what if i told you i cheer for my college and ive deadass been practicing since 10:00 a.m, had a one hour break, and just finished at almost 11:00 p.m - then tomorrow i have to get up at 7:00 a.m and cheer until 4:00. so… no new content today mama is going to kill herself
i hate working a reception job cus wdym i say have a good day and then you just say bye like holy shit i hate you i will slit my throat in front of you right now.
hi so i actually NEED to be barricade at this cortis concert and i get paid like a week after the presale so someone give me about $500 no questions asked.
ABOUT THE STORY lots of fluff (awe, so cute!), more backstory about anton and the reader, kissing (👀👀👀)
—
The next few weeks pass by strangely fast.
Not in the stressful, blurry way college usually moved — where every day melted into lectures, assignments, and exhaustion — but in a softer way. Like suddenly there was something in your routine worth looking forward to. Because somewhere along the line, Anton became part of your everyday life.
Every night after your study sessions, usually around eight or nine, your phone would buzz with some variation of:
a: outside :)
a: are you busy?
Or, even:
a: im here and i have coffee
And every single time, without fail, you’d pack up your things embarrassingly quickly and head outside to find him waiting.
Sometimes he’d lean against his car while scrolling through his phone. Other times he’d already be holding a bag of takeout for you because he “figured you probably forgot to eat again.” Which, to be fair, happened more than it should have.
Most nights ended with dinner somewhere before he took you home. Though honestly? It was usually pho. At this point, Ms. Minh had basically adopted both of you.
The second you’d walk through the restaurant doors, she’d wave excitedly and yell Anton’s name loud enough for the entire building to hear. And apparently, she’d grown equally attached to you.
Last Tuesday she’d physically grabbed your face in her hands and told you that you “looked too skinny,” before immediately bringing extra spring rolls to the table. Anton had laughed so hard he nearly choked.
“You’re her favorite now,” he’d said afterward.
“I think she just threatened me with vegetables.”
“That’s love.”
You’d started coming back to the dorm later and later every night.
Not ridiculously late — just late enough that Harvey would already be in pajamas waiting for you like an investigative journalist gathering evidence.
The second you stepped through the door, she’d whip around dramatically in her desk chair.
“Well?”
And every single time, you’d pretend not to know what she meant.
“Did you kiss him yet?” Harvey asked one night while aggressively applying skincare products.
“No.”
Another night:
“Any hand under the shirt action?”
“Harvey!”
“What? I’m asking questions!”
“You’re annoying!”
And somehow, despite spending almost every day together, you and Anton still hadn’t kissed. Not because you didn’t want to. God, you definitely wanted to.
But the two of you were so painfully shy around each other that every moment almost leading there would immediately dissolve into nervous laughter and eye contact avoidance.
One night, after Anton hugged you goodbye outside the dorm, you’d both accidentally pulled back too slowly. For one horrifying second, your faces had been way too close. Then Anton panicked so badly he nearly walked into a railing.
Harvey had to sit down after hearing that story because she was laughing too hard.
Still, things moved forward in quieter ways. Hand-holding became natural after a while. At first, Anton would only brush his fingers against yours hesitantly while walking beside you like he was asking permission every single time. Now, he reached for your hand automatically. He hugged you longer too. Not just quick awkward side hugs anymore, but warm ones that made you feel safe in a way you weren’t entirely used to.
But to be completely honest, you liked that things were slow.
You’d learned pretty early on that Anton wasn’t inexperienced or anything. One night over dinner, while the two of you were talking about high school relationships, he admitted he’d had “a couple small flings” before college.
Which had somehow shocked you.
“You?” you’d blurted out.
Anton had looked deeply offended.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “You just seem…”
“Hopeless?”
“I was going to say gentle.”
“That’s somehow worse.”
You later found out he’d kissed people before, and very much was not a virgin, which for some reason made you spiral for approximately three hours afterward. Not because you cared in a bad way. Just because it made you hyperaware of your own inexperience.
But Anton never made you feel weird about it. Never pressured you. If anything, he seemed just as nervous around you as you were around him.
Which is how you somehow ended up in this strange almost-relationship where you held hands constantly, hugged like people in movies, and texted each other goodnight every evening…
…but still hadn’t kissed.
Harvey called it “slow-cooked romance.”
“You guys are like a brisket,” she said once. “Low and very slow.”
Today, though, things felt especially nice.
It was Saturday afternoon, and the weather had finally started warming up enough for people to crowd the park near campus. You and Anton walked side by side along one of the pathways, boba in one hand and his hand in the other. At some point over the past couple weeks, holding his hand had stopped making you panic internally every five seconds.
Now it just felt… natural. Comforting almost.
Anton swings your joined hands slightly as the two of you walk beneath the trees.
“So,” he says casually before taking another sip of his drink, “my mom asked about you again this morning.”
Immediately, your stomach flips.
“Oh?”
“Mhm.” He smiles slightly to himself. “She thinks I’m hiding you from her.”
You laugh softly. “That sounds dramatic.”
“She is dramatic.”
“I can tell.”
Anton grins.
For a moment, neither of you says anything while you continue walking through the park. A breeze pushes lightly through your hair, and somewhere nearby a dog barks excitedly at absolutely nothing.
Then, casually — way too casually for the sentence he’s about to say — Anton asks:
“Do you maybe wanna come to my house sometime?”
You nearly choke on your drink.
“What?”
Anton immediately looks alarmed. “Not like— not move in or anything insane—”
“No, I know, obviously” you laugh nervously, though internally your brain is already short-circuiting.
His house? Like… family house? Parent house? Meeting-the-family house?
Anton notices your expression almost instantly. His face softens with immediate regret.
“We don’t have to,” he says quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it weird.”
“No!” You squeeze his hand before he can spiral completely. “No, I’d love to.”
Now it’s his turn to blink.
“Really?”
You nod quickly despite the fact that your heartbeat is going insane now.
“Yeah. I’m just nervous.”
Anton laughs softly in relief.
“Honestly? Me too.”
“You are?”
“Mhm.” He glances down at your intertwined hands for a second. “My mom’s been begging me to bring you home ever since she realized there was a ‘you.’”
Your stomach flips again.
“She knows about us?”
Anton gives you a look.
“She’s my mom. Of course she knows about us.”
“What did you tell her?”
His ears turn slightly pink.
“Just…” He shrugs awkwardly. “That there’s this girl I really like.”
You immediately look away before he notices how hard that sentence affected you.
“Oh.”
There it was again. Your incredible inability to respond like a functioning person.
Anton smiles softly beside you.
“She already loves you, by the way.”
“She’s never met me.”
“You remembered Ms. Minh’s birthday after knowing her for two weeks,” he says. “You’re impossible not to like.”
You stare down at the sidewalk, trying unsuccessfully to hide your smile.
Then quietly:
“…When would I meet them?”
Anton brightens immediately.
“Tomorrow?”
Oh.
- 🩶 -
That night, after Anton walks you back to your dorm and hugs you goodbye outside the building for slightly too long, you spend approximately forty-five minutes pretending to do homework before finally giving up completely.
Because there is absolutely no way you’re focusing on anatomy right now. Not when tomorrow existed.
Tomorrow, where you would apparently be meeting Anton’s entire family like some sort of terrifying milestone in a relationship you technically still hadn’t labeled yet.
You sit cross-legged on your bed surrounded by clothes, staring blankly at your suitcase like it personally offended you.
Harvey watches from her desk with the kind of fascination usually reserved for reality television.
“You’ve changed outfits four times.”
“I know.”
“You’re literally staying one night.”
“I know.”
“You’re acting like you’re preparing for a political summit.”
You glare at her.
“This is serious.”
Harvey snorts loudly. “You’ve known this man for, like, four weeks.”
“And what if his mom hates me?”
“She won’t.”
“What if she thinks I’m awkward?”
“You are awkward.”
“Harvey.”
“I’m just saying she’ll probably notice eventually.”
You throw a sweater at her face. She catches it effortlessly.
About ten minutes later, after another full spiral over whether boots were “too much” for meeting someone’s family, you finally cave and grab your phone.
Anton answers the FaceTime almost immediately.
And unfortunately for your dignity, he looks really good.
His hair is damp like he just showered, and he’s wearing a gray hoodie that somehow makes his shoulders look broader than usual.
“Hi,” he says softly the second your face appears onscreen.
The warmth in his voice almost distracts you from your crisis.
Almost.
“Anton,” you say immediately.
His expression changes instantly.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know what to wear tomorrow.”
There’s a brief pause.
Then Anton visibly relaxes back against his pillow.
“Oh.”
“That's my line,” you say dramatically. “also, this is serious.”
A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.
“Okay. Tell me the crisis.”
You immediately start rambling.
“Does your mom like when people dress casual or more formal? Does she think skirts are too much? Should I bring something? Is it rude if I don’t bring something? What if your sisters hate me? What if your mom thinks I’m annoying? What if she thinks I’m not good enough for you—”
“Hey,” Anton interrupts gently.
You stop immediately. He’s smiling softly now, though there’s concern behind it too.
“You’re spiraling.”
“No, I’m preparing.”
“You’re definitely spiraling.”
You groan loudly before dropping backward onto your bed dramatically. Anton laughs quietly through the phone.
“Listen to me,” he says. “My mom is very kind.”
“You say that because she’s your mother.”
“She literally cried over a squirrel documentary last week.”
“That doesn’t help me.”
“It means she’s easy to impress.”
You cover part of your face with your sleeve.
“You don’t understand how women think.”
Anton blinks.
“I was raised by three of them?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because moms are scary.”
Anton laughs again, and the sound instantly calms you down a little despite yourself.
“You know what she actually cares about?” he asks.
“What?”
“That you’re kind.”
Your chest tightens slightly.
“She’s not going to care what sweater you wear,” he continues gently. “And she’s definitely not going to think you’re not good enough for me.”
You stare at him quietly through the screen. Anton’s expression softens even more.
“If anything,” he says, quieter now, “she’s probably gonna wonder how I got so lucky.”
Your entire body heats up instantly.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You can’t just say things like that casually.”
Anton smiles sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“…No, not really.”
You end up staying on FaceTime for almost another hour after that. Mostly because every time you say goodnight, one of you accidentally starts another conversation.
Anton helps you decide between two sweaters, reassures you at least seven more times that his family will love you, and listens patiently while you overanalyze literally every possible interaction that could happen tomorrow.
By the end of the call, your anxiety has settled into something softer. Still nervous. Just… excited nervous now.
Eventually, Anton notices you yawning for the third time.
“You need sleep,” he says firmly.
“You sound like Harvey.”
“That’s terrifying.”
You laugh quietly.
“Goodnight,” he says softly.
“Goodnight.”
There’s a small pause before he adds:
“You’re gonna be okay tomorrow.”
Your chest warms again.
“…I know.”
For the first time all evening, you actually believe it.
The next morning, you wake up way earlier than necessary. Mostly because your anxiety physically refuses to let you sleep any longer. You shower, carefully do your makeup, and spend way too much time curling your hair until it falls perfectly over your shoulders.
Then comes the outfit crisis.
Eventually, after approximately twenty minutes of staring at your closet, you settle on the white Ralph Lauren sweater you’d secretly hoped would make you look effortlessly put together. You pair it with a denim skirt, dark brown boots, silver jewelry, and your brown Coach bag. Simple. Cute. Hopefully not terrifying.
Harvey watches your entire process from her bed like a proud parent.
“You look adorable.”
“I feel sick.”
“That means it’s working.”
You groan while checking your reflection one last time.
Right as you’re debating changing your earrings for the fifth time, there’s a knock at the door.
Immediately, your stomach drops.
Harvey gasps dramatically. “He’s here.”
“I know he’s here!”
“Don’t throw up.”
“That was one time!”
“You threw up before your driver’s test.”
“This is worse!”
Harvey laughs while you glare at her before finally walking toward the door.
You take one deep breath. Then open it.
And immediately forget how to function for a second.
Anton is standing there in a dark knit sweater and jeans, one hand shoved nervously into his pocket. The second he sees you, though, his entire expression softens. And for a moment, he just stares.
“…Wow.”
Your face heats up instantly.
“What?”
“You look really pretty.”
The sincerity in his voice completely ruins you.
You suddenly become very aware of every detail about yourself at once — your curled hair, your jewelry, the nervous way you’re gripping the strap of your bag.
“You’re staring,” you mumble awkwardly.
Anton blinks like he got caught.
“Sorry.”
But he’s still smiling. Softly this time.
Behind you, Harvey makes the most dramatic fake gagging noise imaginable.
“You two are disgusting,” she announces.
Anton immediately laughs while you threaten her with violence using only your eyes. And somehow, despite all the panic from last night, standing there looking at Anton now makes the nervousness fade just a little.
Because the way he’s looking at you? It doesn’t feel judgmental. It feels like he already thinks you belong there.
“Bye, Harvey,” you say while slipping your coat on.
Harvey barely looks up from her phone.
“Have fun meeting the fam,” she says distractedly before grinning suddenly. “And don’t come back tonight because I have plans with my business class boy toy.”
You pause near the door.
“…Your what?”
“My business class boy toy.”
“That sentence made me physically ill.”
Harvey gasps dramatically. “Don’t judge me. He wears glasses.”
“That does not help.”
“It helps me.”
You stare at her in concern while Anton laughs quietly beside you.
“Well,” Harvey says, waving lazily from the couch, “if his mom adopts you, text me immediately.”
“She’s not adopting me.”
“Mhm.”
You point threateningly at her before finally heading out the door with Anton.
The hallway feels warmer than outside, but the second the two of you step into the crisp afternoon air, a cold breeze brushes against your legs beneath your skirt. Almost immediately, Anton reaches for your overnight bag before you can stop him.
“You really don’t let me carry anything, do you?”
“I’m committed to the bit now.”
“That’s concerning.”
“You still let me do it.”
Unfortunately, he has a point.
You follow him toward the car while trying not to smile too much. And just like always, Anton opens the passenger door for you before gently setting your bag in the backseat. At this point, it doesn’t even surprise you anymore. It just feels… like him.
The beginning of the drive is quiet in the nicest way. Not awkward. Comfortable. The kind of silence where your hand somehow finds his naturally after a few minutes. Anton intertwines his fingers with yours almost immediately, resting your joined hands against your thigh while steering with the other. It feels so domestic that it almost scares you a little.
You glance down at your hands for a second before smiling softly to yourself.
“What?” Anton asks.
“Nothing.”
“You smiled.”
“You noticed?”
“I always notice.”
Your stomach flips instantly.
You look out the window immediately. “You say things that are psychologically damaging.”
Anton laughs quietly beside you.
About twenty minutes later, while passing stretches of highway lined with trees and small towns, you sigh dramatically.
“I really do need to get my car fixed.”
Anton glances over briefly. “Mhm.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“I can’t keep making you drive me everywhere.”
His thumb brushes lightly across your hand absentmindedly.
“I don’t mind one bit.”
“That’s because you’re weird.”
“That’s possible.”
You smile despite yourself.
“No, but seriously,” you continue. “You’ve basically become my personal chauffeur.”
“And?”
“And eventually you’re going to get sick of me.”
Anton looks genuinely confused by the statement.
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
You go quiet for a second after that. Because the thing about Anton was that he always said things so simply. Like he meant every word without even thinking twice about it. And somehow, that always affected you more than dramatic flirting ever could. The conversation drifts naturally after that.
You talk about classes, music, the weird smell in your dorm hallway that nobody could identify, and the fact that Harvey immediately knew it was marijuana.
About halfway through the drive, curiosity finally gets the better of you.
“So,” you say carefully, turning slightly toward him in your seat, “what are your sisters like?”
Anton smiles immediately. Like just mentioning them softens him.
“My youngest sister, Anna, is fourteen and terrifying.”
You laugh softly. “Terrifying?”
“She steals my hoodies and blackmails me constantly.”
“That sounds normal sibling-wise.”
“No, you don’t understand. She’s smart about it.”
“And the other one?”
“Addison is twenty one” His smile grows a little. “She's chill. More normal.”
“Unlike you?”
“Exactly unlike me.”
You grin while he continues talking about them, telling little stories that make it obvious how much he adored his family. The more he talks, the more relaxed you feel. Like you’re slowly getting tiny glimpses into the life he had before meeting you.
“And your mom?” you ask softly after a while.
Anton smiles again almost instantly.
“She’s the nicest person ever. A little dramatic sometimes, but…” He shrugs lightly. “She’s kinda the reason all of us turned out okay.”
The way he says it makes your chest ache slightly. You hesitate for a moment before asking your next question carefully.
“So… was it always just you guys?”
The second the words leave your mouth, you worry you overstepped. Anton’s expression shifts slightly. Not upset. Just thoughtful.
For a moment, he stays quiet while the road hums softly beneath the tires. Then finally, he answers gently.
“My dad passed away when I was ten.”
Your heart drops immediately.
“Oh.”
You look down at your lap for a second before speaking again, quieter now.
“I’m sorry, Anton.”
He gives your hand a tiny squeeze.
“It’s okay.”
“No, but…” You glance over at him carefully. “How did I not know that?”
Anton smiles faintly, though there’s something sad around the edges of it.
“I don’t really talk about it much.”
You nod slowly.
That made sense.
Still, something about the thought of ten-year-old Anton losing his dad makes your chest hurt in a way you can’t fully explain.
“What happened?” you ask gently.
There’s another brief silence before he answers.
“Cancer.”
You immediately look at him again. Anton keeps his eyes on the road, calm but quieter now.
“He was sick for a while,” he says. “So it wasn’t… sudden, I guess.”
You don’t really know what to say to that. Nothing feels big enough. So instead, you just tighten your fingers around his hand slightly. And Anton notices. Because after a second, he smiles softly to himself before continuing.
“My mom basically became superhuman after that,” he says lightly, like he’s trying to ease the heaviness of the conversation. “She worked constantly and still somehow managed to raise three kids without losing her mind.”
“She sounds amazing.”
“She is.”
You smile a little. And after a second, carefully, you ask:
“Do you think he would’ve liked me?”
The question slips out before you can stop it. Immediately, your face heats up.
“Oh my God, wait— that sounded way more serious than I meant it—”
Anton laughs softly before you can spiral completely. Then he glances over at you briefly. And the look on his face is so warm it nearly ruins you.
“He would’ve loved you,” he says gently.
Your chest tightens painfully. Because somehow, despite only knowing him for a few weeks, you can already tell: Anton never says things he doesn’t mean.
You stay quiet for a while after that. Not the uncomfortable kind of quiet, exactly — just a heavy one. The kind that sits gently between you and the passing road, softened by the way Anton is still holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The highway stretches ahead, golden light spilling through the trees in long, broken lines. You think about what he said. About his mom. About how she became “superhuman” after everything. And slowly, something clicks in your chest.
Because you understand that kind of love. That kind of person.
“My mom is like that too,” you say softly.
Anton glances at you, not interrupting.
You look down at your intertwined fingers for a second, collecting your thoughts.
“She… she raised three of us basically on her own for a while.”
Your voice is steadier than you expect.
“My dad got arrested when I was nine. Drug stuff. It wasn’t the first time, but it was the one that kind of stuck.”
Anton’s grip tightens just slightly — not enough to say anything, just enough for you to feel him listening. You keep going.
“My mom was… really heartbroken. Like, properly. But she still had to take care of us. Me and my siblings. She was a teacher, so it wasn’t like we had a lot of money or anything, but she just…” You exhale slowly. “She did everything.”
A small pause.
“We all tried to help out the best we could. It worked for a while. We kind of managed.”
You swallow.
“Then he got out. My dad.”
Anton doesn’t speak. He just lets you take your time.
“And for a couple months, it was… okay,” you continue. “Like, we thought maybe it would be different. But he went right back in.”
Your voice drops a little.
“That was when my mom broke down.”
You stare out the window as you speak, like it makes it easier.
“She didn’t eat for days. She got really sick once too. I think she just… hit her limit.”
Anton’s thumb strokes slowly over your hand, grounding you. You breathe in, then out.
“But that’s when she met Dan.”
You glance over at him briefly.
“My stepdad.”
A small shift enters your voice now — softer, warmer.
“He’s a surgeon. Which is still insane to me, because we went from barely getting by on my mom’s teacher salary to suddenly… this completely different life.”
A faint smile tugs at your mouth.
“He didn’t care about any of that, though. He just saw my mom and three exhausted kids who needed someone to care. And he just… stayed.”
Your chest tightens a little, but not in a painful way.
“In a way, he kind of saved us. He didn’t have to, but he did.”
You finally look back at Anton.
“And I think of him as my dad,” you say quietly. “Basically my hero.”
Silence follows for a moment. But it isn’t empty. It feels full. Anton nods slowly, like he’s taking all of it in carefully. Then he squeezes your hand gently again.
“Sounds like you’ve had a lot of people who fought for you,” he says softly.
You let out a small breath.
“Yeah.”
A pause. Then, more quietly:
“Same with you.”
Anton glances at you. You smile a little.
“Your mom,” you clarify. “She sounds like she did everything she could for you guys too.”
For a second, his expression softens in a way that makes your chest feel warm again.
“Yeah,” he says. “She did.”
The car continues forward. But now, the silence between you feels different. Less like distance. More like understanding.
- 🩶 -
When Anton says it, it’s almost too casual.
“We’re about ten minutes away.”
Your brain processes it in real time. Then immediately malfunctions.
He glances over at you with an amused little smile. “Yes. That’s how time works.”
You turn fully in your seat now, panic setting in all over again.
“Okay, wait— wait. Will she like the flowers? Do you think I got the right kind? I didn’t know if I should do roses or something more simple so I just picked something that looked… nice, but what if she thinks it’s weird? And what if she doesn’t like me? What if—”
“Hey,” Anton says gently.
You keep going anyway.
“What if my skirt is too much? I knew it was too much. I knew I should’ve worn pants. Do I look like I’m trying too hard? I’m trying too hard, aren’t I—”
“Hey,” he repeats, softer this time.
This time, you stop.
Anton shifts the car slightly as he signals into a quieter street, then reaches over and gently takes your hand again, like it’s instinct at this point. His thumb rubs slow circles over your knuckles.
“She’s going to like you,” he says simply.
You swallow. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
“You can’t possibly—”
“I do,” he repeats, a little more firmly but still warm. “She’s been asking me about you for weeks. She already likes you. A lot.”
That doesn’t fully calm you. But it helps. A little.
You exhale shakily. “Okay.”
Anton glances at you again, softer now.
“And your skirt is fine,” he adds.
You narrow your eyes. “You didn’t even look at it properly.”
“I did,” he says immediately.
“That was very fast.”
“I’m a skilled multitasker.”
Despite yourself, you let out a small laugh.
The car turns into a quieter residential street after that, lined with trees and neat houses, everything suddenly feeling a little more real than it did a minute ago. And then you see it. His house.
Your stomach drops instantly.
“Oh my God,” you whisper.
Anton pulls into the driveway smoothly and shifts the car into park. The silence inside feels louder now. Your fingers tighten slightly around your bouquet. Before you can spiral again, Anton turns toward you fully.
For a second, he just looks at you. Then, very gently, he reaches over and takes your hand again — but this time, he lifts it slightly and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. It’s quick. Barely there. But it completely short-circuits your brain anyway.
Your breath catches.
Anton pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, a little pink at the ears now.
“You’re okay,” he says quietly.
You blink at him.
“Anton…”
“I mean it,” he adds, almost shy now. “You don’t have to be perfect. Just… be you.”
Something in your chest loosens at that. A lot, actually.
You nod slowly. “Okay.”
He smiles faintly, still holding your hand for a second longer before letting go.
“Good.”
Then, like he needs to do something with the nervous energy too, he reaches back for the trunk release.
“Alright,” he says, voice lighter again. “I’ll get our bags. You just… don’t run away.”
“I’m not going to run away.”
“You say that like it’s not a real possibility.”
You scoff softly. “I am not a runner.”
Anton gets out of the car, laughing under his breath as he walks around to the back. You sit there for a second, gripping your purse tighter and adjusting the bouquet in your hands. The flowers are wrapped neatly, simple and soft-looking — nothing dramatic, just something pretty and careful. You hope that’s enough.
Anton comes back around quickly, your bag in one hand, his in the other.
“You ready?” he asks.
You open your mouth. Close it. Then nod.
“…Yes.”
He smiles like he understands exactly how unconvincing that is. But he doesn’t tease you again. Instead, he walks you up the driveway side by side, slower this time, like he’s matching your pace on purpose.
You reach the front door. You take one breath. And before Anton can even lift his hand to knock— the door swings open.
And a woman stands there, already smiling like she’s been expecting this moment all day.
There she is. Anton’s mom.
She’s smaller than you expected, with warm eyes and an immediate smile that somehow makes you feel like you’ve already done something right just by standing there.
“Ah,” she says, like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. “You must be her.”
Your entire body goes rigid for half a second. Anton exhales beside you, almost amused.
“Hi, Mom.”
She ignores him completely.
Her eyes drop immediately to the bouquet in your hands.
“Oh my goodness,” she says, hands flying up slightly in delight. “For me?”
You nearly drop them in panic.
“Yes— I mean, hi— I mean, yes— they’re for you.”
She lets out a soft laugh and gently takes them from you like they’re something precious.
“They’re beautiful,” she says warmly. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” you admit quickly. “Anton didn’t really tell me anything, I just— I thought these looked nice.”
“They are perfect,” she says immediately, like there is no other correct answer in the world.
Anton leans slightly toward you, murmuring under his breath, “Told you.”
You elbow him lightly without looking away from his mother.
She steps aside quickly. “Come in, come in. You must be tired from driving.”
You step inside hesitantly, suddenly hyper-aware of everything — your shoes on the floor, your hands, your posture, your existence. The house immediately feels warm. Not just temperature-wise — emotionally warm. It smells like something cooking, something homemade, something safe in a way you can’t quite name.
Anton’s mom places the flowers carefully on the counter before immediately turning back to you.
“You are so pretty,” she says simply.
You freeze.
“Oh— thank you.”
Anton makes a quiet choking sound behind you like he was not expecting that to come out so directly.
She waves a hand like it’s nothing. “Anton did not exaggerate.”
“Mom,” Anton warns softly.
“What?” she says innocently. “Its true.”
Your face heats instantly.
Anton looks at you briefly, like he’s trying not to laugh.
“Don’t encourage her,” he mutters.
She ignores him again and gently gestures toward the kitchen.
“I was just making lunch,” she says. “You must eat something. Anton told me you're studying very hard.”
You glance at Anton. He immediately looks away. Betrayal.
“I can help,” you offer quickly, stepping forward without thinking. “Really, I don’t mind—”
“No, no,” she says firmly but kindly, already moving you away from the counter with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You're a guest today. No work.”
“I really don’t mind—”
“Sit,” she repeats, still smiling.
It is not aggressive. But it is final. So you sit.
Anton watches this unfold with clear amusement, leaning against the kitchen doorway.
His mom immediately goes back to cooking like she hasn’t just emotionally disarmed you in thirty seconds.
“So,” she says casually, stirring something on the stove, “Anton never brings anyone home.”
Anton immediately straightens.
“Mom.”
“What?” she says again.
You glance at him. He looks… slightly panicked.
“I just mean,” she continues, “you must be very special.”
Your throat goes dry.
“Oh.”
Anton rubs the back of his neck. “Okay, we’re changing the subject now.”
His mom smiles to herself.
“Mmhm.”
The conversation shifts into easier things after that.
She asks you about school, and you explain nursing while she nods like she understands everything even when you’re pretty sure you’re not explaining it well. She laughs when you mention anatomy exams being “emotionally damaging,” and immediately says, “Yes, Anton thought like that too his freshman year."
Anton groans from behind you.
“You’re embarrassing me.”
“You were embarrassing,” she corrects gently.
You smile despite yourself.
At one point, you ask if you can help set the table, already halfway standing up. She immediately waves you down again.
“No, no, sit. You are not lifting a finger.”
“I feel bad just sitting here.”
“You're not a guest if you work,” she says simply.
That shuts you up. So you sit again, slightly helpless but oddly touched.
A little while later, Anton’s mom checks the time.
“Oh,” she says. “The girls are still at the store. They're taking long.”
Anton pushes off the doorway.
“I can show her the house?”
His mom looks between the two of you, then nods approvingly.
“Yes. Show her. Do not be annoying.”
Anton sighs dramatically. “I’m never winning.”
“You'll never start winning,” she replies sweetly.
You laugh quietly as Anton gestures for you to follow him.
The two of you leave the kitchen while she continues cooking behind you.
“This is… a lot nicer than I expected,” you admit softly once you’re out of earshot.
Anton glances at you. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Less warmth. More intimidating.”
He snorts. “That’s just my face.”
“You’re not intimidating.”
“I am a little intimidating.”
“You are not.”
He gives you a look. “You were panicking in my car yesterday.”
“That was situational intimidation that had nothing to do with your person.”
He laughs, leading you up the stairs.
The house is two floors with a basement — modern, but still full of life. Family photos line the walls. Shoes are slightly messy by the entrance. It feels lived in in a way that makes it feel real, not staged. Anton shows you around casually.
“This is the living room,” he says unnecessarily.
“I could’ve guessed that.”
“This is the kitchen.”
“I’ve been there.”
“You’re very observant.”
“I try.”
You pass a hallway with framed pictures, and your eyes catch a few of Anton as a kid.
You pause.
“Oh my God.”
Anton immediately stops. “No.”
“You were so small.”
“Please don’t.”
“You had a bowl cut.”
“That was not a bowl cut.”
“That was absolutely a bowl cut.”
He groans while you laugh softly, following him upstairs.
At the end of the hallway, he hesitates for a second before opening a door.
“This is my room.”
You step in. And immediately stop. Because it doesn’t feel like a stranger’s room. It feels like a lived-in version of Anton.
Neatly made bed. A desk with scattered notes. A bookshelf with too many worn spines. A couple small personal things tucked into corners that make it feel real rather than staged. And suddenly it hits you. This is where he grew up. Where he studied. Where he laughed. Where he became the person who held your hand in parking lots and kissed your knuckles before you met his family.
You look around slowly, taking it in.
“This is… you,” you say quietly.
Anton leans against the doorframe, watching you.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Unfortunately.”
You turn slightly, smiling.
“It’s kind of nice.”
His expression softens a little.
“Yeah?”
You nod.
“It makes sense.”
Anton looks at you for a second longer than necessary, like he’s trying to memorize your reaction. Then, quietly:
“Good.”
And for some reason, standing in the middle of his room, you realize something simple but heavy in the best way:
You’re not just meeting his life anymore. You’re starting to become part of it.
Your eyes land on it almost immediately. A small stuffed bear sitting neatly on his bed, slightly worn at the edges but clearly well-loved.
“Oh my God,” you say before you can stop yourself.
Anton turns instantly.
“What— no.”
You’re already reaching for it.
“It’s so cute.”
“Don’t—”
You pick it up anyway.
The second it’s in your hands, Anton lets out a quiet, defeated sound and covers his face for half a second.
“You’re judging me right now,” he mutters.
“I am absolutely not judging you,” you say, smiling as you turn the bear over carefully. “I’m obsessed with him.”
“That’s worse.”
You ignore him completely, gently squeezing the bear’s paw.
“It’s adorable.”
Anton sighs again, though there’s no real frustration behind it. More like resigned embarrassment.
“I’ve had that since I was born,” he admits after a second.
You pause slightly.
“Since birth?”
“Mhm.”
You look down at the bear again, suddenly softer.
“That’s actually insane.”
He leans against his desk, arms crossed loosely. “My dad bought it a week before I was born. Said I needed something to ‘welcome me properly.’”
Your expression softens even more.
“That’s… really sweet.”
Anton shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but his ears turn slightly pink anyway.
“It’s just been with me forever, I guess.”
You carefully place the bear back on the bed like it’s something important.
“It has its own seat,” you whisper.
Anton groans. “Please don’t anthropomorphize it.”
“I’m naming him.”
“No.”
“Too late.”
He laughs under his breath, shaking his head as he watches you sit down on the edge of his bed.
“You’re kind of weird,” he says softly.
“You knew that.”
“I did.”
You pat the space beside you absentmindedly. “Come sit. I want to inspect your childhood more thoroughly.”
Anton hesitates for half a second before sitting down beside you. And that’s when it happens.
The shift.
At first, it’s subtle. Just the two of you talking again, laughing quietly about something you’ve already forgotten. Your shoulders brushing lightly. His knee close enough to yours that neither of you moves away.
Then the talking slows. Not awkwardly. Just… naturally. Until there’s a silence that doesn’t feel empty. It feels charged. You become very aware of how close he is. Too close to be casual. But neither of you moves.
Anton’s gaze flickers down for half a second. Then back up. Then down again. Your breath catches slightly.
Oh. Oh no. He’s leaning in. Very slightly. But enough that you notice instantly. Your brain immediately goes into overdrive.
This is happening.
This is actually happening.
Your heart starts beating so loudly you’re convinced he can hear it. Anton shifts closer again, slower this time. Your eyes flick down to his lips before you can stop yourself. And apparently that’s all it takes. Because now he’s definitely leaning in. And you don’t move. You should move. You should say something. But you don’t.
Your breath stutters slightly as he gets closer, close enough now that you can feel the warmth of him, close enough that your noses are almost touching—
And then—
“Anton! Your sisters are back!”
His mom’s voice calls from downstairs.
Both of you freeze.
Instantly.
The moment snaps like a rubber band.
You open your eyes first.
Anton is still half-leaning in, blinking like he’s trying to process what just happened. For a split second, he looks… disappointed. Not angry. Just softly frustrated at the timing.
Then he exhales a quiet laugh through his nose and shakes his head slightly.
“Of course,” he murmurs.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your face absolutely burning.
“Hi,” you whisper awkwardly.
Anton looks at you properly now, and the tension dissolves into something softer again when he smiles.
“Hi,” he echoes, quieter.
Neither of you says anything for a second longer. Then you awkwardly stand up way too fast.
“I— we should go downstairs.”
“Yeah,” he agrees immediately, also standing.
A pause. Then he reaches over and gently bumps your shoulder with his.
“Bad timing,” he says lightly.
You groan, covering your face with one hand. “The worst timing.”
Anton laughs softly, clearly trying to get himself back under control too. Then, as if nothing life-altering almost just happened, he nods toward the door.
“Come on,” he says gently. “They’re going to want to meet you.”
You follow him out of the room, still feeling a little unsteady.
No way. No way you just almost kissed him for the first time on his childhood bed.
You’re still trying to recover from that realization as you follow Anton down the stairs, your thoughts moving faster than your feet. No way your first kiss—if it even happened—was about to be in his childhood bedroom of all places.
You’re basically spiraling quietly behind him when you round the corner into the kitchen. His sisters are there. They’ve just come in from the store, groceries spread across the counter as they unpack everything.
You notice the older one first. And for a second, your brain just… short-circuits. She’s stunning. Not in a casual way. Not in a “oh she’s pretty” way. In a way that feels almost unfair.
Ethereal, sharp-featured, composed in a way that makes you instantly hyper-aware of your own hands, posture, existence—everything. You immediately stand a little straighter without thinking.
Next to her is the younger sister, probably around thirteen. She looks up briefly, curious but reserved, trying very hard to look like she’s not impressed by anything at all. There’s something about the way she carries herself that screams I am absolutely trying to be cooler than I actually am, and you decide very quickly not to comment on how cute she looks. Because she would definitely hate that.
Anton clears his throat slightly.
“Hi,” he says.
The older sister looks up first. Her eyes flick from Anton… to you. And then she smiles. Not a small smile either. A knowing one.
“Oh,” she says. “So this is her.”
Anton immediately sighs like he’s already exhausted.
“Hi, Addison.”
Minji ignores him completely and steps forward.
“You’re real,” she says to you.
You blink. “I— yes?”
She tilts her head slightly, studying you like she’s solving a puzzle.
“I was starting to think you were made up.”
Anton groans softly. “Please don’t start.”
The younger sister snorts quietly from the counter. Their mom immediately ushers everyone toward the table.
“Sit, sit,” she says warmly. “Lets eat now.”
And just like that, the chaos settles into something oddly comfortable. Dinner is… surprisingly easy.
Anton’s mom talks with the younger sister about school while cooking questions get thrown at you casually, nothing intense. Anton sits beside you, occasionally bumping your knee under the table like he’s making sure you’re still okay.
And Addison? Addison is terrifying in a completely different way than you expected. Because she’s not cold. She’s just brutally observant.
“So,” she says at one point, leaning back in her chair, “how long has he been pretending to be normal around you?”
Anton nearly chokes.
“I am normal.”
Addison looks at him. “That’s not what I asked.”
You laugh before you can stop yourself.
Anton turns to you immediately. “Don’t encourage her.”
“I’m not doing anything,” you say innocently.
Addison smiles slightly like she approves of your answer.
Dinner continues like that—light teasing, soft laughter, the kind of family dynamic that feels loud in the best way. It’s chaotic, but warm. You realize somewhere in the middle of it that you’re no longer anxious in the same way you were when you walked in. You’re just… here. Part of it.
When the plates are cleared, you immediately stand up.
“I can help—”
Anton’s mom cuts you off instantly.
“No, no,” she says firmly. “You sit.”
“I really don’t mind doing dishes—”
Addison glances at you. “She says no.”
You blink. “…Okay.”
Anton looks mildly entertained.
“You’re not winning this,” he murmurs.
You glare at him lightly, but you’re smiling. Eventually, Addison checks her phone and sighs.
“I have a meeting,” she says flatly, standing.
She grabs her bag, then pauses by you.
“You’re fine,” she says simply.
It takes you a second to realize that’s meant to be reassurance.
“…Thank you?”
She nods once like that settles it. Then, after a beat:
“We should get coffee sometime.”
You blink. “Oh— yeah, I’d love that.”
Addison studies you for a second.
“Good,” she says. “Don’t flake.”
“I won’t.”
She gives a small satisfied nod before leaving. And just like that, she’s gone. The house quiets slightly afterward.
Anton’s mom eventually heads upstairs, calling out something about needing to rest. The younger sister disappears soon after, half-waving without much ceremony.
And suddenly— It’s just you and Anton. The shift is immediate. Not uncomfortable. Just noticeable.
“You survived,” Anton says lightly.
“I think I blacked out for most of it.”
“That’s normal.”
“I’m not sure that’s reassuring.”
He smiles.
“You did good,” he adds softer.
Your chest warms a little at that. Eventually, the two of you decide to change into something more comfortable. Nothing dramatic—just hoodies and sweats, shedding the “meeting-the-family” version of yourselves for something easier.
When you come back out, Anton is already waiting near the basement stairs.
“You know we have a home theatre?” he asks.
You blink. “Of course you do.”
He laughs.
Downstairs is quieter, dimly lit, the kind of space clearly designed for late-night movies and lazy weekends. A large couch sits in front of a screen, blankets folded neatly to the side.
You both settle in, side by side. Anton scrolls through options before glancing at you.
“What do you want to watch?”
You think for a second.
“…Something I don’t have to think too hard about.”
He nods. “Good answer.”
A few moments later, the movie starts. The room darkens. And for the first time all day, everything finally slows down again. You sit there beside him, shoulder lightly pressed against his, wrapped in a blanket that already smells faintly like home. And you think— maybe almost-kissing him on his childhood bed wasn’t the worst timing after all. Just… unfinished timing.
Down in the basement, everything feels quieter in a way that makes the rest of the house seem far away.
The dim glow from the screen behind you doesn’t really matter anymore—the movie has completely faded into background noise. The only thing you’re aware of is Anton sitting close enough that if either of you shifts even slightly, you’re touching again.
Which, at this point, neither of you seem interested in avoiding. It starts naturally this time. Less hesitation. Less overthinking.
Anton looks at you for a second like he’s checking in, like he always does, and when you don’t pull away, his hand finds your waist again—gentle, steady, like it’s becoming second nature.
When he kisses you, it’s still soft, still careful, but there’s a quiet confidence behind it now. Like he’s no longer guessing what’s okay and what isn’t—he’s paying attention to you instead.
And that changes everything.
Your thoughts don’t fully stay organized after that.
Time stops feeling linear. There’s just warmth, closeness, the faint sound of your breathing mixing with his, and the sense that neither of you is rushing toward anything—just staying in the moment because it feels too good to leave it.
Kissing him was easy, but also in the back of your mind you were freaking out. What if you were doing it wrong? What if he didn’t like it? Eventually you pull back a tiny bit before whispering to him.
“Am I doing this right?”
He smiled at you, his thumb rubbing circles on this skin on your waist.
“You’re doing great, this is amazing”
“Are you sure? I’ve never done this before..”
You’re absolutely endearing to him, and he keeps you close as he smiles and tilts his head at you.
“Do you want me to guide you? Give you some pointers?”
You thought you’d be awkward in this situation, but he made you feel so comfortable that you felt completely okay with asking him for help.
“Yeah, I wanna be good at this”
He exhales through his nose before guiding one of his hands to your face and cradling your jaw in it.
“Well first, you’ll wanna tilt your head just a bit… perfect, just like that”
The whispers leave him before he presses his gentle lips to yours again. This was insane, kissing was such a weird feeling.. but it was a good feeling. It felt nothing like you imagined it to feel, and it was way more intimate than you could’ve ever thought it out to be. A couple seconds into it he pulls just his lips away to whisper;
“Part your lips just a little bit more- there you go”
The kissing made your head dizzy, but you didn’t want to stop. The feeling was addictive, how could you have been missing out on this all this time?
You could kiss him forever, you might just do that actually. After another minute or so, he pulls away empty to look you in the eyes again. At some point, you shift even closer without thinking, and Anton immediately adjusts like he’s been waiting for it.
“Do you want to use tongue?” Then quickly, “We don’t have to i’m just asking.”
You just nod your head slowly, his hand rests at your waist, thumb moving in a slow, absent motion, and when you kiss him back, it feels more intense than it did before. Your lips were parted and when you feel his tongue against your mouth, at first it’s a weird feeling - but then you adjust to it. Once you’re comfortable with the feeling, you try just gently licking into his mouth as well, and you can feel his fingers tighten around your waist. It goes on like this for another minute or so before you pull back - one hand pressed gently to his chest for balance, and he looks at you heavy eyes and a flushed face.
“Okay,” you murmur, breath uneven. “I need a second.”
Anton stops immediately. No teasing. No confusion. Just instant understanding. “Yeah?” he asks softly, leaning back just enough to give you space without letting go completely.
You nod, trying to blink yourself back into reality. “I think my brain stopped working.”
That makes him laugh quietly, the sound warm and a little breathless too.
“Mine too,” he admits.
You both sit there for a second, still close, still holding on in small ways—his hand loosely around yours now, like he’s not ready to fully let go yet. The quiet settles again, but it isn’t awkward. Just… grounding. Anton exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair like he’s resetting himself.
“I think I already did more than I should’ve tonight,” he says after a beat, voice softer now.
You glance at him. “Oh really?”
He gives you a look, but there’s no real frustration in it. Just shy amusement. “Don’t start.”
That makes you smile, and suddenly the heaviness is gone again, replaced by something easy and warm.
“Okay,” you say lightly. “I won’t.”
But neither of you moves away. Eventually, Anton stands first, offering his hand like its instinct. You take it. And just like that, you’re walking upstairs together again, fingers still intertwined.
The house is dim now, quieter than it was earlier. The energy from dinner has settled into soft nighttime stillness—hallway lights, distant movement upstairs, the feeling of a home winding down.
Anton leads you to the guest room without letting go. When you reach the door, you both stop. Still holding hands. It feels like neither of you wants to break that contact just yet.
You look up at him, and he looks down at you at the same time. And suddenly you both start laughing quietly, almost at the same time, like the entire night is finally catching up to you. Not because anything is funny exactly— just because it’s a lot.
“You’re really staying here,” Anton says softly, like he’s still processing it.
“I guess I am.”
“That’s weird.”
You narrow your eyes slightly. “You invited me.”
“I know,” he says immediately. “I’m not complaining.”
There’s a pause, softer now.
Then you tilt your head slightly. “Are you okay?”
Anton nods once. “Yeah.”
A beat. Then quieter:
“Are you?”
You smile a little. “Yeah.”
And it’s true. Not nervous the same way anymore. Just… overwhelmed in a good way.
Anton’s thumb brushes your knuckles once, slow and absent like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it anymore.
“I’ll see you when you wake up?” he asks.
“Obviously,” you say.
That earns a small smile from him. Neither of you moves for another second. Then you lean in again first—just slightly—and kiss him one more time.
It’s softer than before.Shorter. But still enough to make your chest tighten in that familiar way. When you pull back, Anton doesn’t follow immediately this time. He just looks at you for a second, expression warm and a little unreadable in the best way.
“Goodnight,” he says quietly.
“Goodnight,” you repeat.
And this time, when you finally let go of his hand and step into the guest room, it doesn’t feel like distance. Just a pause. Like the night is over—but not the story.
It’s almost one in the morning when you finally close the guest room door behind you. The house is quiet in a way that feels completely different from earlier—no voices from the kitchen, no movement upstairs, just the soft hum of a place settling into sleep. You stand there for a second, still holding your phone like you’re not entirely sure what to do with yourself.
Then it hits you. Harvey.
You sit on the edge of the bed, hesitate for exactly half a second, and then call her. It rings once. Twice.
You’re already convinced she’s asleep when—
“Why are you calling me at one in the morning? You just met a whole family you should be tired.”
Her voice is immediate. Alert. Way too awake. You blink.
“…How are you awake?”
“I knew something would happen,” she says confidently. “I was emotionally prepared.”
You let out a quiet laugh, dropping back onto the bed.
“Okay, so—”
“No,” Harvey interrupts instantly. “Start from the beginning. Did his mom like you? Did his sisters judge you? Did you embarrass yourself?”
You exhale. And then it all spills out. The flowers. His mom opening the door. The way she immediately hugged you like you weren’t a stranger. Dinner. His sisters being terrifying and then surprisingly nice. Minji asking you to get coffee like it was a threat and a friendship initiation at the same time. His mom refusing to let you help with dishes no matter how many times you tried.
And then— you pause. Harvey catches it immediately.
“…And then what?”
You stare at the ceiling.
“…We kissed.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then—
“YOU DID WHAT?”
You pull the phone slightly away from your ear.
“Harvey—”
“No, no, no, no,” she says rapidly. “You cannot just drop that like it’s nothing. What do you mean you kissed? Like kissed-kissed?”
Your face heats instantly even though she can’t see you.
“Yes.”
“ON THE MOUTH?”
“Yes, Harvey.”
“LIKE MAKING OUT?”
“…Yes.”
There’s a loud sound on her end like she just sat up fully in bed.
“I KNEW IT,” she whispers-shouts. “I KNEW IT WAS GOING THERE. I TOLD YOU. I TOLD YOU IT WAS A BRISKET SITUATION.”
You groan into your hand. “Why are you like this?”
“This is my moment,” she says seriously. “I need details immediately. Was he good at it? Was it awkward? Did you mess up? Did you die a little?”
You hesitate.
“…It was good,” you admit quietly. “Like… really good.”
Harvey makes a sound of pure satisfaction.
“Of course it was. That man looks like he knows what he’s doing.”
“He actually stopped at one point,” you add, thinking back.
“Why?”
“Because he said he didn’t want to rush anything or make me uncomfortable. He kept saying he didn’t want to assume stuff when we’re not official yet.”
There’s a pause on the other end. Then Harvey goes quieter, just a little.
“…Oh,” she says. “That’s kind of… really cute, actually.”
You smile a little at that.
“Yeah.”
“But also,” she adds immediately, snapping back into herself, “you’re telling me you’re in his house, in a guest room, after kissing him, and you’re still not officially together?”
You groan. “We didn’t talk about labels.”
“That man is in love with you.”
“Harvey.”
“I’m serious.”
You cover your face with your hand again.
“I think I like him,” you admit softly.
There’s a brief pause. Not teasing this time. Just softer.
“I know,” Harvey says gently.
That makes your chest feel weird in the best way. You stay on the phone a little longer after that, talking in quieter voices now. She makes you retell the kiss again “for scientific accuracy,” you refuse, she calls you dramatic, you both laugh anyway. Eventually her voice starts getting slower, sleep creeping in.
“Okay,” she mumbles. “I’m happy for you. Don’t mess it up.”
“I won’t.”
“Good.”
A pause. Then—
“…Also I still think I’m right about the brisket thing.”
You laugh quietly.
“Goodnight, Harvey.”
“Goodnight, future girlfriend of Anton Lee.”
“Stop.”
But she’s already laughing as the call ends. When the screen goes dark, you sit there for a moment in silence. And for the first time since arriving, you feel it fully settle in. Not just that tonight happened.
But that something between you and Anton has definitely changed.
not to yuck anyone’s yum or kink shame like that.. but please don’t nawt bring that over here to this page ty … blue is not writing anything like that
update: i skimmed over it and actually i take everything back, i am kink shaming. that is literally rape and murder?????? why are we romanticizing this and then tying anton’s name too it. hell no - get em banned
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