He’d been eyeing you for the whole night, sipping on your wine and talking to the other professors, laughing, pretending you didn’t feel his eyes on you. But he knew you did, it wasn’t like he was trying to be subtle, either.

Since the day you walked into the Department - a guest lecturer, only here for a semester - John was drawn to you. You were a breath of fresh air, like an open window in a dusty old library, smart, witty– you had it all. He was just a history professor who had no business trying to go on a date with you, but since you were going to leave after winter break anyway, he ought to give it a try.

Surprisingly, you warmed up to him immediately. Either in-between lectures, in the lounge, or when no one was in your office, you would seek him out. At first, it was to ask him about ways to improve your presentations, then you became more informal, asking about his day, his life. He was besotted.

You even shared coffee together one day on campus, coincidentally stumbling into the same cafe. He was unsure whether you saw him merely as a mentor or something more, but you had been able to rekindle a spark inside of John that he thought he had lost.

When the TA you were talking to finally walked away, he downed the rest of his prosecco and made his way to you. Talking to you was so easy, he had no idea why he was so nervous now, maybe because the board’s Christmas party was his last chance. Some had already started to leave as you and John were still sitting on one of the couches in the lounge. You were tipsy, he could see that, and you were so beautiful.

“You know, John,” you began. “I wonder why you haven’t kissed me yet.” He went pale, but then followed your gaze, noticing the mistletoe that hung above you. He chuckled. “I suppose I should, shouldn’t I? Do you know that–” You silenced him with your lips, and he suddenly didn’t give a damn where the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe began.