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The Christmas party has started out like any other social gatherings hosted at Gieve’s apartment — a tradition that they have started since their first victory at the regional championships two years ago.
First there is friendly rivalry in the video game corner of the living-room and some light drinking and snacking, and then once everyone has consumed enough alcohol to feel more relaxed and less restrained, the video game crowd becomes more rowdy and competitive while other slightly buzzed members of the club usually let down their guards to vent about school and exes and roommates, among other topics of conversations.
However, this Christmas party at the end of the school semester is a little different. Gieve not only invites the members of the cheerleading squad, but he has also extended his invitation to his friends and acquaintances in the performance arts department, so there are many unfamiliar faces dawdling in the kitchen and living-room, as well as in the corridors of the too-small unit.
Being the two most reserved members of Pars University’s all-men cheerleading club but having finally reached legal drinking age, Arslan and Elam carefully avoid the worst of the crowd and awkward, drunken small talks, and they manage to escape to a small corner at the very back of the hallway with plastic cups of cheap beer cradled in their hands.
Usually in situations like these, Daryun and Jaswant, who are jokingly referred to by the cheerleading squad as Arslan’s personal bodyguards, would not be five paces away from the silver-haired business-major student. But Jaswant isn’t present at the party due to a vicious flu that’s been spreading around school, and even Daryun — the strongest of the strong — has been defeated after a few drinks, and is now currently exchanging sloppy kisses on the couch with his on-and-off boyfriend, the captain of the squad, Gieve.
“Elam, what is that?”
Among the heart-pounding music pumping out from the entertainment system, Arslan has to lean into Elam’s ear to speak in order for the other young man to hear his question.
“Hmm?” Elam frowns, confused. He’s only drunken half a cup of beer and has decided his taste-buds are still worth saving, but to maintain his politeness as a guest in this house, he’s now just holding the unfinished drink awkwardly in one hand while holding onto Arslan’s hand tightly in the other.
“Above us,” Arslan clarifies, pulling their laced hands up and pointing at the green bunch of leaves and berries decorated with a horrendously cheerful red ribbon tied in a bow.
“Uh,” Elam replies intelligently, staring at the plant and wondering if he should explain why his cheeks are suddenly flushing like he’s having a fever. “Don’t you know? That’s mistletoe.”
“Elam, are you all right? Your face looks really red…” Arslan puts down his cup on the floor and reach out to touch Elam’s cheek with delicate fingers. His skin burns with a pleasant warmth under his fingertips, and at the gentle touch of his boyfriend, Elam’s eyes can only focus on how brilliantly blue Arslan’s irises are, and how pretty his starlight hair is under the dimmed lighting of the house, the warm white of the stringed, fairy lights trailing along the walls only making Arslan’s hair shine like silver-spun threads.
“Elam…?”
Elam’s certain that it’s the alcohol running in his veins that’s doing the talking now; what else can he blame it on?
“Did you know that the tradition of kissing under the mistletoe can be traced back to ancient Norse mythology?” Elam murmurs with a quick tongue, and he leans in a degree closer so that when he exhales, his warm breaths are rustling the hairs curling against the curve of Arslan’s ear.
“K-Kissing?”
“Uh-huh,” Elam nods once, “The story is that the goddess Frigg had a son named Baldr, and she’d ensured that no plants can harm him. However, she forgot about the mistletoe, and Loki, the god of mischief, took advantage of this and tricked another god into killing Baldr with a spear made with mistletoe—”
“That… that sounds rather unpleasant,” Arslan chuckles timidly. “But you were saying something about kissing earlier…?”
“Yeah, I’m getting to that part,” Elam continues with an amused laugh, “anyway, Baldr was eventually brought back to life and since then, Frigg declared that mistletoe would only bring love rather than death. From then on, people kissed under the mistletoe to appease the goddess and to remember Baldr’s resurrection. Of course, there are other legends related to the tradition as well…”
“Elam, Elam!” Arslan has both hands cradling the brunet’s cheeks, and Elam glances down at him, forest green eyes somewhat clouded and lost, as if he’d just woken up from a trance and didn’t realize he’d been giving his lover a brief lecture of Norse legends.
“Yes, Arslan?”
“You know I love that you’re so passionate about your history major, but I just want to know,” Arslan’s lips twitch up into a small, mischievous smile that that Elam’s heart beating in overdrive, “when are you planning to kiss me under the mistletoe?”
“Oh, uh,” Elam’s head is still spinning at the other man’s words, but Arslan’s intention is clearer than ever, and so he stutters, “Now? If you’d like.”
“That would be much appreciated,” Arslan grins wider before winding an arm around Elam’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss.