Chapter Text
Anya is a master of sneaking out. This time is more important than the others, so she is far more careful than she normally would be. It’s early spring, and she’s still months away from her 18th birthday, months away from her high school graduation and months away from the so-called system that will spit her out into the streets.
There’s not much to pack, she’s not gathered much over the past years she’s spent in the foster care system. Just a matter of taking her fate into her own hands. Even if some things were already out of it.
This all felt like a bit of a show, she was a breath away from being kicked out anyway. She’s too rash, too impulsive, too careless with her own self for self preservation.
There’s something romantic and calming about disappearing into the night.
It’s a bit anticlimactic when her feet hit the sidewalk, and not a single obstacle stood in her way, not a single being stirred. Her impact on the world isn’t enough to cause a ripple in her immediate circle.
There’s still one thing that can go wrong.
But he’s there before she can even finish the thought, hand on her elbow.
“Second thoughts?” Dmitry Sudayev asks her, but they’re already walking away from the apartment building she’s resided in for the past six months.
She shakes her head, hand slipping into his. “Haven’t even formed first thoughts.”
They’ve become friends, of sorts- the emphasis on of sorts over the past six months before making a getaway together.
Anya doesn’t really trust anyone, but she’s taking a leap of faith anyway. There’s not much of a choice there, but she pushes that thought from her mind.
The night air comes out in puffs from her mouth as she waits for him to unlock his car, tugging the sleeves from her sweater over her hands and resting her hands on the strap of her backpack.
Dmitry pulls open the door for her, and presses his lips against her lightly. That’s new.
“Your lips look cold,” he tells her and she rolls her eyes as she drops her bag on the floor in front of the seat and slides into the car.
“What a move, Sudayev,” she says, tipping her head back, squinting against the bright streetlights.
There’s no other cars on the road. His car is noisy as they pull away but she supposes it doesn’t matter at this point. The chugging of the car may as well be chanting you’re free, you’re free to her in a way she hadn’t felt since she was a young girl.
It must lull her to sleep because she wakes up several hours and a state later, the bright lights of a city given to dim headlights and the shadows of backroads.
She doesn’t know where they’re headed, but Dmitry always has a plan.
There is still one little thing they need to work into this running away plan, however.
“Hey,” she says, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. The radio is low, quieter than the sound of the engine. “Should probably mention something to you.”
Dmitry glances over at her, it’s too dark to make out his mood or response. “What’s that?”
“I’m pregnant.”