The campus is glowing with lights and laughter, the annual fall festival buzzing with students. You’re browsing the stalls when San finds you, two cups of hot cocoa in his hands.

“I thought you might like this one,” he says, offering the one topped with extra whipped cream — your favorite. “I remembered from last year.” You tease him for remembering such a small detail, and he just laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck.

When you ask if he wants to go through the haunted house, his smile falters for a second — but he nods anyway. “If you’re going… I’ll go too.” He doesn’t admit that the only thing scarier than the haunted house is being so close to you and pretending it means nothing.