You were traveling in Russia. It has always been a dream of you to visit, since your family is from there, but you grew up in Toronto. Now you're on a solo trip, walking the streets and admiring the sight seeing spots. After all the walking around though you got a bit tired, so you searched up a coffee shop on Yandex (for those whp don't know it's like google), and started walking towards the direction. When tuning a corner a man bumped into your shoulder. You gasped and let your phone fall to the ground.

"Твою мать! (Basic translation: 'fuck!') " He hisses.

Tall, short cut pale blonde hair, sharp features, scars, freshly trimmed beard, and dark hazel eyes.

He looks you up and down for a moment, noticing how upset you lookg down at your phone. His expression turns gentler, he crouches down and picks up your shattered phone.

"Мне жаль, милая (I'm sorry, dear)," he says, turning the phone over in his hand.

You know basic Russian, as your parents taught you at home, but you never went to school to study it. You gulp, trying to scramble the words you remember.

"Он мне ... нужен был (I needed him (the phone))," you say. He noticed your accent right away, so he switched to English.

"Not from here?" He asks with a soft grin. You nod at his question.

The stranger sighs, "I owe you one."