A/N: Am I this starved of Gremaya content that I'm writing fluffy Christmas stories in April? Send help

By this time of the night, most of the off-duty soldiers had become terribly drunk from the spiked eggnog and stumbled about the crowded mess hall, singing songs and chanting chants, flirting with each other, and searching for more alcohol to consume. Gren didn't care much for these parties, especially when he had such difficulty holding his liquor, and he usually resorted to drinking when he had a particularly rough day and wasn't required to guard the following day.

This day, however, was far from rough as Christmas festivities rang throughout the kingdom, more intimate house parties between families were held, a royal banquet recently concluded, letting the majority of the soldiers leave their posts early for their own – if not a little unruly – Christmas party. King Ezran had been generous with them, although sadness had been a secondary emotion to his hospitality and joy mostly on behalf of his still-missing brother. He had reassured the royal guard that Prince Callum was perfectly safe with the elf, Rayla, but Amaya was still tense from losing track of the prince over the Xadian border. Gren had seen her at the party earlier but she had since disappeared into the crowd, holding a likely-alcoholic drink. He wondered where she went.

The festive tunic Gren was wearing seemed appropriate for the outside but was too warm for the indoors. He wished for a window to open as the drunkards sang and danced louder, causing the room to stink vaguely of sweat and liquor. His head hurt from the heat and noise as he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Gren slipped through a doorway, walking away from the main celebrations. He longed for somewhere quiet and was relieved to find less people in the hallways of the soldier's dorms, though there were a few hanging on each other in a rather drunken fashion that were saying and doing actions that made him blush. He wasn't used to public affection, and certainly wasn't fond of it, so seeing his fellow soldiers shamelessly kissing others only encouraged him to walk further from the festivities.

The hall got cooler the further he distanced himself from the others, the cup of alcohol sloshing in his hand. Gren had taken it at the beginning of the party and had only sipped from it a few times, disliking the bitter aftertaste of the usually-sweet eggnog. Despite his disapproval of the drink, he took another sip, nearly bumping into a loner leaning against another doorway he meant to pass through.

"Sorry—," he started, then realized his mistake of speaking once he recognized the cropped, dark brown-haired general in front of him. Whatever tension he held in his shoulders released as he eased in her presence. Merry Christmas, he signed, a soft smile resting on his face. His gaze fell on the cup in her hand as he set his on the floor. Nearly full.

Amaya didn't return his greeting, but faced him, indicating she was open for conversation. She looked exhausted from searching for the lost prince and his captor, but he was glad she was at the party to relax a little. He craved her company. It'd been a while since he's last seen her, especially after being kept in Viren's dungeon for so long. Gren's heart ached at the memory, and he chose to push it away. What's wrong?, he asked, matching her posture against the doorframe.

She swirled the drink in her cup before setting it on the ground. I'm tired. The elf took Callum into Xadia and Viren won't allow me to take additional soldiers in with me. King Ezran said the elf could be trusted, but it's the other elves I can't trust. Her eyes grew glassy, she looked away. Sarai wanted me to protect her children, but with Harrow gone… Amaya was used to hardening her emotions, Gren knew this, but he saw that the stress of the late king's death along with the missing prince had taken its toll. She continued. I can't guarantee anything with Viren using King Ezran as a puppet for his own schemes.

Wordlessly, before he could convince himself otherwise, Gren pulled Amaya into him, hugging her. She was strong and firm in his arms and relaxed surprisingly soon in his hold. She smelled like the winter outside, and in this moment Gren realized how much he truly missed her. They'd hugged a few times before, mostly in friendship and comfort, or even in a celebratory manner, but this hug felt different, laced with loneliness on his end and exhaustion and defeat in hers.

"Oooh, someone's under the mistletoe."

Gren tore away from Amaya's – his general's – comfortable embrace. He felt cold. A drunk soldier's eye twitched in what Gren assumed was supposed to be a wink before he drunkenly sloshed down the hallway, leaving the two of them alone again.

What did he say?, Amaya asked upon seeing Gren's flustered expression. Before answering, he looked above their heads at the tied clump of plant fastened to the top of the doorframe. Amaya followed his gaze. Oh.

He laughed nervously, hands a trembling mess as he signed I'm drunk. He wasn't.

I'm drunk too.

Gren knew that Amaya could hold her liquor fairly well and when he looked at her cup before, he wasn't totally sure he believed her.

I guess we better follow tradition.

She seemed to say it so nonchalantly, but Gren panicked, stepping backwards once as heat crept up his neck and cheeks. She'd surely be able to see it. I mean, we don't have to there's no one around and no one would notice if we didn't I'm so drunk I drank so much maybe we shouldn't because we're drunk—this was all a lie, Gren knew very well that he wasn't drunk and he figured she wasn't either, but didn't want to make too many assumptions.

Gren.

He stopped his worrying, focusing solely on Amaya. She was leaning in now. I missed you, he signed. A small smile graced her lips before he covered them with his own. They met in the middle, kissing, unmoving before Gren drew backwards after a moment, head clear of all thoughts except one: Amaya. He seemed hazy, as if he had gotten drunk, his lips tingling with her kiss. There was a moment of nothingness before Gren's face boiled with heat at the realization of what just occurred.

He momentarily forgot Amaya was deaf as he stuttered, "General Amaya what if someone sees us we could be in really big trouble we're both so drunk and—" Gren didn't notice the way Amaya's eyes had become glazed over, how she pulled him forward by fisting the front of his tunic in her hand, but only became aware when she kissed him again, cutting off his blabbering.

Rationality vanished at the feeling of the general's soft mouth slowly moving against his, drawing him closer to her. His brows furrowed at the hint of eggnog on her lips, the muscular feeling of her torso pressed against his, the way her hands looped themselves over his shoulders. Gren's body took over as his arm snaked around her waist.

He now understood why couples could kiss and be affectionate in public. As cheesy as it sounded, the world faded away and all worries dissolved as he held her close and kissed her. As he kissed the woman who risked her life for Katolis every day, the woman who trained and learned beside him, the woman who rose so quickly in the ranks but still stayed loyal to their friendship. Friendship. What did that make them now? Were friends supposed to kiss under the mistletoe? Twice? Would this change their relationship? What were they even?

Though his head was clear before, it spun now, dizzy from Amaya's kisses and the growing heat of the hallway. Gren flinched, creating distance between them, momentarily distracted by the redness of her lips, parted and full. "I'm so sorry—" he started to say, then decided against it, too conflicted over his own thoughts. In a desperate attempt to escape, he turned away from her, sprinting down the hallway, knocking over his cup of spiked eggnog in the process. He didn't bother going back to clean it up. In a second he was at his own door, slamming it and locking it behind him.

His heart pounded. Not from the running, he'd been trained too many years to be breathless from such a short sprint. Gren leaned against the door, sinking to the ground as he clutched at his chest. He could still see Amaya's warm brown eyes misted over with an emotion neither of them knew. He could still feel her strong arms holding him, could smell the intoxicating scent of her, could remember exactly how she felt against his body without all the armor, could still feel the delicate pressure of her mouth pressed to his.

He swore, carding his hands through his hair. Since when had he felt like this? The exhaustion of partying finally hit him. The day's events, although joyous, had caused fatigue to course through him. Sighing, he removed his tunic, throwing it on the floor with the other piles of dirty clothes. Gren slid into bed after turning out his lamp, lying still for a moment before closing his eyes. But he only saw Amaya and felt her kisses.

Gren groaned. At this rate, he'd never be safe.