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Their little cottage in the South Downs was, to be quite honest, perfect.
From the brickwork, to the decor, to the garden, it was like their little home sang to them, meeting their every needs.
When they had little tiffs, the doors never slammed (no matter how hard a dramatic being might try). When it was cold outside, the fire warmed them through. And when the first sign of sun came, the garden positively bloomed.
That’s where they were now, the garden. If one didn’t know better, one might have called it wild. Unkempt. Messy.
Thankfully one did know better.
Or so Crowley had thought.
“You can’t make a flower crown with weeds.”
Both Crowley, Pepper and Adam looked up from where they were sat in the grass, making flower crowns for the rest of their little group.
Crowley inspected each of their crowns, then turned back to Wensleydale with a quirk of his brow.
“We’re not using weeds.”
“You are. Father said Dandelions are weeds, and you should always pull them up from the pavement when you see them.”
Pepper scoffed before Crowley could, giving Wendsleydale a look that clearly said his father didn’t know a blessed thing. “Dandelions aren’t weeds. They’re actually used in a lot of natural medicines. If anything, they should be classed as a herb.”
“What are we classing as a herb?” Aziraphale asked, coming from the cozy kitchen with the last member of their group for the day. Somehow Brian had smudged jam on the side of his face, and Crowley knew for a fact they didn’t have any jam, seeing as they’d used the last of his homemade stuff last week, and Aziraphale had refused to use store bought since. (Or miracled. However you wanted to class it.)
Dog trotted after them, clearly interested in the plates of food.
“Dandelions.” Adam answered, already back to finishing his crown.
Crowley stood, sauntering over to Aziraphale and depositing the yellow crown on the angels head, smiling sweetly at him the whole time.
“Dandelions aren’t herbs.” Aziraphale flushed, pulling off the crown so he could inspect the mentioned flowers, and the yellow roses they’d been coupled with. Happy with them, he popped the crown back on. “Dandelions are a flower, because like every other flower, they hold a meaning.”
Adam seemed suddenly interested, looking at the almost halo like crown Crowley had made for Aziraphale. “What’s their meaning, then?”
Aziraphale looked to Crowley expectantly, and the Them followed suit. Flushing from head to toe, Crowley shrugged.
“Something sappy like eternal faithfulness, and the desire to make the receiver happy. I don’t know, you shouldn’t read too much into the language of flowers.”
Aziraphale grin was positively blinding.
The Them ignored the sappy couple, instead discussing what they thought their crowns meant.