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It was a rainy October day; one not unlike you would see at such a time in London. The leaves were falling and turning those bright colours they do, but the hustle and bustle of the city carried on even after the Apocawasn’t mere months earlier. Aziraphale was now staying at Crowley’s (the still wily-as-ever demon Aziraphale would report to no one in particular) flat more often than before, and though he loved to be the first to see Crowley in the morning and the last at night, the long hours in between which Crowley liked to fill with sleep seemed wasteful when not at his bookshop, nose deep in the new stock. He had tried bringing a few over, but he read much too fast and didn’t see the practicality in lugging half his book shop to Crowley’s when it had a perfectly good place, already neat and organized there. Besides, the atmosphere just wasn’t the same; mind you it had taken him a few hundred years to get the bookshop set up just right. On one of said sleepover nights, Aziraphale was expressing his concerns to Crowley when the demon, not wanting the angel to become perturbed, made a suggestion.
Crowley only once before saw Aziraphale perturbed on a stint back in the Fourteenth century. The poor angel was nerves all the time; picking things up and putting them down where they shouldn’t go, wringing his hands, pacing across countries with Crowley hoofing behind, desperately trying to console him between a few minor tempts. He lost his best pair of shoes to that. Well that, and also that the angel was so inconsolably anxious he could perform neither miracles nor temptations -- for the Agreement only, of course -- leaving Crowley to do both for nearly a decade.
Not wanting a continuation of the Fourteenth century (for that and many more reasons), Crowley suggested an idea.
“A hobby? Why would you think I need a hobby? I have my books and that’s hobby enough if you ask me,” Aziraphale reminded the demon, feeling a little sensitive after being accused of having little to no life outside books and Crowley.
“Well, I’m just saying angel, we’ve seen how well your bringing your books here has turned out and I’m just wondering if you can’t get into something more… portable? Look, I don’t know, you said you were getting bored at night and you certainly don’t like the tv. Maybe if you got one of those smartphones…?”
“Absolutely not, you know I abhor those things. Making people very unsociable, and their poor necks, they must hurt!”
“Alright, alright, but you do still need something to do.”
“Yes, I suppose I do,” the angel conceded. Taking a moment to think his eyes suddenly lit up, “Perhaps we could both begin a hobby!” Crowley rolled his slit eyes, “Oh yes my dear, wouldn’t that be splendid? We could learn together and--”
“No way angel, I am not doing that. I’ve already got my plants and--”
“Oh but please Crowley, it would be such fun and I wouldn’t feel so alone doing it if I knew you were too--” Crowley sighed, lounging back on his chair with a shrug.
“Mmmf fine. If it means that much to you. If you’re out then I’m out too though.”
The angel’s eyes lit up and a loving smile that seemed to warm the room spread across his face. The demon felt his face slightly flush. Shaking it off, he mumbled some excuse and headed off to bed, leaving Aziraphale to excitedly ponder what sort of hobby he could dive into.
Crowley tossed and turned in his dark, silken sheets throughout the night; his body asleep but mind plummeting through vivid dreams for what felt like all hours of his sleep. He dreamt of his Fall, of the Garden, of Aziraphale. He dreamt of his snake-like form changing from cold-blooded to warm, from scaled to soft, and coiling around Aziraphale to instead cover him from that first storm, protecting him from the water and keeping him warm once shelter was found. After a long night of restlessness, Crowley settled, a soft smile settling across his lips.
Aziraphale did not dream, but instead was bestowed a vision in the late hours of the evening, perhaps due to the ramblings of the television or the darkness of the night. Whichever it was, he was torn from reality and taken back to the night in the church, back in 1941. He saw a bird carved of wood flaming as he first fell in love. He saw the wood crumble into ash behind him as he stood. Crowley embraced him as he began taking the holy wood from the rubble to make a new form. Strips of wood warped and creaked as they hovered before them, covering their bodies and melting into their flesh until he could not tell where the wood ended and they began. A warmth flowed between them and Aziraphale closed his eyes. Upon opening them again, he saw he was back in the quiet flat, the soft hum of the building still permeating the air, and Crowley still sleeping in the other room. Aziraphale too, smiled.