Chapter Text
‘No I am not. Tired.’
Crowley looked very sceptical of this. Aziraphale yawned.
‘You don’t even need sleep and you’re yawning. At this point you’re just asking for an excuse to stay over..again.'
Crowley was expecting the angel to quip back with some half serious retort like they always did, but when he didn’t hear anything back, he turned around to see Aziraphale looking sheepishly at the TV. Something in his eyes softened and they turned back to the kitchen counter countertop to take another bite of one of the baked goods the angel had brought over for their weekly movie night.
The two of them usually had some sort of candy, but the angel had found a new recipe for strawberry croissants in a magazine he'd see Madame Tracy read, and was extremely excited to try it out.Crowley couldn’t possibly deny him.
She took a bite out of one of the fluffiest croissants they’d ever laid eyes on and almost sauntered vaguely upwards again. It was truly one of the best things he’d ever eaten. Which was honestly giving the pastry way to little credit, considering Crowley didn’t need to eat, and only ever did so because Aziraphale loved making food for them whenever he had the time to.
They thoroughly enjoyed most of the angels baking but this was just magnificent. Scrumptious, if you will.
He couldn’t admit this infront of his coworkers of course, if they saw him eat something sweet (or eat in general, because that was obviously only something mortal beings needed to do) they would probably have the demon equivalent of a nervous breakdown (picture any type of reptile being sprayed with holy water (or regular water incase said pictured reptile happens not to be demonic)). Once, they caught Crowley eating an icecream sandwich (which Aziraphale had made, ofcourse), and to make up for the otherwise obviously very serious offence, she’d had to say she stole it from a very tiny, very innocent (actually completely made up) child.
Yes, the croissants were truly magnificent, as well as extremely beautifully presented. There were small stripes of of light pink in the dough to match the strawberry jam filling, and they were all topped with confection sugar and exactly one small pink flower each. Crowley grabbed another one for Aziraphale and made his way back to the cosy sofa in Crowley's TV room. The angel had a habit of making a rather poor estimate of how many baked goods one angel and one demon consumed on a regular basis, so whenever she made too many croissants, as they did today, they would miracle them into the lunch boxes of children, or the kitchen cabinets of lonely adults. Crowley pretended to be mad about this, but ultimately could never really be mad at the angel. Also, once while them and Aziraphale were grocery shopping (they accompanied Aziraphale to buy their baking ingredients sometimes) the angel had helped him avoid an elderly lady who was very furious that Crowley ‘DARED, stepping foot into a grocery shop looking like THAT.’ (mind you, this was in the late 80s, where most older (mortal) people were intolerant of goths, not to mention demons, some even regarding them as basically the same thing, which offended both parties.) Aziraphale had distracted the lady by offering her a generous sample of an apple pie he’d made a few days earlier, disguised as a saleswoman from the store. She had asked to see ‘The nice, queer looking woman with that delightful apple pie’ many times afterwards. All the employees were consistantly confused by this.
Crowley handed the croissant over to Aziraphale, and they smiled as they took a bite, their wings wavering happily with it. A small tinkling bell sort of motion.
‘I love it when your wings do that.’
‘Do what?’
‘You know the-’ Crowley gestured vaguely with his hands. ‘The little flappy thing.’
‘The little flappy thing?’
‘Mhm.’
Aziraphale shook his head lightly, as if he had no clue what Crowley could possibly talking about, and took another bite of their croissant.
‘See! You did the thing again. It’s great. Love it.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Sure you don’t,’
Aziraphales wings ‘did the thing again’. Crowley smiled.
‘Reminds me of 1850.’
‘What?’
‘1850. The year.’
‘You were asleep during the nineteenth century, if you’d care to remember. Or I mean, you woke up once but-’
‘Twice. I actually woke up twice. Not that you’d remember it, you were too busy petting my wings. Which was fine, by the way. I didn’t- .. I don’t.. Mind.’
Aziraphale broke their eye contact with Crowley bashfully.
‘Well. I’m glad you enjoyed it. It was very.. Stress relieving. For me.’
Crowley finished the last piece of their pastry and leaned into the angels side, continuing to watch the movie that was currently playing (a late 1950s adaptions of Dracula, a compromise between the both of them). Crowley put one of their wings around Aziraphale, their right wing being comfortably wrapped around Aziraphale now, the end of their wing being right infront of Aziraphale. It looked so soft. Fluffy, in a way. It was like resisting the urge to pet a kitten that had been placed directly in your lap. Aziraphale loved cats. And Crowley. Crowley reached his wing out reassuringly. Aziraphale hesitated.
‘You’re alright, Angel.’
Crowley spoke into the angels neck. He sounded so..so incredibly gentle. They put their lightly on the soft black feathers of Crowleys wings, petting them in the same manner you would a cat. Crowley leaned into the angels side a bit more. Azi smiled.