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Jungwoo takes to wearing his nicest sweaters and Johnny’s only cashmere scarf around grounds. He slips it around his neck on his way out the door and wraps himself up in the fabric when he’s cold.

It smells like stale coffee and books and the very particular smell of fresh fallen leaves. Regardless, it is perfect for fall and so he wears it.

He does his best not to scuff his boots as he weaves in between piles of leaves and undergraduates on the sidewalk. His route across grounds is simple, and the same every day, but it’s pleasant. He raises his head to the sky and takes in the morning sun.

Jungwoo breathes deep, brisk oxygen filling his lungs. It stings, just a little, but it’s worth it.

The campus is picturesque this time of year. It looks straight out of some indie film Johnny picked for their movie nights. He’d never really considered himself one for the aesthetic but recently he’s begun to understand the appeal of a pretty college.

The leaves crunch under his boots and he smiles with the snapping twigs. Golden branches reflect the sunlight and mix yellow and orange hues in the sky.

Grounds in the morning is his favorite place to be, even more than the warm hug of his covers.

He teaches a class on the south side of grounds, down a winding road and a tiny corridor. He pulls the scarf tighter around his neck, a subtle reminder of his existence outside of this blissful moment in the fall

It will be okay if he’s a little late, he’s the instructor anyways

-

The café is alive by the time they meet for lunch. Students rushing for their caffeine fix right before the crash or scrambling to finish last minute assignments on the free WIFI.

He slinks to the back unnoticed, slips into the last empty booth and waits.

Usually, he’s the one running late, but his lecture had ended early so he’d gotten a head start to their designated lunch spot. It was sheer luck that he’d gotten a seat. Typically, they found themselves holed up in the graduate lounge, or on a nice day occasionally capturing a picnic table for the afternoon. This was nice; it was different.

“Found you,” the voice startles him. Johnny smiles as he slides into the seat across from him. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Class finished early,” he replies. Johnny hums as he unravels his scarf. It’s wool and scratchy, but warm. It’s not as cosy as the one Jungwoo has, bundled up beside him with his backpack. But that’s Jungwoo’s now.

“That’s nice,” his voice is casual, sweet. He’s looking down, focusing on the paper menu on the table. “Do you know if Ten’s coming? He hasn’t answered my texts.”

It sounds harmless, and to untrained ears it wouldn’t be anything other than an innocent wondering. Jungwoo, however, knows better, drags out the confusion and worry underneath it.

“I don’t know,” he sighs, genuinely he doesn’t. “I’m sure he’ll answer soon. You know how he gets when he’s tied up with a manuscript.”

He reaches across the table, offers the light brush of his fingertips against his skin. When Johnny shifts his arm, he wraps his fingers around his wrist. Johnny’s eyes shift up and he looks up at him through his eyelashes. He offers a tiny smile, sweet and reassuring. A ‘you’re okay I understand’.

“I just don’t get why he won’t text me back,” he mumbles, leaning his face against Jungwoo’s sweater. His voice is pouty and small, so unlike the usual John. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” Jungwoo reassures. There is no point in trying to work this out for them; he’d given it a shot and this is where they had ended up. He resigns himself to comforting words and sweet caresses. Johnny sits up, but he doesn’t remove his hand from where it’s mingling with Jungwoo’s on the table.

He rubs circles into his wrist while they look at the menu. The silence is calming, like most things between them. Neither of them mind just sitting together in the quiet with Jungwoo’s finger tracing shapes into his skin. Just as he’s thinking one of them will have to get up to order, another joins them.

“Sorry,” he says, sliding up to the booth like a cat. “I’m not too late, am I?”

Jungwoo sits up and pulls his hand back from Johnny’s wrist. He’s holding a familiar jacket in his arm and his glasses are skewed just a little bit.

“No, Ten,” he smiles. “No, you’re just in time.”

{ “i’m sorry.” “i know” }

The library stacks are Jungwoo’s favorite place to hide. Tall moving walls of books no one or everyone need to read. He slinks through bookshelves like a cat, prowling through the basement searching for his prey.

He finds it at a table in the corner. Nestled between a wall and the stacks, it sits alone; a secret only for those who manage to find it.

The boys hiding out there have settled into their seats, books sprawled out across the table top. It’s a normal scene; two friends studying together into the fall evening.

Jungwoo knows better, looks closer. Their ankles are tangled together under the desk and their tiny smiles betray them.

‘This is good,’ he thinks to himself. ‘This is what we wanted.’

He slides into place like the final piece of the puzzle, slips into the chair next to Ten, drapes his body over the table, drops his bag to the ground.

Johnny looks up, predictable as always. His big eyes asking all the questions he doesn’t need to verbalize. Jungwoo answers with a soft smile, all the replies he doesn’t need to give. Ten keeps his eyes down, scrolling through pages of text, but he lifts his hand, draws it up to Jungwoo’s face. He brushes his hair out of his eyes, offers a gentle caress that gives all of the reminders he doesn’t need to give. He gives them anyways.

It’s funny, how things work out. In ways that no one quite expected but couldn’t quite imagine anything else. Jungwoo finds he is happiest here, hiding out in their secluded corner of the library, tied up in each other and their studies.

His advisor would kill him if she heard he was yet to make any moves to start his proposal. He needs the grant money, really. But with Ten’s sweet fingers scratching at his scalp and Johnny’s soothing hum in the background, he’s happy to be blissfully ignorant of his academic responsibilities. His eyes flutter closed, he has time.

-

The knife is heavy in his hand. It slices through the meat like butter, sharp and quick. He’s mesmerized by the drag of the blade.

The door slams shut and pulls him from his stupor.

“Hello,” he calls into the hallway.

“Hi,” Ten greets him, stepping out of the shadows. “Are you making dinner?”

“Yeah, just something quick.” He lets Ten get close, drape himself over his body while he does prep work. “Where’s John?”

Ten sighs against his neck, warm air against his cool skin. He leans into Jungwoo, wraps his arms around his waist.

“I don’t know,” he whispers into the crook of his neck. “He doesn’t call me during the day.”

Jungwoo makes a sound of acknowledgment. That is the answer he expected. He lets it go for now, goes back to slicing his meat.

“Move,” he nudges after a while. “I need to get to the stove.”

The other man grumbles, but he pulls back. He busies himself with getting comfortable at the kitchen table, pulls out his book, puts on his glasses. Jungwoo sneaks a peak over his shoulder. He likes Ten like this, curled up in his kitchen chair, hair messy from a long day of dragging his hands through it. He looks like he comes straight out of his dreams in the warm light of the kitchen.

“What? Is there something on my face?” he teases. “Pay attention, you’ll burn something.”

He turns back to his cooking.

-

He takes his tea black but he prefers his coffee sweeter. The grad student lounge in the humanities building doesn’t have any sugar so he makes due with lukewarm tea from the microwave.

(He keeps this a secret, hides his grimaces when he sips from the coffee mug Ten slips him when he's passing through. When he's sure he's gone he pours it down the sink and puts his tap water right into the microwave.)

John likes to make his coffee at home. He bought himself a French press and spent three weeks teaching himself how to use it. Dozens of cups of watery coffee built up to Johnny's ideal dark roast. He gets one of those fancy, expensive travel mugs and carries his homebrewed coffee everywhere with him. As much coffee as he drinks, he practically refuses to stop at a Starbucks. Ten says he's pretentious to his face. Behind his back he thinks its endearing, coos as he drinks the coffee he leaves for him on the counter. Jungwoo doesn't bother with it, too bitter for his liking. He's okay sticking to his teas.

Its quiet as he grades papers at a tiny desk in the study room. Most of his colleagues hurry off to the libraries or their homes to do their work this late at night, but he likes the warm light of the humanities building. Not to mention the fireplace, large and hot in the center

His tepid tea turns cold on his desk corner. It really is gross. He turns his focus to the papers in front of him, turns off his brain for everything other than intro philosophy and forgets his surroundings. He doesn’t even flinch when the door swings open.

“Oh,” Ten sounds surprised as he looms over him. Jungwoo jumps. “You already have something. Is that tea?”

Jungwoo just gapes, stares at him like a fish. Ten sinks into the seat across from him with two warm mugs and his bag slung over his shoulder. His hat is pulled down over his ears, like he was hiding underneath it and Jungwoo really wasn’t expecting him. He’s looking at him expectantly and Jungwoo remembers he’s been asked something.

He clears his throat, “yeah, uh,”

“That’s okay, I’ll make you tea next time. How much longer will you be?” Ten beams at him.

"I have about, ten more?" he replies wearily. "What are you doing here, I thought you needed to be in the archive to do your work?"

Jungwoo knows that's true; he's tagged along on enough manuscript hunts to know that there is no way Ten can take his source material to go. Ten just shrugs.

"I wanted to see you instead." He says it like its the most obvious thing in the world, pulls out his laptop and settles into his chair.

Jungwoo lets it go, the faster he grades these essays the faster he can get home. It's easier with someone else there, the soft sound of Ten's keyboard grounds him as he reads the same essay over and over again.

"Hey," Ten interrupts quietly, after what must be an hour of silence. Jungwoo doesn't bother to look up, just hums in acknowledgement. "Johnny's going to stop by, he says he has something for you."

He just nods and keeps working. It's odd, they don't normally meet in the philosophy department like this, but Jungwoo likes to not ask questions. He lets them come and go and pass through as they do their own things.

And Johnny does pop in, just for a few minutes. He says he's on his way to a lecture on cold war film and he just wanted to say hi. He fills the room, as always, even if just for a few minutes and drags Jungwoo's attention away from his papers. The tumbler is tucked under his arm and he's careful as he puts down two Starbucks cup on the desktop. He leaves as quickly as he arrived, a whirlwind of words and caffeinated hyperactivity. Before he goes he leans down a presses a kiss into the top of his head. He does the same to Ten and then he is off, rushing down the hall and out of sight.

Jungwoo smiles as he sips from his cup. It's a mocha. Sweet.

-

Every other Friday they curl up on their couch for a movie night. They take this sweet reprieve from the relentless grasp of their academics twice a month.

Jungwoo bundles them up under heaps of blankets, wraps the three of them in as much fabric as he can. Ten leaves his feet out less he'll get too hot. Johnny lets him wrap them around his shoulders like a cape.

Under wool and fleece they let go, just for a few hours. In the morning there will still be papers to grade and essays to write, but tonight there is an awful horror movie to watch.

They pass a popcorn bowl between them, but it always ends up in Ten's lap. They don't mind though; they let him toss kernels into their mouths and feed them handfuls of popcorn. Its a ridiculous system but it works for them, just as most things do.

Jungwoo is happy here, sat between two boys he cares for. He lets them throw popcorn over him and put on whatever movies they like. In these moments he is wrapping his arms around them, surrounding, a silent whisper. I love you. My dearest friend. I love you.

{ “i didn’t mean for this to happen.” “i would sure hope not.” “now is not the time, what do i do?” “well we get rid of it, i guess” }

| interlude 1 |

Jungwoo moves to the states for his graduate program.

He finishes his degree and packs his things and sets off. His adivisor had slipped the program flyer into his inbox months ago, a gentle whisper of the new world of American academia. It was exciting, a couple of years in a new country and a university to return to with his doctorate.

He applies in the fall and by the next year he is getting off a plane in a city he'd never heard of.

The graduate program is small, as expected of a philosophy department, but he gets along well with his cohort. They're nice and the ones who were returning to the university showed him the ropes. They brought him to the bars and the good study spaces; they introduced him to his favorite cafes and the best places to get lunch. For his first semester, he adjusts. He falls in love with the people and the campus and builds himself a temporary home. He's at peace, for a while.

It's an older student who introduces it to him, a post graduate PhD student he's working with. She asks him if he's interested in any student organizations, says they're always looking for graduate student members, for the community. She brings him along to the Asian Student Association meeting, introduces him as Jungwoo Kim, a philosophy student. He smiles and waves and thinks he's made a mistake, but they bring him into their folds with open arms and a million questions.

It's there that he meets Johnny, and subsequently, Ten. And, well, you know what they say.

The rest is history.

-

With the fall comes the annual traditions. As the leaves transition from bright green to warm yellow and orange Jungwoo drags out his coziest clothes and Johnny drags them to a pumpkin patch.

“You need to experience the true fall spirit!” he insists and he is too excited for either of them to correct him that this is not their first fall season.

Instead, they let themselves be driven out to a farm somewhere in the countryside and pick out a pumpkin for them to all carve together. Johnny brings his film camera and Jungwoo wears his scarf and Ten steals the hat Jungwoo had been planning on wearing. They’re quite the trio, maneuvering through the winding aisles of pumpkin.

Crows circle over head.

They caw and leer. A warning. An Omen.

They carve the pumpkin the next day, all three of them stuffed into Ten’s tiny kitchenette armed with a spoon and a knife. He bakes the pumpkin seeds while Jungwoo draws a face. Johnny is the one to drive the knife into it, cuts and saws and gets as close to the lines as possible.

Somehow it still comes out wrong, all jagged lines and mismatched sharp teeth.

“Are they always this creepy?” Jungwoo sighs at the sight of it. “I thought this was for kids.”

“They’re supposed to keep out evil spirits, it makes sense that it’s scary,” Ten says, sprawling himself over Jungwoo. “Don’t look so sad Johnny, you did good. This was fun.”

“It’s unique,” Jungwoo echos. “Now can we eat the pumpkin seeds?”

Ten drags him and the pumpkin seeds into the living room. As Jungwoo looks over his shoulder, he see Johnny's shoulder slump. He's frowning.

-

The early morning air kisses Jungwoo's cheeks. He bundles up in his jacket and sags into his scarf. The faint smell of dark roast coffee lingers on the fabric. It makes him grimace but he wears it anyways.

He stands in the middle of the lawn and looks out at the falling leaves. They blanket the grass and bury the green. Jungwoo has always loved the fall. In the distance, a church bell rings, once, twice, again.

Johnny hasn't answered his phone in five days.

His hair get swept up in the wind. Breeze blows his bangs off his forehead and he lets his eyes fall closed. His adivisor has been hunting him down for a week, his proposal was due more than 10 days ago and he has yet to submit even a word. He's been a little preoccupied. The blood and dirt is caked under his nails, no matter how hard he scrubs.

He doesn't have time for thoughts like that, he has to teach a class on the south side of grounds. He pulls himself away from the pleasant scene in front of him. He kicks a pile of leaves in front of him, smiles as they float back to the ground.

In his pocket, his phone rings.

"Hello, Ten."