Chapter Text
His hands were shaking —his whole body was shaking, sitting in the front office, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. Yev was hot all over; face, down his neck, his chest, back… everywhere. Hot, white-hot angry, and shaking. He moved his sight from the floor to his swollen, bloody knuckles, moving his fingers as best as he could, but it hurt like a bitch.
Throbbing lip and jaw, a little swollen under his eye; he sniffed, looking back down at the floor, ignoring whoever walked past him. He heard the school phone ringing in the background, shuffling of papers, soft chattering.
He’d never been in a fight before. Not a serious one. He’d managed to go sixteen years in South Side without being in anything more than a dumb shoving match, maybe a slap, or an elbow to the side. Never a real fight though. Unprecedented for a Milkovich, but his family didn't see it as anything other than something to be proud about. Yev didn't fight. Ever.
Now his tattooed knuckles were bloody from one of them splitting; he was sure that he was already getting a black eye, and from the taste of blood in his mouth, the inside of his lip was split as well. All he wanted to do was go home and sleep it off.
The front office door swung open and Yev didn’t have to look up to know it was his mother who came storming in. He couldn't even look at her, too fucking embarrassed about the whole thing. He had lost his shit. This level of violence was uncharted territories for him; feeling that anger, throwing his whole body into a hit. It was like he lost himself for a moment, and it didn't feel good at all.
“What happened?” Svetlana carefully took Yev by the sides of his face, directing him to sit up and look at her so she could see the damage. “Oh my god, Zhenya, your face… who did this to you? What the fuck happened?”
He didn’t answer, couldn't even look at his mother. Svetlana was a bad bitch. She was strong and collected, but right now, she looked horrified, eyes glassy as she spoke. He couldn't remember the last time he saw her cry —had he ever? He didn’t like it. And it was his fault she was looking at him like this; it made him feel even shittier.
“Ma,” Yev sighed, leaning away from her touch. His lip and jaw were tender and she kept trying to hold him.
And then, if things couldn't get any worse, two more people popped into the office. Yev leaned back in his chair, watching his dads and mom gather in front of him. Ian winced when he saw him; Mickey was still in his blue grease-stained coveralls, straight from work, nostrils flared, telling Yev all he needed to know.
“Jesus,” Ian’s face scrunched up as he reached out and touched Yev’s jaw carefully. “You okay?”
“The fuck you fighting for?” Mickey asked him, right to the point, not bothering to keep his voice down. “I got three cars waiting on me, your Dad’s got the diner, your mom’s got work… and we gotta drop everything because you’re fucking fighting? Better hope to god it was worth it.”
Yev, still leaning against he back of his chair, just looked at his Pop, not saying anything. If he did say anything right now, he’d get in more trouble. He knew this was Pop’s way of saying he was worried and scared and didn’t like seeing Yev beaten up like that. But right now, he just didn’t want to hear it.
“Lower your voice,” Svetlana warned Mickey.
“Mick—” Ian started.
But Mickey cut them off, “No, I wanna know what the fuck is going on with our kid! Where’s the fucker that did this?”
Yev huffed a humorless laugh; maybe he looked worse than he thought. Anthony was a little bigger than him, after all. He nodded towards the principal office door, “In there with his dad.”
“What happened?” Ian asked. Yev shook his head, glancing over at his mom; he couldn't talk about it, didn’t want to say it out loud, not here.
Principal Haas’ door opened, and Yev didn’t want to look at Anthony Moore and his dad, but he did. There was some kind of fucked up stare-down between Anthony’s dad and Yev’s parents. Anthony curled his lip back at Yev, wiping at his nose. The tension in the office was so fucking thick, it was almost suffocating.
Yev was kind of weirdly proud of himself though, seeing Anthony. Dried blood under his nose, bruises on his jaw and the inner corners of both eyes. Maybe it was a fairer fight than Yev had originally thought. Because for a minute there, his parents had him thinking he got his ass handed to him.
He was not expecting his Dad to be the one to speak up first. But there Ian was, stepping forward, placing his body between the two Moore’s and his family as he spoke to Mr. Moore, “He better not ever touch my kid again.”
Mr. Moore looked a little on the drunk side. Red faced, hard but watery eyes, “You threatening my son? Your kid is the one who threw the first punch!”
That earned Yev a sharp look from his mother and very high eyebrows from his Pop.
Ian shook his head, taking a step back when Mickey reached out and gently grabbed his elbow, “If he threw the first punch, your son did something to cause that. My kid doesn’t get in fights.”
“Son of a bitch,” Svetlana said quietly.
Principal Haas cleared his throat, cutting the short conversation off, “If we can move into my office, please?”
Anthony and his dad left with matching snarls, so Yev and his parents made their way into Principal Haas’ office. It was cramped and messy; his parents sat down in the chairs in front of the desk, while Yev was banished to the shitty little plastic chair by the office door, behind everyone. Which, honestly, was what he preferred.
“I’ve spoken to both of the boys,” Principal Haas began with an exhausted sigh, like he'd had this conversation one too many times this week. “No surprise, I’m sure, but I can’t get it out of them what was said that lead to the fight. Regardless of what was said, we can’t have fighting on school grounds.”
Yev watched as his mother turned around to look at him, eyes like fucking lasers in their focus, “Really?”
He kept quiet, still refusing to tell anyone what was said. South Side rules, right? Even when the shittiest things were said or did, you snitch on someone, you might as well shoot your reputation in the head. It was ridiculous, Yev knew this. But that’s what your programming was when you were raised here.
“Mr. Haas, that kid had to have provoked Yev pretty bad,” Mickey said. “He doesn’t fight —he’s a fucking good kid. I mean, I know he ain’t perfect, but fighting is not him.”
The principal nodded. “He’s very respectful to the faculty, his behavior isn’t stellar, but it’s good, he is a good kid… but I’m sorry, Mr. Milkovich, I can’t ignore the fact that is was Yev who started the fight. He’s looking at a five day suspension.”
“Jesus Christ,” Mickey sighed.
“Five days?” Ian repeated, sitting up a little straighter.
“How is that going to effect his schoolwork?” Svetlana asked. “He is good student.”
Principal Haas looked through some papers on his desk while he answered, “His teachers have agreed to send his work to the office to be collected each day —would your daughter be able to do this?”
Mickey nodded, “She can do that.”
“How is Olivia going to get to and from school?” Ian quietly asked Mickey.
Yev sighed when his Pop looked back at him with hard eyes, “Guess we’re gonna have to figure that shit out, aren’t we —now that everyone’s gotta move their schedule around for you, huh?”
“Mick,” Ian put a hand on Mickey’s arm, “Not now, okay? He’s busted up enough as it is.”
“It is five days,” Svetlana cut in, looking over at Yev’s dads. “This we can handle —I will drive Olivia, if you need me to.”
“Thank you,” Ian and Mickey murmured.
Yev still didn’t say anything through the rest of the meeting, just sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair, looking down at the floor. He felt numb and shitty and just wanted to sleep. His jaw was still throbbing —it was dull now, but every time his heart beat, he felt it there.
He wasn’t allowed anywhere near school grounds for the entire five days that he was suspended —if he went on school grounds, they’d have to call the cops. So Yev couldn’t even drive Olivia to school, or Amy and Gemma. The longer they talked about all this shit, the shitter Yev felt about everything. If only he could go back in time and walk away from Anthony Moore running his mouth.
Then they left the school, taking Olivia home early. Everyone was headed over to his dad’s house instead of going back to work. Mickey had phoned in to the garage on the way out of the school, displeased, telling his boss that he needed the rest of the day off. It was about to rain down on Yev, he could feel it.
They piled into the living room, Yev’s parents sitting on the couch, Olivia on the arm of the couch, Yev across from them on the plush armchair, like a weird intervention. Son, you’ve fucked up real bad once and now we have to talk about it, maybe send you away to live with relatives in Russia for the summer because obviously you’re out of control.
Obviously this was not going to pan out that way, and Yev’s head went into dramatics, but it sure as fuck felt that way. He didn’t want to talk about it. He just wanted to lock himself away in his room, listen to his music and sleep. He just wanted to fucking sleep.
It happened during lunch. Because shit was predictable and cliche like that.
Yev had been sitting with a couple friends —Jesse and Byron— just talking shit, laughing, probably being really obnoxious, but the cafeteria was loud anyways so no one really gave a fuck. And then Anthony fucking Moore came over to their table with his usual asshole smirk, and Yev knew that he was going to say something dick-ish.
Anthony Moore was just a fucking asshole. And he wasn’t even the kind of asshole that was funny or tolerable. He was just… awful. To everyone. He said shit to get under your skin because he liked to fight. A lot. The kid loved to fight more than anything. You could possibly call him a bully, but it seemed kind of juvenile to call him that. He was an asshole, plain and simple.
Yev kind of felt bad for him, because obviously there was shit going on in his life. But Anthony was just so horrible with no redeeming qualities, that it was hard to feel anything for him.
So anyways, Anthony comes over to Yev’s table and Jesse shoots Yev one of those looks like here we fucking go again. But when Anthony folds his arms under his chest and nods at Yev, something really weird shifts in the air, and Yev isn’t sure why, but his stomach drops.
He’s not scared of Anthony, he just doesn’t want to deal with him. He doesn't want to listen to whatever bullshit is supposed to tick him off. Anthony liked to talk shit about Yev’s dads, and there’d been some shoving in the past, profanities thrown around the hallways, but nothing more. Yev always walked away because he wasn’t a fighter like that. It wasn’t worth it.
“Your mom’s worked at the Alibi for a while, right?” Anthony asked.
Yev sighed, not liking where this was going. His classmates thought his mom was a MILF, and as beautiful as Yev knew his mother was… he really didn’t want to hear about that shit, “Why?”
Anthony shrugged, “I just wanted to know if it was true, what my dad said.”
“Yeah, what’d your dad say?”
“He said that before she was bar-tending, your faggy ol’ man was pimping her out above the bar for fifty bucks a pop,” he shrugged, grin cracking wider. “So I just wanted to know if she was still open for business —because if she is, m’gonna have to get on that.”
Both Jesse and Byron looked over at Yev with wide eyes, and Yev couldn’t even form a thought at that point. He caught his tongue in the corner of his mouth, pushing his chair out, “The fuck you just say?”
“I said I wanted to know if your mother was still a whore,” Anthony puffed his chest out a little. “From what my dad says, she takes dick real fucking good —and shit, for fifty bucks? I think I can swing that.”
Here’s the thing. Yevgeny Milkovich can protest the claim that he is a “Mama’s Boy” until he is blue in the face. But Yevgeny Milkovich is without a doubt, a complete Mama’s Boy. He loves his mom; they might disagree on some things, but his mom is like his fucking… home. His everything.
So while Yev has absolutely no idea what the fuck Anthony is talking about, he really doesn’t care —because this motherfucker just called his mom a whore, and his Pop a fag. And Yev whole-heartedly took that fucking bait, without question. One minute he’s feeling his whole body rev up, a fire catch in his belly... and the next, he’s on his feet, fist slamming into the side of Anthony Moore’s smug fucking face.
And the cafeteria exploded around them. It was like Yev left his body while he was hitting Anthony, rolling around on the hard cafeteria floor, yelling and kicking and lashing out. He tasted blood, but still kept going, because fuck this guy.
Yev wasn’t exactly a big, muscular guy. He was lean, on the verge of lanky… but he put up one hell of a fucking fight. It didn't matter that he’d never done this before; maybe it was instinct, like in his Milkovich blood, just knowing how to fight, knowing what to do. Maybe that instinct was just waiting for the right moment to rear it’s ugly head and attack.
“Well?” Svetlana prompted, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. Her face was locked in that sharp, expectant look.
But Yev shook his head for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He didn’t want his mom knowing about what people were saying about her. It wasn’t right. And he knew, in the back of his mind, that maybe this was his way of protecting himself. Because if the puzzle pieces were falling together —the rumors about Mickey being a pimp a long time ago— then Yev didn’t know how he’d handle it.
“Yev,” Ian sighed, “What happened?”
His eyes stung as he rubbed at his bottom lip, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. His eyes flicked to Olivia, who had a mixture of concern and interest on her face. Then he looked at Mickey and he clenched his jaw tight.
“You ain’t getting off that fucking chair till you say something,” Mickey finally spoke.
Yev opened his mouth, throat dry and it was hard to breathe all of a sudden. He looked at Olivia again and shook his head, eyes flicking back to Mickey, “You probably don’t want Liv to hear this.”
“Huh?” Olivia piped up, sitting up straight.
Ian frowned, “Did that kid say something about her?”
Yev shook his head, not looking away from Mickey, “No, he didn’t say anything about Liv. But you, Pop, probably don’t want her to hear about it.”
“About what?” Mickey asked.
His eyes broke away from Mickey to look at Svetlana, shoulders dropping a little, “About the Alibi.”
The room was quiet for a minute, as Yev’s parents put their own pieces together to figure out what his words meant. Then something clicked with all three of them at about the same time. Olivia, confused as ever, looked at Mickey for answers.
“Olivia, go to your room,” Mickey kept his voice quiet.
Yev looked at his mother —she’d gone pale, wide watery eyes, worse than before in the office. She seemed so small in a matter of seconds, so helpless. And Yev’s stomach dropped even further because then he knew for sure… it was true.
His Pop had been a pimp, and his Pop had pimped out the mother of his child. Fifty bucks a pop. And Yev felt like he was going to throw up.