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The night air was cold. Jeonghan was warm though, despite his claims of being cold-blooded, Seokmin able to feel heat from him with how closely he was walking. Seokmin turned his head, and watched Jeonghan's exhale turn gold under the streetlights. Jeonghan's sunglasses were dark over his eyes, Seokmin able to feel more than see that Jeonghan had caught him looking, leaning close and curling a hand around Seokmin's bicep, pressing his cheek to Seokmin's shoulder.
"Hey, angel." The word was more of an accurate description than a term of endearment, but endearment was what humans used it for, and Seokmin knew that, and he knew Jeonghan knew that too. "You should invite me over."
Seokmin laughed a little, feeling a bit flustered but agreeing easily. Jeonghan didn't let his arm go as Seokmin flagged down a taxi, and by a miracle no bigger than a snap of Seokmin's fingers, the interior of the cab was clean and the driver wasn’t chatty. Jeonghan rested his head against Seokmin's shoulder again, glancing out the window as they rode.
"The multicolored ones are so gaudy," he finally said, Seokmin looking out the window too. Jeonghan had his eyes on the houses that were all lit up, decorated by strings upon strings of lights for the quickly incoming holiday.
"Don't be such a grinch," Seokmin chided. "They're festive. People like them."
"Do you like them?"
"I like the idea of them, I guess," Seokmin said, once he’d thought for a moment. "They can be nice to look at, and people like them so much. It makes them happy. Besides, they light up the night. Humanity has always been afraid of the dark."
"The white ones are pretty," Jeonghan allotted, after a long look of consideration. "And the big ones, shaped like angels or deer." He pointed out the window. "That whole nativity scene is a bit much, though."
"A bit much," Seokmin agreed with a bit of a laugh. In the darkness of the car's cabin, Jeonghan's crimson hair—pulled back into a ponytail, toned with enough of a gold shine that it absolutely caught fire in the summer sun—almost looked brown.
"Were you there?" Jeonghan asked, glancing to Seokmin's face.
"There?" Seokmin echoed. “Where? When?”
"You know." Jeonghan nudged him. "The night that it happened."
"Oh." Seokmin shrugged. "No, I wasn't. I wasn't part of the Holy Choir back then."
"Shame," Jeonghan answered, nestling his head on Seokmin's shoulder again. Seokmin wanted to put an arm around him. He didn't. "I'm sure you sound better than all of them did. It was probably freezing, anyway."
Seokmin couldn't help a smile, shaking his head a bit. "He was actually born in September. You know that.”
The car stopped. Seokmin paid and tipped the driver—"Too much, angel," Jeonghan chastised—and they walked up to Seokmin's shop. He stepped in first, flicking on the lights, a warm yellow glow filling the old place. Seokmin went further inside, looking over the shelves of CDs and boxes of dusty records that he cherished more than he probably should. Jeonghan closed the door behind himself, cutting out the cold wind, and Seokmin turned to look at him.
Jeonghan took his scarf off first, unwinding it from his neck and tossing it haphazardly in the chair he always curled up in; Seokmin had seen Jeonghan napping in it more times than he could count over the past century. He did the same with his coat before letting his hair down as well, the auburn color of it looking even warmer in the lamplight, falling around his shoulders. It looked so soft—was so soft, Seokmin knew, feeling his fingers begin to curl before he caught himself and forced his hand to relax.
The last thing he removed were his sunglasses. It always froze Seokmin, the sight of Jeonghan's eyes, despite the many times over the hundreds of years that he had seen them. The bright yellow color was gorgeous, the vertical pupils a bit too dilated behind the dark lenses that had covered them all evening, thinning quickly to adjust to the lighting in the music shop.
Jeonghan caught him looking. Jeonghan always caught him looking.
"What, Seokmin?" Jeonghan's voice was soft. The use of his name surprised him; the "angel" nickname was so common these days, and when paired with Jeonghan's eyes meeting his, it all very nearly took Seokmin's breath away. "It's like you've never seen a demon before."
Seokmin wanted to laugh, to quip back that no, he never had, as if they hadn't met up at least once a century since the beginning of time, first as sworn enemies, now as... As something else, something toed-around, unspoken, undeniable, but his face felt too warm. He turned away instead, going to his favorite vintage record player to put some music on. The first thing he grabbed was Elvis's Christmas Album, the 1957 original, and once the music had started he turned back to see Jeonghan, a bottle of wine in one hand, two empty glasses in the other.
"Want a drink?" he asked.
Call it temptation, but Seokmin had never been able to say no.