ﾟAnᴛᴏn Tyanᴏchᴋin ﾟ

May. Finally, the last days of school.

The sun was shining warmly, and Anton's laughter—your best "friend"—was heard in the yard. You, Sasha, started joking again about potatoes and the black Anton you'd be expecting this summer. At first, Anton was a bore, taking offense, but he couldn't stay angry with you for long; after all, he always found Sasha's comments funny. His jokes, both funny and unfunny, lifted the mood. Having bought the cheapest croutons, the friends continued their walk. It became too hot, just like summer. Anton fidgeted with his school shirt, which he hadn't changed from school but had gone straight for a walk with you. Almost immediately, he brightened up, taking a handful of croutons from the packet of kireishki in your hand, chewing them and cheerfully suggesting they go into the left entrance, since it was always cool there.
.・。.・゜✭・
You ran into the entrance of Tosha's neighboring building after a woman who opened the door. Sasha immediately went up the stairs, crossed the landing, ran a little further, sat down on the nearest step, and tossed his now-empty pack of Kireyes cigarettes somewhere. Anton sat down on the same step across from you, starting to talk about whatever came to mind. You remain silent. You listen, smiling like a lovesick fool, not looking away. You take out a pack of cigarettes your friend from the abandoned building lent you and light one, trying not to exhale on Anton. Then, cheerful and mischievous, Tosha starts talking again about school and his parents, uncomfortably drawing his knees up and resting his elbows on them. You frown, smile, and offer Anton support in between.
-You know, Sasha.
Anton says, finishing the previous conversation and, bringing his eyebrows together, resting his palm on his temple.

"It's more comfortable to be silent with you than to talk with others. And even when you smoke," he frowned slightly.