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softly, slowly

pt two ; here

WORD COUNT 6.4k

PARING(S) anton x fem!reader

NOTE(S) who’s excited for part one 👀 guys is this good or trash 💔🫩 also im gonna add music to each part, but mrs magic is gonna be their song basically

ABOUT THE STORY both the reader and anton are kinda losers but it’s cute, cursing, harvey from xg

—

Everyone always talks about college like it’s the literal American dream — parties, freedom, drinking, late nights, falling in love. But no one ever talks about how hard it is for an antisocial nineteen-year-old girl trying to survive it all.

It’s not like you were a loser or anything. You had friends, you could hold a conversation, and people always seemed happy to see you. But at the same time… people didn’t really notice when you weren’t there either. You thought things would be different once you got to college, but honestly, nothing had changed.

You still only had one real friend: Harvey, your roommate, who you’d known since birth. You still never went to parties because you were always too busy studying, and somehow you’d made it through an entire school year without having a single meaningful interaction with a boy.

Still, you had hope.

The second semester had just started, which meant there was still time for things to change. It’s not like your only goal in life was dating, but after a nineteen-year dry spell, you were finally ready to put yourself out there a little. Of course, daydreaming about it was a lot less terrifying than actually doing it. Maybe things would be easier if you actually started going out like you’d promised yourself you would instead of locking yourself away somewhere with a textbook.

Kind of like what you were currently doing in the library at 10:00 P.M. on a Friday night.

Why the campus library was even open that late on a Friday was beyond you. Then again, you’d become such a regular that the woman who worked there had literally started extending the hours for you. If that wasn’t at least a little pathetic, you didn’t know what was.

Still, you should be studying. That was what you came here for.

By 10:15, though, you were too frustrated to keep staring at medical charts that no longer made sense. You finally shoved your books into your bag and decided it was time to go home. You’d spent your entire life working toward becoming a registered nurse, but now that you were finally in college, your grades had started slipping. Back in high school, you’d been a straight-A student. Now you were struggling just to pull Bs.

Maybe you were cracking under the pressure. Maybe college was just harder than you expected. Either way, you needed to get yourself together before things spiraled any further.

As you dragged your overloaded bag through the empty parking lot, you glanced up at the sky. It was one of those rare nights where you could actually see the stars clearly. The air was cold, the campus was quiet, and for a second, everything felt calm.

Beautiful, even.

Then you got into your car and saw the notification on your phone.

D- on Midterm Exam.

Your stomach dropped.

Seriously? A D-minus? You’d never gotten a D in your life.

Suddenly the inside of the car felt suffocating, like the walls were slowly closing in around you. You jammed your key into the ignition and turned it quickly.

Nothing.

You tried again.

Still nothing.

Of course. Out of all nights, your car had to break down tonight.

You sat there gripping the steering wheel, trying desperately not to lose it completely. Your phone buzzed twice in your lap. For a second, you thought maybe it was Harvey asking where you were, or your sister checking in on you.

It was your sister.

But instead of asking how you were doing, the text read:

Dad’s in jail again.

Again.

Not the first time. Not the second. Not even the fourth.

At this point, you honestly thought maybe he would’ve learned something by now. Maybe he’d finally want to stay out, finally want to be present for once in his life. But apparently not.

Getting into your dad’s extensive criminal record and complete lack of presence in your life would take entirely too long to explain, so you don’t even bother trying to think about it. Instead, you let your forehead fall against the steering wheel, hiding your face from the world as the tears finally come.

You weren’t really the type to cry, but if there was ever a time to completely fall apart, you figured it was probably now.

The inside of the car was dead silent except for the occasional shaky breath and the quiet sound of your own sobbing. The world outside felt distant, almost nonexistent, like nothing else existed in that moment except you and the overwhelming pressure crushing down on your chest.

At least, that’s what you thought.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your entire body jolts at the sound.

You look up quickly toward the driver’s side window, heart pounding. Standing outside your car is a blurry figure — unmistakably a man. For a second, you just stare at him in confusion before hurriedly wiping at your face and trying to steady your breathing.

Since your car had apparently decided to give up on life tonight, rolling the window down wasn’t exactly an option, so after a moment of hesitation, you slowly push the car door open instead.

“Um… yes?”

The second you properly look at him, though, you’re caught slightly off guard.

He was handsome.

Tall, with sharp features softened by tired eyes, thick eyebrows, messy dark hair, and lips that looked almost unfairly perfect. The kind of lips people probably wrote poetry about. Not that you’d know much about what made someone kissable in the first place.

He scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck before clearing his throat, his voice gentle when he finally speaks.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just…” He glances at you carefully. “I saw you crying in here and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You open your mouth to answer him, but nothing really comes out at first besides an awkward little laugh. Not because anything was funny — mostly because if you didn’t laugh, you were pretty sure you were going to start crying again.

“Uh…” You quickly wipe under your eyes one last time. This was embarrassing. “Sorry. It’s just been a really bad day.”

His expression softens immediately, concern flickering across his face in a way that feels strangely genuine.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, glancing toward the steering wheel you’d practically been folded over moments ago. “I figured.”

For a second, neither of you says anything. The cold night air drifts into the car between you, carrying the faint sound of music from somewhere across campus. You suddenly become very aware of how awful you probably look right now — watery eyes, smudged mascara, oversized hoodie wrinkled from being hunched over for hours in the library. Seriously, the one hot guy you've conversated with all year and you look like this? Just your fucking luck.

Then, as if remembering something, he nods toward the front of your car.

“Wait, are you okay to drive?”

You let out another awkward laugh, this one more embarrassed than emotional.

“Actually… no.” You glance at the dash. “My car won’t start.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows pull together immediately. “Did the battery die?”

“I have no idea,” you admit, shaking your head. “I tried starting it like five times and it just…” You gesture helplessly. “Makes sad clicking noises at me.”

That earns a small laugh out of him. Of course his laugh was hot too. How was his laugh hot?

“Well,” he says, rocking back slightly on his heels, “I have jumper cables in my car. We could at least try?”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course.”

The answer comes so naturally that it catches you off guard.

Before you can overthink it, he offers you a reassuring little smile and jogs toward a dark sedan parked a few spaces away. You watch him quietly as he opens his trunk and pulls out jumper cables like he’s done this a hundred times before.

“You know how to do this?” you ask as you step out of your car, straightening out your wrinkled white hoodie.

“A little,” he admits with a sheepish smile. “My car used to break down constantly in high school.”

For some reason, that makes you relax.

The two of you stand under the dim parking lot lights while he hooks up the cables, explaining what he’s doing as he goes. You don’t understand half of it, but you nod along anyway because his voice is weirdly calming. You know the whole sexy mechanic thing was a cliche, but you were starting to see the vision.

“Okay,” he says after a minute, stepping back. “Try starting it now.”

You slide back into the driver’s seat and turn the key hopefully.

Click. Click. Click.

Nothing.

You sigh, letting your forehead hit the steering wheel lightly.

“Okay, maybe once more,” he says quickly, like he’s determined not to let you lose hope yet.

You glance over at him through the open door. “You don’t have to keep helping me, you know.”

“I know.” He shrugs a little, almost shyly. “I want to.”

Your chest tightens slightly at that. God, get it together girl.

A few minutes later, after adjusting the cables again, he motions for you to try one more time.

You do.

And once again—

Nothing.

The silence afterward feels painfully final.

“Oh my God,” you mumble, covering your face with your sleeve. “I think my car actually hates me.”

He laughs softly again, and you hate how much you already like hearing it.

“Okay,” he says gently, leaning against the side of your car. “So… this might sound a little weird since we literally just met…”

Immediately, your stomach flips. You look up at him and he's already looking back.

“But I can give you a ride home. Or back to your dorm, I mean.”

You blink at him.

“Oh, no, you seriously don’t have to—”

“It’s really not a problem,” he says quickly. “I’d feel bad leaving you here alone this late.”

You hesitate.

Every logical thought in your brain starts firing at once. You don’t know him. This is dangerous. What if he’s secretly insane?

But then you look at him again.

MRS MAGIC - STRAWBERRY GUY | PLAYING NOW

He’s standing there awkwardly with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, almost like he’s nervous too. Waiting patiently for your answer instead of pressuring you into one.

Honestly, what was the worst thing that could happen? Well, he could kidnap you and keep you hostage.. but looking at him now, you weren't too worried about that.

“…You promise I’m not inconveniencing you?” you ask quietly.

His face softens again in that unfairly gentle way.

“I promise.”

You look down at your dead car for a long moment before finally nodding once.

“Okay,” you mumble. “Thank you.”

The smile he gives you then is small but genuinely relieved, like he was worried you’d say no.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Of course.”

Finally, one positive thing had happened to you this week.

After grabbing your backpack, books, and the rest of your study supplies from your dead car, you followed him over to his. Before you could reach for the handle, he stepped ahead and opened the passenger door for you.

Well. Chivalry apparently was alive.

You try not to look too surprised by the gesture as you quietly thank him and slide into the seat. His car was clean — surprisingly clean, actually. The only sign that someone regularly lived in it was a single gum wrapper shoved into the side compartment of the door.

And it smelled nice in here.

Not overwhelmingly strong or anything, just… comforting. Like clean laundry mixed with a faint hint of cologne. The kind of scent that made someone feel warm and safe without trying too hard.

A minute after he gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car, he lets out a small, awkward laugh.

“Sorry,” he says, glancing over at you briefly. “My name’s Anton. I meant to tell you sooner.”

You’d been busy adjusting the pile of books by your feet, but his voice immediately pulls your attention back to him. You can’t help smiling a little at the shy laugh that escapes him.

“It’s okay,” you assure him softly.

You tell him your name while pulling your seatbelt across your chest just as the car begins backing out of the parking lot.

For a moment, the two of you sit in a comfortable silence. Well… comfortable for him, probably. For you, it was more like painfully self-aware silence where you suddenly forgot how to sit like a normal person.

Then Anton speaks again.

“So, do you have a regular mechanic, or…?”

You hesitate slightly.

The truth was, you didn’t have a mechanic here. Your car almost never broke down. Back in high school, your stepdad had always kept up with maintenance for you, so you’d never really had to think about things like this before.

But admitting that somehow made you feel childish. Unprepared.

So instead, you settle for half the truth.

“Yeah,” you say with a small nod. “But not here. Just back in my hometown.”

Anton nods like that makes complete sense.

“That’s fair,” he says. “Honestly, finding a trustworthy mechanic in a college town is kind of impossible.”

You laugh quietly at that.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Well,” he says, smiling a little as he glances at the road, “hopefully your car just needs a new battery or something simple.”

Hopefully.

The rest of the drive settles into something quiet and oddly comfortable.

Not awkward exactly — just careful.

Like the two of you were still trying to figure each other out without saying too much too fast.

Anton keeps one hand loosely on the steering wheel while soft music plays low through the speakers, something mellow you don’t recognize. Every now and then, the glow from passing streetlights catches the side of his face, highlighting the sharp line of his nose and the the defined cupids bow below it.

“So,” he says after a moment, glancing over briefly, “nursing major, right?”

You blink. “How did you know?”

“You had, like, seven medical textbooks in your car.”

“Oh.” You look down in embarrassment. “Right.”

He laughs quietly, and the sound instantly makes you feel less stupid.

“I’m guessing anatomy is part of the reason you were crashing out back there?”

“How did you know that?”

“Lucky guess.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “You sound suspiciously confident for someone making a ‘guess.’”

That earns another grin out of him.

“My roommate’s a nursing major,” he explains. “I hear anatomy-related breakdowns at least twice a week.”

“That actually makes me feel a lot better.”

“Good,” he says gently. “Because I’m pretty sure everyone struggles with that class.”

You lean back into your seat a little, staring down at your hands. “Yeah, well… I’m not really used to struggling academically.”

The words slip out before you can stop them.

Immediately, you regret saying them because now you sound arrogant.

But Anton doesn’t react that way at all.

Instead, he nods thoughtfully.

“Were you one of those scary straight-A students in high school?”

You groan quietly. “Unfortunately.”

“I knew it.”

“How?”

“You have the vibe.”

“The vibe?” you repeat, horrified.

“Mhm.”

“What does that even mean?”

He tries not to laugh. “You alphabetize and color-code all of your notes, right?”

“…Maybe.”

“And you definitely try to get close with professors so you can get grace and extensions on things.”

“Okay, first of all—”

He laughs before you can defend yourself properly, and to your surprise, you find yourself laughing too.

It feels nice.

Weirdly nice.

You hadn’t realized how tense you’d been all night until now, when you were finally relaxing without even trying to.

“So what about you?” you ask after a moment. “What’s your major?”

“Literature.”

You look over at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

“That actually fits you.”

Now it’s his turn to glance over curiously. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You shrug, suddenly shy again now that the attention is on him.

“I don’t know. You just seem…” You pause, trying to find the right word. “Smart.”

The second the sentence leaves your mouth, heat rushes to your face. God. That sounded embarrassing.

But Anton just smiles softly, eyes flickering back to the road.

“That’s probably the nicest way anyone’s ever called me a nerd.”

You cover part of your face with your sleeve. “I didn’t call you a nerd.”

“You implied it.”

“I absolutely did not.”

“You basically did.”

Despite yourself, you laugh again.

The conversation continues like that for the rest of the drive — small, easy exchanges that somehow don’t drain you the way talking to new people usually does. Anton tells you about one of his professors who exclusively teaches through movie references, and you tell him about Harvey accidentally waxed off half of her eyebrow last week, so she went and got an eyebrow tattoo.

By the time he pulls up outside your dorm building, you almost feel disappointed the drive is over. Almost.

“Oh,” you mumble quietly, looking up at the familiar building. “This is me.”

Anton parks the car and immediately reaches for his seatbelt.

Before you can stop him, he’s already saying, “I’ll help you carry your stuff.”

“You seriously don’t have to—”

“I know,” he says with a small smile. “But you have enough books in here to probably legally qualify as a library.”

You stare at him for a second before laughing under your breath.

Five minutes later, the two of you are standing outside the dorm entrance with overloaded arms. Anton had insisted on carrying the heavier stack despite your protests, and now you’re awkwardly trying to put the code in the door while balancing three textbooks against your chest.

“This is humiliating,” you mumble.

“You’re doing great.”

“I can’t feel my fingers.”

“You’re still doing great.”

You finally manage to pull the door open with a triumphant little sigh.

“Victory,” Anton says seriously.

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m encouraging you.”

The stairwell is annoyingly quiet as the two of you climb to the third floor. Halfway up, you glance back at him guiltily.

“You know, you really didn’t have to do all this.”

Anton shrugs lightly, adjusting the books in his arms.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“But it is.”

He looks at you then, expression softer than before.

“I don’t mind helping you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten unexpectedly.

You quickly look away before he notices.

By the time you finally reach your dorm room, you’re slightly out of breath and extremely aware of how close the two of you are standing in the narrow hallway.

You fumble with your keys for an embarrassingly long amount of time before finally unlocking the door.

The second you push it open, Harvey looks up from her desk.

“Well, look who finally—” She stops immediately when she notices Anton standing beside you carrying half your belongings. “…Oh.”

You feel your entire body heat up.

“This isn’t—” you start quickly, even though you aren’t sure what you’re denying yet.

Anton smiles politely instead, stepping forward to set the books down near your desk.

“Her car broke down,” he explains calmly.

Harvey’s eyes narrow instantly in the way only best friends’ eyes can.

“Mmhm.”

You want the floor to swallow you whole. Like right now. Hurry.

“Thank you,” you say quickly to Anton before Harvey can make things worse. “Seriously. For everything.”

For a second, he just looks at you.

And again, you notice it — how gentle he seems all the time. Like kindness comes naturally to him.

“Of course,” he says softly. “Text someone tomorrow before you go back to your car, okay? Especially if it’s late again.”

You blink.

Right.

You never gave him your number.

Apparently, he realizes it at the same exact moment you do because his ears turn slightly pink.

“I mean— not me specifically,” he says awkwardly. “Just… someone.”

Harvey immediately looks like she’s trying very hard not to say something.

You glance down to hide your smile.

“Right,” you mumble. “I will.”

There’s a small pause before Anton takes a step backward toward the hallway.

“Well… goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you reply softly.

And for some reason, you stand there watching him leave until he disappears down the stairs completely.

At least, you try.

The second Anton disappears down the stairwell, Harvey shoots up from her chair like she’s been waiting for this exact moment her entire life.

“Who the hell was that?”

Before you can react, she smacks your shoulder dramatically.

“Ow—” You rub your arm with a glare. “What is wrong with you?”

“A lot of things,” she says immediately. “But that’s not important right now.”

You groan under your breath and start walking toward your side of the room, already exhausted all over again. The second you hear Harvey following behind you, though, you know there’s absolutely no chance she’s letting this go.

Not until she gets details.

“He’s Anton,” you mumble, setting your bag down beside your desk. “And he gave me a ride home. Can we please talk about this later?”

Harvey gasps like you just confessed to committing a felony.

“You brought a guy home,” she says slowly, dramatically sitting down on your bed. She immediately grabs one of the teddy bears your little brother gave you years ago and hugs it against her chest. “And he was hot. How could I not be curious?”

You hide your face in your hands.

“Oh my God.”

“No, seriously,” Harvey continues. “Tall, polite, attractive, carrying your books? You can’t expect me to ignore that.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“That’s exactly what someone in denial would say.”

You roll your eyes, though you can already feel heat creeping into your face again. Why were you always so bad at hiding your emotions?

“He was just helping me because my car broke down.”

“And?”

“And nothing.”

Harvey stares at you blankly.

“You were literally gone for, like, three hours.”

“My car died.”

“You hate talking to strangers.”

“He approached me.”

“And you still got into his car.”

You open your mouth before immediately closing it again.

Because honestly… she had a point.

Harvey narrows her eyes instantly. “Oh my God. You like him.”

“What? No!”

“You totally do.”

“I met him forty minutes ago!”

“And?”

“And any sane person doesn’t develop a crush in forty minutes!”

Harvey shrugs. “Bold of you to assume you’re sane..”

You groan loudly and grab a hoodie from the floor to throw at her face. She catches it easily while laughing.

“I’m being serious!” you complain.

“So am I!”

You collapse dramatically into your desk chair, covering your face with your hands again.

“This is horrible.”

“This is exciting.”

“This is humiliating.”

“This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to you since you cried over a B-plus in chemistry.”

“It was a hard class.”

Harvey snorts.

For a moment, the room falls quiet except for the soft hum of your mini fridge and distant voices echoing faintly from somewhere down the hallway.

Then Harvey’s voice softens slightly.

“So… are you okay?”

You peek at her through your fingers.

“What?”

“You were crying before you got here.” Her expression turns gentler. “What happened?”

The warmth in your chest from earlier fades just slightly as reality settles back in.

“Oh.” You lower your hands slowly. “Just… everything, honestly.”

Harvey waits quietly while you gather your thoughts.

“My midterm grade came back,” you admit. “I got a D-minus.”

Her face immediately twists in horror.

“Oh, that’s terrible.”

“Right?”

“And you studied for that exam for, like, two weeks straight.”

“I know.” You sigh, leaning your head back against the chair. “And then my car died. And my sister texted me that my dad got arrested again.”

Harvey’s expression softens even more.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

For a second, neither of you says anything.

Then Harvey climbs off your bed and walks over quietly before wrapping her arms around your shoulders from behind.

“You’re allowed to have bad days, you know.”

You stare down at your lap.

“I know.”

“No, seriously,” she says gently. “Every time you have a bad day it throws you completely off your axis, like you can’t grasp the concept of anything.”

“It kind of feels like that sometimes.”

Harvey squeezes you tighter for a second before finally letting go.

“Well,” she says, stepping back, “for what it’s worth… at least the universe gave you a hot man as compensation.”

You give her a small smile while rolling your eyes – she had a point.

“There she is,” Harvey says proudly, pointing at you. “That’s the first real smile I’ve seen all week.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself.

“I still probably looked insane crying in my car.”

“Maybe,” Harvey admits. “But apparently insane works for you.”

You groan again while she grins smugly.

“Did you at least get his number?”

“…No.”

Harvey freezes.

“You’re kidding.”

“I forgot!”

“How do you accidentally forget to get the number of a man who looks like that?”

“In my defense,” you argue weakly, “I was emotionally unstable.”

“That is like actually the weakest defense I’ve ever heard.”

You laugh quietly again, exhaustion finally beginning to settle heavily into your body now that the adrenaline from the night was fading.

Harvey notices immediately.

“Okay,” she says, standing up. “You look like you’re about to collapse.”

“That’s because I am.”

“Go shower and sleep before you start crying over anatomy again.”

“That happened once.”

“Its happened three times.”

You point accusingly at her while standing up. “You’re a terrible friend.”

“And yet,” she says smugly, crawling back onto her bed with your teddy bear still in her arms, “I’m your only friend.”

“…Unfortunately.”

“Goodnight, babe”

You can’t help smiling as you grab your pajamas and head toward the bathroom.

“Goodnight.”

- 🩶 -

The next morning starts painfully early.

Not because you have class, and not because Harvey’s alarm is blaring for once — surprisingly, she’d actually turned it off before it could wake the dead.

No, you wake up because the stress from last night is still sitting heavily in your chest.

The failed midterm.

Your dad.

Your dead car.

And, unfortunately, the extremely attractive stranger who had somehow managed to become the main character in your thoughts after only knowing him for less than an hour.

You groan quietly into your pillow before forcing yourself to sit up.

“Why are you already awake?” Harvey mumbles from her bed, voice muffled.

“It’s ten.”

Her blanket shifts slightly. “That’s basically sunrise.”

You ignore her and glance toward your desk instead, where your anatomy textbook is still sitting open from last night.

The giant red D-minus written across the online grade portal flashes through your head again.

Immediately, your stomach twists.

Okay. Fine.

Maybe you failed the last exam, but that didn’t mean you had to fail the next one too. You still had time to recover if you stopped panicking and actually focused.

Which meant today would be dedicated entirely to studying.

Unfortunately.

About forty minutes later, you stand in front of the dorm mirror trying to convince yourself that you at least looked somewhat alive.

You curl the last piece of your hair carefully before letting it fall over your shoulder. It wasn’t anything overly fancy, just soft loose curls that made you look a little more put together than usual.

You pull on one of your favorite oversized knitted sweaters after that — cream-colored and soft enough to drown in — along with a simple skirt and a pair of boots.

Harvey looks up from her phone the second you finish getting ready.

“…Oh?”

You glance at her suspiciously. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says innocently. “You just look suspiciously cute for someone ‘just going to study.’”

“I always look cute.”

Harvey stares at you.

Then she slowly lowers her phone. “Girl, who the hell are you feeling like?”

You roll your eyes while grabbing your bag.

“I’m leaving.”

“Wait,” she calls dramatically as you head for the door. “If you see Antoine or whatever his name was again, tell him I’m free on Thursday.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m hilarious.”

The coffee shop down the street from your dorm wasn’t as bad as a walk as you thought it would be.

Warm air and the smell of espresso hit you almost immediately as you step inside, and honestly? It’s already a thousand times better than the library.

You order a drink, find a table near the window, and dump your mountain of study materials across it with a tired sigh.

For the next hour, you genuinely try to focus.

You rewrite notes.

Highlight important terms.

Quiz yourself on muscle groups until the words start blending together.

And somehow, for a little while, it actually works.

At least until a shadow appears beside your table.

You glance up automatically, expecting someone to ask if the empty chair across from you was taken.

Instead, one of the baristas smiles down at you while holding another coffee cup.

“Hi,” she says. “This was already paid for.”

You blink in confusion. “Oh— I think you have the wrong table.”

“Nope.” She grins slightly as she places the drink beside your books. “The guy said it was for the stressed-out nursing student.”

Your stomach flips immediately.

Before you can even ask anything else, the barista walks away again.

Slowly, you look down at the cup.

Written in black marker across the side are the words:

Try not to cry over anatomy today :)

MRS MAGIC - STRAWBERRY GUY | PLAYING NOW

Your eyes widen.

There was absolutely no way.

You look around the café almost instantly, heart suddenly beating way faster than it should be. For a second, you don’t see him anywhere.

Then—

Near the back corner of the shop, sitting at a small table with a laptop open in front of him, Anton looks up.

And smiles.

The second he realizes you spotted him, he lifts one hand in a small awkward wave.

Your chest does something deeply annoying.

You stare at him for approximately two seconds too long before finally waving back.

A minute later, after closing his laptop, Anton walks over toward your table.

“Hi,” he says softly.

“Hi.”

He gestures toward the coffee nervously. “Was that weird? I realized after I sent it over that maybe it was weird.”

“No,” you say quickly. “No, it was nice.”

His shoulders visibly relax.

“Okay. Good.”

Up close, he somehow looks even better than he did last night, which honestly feels unfair. He’s wearing a dark hoodie today with his sleeves pushed up slightly, and his hair looks messier than before, like he’d been running his hands through it all morning.

“You study here a lot?” he asks.

“Sometimes.” You glance around. “It’s quieter than the library.”

“And less emotionally devastating?”

“Exactly.”

That earns a laugh out of him as he slides into the chair across from you after you nod for him to sit.

For a second, you become painfully aware of your appearance again.

Which is ridiculous.

But last night you’d been crying in a broken-down car wearing an oversized hoodie and emotional damage, and now you were sitting across from him with curled hair and lip gloss on.

It felt… different.

Anton seems to notice too.

“You look nice today,” he says casually.

Your brain immediately short-circuits.

“Oh.”

Fantastic response.

You clear your throat awkwardly and glance down at your coffee.

“I think I just looked really bad last night, so your standards are probably low.”

Anton looks genuinely confused.

“What?”

“You know.” You gesture vaguely toward yourself. “Crying. Mascara everywhere. Really old grey hoodie.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“I thought you looked nice last night too.”

Your entire body goes still for half a second.

“Oh.”

There it is again.

That absolutely humiliating inability to form coherent thoughts around attractive men. Since when did you just… not know how to talk?

Anton seems equally flustered after saying it because he immediately looks down at the table, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I just mean—” He laughs quietly. “You know what I mean.”

“No, yeah,” you mumble. “I know.”

The two of you sit there smiling awkwardly for a second before both laughing at the same time.

And somehow, that breaks the tension instantly.

Conversation starts flowing easier after that.

Anton tells you he comes to this café almost every weekend because the campus Wi-Fi in his apartment is terrible. You complain about anatomy again. He asks questions about nursing school that make it obvious he’s actually listening instead of just waiting for his turn to speak.

It’s… nice.

Dangerously nice.

At one point, he glances down at the flashcards scattered across the table.

“You’ve been studying this whole time?”

“Trying to.”

“You’re dedicated.”

“More like desperate.”

“You care, though,” he says. “That matters.”

You look up at him slightly.

Nobody had really said that to you before.

Not lately, at least.

Most conversations recently had just been about grades. Scores. Performance. Pressure.

But Anton says it so simply, like effort matters just as much as success.

Your chest feels warm again.

“You’re very wise for someone who stalks emotionally unstable girls at coffee shops,” you say lightly.

His eyes widen immediately.

“I did not stalk you!”

“You mysteriously sent a note with coffee.”

“I used observational skills.”

“You sound guilty.”

“I feel like I’m being attacked right now.”

You laugh into your sleeve while he shakes his head dramatically.

Then, after a moment, his expression softens again.

“So…” He hesitates slightly. “Can I ask you something?”

You nod.

Anton taps lightly against the side of his coffee cup before meeting your eyes.

“Would it be okay if I got your number?”

Your stomach flips so hard it’s almost embarrassing.

“Oh.”

Great. Another genius response. What the fuck was wrong with you today?

Anton immediately looks nervous again. “You can say no, obviously.”

“No!” you say quickly, almost too quickly. “I mean— no, I’ll give it to you.”

His expression brightens instantly, and it’s honestly unfair how cute he looks relieved.

You hand him your phone, trying very hard to act normal while he types his contact information in.

Which would probably be easier if your heart wasn’t beating so loudly for absolutely no reason.

Anton hands the phone back after a second.

“There,” he says softly.

You glance down at the new contact saved in your phone.

Anton :)

The smiley face makes warmth creep into your cheeks almost immediately.

“You added a smiley face.”

Anton looks suddenly embarrassed. “Was that too much?”

“No,” you say quickly, fighting back a smile of your own. “It’s just very confident of you.”

“I panicked.”

“That somehow makes it worse.”

He laughs quietly, leaning back in his chair a little easier now that the tension had faded again.

For the next twenty minutes or so, the two of you keep talking while your untouched anatomy notes slowly become less and less relevant.

You learn that Anton grew up about two hours away from campus and that he has a younger sister he complains about lovingly every five minutes. He tells stories in a calm, easy way that makes them somehow funnier, and you find yourself laughing more than you had all week.

At some point, he steals one of your highlighters absentmindedly while talking and starts spinning it between his fingers. It made you feel warm inside for some odd reason.

“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone take notes this seriously before.”

You glance down at your color-coded pages. “What’s wrong with my notes?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly. “They’re impressive, actually.”

“That sounded judgmental.”

“It was admiringly judgmental.”

You narrow your eyes at him while he grins.

Then, suddenly, his expression shifts slightly.

“Oh, wait.”

“What?”

Anton pats down the pockets of his hoodie before looking mildly horrified.

“I left half my literature notes in my dorm.”

You blink. “That sounds important.”

“It’s very important,” he sighs. “I have a discussion in, like, an hour.”

For a second, he doesn’t move, though.

He just sits there looking strangely conflicted, like he’s trying to decide something.

You tilt your head slightly. “You should probably go get them.”

“I know.”

“…But?”

Anton glances at you before immediately looking away again with a small awkward laugh.

“But I don’t really want to leave yet.”

Your stomach flips so suddenly it almost annoys you.

“Oh.”

Holy shit. Could you be more embarrassing?

Anton smiles shyly down at his coffee cup.

“This is nicer than reading eighteenth-century poetry alone.”

“Well,” you say softly, trying not to smile too hard, “that’s a pretty low bar.”

“Still counts.”

You laugh quietly, and for a second neither of you says anything.

There’s something warm about the silence now, though. Comfortable.

Easy.

Which feels strange considering you’d met him less than twenty-four hours ago.

Eventually, you glance toward his backpack sitting beside the chair.

“Seriously,” you say gently, “it’s okay. Go get your notes before you fail your class.”

Anton groans dramatically. “You sound exactly like my conscience.”

“Someone has to.”

He hesitates again before finally standing up slowly.

You swear he still looks reluctant.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll go.”

You nod, watching as he slides his backpack over one shoulder.

Then he pauses.

Again.

You try not to laugh. “Anton.”

“I’m leaving.”

“You’re still standing here.”

“I know.”

That finally makes you laugh properly, and the sound seems to make him smile instantly.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then softer this time, he says, “I’ll text you later?”

Your chest warms embarrassingly fast.

“Okay.”

Another tiny pause.

“Okay?” he repeats, almost like he’s making sure you mean it.

You smile a little. “Yes, Anton. Okay.”

He grins at that — small and genuine and a little shy around the edges.

“Alright,” he says finally, backing away from the table. “I’ll let you actually study now.”

“That would probably be good for me.”

“Probably.”

You watch him start walking away before he turns around one last time near the café door.

And somehow, despite the fact that he’d already stopped three separate times to keep talking to you, he still looks like he wants to come back again.

Instead, he just lifts his hand in a small wave.

You wave back.

Then he disappears out the door, leaving you sitting there with cold coffee, unfinished anatomy notes, and a stupidly impossible smile pulling at your face.

-

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