Disclaimer: Crowley and Aziraphale belong to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.
There's mistletoe hanging over his head, verdant leaves luxuriant and beautiful, white berries gleaming in the soft lighting of the bar, and Aziraphale's eyes and smile are just as soft and bright.
He should regret having threatened the mistletoe to grow until nobody could pretend not to have noticed it, regret having pulled that little trick so two (or more) people meeting under the mistletoe can't leave until they've fulfilled the holiday tradition. But Aziraphale's lips are soft against his, and somehow he can't quite bring himself to be sorry. In fact, he's never been so proud of a plant.
