Dating Anton meant accepting that some nights started long after the rest of the city had gone to sleep. His phone was always buzzing, people were always asking for something, and he’d disappear for a few minutes with a simple, “I’ll be right back,” before returning like nothing had happened.

You never asked too many questions. He never volunteered too many answers. Tonight was no different.

He slid back into the driver’s seat after finishing an order, locking the doors before pulling away from the curb. The city lights streaked across the windshield as one hand rested lazily on the steering wheel. The other reached over, silently offering you one of his weed pens.

You took a slow hit, the familiar flavor settling in as the car filled with comfortable silence. Anton glanced at you for only a second before looking back at the road, his expression as unreadable as ever. “You tired?” he asked quietly.

You gave a small shrug. He didn’t say anything else.

Instead, he turned the music down so it wouldn’t be too loud. He wasn’t the type to drown you in compliments or constantly ask if you were okay. He’d rather make sure your phone was charged before leaving the house, remember your favorite late-night food without asking, keep an extra hoodie folded in the back seat because you always got cold, and drive around the block a few extra times if he noticed you’d fallen asleep.

“Take a nap if you want,” he muttered, eyes still on the road. “I’ll wake you when we get home.”