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“I just don’t know, Crowley,” Aziraphale pouted.
“Come on, Angel,” Crowley insisted. “What harm could it do?” Crowley’s voice crackled through the antique rotary phone.
Aziraphale let out a long-suffering sigh as he leaned back into his chair. “But we can’t, Crowley. It’s still the middle of lockdown.”
“C’mon Angel,” Crowley wined. “It’s been months. Why not?”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale admonished. “We’re simply not allowed. We’re to stay at home.”
“I, for one, am getting rather tired of just staying home,” Crowley griped. “No mischief to cause. No people around. At all. Even sleeping is getting boring, for Satan’s sake.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped.
“What?” Crowley sounded mildly offended. “I’m a demon, mischief is what we do.
“Yes, dear, as you constantly remind me.”
“‘Sides, it was you who wanted the crepes in the first place.”
“Oh I know.” Aziraphale paused before adding, “I suppose I could just miracle them, but– Oh but they just won’t taste the same, Crowley.”
“And what makes you so sure baking them yourself is going to make them taste the same?” Crowley asked doubtfully.
“Well that’s what they do. In the shops. Bake them. They don’t simply miracle them into existence, Crowley,” Aziraphale scoffed.
“Right, well, makes sense I suppose.”
A comfortable silence fell between the two beings and Aziraphale could hear the soft creaking coming from the worn walls of the aged bookshop.
“Have you ever baked crepes before?” Crowley asked suddenly. “Successfully?” he added. “I’ve heard crepes are far trickier to make than a simple cake.”
Aziraphale frowned. “What on earth do you mean?”
“The one—no two—times you needed my help all those years ago when those ‘candles’ fell over and you couldn’t get rid of the smoke smell. I know you were baking, Angel. Or at least trying to.”
“It was once,” Aziraphale huffed affrontedly. “Baking is rather tricky, Crowley. Not that you’d know,” he added in a slightly hushed tone.
“I heard that, Angel. Look, all I’m saying is that it would be nice to have some help, ‘s all.”
“And I do agree with you, Crowley. I really do. Especially with the crepes. Different from cakes: quite complicated. But it’s against the rules.”
“Aww, c’mon Angel. Rules were made to be broken.”
“By your lot maybe, but not mine.”
“Remember Angel, we don’t have a side anymore–just our side. And I could just pop over there with a snap of my fingers and no one would be the wiser. No demonic influences,” Crowley pushed. “Not like we’re in any danger anyways. Y’know, occult and ethereal beings and all that.”
Aziraphale considered this for a moment, his resolve crumbling quite quickly now. He really did want those crepes.
“Alright, fine,” Aziraphale whispered hastily into the receiver of his phone.
There was a light thunk on the other end of the line followed by a rush of air and then Crowley was lying sprawled across the sofa next to Aziraphale’s chair, his long legs draped across the armrest.
“Crowley.” Aziraphale hung up his phone distractedly, missing the bed a handful of times before giving up and simply just miracling the phone back into place.
Aziraphale turned up his nose as best he could in an ill-fated attempt to mask the delighted smile that was currently threatening to reveal far more then he cared to regarding the demon’s sudden presence in the room. “How many times have I told you, Crowley, no feet on the furniture,” the angel admonished. “It must be kept in pristine condition,” Aziraphale sniffed, brushing at a handful of nonexistent dust on the edge of the arm of the sofa.
As he swiped at the material, his fingers drifted towards Crowley’s leg of their own volition, the tips of his fingers eventually brushing against the demon’s ankle in a ghost of a touch. Aziraphale yanked his hand back as though he’d been burned by hellfire itself, a deep blush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks.
Crowley blinked, his eyes darting between Aziraphale’s hand and his obviously reddening face.
“Tea,” Aziraphale blurted, jumping to his feet.
“Tea,” Crowley repeated dumbly.
“Yes, tea. From the kitchen.” Aziraphale waved his hands madly about in the general direction of his kitchen, the kettle whistling to life with no less than a single thought from the angel. “You like tea.”
“Tea. Good. Tea. Yes,” Crowley agreed eloquently.
“Very good. Ought to go get that. Right then. I’ll just–” Aziraphale spun on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen in a flustered flurry of motion.
When the angel still hadn’t returned a few moments later, (and once Crowley had regained his full ability of speech,) the demon leaned forward from his perch on the sofa.
“So, crepes,” he called into the kitchen.
Crowley grinned in triumph as Aziraphale emerged from the kitchen, two steaming mugs of tea in his hands—trust Aziraphale to always be motivated by the topic of food.
“Well, cakes were beginning to be awfully boring to make and besides, I believe I’ve made most of them by now.” Aziraphale passed Crowley his tea. “So crepes. Yes. I do believe I’ve found a good recipe to use. The best, in fact!”
“How do you know it’s the best?”
“Because it says so!” Aziraphale exclaimed, crossing the room and fetching a cookbook from his desk. He thrust it forward into Crowley’s arms. “See!”
“‘Sixty Best Recipes From Around the World,’ ” Crowley read the title aloud.
“Yes, I read every single one.”
“All sixty?” Crowley placed his sunglasses on the aged coffee table and squinted at the angel.
“No. All of them.” Aziraphale gestured proudly towards a massive wall specifically dedicated to cookbooks.
“All of them,” Crowley repeated dumbly. He scrunched up his nose. “Why not just look it up on the internet, Angel? That’s what it’s for. Would’ve been a lot easier.”
Aziraphale stuck out his bottom lip. “But it’s just not the same, Crowley. And besides, I don’t own an internet.”
“Computer, Angel,” Crowley corrected, though the fondness in his tone would have been unmistakable to any onlooker.
“No matter. I’ve found the perfect recipe,” Aziraphale insisted.
In a flurry of excitable emotion, the angel hastily ushered Crowley into a sitting position on the sofa and took a seat next to the demon, nearly spilling the entire contents of his mug in the process. Crowley’s legs automatically relocated from the arm of the sofa to the coffee table. Aziraphale frowned briefly at the placement of the demon’s feet before remembering the crepes and continuing on excitedly.
“Page seventeen,” he said. Before Crowley even had so much as a chance to turn the pages, Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the book flew open in Crowley’s lap to display the correct page.
“Well?” Aziraphale prompted.
“Yes, well. Looks like a fantastic recipe, Angel.”
Aziraphale continued to stare expectantly at Crowley with a big, goofy grin plastered across his face.
“Yes, good. Great. Excellent even. Uhh, very– crepey,” Crowley said eloquently.
“Yes!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “My thoughts exactly. Well, not quite, but no matter. Oh Crowley, they’re going to be absolutely scrumptious.”
Crowley could nearly feel Aziraphale vibrating with excitement next to him on the sofa.
“Well,” Crowley said. “Shall we start then? This says they’ll take about thirty minutes to bake, so–”
“Yes!” Aziraphale interrupted. “The sooner we start them, the sooner we can eat them.”
“Right, so,” Crowley looked over the list of ingredients. “Flour, sugar, eggs, milk– Angel, do you even have any of this?”
“Of course I do!”
“You went out? Shopping?”
“Well– Not exactly.” Aziraphale refused to meet Crowley’s eyes and looked away sheepishly at the corner of the bookshop, which had quite suddenly become particularly interesting.
“Angel?” Crowley gave Aziraphale a gentle nudge with his arm.
“Well as you said, we’d best get started,” Aziraphale said as he leapt from the sofa.
Crowley’s eyes widened. “Did you steal them?”
“Crowley!” Aziraphale rounded on the demon. “Of course not!”
“Oh. Well how then?”
“I may have used a, er– minor miracle to procure the ingredients,” the angel admitted.
“But you said it wasn’t the same if you miracled them!” Crowley exclaimed.
“The crepes, Crowley. Not the ingredients.”
“It makes that much of a difference?” Crowley asked.
“It does to me,” Aziraphale said softly.
That seemed to make up Crowley’s mind. “Alright Angel. Let’s bake!”
Aziraphale clapped his hands together excitedly before grabbing Crowley’s hand and pulling him off the sofa and towards the modest kitchen near the back of the bookshop, their tea left long forgotten.
******
“Sift flour, sugar and salt,” Crowley read for the third time. He blinked at the ingredients laid out on the counter in front of him.
Aziraphale snapped his fingers, drawing Crowley’s attention just outside the kitchen where the angel shuffled through a stack of records, leaving the eggs and milk obediently whisking themselves together in the kitchen. The ingredients momentarily forgotten, Crowley watched as the angel selected one of the shiny black disks and placed it with reverence in his antique record player. It was a true miracle that it worked at all, given its considerable age.
A soft, classical melody filled the bookshop along with a soft humming coming from—to Crowley’s surprise—Aziraphale. It must have been Beethoven or Bach or Mozart or something of the like. If Crowley was being honest with himself, he wasn’t too sure. He wasn’t awfully familiar with the classical music Aziraphale enjoyed so much, or any music at all, really—besides Beethoven’s Another One Bites the Dust and Mozart’s We Are the Champions (and The Sound of Music of course, because everyone had heard those ones.) In fact, The Sound of Music had been quite a popular method of torture amongst the demons of hell, and–
“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s shout startled the demon from his reverie. “What in Heavens are you doing, just standing there? Those ingredients aren’t going to mix themselves!”
Crowley raised an eyebrow in the general direction of the whisk the angel had left, still obediently mixing away on the other side of the kitchen.
Aziraphale frowned.
Crowley snapped his fingers and the flour, sugar, and salt began to mix itself together. Aziraphale let out a small huff.
“Well, we’d best mix them together now,” Aziraphale instructed, having most likely memorized the entire recipe.
Crowley moved to snap his fingers, then thought better of it and paused to glance at the angel, who was intently staring back at the demon, his eyes soft, yet slightly challenging as well. (It was in the rare moments like these that Crowley saw the strong, immovable warrior of God that Aziraphale was expected by most to be.)
Aziraphale patiently waited until Crowley finally relented and snapped his fingers, the angel snapping his fingers in unison with the demon’s. A large plume of confused flour launched itself from the bowl to land on the demon. It began to tremble slightly as Crowley glared at it.
“Oops,” Aziraphale said, his face the perfect picture of innocence.
“Angel,” Crowley nearly growled.
Aziraphale chuckled.
Crowley frowned and proceeded to brush at his sleeves in a futile attempt to remove the white flour from the arms of his black ensemble.
“Little help here, Angel,” Crowley grumbled, no further along in his attempt to clean the mess.
“My apologies dear.” Aziraphale procured a damp wash cloth from thin air and began to gingerly dab at a section of powdered sleeve. “I really didn’t think that would happen.”
“You miracled the flour at the same time I did! It got confused. What did you expect would happen?” Crowley asked incredulously.
“Well certainly not that.” Aziraphale paused. “You could just miracle it out,” he suggested.
Crowley stared at the angel, his brow quirked. “This conversation sound at all familiar to you, Angel?”
“No, I don’t know why it would– Ah, yes actually, now that you mention it. A certain former satanic church turned team-building work retreat.”
Crowley blinked expectantly at Aziraphale.
“Yes, well– Don’t want to risk it with yet another miracle. Hasn’t that caused enough trouble for one day already.”
Crowley frowned down at his clothing. “But Angel, it’s still–”
“Don’t worry, dear, I’ll take care of it,” Aziraphale insisted, patting at Crowley’s sleeve with his cloth.
“Hngk. Right. Uh– Thanks, Angel,” the demon mumbled, his eyes trailing up the path along his sleeve that the angel was cleaning.
“There we are,” Aziraphale announced, stepping back to take a look at Crowley’s clean clothes (he may have performed a handful of teeny tiny miracles after all to ensure that all the flour would come out.)
Aziraphale grinned as he took in the demon, his eyes lingering for far longer than what was generally considered socially appropriate.
“All clean then?” Crowley asked, mistaking the absurd grin on the angel’s face for one of pride at the like-new state of the demon’s clothing.
“Well,” Aziraphale finally said, breaking the silence that had fallen throughout the bookshop. “We really ought to continue. The sooner we finish the sooner we can eat them!” he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up at the mere thought.
“Have to start over, Angel,” Crowley gently reminded him. He glanced down at his clothes. “Think we lost most of the flour.”
“I suppose you’re correct,” Aziraphale agreed with a rather undignified giggle. “Come on then Crowley!” the angel shouted, grabbing the demon’s hand and pulling him towards the counter. “Best get to it!”
Crowley grinned at Aziraphale. “Relax, Angel,” he assured him. “The recipe says it only takes thirty minutes.”
******
Aziraphale sighed two hours later as he watched Crowley pour the last of the batter into the pan on the stovetop before returning his full attention to the plate that held a large stack of steaming, golden crepes.
“Staring at them won’t make them taste any better, Angel,” Crowley pointed out without averting his attention from the final crepe he was cooking.
“How– You’re not even looking at me!”
“Don’t have to. I know you,” Crowley said simply. “You’re looking at them.”
“Well perhaps for a moment there– Oh Crowley, they’re going to be positively scrumptious! Absolutely delightful!” Aziraphale exclaimed.
Crowley glared pointedly at the stack of crepes, causing them to quiver slightly. “They better be.”
“Oooo!” Aziraphale shouted just as Crowley was tipping the final crepe from the pan and onto the top of the stack, causing the demon to jump and nearly topple the entire stack.
Aziraphale frowned. “Do be careful, dear.”
Crowley opened his mouth, but the angel had already continued talking.
“What are we going to put on them, Crowley? Oh we could put fruit on them. Pears! We could do pears! Or chocolate! Or strawberries.” The angel gasped. “Chocolate with strawberries! Or no– Whipped cream.” Aziraphale gushed.
Crowley couldn’t help the stupidly giant grin that spread fondly across his face. “Whatever you like, Angel. Could do one of each, if you want.”
Aziraphale’s eyes lit up and his entire face began glowing with a slight angelic warmth.
Before Crowley knew what was happening, Aziraphale had his arms wrapped impulsively around the demon, hugging him tightly while he exclaimed, “oh what a marvelously brilliant idea!”
“Ngk,” was all Crowley was able to respond.
Much to Crowley’s disappointment, Aziraphale began to pull back, mumbling to himself as he went. “I really do love–” The angel paused awkwardly, his eyes wide. “Food.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow.
Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Yes. Food,” he repeated lamely.
Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale (nor the crepes for that matter) were very much convinced by the angel’s less-than-smooth pretense.
“Well then. What shall we make first?” the angel inquired. “We’d best be quick so they stay warm.”
“Oh they’ll stay warm,” Crowley said, casting a threatening glance at the plate stacked high with crepes. “Whatever you want,” he told Aziraphale.
After a long moment of intense thought, little lines forming on his forehead from squinting in contemplation, the angel finally decided, announcing “whipped cream!”
“All right, whipped cream it is,” Crowley agreed, moving aside to give the angel room to start.
Aziraphale glanced sheepishly up at Crowley, not quite meeting his eyes.
“Angel?” the demon inquired. “You do know how to make whipped cream, don’t you?”
Aziraphale slowly shook his head. “Never actually had occasion to make it. Off to the books again, I suppose.”
Crowley caught the angel’s arm as he moved to turn away.
“Let me look it up on the internet. Please,” he added softly.
Aziraphale sighed, making a big show of deliberation—not that Crowley believed a second of it—before resignedly agreeing. “All right, fine. Go ahead and use the netweb.”
“Internet,” Crowley corrected.
“Pardon?”
“Never mind.”
Crowley whipped out his phone—only the latest model of smartphone, of course—and began tapping away at the screen with a single index finger.
The demon glanced up at Aziraphale, who was expectantly—and not so patiently—waiting.
“Just one more minute, Angel.” Crowley let out a nervous chuckle.
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, catching Crowley’s eye. “Can’t find it, can you?”
“It’s somewhere–” Crowley pointed at his phone, “there.”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly, making a tsking noise. “You see, dear boy, that is why I always use my books. Most reliable, don’t you think? Not to mention user friendly,” he added with a rather smug ‘I told you so’ expression.
“Yes yes, Angel. Please. Just find the recipe.”
Aziraphale stared at Crowley.
The demon let out a long-suffering sigh. “Please?”
“I’ll just be a moment,” Aziraphale announced, heading over to his cookbook section and selecting a relatively small leather-bound volume from the shelf. The angel hummed as he leafed through the worn pages.
“Ah, here it is,” he announced, his eyes skimming across the paper. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Crowley inquired.
“Well it– It’s quite simple, really.” Aziraphale let out a small chuckle. “Can’t say I’ve ever made whipped cream before.”
“Neither have I, I suppose,” the demon thought aloud.
“It says here you just whip the cream and add in some vanilla and sugar.”
“Mhm,” Crowley hummed. “What else?”
“That’s all.”
“‘S all?”
Aziraphale nodded.
“Hmm, would’ve thought it would be more complicated than that,” Crowley mumbled, waving his hands about. “All fluffy.” He paused. “You have cream?”
Aziraphale snapped his fingers in a not-so-subtle manner. “In the kitchen, yes,” he replied without missing a beat.
“Bastard,” Crowley mumbled endearingly under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Hmm? ‘S nothing.” Crowley wrinkled his nose. “So.”
“So,” the angel echoed.
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “The whipped cream?”
“Yes!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Hurry up now Crowley!”
Aziraphale clutched at the demon’s sleeve, pulling him back into the kitchen, his hand sliding down the fabric to rest in Crowley’s hand as they went. Crowley nearly tripped over his own feet.
The demon watched as Aziraphale bustled about the kitchen collecting the mixer—which had just so happed to have magically cleaned itself—and a bowl, along with the few ingredients they would need, including the cream that had somehow miraculously just appeared in the angel’s refrigerator.
Once Aziraphale had lined everything up on the counter, he moved to snap his fingers, no doubt with the intention of miracling together the perfect whipped cream. Crowley darted his hand out, wrapping it around the angel’s before he was able to snap his fingers.
“Wait,” Crowley said. “Errr. I was just thinking– That– Well maybe– We should do it ourselves?”
Aziraphale blinked at their joined hands.
“Angel?”
“Oh, yes of course. Absolutely dear. Splendid idea,” Aziraphale said absently, his eyes still trained on their hands.
“Right. Okay. Good,” Crowley said articulately.
Aziraphale took a breath. “Whipped cream.”
“ That is what we’re making, isn’t it?”
Aziraphale blinked, nodding slowly as he reluctantly disentangled his hand from the demon’s.
Crowley cleared his throat.
“Right, well, the first step–” Aziraphale glanced at his recipe book, eyes darting across the page. “Put everything in the bowl.”
“Doesn’t sound too difficult,” Crowley commented.
They began to measure out the ingredients themselves, the angel being far too exact for Crowley’s liking.
“Just throw it in, Angel,” he complained. “Won’t make that much of a difference.”
Aziraphale gasped. “I will not just ‘throw’ it in. We are doing this properly, as you requested, as I seem to recall.” The angel raised his eyebrows in a silent challenge.
“Right. No. You’re right. Absolutely right,” Crowley rambled.
Aziraphale resumed his overly-meticulous measuring. (Crowley may or may not have rolled his eyes as soon as the angel wasn’t looking.)
“There,” Aziraphale announced proudly. “Ready to mix.”
No less than five minutes later, Aziraphale’s small kitchen had turned into a positively disastrous mess—possibly even comparable to that of Armageddon. The large bowl of fluffy whipped cream sat in the centre of it all.
“How does it look?” Aziraphale asked Crowley, his eyes never leaving the bowl. “Does this look right?”
Crowley shrugged. “Dunno. Taste it,” he suggested.
Aziraphale began shifting through the rarely-used drawers of the kitchen, mumbling something unintelligible about finding a spoon.
“‘S no fun, Angel.”
Aziraphale watched with surprised horror as Crowley dipped a finger into the bowl, his tongue darting from his mouth to lick it off.
“Good. Very good. ‘M not usually one for food, but that is quite good, Angel.”
Aziraphale’s jaw dropped open in utter shock. “But you– That’s not– I can’t believe– Manners, Crowley! You can’t just–”
“Relax, Angel. It’s just the two of us here,” the demon reassured him, gesturing around to the otherwise empty bookshop.
“Well yes, but Crowley–”
“Try some.”
“I cannot– No, I will not just–”
Aziraphale stopped abruptly as Crowley deposited a relatively large dollop of whipped cream directly onto the tip of his nose. The angel attempted to glare at Crowley, but the blush rising on his cheeks contradicted the angel’s biting stare.
Crowley shrugged, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Aziraphale attempted—and subsequently failed—to grimace at the demon.
Ever so gracefully, the angel wiped some—but not all, to Crowley’s delight—of the cream from the tip of his nose, delicately licking it from his finger.
Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. “Mmm, that is quite scrumptious, dear!”
“Told you,” Crowley grinned.
Aziraphale briefly narrowed his eyes at the demon before he resumed wiping away the remainder of the whipped cream from his face.
“Ah, dear boy, would you pass me that spatula please?” the angel asked, gesturing at the counter behind Crowley.
“‘Course. Best get going before the crepes get cold anywa–”
As the demon turned back around, spatula in hand, he was greeted not-so-kindly with a rather large face full of whipped cream.
“Angel?!” Crowley squawked, wiping the cream from his eyes.
“Oops,” the angel said innocently, giving a small shrug to the demon.
Crowley narrowed his eyes.
Aziraphale fixed the demon with his best ‘I’m innocent please forgive me’ puppy dog eyes. “Perhaps I did get a tad carried away there. My apologies dear.”
And who was Crowley to not accept that apology?
“Eh, ‘s okay, Angel.” Crowley accepted the proffered apology towel from Aziraphale and wiped away the copious amount of cream from his face, licking some more from his fingers as he went.
“S’pose I deserved that,” Crowley mumbled. “Being a demon and all.”
“Oh, dear, no,” Aziraphale exclaimed, taking a tentative step towards the demon. He reached out a hesitant hand towards Crowley and retracted it just as quickly.
“Does taste quite delicious though,” the demon commented.
“No,” Aziraphale repeated firmly, fist clenched at his side.
“No?” Crowley questioned.
“No. Crowley, you are– Good. You–”
“Ngk. Don’t say that, Angel,” the demon grimaced.
“It doesn’t matter anymore Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted. “Hell wouldn’t dare come after either of us, nor would Heaven. Not now. Certainly not after that whole body-swapping business we pulled.”
“‘S not that, Angel,” Crowley groaned. “I’m a demon,” he repeated, as though that would simply explain everything.
“Crowley, I hardly think–”
Crowley gestured vaguely at the bowl of remaining whipped cream and then to the soiled towel. “This– It’s what we do.”
“Not you, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted without missing a beat.
Crowley’s eyes widened as a sobering silence fell over the entire bookshop.
“Not you,” the angel repeated softly, eyes tentatively meeting Crowley’s.
“But I’m–”
“Not a demon. Not really. Not anymore, I mean. Just as much as I’m no longer an angel.”
“Oh, Aziraphale. Of course you’re still an angel. Never going to not be an angel, Angel.”
“Well yes, I suppose that may be true, but our side, Crowley. No good and evil. Just us. You and me.”
“You and me?” Crowley repeated stupidly.
“You and me. And you are good, Crowley. You are a good person—well demon, but you know—and you’re good to me, Crowley. Perhaps that’s why I–” Aziraphale froze mid-sentence, his eyes adopting a rather disturbingly accurate deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression.
“You…”
“I–”Aziraphale drew out the single syllable as he spoke it.
Crowley raised his brows, his mouth opened in shock at the rather abrupt turn the conversation had taken.
Aziraphale let out a huff. “I suppose I might as well tell you. What’s the worst that could happen anyhow: I discorporate?” he added mostly to himself with a titter. “Crowley, dear, I– Well I suppose I– You truly are good, and– Not an easy thing to say after all, is it?” The angel let out a nervous chuckle before taking a deep breath.
Crowley didn’t dare speak—not that he was able to form any coherent words—or thoughts for that matter—anyhow.
“Damn it,” the angel cursed silently under his breath and Crowley quirked a brow in surprise. “I’m an angel, we’re meant to be beings of love, for Someone’s sake.”
Crowley had heard all of this angelic monologue, yet he gave no indication of the sort, awfully sure that he was not meant to hear it in the first place.
“Crowley.” Aziraphale turned to the demon and caught his eye. “You think you’re bad, pure evil. But that’s not how I see you. That’s never been how I’ve seen you. Not since the day we met in that garden. And I know you, dear. Over six-thousand years,” the angel reminded him. “And well, I– I care about you a great deal, Crowley. I harbour a large amount of affection towards you. After much, much thought and some very careful consideration, well– I do believe that I’m in love with you, Crowley.”
The room went deafeningly silent. Or was it already silent? Crowley couldn’t remember. He couldn’t do much of anything at the moment. He was, what one might call stunned.
Crowley blinked once. Twice. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Took a breath—when had he stopped breathing?
“Y– y– you– ngh,” was all that came out.
Aziraphale waited patiently while Crowley blinked exactly three more times, understanding that the demon needed some time to process. Dropping something of the sort on your best friend of six-thousand years would tend to have such an effect, the angel assumed.
“It’s true, Crowley. I do love you. Very much,” Aziraphale assured him, because it seemed as though the demon could use some reassuring.
“A– Angel?–”
“Yes, dear.” Whether it was yet another confirmation of love or a simple response to Crowley’s stuttered question, neither quite knew.
Aziraphale reached out, well aware that Crowley still needed time to process, and tentatively picked up the demon’s hands in his own. Crowley blinked at the sight of their hands before meeting the angel’s eyes.
“Azira– Aziraphale,” Crowley croaked. “I– I love you too.”
The words came out in a rush as the demon latched onto the angel, snaking his arms tightly around him and burying his face into his neck.
“Always have,” he murmured softly against the angel’s skin.
“Oh, Crowley dear.” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around the demon’s waist and held him close.
He only pulled back briefly to comment, “what a couple of idiots we are,” with a small laugh that Crowley had heard a million times before, yet this one somehow felt so different, held so much more meaning to it.
They stayed in their embrace for awhile—it could’ve been mere minutes or days, but it didn’t matter—before Aziraphale reluctantly stepped back, but not before he pressed a gentle kiss to Crowley’s cheek, causing the demon to turn a rather adorable shade of pink.
“Crepes!” the angel announced, his eyes alight with a new sort of fervor.
Crowley blinked once before responding in like. “Crepes! Oh yes the crepes! I’d nearly forgotten, Angel. The crepes! Yes, let’s–” he gestured towards their mess on the counter, where the miraculously now full again bowl of whipped cream rested along with the crepes, which were, by some miracle still warm as though they had just come out of the pan.
“Well, I suppose all we have left is to put them together,” Aziraphale noted.
Crowley snapped his fingers and a selection of fillings appeared across the counter, including the bowl of whipped cream they had made, the juiciest, reddest strawberries either of them had ever seen, and the finest green pears from California–freshly picked, of course.
“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale blushed and then set to work on assembling the crepes while Crowley watched fondly.
“Done,” the angel announced, holding out a tray filled with his creations towards the demon.
“Beautiful, Angel. Let’s eat.”
They brought the sweet treats into the sitting room and placed them on the coffee table before taking a seat next to one another on the sofa.
“Which one are you going to try first?” Crowley asked, eyeing all of the combinations Aziraphale had concocted.
The angel looked, for all the world, as though he were about to make the most important decision of his life—perhaps he was, in some way. After far more hymming and hawing than was strictly necessary, he selected a crepe that he’d put a little bit of everything into, depositing it onto his plate and picking up his knife and fork to cut into the sweet dessert. Crowley watched, waiting for the angel’s reaction with nothing short of rapt fascination.
It only took one bite before Aziraphale was in utter bliss.
He let out a decidedly satisfied sigh. “Delicious. Positively scrumptious,” he declared.
“That good, eh Angel?”
“Better.”
Aziraphale cut another piece from the crepe and held the fork out towards Crowley, who stared back at it stupidly.
“You really must try some, dear.”
“Thanks, Angel, but I don’t really–”
“Please ? I know you don’t normally eat anything, but I thought– Well I– It seems rather silly now.”
“Angel?” the demon prompted.
“I just– Thought you might like it. Especially since we made it together.”
Without any further prompting required, Crowley leaned forward and ate the proffered piece of crepe.
“Mmm,” he said, followed by an even louder, more enthusiastic, “Mmm!”
Aziraphale beamed.
“Well Angel, I have to admit, I’m not one for food, but that is quite good.”
“Oh, it is, isn’t it?” Aziraphale agreed with delight.
“Quite good indeed.”
Between the whole of them (but mostly Aziraphale) they polished off all of the crepes, in collective agreement that the ones with a little bit of everything in them had been the best. When they were done eating, Crowley miracled the dishes clean and back to their rightful places inside the cupboards of Aziraphale’s kitchen.
“Thank you, dear.”
Crowley got the sense that the angel was thanking him for a little more than just cleaning up.
“Anytime, Angel,” he said, and he meant it.
“Really, though. Thank you for– Everything. It’s been so lonely here with the bookshop being closed and all.”
“Mm,” Crowley agreed. “Been lonely at mine, too.”
“I’m sure.” Aziraphale looked anywhere but at Crowley’s eyes.
“I don’t suppose–”
“Say, did you want–”
They said in unison.
“Sorry, Angel, what was that?”
“Oh no, you go ahead dear.”
“No, please, I insist Angel.”
“Oh. Right. Well, I suppose I was just wondering if you might possibly want to– I don’t know. Just to pass the time and such– Stay?”
Crowley smiled a rare, genuine smile. “Course. I’d love to.”
“Really? Oh, well that’s just fantastic. Brilliant, really. Excellent! What did you want to do first? More baking? Reading? Oh how about napping? I know you love to nap!”
Crowley chuckled at the angel’s blistering enthusiasm. “There’s only one bed, Angel,” he reminded him, gesturing down the hallway to Aziraphale’s rarely used bedroom.
“Oh dear, whatever shall we do,” Aziraphale remarked, a hint of sarcasm laced in his voice.
Crowley smirked as his angel took him by the arm and lead him down the barely used hallway.
He hoped it would become more well used now.