[Vaguely, like a faint echo at the back of his mind, Sorey recalls the poetry book he read once, how it likened kissing someone to a lightning bolt, something he had puzzled over at the time -- and if anything, he is now convinced whoever wrote that poem must have been wrong. Kissing Mikleo is more like rain at night, like standing under a waterfall.
He smiles into the kiss before breaking it, before pulling away slightly breathless, wondering faintly why none of that felt like they were forced by the mistletoe at all.]