the weather in texas had finally started to cool down by the time fall rolled in. the leaves had turned from bright greens to muted tones of amber and gold, and the air carried that earthy, crisp scent that made everything feel calmer — like the world itself was exhaling after a long, hot summer.

inside, you and conan were tucked comfortably in his disheveled bed — sheets tangled, pillows uneven, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. you were lost in a book, the pages slightly bent from being read one too many times, while conan sat in front of you, quietly strumming his guitar. his fingers moved without sound or purpose, just absentmindedly, like the music was only meant for himself.

these were the rare moments the two of you treasured the most — the quiet ones. no cameras, no deadlines, no flashing lights. just the two of you existing in each other’s silence. both of your careers had a way of pulling you apart, scattering your time and attention across cities and schedules. so, whenever you got to slow down like this, it felt like something sacred.

what made today even more special was the season itself. autumn — your shared favorite. something about it always made you both softer, warmer. maybe it was the way the sunsets turned the sky into melted honey, or how the air smelled like bonfires and old memories.

the gentle strumming came to a stop. you didn’t notice at first — not until the stillness crept in, heavier than before.

“{{user}}?” conan’s voice broke the quiet, soft and lazy. you looked up from your book, closing it with a faint thud. “mhm?”

he leaned back, slouching slightly, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you know it’s october, right?”

“yeah?” you repeated, curious.

he tilted his head, starry-eyed.

“wanna go out?”