The night seemed darker than ever with dark grey storm clouds lingering in the sky, concealing the stars and the moon; my trek across the campus seemed longer than ever, my heavy heart weighing down my every step. I adjusted the hood I had pulled up over my head, yanking it down further to hide the tears that were pooling in my eyes. I had known for as long as this sexual relationship had been transpiring that it wouldn't go any farther than just that: sex. So why did I continually allow myself to get hurt?

I quickened my pace at the beacon of light that was the campus cafe, a place I usually only inhabited in the mornings before classes. I didn't typically drink coffee at night preferring to stick to some sort of sleeping schedule but at the moment, I needed some coffee and some time to sort through my thoughts. I pushed open the door, and a rush of warmth and low lighting hit me. I blinked several times, noting the amount of people in the cafe. I double checked the time on the borrowed rose gold watch on my wrist; nearly 1 AM.

I shook my head, attempting to disregard the anxiety that wedged itself in my chest. Even if there was a good amount of people, there was no way anyone would pay me and my tears any attention anyways. From what I had gathered, college students were self centered and didn't necessarily pay any mind to people that they weren't friends with. I sidled into line, using my sleeve to wipe at my nose and beneath my eyes.

The menu board was written out in colorful chalk, some of the names of the drinks sounding like a completely foreign language. My eyes blurred from how long I stared, leaving me unable to read the titles of the frappuccinos and mochas and macchi-whatever-the-hell. I'd been so busy trying to reign in my tears, that I hadn't even noticed that I was now at the front of the line. The cashier glared a hole into my soul, her hazel eyes swirling with blue, green, and murder.

I shuffled my feet, shoving my hands into the pockets of my sweatshirt. "Uh," I stuttered out, averting my eyes to the counter finding it friendlier than the cashier with ice for a heart. "A medium caramel latte. Please."

"Sure." The girl said and it almost sounded pleasant until she looked up, piercing me with her soul sucking, demonic glare. "That'll be $3.48."

I rooted through my pockets, throwing five dollar bill at her and practically skidded across the floor over to the other end of the counter to wait for my coffee. She didn't call after me about change, not that I expected her to, and even if she had, I would have pretended that I didn't hear her. Girls like her always intimidated me; the kind that seemed as if they could stomp out your entire existence in the bat of an eyelash, a flip of the hair. My sister was similar to that, and it was the reason we never truly got along in my opinion, but she disagreed and made it well known that she disagreed. My thoughts drifted off to my sister as I waited, only succeeding in souring my mood further.

"Pretty girls like you," a voice startled me, tearing me out of my thoughts so fast I had mental whiplash. "Should probably try to refrain from keeping their hearts on their sleeve."

My eyes finally settled on the girl standing next to me. Her deep blue eyes were flickering with amusement as she observed me, as if she found my interminable misery funny. Although her eyes had been the first thing to capture my attention, I forced myself to scan over the rest of her. She was slighter than me, but just barely, with her waist ribbon thin and her height being slightly shorter than my own. Unruly obsidian curls fell around her face and down her shoulders, a sharp contrast to her ivory skin. My cheeks burned red when I noticed that she must not be wearing a bra, apparent by the fact that I could make out nipple piercings through her thin T-shirt.

The girl's laughter at my blush caused me to tear my eyes away from her bust and focus on her nose that was decorated by a shiny septum piercing.

"Excuse me?" I questioned, referring to her previous statement. "What do you mean?"

She leant against the counter in an all too graceful way; elbow propped on the edge, head resting in her hand as she peered at me, smirking. "Sweetheart," she cooed, her voice both soft and smoky simultaneously. "You're standing here, looking absolutely beautiful and catching everyone's attention, but with this heartbreaking look on your face. As if someone just kicked your puppy. Or as if you're the kicked puppy. Never know who you'll attract like that, probably some kind of asshole who thinks you need saving. Suck in that lip and play hard to get."

I gaped at her, shocked by her words. For talking to a stranger, she was brutally honest and extremely. Maybe it was in that moment I decided I liked her, then, because I had a certain adoration for real; I'd had enough bullshit in my life and practically craved real. My order was called, causing me to drag myself away momentarily to grab it. It was the same cashier, her hazel eyes still swirling with murder. Unable to contain myself, I smirked and blew her a kiss before turning to face the Brutally Honest Real No Bullshit Stranger.

Said stranger was laughing, head thrown back, curls bouncing. When she had managed to calm herself, she hooked arms with me, leading me over to a booth in a back corner. The booth was dimly lit as in barely lit at all, but the girl didn't seemed bothered, sliding into one side. When I stood, staring at her, she raised an eyebrow, as if daring me not to join her. I set my jaw then slid in across from her, ignoring the pleased smirk she sent my way.

"Do you have a name?" I inquired, wrapping my fingers around my warm cup. Usually, I tended to ask people what their name was, but something about her made me wonder if someone as mysterious and idealistic could even actually have a name. I was rewarded with another laugh at this question, and I couldn't help but smile, feeling like a kid that had just gotten a gold star sticker.

"I suppose I do," she responded, leaning back in her seat. Her feet bumped against my own and I pulled mine back so fast, that I slammed my heel into the edge of the booth. I gritted my teeth to keep from wincing. "People call me Ria. What about you, baby doll? Or do you like the nicknames? Because I can stick with that too. Your blush when I call you them is pretty cute." A blush burned my cheeks and her teeth gleamed in the low lighting as she smiled.

"Quinn," I whispered, finally daring to take a sip from my coffee. It was still too warm and still scorched my mouth, but it allowed me to stall as I tried to come up with more to my answer. "Quinn O'Brien."

"An Irish girl?"Ria's eyes sparked, as if she was genuinely interested in finding out everything there was to know about me. I nodded shyly, eyes settling on the notebook in front of her. It was filled up with ink of all colors: blue, black, red, pink, purple. My eyes snagged on the tube of red lipstick sitting next to the notebook, the cap off, laying on top of a napkin smeared with makeup. I noticed she wasn't wearing a lick of makeup and was suddenly intrigued. "I love the Irish. Can hold their booze and have quite the temper, even if they hide it well." She tilted her head. "I'm Russian. We're kind of the same way."

I licked a drop of coffee off the side my coffee cup, avoiding eye contact. When I looked at her too long it did something to me; it ignited a fire deep inside my soul I didn't even know was there, seering my insides.

"That's cool," I said, tracing shapes on the table with my finger to keep myself occupied. Ria noticed, flipped to a new page in her notebook then gently slid it over to me, pens resting ontop. I grinned, internally pleased that she had noticed my inability to hold still; pleased that she understood it wasn't because I didn't want to talk to her. I began to doodle absentmindedly with the red pen. "Do you speak any Russian?"

"It'd be kinda hard to speak with my grandparents if I didn't know it," she replied honesty, voice full of sincerity. My body ached with joy at how open and real she was. "Besides, I lived in Russia until I was three."

My eyes bounced up to her's, shocked by her admission. "Really?"

She nodded, her face falling solemn, a complete contrast from her playful and flirty attitude I had been exposed to previously. "Yeah," she said, a sigh accompanying the word. "My parents birthed me here, but went back to Russia to see their parents. They left me there when I was four months old. I didn't see them again until I was three, when my dad's parents brought me over."

"Wow." I breathed out, truly impressed. My fingers itched as I stared at her expression, longing for the feel of the camera in my hand so I could capture her face, this moment. An impulse flooded through me, and I reached out, grabbing her hand, squeezing it gently. "Thank God for grandparents, right?"

She nodded in agreement, though she couldn't truly understand how much I meant those words.

I spent the rest of the night in the cafe with Ria. We talked for hours on end, taking turns paying for coffee. When I told her about Brandon, she laughed, and somehow, made me forget all about him. I wouldn't ever admit it to myself, but I was enraptured, completely drawn in; and I didn't want to leave, not at all.

I would do anything to stay in the rose colored bubble that Raven, Ria, Petrov had created for us, and us alone.

All bubbles were made to be burst.

a/n: I've kept this under wraps for so long and now I'm so excited to finallyyyy come out with the first chapter. As it says, this is not your tradional love story and it may be the start of the series. 

xoxo,

ry.