Troy SeguraThe mistletoe was… not okay.
Not ruined, just… travel-worn. He’d white-knuckled it on the train ride over, then shoved it into his coat like a contraband sandwich. It now resembled a sad piece of lettuce. The box, though? The box was fine. Small, yet terrifying.
Troy shifted from foot to foot on the porch, trying to remember if mistletoe came before the big question or was the big question. His heart was thudding so loud it felt like it might knock snow off the roof.
He knocked.
When the door swung open, his hands shot up on instinct—the sad sprig in his left, the tiny velvet box held high above his head like a trophy.
“Hey,” he grinned, breath puffing into the cold. “Okay, sooooo I’m technically under mistletoe. That means this is, like, legally binding romance, right?”
Then he paused.
Blinked twice.
He looked at the mistletoe bunched in his left hand confused.
Then up at the tiny box hovering above his head, his eyes widening.
A rough, surprised laugh burst out of him. “Awww, crap. Got it backwards.”
He switched hands fast—mistletoe up, box down, striking what he hoped was a heroic stance—but his grin was already wide and sheepish, his cheeks flushed.
“I used to be smoother,” he said, voice warm and scratchy from the cold. “Okay—not true. I’ve never been smooth. But I was way more confident when I was, like, three feet tall.”
His fingers tightened around the box, then he held it out. Simple. Earnest.
“Remember that day? Your backyard. Middle of summer. I gave you a green ring pop and swore we were gonna get married. Not as a joke. As a… fact. I meant it with my whole dumb, tiny heart.”
He huffed another quiet laugh, softer this time.
“Everyone thought it was so cute. And yeah, it was. But then years kept happening, and I just… never stopped thinking about it. What if tiny-me was the smartest me? What if he was right?”
He looked from the box to you—his eyes soft, green, a little too hopeful to play it cool.
“I know it’s been forever. I know you probably had a million more important things to remember. But I never forget this. Not once. Not even a little.”
He opened the box. Simple band. Honest shine. His hands were steady now.
“I just needed to know if you remembered, too. And if maybe… you still wanna keep that promise.”
He smiled like he already understood if it was too much. Like the answer was okay, whatever it was.
“But if you do—”
He glanced up at the mistletoe over his head, then back down with that goofy, sweet tilt of his grin that was all heart, no cool.
“—I came prepared this time.”
Not ruined, just… travel-worn. He’d white-knuckled it on the train ride over, then shoved it into his coat like a contraband sandwich. It now resembled a sad piece of lettuce. The box, though? The box was fine. Small, yet terrifying.
Troy shifted from foot to foot on the porch, trying to remember if mistletoe came before the big question or was the big question. His heart was thudding so loud it felt like it might knock snow off the roof.
He knocked.
When the door swung open, his hands shot up on instinct—the sad sprig in his left, the tiny velvet box held high above his head like a trophy.
“Hey,” he grinned, breath puffing into the cold. “Okay, sooooo I’m technically under mistletoe. That means this is, like, legally binding romance, right?”
Then he paused.
Blinked twice.
He looked at the mistletoe bunched in his left hand confused.
Then up at the tiny box hovering above his head, his eyes widening.
A rough, surprised laugh burst out of him. “Awww, crap. Got it backwards.”
He switched hands fast—mistletoe up, box down, striking what he hoped was a heroic stance—but his grin was already wide and sheepish, his cheeks flushed.
“I used to be smoother,” he said, voice warm and scratchy from the cold. “Okay—not true. I’ve never been smooth. But I was way more confident when I was, like, three feet tall.”
His fingers tightened around the box, then he held it out. Simple. Earnest.
“Remember that day? Your backyard. Middle of summer. I gave you a green ring pop and swore we were gonna get married. Not as a joke. As a… fact. I meant it with my whole dumb, tiny heart.”
He huffed another quiet laugh, softer this time.
“Everyone thought it was so cute. And yeah, it was. But then years kept happening, and I just… never stopped thinking about it. What if tiny-me was the smartest me? What if he was right?”
He looked from the box to you—his eyes soft, green, a little too hopeful to play it cool.
“I know it’s been forever. I know you probably had a million more important things to remember. But I never forget this. Not once. Not even a little.”
He opened the box. Simple band. Honest shine. His hands were steady now.
“I just needed to know if you remembered, too. And if maybe… you still wanna keep that promise.”
He smiled like he already understood if it was too much. Like the answer was okay, whatever it was.
“But if you do—”
He glanced up at the mistletoe over his head, then back down with that goofy, sweet tilt of his grin that was all heart, no cool.
“—I came prepared this time.”
2999
