."

He steps closer. "I'd rather be under you."

"Why do you do this to me when I'm about to leave?" I groan. But that doesn't stop me from taking a deep breath of his scent, as though I can absorb it into my memory.

I'd closed my eyes to fully focus on the smell of him, but when I open them I find his face an inch from mine. Usually I can see the glint of mischief in his eyes, that glowing constant presence in their depths that tells me he's seconds away from cracking a flirty joke at any given moment. But looking up at him now, that light is notably absent.

He swallows, and suddenly his eyelids are obscuring my view.

"It's a distraction," he admits in a whisper, "so I don't focus on my feelings. Because if I let myself think about how much it sucks to have to let you go..." His eyes flash open, and I can only describe the emotion I find there as devastation. But it settles like silt at the bottom of a pond, clearing out until all that remains is a sad smile on his gorgeous lips. "...I don't think I could bring myself to do it," he finishes.

And I'm in awe of this man, so head over heels that I've made my way upright again. So I do what he's telling me he can't manage to right now; I distract him.

"Hey Comrade?" I say. "You made a comment yesterday, when I asked you where you wanted me. Do you remember?"

He raises an eyebrow. "I said everywhere I haven't had you?"

"That's the one," I grin, then I lean forward to whisper in his ear. "I'll be focusing my spare time on writing a list. You know. So we have some places to cross off next time."

And holy fuck, it works. Because as I turn away and close the door between us, the sorrow of our parting is far outweighed by the satisfaction of hearing the sharp intake of breath that was his only answer.

Even as I start my car and begin the drive home, I'm running down a mental list.

The leather sofa in the lounge, of course.
The kitchen counter.
The weight bench.
Oh and the swivel and tilt of his office chair has some excellent potential...

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading! If you've got any thoughts and you want to share, please consider leaving a review. Hearing from you never fails to make me smile, even though I'm not always the greatest at responding. Also, if you'd like to keep in the loop when I post, please feel free to follow and favourite.

I can't believe how quickly this year has gone, with the Holidays already just around the corner. I also randomly remembered that I have an A03 account, so I've started crossposting this fic there. It's time consuming and unfamiliar, but I hope before long I'll have most of my stories up. I am trying to use it as an opportunity to correct some spelling and grammar errors. Initially it was my goal to have this fic reach 100k words, but I'm fairly sure I'll end up blowing past it. So even though I think we're past the halfway mark, I've still got so many ideas to get down before the story's through. Thank you so much for coming along for the ride!

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