I remembered the snow the most. Snow and tall, golden angels. I had never really believed in angels. I mean, sure I believed in God and Heaven and Hell and stuff, but really? Angels? That was the stuff for fiction…right? Apparently not, as he was there, walking towards me.

The flakes were stuck in his hair- caught in the golden curls that glowed just like his honey colored skin on the blackest of nights. I knew that because it was. New York had never been darker (or colder, for that matter). Even the constant city lights seemed dimmer, the only bright spots being the white fluff falling from the sky.

His walk was easy; laid back and casual, as if he knew that every girl within a mile of him was watching him, and quite a few men as well (whether it be from envy or awe, that was unknown). He spoke to a cell-phone as he strutted down the street, strings of pearls fitted perfectly in his mouth. Had there ever been such flawless teeth? He worked the streets as if he owned them, which, given the designer clothes he appeared to be wearing, was probably likely.

Only a few seconds (at least, I assume. But I could have spent an eternity looking at him, trying to figure out how to catch his perfection on paper) had passed before I realized the bell in my hand had quieted. A silent bell on a busy night wasn't going to do much for the SA, now was it?

With a practiced grin, I tore my eyes from the golden man on the street and started calling out to the night prowlers, tinkling my bell for any donations.

"Please! Give some change for charity!" The angel smiled as he walked by and emptied a few dollars and cents from his pocket and into the container.

But that was only the first time I saw him, because every night he was back.

"Hey," I called out to him the fifth night. He paused, glancing back at me, his golden eyes, so like a lion's, sparkling. I never knew a person could have such intense eyes- they weren't brown, or hazel, but a bright and fervent gold. Maybe he was a real angel after all. "What's your name?" My confidence faltered as I turned red at the forward question, and stuttered out: "I mean, you've been so generous. We'd be more than willing to give you some sort of acknowledgement, or- or something." I looked down at my feet, just because I almost couldn't stand the beauty of his amused little half smile.

"Not necessary, but if you insist…" He dug around in his pocket, slipping out a pen and pad of paper. I didn't know who carried that kind of stuff around with them, but maybe he was some sort of aspiring author, or journalist. He scribbled something down, tearing and folding the written-on sheet in half and slid it into the slot. "There. All the information you need." He winked one glinting metallic eye and walked away, disappearing into snow and busy New Yorkers.

Later that night I counted up the donations, getting ready to get it off to the Salvation Army. When I came across a folded sheet of paper, I stopped, my hand closing around it.

Jace Wayland. 347-789-3743. And you are?

"Clary Fray," I said, smiling. I could almost hear his cat-like grin over the phone as I settled in for a long conversation (and, though I didn't know it yet, life) with Jace Wayland.

"Nice to meet you."

~Fin~

There you have it. My late TMI Christmas fic. The story itself exactly 600 words. I know I'm on hiatus, but I just couldn't help myself. I'm not sure it's up to my usual standards, but I'm satisfied. I used the NYC area code and typed in random numbers. Jace always struck me as a "7" kind of guy…

I hope you enjoyed reading it. Don't expect me to update anything else anytime soon, sorry.

Review?

-Skittles