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It never snows at Christmas in England.
People had grown accustomed with the fact that they'd likely never witness it during their entire lifetime.
And if they did, they'd call it a bloody miracle.
Funny thing, miracles...
Well, Crowley thought it romantic. Like rain and awnings and all that bollocks the humans had made up for themselves.
Crowley can't say he disagrees with the notion, despite not having really enjoyed the feeling of rain which then turned partially into hail soaking him through his clothes.
That time, he wasn't responsible for the weather.
That's Britain for you.
Still, it had all been worth it to stand opposite Aziraphale while water and ice pelted the both of them, dangerously pouring his heart out a second time and worrying about the repercussions.
Armageddon had been averted, again, because if Crowley knows but just a single thing about himself, it's that he's a moth to a flame.
In other words, throwing himself head first into danger if it meant keeping Aziraphale safe.
Well, and Earth as well, because sure, he does in fact enjoy all the silly little things this planet has to offer, and its people. Running away had sounded nice too, but after the initial heartbreak, he couldn't fault Aziraphale for wanting to do the right thing, the good thing.
He knows Aziraphale all too well, and he knows Aziraphale would constantly be riddled with overwhelming guilt had they indeed ran away together and left Earth to face its demise.
Aziraphale had always been a beacon of hope, of good, of doing the right thing. It's his very nature, and why Crowley was even drawn to him in the first place way back when Aziraphale had defied God for the very first time by giving away his stupid flaming sword to protect the very first of God's children.
And so Crowley waited, and waited, his hair and clothes sticking to his skin, his sunglasses off, eyes pleading for Aziraphale to say something, anything, just to fill the uncomfortable silence between them.
Then, Aziraphale had done the unthinkable; an awning suddenly popped into existence over their heads.
Crowley had let out a nervous chuckle, more nerves than anything, as a new surge of anxiety prevented him from finding much humour in the situation.
He had wanted to though.
He couldn't help it.
Aziraphale had looked at him then with the warmth of the very stars Crowley had hung all those millennia ago, and Crowley hadn't known how to swallow down the metaphorical, iridescent stardust that threatened to choke him that was Aziraphale's smile.
Aziraphale had then reached for his hands that he hadn't known were shaking until those soft fingers wrapped around his, grounding him.
They looked into each other's eyes...
“My dear, Crowley... I think we are in agreement that our first go at it was... poorly timed, and dare I say, not all that enjoyable, I'm afraid to admit.”
Aziraphale had looked crestfallen.
“Yeah, um... sorry about that,” Crowley apologised awkwardly, until switching tones. “Well, I mean, I'm not, really. Well, I sort of am, but I really wanted you to stay—”
“Six thousand years we've known each other, and so I... I always imagined it would be very different,” Aziraphale had cut in, voice a whisper. “Something beautiful, something soft, something... with love. Like out of a fairytale... Oh, listen to me, blither on...” He smiled shyly and a little unselfconsciously, pink dusting his cheeks.
Any resolve Crowley had managed to keep a hold of had decided to fuck off somewhere, his insides doing something weird. He'd had the urge to combust, or at the very least begin smoking, literally smoking, like the time he'd brought down a bolt of lightening on himself, because that's how much Aziraphale affects him without Aziraphale even knowing.
“It c-can be again, angel, it can be!” His voice had quivered, though some of his resolve was coming back, and in an act of boldness, pulled his hands out of Aziraphale's grasp to grab them himself.
He'd allowed himself to smile. A genuine, loving smile.
“I uh— I would like for us to try again, if you'd be so kind,” Aziraphale proposed, handing the initiative to Crowley to take up the reigns, though had stepped closer until they were chest-to-chest.
Crowley's smile shifted just a touch to notice a hint of wickedness.
“'m not kind, angel, you know that...~” he whispered teasingly into the tiny space between them, stretching each words a wee bit. “How many times have I told you...?”
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow fondly, his own smile slightly teasing.
“Oh no, of course not, my dear,” he pouted. “But then... does that mean you aren't going to do it?” He then fluttered his eyelashes that could have any demon on their knees.
“Well...” Crowley started, delicately cupping Aziraphale's cheeks as a thing to be cherished. “I suppose I can grant you one act of kindness,” he finished with before leaning down.
It really was like something out of Pride and Prejudice (while wallowing in self-despair, Crowley had taken it on himself to read the book and watch the 2005 adaptation).
('My affections and wishes have not changed.')
'Despite the pain, the feeling of abandonment, the loneliness ... I could never give up on you, not really. I couldn't. I was angry and hurt, but even so... I'd still do anything for you.'
('You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you.')
'When you described me as bad, evil, a demon, sometimes... I believed it, because demons aren't meant to love, and yet... you have tainted this demon's heart with your radiant smile, your love for people and Earth and all its things, your absurd magic tricks, be-because... a-angel, I... I love you.'
('I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.')
'I couldn't stand it, being away from you, while you were up there. I don't want to experience that feeling again, Aziraphale, not ever.'
He hated every second of it at the time, drinking himself stupid with legs sprawled over the arm of his couch, but standing out there, in the rain/hail, he desperately clung onto that idea of being the Darcy to Aziraphale's Elizabeth.
And then they were, and currently still are.
The box suddenly feels heavy in his hands.
“So uh... I-I bought you something. Y'know, with it being Christmas 'n' all.” He goes for nonchalance as best as he can manage through his bumbling, anxiety surging through his body as he offers the box to Aziraphale.
It's the reason why he decided to keep his sunglasses on as opposed to having them off, going against the per usual when in the safe confines of the bookshop.
“Oh. Oh! Oh, thank you, Crowley! B-but we've never— ”
“s'okay. Think nothing of it.”
He can't take back his words, because the irony here is that in actual fact, he hopes Aziraphale will love the gift and not think it's “nothing”.
Crowley wants this to mean everything (even though the gift itself wasn't much of anything in the grand scheme of things, but the gesture itself carried a lot of weight. It was a big moment for him.)
He wonders if it was stupid. He'd bought it on a whim of sorts, what with the street hustling and bustling in the spirit of Christmas.
(Flashback, sixteen days ago.)
As soon as December hit, Nina had added her limited time only seasonal lattes to her board, to which Crowley had decided to lecture her about just over a week later as why it had to be limited if people liked them regardless of the time of year, especially upon witnessing how much Aziraphale enjoyed the pumpkin spice with marshmallows on top.
Only the very best for his angel.
“I dunno,” Nina had replied. “Just don't seem right I guess. Pumpkin is for Christmas time.”
“Yeah, but why?” he griped, realizing he was sounding a tad melodramatic.
“Dunno, just is. Old tradition I suppose.”
“Pfft, you people... always stuck to your old ways while advocating for change.”
“Says the demon and angel who danced around for six thousand years because they didn't know how to communicate with one another.”
Crowley could hear the smirk before he even addressed her properly, and the worst part was that she was right.
“W-well, I— We'r—”
Nina raised an eyebrow at him, crossing her arms, her smirk having disappeared in favour of a stern pout.
Crowley shook his head around all snake-like as per usual when he was feeling melodramatic and defeated (which was a lot, Nina had noticed).
“Yessss, fiiiiine, you could perhaps have a little bit of a point there. But only a little,” he had retorted before spinning on his heels with lattes in hand (Aziraphale had convinced him to try the pumpkin latte for himself).
They both knew it to be a lie, but that's how the relationship was between the two of them, a comfortable sharpness that both shared with one another.
At some point during his and Aziraphale's coffee... date, he supposed (still weird to think about, that), he watched a pair across the room exchange a hug and then gifts with one another.
He didn't pay them much mind to begin with, a thought ever so slowly beginning to form inside his head like the beginning of a whirlpool.
Then he saw it happen again, and again, and the metaphorical whirlpool had gotten bigger and bigger, rushing and whirring inside his head without rest until it hit him like a tidal wave that he had to get Aziraphale a gift.
The question was... what fucking of?
They'd never really done gifts before, not in the Christmas sense anyway.
“Crowley?”
“What?” he said, stupefied.
Oh. Right, they're on a... date.
Christ.
Did that count as blasphemy?
Oh, who cares. He didn't.
“Sorry, what?” he repeated, a lot more calm this time.
“Your latte, dear, how is it?” Aziraphale's soft tone asked, his eyes warm with love.
“Oh, uh... yeah, good, it's good,” Crowley answered.
It was really good, it had to be said.
“Wonderful. See, I told you so.”
The... date (still weird) had gone by without a hitch before Aziraphale made his way to leave to retire to his... their bookshop, expecting Crowley to follow.
'We don't have a car.'
'Of course we do!'
Good Go— Sat— someone's sake, they really were an item before they even realized it.
Their bookshop.
'But... we get plenty of use out of it, don't we?'
It hadn't occurred to Crowley back then the implications one could pick up from that line, but needless to say, that yes, they were indeed getting a lot of use out of it, thank you very much.
“Go ahead, angel, I'm... I'm gonna have a quick word with Nina, alright?” he said, already approaching Nina by the counter and taking up a seat there.
“Oh... things okay, I hope?” Aziraphale asked, somewhat apprehensive and began fiddling with his waistcoat.
“Nothing to fret over, just some... uh... um...”
Fingers, tap tap tap against the counter.
Oh fuck.
“Talking! Yes, lovely talking with uh... with Nina there, about... something?”
Nice one me.
“Whatcha want to talk to me about?” Nina asked and looked dubiously at him.
Bloody hell.
Crowley had put on a overly zesty smile that was all teeth that held as much subtly as someone doing a very obvious and poor job of hiding something.
Namely, him.
Aziraphale looked at him with a knowing look.
“J-just... y'know, between us girls?” Back and forth, Crowley gestured between him and Nina with a finger.
That's it, play the gender card.
Aziraphale sighed.
“Fine, if you must. Oh, but don't keep me waiting too long, my love,” he whined. “I'm... well, as the people like to say, in a mood.”
He wiggled his eyebrows very unsexy-like and giggled adorably afterwards, looking at Crowley with what can only be described as bedroom eyes.
It made Crowley's heart stutter.
Nina remained speechless.
“Ngk... y-yeah, okay. Quick chat is all.”
Aziraphale beamed at him.
“Marvellous! Well, have a lovely rest of your evening, Nina,” he waved.
Before Nina could even conjure up a reply, Aziraphale flourished towards the door.
“Yeah, right...” was all she can think to say.
As soon as the door closed, Crowley all but groaned while Nina's voice was immediately upon him.
“Jesus fucking Christ, is he always like that now? With you?”
Crowley quickly composed himself together... somewhat.
“Never mind that, I need your help with something!” he grumbled, as if he had the urge to shout had he not been standing in the middle of a coffee shop. “And give me a six shot espresso while you're at it.”
“Why, what's wrong?” Nina looked worried, already reaching for a mug.
“I need to get Aziraphale a gift.” He said it like the notion was downright terrible, like something sent his way by Satan himself.
Or God.
“Okay, so whatcha need me for?” Nina still listened, turning her back on him to fill the mug with hot water.
“I don't know what to get him!”
Nina returned with his drink, to which Crowley ignored it when placed next to him. She noticed he had become increasingly agitated in a matter of seconds, tapping his fingers on the counter and stroking the back of his neck, and looking, if she had to put a name to it, positively pissed.
She had half a mind to move the mug that she'd placed down lest Crowley decide to throw one of his tantrums like the literal smoking and electrocuting himself in an imitation of God attempting to smite him.
She wondered if most demons were this overly dramatic, or just him.
“What do you mean? You've known each other forever. What sort of things have you got him in the past?” she asked, beginning to wipe down the counter.
Humans and their customs and rituals and their oh so fucking easy answers to everything that just made his blood boil.
Or equally, deflate in on himself in embarrassment.
“Well... w-we haven't— y'know, not really—”
Nina was hit with a wave of disbelief, her ears burning at where this conversation was going and eyes boring into Crowley's sorry expression as he pathetically attempted to get a proper sentence out.
“Do not tell me that in the six thousand years you've known each other you've never exchanged gifts...”
Crowley shrugged awkwardly and pouted.
Nina slapped her rag onto the counter.
“For fuck's sake, no wonder you couldn't get the relationship stuff down, you're both fucking useless!” she chastised, though there was an air of fondness in her voice.
“Oi!” Crowley piped up, glaring at her through his shades. “What would you know about us!? I don't go meddling in your— y— hmm...”
“Yeeeeah, I think you'll find you did actually.”
“The point is,” he emphasized with a jabbing of his finger onto the counter, “that we have a really complicated history, far beyond anything your human brains could come up with.” He straightened up his posture. “You realize one of our earliest ever meetings consisted of me burning down the home of God's favourite human and turning his children into lizards, and then watching Aziraphale pleasurably gorge himself on food for the first time in his life, namely, an entire ox rib?”
“I'm sorry, what?” Nina asked incredulously.
“Exactly! See? Humans. Practically babies compared to us.” A snort had escaped him in the midst of his chuckling, losing himself for a moment as he let his mind wander.
Nina's initial reply to that was something along the lines of how she didn't appreciate being insulted and if that was indeed the case in Crowley's eyes, why did he require the aid of said “babies” to help with his dilemma of buying a gift for his ancient lover? But then she was attempting to digest all the other stuff that had just been told to her, none of which sounded pleasant, and in turn, began painting a very ugly picture of Crowley in her mind.
“Wait, so...” she treaded carefully, “this... man, and his kids... wha— how cou—”
Crowley was clearly treating this conversation like any old conversation one has in a coffee shop, oblivious to Nina's internal onslaught.
“Oh yeah, a bet between God and Satan to see if Job, that was his name, would fold if everything was taken away from him. See, he was God's favourite because he was, supposedly, the nicest person ever. So I... played my part, burned his house, kids into lizards, all that.”
Nina squeezed her eyes shut and raised both of her hands up which were clenched while she attempted to comprehend what she was hearing.
“Crowley, explain. What do you mean you turned the kids into lizards?” she huffed, opening her eyes.
“Well, it was either that or kill them, which y'know, was what I was supposed to do, being a demon and all, but you just can't kill kids. 'tisn't right.”
“Okay, and then what?”
“Well me and Aziraphale hunkered down together in the basement, drinking wine, well, I drank wine, he gagged at the idea, the pompous sod, and instead ripped into the flesh of an entire ox rib like no tomorrow. Like that was any better! I mean sure, I did tempt him a little bit, how could I not, but... I was never the same after that day. And neither was he, he couldn't get enough of food and drink after that.”
Nina still entirely wasn't sure what she was hearing, but it sounded like she was involuntarily intruding on something private.
“And then the angel bastards came down, saying they were gonna give Job more children after his old died, lizards, I turn them back to normal, Aziraphale lies to God, thinks he's going to hell, we agree to remain schtum, all's good.”
Nina allowed for the topic to simmer between them for a moment, which Crowley seemed totally fine with, seemingly still lost why he even approached Nina in the first place, the conversation derailing significantly to old tales of a bet and God and Satan and lizard children and Mr. Fell being starved for meat apparently.
What the fuck.
Still, her mind was put at ease after knowing that the children's fate wasn't sealed to remain as lizards.
“Crowley... I'm sure you had another reason for speaking with me, and it wasn't to discuss your carnal infatuation of watching your lover devour an ox.”
Crowley cleared his throat at having that particular topic thrown back at him, feeling a little flustered. He was the one who brought it up though, so he only had himself to blame.
“Right, yes. S-so... so...”
“So?” Nina parroted, her waning patience evident.
Crowley appeared to be struggling again, but only for a moment.
“W-what... what should I buy him?”
He sounded so small, Nina noted, some sadness etching its way into his expression and voice.
“How the bloody hell should I know? You're the one who's been sniffing at his heels since you've known each other.”
“Yeah but... we've never— I've not really bought him anything before, not in a holiday sense. Offered to pay for things over the years, y'know, lunch, stuff that caught his eye...”
Nina huffed.
“Okay, well... he owns a bookshop, so why not buy him a book?”
Seemed an easy enough solution.
Crowley's expression turned sour.
“He owns first editions and high esteemed treasures from all over the globe the likes of Ernest Hemingway and Oscar Wilde, what the bloody hell am I gonna buy him, a picture book!?” he scoffed, finally picking up his mug of espresso and downing it in one go. “Besides, I don't know books. That's more his thing,” he then lamented.
“Alright, well... what about music? He's always at Maggie's, y'know. Relief really, seeing as no one really buys records anymore. She'll go out of business one day, I know it.”
“Exactly, he has Maggie to buy that stuff from. He knows what he likes, I— well, I know the sort of stuff he likes too, but he owns practically everything he wants. He's also picky as shit when it comes to certain things too, would probably want a certain version or whatnot. No, out of the question.”
Nina felt like this was a losing battle. She didn't know how to help, every suggestion put out there shot down. If even Crowley was struggling on a perfect gift idea, how could she possibly compare?
It seemed hopeless.
But she wouldn't give up just yet.
“Something simple then,” she proposed, feeling a bit more optimistic. “A box of chocolates often goes down well for people. Or biscuits. People like biscuits, and Aziraphale's always in here nibbling on some cake or other. Has got quite the sweet tooth, hasn't he.”
Crowley made a face.
“No... too unoriginal, too "here, I didn't know what else to get you because I don't know you well enough so I just got you what everyone else gets each other when stumped". No, I want it to be something special, something I know he'll love, som—”
Nina spotted it the instant Crowley's face came to a realization.
“What, what is it!?”
Crowley told her.
“Do you have any recommendations for the best place to look?” he then asked her.
He wanted to keep things authentic, walk into a store among the humans and hand over a twenty pound note to the cashier, rather than miracle something up out of thin air.
(End of flashback.)
Said gift idea has since then made its way into the carefully wrapped package now settling in Aziraphale's hands.
Crowley's thankful for it really, to be rid of the thing out of his own hands like it was a burden to hold. Not his own problem anymore...
Except that's just the thing, isn't it? It's still very much his problem because it's the first fucking proper gift he's ever given to Aziraphale and that right there is just the thing plaguing his insides like someone took a whisk to his celestial organs.
This should not be this stressful, and tells himself to get a fucking grip.
Humans do this all the time, several times a year, every year.
Oh Go- whoever, he's got to do this at least once a year!?
How do people do it!?
He stops himself from letting his mind run away from him, focusing on the situation at hand. Future problems are for the future, and it might not be as bad as he's allowing himself to believe.
Get through this moment first, and then go from there, he tells himself.
Sure, he can do that.
Easy, no problem.
Aziraphale's sparkling eyes and reverent smile is almost enough to ease the discomfort that he can't fully abolish from his system.
“Oh, I wonder what it is?” Aziraphale ponders, bouncing on his feet as he holds up the box in examination. “Probably a book, yes?” he asks himself.
He wanted a book, he wanted a fucking book, of course he did, Nina had been right, he owns a fucking bookshop, shit, shit, fucking shit!
Well it's too late now.
Each rip of paper feels like a death sentence.
He steadies his breathing... just like humans do.
It's fine, he might still like the—
Aziraphale holds the unwrapped gift in his hands.
“A magic box...” he observes with an all too calming smile.
Is that good!? He doesn't— Is he happy!? He doesn't seem overly thrilled! Does he hate it!? What if I got the wrong one!?
The silence that stretches out is deafening.
Somehow, he gets his mouth to work through his eternal chaos that remains unbeknown to Aziraphale.
“I know we said no more magic, but... it's just a lil box and... I mean... I thought... maybe...” he goes on, looking down at the box, unsure.
He's making an absolute arse of himself, half wishing he wasn't even here and instead to be off sleeping somewhere for the next century.
“Oh Crowley, I love it!”
Crowley's head snaps up.
Aziraphale said he loves it!
Aziraphale's also crying.
Aziraphale's crying!
Why is he crying!?
“A-angel, are you okay!?” Crowley flounders before settling his hands on Aziraphale's shoulders. Crowley's entire face is wrought with panic. “Tell me those are happy tears...? They are, right?”
To his dismay, Aziraphale sniffs and timidly shakes his head.
Oh no...
He's fucked it all up, hasn't he?
“Is something wrong with it!? Did I get the wrong one!? s'okay, angel, I can change it for something better. Or something else entirely, it's no iss—”
“No, you buffoon!” Aziraphale exclaims almost angrily, eyes glistening with tears as he looks up at Crowley, a look of unspoken fear there, or something close to it.
Crowley is out of his depth, shaking his head in confusion.
“Well, what then?”
“I... I didn't get you anything...” Aziraphale says in the most heart crushing tone Crowley's ever heard that makes his own heart flutter.
Oh, you silly fucking angel!
“I don't care!?” Crowley answers back somewhat bitterly. Because he is, bitter, a little bit. Aziraphale had him worrying over nothing. “I just wanted to do something n— to see you happy, that's all!”
There's an awkward moment of silence between them.
“O-oh... right. I see,” Aziraphale whispers, his tears slowing down considerably.
Well isn't this going just wonderfully.
“Aziraphale, I thought I'd made you upset... Bastard...”
Aziraphale huffs defensively.
“Well, excuse me for feeling guilty on the matter, my dear.”
“Well, don't be,” Crowley says. “I did this because I wanted to. It was a gift.”
Aziraphale sniffs and nods in acknowledgement, because he knows Crowley's right.
He always is.
Aziraphale looks up sheepishly, a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.
Crowley softens.
“Come here, you daft old sod,” he says before bringing Aziraphale in by the back of his white curls with a gentle hand for a not quite bone crushing hug, but certainly within that ball park.
Aziraphale brings his own hands up, wrapping them securely around Crowley's back and squishing his nose up against a collarbone, the pair of them coiled around one another in an embodiment of pure love.
They both want to live here.
Silence engulfs them like a comforting blanket, its soft edges and carefully woven exterior hiding them from the outside world, if just for a moment.
It's nice...
Crowley inhales the smell of Aziraphale that is hot cocoa and old books, a tuft of fluffy white tickling his nose.
He leaves a featherlight kiss just above the temple, which emits a little gasp.
“Merry Christmas, angel,” he murmurs into Aziraphale's hair.
He hears Aziraphale hum contently.
“Merry Christmas, Crowley...”
The smile is felt on Crowley's collarbone.
They both pull out of the embrace, though still keeping a very close distance between the two of them, their hands conjoined.
Crowley for one isn't sure how to proceed, though has the annoying urge to remove his glasses, as if he's unnecessarily shielding himself from Aziraphale. At the same time, however, he isn't sure he wants to remove them.
Emotions, messy business...
He's getting better at it though.
Whether they share a hive-mind or not, Aziraphale reaches for Crowley's sunglasses with a slightly shaky hand.
And Crowley lets him, goes rock solid, because he won't hide from Aziraphale when push comes to shove.
Not that he can necessarily deny the angel anything.
The bastard...
Carefully, Aziraphale begins removing the glasses via one of the rims and is greeted with the most magnificent irises that bleed yellow. They remind him of sunflowers, of sunshine, of sherbet lemons, all of which are distinctively not Crowley, and yet... to Aziraphale, they are.
“Oh you gorgeous thing...” Aziraphale sighs, his smile growing.
It's a common misconception that snakes don't have bones, and Crowley understands why humans would think that when it feels like someone just pulled his from out of his body.
This blessed angel...
“N-not so bad yourself,” his mouth decides to go with, the telltale of a smile seen at the corners.
Well, what's wrong with the truth?
He doesn't have time to process anything else before Aziraphale leaves a quick, chaste kiss against his lips, pulling away far too quickly and creating some distance between.
In secret, though he suspects Aziraphale also knows, but he likes it when the angel catches him off guard.
It's... cute.
Aziraphale bends down to retrieve the fallen magic box.
“Well, I'm eager to have a gander what this lovely present that you got me has to offer,” he beams, enthusiasm from the top of his eyebrows to the tips of his feet.
Crowley blinks a few times, involuntarily licking his lips and tasting nothing but sweetness there.
“By all means, angel, why don't we have a look, together?”
His swagger is back, cool and demonic in the way he knows Aziraphale likes.
Though he does have something else to say.
“J-just don't— I know I got you a magic box, but I don't want you playing with that thing all the time, right? Not twenty four seven.”
Aziraphale looks at him, confused.
“But why not?” he asks almost pleadingly, and if that isn't a way to kill a demon, well, Crowley thinks it ought to be. “What if I get overly invested in it? What if I spend so much time on it and that'll actually be good at it!?” he gushes, the prospect lighting his already angelic features.
“No!” Crowley goes before stopping himself, immediate guilt clinging to him like sticky honey. “I mean just... y'know,” he shuffles a shoed foot around on the spot awkwardly, contemplating. “Well, you want to spend time doing other things... don't you?”
To his surprise, Aziraphale appears to consider Crowley's words.
“Why yes, there is that. Books don't read themselves, you know. Not to mention a spot of tea and perhaps a piece of cake to indulge in while I'm at it. And music! Aah, such a wonderful life we live in, wouldn't you say?”
Aziraphale seems to be on cloud nine while Crowley is decisively not.
“Y-yeah, those things too, but...”
He feels pathetic.
Aziraphale does then notice something's up.
“Crowley, what is it...?”
Crowley squirms.
This was such a bad idea.
“Ngk, well, y'know, I— I want... I want time...” he pauses. “For us.”
There, he said it. Heart in his hand and all that.
He feels so exposed...
“Oh Crowley...” he hears before Aziraphale is up in his space, “you sweet, sweet thing.”
“Shaddap,” he groans, crossing his arms over his chest.
“So good to me, so nice,” Aziraphale adds.
“'m not nice.”
“Oh yes, you foul fiend, you...”
Aziraphale then does the outrageous and pinches both of his cheeks.
“Oi!” Crowley recoils, completely and utterly embarrassed. “Quit it, will ya!?” He give Aziraphale the eye, though fat lot it did when Aziraphale just grins in return. “Do that again and I'll take this back to the shop!”
It's an idle threat and they both know it, but it's something.
“You will not!” Aziraphale answers back, holding the magic box to his chest protectively. “Because then I'll be sad...”
Oh, if Aziraphale wasn't doing the puppy dog spiel intentionally way back at Eden, he certainly learned how to craft his cuteness into a weapon.
He really is a bastard...
Always has been.
“Fine!” Crowley gripes, though it's all in jest really.
Domestic.
“But we're going to The Ritz tomorrow for dinner, my treat, where you will accompany me... to a dance.”
Aziraphale perks up at that, eyes soft.
“A... dance?” he asks hesitantly, blinking.
Crowley sniffs. “If you'd like it. Don't have to though, not really, I just thought it'd be nic—”
“Yes!”
Crowley stares at him, slightly taken aback.
“I mean yes, I— I would gladly take you up on that offer, thank you,” Aziraphale finishes with, smiling tenderly with added colour to his face. “I would like that...” he then adds, feeling it necessary.
The next day, the pair of them go clothes shopping for the evening dance at The Ritz, returning to the bookshop with two bags of attire for the both of them, from ties to shoes.
While Aziraphale nips upstairs, telling Crowley to unpack the shopping, Crowley reaches into one of the bags and feels something.
Another bag.
Fairly small too.
Curious, he lifts it out and immediately spots that there's already a tag attached to it, adorned with Aziraphale's handwriting.
Crowley begins to read.
My dear Crowley,
I know you said you didn't want anything in return, but I simply couldn't help myself, you know me.
Besides, if you can spoil me, then I in turn should be able to spoil you, even just a little.
You're treating me to The Ritz later, so it's the least I can do.
I hope you don't mind.
Your angel,
Aziraphale,
Crowley will never burn this letter for the rest of his days. He might even frame it. He could do what he bloody well liked, no one could stop him.
Upon opening the bag, a lush of green foliage comes into his view.
Crowley can't help but smile fondly.
“Bloody sap...”
