Her nose is cold. She rubs at it with the back of her hand in an attempt to warm it up, because any colder and she fears frostbite settling on its tip. It's not her first winter in Korea, but every year it seems to get colder and colder. 

Nicha 'Minnie' Yontararak glances over at the woman standing next to her. 

Colder and colder, yet warmer and warmer at the same time. Any younger and she'd have scoffed, but the girl (she still feels like a girl, even though she has since a while back blossomed into a fine woman) who stands in her shoes and goes by her name now understands what it means to have both heat and ice in her veins. 

And going by anyone's standards, Cho Miyeon is the very definition of hot. 

A face created by angels on their best day, a nose bridge sculpted by the greatest artists, a shy smile that spreads and grows into a silly laugh when deliriously happy. And her body, slim but tough, toned from years and years of dancing and exercise and diet and everything they had to go through when they were trainees.

And when she turns, God! Her beauty up front is truly a sight to behold. The scene below is incomparable. 

"You're exaggerating, Minnie."

Minnie blinks. Her eyes focus on Miyeon's smile. She must have been saying that out loud. Minnie flushes and hides her pink cheeks with her hands. "It's true, though," she whispers through her fingers. 

"We're at the top of Namsan Tower, Minnie, you wanted to come here!" 

"I know, I know." Minnie turns to stare at the picturesque landscape below them. Fifteen minutes to ten at night and the sky overhead is dotted with satellites that blink against an inky backdrop. Under their feet the city is still alive and vibrant, cars and buses that people to their next destination of the night, whether it be home or a club or a lover's secret embrace; shadows dancing in apartment windows, a single student living in a tiny goshiwon or a family of five playing with toys or a couple making love with their curtains drawn firmly shut; the multitude of convenience stores and motels and late-night pojangmacha stalls where tired workers take shots of soju and where the broken-hearted find consolation in their brethren: this is Seoul. 

"Isn't the scenery beautiful?" Minnie breathes, mist leaving in quick puffs. 

"It sure is." Miyeon doesn't lie, not when her scenery is standing before her, hands tucked in the pockets of her padded coat, nose reddened by the cold - and still she manages to look like the royalty that she is. Bangs brush past her eyebrows, nearly covering mesmerising eyes that can be both cold when intimidating yet warm when loving, a smile so brilliant and bright it's like looking at the sun. Minnie's body fits perfectly to hers, just the right size to envelop Miyeon in a comfortable embrace, hips Miyeon likes to bump against to attract the Thai woman's attention, long legs that go on for days now clad in a pair of insulated pants. 

And don't even get her started on Minnie's voice. Breathy, bewitching. Minnie must be a sorceress, for she has put Miyeon under a spell unbreakable. 

"I've always wanted to come here with my lover," Minnie continues. She tilts her head and grins. "With you."

Is it any wonder Miyeon swoons? 

Then Minnie sneezes. Miyeon bursts out laughing, cackles that echo through the night. 

"Don't laugh," Minnie whines. "It's freezing."

"Why didn't you bring a scarf, then?" Miyeon teases. 

"Look, I can be forgetful sometimes too, okay-" Minnie's voice is muffled by a thick length of knitted wool. She looks down at where Miyeon's hands are busy looping one end of a forest-green scarf around her neck, pulling it up to cover Minnie's nose and mouth. 

Minnie cautiously sniffs at the scarf. It smells a bit like the spices in her mum's kitchen and a bit like Miyeon. 

It smells like home. 

"Where did this come from?" she asks, the scarf. 

"I made it!" Miyeon announces proudly. She pouts when Minnie gives her a suspicious side-eye and raises her brows. "What?" 

"You." Minnie pointed to the scarf snugly wrapped around her neck. "Made this."

"Yes?"

"You can't even cook, babe, your dexterity skills are questionable at best."

Miyeon huffs. "If you don't like it, I'll take it back!" She reaches out to take the scarf back, but Minnie backs away from her grabby fingers. 

"Who said I didn't like it?" Minnie clings on to the scarf as if her life depends on it. She examines the scarf under the dim light of Namsan Observatory - now that she's taking a good look at it, she can tell it's clearly been hand-knitted, what with the occasional missed stitch and awkward holes where attempts have been made to hide them. She can imagine Miyeon struggling to patch it up, her clumsy fingers dropping the knitting needles on her bed as she sits cross-legged with a ball of yarn beside her. "I love it."

Miyeon instantly brightens. "You do?"

"Of course." Minnie buries her nose in the scarf, breathing in its scent. "It smells like you."

Miyeon flushes, her cheeks turning scarlet. "Don't say that, it's embarrassing!" 

"Is it?" Minnie shifts closer to Miyeon, nearly leaning on her. "How so?" 

"I don't know, it just is," Miyeon mumbles. She sniffs before sneezing into Minnie's coat. Minnie pulls a face, but starts to unravel the long scarf from her neck. 

"Let's share."

"What?" Miyeon frowns, confused. "It's not long enough."

"Hey, I love you like crazy, but trust me." Minnie extends what she estimates is half the length of the scarf (though it feels like at least a metre already) towards Miyeon. "This scarf is probably long enough to completely wrap a five-year-old child in."

Miyeon pouts and sniffs again, but allows Minnie to wrap her up in the scarf. "There, all done."

Miyeon giggles. "We must look pretty silly like this."

"Not at all." Minnie whispers, tugging Miyeon towards her, foolish grin hidden behind her scarf, growing upwards to curve her eyes into loving crescents. "You look perfect. Exactly like my Christmas present."

"And you mine." They stand there atop Namsan Tower, a million miles high in the sky, linked by threads of a earth-green scarf. Miyeon leans in until their noses are brushing, finding warmth and love in an Eskimo kiss. 

"Merry Christmas, my angel."

"Merry Christmas, my queen."