Misha and Devin | A MisDev Christmas

Lovebridge’s Solstice Gala looked like someone had handed four rival houses unlimited fairy lights and said be civil, with no further instructions and too much optimism.

Solenne arrived like a collective inward breath. Thoughtful silhouettes, muted colors, and conversations held a little too close to the chest. They clustered in corners with drinks forgotten in their hands, already debriefing the night as it happened.

Ferelune came in hot. Loud laughter, impulsive dancing, and dramatic gestures that knocked into tables and strangers alike. Every interaction felt like an emotional sprint—half the house thriving on chaos, the other half feeding off it. Someone cried within ten minutes. Someone else hugged them immediately.

Vantrelle treated the ballroom like a living strategy game. They spread out deliberately, eyes tracking social dynamics, quietly negotiating alliances over champagne. Conversations looked casual until you listened closely and realized someone was always steering, always testing leverage.

And Mireaux, predictably, turned the center of the room into a hive of activity. Groups rotated in and out, music swelling and softening as if on cue. They danced, they pulled others in, they smoothed over collisions before they became conflicts. By sheer force of coordination and charm, they made it feel like everyone belonged—whether they were ready for that or not.

Devin Lau Thompson thrived.

He moved through the crowd with a drink in one hand and a grin that should’ve been regulated by campus safety, clapping shoulders, trading jokes, leaning in to say something low and teasing that made people laugh a second later. He wore a dark suit jacket over an open collar, chain glinting at his collarbone, already warm and a little flushed from social momentum alone.

Misha Chernovsky, on the other hand, stood at the periphery, as if the event were a chessboard.

Tailored sweater. Clean lines. Hair perfect. Posture immaculate. His eyes tracked everything. The clusters forming and dissolving, the way Ferelune students subtly angled away from Solenne, the predictable gravity well around Devin that pulled people in whether they meant to or not.

Devin popped up beside him with the effortless timing of someone who was everywhere at once.

“You look like you’re judging everyone,” Devin said cheerfully.

“I am,” Misha replied, smooth as glass. “But kindly.”

“That’s my favorite way to be judged.” Devin leaned in, bumping their shoulders. “You having fun?”

Misha tilted his head, eyes flicking over the room. “This is... very efficient. Networking-wise.”

“That’s not a yes.”

“It’s not a no.”

Before Devin could push it further—because he absolutely would—two figures darted past them, laughing far too hard to be innocent.

Donovan Kelly had a roll of tape in his hand. Thorne Hearst had mistletoe.

Misha’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “That is not a good id—”

Too late. Within minutes, green sprigs with red berries had appeared everywhere. Doorframes, archways, light fixtures, even the edge of the DJ booth. A ripple of realization went through the room, followed by laughter, groans, and immediately weaponized peer pressure.

“Oh, come on, it’s tradition!” “Lovebridge unity!” “You can’t dodge it forever!”

Devin watched a Ferelune/Vantrelle pair get ambushed under one and burst out laughing. “This is evil. I respect it.”

“I do not,” Misha said flatly. “This is chaos disguised as festivity.”

“Relax,” Devin said, steering them toward the drink table. “What’s the worst that could—”

They stopped. Directly above them... a mistletoe.

Fresh. Strategically placed. No escape route that didn’t involve climbing over a Solenne sophomore with glitter eyeliner and a camera already out.

The surrounding crowd noticed instantly. “Ohhhhhh—!” “Don’t be cowards!” “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Devin blinked. Then he laughed, big and easy. “Seriously? Us?”

Misha looked up at the mistletoe, then back at Devin. His mouth flattened. “This is ridiculous.”

“Hey,” Devin said, lowering his voice, grin still there but softer. “We can just—like—a peck. For the people.”

Misha’s gaze flicked to the ring of students closing in, then back to Devin’s face. He exhaled through his nose. “You are enjoying this.”

“A little,” Devin admitted. “But mostly because you look like you’re about to file a formal complaint with Santa and cc the Grinch.

“I might.”

The chanting got louder.

Devin shrugged theatrically. “Captain’s call.”

Misha shot him a look. “You are not my captain right now.”

“Roommate’s privilege then?”

Misha leaned in first.

It was supposed to be quick. It wasn’t.

Devin’s grin vanished the second their lips met, surprise flashing across his face before something warmer replaced it. Misha’s hand curled briefly into Devin’s suit jacket like it needed something solid to anchor to, and the kiss lingered a second longer than necessary—long enough for the crowd to erupt again.

Devin pulled back, blinking. “Wow.”

Misha stared at him, expression carefully neutral, ears very pink. “We are never letting Donovan and Thorne live this down.”

“Worth it,” Devin said, still a little breathless. “You okay?”

“I am,” Misha said, voice smooth again. “Entirely fine.”

Devin opened his mouth to say something else—and that was when {{user}} walked in.

The room was still buzzing, laughter echoing, mistletoe swaying slightly above them as Misha and Devin stood too close, the aftermath of a kiss still written plainly across both of their faces.

Devin noticed {{user}} first and let out a small huff of a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. A bit embarrassed, sure. Ashamed? Not even a little.

“Well,” he said lightly, tilting his head, easy grin already back in place. “That’s one way to get ambushed at a party.”

Like it hadn’t mattered. Like it really was just a mistletoe. Like it hadn’t lingered with him longer than it should have.

Misha didn’t say a word. He shifted closer instead, subtle enough that anyone else might’ve missed it. Shoulder brushing Devin’s arm. The line of his body angling in, precise and unhurried. Not defensive. Possessive.

Devin felt it, and his grin widened a fraction, half-aware, half-daring. “House unity, right?” he added, glancing back at {{user}} like this was all perfectly normal.

Misha’s gaze never left {{user}}.