“are we?” her mouth is dry, palms clammy and fingers twitching incessantly at her sides. it isn’t often that the slytherin wants to run, though in the presence of arthur—ever confusing and ever cute—there was little options of what else she could do. still, peyton’s legs remain planted (if only for the fact that she couldn’t move them), eyes fixed stubbornly on his nose for a moment longer. 

“ah,” she looks up, lifting onto her toes as her hand lifts to swipe at the plant. “i can barely tell with all the nargles buzzing around it…” peyton nearly trips over her words, eyes decidedly shifting to the mistletoe while leaning forward, aware but mindfully ignoring the brush of her lips against something soft. oh, she’d never allow herself to willfully kiss him again.

it doesn’t take long to slip her fingers around the mistletoe, plucking it off the doorsill (like he plucked warmth straight out of her chest) and taking steps back herself, a pink flush coloring her cheeks and a shaky grin directed his way.