𝑰𝒏 𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒐𝒓𝒚 | Mischa Bachinski x Fem!Reader

Chapter 3: Just Drive

Friday, January 25th 2008

I snickered as I watched Mischa attempt to parkour across a series of benches in a quiet corner of the mall, making me record him flip off walls and jump over trash cans.

"Okay, okay," he ran up to me, out of breath. "Show me the video." He grabbed his phone from my hands and played back the video, laughing. "That was wicked awesome!" He shouted.

Mischa pocketed his cellphone, running back to collect his discarded hat from the side of a bench.

"Alright, what is next?" Mischa asked, jogging towards me.

I groaned. "Food, are you kidding? I watched you parkour for…" I checked my watch, "30 minutes. I'm unbelievably hungry!"

"We will go get food then." Mischa said, still smiling like a small toddler. "But can we come back here? It's very peaceful."

"Sure."

…

We walked down to the food court, pushing our way past dirty tables and dirty napkins strewn across the floor. We ended up grabbing takeout at some random Japanese place.

"I'm surprised they even have something like this opened here! This is great!" I beamed, trying to open the container.

Mischa put his bowl down. "Do you need help?" He asked.

"No, I've got it." I laughed, struggling.

Mischa promptly took the container from my hands, opening it for me.

I sighed, "Thanks."

"Damn, this is the bomb!" Mischa exclaimed. "What did you say this was again?"

"Ramen. There used to be a place like this on Martin Avenue when I was younger, but it closed a couple years ago." I thought back to the old Uranium City, the one that was still slightly alive, the habitable one. "Anyways, tell me about Ukraine."

Mischa exhaled, "Ukraine is very beautiful, but uh," he started, "I moved around a bit. It's a very long story."

I gestured for him to continue.

"Well," he thought. "I was born in Odessa, but we moved closer to Kyiv when I was 7, about an hour away?"

"Kyiv is Ukraine's Capital, right?" I asked.

"Yeah. Even though my mother did not have much, she paid money to get me into a good school. But when I was around 11 things started to get…bad." He looked down at his hands. "Before I was born my mother, Tamara, had got a job as a liquidator at Chernobyl. She had done amazing things for Ukraine, but because of the radiation, she had become very, very sick."

"I'm so sorry." I said.

"No, no, don't be. She knew very well it would happen one day. She was a brave woman." He cleared his throat, "She could not afford the treatment, and she did not know who my father was. So when I was 15 she put me up for adoption at an orphanage in Kyiv."

Mischa took a deep breath and gave me the same bittersweet smile. "In Kyiv is where I met my girlfriend-" he paused. "Ex-girlfriend, Talia. We broke up because she did not want to have a long distance relationship."

"That's her own fault. You're pretty cool." I smiled.

"Thanks." Mischa said, burying his face in his hands, before laughing, "I don't even know why I just told you all that?"

I shrugged. "Well I'm glad you trust me enough to do so."

"Even though I've only known you for 3 weeks? It's weird." He stopped, thinking. "In a good way."

"Yeah." I sighed. "Well, everything's okay, right? With your adoptive parents?"

Mischa didn't answer, he took a breath and stood up, collecting his trash. "Is Noel done?"

"Maybe, let's go find him." I said, checking my phone. No messages from Noel yet.

"Y/n?" Mischa called, lightly touching my shoulder. "Thank you."

"Of course." I said.

We threw our trash out, grabbing our things, and started on the journey to find Noel.

…

We walked around for 15 minutes, unsuccessful. I had even called Noel a couple times with no response.

"Where the hell is he?" I groaned, sending him a text. "I really should have set a meet up location-"

I turned around to see Mischa stopped in front of a store window, gazing.

"Mischa, we have to find Noel." I pestered him.

"Yes, yes but look." He said, pointing to something inside.

I paused and looked, "What?"

Mischa walked inside, and pointed, "This!" He said excitedly.

He had been pointing to a leather messenger bag, with golden sunflowers embroidered on the bottom. He flipped over the price tag, and his smile dropped.

"30 dollars? I cannot afford that." Mischa attempted to hide his disappointment. "Does not matter, it's probably too girly anyways."

I took note of the bag.

Mischa and I walked out of the store, meeting face to face with Noel.

"Bitch where were you?" Noel said, crumpling a handful of papers in his hand, shoving them in his bag.

I scoffed, linking arms with him. "Up your ass and around the corner."

Noel stuck his tongue out at me, smiling. "Let's go please, I'm so sick of this place."

…

The car ride back to Uranium City was full of screaming, laughing, and Mischa blasting some of the most emo music I've heard in my life. And yet I struggled to keep my eyes on the road as Mischa and Noel acted like complete toddlers, there were even a couple of times I thought I might lose control of the car.

I dropped Noel off at his house, he slid up the driveway, moving slowly to his front door, searching for his keys.

"Mischa, where do you want me to drop you off?" I asked, turning up the heater.

"Just up the road." He stated, almost deadpan. His energy just seemed to drain at the mention of his house.

I tried to keep myself in a good mood, hopefully it would rub off on him. "Alright." I said, slowly driving until he told me to stop.

I pulled into the driveway. He reluctantly opened up his door, and grabbed his things from the trunk.

"Hey- wait." He started sticking his head through the open door. "Can you wait outside for a minute?"

"Yeah of course?" I agreed, confused.

He swings his bag over his shoulder. Looking back at my car before walking inside.

I rested my head on the steering wheel. Mischa didn't really seem… happy, about his new parents. Maybe he's just homesick? I thought.

I heard shouting and jolted up. Mischa was attempting to walk out the doorway, yelling in a rageful mix of English and Ukrainian. Another male voice shouted back at him, something about what an awful mistake he is.

"I don't want to have this argument again, бажати!" Mischa pleaded, "It wasn't my fault! I didn't know!"

The other voice, which I assumed to be his adopted father, yelled some profanity and slammed the front door.

Mischa stormed over to my car and I unlocked the door letting him in. He shut the door and let out a sob.

"Are you okay?-"

"Just drive. Anywhere."