Chapter Text
August, 2012
The dinner table was silent in the Ivanchenko household, except for the clatter of silverware against plates and the sounds of chewing. For once, Keith's father had come home early from work, and Keith wasn't sure how to feel about that.
"Chew with your mouth closed, son."
Keith swallowed, a mouthful of varenyky traveling down his throat. His mother hadn't even been looking at him, how the hell had she noticed? Nevertheless, he did as he was told.
"How was your day, Keith?" asked the father of the family, Borys. His tone was rather nervous, disguised with an attempt to be attentive to his child. Like his wife, his voice was coated with an Eastern European accent.
Keith only responded with a noncommittal shrug, shuffling his food around on his plate.
"Answer your father," the mother, Odessa, sharply ordered in Ukrainian. Her voice could be domineering and harsh when she wanted it to be, even more so when she spoke in her first language.
Keith halted his fork's attempt at distraction as he lifted his head. His gaze momentarily landed on his pale, dead-eyed mother before traveling back to his plate.
"It was okay," he mumbled at last.
Thankfully, Odessa left him alone after that, and once again, the dining room table fell silent under the fluorescent light of the ceiling fan. Keith had mostly lost his appetite by now: the varenyky his mother had made tasted dry and flavorless. He wondered sneakily for a moment how one could make potatoes, of all things, taste dry. But he knew better than to voice his opinions.
"I talked on the phone with your grandparents today during my lunch break," Borys announced, causing Keith to raise his head to glance at him. "We spoke about how this is gonna be your senior year, and they mentioned how they want you to learn more Ukrainian."
"H-how am I gonna do that?" Keith asked, stuttering slightly. His school had no Ukrainian language classes, only Spanish and French; Keith had chosen Spanish at the beginning of his high school career, and he liked to think that he was at least okay at it.
"I'll teach you here at home on weekends," Odessa decided firmly. "No son of mine won't know how to speak his mother tongue."
Keith swallowed again, harder this time. He suddenly felt very small, puny, even.
"May I please be excused?" Keith asked his father. When Borys nodded, Keith turned to Odessa. "Thanks for dinner, Mom," he solemnly told her, and he stood up to clear his plate.
"Thank them, too." With a finger as sharp as a sewing needle, her rosary shining menacingly against her bosom, Odessa pointed to the white wall opposite of Keith's chair. Hanging next to each other were two framed photos, one each of a smiling little girl about five years of age. One had her long hair braided into two plaits, the other a small mole on the right side of her upper lip.
Keith's heart sank, and he resisted the urge to frown. God, this was stupid.
"Thank you, Grace," Keith said, his voice rehearsed and tired. "Thank you, Sophia."
Only then was Keith allowed to leave the table. After placing his plate and emptied water glass in the kitchen sink, he made his way down the hallway to his room, almost stomping as he shut the door behind him. At the end of every family meal, he was commanded by his mother to thank mere ephegies of his deceased sisters for his food as though they were religious figures. What did it even matter anymore? They had been dead since he was seven: he barely even remembered what their voices sounded like.
The reality of that final statement made Keith feel like a terrible person, and his face fell. He reached up to rub the back of his neck as he kept his other hand on the doorknob, fingers combing through his longish hair the color of a crow's feathers.
Bong, bong, bong.
Keith jumped as he heard someone knocking on his bedroom window in quick succession. Horrified, he whirled his head around to look and -
It was Randy. Of course it was Randy, why was Keith being so paranoid?
Heaving a quick sigh of relief, Keith locked his door and walked quickly over to his window. He unlocked it and lifted it up, being met with the crisp air of a summer evening and Randy Acothley's freckled face, illuminated by the sunset and the light pooling out from Keith's bedroom. Scruffy ginger hair peeked out from under his backwards baseball cap, and his skin was the color of caramel.
"Buenas noches, pretty boy," Randy greeted him with a flirtatious grin.
"What're you doing here?" Keith asked him quietly. "You didn't tell me you were coming."
"'Cause that takes all the fun outta it," Randy slyly replied. "Now c'mon, the others are waiting in the truck."
Apprehensive but never one to miss out, Keith hurried to slip on his Doc Martens that his friend Nathan had bought him for his seventeenth birthday. He anxiously double checked to make sure his door was locked before slipping his cell phone and wallet into the pocket of his black jeans and applying some eyeliner, to which Randy moaned that he was taking too long.
"I'm coming!" Keith hissed. "And not so loud, my parents'll hear you."
"Sorry," Randy grumbled pointedly, now laying his arms on the windowsill. He was lucky that Keith lived on the first floor of his apartment building.
Finally, Keith turned on his lamp and shut off his ceiling light to give the illusion that he was fooling around at his desk before hopping out the window and shutting it behind him to keep the bugs from zipping inside. With that, the two began the journey around the block, where Randy had parked the truck he had recieved from his paternal grandparents for his sixteenth birthday. It was secondhand and a bit run down, but it did the job. In the blanketed bed of the truck sat two other teenagers, their faces breaking into smiles when Keith and Randy came into view.
"Hey, there's our boy!" Troy Maverick bellowed, his face breaking into a grin. He was short for his age and a tad chubby, his head topped off with a mop of light brown hair. He had that kind of obnoxious sense of humor that earned him a punch to the arm or shoulder more than once a week.
"Whaddup." Nathan Redarm greeted Keith with a simple nod of his head. He was the tallest boy in the group at six foot one, with long, straight black hair and a hawk-like nose to correlate with his almond skin tone. He was only sixteen, but that didn't stop him from being seen as arguably the scariest kid in the group. Perhaps the battle jacket that he always wore helped.
"Keith gets shotgun," Randy firmly announced as he walked up to the driver's seat. "You heard me, Sully."
"C'mon, I'm your brother!" whined the short, freckled sixteen-year-old in the passenger seat with dark brown curls peeking out from underneath a maroon beanie.
"Backseat, bean-"
"Okay, okay!" Sully Acothley threw his hands up as though in surrender, causing Keith to snort with laughter. He and Sully nonetheless exchanged friendly smiles as the younger boy hopped out of the passenger seat and climbed up into the bed of the truck with Troy and Nathan, allowing Keith to sit beside Randy in the front.
"Alright!" As Keith buckled in his seatbelt, Randy turned the exhaust and opened the sunroof. "We outtie, fellas."
Troy gave a whoop from the bed of the truck, and with that, Randy pressed the underside of his scuffed sneaker against the pedal and drove off. As the truck cruised down the Detroit East Side road and the radio was switched to the local rock station, Keith allowed a wave of comfort to wash over him. He didn't have to be so tense anymore, he reminded himself. He was with his friends, and he was in for a good evening. The early sunset sky was painted blue and pink and tangerine, bathing the streets in contrasting light and shadow.
It wasn't long before the truck had exited Keith's middle class neighborhood and entered the side of town where Randy, Sully, and Troy all lived, signified by an increase in graffiti, litter, and the unmistakable smell of stale tobacco. Keith knew good and well the news that always came out about this place - about the druggies, about the homeless folk, about the police brutality and gang violence. It was the hood, plain and simple. But it was also home to some damn good people, and Keith had never been especially afraid when in the area. He had Randy, after all.
Eventually, Randy parked his truck in a corner of the mostly empty parking lot at a local Walmart (he didn't bother parking correctly). He rolled down his window and craned his neck to voice his concerns to the others.
"Yo, Nate," he called, "you got the - ?"
"Yeah, I got the fake ID," Nathan drawled back.
"Well then, let's fuckin' roll!" Randy announced, and with a cheer, the group of five hopped out of the truck and began to head to the treasure trove inside.
Apart from having a successful neurosurgeon for a mother, Nathan had both an allowance and a job. So whenever the gang went out in the evenings for a little excursion or some general loitering, it was usually him who bought the snacks. Sometimes, being the decided leader of the group, Randy also pitched in - after all, he was a damn good thief. Sully, though he worked as a waiter, was pretty protective of his cash, but nobody blamed him for that.
The middle-aged dude behind the cash register seemed a little skeptical even when Nathan presented his pretty convincing fake ID, but to Keith's relief, the man simply shrugged and handed over the two six packs of Coors Light they had eventually decided on (though not without a bit of bickering). With that, they took their loot and headed back to the truck. Excitement was rife in the air, the sky darkening more with each passing minute.
"Alright, let's split these puppies open," Troy began excitedly.
Nathan retrieved his pocket knife from his - well, pocket, and began to open five of the beers one by one, handing one to each guy. Troy then raised his bottle in the air with a smile indicating that he was glad to be here instead of at home looking after his younger siblings.
"To summer nights!" he toasted.
Genuine joy welled up inside Keith, and exclamations of "cheers!" echoed around their little huddle. Bottles clinked and laughter bubbled, chip bags were popped open and cigarettes were lit.
Keith pressed the edge of the bottle of his lips and tipped it back. The watery taste of malt and sweet corn pleasantly slid down his throat, and in an instant, he felt warmer.
"So," Nathan spoke up, "who d'you think's gonna be the first to get arrested this year?"
Everyone chuckled at that, though somewhat ironically.
"If it's not me, then you owe me twenty," Randy shot back. "Anyway, what I'm wondering is if Sully's finally gonna put all my flirting advice to use instead of just jacking off his tiny-ass willy to Kristen Stewart across the hall."
"Dude!"
Sully's high-pitched exclamation of annoyed embarrassment caused everyone to burst out in a fervent cackle. Troy gave Sully a playful shove, to which Sully rounded on him.
"Don't act like you're better'n me, virgin," Sully sneered. "I ain't blind, I've seen the way you've been gawking at your neighbor's daughter."
"Yeah, it's like she's a slab of bacon or somethin'," Nathan disapprovingly agreed between puffs of a cigarette.
"Zoey's got a fat ass, is twenty-one, and wears fucking Juicy Couture tracksuits!" Troy whined back. "Can you blame me!?"
"Hey, maybe there'll be a cute new girl at school this year," Keith kindly reassured a red-faced Sully. "One who finds your inability to come up with a good pick-up line charming."
"Ooooh!" Troy whooped, causing Sully to elbow him harshly in the ribs. This made Randy laugh, and Keith's heart swelled.
The next hour felt like only fifteen minutes. Eventually, Keith found himself contently laying on his back in the bed of the truck, gazing up at the cloudy night sky with a hand rested on his stomach full of junk food that still tasted better than his mother's cooking. Randy lounged next to him, smoking a cigarette while Sully, Nathan, and Troy exchanged banter next to the tires. The orchestra of crickets created a rather nice backdrop against the ambience of Detroit traffic.
Randy took a lazy drag of his cigarette and leaned over a moment later. Keith couldn't help but start slightly when Randy climbed on top of him, but that didn't stop him from eagerly returning his kiss. Color rushed to Keith's pale face as Randy teasingly licked his bottom lip, his breath falling short.
"You okay?" Randy whispered against his mouth.
"Yeah," Keith breathed back heavily, indigo eyes fluttering open to meet Randy's rich brown ones. Sometimes, when Randy got excited, Keith could swear he saw sparks in them.
Keith reached up to wrap his arms around Randy's neck. For a moment, he felt the scar where some racist ass kids had forcibly cut Randy's hair when they were twelve, and the scissors slipped. When the instigator returned to school after his painfully short suspension, the first thing Randy had done when he saw him in the hallway was pin him down, beat him up, and bite his ear so hard he nearly ripped it off. Randy hadn't worn his hair long since, and his father's death in the Iraq War hadn't helped.
"How long've we known each other?" Keith asked softly. He knew, of course: he would never forget the day they met, on the playground in second grade. But he liked hearing it. He liked being reminded that Randy remembered.
"Almost a full fuckin' decade," Randy replied. "Hoping for lots more."
He grinned, causing Keith to giggle bashfully. The two shared another quick but passionate kiss before Randy eased off of Keith and returned to his cigarette. Tipsy laughter sounded from the foot of the truck.
Randy made himself comfortable on his side, his head supported by his upper arm and his free hand pressed against his baseball cap to keep his head upright. Keith turned his head to meet his gaze, and Randy playfully blew some smoke into his face. The stench of burnt tobacco wafting up his nose made Keith cough, but Randy only chuckled.
"Screw you," Keith irked out, though he was smiling.
"Yeah, yeah - I love you, too."
'I love you.' Keith didn't hear those words often from Randy, but that only made them extra special in his mind. But there were times when he wanted to hear them over and over again, like those nights that left him disheveled on his bedroom floor and made him feel like God had never been there for him at all.
But Randy couldn't know about those nights. Keith knew better than anyone that it would lead to him doing something he could never take back.
"D'you think we'll ever get outta here?" Keith asked. He was ashamed by how small his voice sounded.
Randy looked back at him.
"Know what we're gonna do?" he said, firmly and sincerely. "The minute we graduate, we're gonna pack up our shit in the back of this truck and get the hell outta here."
A grin broke across Keith's face, his heart skipping a beat. They had talked about it before, running away together just the two of them. But being young and broke, it had always seemed like a dream just out of reach.
"Marriage sound good to you?" Keith asked hopefully.
"I mean, hey, we can drive to Massachusetts," Randy answered. "Get hitched at a courthouse. Whatever you want, baby, I'll provide it."
Keith's smile turned soft and appreciative as he watched Randy take another puff, as though he had been sent from heaven itself. But it faded quickly, because he knew he would have to go home soon. And he knew his mother would be right down the hall.
"Pass me that cigarette," Keith murmured.
Randy did as he was told, and Keith took a long drag.