petrichor. | anton lee.
synopsis: your father’s soft-spoken research assistant moves into your summer home for two months. and despite your efforts, the space between you keeps shrinking while he’s all quiet glances and you’re desperately trying to hold on to indifference.
word count: 7.6k
content warning: fem!reader, suggestive, swearing, small amount of arguing, minor character is chronically ill
author's note: inspired off "call me by your name" oops! i suggest when to listen to some sufjan stevens tracks while reading so you can click the spotify links then :) enjoy
___
The kitchen side door slams shut, rattling the trinkets in the corner display cabinet. The delicate chandelier crystals shake above your head, swaying shadows around the dinner room.
You don’t need to look up to know it’s that quiet boy that Father has taken under his wing recently. Mother is glad to see the young man though, knowing that her husband isn’t far away from trailing after him.
The dinner formality is becoming more and more frequent, and as much as your family is quite talkative already, the black-haired boy seems to make the dinner atmosphere twice more lively with conversation.
Anton Lee comes in as if he lives here, smelling like earthy rain and wet dress shoes trekking mud into the house. It vexes you to no end, especially when your housemaid gets up in a hurry, not bothered at the sludge he’s trudging in.
“So sorry for the mess, Edna—” He murmurs with such empathy, “Hi everyone.”
“Hello, dear! Got caught in the rain, have you?” Mother smiles with a twinkle as she unsteadily stands up, pushing her chair back with a scrape.
“Yes, gosh. It started downpouring so suddenly in the cab back. I hope you don’t mind that I'm joining the table tonight, ma’am.”
“Love, you’re practically here every night. We always have room for you, stop with the nonsense.”
You can feel Mother’s glance at you— probably a hint for your bumble of an agreement but you press your gaze further onto the words of your novel.
As much as you were previously enraptured with this current chapter of your romance novel, Anton’s arrival is distracting to you. Much is the rest of his stuck-up-ness to your parents. It’s times like these you wish Mother wasn’t so gullible. Always too kind for her own good to be believing of this ridiculous, out-of-nowhere boy.
“This soup looks great, Edna, you always outdo yourself.” Anton grins a boyish smile, readily accepting her offered steaming bowl of soup over the table.
“Is my husband behind you?” Mother quips.
“Yes ma’am, Professor just had to drop his things in his office. He went through the front door.”
Glancing up at the sound of this, you peer at the archway and wait for Father to come gliding in soon enough.
“And how was your day, dear? Productive, I hope?”
You finally chance a look at Anton, lashes fluttering at his wet hair.
His shoulders are broad in his thin sweater, ridiculously soaked with rainwater. His black tendrils that are usually neat, expose his forehead— messy like he had taken a shower. It’s too devastating to keep admiring, so you spoon soup into your mouth and look away, ears tuning back into the conversation.
“— And the results were extraordinary, Mrs. L/N. Professor will expand more on it, but today was a complete breakthrough.”
You can hear the grin in Mother’s voice.
“Oh, and I’m sure I will. My husband does love to bring his passion to the dinner table. Oh, there he is.”
Instantly, you tug your velvet page holder in place and slam your book closed. Father comes in with two towels in his hands, looking just the same as Anton, albeit more disheveled. His wrinkled smile is the same, the natural curvature and homeliness of the gesture making your chest warm.
“Oh, look at this! A full table almost.” Father cheers.
You get up as he goes around, pressing on Mother’s cheek first and then following a chaste kiss in your hair.
“How was your day, Father?”
“Fantastic, baby. I assume Anton here has already spilled the news?” Father side-eyes Anton and the latter nods resolutely. Handing over a towel to the young man, Anton ducks from view under the table to dry himself.
Father settles into the chair right next to Mother’s at the other end of the table. The only seat empty was Carl’s, your family’s chauffeur.
“It only started raining cats and dogs after me and Lee here called it quits for the day. What luck, huh?”
A lighthearted laugh goes around the table. You stuff your novel under your thighs, just as the oven dings and Edna hurriedly beelines to the kitchen oven.
“What’s for dinner tonight?” Father sniffs, roughly patting his own soaked self down, “It smells amazing.”
“Pot roast.” You smile lightly, unconsciously wringing your hands on your lap in excitement.
Anton catches the movement of your sock-clad toes tapping against the dining room rug, smiling to himself before straightening back up. “That sounds amazing.”
“Oh, yes it is!” Edna’s voice rises, skittering back in to place the big olive green dish at the center of the table. “I hope everyone here has a lot of room in their stomach! It took five hours to cook!”
Everyone except for Edna lifts from the cushion of their seat to see steam curl and escape as the lid lifts.
“Goodness, Edna. This is so much food! You’ve made a feast today!” Mother exclaims.
“Oh, I had to,” Edna says, tone somehow scolding and happy at the same time; she takes Mother’s plate diligently, beginning to serve everyone. “I heard your husband on the phone, saying Anton skipped breakfast today. He’s so skinny!”
Anton laughs lightheartedly. “I told you, Edna, it’s the clothes I wear. I’m not as skinny as you’d think.”
Hurriedly gesturing toward Anton’s plate, he refuses, gesturing towards you first. Edna piles meat, carrots, and potatoes on yours quickly.
“If you were my grandson, you’d be plump as a peach! You work in the sun, day in and day out with the workaholic over there!”
Father chokes on his bite of food.
“He would barely survive if me and Madam here didn’t feed him!”
“I take care of myself just fine,” Anton shyly fights back, “I was just in a rush to leave the apartment today. I got busy packing boxes and lost track of time.”
Father snaps his fingers, swallowing a large mouthful of meat. “Right! About that, son. Me and my wife here were thinking you stay at ours for a month or two. Until that new place of yours opens up, of course.”
Your mouth becomes slightly agape.
“Just so you don’t have to stay in some hotel for weeks on end, dear.” Mother nods in agreement.
Your heart seems to stop briefly, wondering where on Earth this idea is coming from. You try not to let your emotions show easily.
“But where will he stay?”
Every head turns towards you in rapid succession. Your cheeks warm in response.
“Honey, there’s two guest bedrooms that collect dust every summer. He’ll manage.”
Anton catches the swallow of your throat, shaking his head and bringing water droplets to the dining table.
“It’s no problem, really. Thank you, I appreciate the offer but—”
“Don’t be silly! I know you haven’t put down the deposit for the hotel yet. I spoke to Brad this morning. Besides, that old man charges the hell out of any visitor of this town. Takes advantage anyone in a bad situation, really—”
Father was ever so nosy and in everyone’s business all the time. As much you adored how kind he was, it was a nuisance in some cases, this being one of them.
You had planned on having a peaceful and quiet rest of your summer here. Slow mornings of sitting by your pool and reading. Some badminton games with the little kids near the creak. Maybe camping out at the small bookstore down the street, gouging yourself on the mandarins Edna grows. A few late-night walks on the deserted streets downtown.
But now you’re expected to see this boy Father is mother-birding every day, even more than at your dinner table every other night?
Tugging your book out from under you, you prop it back up to disguise the scowl curling your lip. Attempting to tune out the back and forth of everyone’s day, you cannot entertain the usual spout about research, Mother's gardening, and whatever else tonight.
The novel also successfully removes Anton’s annoyingly handsome face from your view, a reprieve you were going to take advantage of now that he was moving in soon. You knew for a fact he would, because it was too good of an offer to not grab and your parents always got their way.
Who in their right mind would refuse living in their kind mentor’s luxurious house for two months? Have their laundry and every meal taken care of?
No one, that’s who.
Now, every word on your novel’s page withers off. You wish every night that you didn’t have to hide behind a book at the dinner table because…
Life used to be so much easier when you didn’t have to deny you found Father’s recent research assistant to be god-awfully attractive.
___
The next time you see Anton, he’s drenched in sweat from lugging his stuff to your house. Carl is still visiting family so he couldn’t use your chauffeur to move. To avoid paying for a cab, he had stupidly walked all his things from across town.
It’s a ten minute walk usually, but with about a million boxes with him, the tall boy had no chance of not soaking through his clothes. Father is furious that he didn’t call him for help.
Besides being genuinely bewildered on how a man could have brought so many belongings with him on a research trip, it was odd to catch Anton in casual clothes. Mainly because every time you did see him, he had on semi-professional attire.
Even in the glaringly awful heat of the summer, it was all sweaters and khakis. Long sleeves and slacks. The most normal-looking he’d ever been to your age group was when he’d worn Father’s old tee after Edna spilled coffee on him.
That was a big shocker, seeing as his arms were way more… firm than you thought. Packed with muscle, but still somehow lean. Amazingly fit for a scientist most believe don’t have to lift anything remotely heavy.
Now, Anton is sporting a flowy short-sleeve button-up and shorts that cut off after his knees. Worse of all are these gold-framed glasses sitting on his nose. It’s almost like some sick fantasy of yours come to life, trudging up on your porch and invading your personal space when he squeezes past you.
Everyone in the house is forced to help Anton transport stuff to his room, to which he blubbers apologies and thank-you’s out constantly. It would annoy you more if it weren’t for the fact you had to break more awful news to him, and to yourself outloud.
“We have to share a bathroom, by the way. The bedroom you were supposed to be in has a draft from the attic above. The other guest room is connected to mine.”
Your drab way of delivery makes his noise of understanding that much bleaker.
“Oh. Like a—”
“Jack and Jill bathroom, yeah.” You cross his room, gesturing grandly to the white-tiled layout.
Mother had made you move all of your skincare products to the side, at the same time scolding you for how much you had. Besides that, the bathroom was quite ordinary.
You’re sure that Anton wouldn’t speak up about the pink shower curtains, or pink bathroom mat. He never complained about much of anything actually. Instead, his eyes wander to the oak door plainly revealing your room at the end. Books litter the surface of your bed, with posters peeling off your wall and pens haphazardly placed everywhere.
You swear in your head, forgetting to have closed your door to the bathroom. Swinging his door closed with a slam, you tightly smile while avoiding Anton’s surprised face. His hair is blown out from the wind produced from your action.
“Is there not another bathroom I could use?” He nervously asks.
“Nope. The only other one not connected to anyone’s living quarters is being renovated. So just knock.”
“Oh. Okay, thanks—”
You’re already heading out of Anton’s new space before he could finish speaking.
___
Ignoring Anton’s existence is easier than you had thought.
He woke up early for a daily run, precisely at 6:30 every morning. He made sure to be as quiet as possible while showering, before changing and going to work with Father. They’d come back around dinnertime, sometimes late and sometimes early, where you’d ignore him the same as always at the dinner table. Everyone usually separates and goes about their nightly activities, where you have no clue where Anton is, either in the house or in town. And it starts all over again.
Once the first weekend hits though, Mother has had enough and starts a tightly worded conversation with you Saturday morning.
No more being cold. No more being ignorant.
She’s smart in how she handles her words, not trying to seek out why you were so bothered by Anton’s presence, or why you so strongly despise him. She knew part of the reason why.
The other reason… Well, you’ve never been the type to discuss anything concerning crushes or boys with Mother. It’s territory you’re not willing to explore. So you suck up the scolding as usual and agree. Mother even finishes it off by suggesting you give him a proper tour of town.
That was the only thing you were going to protest, if it weren’t for Anton’s happy stumbling into the kitchen.
He slows to a stop at the tense look on both women’s faces, looking like he just got caught stealing from the cookie jar.
Mother waves away his worries though, tugging him closer for a cup of fresh orange juice and throwing the idea into the air. Anton seems to actually wince at the thought while catching your cold gaze over Mother’s shoulder. He can’t ever say no to her though, so he politely agrees, earning him a slap on the back.
[play futile devices]
After breakfast, you silently lead the both of you out to the shed, where Carl is sharpening a pair of garden shears while sitting on a milk crate, safe from the heat of the sun.
Not catching how Anton admires your interaction with the silver-haired man, you grin softly while you converse with your chauffeur. Your gentle hand sits on Carl’s tanned shoulders, the grandpa wiping off dirt from his calloused hands before they curl around your back for a hug.
“Wait a second,” You murmur to Anton, before jogging into the house.
Anton only awkwardly nods, a half bow to Carl in stilted conversation before you’re back, a little breathless. A cold glass of water and two mandarins sit snug in your palm, before handing them over in exchange for the bikes from the dusty corner of the shed.
You politely wave off Carl’s offer to drive you around. Shouting a goodbye and a smile over your shoulder, you squint from the brightness of the day before giving Anton one of the baby yellow bikes.
Anton is curious about your close relationship with the old man, as well as your relationship with Edna— but that question has been sitting on his mind for a while. Many questions have been, actually.
He just isn’t sure whether you’d reply if he asked. In the short time he’s known you, the three attempts Anton has made to get closer to you have been shut down with short answers and ice-old looks. It’s dizzying to him when you seem so… different with everyone else.
You adore your father— even if the quirky man seemed to make you roll your eyes at his dad jokes. Your mother, you treated kindly, stomaching her snide comments about your books and writing and standoff-ishness even when you didn’t have to.
And Edna, you laughed with so easily. Felt comfortable enough with to revert back to your child-like self, tugging at her apron when you wanted a fresh tart out the oven. You even danced around the island counter, tapping her shoulder before nicking one off the baking sheet.
Now the new mystery with Carl. Your crinkling eyes when speaking to him, same with your gentle touch and warm hug. Hurrying back into the house to gather a drink and fruit for him. Your chauffeur.
Had you known him for long? Did the old man watch you grow up into the woman you were now? Why were you so adamant on being kind to everyone but him… Anton?
He felt like he hadn’t done anything wrong… Besides when he forgot to knock on the bathroom door and caught you with a toothbrush and foam in your mouth. Or when he creased your Mary Janes by accidentally stepping on them in the entryway.
Even now, as he peeks past his long lashes to peer at you… he thinks you’re ethereal. Placed perfectly in the scenery with blue waves crashing along the shoreline below. Carefully walking and watching where both of your guys’ feet land you, the crumbly gravel road leading down the driveway.
Anton’s mouth opens before he can think the words through.
“Beautiful.”
… He hopes the sounds of the ocean drowned him out.
“What?”
You curl your hair behind your ear, finally looking his way before hovering a hand to hide your eyes from the blinding sun. You’re still incredibly beautiful and he refuses to deny that.
“Um— where are we headed?”
“At the bottom of the hill, we can bike to the downtown plaza. Maybe get Gerardo’s. Then park our bikes around the creak, walk around.”
“Gerardo’s?”
You give a pity smile.
“The only gelato place in town?”
You seemed to have a special way of making Anton feel like his heart is about to blow up, even if the soft grin is half way to teasing him.
“Right. What about that bookstore?”
That manages to catch you off-guard.
“Huh?”
“You know… the one you always talk about. With the fiction aisle that rotates every week?”
“Oh,” You’re stunned into a short silence.
Reaching the end of the driveway, you nod imperceptibly. Anton almost misses it.
“Okay, I’ll show you there too.”
Then, you hop onto the high seat of your bike, gesturing to him to do the same. You lead the way, your hair whipping in the wind as you build up speed. And Anton follows you closely behind, still far enough though to see your side profile as you breathe in the salty smell of your seaside town.
He only wishes he was good at being inconspicuous enough to admire you like this more often.
___
Anton has been recruited to cut pears.
He thought the task would take a maximum of five minutes but instead, he’s been sat on a stool in the kitchen for thirty. His hands hurt.
Edna only slaps Anton’s lower back to sit straighter when he slouches. He desperately hopes his professor’s wife will come and try to save him, but instead the older woman waltzes in, happily joining the festivities. She says that now a lot of the fruit has ripened, the baking day can begin.
Anton doesn’t ever really know what to do with his free time on the weekend when not working; usually going to the creak and talking to some of the grandpas there. Maybe picking up a random ball game with the local kids in town. Or his favorite, which is keeping you quiet company by the pool in the backyard. He didn’t really imagine baking to be on the list.
His eyes sparkle in reprieve when you jog into the kitchen, jolly as a clam compared to usually. You murmur a hi to everyone between a pear sunk between your teeth, not even flinching when Mother slaps your bare back. One for not washing the fruit and another for not announcing where you’d be running off to avoid the kitchen today.
Anton so desperately wants to appreciate the expanse of your skin, exposed from the bikini top you have on. But instead, he’s respectful and his eyes are laser-focused on cutting slices of green pear over and over.
You’re forced to explain you’re off to see rare friends down by the water, ones that have returned for the summer after being abroad from school. From the way you’re so happy, Anton would figure your boyfriend was amongst them.
Edna catches the black-haired boy red-handed, looking up at the sound of your words. She swiftly snatches the knife from his grip, pulling Anton up with the tag of his shirt like a kicked puppy.
“Bring this poor boy along with you dear, he’s cutting the pears chunky enough to choke a toddler.”
Anton tries to catch whether your face is twisting in irritation at this suggestion, but instead the whirl of commotion in the kitchen tosses him around like a rag doll between three women.
You agree to appease the arguing between Edna and Mother, stealing more fruit from the counter before escaping to the living room.
Anton figured you’d immediately shut down the idea. He sits on the armrest of the plush couch, patiently waiting for your dismissal as you scurry about and toss a book in your bag; but your protests never come, even as you look past your shoulder while toeing on your slides.
“Well, go get changed. What are you waiting for?”
“Oh! Uh, give me one minute!” Anton springs into action, leaving into the foyer and going up the stairs two steps at a time.
You’re glad that just as he disappears around the corner, your fight against a growing smile is lost.
___
[play visions of gideon]
“You can read?”
Anton jumps out of his seat at the sound of your voice.
Your hair is messy from sleep, a blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders. It’s practically drowning you, and Anton wonders why you’re up. It’s two A.M. in the morning and you’re rarely moving around at this time.
He settles back into his reclining chair, blowing out a breath and praying his heartbeat to come down.
“Rude. And yes, I can— at least… I’m trying to. You scared me.”
You don’t apologize, instead reaching the balcony railing and staring out into the ocean twinkling from the moonlight. “What are you reading?”
“Uh…” Anton keeps a thumb on his page, flipping to the cover, “Advanced Series in Ocean Physics.”
A scoff leaves you, drifting out into the cool air. “Do you ever not think about research?”
“It’s my life.”
The defense in Anton’s tone shocks you enough to look over at him.
You’ve never once hit a nerve before. He was always so meek with you, always willing to go about with anything. At the pause in conversation, Anton clears his throat and looks back down at the pages.
He’s clearly not reading anymore. “I’m really interested in what I’m studying. It’s why I’m here after all.”
Your heart hurts suddenly. You feel an unexplainable, pressuring guilt building in your chest.
“... Do you enjoy Father’s company that much? He talks a lot, doesn’t he?”
“Professor has great things to say.”
“I suppose so.”
The dismissal makes the tenseness in Anton’s body stronger.
“Your father is incredible. He’s made bounds of advances in climate models, and is probably the only person in my field that cares about how climate change is affecting submesoscale dynamics.”
You laugh a little, no humor evident. “You don’t think I’ve heard that my whole life?”
“Well, it’s true! … I’m lucky to work with him.” Anton shifts in his seat, uncomfortable.
“I’m sure you are.” You sneer, thinking it’s the end of the conversation.
But now it’s anxious, sitting in this quiet space together. Especially with how much you’ve grown in handling Anton’s steady being in this house. You’ve actually gotten used to it.
Waking up and him being in the kitchen helping with breakfast. Dinner with his bursting laughter while bending over and almost hitting his forehead on the table. His toothbrush next to yours in the bathroom, the smell of his shampoo and conditioner, mixing together in the heat from his shower. Weekends with the both of you quietly soaking in the backyard sun. Watching your parents try chess in the evenings, Edna playing a beautiful tune on the piano. Being coerced into picking weeds with Carl on blazing hot afternoons.
And when it rains… sitting on the front porch steps together. Just looking out into the stormy sea and watching it rumble. The smell of petrichor after several days of dry heat torturing your little town.
The last thing you were expecting when coming out here was running into the black-haired boy, but… here you were. You just wanted fresh air after a nightmare but now you wonder how long he’s begun this habit of sitting out here in the dark, with only the pale moon to give him reading light.
It seems like your aloof demeanor has finally pushed him enough. You knew you were confusing with how mean you were to him sometimes, and in the past two weeks, you’ve been more apologetic to it. You were breaking the habit of being cold, forgetting how you first felt about him at the start of the summer… but not now. Not on this topic.
“Why do you dislike me so much?”
You train your eyes on the waterline, determined to not have your heart waver at the hurt in Anton’s strained voice.
“I don’t.”
He’s fast to respond.
“You act like you do. Sometimes you do, and sometimes you don’t. It’s confusing.”
“I let you join me and my friends at the beach.”
“You were forced to do that.” Anton sounds bitter.
“And I showed you my bookstore.”
“Again! Forced to do that.”
Your eyes are ablaze, gaze on fire. “You don’t get to come here and demand that everyone be kind to you, you know? That’s entitlement!”
Anton sits up straighter, book abandoned on his seat. “I never asked to stay here, or for anything! If you think I asked more from your father, you’re insane for thinking so!”
“Insane?” You stomp forward, blanket dropped by your feet. “Don’t call me insane for being distrustful of you!”
“Why the hell would you have reason to be doubtful of me? Have I done anything to make you think so?”
You’re huffing in each other’s faces now, and you have stalk to the other corner of the balcony to calm down.
“The past assistant my dad took in stole his research— his last big breakthrough.”
Anton finds it hard to intake any oxygen suddenly.
“... What?”
You’re not looking at him either, talking to the ocean again.
“His last partner then went off to present to some big-shot panel and made a lot of money off it. The worst part is that Father doesn’t even care. He just wants people to make the world a better place— I’m sure whatever that guy used my dad’s research for, doesn’t think the same.”
“I— I didn’t know that—”
“Yeah. You didn’t,” You whip around to glare, eyes watery. “Because you don’t actually know my family, Anton. You see this glittery, rose-colored version of us in the summer. As much as you want to think we magically got rich or something, Father doesn’t make that much doing what he does. And Mother doesn’t work anymore because she can’t.”
Anton feels like someone has slapped him.
“You know she used to paint? She was really good. Good enough for us to live like this. But now she’s retired, scared to pick up a paint brush and watch it shake. And Father sells textbooks that he hates writing and talking to publishers for.”
You don’t even register Anton approaching through your tear-blurry eyes, a gentle touch settling on the crook of your elbow. You’re hugging your torso to self-soothe. Or… maybe you were just cold.
“I’m… so sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
His eyes are shiny with apology and your anger is melting before you can fight it. You hate so much that he can do that so easily. More and more frequently, your resentment with him can’t seem to hold anymore.
“It’s fine—” You try to shake out of his grip.
“No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have assumed anything. Anything at all. I didn’t know your mother was sick. And I’m sorry that your father was taken advantage of like that.”
His touch slides down to wrap around your wrist, swallowing them in his hold. Anton’s skin against yours is like gasoline in your veins.
You find the strength to use your voice again, watching the way his calloused thumb strokes your hand. “It is fine now, though. They’re happier with you here. It took a while for Mother to convince him to take in another assistant. I can tell they always wanted a son.”
Your futile attempt of a smile makes Anton’s heart brittle. His long fingers finally interlace with yours, guilt fresh on the forefront of his mind.
“That can’t be the truth. You’re the sun they orbit around, I can see it.”
You laugh wetly, breaking your handholding to wipe at your cheeks. Feeling ridiculous crying, you step back to collect yourself.
“Yeah, I’m glad to have them.”
Embarrassed at what’s occurred, you pick up the blanket on the floor, brushing Anton’s fingers again when he goes to hand it to you himself. You wordlessly reject his offer at more comfort, eyes catching at his empathetic gaze again before tugging your sliding door open.
“Goodnight, Anton.”
And then… he’s left to his own festering thoughts, shoulders heavy with remorse and a tongue itching to say more.
___
You can feel tension between you two at the breakfast table.
Anton, who has grown out of his shell since the beginning, is quiet and can’t seem to look at both of your parents the same anymore. Father is none the wiser while having conversation with Carl about the car. Mother, discussing sandwiches with Edna.
You had restlessly rolled around in your sheets, able to feel Anton’s presence through the bathroom separating you two.
Immediately after you’d walked away, you had desperately wished you hadn’t— just to see what Anton would’ve said. Would’ve done. Then the fear of rejection ripped through every cell in your body, seizing your hands still before it could tug his bedroom door open.
Just maybe Anton felt the same way, because when you accidentally cough while swallowing a bite of scrambled eggs, Anton practically jumps across the table to help you. You feel a little sorry about how flustered he gets, trying hard to appear normal and avoid your housemaid’s eyes fluttering between you two.
After dragging on breakfast, Mother suggests the two men take their lunch break at home for Edna’s special sandwiches. When Father rejects with words of busy work, Edna tosses the idea of it being brought to them. Her stealthy eyes lean over to you, gripping your cheek strongly.
“Our dear here has nothing else to do! She’ll bring it to you.”
Before a whine of no’s can leave your mouth, she raises her brows in warning. You’re silenced, slouching into your seat before you can say much else.
“Perfect! Your lovely daughter will bring those sandwiches to you at 1 P.M. sharp. Have a great day, boys!”
Father leaves the back porch with a kiss to Mother and your pouting forehead, waving before entering the house again. You try to ignore Anton’s wide eyes but in the end, give in, catching the glimmer of aching in his glance.
___
Just as Edna said, the promising maid sends you off with a picnic basket at 12:40 P.M. exactly. The sky is a cloudy and stormy grey as you bike across town, where Father usually bothers the local fishermen to sit in their boats and allow him to throw testing gear off-deck.
You grab their attention by waving a large red handkerchief Mother gave you in the sky. And patiently, you sit as they come back, docking and hopping off their rocky boat.
Both Father and Anton scarf down their sandwiches, moaning in delight at the roast beef Edna had slow-cooked. The latter shyly offers a bite to you, but you push away his worry, having stuffed yourself full before arriving at the dock.
When rain droplets start to catch on your clothing, all of you scurry to find shelter quickly. It’s only when you’re all stood under an awning does Father realizes his clumsy self had forgotten his phone on the fisherman’s boat. He rushes off to find the man and call Carl to pick you three up.
Now it’s just you and Anton, watching as heavy rain lands on hot pavement and thunder rumbles before you two. Only yesterday, this type of scenario wouldn’t have terrified you; sitting here with the sound of the sky crying, the smell of earthy dirt in Anton’s company. It really wouldn’t have struck fear in your heart.
Only now it does, and your tongue is twisted in knots, same with your stomach. You’re not confident in how you’re supposed to be around this boy anymore.
Peeking at his side profile, Anton is deep in thought while crouched beside you. His nimble, veiny fingers are curled out to feel the droplets of water. You appreciate the beauty in his quietness, wondering when you started to find solace in your shared silence together.
Alas, you’re not fast enough to turn away when Anton finds your gaze. He’s surprisingly peaceful in meeting your eyes, the depth of them stealing the breath in your lungs. You’re not sure either if you’re imagining it, but… you see desire in them.
Desire for you. Right here, right now. Even though you’re sitting beside him currently, satisfying his craving.
“What’s that look for?”
“Nothing. I’m just admiring you.”
You wish you could sputter out something to ease the seriousness in his words. You can’t and your eyes only move around his face, trying to seek out any telltale signs of a lie.
There’s none.
“Admiring me?”
“I’ve been admiring you since I first met you,” Anton is the first to tear away from your connected gaze. “You just didn’t notice. Too busy disliking me.”
“As I said before, I don’t dislike you.” You lament.
“Then tell me how you really feel for me.”
It’s stunning how confident he is in his words suddenly. In your imagination, late at night, Anton is always bumbling and bashful in a confession to you. Something must have changed from last night.
“Nothing?” Anton raises an eyebrow. “You feel nothing between us, even now?”
You do feel something. Something strong, and it scares you to no end.
You don’t know how to word that easily though. So he stands up after looking in the distance, gently taking hold of your hands splayed out to help you straighten; your elbows had rested on your knees while squatting for too long. Anton takes special care in swiping the water off the skin of your legs, before tugging the laces of your sneakers tighter.
Just in time, Father comes back looking like he had momentarily drowned and come back to life, phone in hand.
“Carl is on the way. Not to worry.” He grins breathlessly to you two, cluelessly stepping between you both to shield himself from the downpour.
And as Father wipes at his phone screen, swearing at the torrential rain, you force your hands from trembling.
Not from the freezing cold water, or your wet hair. But from the effect Anton’s confession had on you.
___
“Are you writing?”
Instinct seizes your muscles, making you place your lower forearms down on your paper.
Anton’s voice is almost a whisper, trying not to break the peace in your kitchen. His feet pad closer, shadow getting larger as the candlelight in the room flickers.
“You scared me. What are you doing up?”
“I could say the same. It’s three A.M.” Anton grins softly.
He’s charming with his hair ruffled, like he had climbed from his sheets moments ago. This yellow-orange lighting from the flame makes him look much more… mellow.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Another nightmare?”
You didn’t even know Anton knew you had those. Instead, you just nod a little, going back to your writing. Smoothly flipping the pencil in your hand, you erase the streak of graphite down your paper from fear earlier.
“What are you writing about?”
“Unicorns and fairies.”
Anton’s snort is a little too loud for the time in the night. You glare through your lashes and he gets the clue, nursing his mug of water closer to himself.
“No, really. What do you write about? You’re always scribbling away in secret.”
“I don’t scribble in secret.”
“Sci-fi? Romance? Oh, don’t tell me it’s an autobiography.”
You only pretend to stare back in annoyance, shaking your head. It’s embarrassing to admit so you whisper it out into the echoey kitchen, afraid of someone else besides you two hearing in.
“Romance.”
You’re not looking up in order to see Anton’s tender smile.
“Is it any good?”
A long sigh leaves your supple lips, synchronized with your chest rising and falling; it mesmerizes Anton for a moment.
“No. It never is, really.”
Anton shifts his hips off from leaning against the counter, swinging around the island in the kitchen. His strong elbows plant on the marble, peeking down at the words you’re so protective of.
You’d try harder to hide your writing from his prying gaze if it weren’t for his flexing arms distracting you. Anton is emitting a heat after sleeping soundly in his bed several minutes ago, tempting you to get closer and warm up beside him.
“You can’t say it’s bad before any constructive criticism. Let me read it.”
Now you genuinely slide your work away. “No, it’s embarrassing.”
Anton manages to give you a look that’s slightly degrading. “C’mon. I’ll be fair, I swear.”
“You won’t make fun?”
“Never.”
You wait for a more serious response.
“I might. But only a little.”
You huff without another word, slowly handing the paper over. The pencil between your fingertips twirl around, pupils flickering between Anton’s features. His pretty mouth purses once, brows pinching together twice, and that’s about all.
“It’s shit, isn’t it? It’s fine, it was just a whim anyway—”
Anton pulls away before you could snatch the paper from his hold.
“YN. Don’t put yourself down like that. It’s good, I like it.”
You’re dying to hear more praise, eyes lighting up like you’re in front of a colorfully-decorated Christmas tree.
“… Really?”
“Really,” Anton nods, crossing his arms. “I can tell the books you stick your nose in, help.”
You scoff, a silly grin flitting across your bright face. “Ha ha. Very funny.”
“Honestly though, I like it. Your vocabulary is so descriptive. It’s like I’m there. I’d probably just use the word ‘smile’ less,”
You nod in agreement, moving on with lightness in your body.
“Do you always write romance?”
“Most of the time.”
“Do your parents influence you?”
You’re caught off-guard. “How do you mean?”
“You clearly admire them. Their relationship. It’s nice.”
“I guess so,” You admit while picking at your hands. “It feels a little unobtainable really.”
“How they found each other?”
“How easy they seem to love each other. Despite everything.”
“I find it admirable. They choose each other every day, ‘despite everything’ as you say. Isn’t that commendable?”
You only hum, distracted from other thoughts. Anton can tell immediately.
“Have you told them this is what you want to do with your life?”
Anton full-belly laughs at the expression on your face. “It’s clearly your passion. Do they not know?”
“They know,” You groan, standing from your stool. “They just don’t take me seriously.”
Anton follows closely behind you as you head to the fridge.
“How?” He scoffs, not understanding. “Isn’t your mother trained in the arts? Writing is precious, it runs the world.”
You giggle, nodding to his words. You knew it was a bit hypocritical of your parents, being the “intellectuals” they were. You pour a mug of water for yourself.
“They both hate writing and always wanted me to pursue one of their studies. I don’t understand it either.”
“They wouldn’t hate it if they read yours. I promise you.”
“Hm, maybe.” You sip at your drink, peering at Anton before you.
He’s so… uninhibited recently. Here in your kitchen, drinking from Father’s mug and dressed in breezy pajamas. No shame in trying to pursue you anymore. It’s like a snapshot of another life you daydream, far away where in another universe, this is your life together.
Maybe it’s just the hopeless romantic in you talking from all those books you read.
“Are you nervous around me now?”
You set out to not clang your ceramic against the marble loudly.
“No. I’m not. Why would I be?”
Anton takes a step closer, crowding your personal space immediately. Alarms bells in your head would be ringing if you had enough time to consider panicking more.
“Are you sure? Your hands shake so much with me near.”
“Anton…” The call of his name brings out the most gorgeous smile to greet your eyes. “What game are you playing?”
“Do you still want to deny how I feel for you?”
You’re about to melt on this specific tile in the kitchen.
“At least tell me to stop then.” Anton whispers, the soft hem of his shirt brushing your fingertips. You clung to it before you can think rationally.
Your head jerks a no, taking in the carbon dioxide that leaves Anton’s nose. His own breathing is stilted, almost as if waiting for you to reject him; you couldn’t even if you wanted to.
His pink lips hover before yours as you steal your eyes shut, wishing for Anton to achingly make the first move.
“Let me in. Please.”
His begging snaps the taut string in you, tippy-toeing up to curl your arms around Anton’s neck. His encompassing hands straddle your hips, pressing them urgently against the edge of the counter so you kiss breathlessly.
You feel as if you’re about to die if you don’t continue to connect your mouth to his. Your bodies want to meld together, the way Anton flattens himself on you. You can feel his sculpted back flexing in cupping your cheek, the other hand seamlessly hoping to explore your curves.
“Jump.” Anton murmurs against your hot neck, finger curling under the bend of your knees before placing you gingerly on the marble surface.
He slots between your thighs without a second thought, pinching open your jaw to kiss you wild again. Anton’s tongue licking the seal of your mouth has desire fluttering in your lower stomach, your hands unsure while playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck.
He firms your grip around the threads of his hair, urging you to be more confident in both of you. The whole expanse of his right arm hugs your torso closer to him, sliding under your shirt to scorch a blazing path from his fingertips brushing your skin.
A gasp involuntarily escapes you as Anton bites the bottom of your lip, thumb circling your belly button and traveling up to rest in the middle of your ribcage. You didn’t know you could be so needy for someone’s touch. So needy for Anton to continue his demonstrations on you.
“Anton.”
Your whine of his name, coupling with you arching into him, seems to awaken something, his hips grinding into yours instinctively.
“Tell me you want this. Tell me.”
The desperation for you in Anton’s voice sends your heart soaring.
“Yes. I do. I’m all yours.”
Anton wraps his arms around your waist, connecting you to the floor before interlocking your hands together. Before you can form a coherent thought, he’s tugging you towards the foyer, up the stairs, to your bedroom, and to your deepest, dirtiest wishes coming true; ones you’ve only dared to dream of with him front and center.
___
A dribble of rain comes the next morning, gentle and persistent.
You wake first, curled in a warm tangle of limbs, the rise and fall of Anton’s chest beneath your cheek. Through your cracked window, the scent of petrichor drifts in—earthy and familiar mixed in with Anton’s body wash.
Anton stirs just enough to tighten his grip on you, mumbling something incoherent into your hair while you smile into his skin.
That half-finished story of yours is still on the kitchen counter, and you’re usually scared to leave your writing lying around. That fear isn’t moving your heart now though, especially after Anton’s words last night.
You wouldn’t want to disturb this moment for anything.
When you finally make your way downstairs, Mother and Father are chatting while squatting near flower brushes. The latter tips up your mother’s rain hat, earning him a slap on the arm. Edna is setting the breakfast table on the back porch, and Carl is already on his second cup of coffee, beginning to bother your housemaid for another.
You and Anton are still barefoot, still sleepy-eyed while hovering near the kitchen sink’s window. You manage to find your paper exactly where you left it, smudged from the night before. Although, it’s in a different spot than you remember and Anton subtly brushes his hand along your back.
“You going to finish it?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
He squeezes his hand on your shoulder, the one you’re resting your chin on. After, Anton leans in while brushing your hair to the side, looking to see if anyone is watching before brushing a chaste kiss to your neck.
This promise, this unspoken understanding between you both—it’s real if you choose for it to be. That’s what Anton said last night anyway.
Because for once, maybe you’re ready to stop reading about romance and start writing it true in the real life.
© hrtfelt4u 2025
