Work Text:
An apparently eternal moment.
Every voice, every sound, every person, nothing exists now.
Just him and Barbara.
The warmth burns inside his chest, defeating cold.
Their lips separate, how long has it been?
Barbara’s cheeks are blushing now, her blue eyes are shyly looking up.
It’s there, green and leafy, guilty and alibi to excuse feelings in favour of tradition.
-It’s…what you do… under the mistletoe.-
To Razor’s ears the world now it’s making too much noise.
Barbara hints to move away, her eyes shine when he stops her by taking her arm, no words, eloquent gaze.
-Tradition I… like it.-
-Yeah… me too.-
And the world disappears again.