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“What’s this?”
“It’s a list, dumbass,” you chuckle in response, shaking your head at his silly question.
“I can see that,” he huffs with a crooked grin, but his eyes are glued to yours instead of the sheet you placed in front of him. “What’s on it?”
“Did you forget how to read?”
He rolls his eyes in bemusement and unfolds the piece of paper.
DATE NIGHT is written on the very top, a little flower doodled right next to the heading.
It’s a whole schedule, starting with a bus ride to the outskirts of town on Saturday morning and ending with a bonfire event Sunday night.
Alec skims through it, feeling your eyes on him the whole time. You’re biting your lower lip, swaying back and forth next to him as you wait patiently for his reaction.
“You planned all this?”
No matter how hard you chew on your lips, you can’t contain that giddy smile. Shyly, you nod, before you clear your throat.
“Summer’s coming to an end and, well, that weekend is our—”
“Three month anniversary,” Alec finishes your sentence. The boyish spark in his eyes remains, with just the right amount of smugness to still count as charming. But his demeanor softens.
It’s the good kind of soft. The one he’s never allowed himself to be, the one he thought others programmed out of him, the one he hasn’t felt in all his life. You bring it back to the surface in just three months.
Heck, who is he kidding? It couldn’t have taken you more than three minutes. Never does.
“Can’t believe so much time’s passed,” he hums, thoughtfully.
“Did you think this was going to be just a summer fling?” You chuckle lightheartedly, drawing a snort from him as your fingers ruffle through his hair.
In all honesty, he didn’t know where the path would take him when he asked you out. It didn’t matter at the time. All that did was the fact that he would’ve avoided every mirror if he missed the chance.
“Something like that,” he teases back with a wink. Grabbing your wrist, he tugs your hand away from his short locks, only to pull you closer to his side. “I definitely didn’t think I’d get this far. Not after you told me it’ll be just one date so I’ll finally stop pushing my luck with you.”
You laugh again, finding a comfy position tucked into his side with his arm wrapped around your shoulder. “And then you continued pushing your luck.”
“It’s been working out for me for three months so far,” he grins and shrugs.
“Maybe you should try playing the lottery,” you suggest.
“I could do that. Or,” Alec replies, smoothing over the autumnal schedule in his hands, “I could win myself a prize at the Autumn Fair Festival on September 1st, 2:30 PM.”
Even though you slightly jab his ribs, he couldn’t not poke some fun at you for meticulously organizing a weekend trip with every minute laid out — on a handwritten note, no less.
He’s used to schedules. This is the first one he sees that makes his heart jump a little higher though. The first one that’s endearing and fun.
“Hey, quit poking me or I’ll consider skipping ahead to the Hayride at 4:15 PM,” Alec huffs, earning himself a subtle shove to his shoulder this time.
That alone would’ve simply made him laugh, but it’s your pout that has him cave.
“Fine, fine! Festival at 2:30 PM it is,” he chuckles softly, plactating you with a gentle press of his lips to your temple. When you whip your head in his direction, presumably to glare at him, he holds up both of his hands in defense. “I’ll even win you the biggest teddy bear at the shooting booth, promise.”
The two of you pack your duffle bags the very same evening. Despite his teasing you can’t shut up about all the fun events that await you on your trip. You barely make it to bed without swooning about cotton candy and apple orchards — it’s a miracle you eventually fall asleep in his arms.
It’s a little early to hype up the fall season. Alec’s just seen the first leaves turning yellow last week, but who is he to spoil the fun? Just because he can’t get behind the festivities of Halloween and Thanksgiving doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy your excitement.
First thing the next morning is a whiff of coffee. Alec is still busy blinking the sleep from his eyes while you tug at his arm.
Upon finally beckoning him to the kitchen table, he’s met with an array of fall themed food. Store bought apple pie slices await him on paper plates. It had to be paper plates, because there’s acorns and pumpkins printed on them. Alec remembers you eyeing them the whole time you were grocery shopping together. He snuck them into the cart while you were busy picking out the flavor of pie. Upon closer inspection he realizes you even cut out little triangles for eyes and a crescent moon for a smile from the crust.
Now he knows what that was about. You really weren’t kidding about the seasonal spirit.
It’s evident at last when you push him down into a chair and he takes a sip of coffee — syrup. Cinnamon.
A pair of curious eyes stares at him. Expectantly. Somewhat nervous. If only you knew you’d have to invest half the effort to impress him.
“You like?”
“I love,” he replies. To his own surprise, he even means it. It’s sweeter than anything he’d usually go for, but the spice takes some of the sugary edge away.
Satisfied with his answer, you plop down in the seat across the table, reaching for your own cup. To yours, you add an ungodly amount of pumpkin spice flavor. Though, when you catch him watching and offer him a sip, he scrunches his nose and refuses. Even he has his limits.
“I’m perfectly happy with my liquid cinnamon roll, thank you.”
“I can fetch you a black one,” you mumble meekly. Damn him and his non-chalance — his half-sarcastic words weren’t meant to raise any doubts.
“Don’t you dare,” he says immediately and traps your hand beneath his, preventing you from scurrying back to the cupboards. “I mean it. It’s really good, thanks.”
Not only is the breakfast good, it’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for him.
That alone makes him want to drown himself in the mug. That, and the faint blush around the tip of your nose when he insists on carrying your duffle bag. The least he can do to return the favor is put his super-genetics strength to good use and be a gentleman.
The bus is packed with people — families with giddy kids, mostly. A group of pre-teens, some of them excitedly rambling on and on about haunted houses at the Fall Festival, others staring out of the windows in unimpressed fashion. Looks like a summer camp trip.
“Haunted House, huh?,” Alec whispers in your direction, unfolding your list again with a grin. “You didn’t write anything like that down.”
“What, you think I’m scared?,” you scoff and shake your head in amusement. “There’s no haunted house at the festival, trust me, I checked.”
A couple of kids turn around to stare at you with wide eyes, then immediately go complaining to their counselor. You just mumble an embarrassed “Oops” and sink further into your seat.
Alec bursts out in laughter, once again wrapping one arm around your shoulder from behind.
“Sounds good to me, to be honest. I’d like to be the only one to quicken your heartbeat,” he smirks and all the effort he put into making his tone as theatrical as possible goes to waste at the expense of his ridiculous eyebrow-wiggling.
You play along, slapping a hand over your chest. “Are you planning to jumpscare me? What if I’ll drop dead from a heart-attack?”
Alec’s grin widens as he pulls you closer to his side, until his mouth brushes against the shell of your ear and his warm breath does send a shiver down your spine. Not the spooked kind of shiver, though. Especially not with the way his hand trails down to your waist.
“I can think of a thing or two to take your breath away,” he breathes against your skin.
That’s when the bus comes to an abrupt halt and you’re not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. Another one of those stunts and who knows if you wouldn’t have actually fainted.
The kids are the first to storm out, all of them racing towards the inn. You and Alec follow behind, checking into a room that looks like a jack-o-lantern exploded in. Everything, from the walls to the bed sheets, is maroon or orange or brown. Even the color of the towels resemble that of reddish foliage.
“Wouldn’t you know it,” Alec exclaims as he points at the soap dispenser by the sink. “You’ll never guess what fragrance this is. I’ll give you a hint, it’s not Christmas Cookies.”
“You think this is ridiculous,” you sigh, crooked smile on your lips.
“Just a little bit,” he admits — gently, not condescending. “But, you know what? This is cute. You are cute. So I don’t mind a little silliness.”
“Good, because the festival is about to open and if we go now, we’ll be just in time to get our photo taken at the pumpkin patch.”
After dropping your duffles by the bed, Alec lets you drag him downstairs and towards the fair. He does complain a little about the fact that he’s supposed to get photographed by a guy in a turkey costume — yes, with feathers — but once you pull him under the arch made out of pumpkins and smile at the camera, he complies.
You’re handed two polaroids and even he has to admit: The flustered grin on Alec’s face thanks to your surprise kiss to his cheek is almost cheesier than the photographer’s outfit. It’s still with pride that he snatches that picture from your hands and secures it in his wallet.
The booths are next, all of them stacked with stuffed animals and all kinds of food. As promised, Alec wins the grand prize for you on the first try, knocking down every target with the toy rifle. You pick out the Bartholomew Bear Jellycat, a classic brown teddy bear inside of a plump pumpkin.
That’s followed by the hayride, during which Alec feels you shiver at his side. He drapes his leather jacket over you without a word, feeling warm enough just by the sight of your flushed cheeks and the feeling of your hand in his. The tractor pulls them through the fields and Alec isn’t sure whether any of this is as magical as it feels. Like they’ve stepped through a gate into Halloween Town itself. Or maybe most of it is just for show.
Whether the crunch of the leaves is fake or not, the feeling is genuine.
He used to associate the color brown with dirt — the kind that would stick to his knees after crawling on the ground. The kind that used to get stuck under his nails after excessive training sessions, which always left him feeling hollow. Who knew the tone could radiate warmth, could make his heart swell until it was full? He wasn’t aware any color could, really.
The sunset; orange melting into pink. Like flames up above, but not threatening ones. Lately nothing feels threatening anymore, not with you by his side anyway.
The golden hour is something he mainly knows from books. Something he knows to avoid during sneaky missions. At Manticore they taught him a million different ways to slither in the shadows, to hide from the enemy. Manticore drilled a constant state of alert into him, to be watchful of every corner. Now his attention is solely dedicated to you.
To the way you intertwine your fingers with his on the way back to your room — you finally admit that you’re tired and give in when he reminds you that you have a whole Sunday ahead of you to spend at the festival. To your eager nod when he suggests you watch a horror movie before going to sleep — to make up for the lack of a haunted house, though otherwise the festival is amazing.
The softness of your hair under his fingertips as opposed to grime and blood staining his hands. The curl of your smile, which lingers even as your mouths connect. Widens, even. No restraints, no stuffy room with metal bars and spiked fences.
Alec finally gets a taste of freedom. And it tastes a lot like apple cider, pumpkin spice, cinnamon, and your lips.