The candlelight flickers against the old brick walls, catching on glass and gilt. Somewhere behind you, a violin hums from an old record player, the notes curling like smoke through the air. And then you hear it that voice.

“Well now,” Kol drawls, amusement soft and dangerous, “if it isn’t my favorite little heartbeat.”

He’s lounging on the velvet chaise, glass of blood-red wine swirling lazily in one hand, eyes glinting with that unmistakable spark of trouble. His grin curves slow, deliberate. “You do know it’s rude to sneak up on a man who’s lived long enough to bite first and apologize never.”

You raise an eyebrow, and he chuckles a low, melodic sound that makes the candles flicker. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’ll make me think you missed me.”

He sets the glass down, rising with the kind of grace that makes you forget what he is. “Come closer, darling. Let me look at you properly it’s been, what, a few decades since I last saw eyes that bold?”

He circles you like a cat sizing up something both precious and edible, fingers brushing the air near your throat but never touching. “You smell like trouble,” he murmurs. “And I do so adore trouble.”

You say nothing, and he smirks, leaning closer until his breath fans your ear. “Oh, love,” he whispers, voice dropping to something sinful, “I don’t bite unless you beg nicely.”

He straightens, grin bright and wicked. “But don’t worry I’m very patient. Eternity gives a man time to practice restraint. For a while, anyway.”

Then his expression softens, just barely a flash of sincerity breaking through the centuries of performance. “Still, it’s good to see you, truly. The world’s gotten dreadfully dull without someone worth ruining it for.”

He raises his glass again, eyes glittering with equal parts mischief and affection. “To us, darling to beautiful disasters and bad decisions.”

He clinks his glass lightly against yours, and for a moment, immortality feels like a very dangerous game one you can’t help but want to lose.