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Crowley was avoiding him. The demon was a lot of things: clever (though maybe lacking a bit in foresight), resilient, and kind (Aziraphale could think this, quietly to himself). What Crowley wasn’t was sneaky or subtle. That didn’t matter much, though, since he had simply become absent. Absence lacked a certain amount of suspicion, what with its lack of behavioral clues.
Crowley was permitted to be absent if he so chose, of course. So far as they both knew, no one was keeping tabs on them anymore. They were free agents on their own side now. And they had gone years, decades, even centuries without speaking before. But… well, they had been pretty inseparable in the few months since the near-apocalypse.
The chill of February had crept its way from the streets outside and into the back of the bookshop where Aziraphale sat with two glasses of wine, alone. He sipped from his glass as he waited. The book in his lap was long forgotten. Crowley would let him know if something had gone awry, wouldn’t he? Only, maybe he couldn’t? Maybe he didn’t have the time. Maybe hell or heaven (or both- two sides of the same coin, as they were) had come for him first.
Aziraphale shook himself. He would know. He would know if something happened to Crowley. He continued to stare into his wine for a while longer, his anxious mind providing him with images of the twisted things that could happen to either one of them before shaking himself again. Setting the glass down beside its kin, he picked up the book and began rereading what he couldn’t seem to focus on before. He would simply do what he had always done in Crowley’s absences (and often in his presence; but that was different): he would get lost in a story or two. Swept away to other worlds to forget this one and its ethereal entanglements.
It was that precise moment, of course, that the front door of the shop creaked open and shut. There was some shuffling in the foyer. Aziraphale listened to the familiar movements of Crowley removing his jackets and scarves. He felt the temperature drop as cold air from the street made its way into the shop, putting the drafts to shame.
He did not look up from his book.
Footsteps made their way through the shelves of books and ahead of them drifted something else… an unfamiliar smell. It didn’t entirely overtake the natural smell of Crowley- Aziraphale had long since made peace with the fact that yes, he knew what Crowley smelled like, too- but it did its best and nearly succeeded.
What begged the question was: what was that smell? It had notes of chocolate and florals, cloves and leather, citrus and something salty. There were too many conflicting notes and they burned through Aziraphale’s nose and tickled his brain. Unpleasantly.
Still, he kept his eyes on his book even as Crowley entered the room and collapsed on the sofa beside him with an undignified, if familiar, noise. Aziraphale turned the page pointedly in the quiet room. Crowley smelled a bit smoky, too? Not the sulfur smell that always clung to the demon after trips down below. More like a dying campfire.
Crowley picked up the wine glass left for him and sipped it, acting as though nearly two weeks hadn’t gone by since the last time he’d been there. Two weeks of wine untouched. By rights, Aziraphale thought, I should have left the same glass there all this time. Book dust in his wine would have served him right. Surely he could have rung in the time he was gone. Was that vanilla?
“Didn’t miss me, then?” Crowley drawled, his arm somehow stretched across the back of the sofa though Aziraphale could not recall him putting it there.
“You were gone? I suppose I got lost in a story. Welcome back, dear,” Aziraphale wanted to look at him. Really he did. He had missed Crowley’s face. But that bit of a bastard in him twisted. He could have dropped a note. He had scarcely gone a day without stopping by the bookshop. Heaven knows, sometimes he stayed over for days. Aziraphale had become accustomed to his gentle breathing beside him as he read. His snorts and snores were endearing, even if they were distracting. The book shop had felt more quiet and lonely than it ever had, even with all the lives and voices it contained. The most vibrant character had been absent.
Was that… strawberries and fresh cut grass? Honestly, Aziraphale was starting to feel a headache coming on.
“Sooooooo, you’re mad.”
“Am I?” Aziraphale tried breathing through his mouth, but he swore the air tasted like artificial watermelon essence and that made it even worse.
“Yep, you are. You get this pinch between your eyebrows and your nose crinkles when you’re aggravated.” Crowley had scooted closer to him on the sofa. Chamomile and roses, yes whatever this was it was definitely floral.
Aziraphale sighed and looked up from his book when he felt Crowley’s arm wrap around him. Crowley smiled sheepishly at him, his glasses abandoned by his wine glass on the table.
“Hey, there you are! I have a present for you,” Crowley squeezed him. His eyes were crinkled at the edges. Aziraphale had missed all the tiny details of his face. He felt himself leaning towards the demon, drawn like a magnet. But then… lavender and oak?
“Crowley,” Aziraphale started and paused, trying not to pull away suddenly and frighten him, “I don’t like your new cologne.”
“My col- oh. Oh for hell’s sake!” Crowley’s face billboarded first confusion then comprehension then chagrin.
“I know I can’t just tell you not to wear something you like,” Aziraphale went on, twisting his fingers together in his lap, “I mean, perhaps if you told me what it’s meant to smell like, I can learn to get used to it.”
“No, I… Well, I… Aziraphale do you know what day it is today?”
“February 14.”
“And the humans dedicate this day to a particular holiday…” Crowley was reaching into his pocket now and, impossibly, removed a small vial of golden liquid.
“Holiday…” Aziraphale shot a glance at the vial, hoping it didn’t contain more of this cacophony of scents. And, if it did, that Crowley wouldn’t drop it in here.
“I thought… I thought you might like to be my Valentine?” Crowley started off strong, for him- there were whole words instead of strings of consonants, but in the end it was a question.
“Well, that’s very sweet… isn’t it?” The combination of the lemon and the rose scents were beginning to make Aziraphale’s eyes water.
“I thought it was, but if you’re not interested that’s okay,” Clearly it wasn’t okay because Crowley was up and across the room in a second, stuffing the vial back in his pocket. Aziraphale could see the tiny pooch it made in the fabric now, through his watery eyes, “too quick, I get it. Too soon for personal holiday gifts.”
“Crowley.”
Crowley didn’t turn back. He made his way to the doorway, his glasses somehow back on his face even though Aziraphale was certain he hadn’t picked them up in his haste to get away from the sofa.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale stood and dumped his book on the sofa, striding over to him and hugging him from behind.
“Oh!?” Crowly squeaked in surprise, freezing in place, “um, hi Angel?”
“I think it’s sweet that you get me a present,” Aziraphale nuzzled the side of his neck, choosing to simply not breathe for now.
“M’not sweet,” Crowley mumbled, a shiver traveling from his neck to his toes. It wasn’t missed by the Angel, who smiled against his ear.
“Uh huh, I know,” Aziraphale tickled the lobe of Crowley’s ear with his nose, “But my real question is… what is it meant to smell like, my dear?”
“Meant to? Smell? It’s called Gingham. Would you like to try it on?”
“Hmm, well…” Aziraphale tried to think of a way to put this delicately, it really was a moving gesture of a gift, “is it what you’re wearing?”
“What I’m wearing?” Crowley turned made to turn in his arms and Aziraphale let him, but kept hold of him just the same. He missed the regular old Crowley smell now that he wasn’t breathing, but it wasn’t worth the risk.
“Dear, you smell like an entire outdoor bazaar.”
“Oh.”
“It’s still a very kind gift. It’s the thought that counts!”
“No, no,” Crowley’s face journeyed from bemused to horrified and finally settled on amusement, “Angel, I smell like the whole cologne shop.”
“I’d say.”
“Because I tried them all.”
“All?”
“Well, I had a hard time choosing!”
“You tried…” Aziraphale snorted a laugh, “you tried ALL of them? On yourself?”
“Seemed like an okay idea at the time…”
“And then you came straight here,” Aziraphale squeeze him around the middle.
“Not exactly…”
Aziraphale stared at him and waited for the last shoe to drop.
“I’ve been trying out every shop for over a week.”
“Every item…”
Crowley nodded.
“In multiple shops?”
Crowley nodded again, pink starting to travel up his neck and into his ears.
“So you’ve been walking around, gathering this… amalgam of scents for over a week?”
“Laugh it up, I’m going to go use your shower.”
“Oh the poor humans…”
“Stop, now.”
“You’ve,” Aziraphale was really laughing now, “you’ve been accosting them all week, you wicked wicked demon!”
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Crowley struggled to pull away, but not with any real strength.
“You’re welcome to a shower, my dear,” Aziraphale smiled at him with a sweetness that had a saucy edge, “but there’s a catch.”
“Yeah?”
“Hmm, I think you’ll need my help to ensure you don’t miss a spot.”