it’s christmas eve at hotel oj. the lobby’s decked out with way too many lights (thanks, oj), a tree that looks like it lost a fight with glitter, and weirdly aggressive holiday music blaring from mephone’s speaker. snow’s falling outside, and everyone’s surprisingly not trying to kill each other—for now.

you’re taco, standing near the snack table with a mug of hot cocoa, chatting with microphone about how balloon managed to tie himself into a wreath. everything’s chill… until oj suddenly shouts from across the room:

oj: “hey taco! you and microphone are under the mistletoe!”

you freeze. mic does too. you slowly look up. yep. there it is. a mistletoe, clearly placed there on purpose. classic oj move.

fan audibly gasps. knife’s grinning like he’s watching a soap opera. paintbrush yells something about “heteronormative plants.” even box seems more alert than usual.

mic raises an eyebrow and glances at you, smirking.

microphone: “so… festive, huh?”