You and Keigo had wandered away from the main crowd, weaving through clusters of poinsettias and flickering candles toward the quieter part of the corridor. He walked beside you with that usual easy stride, hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his jacket. His wings, half-furled, caught the glow from the fairy lights. golden feathers shimmering like embers whenever he moved.

You talked, mostly about something trivial, maybe a recent mission or the way the punch tasted suspiciously like cinnamon fire and he listened, that half-smile tugging at his lips every so often. Every now and then he’d hum softly in acknowledgment, golden eyes cutting toward you before drifting away again.

There was a warmth between you that didn’t need words. The kind that came not from the holiday lights or the cocoa or even the shared laughter from down the hall, but from something quieter, something that lingered just beneath the easy rhythm of your conversation.

You kept walking, your words spilling out naturally as you gestured with your hands, your tone animated and comfortable. Hawks didn’t interrupt. he rarely did. But he watched you, expression unreadable except for the faint curve of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Then, suddenly, he stopped.

You noticed only when your words ran into silence and you turned back to find him a few steps behind, head tilted slightly, that sly spark glinting in his eyes.

“But either way, that’s pretty much it of it,” you finished, trying to remember where you’d left off.

His grin widened. slow, deliberate.

“Also,” he said, voice low and smooth, “look up.”

You blinked, frowning in confusion, and followed his gesture.

There, just above your heads, hung a sprig of mistletoe. its berries catching the light, a faint glimmer of white and green against the gold. For a moment, you simply stared at it, realization dawning slow and incredulous.

The stem wasn’t hanging from the ceiling or a ribbon. No, a few of Hawks’ feathers were suspended in the air, holding the mistletoe perfectly in place. They fluttered lazily, as if proud of their mischief.

“Guess holiday rules apply,” he murmured finally, still wearing that devilish half-smile.

The mistletoe dipped slightly, as if nodding in agreement.