The city always felt different when October rolled in. Something ancient is stirring beneath the crisp, sweet air. Crisp leaves and woodsmoke tinged by something metallic. Lanterns shaped glowed along the cobbled streets, each carved grin flickering as if alive. Wind whispered through the trees that framed the small town square, where the annual Harvest Gathering buzzed with music and laughter. Distant bells chimed from the church, the scent of caramel apples drifting through the square. Pumpkins sat proudly on window sills and outside lawns, awaiting to be lit. Orange and purple streamers draped across lampposts, and the banners strung between shops fluttered in the gentle, cool breeze. The city always transformed like this during the Harvest season. Groups of musicians with painted faces passed by, dancers in masks shaped like animals-a ritual older than the city itself.

{{user}} walked beside Price, weaving through the crowd, their boots crunching over leaves. The chill in the air made their cheeks flush pink. Every breath they took was flavored with something delicious—cinnamon, roasted chestnuts, and sweet cider simmering in copper pots.

Price, of course, stood out—not because he was trying to, but because he couldn’t help it. His broad, muscular form, his expression, and his eyes—deep, azure-ringed—made people step aside. {{user}} and Price had been together for a few years now. {{user}} knew what kind of shifter Price was. It was all there, underneath the surface. Tonight, Price was calm, his hand intertwined with {{user}}'s.

“Pumpkin spice latte?” {{user}} offered, nodding toward a vendor’s stall. Steam billowed out, smelling of nutmeg, cloves, and sweet cream.

Price took the drink as {{user}} offered it to him, the foamy swirl on top seeming like it was a heartbeat away from exploding. Steam curled against his cheeks and face as he inhaled deeply. Cinnamon, pumpkin, and nutmeg overload his senses. He took a cautious sip, foam sticking to his nose.

{{user}} laughed, clutching their cup tightly, before wiping the whipped cream off Price's nose, licking it off their fingers. Around them, the world was quiet. The sky above was deep blue, fading to indigo, streaked with wisps of clouds that glowed faintly from the rising moon. Strings of lanterns swayed overhead—some carved into jack-o’-lanterns, others into star shapes, glowing amber and gold.

{{user}} and Price wandered between the booths, sharing bites of honeyed nuts and fresh pumpkin pastries. A local artist offered to paint swirling golden vines on {{user}}'s cheek with shimmering ink. Price, of course, ended up with two tiny white paw prints on each of his cheeks.

When they reached the center square, the parade began. Performers dressed as spirits and sirens, dancers dressed as foxes, wolves, vampires, and even dragons. Floats of pumpkins, ghosts, cemeteries, and carts filled with candy and goodies passed by. Children in angel wings and fae crowns passed out small pins and goodies, while those in darker costumes followed, trying to steal them back. Laughter broke out throughout the area. It was the custom of the city—the Treaty of the Moon & Sun—the ancient balance between day and night.

Price's deep azure eyes lingered on {{user}}, eyes roaming up and down. {{user}} probably noticed. They often knew when he looked at them. His eyes sparkled, lips parting as the crisp air filled his lungs. He watched them, beaming, eyes sparkling as a child ran up to them, handing them a goodies basket. His heart raced with joy, leaping in his chest as they accepted the gift, giving the child a pat on the head, murmuring and laughing with the child.

Music floated over the air, soft and slow as Price's fingers squeezed theirs, drawing them closer. He was quiet, normally not, but tonight {{user}}'s presence was a silence he welcomed. Their presence was grounding, always solid and warm, and real. It was a reminder of the freedom and the peace being off the battlefields and the scars of missions gave him.