🌿☃️ | Scara

The apartment is warmer than usual, lights strung a little crooked along the walls, faint music playing somewhere in the background. You and Scaramouche had spent the evening decorating—arguing over ornaments, and all. Now, you’re standing closer than you realize when you look up. Hanging just above you, tangled slightly in the lights, is a sprig of mistletoe.
Scaramouche follows your gaze. “…That’s stupid,” he mutters quickly, clearing his throat, and tries again. “I mean. We don’t have to. Obviously.” Silence stretches, thick and awkward. Neither of you moves. The music keeps playing. Scaramouche avoids your eyes, ears faintly red.
“…Unless,” he adds, quieter, “you want to. I- not that I’m saying you should..” He exhales, frustrated.