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“Crowley!” Aziraphale called, pushing open the door of the bookshop with a tinkle of the bell. He hefted the paper bags in his arms and set them down on the nearest table.
“My dear, there’s a new bakery that’s just opened up not two streets away,” he said cheerfully, hanging his coat and scarf. “Run by a lovely young couple who just moved here from Sussex, if you would believe it, though they say they’re adjusting to city life wonderfully well. I asked --”
Aziraphale stopped short and looked around. Crowley hadn’t greeted him. Crowley wasn’t even in the room at all. Only a few short hours ago, he’d been sitting on the front counter playing a game of some sort on his mobile, only pausing to give Aziraphale a goodbye kiss before he left. Now the only evidence that Crowley had been there at all was his mug of cocoa on the desk, now cold and congealed.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale called again, a trifle more warily. He probed the area for supernatural traces and found nothing out of the ordinary, but didn’t allow himself to relax just yet. Now that he thought of it, Dorian hadn’t come to the front door to greet him, either; Crowley was still adjusting to the cat’s presence, but he certainly wouldn’t allow Dorian to escape outside or get stuck somewhere in the shop. Aziraphale eyed the hallway that led to both the kitchen and the back room. Worst case scenario, he had a wickedly sharp serrated sandwich knife in the drying rack. Hardly a flaming sword, but it would do for his purposes.
He edged down the hallway in the direction of the kitchen, but a movement from the back room redirected his attention. A shape appeared to be huddled on the settee, and Aziraphale quickly discovered, to his relief, that it was only Crowley, snoozing soundly away beneath a knitted blanket. Headphones covered his ears, which explained why he hadn’t heard Aziraphale return.
Crowley was not alone on the couch, however. Dorian lifted his head and looked over inquisitively as Aziraphale approached, but otherwise didn’t move from his established seat atop Crowley’s stomach. Aziraphale laughed softly and ruffled Dorian’s ears, careful not to awaken the demon.
“Keeping him warm, are we?”
Dorian shook Aziraphale off and sprawled out even more across Crowley’s torso, as if to say yes, and I am taking my job very seriously, so kindly cease from interrupting me.
“‘Just tolerating the beast’, indeed.” Aziraphale shook his head fondly and took out his phone. Crowley had taught him how to take photographs with it shortly after the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, and Aziraphale put this skill to good use over the next few minutes.
(Later, Crowley would roll his eyes when Aziraphale showed him, muttering about cat hair all over his trouser-legs and paws digging into his ribs. Despite these complaints, Aziraphale, with a knowing smile, didn’t fail to notice that Crowley had a brand new lockscreen wallpaper on his phone the following morning.)