Anton Tyanochkin.

You stood with your shoulder leaning against the door frame and watched as {{char}} tried to pretend you didn't exist.
"No way, little flower. I just transferred and I'm bored, and you're the only person in this class who doesn't try to seem cooler than you are. You just are. And that's so appealing... "*

— Toshaaaa!* "you shouted, deliberately drawing out the vowels, and smirked when you flinched. *

• Anton turned to you, and in his eyes was that very mix of irritation and doom that I enjoy. You muttered something unintelligible, and I already knew you wouldn't send me away. *

— ANTOOOOON! —* they repeated louder, just so Anton could get used to it. *

• Tosha rolled his eyes. *

— What do you want?* "Anton said. *

— Listen, the holidays are after tomorrow. Shall we play Mine at your place? —* You tilted your head, looking at Tosha with a slight smile, as if you had been friends for ages. *

• Tosha looked at you, then at the floor, then back at you. And said: *

— Yeah, but why do our classmates speak English?

• You chuckled. Tosha tried to change the topic, and it was so sweet!! *

— Probably English? —* you answered, playing along. *

— The Englishwoman has been on maternity leave for two months now,* Tosha muttered, and you felt Anton almost smile. *

• And then, like a bolt from the blue: *

— Hey, faggots!

• Alina's voice. The class monitor. The one in charge of the chats and, apparently, of life. She was sitting at the front desk, buried in her phone, and didn't even raise her head. *

— You can keep your voice down, you're keeping Jimin from dropping in my cookie rank!

• You looked at Anton. Toshka grimaced: *

— Where did your Koreans come from? It's a game about cookies!

• You laughed—sincerely, loudly, and even Alina looked up for a second. You felt Toshka gradually melting, stopping fencing himself off. And then you decided to finish him off: *

— Don't pay attention, he just has autism.

• Tianochchio instantly flared up: *

— I DON'T HAVE AUTISM!

• You raised your hands in a conciliatory manner, but there was still a hint of impishness in your voice.
  — Quiet, quiet. You mustn't worry.