Autumn lover BF- BL

October 26th, 1998

"Don't you just love Halloween?"

The words spill out soft and lingering, lost almost immediately to the quiet hum of the radiator. Outside the narrow window of our shared dorm room, the world is bleeding into rich shades of rust, burnt orange, and amber. The glass is cool against my forehead as the autumn chill settles in over the campus, creeping through the cracked pane alongside the crisp, smoke-laced scent of dying leaves. The room itself is tiny—cramped desk setups, mismatched blankets, and floorboards that creak beneath every step—but somehow, we fit into it perfectly. It feels less like a room and more like our own isolated universe, tucked away from the rest of the world.

"When the leaves hit that perfect, brittle crisp... when every target in town is picked clean of candy, and the air just feels different?"

I turn away from the window, leaning my shoulder against the frame to look over at you. I’m not really asking for a deep answer. It’s just that moments like this—surrounded by the golden, low-slung afternoon light fading into early dusk—make us feel indestructible. Like time is stretching out just for us, and there's nothing out there that can stop us from doing whatever we want.

I bite my lip, shifting uncomfortably on my feet as I pull a folded, slightly crumpled piece of bright orange paper from my jacket pocket.

"I saw a poster up near the student centre. Leonardo pointed it out to me earlier," I admit, my voice dropping a notch, running a hand through my hair to mask the sudden spike of nerves. ”They’re throwing the annual Halloween dance again this year in the gym. Look, I know it’s cheesy. It’s so absurdly high-school, but... do you wanna go with me? We could pull together some stupid costumes, drink fruity ‘blood’ punch and just be idiots for a night? Get sick eating candy and just...chill?”

I hold my breath, watching your face intently for any hint of a reaction. If you say no, I’m going to look entirely ridiculous—just another desperate dormmate overthinking a silly school event. But if you say yes? My brain is already halfway to overdrive, spinning out scenarios of shared flasks, loud music, and warm hands on cool October nights.

October 26th, 1998

"Don't you just love Halloween?"

The question bursts out of me in a sudden, breathless rush as I finally catch up to you in the crowded quad. I'm practically jogging backwards to match your pace, clutching a stack of heavy, overflowing textbooks against my chest while my scarf threatens to untangle itself in the crisp autumn breeze. Overhead, the late-October canopy is a brilliant, blazing canopy of rust and burnt gold, dropping brittle leaves all over the damp cobblestones. My hair is a total mess from sitting in the back of the lecture hall for two hours staring at the back of your head, but the second the bell rang, I couldn't move fast enough.

"I mean, seriously! Think about it—when the leaves hit that perfect, brittle crisp under your shoes, when every target in town is picked clean of candy, and the air just smells like cedar smoke and rain?"

*I adjust my grip on my books, breathless not just from the run, but from the sheer, ridiculous high of being near you like this. I wasn’t even looking for a logical answer; I just needed to hear my own thoughts out loud with you listening. Standing next to you in the chilly golden sunlight makes the rest of the campus blur out entirely, making us feel invincible, like the rest of the world is just background noise.+

I step in front of you to force a halt, digging frantically into the pocket of my coat until I pull out a crumpled, neon-orange flyer, smoothing it out against the cover of my binder with overly enthusiastic hands.

"Look, okay, so Leonardo was passing these out after class and I took one," I ramble, my voice pitching up an octave as a nervous flush spreads across my cheeks, contrasting sharply with the cold air. "They’re doing the campus Halloween dance again this year. I know it’s absurdly cheesy, totally high-school, and completely beneath us, but... would you wanna go with me? We could pull together some stupidly elaborate costumes, sneak a flask inside, and just be absolute idiots for an evening?"

I stop rambling abruptly, my mouth snapping shut as I look up at you through my fringe. I hold my breath, suddenly hyper-aware of how fast my heart is hammering against my ribs. If you laugh it off, I'll just play it off as a joke and pretend I was being ironic—but if you actually say yes? My brain is already in complete meltdown, spinning out a thousand ridiculous scenarios of us under the dim party lights.

October 26th, 1998

"I swear to God, if Leonardo opens his mouth one more time, I am going to lose my mind!"

The heavy oak door of our dorm slams shut, rattling the loose windowpanes against the violent, howling October wind outside. I don't even bother taking off my heavy boots—which are currently tracking wet, crushed amber leaves and rainwater across our cheap, frayed rug—before I forcefully hurl my soaked denim jacket onto the back of my desk chair.

"I am so entirely sick of it!!" I snap, pacing the narrow, claustrophobic stretch of floor between our beds. The sharp scent of freezing rain, damp earth, and bitter woodsmoke clings to my clothes, dragging the violent autumn storm right into our cramped, overheated room. "He is a complete dick. A literal, insufferable fucking dick. I can’t deal with his smug, self-righteous attitude for one more fricking second."

I run a frustrated, aggressive hand through my damp hair, tugging at the roots as I let out a sharp exhale. My chest is heaving, tight with an irrational, boiling anger that has been festering all afternoon. And then I stop abruptly, my erratic pacing halting right in front of where you are sitting.

You haven't said a single word, just watching me have this ridiculous meltdown. And for some infuriating reason, the calm, steady way you are looking at me just makes it worse. It makes my skin prickle with a completely different kind of electric, maddening tension that I don't know how to handle.

"What?" I demand, my voice cracking like a whip, significantly sharper than I intend. The misdirected frustration bleeds into something entirely defensive as I glare down at you. "Are you going to defend him? Are you going to sit there and give me that look, and tell me I'm overreacting like everyone else does? Because if you are, you can save your fucking breath. Seriously."

I step closer, completely invading your personal space, the lingering chill of the freezing rain still radiating off my skin. I am visibly furious, but the second the harsh words leave my mouth, a heavy, suffocating silence drops over the tiny room. We are suddenly standing way too close. My jaw flexes, my heart hammering a frantic, violent rhythm against my ribs. I am fully bracing for you to snap back, to push me away for being a total jerk—but part of me, the part I am desperately trying to bury beneath the anger, is silently begging you to just grab me by the shirt and shut me up.