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Angels are no strangers to sacrifice. After all, that is one of the main admonitions: be prepared to give up all in order to achieve righteousness. Nothing should get in the way of the Plan, one should never keep what one could give to another.
Similarly, demons are also familiar with sacrifice, but only in the sense that they understood depravity: the homeless mother going without food to feed her children, the adulterous husband leaving a loving family to pursue sexual affection from some barely-legal secretary.
No matter the reason or context, angels and demons knew the concept of giving up something in order to gain something else.
~~
Crowley no longer smoked.
He had never been truly addicted to cigarettes, as demons don't have the same physiological response to nicotine, but he had, over the years, smoked quite a bit. He enjoyed the discomfort it caused others, the glares from snobbish women as the second-hand smoke warnings got popular, and the rebellious feel of being able to perform an action that would put a human at risk with no consequences for himself.
Unfortunately, there were consequences, just not ones he noticed right away.
The wrinkling of that slightly-upturned nose, for one. The nose's bearer hustling him out of the little bookshop, for another. The last straw, however, had been when he witnessed that upsetting sight.
"If you insist on smoking these things, you must at least let me try one." Aziraphale reached over, snatching the pack of cigarettes in Crowley's hands before the demon could vanish them.
"C'mon, angel, you don't even let me smoke in your shop," Crowley protested, reaching for them back.
"No, but perhaps I would if I liked them. Best let me light this one, though. Wouldn't want to inhale Hellfire, would I?"
Before Crowley could protest, Aziraphale had lit the end of the cylinder and placed it into his mouth.
After taking one long breath in, the angel's eyes began to water. He tried to hold in the smoke, to enjoy it as Crowley always appeared to, but he ended up coughing instead, covering his mouth with his sleeve.
Crowley took the cigarette and put it out before the angel could do any damage to his surroundings. "I told you, Aziraphale, you aren't going to like them."
"That was repulsive," Aziraphale choked, wiping at his eyes. "How could you possibly smoke these?"
"Oh, belt up," Crowley sighed, patting the angel's back. With a snap of his fingers, the lingering smoke had disappeared. "You're just not used to them, angel. Too pure."
"I suppose I should try aga--"
"No!" Crowley quickly shook his head. "I don't think they're good for angels. I don't want you to hurt yourself by being an idiot."
From then on, if asked why he'd given up smoking, Crowley would always reply that his brand had been discontinued. Only Aziraphale knew the real reason, but he would never speak it aloud.
He settled for grateful glances and subtle smiles.
He knew Crowley got the message.
~~
Aziraphale no longer read magazines.
He'd been absolutely delighted by the novelty of having literary works delivered straight to his doorstep. He knew that, since these glossy pages were produced so quickly, the findings within could only be taken with a grain of salt, but he still believed that there was a glimmer of truth to be found inside.
He'd poured over the pages of each one, watching how the gossip and fashion changed over the years, until he'd come to a realization.
He, Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, was unattractive.
Sure, a few short decades ago, he would have fit right in with the noble crowd, but the world was changing. Finding consistent meals was no longer a sign of intelligence or bravery, so modern men favored a more triangular appearance; the models in the magazines had broad shoulders and trim waists.
Aziraphale was not that. Aziraphale was soft, comfortable, and decidedly not anything like the young, muscular men in magazines. The Archangel Gabriel might be mistaken for one… Crowley definitely would.
Aziraphale had made up his mind. He would no longer partake in human food or drink, no matter how much he would miss it. If he was to fit in with the humans, surely he should look his best, yes?
After all, vanity was a better substitute for gluttony.
Crowley had other ideas.
"What the Heaven did you do to yourself now?"
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Aziraphale replied, reshelving a stack of books. He stiffened when he felt arms wrap around his waist from behind.
"Are you sick? You look like Hell." Crowley’s voice came soft and low into his ear.
"I'm fine, I'm just… Well, if you must know, I'm on a diet." Aziraphale's glance to a drawer in his sales counter did not go unnoticed by the demon.
Hissing softly and keeping his hand clamped tightly around the angel's, Crowley opened the drawer. With barely a glance at the contents, the magazines erupted in flames that miraculously dissipated as soon as the offending tabloids were reduced to a pile of ash, which quickly had the decency to vanish.
"Humans are stupid, angel. Eat what you want. Might as well spend eternity being happy instead of being stupid, right?"
Aziraphale wasn't sure, but he became increasingly open to the idea the longer Crowley held him.
~~
Crowley no longer kept his hands to himself.
Aziraphale no longer hid his smiles.
Crowley no longer wore his sunglasses in private.
Aziraphale no longer slept alone.
Crowley no longer pined.