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When the leaves lose their vibrant green and the wind begins to creep through the cracks, Froggy can’t help but get excited for all the autumn activities that are soon approaching.
Just thinking about it makes him smile stupidly and start daydreaming of all the markets, the crunchy leaves, the cute stationery he’s been putting off buying since the start of the new school year, the foggy and gloomy mornings that make everything feel softer and quieter. His behavior is so dependent on the change of the seasons that he even switches his usual yogurt bowl in the morning to oatmeal. And on special days, he treats himself to a nice hot chocolate, extra sweet, extra warm, extra comforting.
Grox notices all of this.
He doesn’t comment on it, but he notices.
He notices the way Froggy’s steps get lighter when the air gets colder. He notices the way Froggy’s eyes brighten when he sees a leaf fall. He notices the way Froggy’s voice gets softer when he talks about upcoming town activities. Grox doesn’t understand why anyone would get excited about the weather, or leaves, or simple stationery, but he watches Froggy’s enthusiasm with a strange, quiet fascination.
It’s unsettling, how much he watches.
_______
One foggy morning, Froggy is waiting outside the school again, bouncing on his heels. He’s wearing some ridiculous scarf that’s far too big for him, wrapped around his neck twice, the ends dangling almost to his knees. Grox wonders where he even got the thing from.
His breath fogs in the air, and he grins at the sight of it.
Grox arrives late, as usual. He walks with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched, eyes half-lidded. He looks like he hasn’t slept, which, knowing him, is probably true.
Froggy lights up immediately.
“Grox! Look!” He exhales sharply, watching the cloud of vapor puff out. “Fog breath!”
Grox stares at him blankly. “…That’s just condensation.”
Froggy frowned and immediatly sighed in disappointment, “Yeah, but it’s fun condensation.”
Grox’s expression doesn’t change, but he steps closer, watching Froggy do it again. Froggy beams at him, cheeks flushed from the cold.
Grox doesn’t smile back.
But he doesn’t look away either.
Froggy holds out the thermos. “Hot chocolate?”
Grox hesitates. He doesn’t like sweet things. He doesn’t like warm drinks. He doesn’t like accepting things from people.
But he takes it anyway.
He sips it. His face twitches, not in disgust, but in confusion, like he’s trying to understand why Froggy likes this so much. Froggy watches him with an intensity that makes Grox’s skin prickle.
“It’s good, right?” Froggy quickly asks, leaning in.
Grox hands the thermos back. “It’s… fine.”
Froggy laughs, his body rocking back and forth and almost curling over. “Oh my god! You hate it!”
Grox rolls his eyes and gives a quick shrug. “I don’t hate it.”
He doesn’t hate Froggy’s excitement either. He doesn’t understand it, but he doesn’t hate it.
That’s new.
And while walking to class together, Froggy talks about Starbucks' fall menu, mentioning how he wants, or better said NEEDS, to buy a drink there because he "does it every year" and "it's practically become tradition" so he's "forced to". Grox listens, silent, hands still shoved in his pockets.
Froggy bumps his shoulder against Grox’s. “You should come with me.”
Grox stops walking.
Froggy turns, confused. “What’s wrong?”
Grox’s eyes narrow slightly. “Dear god... Why?”
“Because it’s fun.”
Grox stares at him like he’s speaking a foreign language. “Fun for you, and practically every single teenage girl within a 500-meter radius.”
“Fun for you too,” Froggy insists, stepping closer. “You just don’t know it yet.”
Grox’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t like being told what he feels. He doesn’t like being told what he will feel. But Froggy’s eyes are bright and hopeful, and something about that makes Grox’s chest feel tight in a way he can’t explain.
“…Fine,” Grox mutters. “I guess I'll go.”
Froggy’s grin is immediate and blinding.
Grox looks away quickly, ears burning. He can't believe he's actually going to do this.
_______
On the walk to town, Froggy kicks at piles of fallen leaves, sending them flying. Grox watches him, hands still in his pockets, expression unreadable.
Froggy picks up a particularly bright red leaf and holds it out. “Look! It’s pretty.”
Grox takes it. He turns it over in his fingers, examining the veins, the texture, the color. He doesn’t understand why Froggy cares about this. But he holds onto the leaf anyway.
Froggy beams. “And it matches your tie! You're forced to like it now.”
Grox doesn’t answer. What kind of logic was that?
His bewildered expression was apparently funny enough to make Froggy start giggling, forcing him to put his hand over his mouth to stifle it in order to not insult Grox, which only made it worse.
When he finally calmed down, he patted Grox on the shoulder and said, "You really need to chill out, man."
He freezes. His breath catches. His fingers tighten around the leaf.
_______
Froggy practically skipped down the sidewalk, scarf bouncing behind him, humming some tune he’d made up on the spot.
Grox walked beside him, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched like he was bracing for impact. He didn’t hum. He didn’t skip. He didn’t even look at Froggy. But he stayed close, matching Froggy’s pace with long, steady strides.
Froggy glanced at him, still grinning. “You’re gonna love this.”
Grox didn’t respond. He just blinked slowly, like he was conserving energy.
They reached the Starbucks on the corner, the one Froggy insisted had “the best vibes” because of the warm lighting and the giant chalkboard menu decorated with little doodles of pumpkins and leaves. The windows were fogged from the heat inside, and Froggy wiped a circle into the glass with his sleeve before pushing the door open.
The smell hit them immediately. Some cinnamon, nutmeg, espresso, caramel, something vaguely apple-like. Froggy inhaled dramatically.
Grox wrinkled his nose. “It smells… sticky.”
“It smells like heaven,” Froggy corrected, grabbing Grox’s sleeve and tugging him toward the counter.
Grox let himself be dragged, though his expression remained flat and vaguely suspicious.
The fall menu was displayed on a big board above the baristas. Froggy pointed at it with both hands like he was presenting a treasure map.
“Look! They have the Maple Pecan Latte again! And the Pumpkin Cream Cold Brew! And- oh my god... Grox, look, they have Caramel Apple Spice Chai!”
Grox stared at the board. “Those sound… aggressive.”
“They’re delicious.”
“They sound like they’re trying to kill me!”
Froggy rolled his eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”
Grox didn’t argue. He just stared at Froggy, expression unreadable, until Froggy’s face went warm.
“Anyway,” Froggy said quickly, “you’re trying something.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Grox sighed, long and slow, like Froggy was draining the life out of him. “Fine. But I’m not drinking anything orange.”
Froggy took the win and grinned. “Deal.”
He turned to the barista, practically bouncing. “Hi! Can we get a Maple Pecan Latte, extra foam, and…” He paused, turning to Grox with a mischievous glint. “And one… Iced Pumpkin Cream Chai Latte.”
Grox stared at him. “Yo! You said no orange.”
“It’s not orange,” Froggy lied, quickly looking up at the picture to come up with a half-truthful answer. “It’s… beige.”
Grox looked at the picture on the menu. It was very clearly orange.
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re a liar.”
Froggy rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. “You’ll like it.”
Grox didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t protest further.
They found a seat by the window, a small table with two mismatched chairs. Froggy sat down and immediately pulled his scarf off, fluffing it onto his lap. Grox sat stiffly, like the chair was a trap.
Froggy leaned forward, chin in his hands. “You’re gonna love it.”
Grox stared at him. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
Grox didn’t respond. He just watched Froggy, watched the way his eyes sparkled, watched the way his fingers tapped the table, watched the way he seemed to radiate warmth like a little space heater.
Their drinks arrived. Froggy’s latte looked normal. Grox’s drink looked like autumn had exploded in a cup.
Grox stared at it. “It’s glowing!”
“It’s... very festive.”
“It looks radioactive!”
Froggy pushed the cup closer. “Just try it, bro! Quick, quick”
Grox didn’t move.
Froggy nudged it again. “Grox!”
Grox sighed. He picked up the cup like it was a fragile artifact, sniffed it, and immediately recoiled.
“It smells like a candle! Are you trying to poison me, frog man?”
“It tastes better than a candle.”
Grox hesitantly took a sip.
His face didn’t change at first. He just sat there, staring at the table, cup still raised, expression blank.
Froggy leaned forward. “Well?”
Grox swallowed slowly. “…It’s… sweet.”
“That’s good!”
“It’s… very sweet.”
“That’s amazing!”
Grox looked at the cup again, as if it had personally offended him. “It tastes like someone melted a pie and put it in a blender!”
Froggy laughed so loudly the other customers glanced over.
Grox didn’t smile, but his eyes softened just a little.
Froggy nudged his foot against Grox’s under the table. “You like it.”
Grox looked away. “I don’t hate it.”
“That means you like it.”
"It means I'm finishing this drink because I paid too much money for it to go to waste," Grox quickly corrected, a pout evident on his face.
He took another sip anyway.
Froggy watched him with a softness that made Grox’s stomach twist. He felt it, that strange, uncomfortable warmth that always crept up when Froggy looked at him like that. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t know what to do with it.
He set the cup down, fingers tapping the lid. “Why do you make me try things?”
“Because you never try anything on your own.”
Grox frowned. “I don’t need to.”
“Yes you do! You might like them!”
Grox stared at Froggy and the other's smile faltered just a little under the intensity of it.
Grox looked down at his drink. He picked it up again. He took another sip.
Froggy’s smile returned, soft and bright.
_______
The walk home was quieter than usual.
Froggy sipped his latte happily, scarf bouncing with each step. Grox held his pumpkin chai like it was a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet, occasionally taking small, suspicious sips. The wind pushed at them, cold and sharp, but Froggy didn’t seem to mind. Grox minded, but he didn’t complain.
They reached Froggy’s street just as the sun dipped behind the houses, leaving everything washed in a soft blue-gray. The porch lights flickered on one by one, glowing like tiny lanterns.
Froggy slowed his pace, then stopped entirely in front of his house. Grox stopped too, though he didn’t know why. He just did.
Froggy turned to him, rocking on his heels. “Today was fun.”
Grox shrugged. “You forced me to drink a candle.”
“You liked it.”
Grox looked away. “I didn’t hate it.”
“That means you liked it.”
Grox didn’t respond. His fingers tightened around the cup.
Froggy stepped closer, scarf brushing against Grox’s jacket. “You know… you’re different in autumn.”
He blinked. “What's that supposed to mean?”
“You’re quieter! But not in a bad way.” Froggy tilted his head. “You... watch things more.”
Grox’s breath caught. He didn’t like being seen. He didn’t like being understood. But Froggy wasn’t accusing him. He was just… noticing.
And he didn’t know what to do with that.
Froggy’s voice softened. “I like it.”
Grox swallowed hard. His chest felt tight again. That strange, uncomfortable warmth that always crept up when Froggy looked at him like this. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t know how to name it.
He didn’t know how to escape it either.
Froggy reached out and gently tugged the sleeve of Grox’s jacket. “Hey!”
Grox looked at him. Froggy’s eyes were bright, soft, warm in a way Grox didn’t understand. “I’m really glad you came with me today.”
Grox’s voice was quiet. “You dragged me.”
“You still came.”
Grox didn’t argue. He couldn’t.
Froggy stepped even closer, close enough that Grox could feel the warmth radiating off him. “Grox?”
His breath hitched. “What?”
Froggy hesitated, just for a moment, then reached out and took Grox’s hand. His fingers were warm. Grox’s were cold.
Grox froze.
Froggy didn’t let go.
“I like you,” Froggy said softly. “Not just the autumn you, obviously. All of you.”
Grox’s heart stuttered, sharply, painfully, like a sudden jolt of electricity. He didn’t understand why Froggy said things like that. He didn’t understand why it made him feel… something.
Something uncomfortable. Something warm.
He stared at Froggy, eyes wide, breath shallow. Froggy didn’t look away. He just held Grox’s hand, thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles.
Grox swallowed. His voice came out low, almost a whisper. “I don’t… get you.”
Froggy smiled, this time small, gentle, patient. “You don’t have to.”
Grox glanced down at their hands. His fingers twitched, but he didn’t pull away.
Not this time.
The wind blew past them, cold and sharp, but Froggy’s hand was warm. Grox didn’t understand why that mattered. He didn’t understand why he didn’t want to let go.
Froggy squeezed his hand lightly. “You can come inside, if you want.”
Grox hesitated for a moment... But Froggy’s eyes were soft. And his hand was warm. And the cold air suddenly felt too cold.
“…Okay,” Grox murmured.
Froggy’s smile widened, bright and stupid and perfect. He tugged Grox toward the door, scarf trailing behind him like a banner.
And Grox followed.