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Crowley had disappeared into the back room, while Aziraphale dusted the bookshop. It was closed, as usual (well, it was Tuesday after all). Hanging up the duster, the angel wandered into the back room to find the demon sprawled on the couch, boots off and feet up with a book open on his lap.
“Crowley! I’m surprised at you. A book really?” Actually, he was thrilled.* It was a lovely sight.
The demon almost dropped the thick book, which would have been a shame as it was a first edition. “I got bored waiting for you, angel. Found this laying on the table. It’s... good.” Crowley dropped his shades with one hand and held up the first edition Conan Doyle with the other for Aziraphale’s inspection.
Aziraphale felt woozy watching the demon hold a first edition without white gloves. “Cover your hands, please! Really, after all this time I would have thought I’d have rubbed off on you!” He grabbed a pair, marched to the couch and thrust them into Crowley’s face.
“Oy! I’d have thought you’d be happy to see me reading at all.” Instead of taking the gloves, he shoved the book into Aziraphale’s chest. He noted the hurt expression on his angel’s face as he turned to put the book back on the table. Crowley had been enjoying the book. After all, bloody scrawl had just been found on a wall and wasn’t that always fun?** But he was hurt too, dammit! After all, here he was reading! Of all the bloody things he could have been doing, he’d chosen one of his angel’s favorites.
They stayed silent what seemed like an hour, but was more like five minutes in reality. Finally, Aziraphale spoke first from his seat at the table, with his back to his friend. “I... I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s only just come in and I was excited to see you reading it and I just got carried away. I’m…I’m sorry.” He dropped his shoulders but did not turn around.
Crowley sat up on the old couch, swinging his stocking feet to the floor. Now he felt dreadful. “How can I make it up to you, angel?” He fully removed his sunglasses, hanging them on his shirt.
A blush crossed Aziraphale’s face, as it always did when Crowley called him angel. He pushed it down, before turning his chair around. “Really?” He asked brightly.
“Really. Whatever you want to do. Wherever you want to go.”
“Well, I do have a fun idea. I’ll be right back!” He hopped out of his chair and rushed up the back stairs to his rooms. Crowley heard the floorboards creaking overhead as Aziraphale moved about. His friend returned with an odd sort of cape around his neck and a box with a smiling blond man on it.
“We need to work on your idea of what constitutes fun, angel.” Crowley sighed, rolling up his sleeves. “I don’t know why you insist on doing it this way when you can just miracle it blonde?”*** He really wasn’t mad at all. Any excuse to put his hands on his angel. One day… maybe it would be more than just the hair on his head. A demon could dream.
And Aziraphale liked the idea of the demon touching him, and didn’t know how to tell him so… even after 6,000 years. So, he had found a workaround. “You mean like the French Revolution? As I recall that was not a ‘fun’. In fact it went over like a lead balloon.”***
“As I recall, I saved your ass, angel. But those crepes were delightful.” He took the box as Aziraphale sat down on the chair. All rare items miraculously now out of the way of any wayward hair dye.
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*It was known the demon did not read. Not one book.
**To most demons -- yes, but to humans -- generally not. Thankfully, this was a work of fiction and therefore all was well. Really.
***In fact, it didn’t need to be done at all. He was an angel after all.
****Who would want a lead balloon anyway it’s not like they’d be any kind of fu—. Oh right, never mind.