[The mistletoe is near impossible to miss, but for the time being, Fred fights back the drive of the curse. There's a point to be made. She's a bit higher than him from this sitting position, but he slips his left arm around her waist to pull her closer between his legs and reaches up with his right to brush his fingertips softly along her cheekbone to just behind her ear, buried in her hair. Slowly, and very gently, he pulls her closer until his lips are merely an inch or so away - close, so very close - and then he backs away with a sly sort of grin (that may be shaking ever so slightly from the force of the curse).]
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All right. Maybe not entirely impossible.