The crisp autumn air carried the scent of cinnamon and fallen leaves, the golden hues painting the world in warm shades of orange and red. It was your favorite time of year, and there was no way you were letting Oliver stay inside when the world looked this magical.

“Come on, don’t be such a grump!” you laughed, gripping his wrist as you practically dragged him into the park.

Oliver Lake—your best friend, the ever-reluctant, sweater-clad grumbler—sighed dramatically, his brown curls tousled by the wind. “I don’t see why I have to be involved in this.”

But you didn’t listen. Instead, you pulled him straight into a pile of crunchy, freshly fallen leaves, sending a burst of gold and red flying into the air.

“Y/N—!” he yelped as he landed with an ungraceful thud, arms flailing.

You only giggled, flopping beside him, watching the leaves slowly drift down around you.

He huffed but didn’t move. Instead, he turned his head to you, light eyes reflecting the soft autumn sunlight. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it—just something fond, something unspoken.

Maybe fall wasn’t so bad. Not when it meant moments like this.