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Angel is startled awake by the unmistakable sound of his cell unlocking.
For a split second, he thinks he’s dreaming. The click echoes too sharply in the small room, followed by the faint creak of the door as it swings open. A thin bar of hallway light spills across the floor and creeps up the wall, cutting through the dimness like a blade. Angel blinks, squinting as his eyes adjust, wings twitching faintly behind him on instinct.
He pushes himself upright just as a familiar figure steps into view.
Aki stands in the doorway, hands in his pockets, staring at him with that same unreadable expression he always wears. Only, something is off. He isn’t in his Public Safety uniform. No tie, no sword strapped to his back. He’s dressed simply, dark sweater, loose sweatpants, coat thrown over one arm, hair still slightly messy and not up in his topknot.
For a moment, Angel just stares.
“Get up.” Aki says curtly.
Angel’s brain lags behind the command. The last time he’d seen Aki, the man had been leaving late in the evening, uniform still crisp, exhaustion hidden behind routine. He’d said they wouldn’t be seeing each other for a few days with Christmas and all. Makima had granted him time off.
Time off, Aki had said, like it was nothing.
Angel knew better.
In his own stiff, roundabout way, Aki had meant that he wanted to be with Denji and Power. To make sure they didn’t destroy the apartment, sure. But, also to sit in that cramped living room and experience something close to normal. To celebrate, even if he’d never call it that. Angel had seen it in the way Aki lingered before leaving, the way his voice softened when he mentioned them.
Aki Hayakawa wasn’t nearly as cold hearted as he pretended to be.
Which made this even more confusing.
Angel rubs his eyes, wings folding closer to his back. “What time is it?” he asks, his voice hoarse with sleep.
“Just past six.” Aki replies without hesitation.
Angel lets out a long yawn, stretching his arms over his head as he slowly gets to his feet. His oversized shirt slips further up his thighs as he moves, fabric brushing against his skin. He barely registers Aki turning his head away until he catches the faint stiffness in the man’s posture.
“…It’s Christmas,” Angel says after a beat, the words sinking in as he speaks them. “What are you doing here? I thought Makima gave you time off.”
“She did,” Aki answers. Then, more sharply, “Now get changed.”
No explanation. No elaboration.
Angel tilts his head, confusion written plainly across his face, but he doesn’t argue. Arguing with Aki when he’s like this never gets anywhere. Instead, he moves to the small locker, pulling out his uniform. As he changes, he feels Aki’s presence even without looking, like a weight in the room, patient but tense.
When Angel steps back out, fully dressed in his Public Safety uniform, Aki exhales softly. It’s barely audible, but Angel notices. His eyes flick over Angel once, lingering for half a second too long before he turns away.
“You didn’t have to put that on.” Aki mutters, almost to himself.
Angel blinks. “You told me to get changed.”
Aki doesn’t respond.
They leave the cell together, footsteps echoing down the quiet halls. The building feels strangely still, stripped of its usual tension.
Angel follows Aki without asking more questions.
He stands silently while Aki signs him out at the front desk. Watches the pen move with steady precision. Notices how Aki’s hand trembles just slightly when he caps it. Angel says nothing when Aki doesn’t make eye contact, doesn’t acknowledge the guards’ curious glances.
Outside, the morning air is cold enough to bite.
Aki’s car waits in the parking lot, dusted with a thin layer of frost. Angel hesitates only a second before climbing into the passenger seat. The door shuts with a dull thud, sealing them into a bubble of quiet.
Aki starts the engine.
They pull out onto the road, city streets still half-asleep. Decorations hang from lampposts, tinsel, paper snowflakes, cheap lights blinking unevenly. Angel watches them blur past the window, something tight settling in his chest.
After several minutes, he finally speaks.
“Where are we going?”
Aki keeps his eyes on the road. He doesn’t say anything.
Angel studies his profile. The way Aki’s jaw is set, the faint shadows beneath his eyes. He looks tired. Not the usual exhaustion from devil hunting, but something heavier. Something uncertain.
“Am I in trouble?” Angel asks quietly.
“No,” Aki says immediately. Too quickly. Then, after a pause, “This isn’t an order.”
That makes Angel’s heart skip.
Aki swallows, grip tightening on the steering wheel. “I just… didn’t want you to spend Christmas locked up.”
Angel doesn’t answer right away. The city keeps moving around them, indifferent.
Finally, he leans back against the seat, wings relaxing just a little.
“Christmas doesn’t mean anything to me.” Angel says. He’s a devil, after all, he doesn’t concern himself with human traditions. He doesn’t even really understand it. He’s never needed to.
Aki huffs, almost amused. “I know.”
For the first time that morning, the tension eases, just a fraction, as the car carries them forward, away from concrete walls and quiet, dark, damp, cells, toward something neither of them quite know how to name.
Aki pulls into the parking lot just as the sky begins to lighten, the orange of early morning stretching thinly over the city. The engine cuts off, and for a moment neither of them moves. The quiet here feels different, softer than Public Safety, less watchful.
“This is my place.” Aki says unnecessarily, already reaching for the door.
Angel steps out after him, sneakers crunching lightly against the frosted pavement. He’s been here once before, briefly, under supervision. Seeing it now, on Christmas morning, feels strange, almost intimate in a way he isn’t sure he’s allowed to be.
They take the stairs instead of the elevator. Aki moves on habit, keys already in hand, and unlocks the apartment door with practiced ease. As soon as it opens, warm air spills out, carrying the faint smell of cheap pine cleaner and something fried, old oil and garlic.
Angel freezes in the doorway.
The apartment is… a mess.
Not the dangerous kind, not the kind that screams disaster, but the lived-in chaos of two people who don’t know how to exist quietly. Strands of tinsel are taped crookedly along the walls, drooping in places where the tape has given up. A paper wreath hangs lopsided on the doorframe, half crumpled like it was wrestled into place. Multicolored lights blink unevenly around the window, one bulb clearly burned out.
In the corner of the living room stands a Christmas tree.
It’s too big for the space and leans slightly to the left, its base surrounded by crumpled newspaper instead of a proper stand. Ornaments are scattered without rhyme or reason, plastic baubles, foil stars, something that looks suspiciously like a dented beer can painted red. Everything on the tree looks like chaos, except for the ornament of a pair of white wings tucked neatly in the middle of the tree.
Angel stares.
“Wow.” He says quietly.
Aki sighs like this is exactly the reaction he expected. “They did most of it.”
“I can tell.”
Angel steps inside, eyes drawn immediately to the base of the tree.
Wrapped gifts sit underneath it.
Not many, but enough to be noticeable. Some are wrapped neatly, paper folded carefully, tape barely visible. Others are… not. One is wrapped in what looks like newspaper comics, another in plain brown paper aggressively secured with too much tape. A tag on one gift is scribbled in black marker, letters neat and bold.
ANGEL
He swallows.
“You… got me something?” Angel asks before he can stop himself.
Aki hesitates, then closes the door behind them quietly. “Denji insisted.” He says. “Power too. They wouldn’t shut up about it.”
Angel hums, unconvinced, but he doesn’t push.
The apartment is unusually still. No shouting. No sudden crashes. No Denji yelling about food or Power demanding praise. The lights are off except for the soft glow of the Christmas tree, blinking slowly like it’s trying not to wake anyone.
Angel glances toward the hallway. “They’re asleep?”
Aki nods. “They stayed up too late. Power tried to drink eggnog and got mad about the taste. Denji ate something he shouldn’t have.” He pauses. “…Again.”
Angel smiles faintly at that, wings shifting as something warm settles in his chest. It’s strange, seeing evidence of them without actually seeing them. Their presence lingers everywhere. Blankets tossed over the couch, one clearly claimed as territory. A half built gingerbread house on the table, collapsed in on itself like a casualty of war.
Aki sets his coat down carefully, like he doesn’t want to disturb the air. “You can sit. Or whatever. Just, be quiet.”
“Got it.” Angel says, voice soft.
He moves toward the couch but stops halfway, gaze drifting back to the tree. The lights reflect faintly in his eyes as he crouches slightly, careful not to touch the gifts.
“This feels weird.” He admits like he shouldn’t be here. Like he doesn’t belong.
Aki leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. “Yeah.”
They sit in the quiet together, the apartment breathing around them. Somewhere down the hall, Denji shifts in his sleep, muttering something unintelligible. Power snores loudly, unapologetic.
Angel listens, committing the sound to memory.
For once, no alarms are waiting to go off. No orders. Just a messy apartment, a crooked tree, and the promise of a morning that doesn’t demand anything from them yet.
Angel folds his wings in and sits on the couch. He’s cautious still, not fully relaxing as he sits on the edge.
The quiet doesn’t last.
It never does.
A loud thump echoes from down the hallway, followed almost immediately by an indignant, half asleep shout.
“HEY WHO STOLE THE BLANKET?!”
Angel stiffens on the couch, wings twitching before he can stop them. Aki closes his eyes for a brief second, like a man bracing for impact.
Another crash follows, something hitting the wall, then the floor.
“That was mine, Denji!” Power’s voice cuts through the apartment, sharp and offended. “You dare deprive a noble being of warmth on the holiest of mornings?!”
“It was on my side!” Denji yells back. “Also, what the hell is a holy morning?!”
Footsteps thunder down the hallway. The door to Power’s room slams open so hard it rattles the decorations taped to the walls. Denji stumbles out first, hair sticking up in every direction, wearing an oversized hoodie and sweatpants that are very clearly not his. He squints against the glow of the Christmas tree lights, eyes unfocused.
Power follows immediately behind him, blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape, horns catching the blinking lights as she marches forward.
They both freeze at the exact same time.
Denji’s gaze lands on the tree. Then the decorations. Then the gifts.
Then, Angel.
His jaw drops.
“No way.” Denji breathes.
Power’s eyes narrow suspiciously. She points dramatically across the room. “Explain yourself, human! Why is the angelic one in our lair?!”
Angel straightens slightly on the couch, hands resting stiffly on his knees. “Good morning.” he says, politely and a little unsure.
Denji’s head snaps toward Aki. “AKI.”
Aki sighs. “Don’t yell.”
“You brought him here,” Denji continues, voice climbing anyway. “On Christmas. To the apartment. Our apartment.”
Power gasps, clutching her blanket closer. “The apartment of Power and her lesser roommates!”
“That is not what-” Aki starts.
Denji grins, wide and sharp, already bouncing on his heels. “Holy crap. You totally did it. You actually did it.”
Power squints at Aki, circling him slowly like a predator assessing prey. “I knew it,” she says smugly. “I knew you possessed a heart buried beneath layers of emotional constipation.”
“Don’t say it like that.” Aki mutters.
Angel watches the exchange silently, eyes flicking between them. The energy in the room shifts instantly, louder, warmer, and chaotic. It’s overwhelming, but not unpleasant.
Denji suddenly leans over the back of the couch, invading Angel’s personal space without hesitation. Angel tenses. “So, Angel,” he says, grinning. “You sleep good in devil jail?”
Angel blinks. “I.. slept.”
Power slams herself down onto the armchair with a dramatic flourish. “He was rescued,” she declares. “By Aki Hayakawa, Hero of Christmas!”
Aki groans. “That’s not what happened.”
Power ignores him completely. Her gaze snaps to the tree again, pupils dilating. “GIFTS!” She announces.
Denji follows her stare. His face lights up like he’s just remembered something incredible. “Oh yeah! GIFTS!”
Before Aki can react, both of them rush the tree.
“Wait!” Aki starts.
Too late.
Power drops to her knees and begins grabbing at the packages indiscriminately, shaking them violently. “This one rattles! It could be food! Or a weapon! Or food and a weapon!”
“HEY!” Denji yells, tugging one away from her. “That one’s mine! I can tell!”
“You cannot tell,” Power snaps back. “Your brain is too dumb for such intuition!”
Angel stands halfway, unsure whether he should intervene or retreat. Aki pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I said wait,” Aki repeats, voice strained. “We were going to do this later. Together.”
Power pauses mid-rip, slowly turning her head. “Later?” she echoes.
Denji freezes too. “Like,” he says carefully, “after breakfast later? Or like, ‘never’ later?”
Aki exhales. “After everyone’s fully awake. And calm.”
They stare at him.
Then they both burst out laughing.
“Calm!” Denji cackles. “On Christmas!”
Power throws her head back. “You are hilarious today, human!”
Angel lets out a soft, surprised sound, almost a laugh, before he can stop himself. Aki glances over at him, just briefly, and something in his expression softens.
Power suddenly scrambles to her feet and points accusingly at Aki again. “WAIT. WAIT WAIT WAIT.”
She jabs her finger toward Angel. “Is this one’s presence the reason you abandoned us this morning?”
Denji’s eyes widen. “Ohhh. Dude. You ditched us for him?”
“I did not ditch-” Aki stops himself, jaw tightening. “I brought him here because it was better than leaving him locked up.”
Power smirks. “How tender.”
Denji grins wider. “You’re totally soft.”
Aki glares. “Open one gift and I will throw you both out.”
Power gasps. “Threats on Christmas?!”
She immediately tears open the nearest package anyway.
“POWER!”
Paper explodes everywhere.
Power holds up the contents triumphantly, then squints. “Socks?”
Denji snorts. “HAHA! You got socks!”
“They are festive socks.” Power argues, inspecting the pattern. “And they are red. The colour of blood. Acceptable.”
Denji rips into his own gift next, barely containing himself. “YES! NO WAY, AKI YOU ACTUALLY GOT THIS?” He exclaims holding up a comic he had been eyeing for a while.
Aki looks away. “Stop yelling.”
Angel watches it all like he’s afraid it might vanish if he blinks. The noise, the bickering, the careless joy, it’s messy and alive.
Power suddenly turns her attention back to him, eyes gleaming.
“ANGEL,” she declares. “OPEN YOURS.”
Angel hesitates. “I-”
“OPEN.” Denji echoes, crouching beside the tree. “C’mon. It’s Christmas.”
Angel looks to Aki instinctively.
Aki meets his gaze, just for a moment. “You can.” He says quietly.
Angel swallows, then reaches for the gift with his name on it.
Carefully. Almost reverently.
As he begins to unwrap it, the apartment fills with noise again, Denji shouting, Power bragging, paper tearing. But Angel barely hears it.
For the first time, Christmas feels like something he’s allowed to touch.
Angel peels the paper back slowly.
He’s careful in a way that feels instinctual, like if he moves too fast the moment might shatter. The black marker of his name bleeds slightly into the wrapping. He unfolds the last corner and lifts the lid on the box.
Inside is a scarf.
It’s soft, thicker than it looks, a muted pink with tiny ice creams embroidered into it. Beneath it sits something smaller, a cheap plastic ornament shaped like wings, the same kind hanging in the middle of the tree. Tucked under that is a folded slip of paper.
Angel doesn’t touch anything for a second.
“It’s a scarf,” Denji says helpfully, leaning over his shoulder.
“I can see that.” Angel replies, but there’s no bite to it.
Power squints. “It is not red.” She declares. “A suspicious choice.”
Angel finally reaches in and lifts the scarf, fingers brushing the fabric. It’s warm. Warmer than anything he’s owned. He doesn’t remember the last time something was given to him without a condition attached.
He unfolds the paper with careful hands.
So you don’t freeze. -Aki
That’s it. No flourish. No further explanation.
Angel’s chest tightens anyway.
“Thank you.” He says, quieter than he means to.
Aki nods once, eyes fixed very deliberately on the sink. “You’re welcome.”
Denji grins, clearly sensing something sappy. “Dude. That’s like, so gay.”
“Silence.”
Angel folds the scarf back up, then hesitates. After a moment, he drapes it around his neck instead. The fabric settles comfortably against his neck, warmth seeping in almost immediately. He tucks the ends into his uniform awkwardly, unused to wearing something that feels gentle.
Denji points. “It suits you.”
Angel blinks. “It does?”
“Yeah.” Denji says. “Makes you look less like you’re about to evaporate.”
Power nods. “And more like a creature worthy of remaining indoors.”
Angel snorts softly before he can stop himself.
Aki notices.
Power suddenly leaps to her feet again. “NOW,” she announces, “WE EAT.”
Denji’s eyes light up. “Food?”
“Yes. The feast I demanded last night.”
“There is no feast.” Aki says flatly.
Power gasps, offended. “LIES.”
Aki gestures toward the kitchen. “There’s leftovers. And I’ll make breakfast. If you two behave.”
Denji pumps his fist. “YES. CHRISTMAS BREAKFAST.”
Power grins. “I accept these terms.”
They rush to the table immediately, knocking into each other and arguing over who gets to sit where. Angel remains on the couch for a moment longer, watching them move around the space like they belong there completely.
“They’re loud.” He says.
Aki huffs. “You’ll get used to it.”
Angel tilts his head. “Will I?” He asks, the question, the implication, hanging between them.
Aki pauses, then, almost reluctantly, allows the corner of his mouth to lift. “Yeah.” He says. “You will.”
From the table, Denji shouts “AKI! POWER STOLE MY CHOPSTICKS!”
“They’re mine now!” Power yells back. “Chopsticks are symbols of dominance!”
Aki turns toward the noise, already tired. “I’m going to regret this.”
Angel watches him go, scarf warm against his skin, something unfamiliar and fragile settling in his chest.
Maybe Christmas doesn’t mean anything to him.
But this?
This might.