Halloween Snippet (Nat)

Halloween, Senior Year of College

I.

"This is ridiculous," you say, but you're already laughing. Three years in, and you still don’t understand the sheer enthusiasm with which Americans celebrate Halloween. 

"It's time-honored tradition," Nat corrects, waving a plastic retractable knife at you. They’re wearing a humongous, life-sized cereal box, with red-painted horror-letters that read “KILLER”.

You can’t help but flash them an affectionate smile. It’s a stupid holiday, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find Nat’s happiness infectious. 

You are also wearing a huge cardboard box, an extra that Nat had scrounged up. It’s painted to resemble an apartment complex back in Singapore. “Singaporean housing prices are very scary,” Nat giggles, helping you fix your hat—a ‘rooftop garden’. Nat had helped you craft the outfit, but the idea had been yours, of course—if you’re going to celebrate this Halloween properly, you’re going dressed as the scariest thing you can think of.  

Before long, you're standing outside the first house on Frat Row. The October air is crisp, carrying the smell of woodsmoke and that particular autumn dampness that makes everything feel alive.

"We're twenty one years old," you point out. “Can’t believe we’re still going scrounging for candy.” 

"Never too old for candy. And alcohol," Nat's grin is irrepressible. "Come on. I did the research—Delta Kappa actually gives out large-sized Peanut Butter Cups.” 

That's what gets you. Not the candy, but the fact that Nat researched which houses give out the best Halloween candy, probably with the same meticulous attention they bring to every single one of their class papers. You’d know—you’ve been studying together all semester, your friendship growing from "classmates who make eye contact when the professor says something ridiculous" to "people who get pizza together after midnight studying sessions."

Somewhere around mid-October, during a late-night cram session, you'd looked up from your laptop and realized Nat had fallen asleep with their head on a stack of textbooks, and your first thought wasn't "I should wake them up" but "I wonder what they dream about." That's when you first suspected you might be in trouble.

"Fine," you say. "But if anyone asks, we're doing sociological research on the infantilization of college culture."

You spend the next forty-minutes or so laughing so hard your stomach hurts. Nat won’t stop stabbing everyone who opens the door, cackling evilly afterwards. Nat’s ‘victims’ usually end up laughing and chatting, but Nat nearly gets torn apart by an over-protective rottweiler on the fourth house visit. 

"You're insane," you snort, when you finally take a break from all the visits. 

"You love it," Nat teases, casual and light, but the ache in your gut that has been building all night makes the words land harder than they would’ve. 

You've never admitted to Nat that you might have feelings for them—hell, you’ve never even  admitted it to yourself. But tonight, under the waning crescent moon, with the chilly late-autumn air rustling through dried leaves, you can no longer deny it. 

You’re temporarily saved from having to respond by a group of actual children approaching, and you both step aside to let them pass. One of them, maybe seven years old, looks at your pillowcases with pure envy.

"Whoa," the kid says. "You guys are good at this."

Nat, true to character—and always a hit with children, dogs, and old people—stops to chat for a bit. When the group of kids and their two adult chaperones finally move on, Nat straightens and meets your gaze. 

The easy, friendly energy between the two of you once again is replaced by something… deeper. Thicker. And if you’re honest, this has been happening a lot recently. Whenever Nat looks at you like—well, like this, like they might want to kiss you—you’ve been finding it very difficult not to lean in and do something you might regret. 

"Hey," Nat says finally, softly. Their voice is a little hoarse, and you wonder if their mind is spiralling down the same chaotic paths as yours is. "Want to head over to my house? We can watch a movie, divide up the spoils."

"Horror movie?" you ask. 

“Of course,” Nat says, laughing and leading the way. “It’s Halloween!”

II.

Nat stays with two other roommates in a townhouse not far away, and you know the route by heart. You’ve been there often enough, especially the last couple of weeks when you’d gotten closer. 

No one else’s at home at the moment, probably all out partying—but with the way Nat’s gaze is turning your insides molten, you’re grateful for the privacy. Nat makes you both a cup of warm, cinnamon-spiced cider, and you settle snugly on the couch. But instead of the warm gooey comfort you usually get when Nat puts their arm around you, there’s an extra tingling, fizzing thrill that eats away at your gut. 

Throughout the movie, your heartrate goes through the roof, and though it’s easy to blame the movie… you know it’s more a result of Nat’s proximity, the warmth of their skin on yours, the weight of their thigh as it presses up against you. 

With everything else going on in your brain, you’re struggling to concentrate on the movie, but Nat seems to be screaming and yelping at all the appropriate parts. During one particularly terrifying scene, Nat reaches instinctively for your hand, squeezing it so tightly that you could’ve sworn that your bones creak. 

“Easy. I need that hand,” you say wryly, after Nat has calmed down slightly, and the scene moves onto something slightly more innocuous. 

“Sorry,” Nat says, but they don’t let go. Instead, their grip just turns more tender, fingers remaining interlaced with yours. Nat's smile is sweeter than all the Halloween candy you'd gathered, combined.

A second later, Nat’s leaning in, eyes swirling with wordless desire. You swallow hard, reminded of all the ‘THINK BEFORE YOU DRINK’ posters put up around the campus. You’re not even drunk, but why does your mind feel so goddamn hazy? Nat has a way of breaking down all of your defenses, and making you feel like the craziest, rashest decisions are actually the most reasonable ones. 

It would be unreasonable, you think, to pull away now. 

And so, you close the rest of the distance, pressing your lips to Nat’s. 

Nat gives a small sigh of pleasure, and you cup your hands around their jaw. They deepen the kiss, pressing you into the side of the couch. The movie blares on in the background, as you surrender to the feeling that Nat always elicits from you—being curled up indoors as rain patters gently outside, a safe harbor in the storm. 

III.

“Halloween needs a rebranding,” you murmur, when the two of you finally break apart. 

Nat blinks, then grins at you, dimples flashing. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“‘Sweet surprise season,’” you say. “Cozy cinnamon kisses.” 

Nat leans in to plant another kiss on your forehead. “I could get behind that,” they drawl, and holds you close. 

You smile back at them, savoring the warmth that spreads through your entire body. 

You have no idea where this will lead, but… you’re excited to find out. Unlike the many other ill-advised choices a college student could make on Halloween, you have a feeling that this one might go on to change the course of your life forever. 

"Next year," Nat murmurs, gathering you into their arms as they shift to make themselves more comfortable on the couch, "do you want to go as the S and T-tetris blocks?"

You snort out a laugh, heart fluttering at the thought of all the Halloweens to come—couples costumes, fall hikes, pumpkin spice lattes, horror movie marathons and most of all, Nat. "That's just about the nerdiest thing I've ever heard," you say, lips curling up into a big smile.