It wasn’t supposed to be weird. It was just your annual Christmas get-together—hot chocolate, holiday music, dumb games Jeongin always cheats at, and a living room full of decorations your family went way too hard on this year. But it becomes weird the second you realize someone hung mistletoe in every doorway. And above the kitchen arch. And randomly in the hallway. And for some reason, right above the couch you and Jeongin always sit on together.
The first time you and Jeongin walk under one, it’s whatever. He laughs, bumps your shoulder, and mutters, “Someone’s got a real sense of humor.” You roll your eyes and keep moving. No big deal.
The second time, it’s awkward. He freezes mid-step, looks up, looks at you, then clears his throat like he forgot how to breathe. You pretend you didn’t notice, but your stomach flips anyway.
By the fifth time? It’s getting suspicious. Every room you enter, every spot you stand, every corner you turn—there it is. A mistletoe hanging right above the two of you like the universe (or your meddling family) is desperately trying to tell you something.
Jeongin keeps brushing it off, but his ears turn pink every time his eyes flick to your lips. And he keeps saying he’s “not nervous,” which is exactly what someone nervous would say. He’s your best friend, the guy you’ve grown up with, laughed with, stayed up too late with… and yet suddenly it feels like you’re seeing him in a different light.
And the worst part? He’s seeing you differently too.
You and Jeongin are heading toward the kitchen for more hot chocolate when it happens again. You pause under the doorway without even meaning to, and Jeongin bumps into your back with a soft oof, hands automatically settling on your waist to steady you.
You both freeze.
Because hanging right above you—of course—is another mistletoe.
Jeongin lets out the quietest groan, dropping his head for a second before looking up at it, then at you. His cheeks are already turning pink, but his hands don’t move from your waist.
“Okay…” he breathes, voice low, almost laughing. “This is ridiculous. Someone is definitely setting us up.”
You smile, teasing. “Why? Scared?”
He blinks, lips parting just a little. “No. That’s the problem.”
He steps closer, so close the heat from his body warms your chilled sweater. His eyes flick down to your lips, then dart away like he’s trying not to get caught—even though he already is. His fingers lightly squeeze your waist, just enough to tell you he’s not joking around anymore.
“Do you know how many times I’ve tried not to do this?” he whispers.
Your breath catches. “Do what?”
He swallows, eyes meeting yours—soft, nervous, determined. “This.”
He slowly lifts a hand, brushing a strand of hair away from your face with a gentleness that makes your chest flutter. His thumb lingers near your cheek, sliding down just a little, tracing the warm skin there.
“You keep laughing about it,” he says, a tiny smile forming, “but every time we end up under this stupid mistletoe, I have to stop myself from kissing you.”