Couchsurfing Curiosity

Introduction:

Yumi had always played it safe until a wild Couchsurfing trip brought her from the crowded streets of Tokyo to the moody, electric heart of Belgrade. What started as a group hangout with strangers quickly spiraled into something unforgettable: a chance meeting with Stefan, the city's charming, mischievous local. One accidental late-night photo, a flurry of curious DMs, and two days of mounting tension later, Yumi was about to learn just how thrilling it could be to let go of her fears, break every rule, and lose herself in a foreign city, and in Stefan's arms. This was one night she'd never forget.

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Yumi Kato's first impression of Belgrade was chaos in the best possible way.

Everything was louder than Tokyo: the screech of trams, the wild laughter of students spilling from outdoor bars, the golden light bouncing off centuries-old stone, the air dense with unfamiliar spices and something smoky and sweet. Her phone's Google Translate app buzzed at her hip like a digital lifeline. Every sign looked like secret code: Cyrillic script that made her think, secretly, of magic.

She tugged her suitcase behind her, flanked by Miki and Aya, her friends from university. They were as wide-eyed as she was, cheeks already flushed pink by the Balkan summer heat. Miki was snapping photos of everything street murals, a crooked lamppost, even a stray orange cat sunning itself beside a graffiti-splattered kiosk. Aya had already bought a bag of suspiciously spicy peanuts from a street vendor and was trying, through the salt, to declare them "probably edible."

The hostel, when they found it, was three flights up, run by a grandmotherly woman with sharp eyes and a knack for finding lost slippers. The beds creaked but the Wi-Fi was strong and, best of all, the front desk had left a battered old iPad open to the Couchsurfing app.

Yumi logged in and felt that shiver of possibility that came with every new city. She loved the app: the way it turned strangers into friends, the endless feed of public "hangouts," the quirky profiles with smiling faces promising city tours, secret bars, and sometimes "couch and good conversation, no weirdos please."

It was Miki who spotted the event:

"Tonight! All Travelers & Locals Welcome -- Chillhouse Bar, 8pm. Bring your best travel story and worst Serbian accent!"

Yumi tapped RSVP with nervous excitement. Maybe she'd finally get to practice her English outside a classroom. Maybe she'd make a Serbian friend. Maybe her heart did a silly skip she'd flirt. Not that she was bold, not really, but... wasn't that what travel was for?

They dressed quickly nothing too fancy. Yumi in denim shorts and a loose white blouse, her hair pulled back, the tiny gold crane necklace her grandmother gave her hidden under her collar like a secret charm.

The Chillhouse Bar was down a cobbled alley right on the Danube, lights strung overhead, music drifting out in a mix of Balkan pop and something jazzy. The whole place hummed with energy and laughter. The "Couchsurfing table" was easy to spot: a rowdy cluster of foreigners and locals waving beers and gesturing wildly as they swapped stories. A hand-lettered sign said "YES THIS IS THE COUCHSURFING GROUP!" in wobbly marker.

Miki and Aya steered Yumi to the edge, but before they could even sit, a tall guy with messy brown hair and a black tee-shirt that said "Sarcasm Loading..." materialized at their side.

"Are you the Tokyo girls?" he grinned, the question perfectly casual, like they'd already met.

"Um, yes," Yumi replied, her English suddenly shy. "I am Yumi. This is Miki and Aya."

"I'm Stefan. Welcome to Belgrade, city of mystery, history, and the best hangover food in Eastern Europe."

His English was perfect, but laced with that slight, rolling accent.

He bowed actually bowed so low it made Miki giggle.

He straightened and added, "Sorry, you'll find I'm full of bad jokes and worse recommendations. Please, sit, join the madness." He ushered them to the main Couchsurfing table.

The group was a wild assortment:

Jovan and Jelena, locals trading travel tips;

a French couple comparing train delays;

two Australians arguing with an Italian about "real" pizza;

a German girl who'd already downed three rakijas and was trying to teach everyone a Bavarian drinking song.

There were introductions, cheers, glasses clinking in four languages.

Stefan ordered them drinks local beer for him, sweet red wine for the girls, and a tray of rakija (plum brandy) "for true initiation."

He leaned over and whispered, "Don't let anyone force you to drink it all. That's how they steal your passport."

Yumi giggled, feeling her nerves slide away.

The conversation was a glorious mess. Yumi found herself laughing harder than she had in weeks.

Stefan's jokes cut through language awkwardness he explained Balkan gestures, exaggerated his own accent for effect, even did a dramatic reading of the Couchsurfing "tips for guests":

"Number four: If a Serbian grandmother offers you food, refuse only if you want to die."

When Stefan found out Yumi spoke a little Serbian (thank you, too much anime and a few Google searches), he challenged her to repeat a phrase:

"Ja sam gost iz Japana i volim pljeskavicu!"

She said it, the table cheered, and only later did he translate:

"I am a guest from Japan and I love Serbian burgers."

He asked her about Japan, what she missed most (the trains, the quiet, vending machines with hot coffee). She asked what it was like to live here.

"It's noisy, beautiful, always a little broken. Kind of like me," he winked.

He made everyone tell their "worst travel story." His was about being stranded in Budapest after a party, ending up spooning a Hungarian guy on a hostel floor for warmth ("He still sends me Christmas cards. Hi, Gabor, if you're out there!").

When the group splintered for a smoke break, Stefan stayed, talking with Yumi about everything movies, languages, the weirdest thing they'd ever eaten (hers: fermented squid; his: sheep's head soup in Kosovo).

At one point, Yumi tried to apologize for her English, but Stefan cut her off with a raised finger:

"Rule one: No apologizing for being awesome. You're better at English than I am at Japanese, and you're braver for being here."

He taught her to say "Thank you" ("Hvala!"), "Cheers" ("Živeli!"), and after a moment's hesitation "You are beautiful" ("Lepa si").

Yumi blushed, ducking her head.

Miki, watching from across the table, gave her a look eyebrows up, as if to say, go on, have fun.

Aya snapped a sneaky photo under the table, texting it to their group chat:

"Yumi is getting her Serbian love story already lol"

By the end of the night, everyone was swapping info WhatsApp numbers, Instagram handles, Couchsurfing connections.

Stefan added her on Couchsurfing with a flourish, holding his phone up:

"See? Now you have Serbian protection. No more getting lost or at least, if you do, we'll find you."

They lingered outside the bar, the city humming, the Danube glinting under the moon.

People started drifting away in pairs and threes, promising to organize walking tours, bar crawls, "something fun before you leave!"

Yumi found herself not wanting to say goodbye not yet.

She and Stefan stood on the curb, awkward and giddy. He leaned down, conspiratorial:

"If you get bored of Miki and Aya, text me. I'll show you the real Belgrade. Secret food, secret places. No tourist traps. Promise."

She nodded, surprised by how much she wanted that.

He grinned and said, "See you soon, Tokyo girl."

As she walked back to the hostel, Yumi replayed the night in her mind how easily Stefan made her laugh, how he looked in the golden bar light, the wild way travel could turn the world upside down.

In the group chat, someone posted:

"Same time next week? Or tomorrow?"

"Yes!!"

"Don't leave until we do a pub crawl!"

Yumi smiled at her phone, stomach fluttering.

She typed:

"Thank you for a wonderful night. Živeli!"

Stefan replied a moment later with a winking emoji and:

"The night is young, and so are we. Welcome to Belgrade."

That night, in the narrow hostel bed, Yumi couldn't sleep.

Outside, the city sang to itself, and she thought: Maybe I am brave. Maybe this will be a story worth telling.

****

*Yumi*

The next two days blurred into a sweet, jangly dream.

Belgrade unfolded itself in layers old fortress walls draped in ivy, wild street murals, cafes spilling out onto noisy boulevards, the tang of river breeze mixing with the sharp bite of grilled meat from every corner.

Yumi and her friends did it all:

They took selfies in front of the Kalemegdan Fortress, hair whipped by the wind, giggling as Miki tried to photobomb every shot.

They ate hot, peppery ćevapi with their hands, fingers greasy, laughing when Aya tried to pronounce "kajmak" and made a local vendor grin.

They got lost in the bohemian tangle of Skadarlija, half-drunk on rakija and the rush of being somewhere new.

But in quiet moments waiting for trams, in the lull before sleep Yumi found herself scrolling through her chats.

The Couchsurfing group chat was a rapid-fire stream of photos, jokes, memes, and "Who's up for drinks tonight?" messages. Stefan always seemed to be there, tossing in puns and invitations, playfully needling Jovan about his "tourist trap" walking routes, or suggesting wild, "totally real" Serbian customs like "kissing the left shoe for good luck."

Yumi liked his energy, the easy way he made everyone feel included. But she liked his private messages even more.

After the group night, Stefan had messaged her a meme a cartoon cat holding a rakija glass, the text in clumsy Japanese:

"Yumi-san, you survived Serbian welcome. Respect!"

Yumi laughed aloud, typing back,

"Thank you, sensei. Next time I will drink two!"

He replied instantly:

"Careful, that's how you wake up speaking Serbian and married to a goat."

"I like goats," she teased, cheeks warm.

*Stefan*

On the second night, with the city buzzing in the background, Stefan sat on his bed, a local beer sweating on the table, half-watching a football match he didn't care about. His phone buzzed constantly: group plans, banter, a message from his regular hookup, Mila, asking if he was "feeling wild tonight."

He grinned at the screen, not really in the mood, but started to reply anyway thumb flicking through his gallery for a flirty pic to keep her entertained.

He found the right one: shirtless, freshly out of the shower, towel riding low on his hips, a lazy, confident grin on his face. He'd snapped it a week ago, figuring he'd send it sometime.

Without thinking, he hit share, tapped the chat bubble at the top the one he'd most recently used. Sent.

He glanced down, expecting the familiar blue checkmarks of Mila's read receipt.

But the chat at the top didn't say "Mila."

It said "Yumi."

For half a second, he stared at the phone, paralyzed.

Then his heart plummeted.

"Oh fuck."

He scrambled, hands shaking, firing off a message:

"Shit Yumi, I am so sorry! That was NOT for you. Please delete that! My stupid thumb..."

He pictured her seeing it her shy smile from the bar, her gentle voice and wanted to die of embarrassment. He'd just sent a near-nude to the sweetest, most polite Japanese girl he'd ever met.

He barely knew her.

*Yumi*

The message landed as Yumi was tucked into her bunk, face sticky from too much street ice cream, hair wet from a late shower. She scrolled, expecting cat memes or new group plans.

The photo at the top of her WhatsApp froze her blood.

It was Stefan his bare chest, skin still glistening with water, a white towel hanging precariously low. She could see the cut of his abs, the shadowy promise of what lay big beneath, the rakish tilt of his mouth.

Her heart hammered so hard she thought her bunkmates would hear it.

She'd never received anything like this before never even seen a boyfriend topless, let alone a near-stranger.

She almost dropped her phone. For a second she wanted to hide under the covers.

But then Stefan's flurry of apologies pinged in:

"I promise I'm not a creep! I was trying to send that to someone else. I'm SO sorry. Delete it, please. Shit. I'm dying."

Yumi didn't know what to do. Part of her wanted to laugh part wanted to scream. But a much quieter part of her, the one that had dared her to book a one-way ticket to Europe, felt something else entirely.

Curiosity.

She typed back, thumbs trembling:

"It's okay. I'm... surprised. But I will not die. ????"

A pause.

"You look... very strong."

Then, panicking, she sent another:

"Sorry! That sounds weird. English is difficult. I'm not angry. Just shocked."

*Stefan*

Relief and mortification crashed together.

He wanted to crawl under his bed, but her reply wasn't angry, just flustered.

He decided to own it, throwing out a joke:

"Promise not to send you any more Serbian hospitality by accident. Unless, of course, you're into that."

He added a sweating emoji, feeling like an idiot.

*Yumi*

She laughed, the knot in her stomach loosening a little.

"I don't think I ever saw a picture like that from a friend. Maybe not from anyone."

She meant it. Her ex in Japan barely let her hold his hand in public. This this was wild.

She hesitated, then:

"My friend Aya will laugh. She says European guys always do this."

*Stefan*

He grinned, emboldened:

"We have a reputation to maintain. But I promise, I only send those to people who ask nicely. Or when my phone gets possessed by rakija."

*Yumi*

She thought for a minute, heart pounding with mischief she barely recognized in herself, and replied:

"Maybe Serbia is making me braver. I don't hate it."

The conversation took on a new energy awkward, thrilling, underlined with an electric honesty neither had planned for.

Stefan, emboldened, said:

"I'll have to make it up to you. Let me buy you a drink, to erase the trauma. Or at least distract you with stories of bad Serbian Tinder dates."

Yumi, biting her lip, wrote back:

"I think I want to see more of the city. And maybe... learn what makes Serbian guys different."

He shot back,

"Careful, we're famous for our dangerous charm. And even more dangerous dancing."

As her friends snored, Yumi lay awake, staring at the photo, replaying the night at the bar. She thought about the stretch of skin, the easy confidence, the way Stefan had looked at her over candlelight.

She wasn't angry. She was... excited.

It was as if a door had opened in her chest one she hadn't even known was locked.

She sent one last message before drifting off:

"Let's get a drink. But you have to promise no more towel photos. Unless I ask, maybe."

Stefan replied, quick as ever:

"Deal. But only if you teach me how to say 'please' in Japanese."

That night, as Belgrade whispered outside, Yumi's dreams tangled with language and laughter, and the memory of Stefan's almost-accidental, completely unforgettable invitation.

****

*Yumi*

The next day, the city was all blue sky and sharp sunlight, but Yumi felt like she was moving through a private fog of anticipation. She checked her phone a little too often. Every time Stefan's name popped up, her heart jumped, half in thrill, half in nerves.

Aya noticed immediately.

"You've been smiling at your phone for an hour," she teased over coffee, eyebrow raised. "Did you find a Serbian boyfriend already?"

Yumi ducked her head, flustered.

"No! Just... new friends."

Miki chimed in, "Uh-huh. Does your new friend have a six-pack?"

Yumi nearly choked on her latte.

After breakfast, while Miki and Aya plotted out their day ("statue selfies, vintage market, ice cream again, yes?"), Yumi lingered in her bunk, thumb hovering over Stefan's chat.

She remembered the way her cheeks had burned last night. She remembered how, even as she tried to focus on the group plans meeting at Republic Square, maybe visiting the Nikola Tesla museum her mind kept wandering back to that photo. Back to the idea of seeing him again.

She told herself it was just curiosity.

But it felt like something more dangerous, a kind of low, humming want that vibrated under her skin.

She opened their chat.

[Chat: Yumi & Stefan]

Yumi:

"Good morning! I'm not traumatized. Just surprised. Serbia is full of surprises."

Stefan:

"Morning, Tokyo girl. Surprises are how we keep life interesting. Did you survive the shock? No bad dreams about towels?"

Yumi:

"Only good dreams. Maybe Serbia is making me bold." (pause, blushing at her own daring)

Stefan:

"I like bold. Bold is fun. Want to hear something crazy? When I first saw you at the bar, I thought, 'She's going to be the most interesting person here.' Guess I was right."

Yumi:

"You are a flatterer. In Japan, people are more... shy, maybe. It's hard to say what you think."

Stefan:

"Then we'll have to balance each other out. I'll be too much, and you'll keep me in line. Deal?"

Yumi:

"Deal. But only if you teach me more Serbian. Like... something useful."

Stefan:

"Hmm. Okay. 'Dobar dan' good day. 'Lepa si' you're beautiful. 'Opasna si' you're dangerous."

Yumi stared at that last one, biting her lip. Her heart fluttered.

She typed:

"Am I dangerous?"

He replied:

"I think you might be. Or maybe I'm in danger around you."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she sent a GIF of a kitten hiding under a blanket. He replied with a GIF of a wolf, winking.

The next few hours slipped by in a blur of city wandering, but all she could think about was their conversation. She kept replaying it his easy way with words, how he made her feel interesting, even dangerous. She wondered what he saw in her. She wondered if he was just being nice, or if he really meant it.

She caught herself, at one point, taking a selfie in the hostel mirror hair messy, cheeks pink from the sun. For a second she thought of sending it to him, then chickened out and saved it to her camera roll.

That afternoon, after a marathon walk and a half hour of bad Serbian TV in the hostel lounge, she got another message.

Stefan:

"Quick question can I ask you something maybe a little personal?"

She felt her pulse quicken. She typed:

"Maybe. I'm scared now. ????"

Stefan:

"Don't be! Just... I was thinking. People always talk about how different things are in Japan. Is it true dating is really formal? Like, no kissing on first dates?"

She smiled, relaxing.

"Sometimes it's true. People don't talk so much about feelings. I never got a picture like you sent before. My ex would faint."

He replied instantly:

"Good thing I'm not your ex. I'd much rather make you blush than make you faint."

She laughed out loud. Miki, passing by, asked, "What's so funny?" Yumi just shook her head and turned pinker.

Stefan kept going:

"Okay, now you get to ask something about Serbia. Anything. I promise to answer honestly."

She thought for a moment, then typed:

"Is it true that Serbian guys are... um... very big? My friend Aya keeps telling me that. Is that a weird question?"

He didn't answer right away. The three dots blinked for what felt like forever.

Finally:

Stefan:

"Haha! You're braver than you think. Let's just say, I've never had complaints. ???? But I think size is less important than knowing what someone wants. And being gentle."

Yumi felt her face go hot. She pressed her phone to her chest, heart pounding.

"I'm just... curious. I don't want to be rude. I've never... I mean, never with someone not Japanese. Maybe it's a travel thing? Wanting to try new things. My friends will tease me forever."

He replied:

"I think that's the best part of travel doing things you never thought you would. Even if it's just a new food. Or... a new kind of company."

She took a deep breath.

"Are you flirting with me, Stefan?"

Stefan:

"Absolutely. But only if you want me to. If not, I'll go back to sending cat memes and telling you where to get the best burek in town."

She giggled, feeling her body relax, excitement replacing the nerves.

"I like it. I'm just... shy. I'm not sure how to say what I want. Sometimes English is hard."

He replied, softer now:

"Then let's go slow. We can talk about anything. Or nothing. No pressure. And if you want, I can teach you how to ask for something in Serbian. Or how to say no. Or yes."

She surprised herself by asking,

"How do you say 'yes'?"

Stefan:

"Da. Like 'dah.' Easy. Want to practice?"

She sent a voice memo, whispering,

"Da."

He sent one back, low and warm,

"Good girl."

Yumi gasped, covering her mouth in shock and delight. That phrase so simple made her ache in a way she'd never felt before.

The rest of the evening unfolded like a secret. They traded stories about bad dates, worst travel fails, and Stefan sent a voice note telling a dirty joke in Serbian, then translating it after she giggled helplessly at the sound of his deep voice.

He asked her for a selfie, "so I know you're really real and not a Japanese bot sent to make me fall in love with Tokyo." She hesitated, then sent the photo from earlier, shy but smiling.

He replied with another: himself on his balcony, city behind him, hair wild, shirtless but this time just a hint enough to tease, not to shock.

As the sky turned purple over Belgrade, the chat grew more confessional.

Yumi admitted:

"I want to be brave. I want to try things I can't do in Japan. Maybe... with you. But I'm scared. What if I'm not what you expect?"

Stefan replied:

"You're more than I expect. You're amazing. And nothing will happen unless you want it. That's a promise. If you just want to talk, I'll talk. If you want to hold hands, I'll hold your hand. If you want more, just say da."

She took a long time to answer, feeling a wild mix of fear and longing.

Finally, she wrote:

"I want to see you. Just talk. Maybe more if I'm brave enough. But I want to try. Da."

He replied with a single word, but it was enough.

"Da."

In the group chat, Jovan posted:

"Last night in Belgrade for our Japanese crew! Drinks at Jazz Bar tonight?"

Stefan DMed Yumi privately:

"Come early. I'll save you a seat. We'll go slow. And I'll show you my favorite view of the city. Only if you want."

She typed, hands trembling but steady:

"I want."

That night, as Aya teased her about "making memories," and Miki threatened to crash her date, Yumi felt brave.

She put on her favorite dress, tied her hair back, and looked in the mirror. Her lips tingled, her heart thudded.

She was going to see him again. Maybe for just a drink. Maybe for something she'd never forget.

****

*Yumi*

The sun dropped behind Belgrade's rooftops in a smoldering haze, the city humming with Saturday possibility. Yumi's hostel felt like the inside of a shaken soda bottle: Miki dancing around in her towel, Aya fussing with her eyeliner, everyone laughing and throwing out outfit opinions. Yumi could barely keep her hands steady as she brushed on a little mascara. Her reflection looked both more and less like herself eyes wide, cheeks pink, hair loose down her back.

"You look like you're going on a date," Miki teased, sprawled on the bed, phone in hand.

Yumi shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant as she zipped her dress a pale blue that always made her feel brave.

"Just drinks. And maybe jazz. Group thing."

"Sure, sure," Aya grinned, snapping a photo. "If you don't come back by midnight, we're calling the embassy."

They all laughed, and for a second Yumi felt the odd weight of goodbye. Tomorrow, the train for Budapest left before dawn. The city was slipping through her fingers last drinks, last laughs, last chances.

Her phone buzzed.

Stefan:

I'm here. Outside. Table with the best view. If you get lost, just follow the sound of terrible jazz saxophone.

Yumi's heart fluttered. She slipped on her shoes, tucked her key and phone into her tiny bag, and hugged her friends.

"Wish me luck?"

"Don't do anything we wouldn't do!"

"So... basically anything!"

She darted down the hostel stairs into the velvet air of Belgrade at night.

Chillhouse Jazz was tucked under a tangle of willow branches, red lanterns swinging over the patio, river lights flickering in the distance. The air pulsed with a lazy saxophone solo, laughter, and the scent of grilled meat and sweet tobacco. People lounged everywhere at wobbly tables, on the grass, someone even sitting on the river wall, feet dangling.

Yumi spotted Stefan instantly.

He stood tall, dark shirt rolled at the sleeves, hair messier than usual, one hand in his pocket, the other waving her over with a little flourish.

He grinned as she approached.

"You made it! And you look..."

He paused, eyes lingering, playful but sincere.

"... very, very dangerous."

Yumi laughed, feeling her nerves fade.

"Only a little."

He held out a chair for her.

"Tonight's special is 'rakija roulette' apricot, plum, or mystery. Which do you dare?"

Yumi eyed the glasses.

"I'll try mystery."

"Brave. Could be poison."

He winked, poured her a shot, and toasted,

"Živeli!"

She knocked it back warm, fruity, with a sharp burn that made her eyes water.

"It's not so bad!"

He nodded, impressed.

"See, you're a real local now."

Conversation, Chemistry, and Curiosity

They talked, and the world faded around them.

Stefan spun stories about growing up in Belgrade:

The first time he snuck onto the fortress walls as a kid ("I thought I was a ninja. My mom thought I was in jail.")

The time he was almost arrested for "stealing" a street dog ("I was rescuing him! The police did not care.")

His grandmother's "cure-all" soup and the curse of Balkan mothers who text every hour.

Yumi told him about Tokyo:

Falling asleep on the last train home and waking up in the wrong prefecture.

Her shy high school crush who wrote her poems about vending machines.

Her grandmother's wisdom: "You don't find adventure, you become it."

They teased each other about language Stefan trying to say Japanese tongue twisters, Yumi laughing so hard she nearly spilled her wine.

He taught her how to order street food in Serbian, and she made him repeat the Japanese word for "delicious" until he mangled it so badly the waiter snorted with laughter.

Other Couchsurfers arrived in noisy waves Jovan with his stories of drunken Budapest, Jelena with her polaroid camera, the German girl already tipsy and singing old Yugoslav pop songs. Miki and Aya swept in, flanked by a pair of sunburned Australians. For an hour, the table was chaos drinks, toasts, confessions, someone teaching the "Macarena" to the French couple.

But even in the crowd, Stefan's eyes kept finding Yumi's, the conversation always drifting back to the private thread between them.

He leaned over, voice low.

"Want to escape? I know a place with the best view of the city."

"I thought this was the best view," she teased.

"This is just the start."

A Walk by the River

They slipped away, the noise fading to music and laughter behind them.

The night was velvet and alive. Stefan led her down to the riverside, where boats glided by like silent ghosts and the city lights shimmered on black water.

They walked close, Yumi's arm brushing his. She felt tipsy not just from the drinks, but from the heat of his nearness. Every time he looked at her, her stomach flipped.

They found a quiet spot under a willow, the city stretching out in lights and music. Stefan stopped, looking out over the river, then at her.

"This is my favorite place. When I was a kid, I thought the river went all the way to Japan."

Yumi laughed, moved by the image.

"Maybe it does. Tonight, it feels like it."

They stood in silence for a moment, the air humming.

Stefan turned to her, searching her eyes.

"I'm glad you came tonight. I didn't want you to leave Belgrade without..."

He hesitated, then smiled.

"... without knowing how much fun it can be."

She surprised herself by reaching out, taking his hand.

"I want to know. Everything. If you want to show me."

His thumb traced her knuckles, gentle and sure.

"I want to. But only what you want. You set the pace."

She nodded, breath catching.

"Can we... go somewhere more quiet?"

His smile was bright and unguarded.

"I have just the place."

The taxi ride to Stefan's apartment was a blur city lights, Yumi's heart hammering, Stefan's hand warm over hers.

He lived in a small flat near the university, walls lined with books and postcards, a cluttered desk under a window. The air smelled like coffee and something spicy.

Stefan made tea, moving with practiced ease.

"I promise, no more towel photos. Unless you ask."

She laughed, nerves melting as she explored shelves full of travel guides and battered novels, a Japanese kanji poster ("I bought it at a flea market. I think it says 'dragon' but it could say 'stupid foreigner' for all I know.").

He played soft music, the city lights a distant glow through the window.

"Do you want water? Or coffee? Or... something else?" he asked, turning to her.

She shook her head, stepping closer.

"I want to know what it's like. To... not be shy."

He touched her face gently, his palm warm on her cheek.

"You're already the bravest person I know."

She closed her eyes as he kissed her soft at first, then deeper, his hand threading into her hair.

For a moment, all she could hear was her own heartbeat, the hush of his breath, the distant hum of Belgrade night.

****

*Stefan*

He closed the apartment door softly behind them, as if any louder sound might shatter the strange, beautiful spell hanging in the air. Yumi stood just inside the entryway, toes pointed together, clutching her tiny purse in both hands. Her hair gleamed in the hallway light, eyes wide, cheeks still flush from river air and cheap red wine.

Stefan's nerves buzzed under his skin a wild mix of excitement and caution. He'd had his share of flings, travel hookups, first kisses that went nowhere. But this felt different. Every glance from Yumi felt new, fragile, like something rare he'd found by accident.

He tried to keep things light.

"Okay, ground rules. My apartment has no wild animals, unless you count the neighbor's cat who sometimes breaks in. The couch is actually comfy, despite appearances. Also, full disclosure my plants are all dying, so please don't report me to any Japanese gardening societies."

Yumi giggled, stepping out of her shoes.

"In Japan, plants are serious business. But I will protect your secret."

He gestured toward the kitchen.

"Tea? Water? Coffee? I know it's late, but I have every herbal thing in the universe."

She set her purse on the table, fingers fidgeting with the strap.

"Tea, please. Something... gentle."

He started boiling water, making small talk about the neighborhood: the old poet who lived upstairs, the bakery downstairs that did "croissants better than Paris, but don't tell the French." All the while, he watched Yumi, how she wandered the shelves, tracing the spines of books Serbian novels, guidebooks in a dozen languages, a Japanese dictionary with sticky notes poking out.

She picked up a photo from the shelf him, grinning, arms around a group of friends by the Danube, all of them tanned and laughing.

"Your friends?"

He nodded, smiling at the memory.

"Travelers. Couchsurfing. They always end up here for one reason or another. I think my sofa has hosted more international guests than most embassies."

She set the photo back, more curious than shy now.

He handed her a steaming mug something floral, calming. Their fingers brushed; she didn't pull away.

*Yumi*

She held the tea between her palms, letting the warmth ground her. Stefan's apartment was cluttered but cozy books everywhere, mismatched cushions, postcards taped to the wall from Istanbul, Vienna, Tokyo. There was a lived-in charm, nothing like the neat, careful apartments in Japan. Here, it felt okay to be messy. To be a little lost.

She sat on the edge of the couch, knees together, her blue dress pooling around her thighs.

Stefan sat beside her not too close, just enough for her to feel the heat of his body.

For a while, they just sipped tea, talking about anything but what buzzed in the air between them.

"Do you always host travelers?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"I like meeting people. Every story's different. And I get to play tour guide. It's addictive."

"Do you... often have drinks like this?" she asked, heart fluttering.

He glanced at her, eyes soft.

"Not like this. Not with someone who makes me forget I'm supposed to be the host."

She smiled, looking down.

Her hand trembled on the mug. Stefan noticed.

He set his tea aside.

"Hey. If you want to leave, I'll call you a taxi. If you want to just hang out, that's great. If you want... anything else, you can have it. I won't do anything unless you say yes. That's a promise."

She looked up, heart pounding.

"I want to be here. I want... more. But I don't know how."

He leaned in, slow, giving her all the space in the world.

"We can go as slow as you want. Or stop whenever you want. Brave is just another word for curious."

She took a shaky breath, feeling the city humming outside, the warmth of the room, the gentle steadiness in his eyes.

"Can I kiss you?" she whispered, surprising herself.

His answering smile was so tender she nearly melted.

"You can do anything you want," he said.

The first kiss was soft a brush of lips, a question more than an answer. He tasted faintly of herbal tea, his hand feather-light against her jaw. Yumi felt her entire body spark to life, nerves raw and new.

She drew back, laughing softly in disbelief.

"I've never done this. Not like this. Not with someone... not from home."

Stefan cupped her cheek, thumb tracing her skin.

"There's no right way. Only what feels good. And you feel..."

He trailed off, searching her eyes, finding courage there.

"You feel amazing."

He kissed her again, deeper this time, and she let herself lean in, feeling his arm slide around her waist, the warmth of his body, the press of his chest.

The city outside faded. All that remained was the hush of breath, the low thrum of her heart, the surprise of how badly she wanted this.

Rising Heat

He broke the kiss, forehead resting on hers.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded, breathless.

"I want more. I just don't know what to do."

He chuckled, gentle.

"We go slow. I promise."

He brushed her hair back, kissed the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her neck. Each touch a new invitation, a new question.

His hands were big, warm, careful fingertips tracing her arms, her back, her waist. She felt small in his embrace, but not fragile; more like the world was suddenly so much bigger, and she wanted to see it all.

He asked before every touch.

"Here?" his hand hovering at the hem of her dress.

"Okay?" as his lips found her collarbone.

She nodded, whispering "Da," learning the word in her bones.

He slipped his hands beneath her dress, feeling the softness of her thighs. She trembled, but not from fear.

"If you want to stop " he began.

She shook her head, voice trembling but certain.

"Don't stop. Please."

The tension in the room fizzed into something giddy and raw as Yumi tugged at Stefan's shirt, her fingers clumsy but intent.

He grinned and obliged, arms raised so she could strip it off him like a surprise present, both of them laughing a little at how serious and silly it all was.

His chest was lean but muscled, dappled with faded summer freckles and a scattering of pale scars stories she wanted to ask about but saved for later. A trail of dark hair led from his belly button downward, a map she traced with her fingertips, barely breathing.

She paused to look at him, eyes wide, her voice hushed but teasing.

"You are so different. Your skin, your hair, everything."

He shivered, her touch electric.

"You can touch wherever you want. I like when you explore. I like... your hands."

Her fingers grew bolder, moving up to his collarbone, across his chest, marveling at the warmth, the coarser hair, the firm muscle shifting under her gentle touch. She ran a finger down the center of his chest, then tapped the little scar above his ribs.

"Did you fight a bear?" she joked, voice soft and bright.

He laughed.

"No, just bad soccer as a teenager. Not as cool as a bear, sorry."

She grinned, then let her hands drift lower. Stefan slipped his hands to her waist, watching her for any sign of doubt.

"May I?" he whispered, thumb at the hem of her dress.

She nodded, her breath catching. He slipped the dress from her shoulders, letting it fall away slowly, as if unwrapping a secret. Yumi shivered in her simple pale blue bra and panties, suddenly aware of every difference between their bodies her skin smooth and pale, her frame small beside his, delicate compared to his length and breadth.

He drank her in, gaze full of reverence.

"You're beautiful, Yumi."

She blushed, then admitted shyly,

"In Japan, I always wanted to be tall. Like European girls. I feel... little."

He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, his lips lingering.

"Small is perfect. You're perfect. You fit in my arms."

He squeezed her lightly, drawing a giggle.

"I want to see you too," she whispered, a flicker of mischief in her eyes.

Stefan hesitated just long enough for her heart to skip, then stood, hands moving to his belt. He popped the button, then the zipper, sliding his jeans down in one practiced move. His boxers strained outward, the outline of him bold and impossible to ignore.

Yumi's eyes went round as saucers.

She covered her mouth, half-laugh, half-gasp.

"Wow... Aya told me, but I thought she was joking."

Stefan flushed, sheepish, suddenly very aware of how exposed he was.

"Too much?"

He kept his hands near his waistband, ready to stop if she panicked.

She shook her head, lips curving in awe.

"No... just, in Japan, I only see this size in, um... hentai. Like, cartoon."

She burst out laughing, face red.

"Sorry, I know that sounds weird!"

He burst out laughing too, the tension dissolving.

"That's the best compliment I've ever gotten. Maybe I should have brought a tentacle."

She giggled harder, then bit her lip, eyes flicking from his face to the bulge in his boxers.

"Can I...?"

Her hand hovered, seeking permission.

Stefan nodded, voice a low rumble.

"Of course. Please."

She knelt forward, fingers sliding under the elastic. He watched, breath held, as she eased his boxers down. His cock sprang free thick, flushed, rising with the beat of his heart.

Yumi stared, biting her lip, her hand hovering before she finally wrapped her fingers around him her palm barely able to circle the base.

"It's so... hot. Heavy. I never felt like this before."

Stefan exhaled, body tense, his head tipping back.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured.

She squeezed, just a little, marveling at the heat, the pulse beneath the silky skin, the way he twitched in her grasp as she explored.

"We don't learn words for this in English class," she teased, giving him a shy stroke from base to tip, her thumb flicking the bead of slickness there.

He grinned, half delirious with sensation.

"Want to learn? In Serbian, 'kurac' is cock. Naughty, but honest."

She tried the word, tongue stumbling over the sound:

"Koora... kurac?"

He groaned at the sound of her accent.

"Good. Now you teach me in Japanese?"

She blushed, giggling.

"In hentai they say 'chinpo'... but that's very dirty. Don't tell my grandma."

He laughed, the tension fading as she grew bolder, stroking him with more curiosity, watching how he swelled and thickened under her hand, the tip growing darker and slicker as he hardened.

"You make me feel... powerful," she admitted, voice hushed with wonder.

He reached for her, brushing her hair back, cupping her cheek.

"You are powerful. You could make me come just like this."

She grinned, giving him a few slower strokes, delighting in how he tensed and breathed out her name.

"I want to see how much more you can teach me," she whispered, eyes shining with excitement, a wild sense of adventure in every touch.

He groaned again, eyes dark and adoring, his hand covering hers as they moved together, learning new words, new sensations, and the universal language of want.

He sat, guiding her gently into his lap, arms holding her close.

She straddled him, feeling his hardness pressed between her thighs, the thrill of newness racing through her.

He peppered her neck and chest with kisses, whispering in Serbian words she didn't understand but felt all the same.

He reached for her, rubbing gentle circles against her panties, feeling her melt against him.

"You're so wet," he murmured.

She blushed, covering her face.

"You make me feel... different. Good."

He tugged her panties aside, sliding a finger inside, feeling how tight she was.

He moved slow, careful, asking with every look, every word.

"Tell me if it hurts. Tell me if you want more."

She nodded, gasping as he worked her open, the pleasure building with each motion.

The couch cushions shifted under them as Stefan leaned in, laptop still glowing on the table, Spotify jazz looping in the background. Yumi found herself on his lap, straddling him, her knees pressed into the soft cushion on either side of his thighs. Their mouths met in a hungry, breathless kiss that tasted of wine and anticipation.

Her fingers curled into his hair, tugging gently as he teased her lips open, his hands settling on her hips hot, steady, grounding her in this moment. Her body was alive everywhere he touched, a slow burn gathering between her legs.

She wriggled forward, hips rolling down onto his lap, feeling the thick press of his cock trapped beneath his boxers. With just a thin barrier of her soaked panties between them, she felt every twitch and throb hot, solid, impossibly big.

He pulled back, cupping her jaw, his eyes dark and teasing.

"You're already so wet for me, Yumi. I can feel you through your panties."

She blushed, looking away, but he wouldn't let her hide.

"That's so sexy. I love how much you want this."

She shivered at his praise, grinding against him just a little, moaning as the tip of his cock slid along the damp cotton, brushing her entrance.

"It's... so big, Stefan," she whispered, awed and a little breathless.

He laughed softly, nuzzling her neck.

"You keep saying that, but you're taking it so well already. I think you're even braver than you know."

Her hips rocked again, craving friction, her panties growing wetter with each motion. The heat built her desire outpacing her nerves as she kissed down his jaw, breath hot in his ear.

He hooked his fingers in the band of her panties, teasing but gentle.

"Should I put it on?"

She nodded, biting her lip.

He reached over to the side table, grabbed a condom, and she giggled when he tore open the foil.

"That size... I don't think they sell this in Japan!" she blurted, laughing shyly.

"Maybe only in hentai."

He barked a laugh, rolling the condom over his thick length, his hands shaking.

"I'll bring some next time I visit, just in case you want a souvenir."

She shifted above him, feeling the head of his cock nudge against her.

"Let me try. I want to do it myself."

He nodded, hands settling on her hips, letting her take control.

She lined herself up, her small hand wrapping around his base, guiding him to her soaked entrance. Her breath shuddered as she pressed down, the tip parting her folds, stretching her wide. She gasped, legs trembling at the fullness, every inch a new shock of sensation.

She only took him halfway, moaning, feeling her body stretched and clenching around him.

He stroked her thighs, murmuring,

"That's perfect, Yumi. Go slow. Take as much as you want."

She nodded, jaw slack, hips rolling tentatively up and down. Each movement made her slicker, her tight heat gripping him even harder.

She panted, laughing through the pleasure, switching between English, Japanese, and clumsy Serbian as the words fell out.

"So... so big. Feels... sugoi... amazing. Your... kurac... inside me. Oh god."

He grinned, eyes full of awe.

"Say it again. You sound so fucking hot."

She giggled, voice slurred by pleasure.

"Kimochi... it's... good. Better than hentai, Stefan."

Her legs soon began to tremble, thighs burning with the effort of riding him. Every time she tried to lift herself, she felt her muscles falter falling harder onto his cock, taking him deeper than she meant to, crying out as her body learned to stretch around his size.

He groaned, the sight of her struggling to take him only making him harder, thicker.

"You're doing so good, Yumi. Look at you taking me deeper every time. I'm so proud of you."

She whimpered, overwhelmed by sensation.

"My legs... can't... oh!"

She collapsed down, his cock pushing even deeper, filling her to the hilt.

He stroked her back, kissing her shoulder.

"Want me to help?"

She nodded, dazed.

"Can I pick you up?"

Her eyes widened, lips parting in anticipation.

"Yes, please do it."

He wrapped his big hands around her ass, lifting her effortlessly, her arms looping around his neck as he rose from the couch. She laughed, high and wild, as he held her in the air, her pussy still gripping his cock, her legs dangling, thighs trembling.

He began to bounce her gently, using his strength to control the rhythm, letting her move at her own pace but guiding her down, inch by inch, deeper and deeper.

Each bounce made her gasp, her pussy clenching tighter around him, her core burning with pleasure and a little ache.

He moved them to the center of the room, her hair swinging, skin slick with sweat.

She moaned, the sound echoing off the walls.

He grinned, moving her higher and dropping her down, not all the way just as much as she could take.

"You're perfect. You feel so good. So fucking tight, Yumi."

She babbled, unable to control her mouth, a blend of English, Japanese, and made-up sounds.

"Ah Stefan, it's... big... yabai... I can feel... everything. Every... vein..."

He groaned, grinding up into her, hips rolling, cock thick inside her.

"You're squeezing me so hard... like you're milking my cock."

Her nails dug into his shoulders as she whimpered,

"I love it. More. Please more, Stefan."

As she grew wetter, her body finally relaxed, letting him slide her deeper, until with a final desperate moan, she took him to the base his cock buried balls-deep inside her.

Her entire body shuddered, the stretch sending a shock of pleasure up her spine.

He kissed her hard, feeling her pulse around him, both of them groaning, lost in the sensation.

"God, you did it," he praised, voice rough. "Look at you taking all of me. You just needed time."

She nodded, tears of pleasure in her eyes, her whole body tingling.

He set her down and spun her, pinning her gently against the wall, her face flushed and mouth open. He looked into her eyes, seeing that perfect mix of awe and need.

"Good girl. You're amazing. I'm going to make you feel even better."

He started to fuck her harder, each thrust stronger, deeper, making her gasp and cry out.

Her moans filled the apartment high, sweet, shameless.

"Stefan... they'll hear!" she managed, embarrassment in her voice.

He grinned, not slowing for a second.

"Let them. I want them to know how good I make you feel."

He angled his hips, each stroke hitting her deeper, her cries rising with every thrust.

The neighbors must have heard her, but Stefan only grinned wider, making her moan even louder, his hands holding her hips as he slammed into her.

When her legs gave out, he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently, his cock glistening with her arousal, standing thick and proud.

She looked up at him, shy but longing, voice trembling.

"Stefan... can you... make me cum? Please? I want it so much."

He crawled over her, his body large and powerful above her small frame. He kissed her, whispered in her ear,

"Of course. I want to feel you cum around me. Show me how much you love it."

He pushed inside her again, slow at first, then faster, harder, filling her so deep she felt him in her stomach.

She gasped, hand sliding between her thighs, rubbing her clit as he pounded into her.

"Oh god, oh god, Stefan... it's too much so good "

Her body locked up, muscles clenching, her pussy tightening and pulsing around him as she came hard, shuddering, crying out his name.

Stefan grunted, losing control, thrusting deep as he came with her, filling the condom to overflowing, her body milking every last pulse from him.

They collapsed together, breathless, drenched in sweat and laughter, the sheets tangled around them.

He cradled her, stroking her hair, whispering in Serbian,

"Lepa si... moja si. You're beautiful. You're mine."

She curled into his chest, heart hammering, the city lights flickering through the window.

"Thank you... for making me feel everything," she whispered.

He kissed her forehead, holding her as they drifted into a haze of afterglow and contentment.

For one perfect, reckless night, nothing else existed but them.

****

*Yumi*

Yumi woke to the pale gray light of dawn, tangled in warm sheets, her head pillowed on Stefan's bare chest. At first she felt weightless, floating in that strange, half-sleeping place where nothing bad can reach you. Then the world slowly crept in: the unfamiliar ceiling, the city murmurs outside the window, the steady thump of Stefan's heart beneath her ear.

For a second, she almost believed it was a dream. Then she shifted, and felt the ache between her legs a perfect, aching reminder that last night was all real.

Stefan stirred, a sleepy arm tightening around her waist, pulling her closer. His hair was a riot, pillow-creased and wild, his face unshaven and boyish in the soft light.

He opened one eye, saw her watching, and grinned.

"Morning, Tokyo girl."

His voice was rough, low.

"Did you sleep?"

She smiled, cheeks flushing.

"A little. I kept waking up to make sure it wasn't a dream."

He laughed, hand tracing lazy patterns up and down her spine.

"I promise, you're awake. I have proof."

She giggled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

They lay there for a while, the room filled only with the hush of their breathing and the far-off rumble of trams starting up for the day.

First Light, First Jokes

Stefan's stomach grumbled loudly, making her jump. He groaned, covering his face with his arm.

"Sorry. Authentic Serbian romance, now with bonus hunger."

Yumi's laugh echoed off the walls.

"I'm hungry too. But I don't want to move."

"You don't have to. Serbian hosts bring breakfast to the guest."

He slipped out of bed, bare and unashamed, pulling on his boxers and a loose t-shirt. Yumi sat up, wrapping the sheet around herself, smiling as he busied himself in the kitchen.

"Don't judge my cooking," he called. "I only know how to make two things: coffee and toast."

She perched on the edge of the bed, gazing out at the city. The sky was pink and blue, the river shining in the distance. She felt changed soft, open, light as air.

A few minutes later, Stefan returned with a tray: thick slices of bread slathered in honey, two mugs of strong black coffee, and a small bowl of apricots.

"Ta-da! Balkan luxury breakfast."

He sat beside her, and they ate cross-legged on the bed, sharing bites and sips, laughing when Yumi wrinkled her nose at the bitter coffee.

"In Japan, we eat rice and fish for breakfast. This is very... sweet."

He raised his mug.

"To new tastes. And to travelers brave enough to try them."

She clinked her cup against his.

Language, Laughter, and Lingering Touches

After breakfast, they lingered, their bodies drawn together as if by gravity.

Stefan pressed a soft kiss to her bare shoulder.

"So, are all Japanese girls this brave?"

Yumi rolled her eyes, grinning.

"No. Maybe only when they visit Serbia."

He pretended to look serious.

"I think you should teach them. You're a very good student, but an even better teacher."

She blushed, pushing his shoulder playfully.

"Teach me more Serbian. Something I can use."

He pondered, then whispered in her ear:

"Nedostajaćeš mi."

She tried to repeat it, tongue stumbling.

"What does it mean?"

He met her eyes, suddenly soft.

"It means: I'll miss you."

Her heart squeezed. She looked down, suddenly blinking fast.

"I'll miss you too."

Reality seeped in as Yumi's phone buzzed three missed messages from Miki and Aya, and a reminder: TRAIN TO BUDAPEST: 9:30 AM.

She sighed, standing, reluctantly letting the sheet fall away as she began to dress.

"I have to go soon."

Stefan nodded, quiet for a moment.

"Want me to walk you to the hostel?"

She smiled.

"Please. If you don't mind."

He helped her with her tangled hair, slipping her crane necklace around her throat, fingers gentle.

She took a last look around his room, gathering memories a photo of them laughing, the crumpled tea mug, a postcard of the Belgrade fortress.

"Wait," he said suddenly, digging through a drawer. He handed her a small, battered keychain a tiny model of the fortress.

"For luck. And so you don't forget Belgrade."

She grinned, clipping it to her bag.

"I won't forget. Ever."

The walk to the hostel was soft and slow. The city was just waking vendors setting up flower stalls, old men sipping coffee at sidewalk tables, children on bikes shrieking with joy.

At the door, they stood awkwardly, neither wanting to let go.

Stefan took her hands, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.

"Will you come back?"

Yumi bit her lip.

"Someday. Maybe you'll come to Japan."

He grinned, pulling her in for one last, lingering kiss.

"I'll get a passport just for you."

She laughed, blinking away tears.

"You promise?"

He nodded, and she reached into her purse, pulling out a tiny, perfect paper crane.

"This is for you. For luck. And for new stories."

He tucked it into his shirt pocket, hand over his heart.

"Thank you, Yumi."

They hugged, a long, tight embrace that said everything words couldn't.

As she turned to go, he called after her in Japanese his accent terrible, his smile huge:

"Ki o tsukete! Safe travels!"

She looked back, waving.

"Sayonara, Stefan!"

On the train to Budapest, Miki and Aya grilled her mercilessly.

"So? How was Serbian hospitality?"

"Are the rumors true?"

"Is he as funny naked as he is dressed?"

Yumi blushed, laughing, tucking the fortress keychain into her palm.

"It was... perfect. All of it."

She gazed out the window as Belgrade faded behind them, the river winding into mist, and pressed her phone to her chest already missing the city, the boy, and the version of herself she'd found there.

Weeks later, in her Tokyo apartment, Yumi received a photo: Stefan, standing at the fortress wall, holding the paper crane, the city behind him.

His message:

"You should come back. Or better let me find you in Tokyo. Still owe you a proper Serbian breakfast."

She smiled, her heart full.

Typed back:

"Anytime. I'll save you a seat at my table."

For one night, Belgrade had been the whole world. And for a long time after, every time Yumi touched the tiny fortress on her keychain, she remembered: the taste of rakija, the warmth of his hands, the feeling of being both lost and found.

And she knew she would never be quite the same again. And that's how adventures and memories are made.