Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was autumn in the forest. Peter had wanted to get out of the city, find some peace and quiet in the chaos of his life. And so here he was, walking at a leisurely pace on a trail between rough-barked trees. Their golden and scarlet leaves littered the ground beneath his feet. How fitting, he thought, that in their death they would be the most beautiful.

The crisp late afternoon breeze danced among the long black strands of his hair, tied back beneath an army style cap for practicality. The ground was soft beneath his feet; Peter could feel the earth as it gave a bit under his heel with each step. Every so often, he crushed an especially dry leaf with his boot, resulting in a satisfying crunch. He liked that, it felt much more complete than a leaf that crushed without a sound.

Peter walked for a while, reveling in the fresh air, before watching a crow as it stood on the fallen leaves and dirt further along the path. It cocked its head, picking at something on the ground before it. Peter found himself tilting his head a bit in an echo of the crow’s action. He wondered how much the crow thought, the extent of its feelings or intelligence. Did it feel lonely? Or seek the company of another? Perhaps not, as it seemed perfectly content here, on its own. Or maybe, its companion was not too far away.

Suddenly, the crow was flying off into the trees and Peter was jerked out of his reverie, head snapping up to follow the crows movements— and then he caught a glimpse of someone. He took a few steps, standing at the edge of the trail and peering through the grey tree trunks, trying to get a better view.

A woman. Wrapped in a dark brown cloak, hair red as the fallen leaves. She turned to him, pausing a moment, and Peter could’ve sworn his heart stopped for a second. And then she was gone, whirling around and taking off through the trees.

A strange urge filled Peter: follow her. So he did. Peter left the trail, not a thought to where he was going, and weaved through the trees, barely keeping the woman and her dark cloak in his sight. Peter ducked under a branch, swerved around a fallen tree, avoided a dip in the ground. He felt himself start to get out of breath as he sprinted, heart pounding.

Eventually, he felt like he was gaining on the woman. “Hey!! Wait!” he called out to her, stumbling over a log. She seemed to slow a bit, but didn’t look back.

Finally, she burst into a clearing, Peter behind her, and he stopped, seeing her standing in the center of the clearing, her back to him. He was struck once again by the beauty of her hair’s red waves, vibrant against the dull cloak. Dead leaves seemed to avoid where she stood, forming a circle of bare dirt around her feet.

Peter stood there, catching his breath, staring intently at her figure. He took a step closer. He needed to see her face. Something deep within his chest seemed to pull him to the woman. It was an odd feeling, unlike he had ever felt before.

As Peter stepped closer, his foot landed within the bare circle of earth surrounding the woman. She turned, revealing intense emerald eyes and lips the color of cranberries. Peter was transfixed, frozen, unable to turn away as she gazed into his eyes, not yet saying anything. Within her eyes, he could almost envision the forest green with summer, and then in her hair it once again turned to autumn, a dancing contrast of seasons within her features.

“Peter…” she whispered.

He stopped breathing when she spoke, her voice a needed melody to his ears. “Yes?”

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

“How—?” Even caught in her allure, Peter did not quite understand the logic of it.

“Wine?” she murmured, a glass of the burgundy drink in her outstretched hand. Where did that come from?

Peter nodded, gaze dropping to the glass, taking it from her hand. As his hand brushed hers, it was literal electricity, some sort of static shock jolting up his arm. He brought the glass to his lips, the somewhat bitter taste of it flooding across his tongue. Even after he swallowed, the flavor sat warm and full and satisfying in his mouth. Peter then looked back up at the woman, asked her name.

She just chuckled gently, her smile setting his heart ablaze. “There is time, Peter. Time. Sit, why don’t you?”

There seemed to be a conveniently located rock, so Peter sat on it, sipping his wine again. The woman stepped up to him, eyes glittering in the waning daylight. She ended up standing between his legs, pushing his wine glass aside with one hand and dragging her nail along his jawline with the other.

“The forest is beautiful in autumn, is it not?” she murmured.

Peter nodded wordlessly, transfixed by her lightly freckled cheeks, feathery lashes, and soft lips. Oh, those lips. How he would love to kiss them.

As if on cue, the woman tipped his chin up with her hand, leaning down to bridge the gap between them, her lips pressing to his. Peter could almost taste autumn on her lips: cinnamon and smoke and pine. So much better than the wine.

When she pulled away, Peter leaned forward a bit, as if trying to chase her, but she backed away, eyes still pinning him in place. He remembered the wine in his hand and brought the glass back to his lips, taking a bigger drink of it than before.

Peter felt his eyes drooping. He was very tired, he realized, and the sun was beginning to set. He needed to get home… but for now, he just shifted, sitting on the ground and leaning against the rock instead of sitting on the rock. Here would not be a bad place to rest. Not bad at all. And so, Peter closed his eyes and rested.