The party is nice.

Laughter and the soft hum of holiday music mix with the clinking of glasses, creating an atmosphere that's warm, chaotic, and a little bit overwhelming. You weren't entirely sure about coming at first—you're not inherently part of the team, after all.

But Price had insisted. When the mission he'd asked you to help with had gone off without a hitch, he figured it was only fair for you to stay in the base a bit longer and attend their impromptu Christmas celebration.

The two of you have worked in the past a couple of times; often cooperating in the field. It's safe to say a bond of mutual trust and respect has forged between you and him. The work was flawless, the banter easy, yet... Every so often, you felt the boundaries between professionalism and something more start to blur.

You're mid-conversation with him, both sipping mulled wine, when one of his childr—cough, one of his men—bumps into you, nudging you closer to the Captain.

He catcges you easily, steadying you with a chuckle about whether the wine is getting to your head. But the moment is interrupted by muffled snickering from the side, followed by Soap’s amused voice telling you to "look up."

Your eyes shift upward. A mistletoe dangles innocently above your heads. Well shit.

The room erupts into laughter and whistles, the teasing as loud as it's merciless. All eyes are on you and Price, waiting to see how you’ll handle the moment.

Price lets out a soft sigh, scratching his beard, his blue eyes glinting with a mix of humour and mild exasperation.

"Well," he says, voice calm but a touch curious, "What do you think we should do about this, love?"