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Pulling the wooden plantation shutters, Dean stared out the bay window. An array of multicolored leaves covered the lawn like a patchwork quilt he would going to have to take a leafblower to and destroy later this week.
A warm body pressed against his back and a strong arm slid around his middle from behind. “Morning.” Tristan’s whisper was soft, like he knew Dean was somewhere else and might not want to be disturbed. But he physically couldn’t keep himself away. Tristan always had acted before thinking things through.
“Mmm,” was as much as Dean could manage for a reply. Nice as it was to have his lover snuggling close for warmth on a crisp autumn morning, the unavoidable part of that arrangement was that it was still autumn. Fuck autumn, really. What had autumn ever done for him but cause him pain and angst? Why did it always bring him false opportunities that were eventually crushed and destroyed?
“Uh-oh. The man’s thinking. Better give him some space. This requires—”
“Shut up.” Dean hugged Tristan’s arm to his stomach, trapping it there so that even when Tristan pretended to try to pull away, he couldn’t go anywhere. Tristan chuckled into the back of Dean’s neck, and Dean felt himself relax.
Until a bright yellow school bus passed in front of the house. And then, hell, he couldn’t stop thinking about his kids heading off to school in some other town, his ex-wife waving to them and them waving back at her. And he thought about his first days of school in Stars Hollow, all those years ago. Of meeting Rory and the way his life had just spiraled out from there. Of how everything came back to that in the end, came back to autumn.
“Hey,” Tristan whispered, delivering a kiss right between Dean’s tense shoulder blades. “I’ve got something that might make you smile.” He pulled back, and this time Dean let him go, Tristan’s arm slipping out from his hold, Tristan’s warmth fading.
Dean shivered and hugged his arms to his chest.
Then Tristan was back, squeezing his way in-between Dean and the view of the outside. He handed over a steaming mug and then hopped up, sitting in the bay window with his legs dangling. Dean looked down at the mug, frowning. No way could he look at a cup of coffee and not think about Rory. “I don’t want it.”
“Have some faith in me, Forester.” Tristan’s foot nudged Dean’s thigh. “Just try it.”
Dean blew across the surface then cautiously took a sip. He nearly choked, startled by the onslaught of flavors. Coughing into his shoulder, he set the mug down on the bay window seat beside Tristan. “What the hell is that?”
“Vanilla pumpkin spice chai mocha laté with almond milk. You like?”
Laughing, Dean shook his head. He coughed again. “No. I most definitely do not like this abomination you’ve created.”
Tristan picked it up and took a sip, savoring the experience. “Made you smile, though, didn’t it?”
Dean couldn’t deny that. He leaned forward, pressing the side of his head to Tristan’s chest. From this position, he could still see out one of the windows. On everything—the fallen leaves included—there was a still beautiful coating of early morning frost. Frost said that, sure, it was autumn now, but it wouldn’t be for long. Seasons changed. Unpleasantness passed. Time marched inevitably forward.