Work Text:
Aziraphale’s eyes shot open as you shifted in your sleep, releasing him from your embrace in favour of turning over and taking the covers with you. He turned his head and smiled, watching you breathing ever so peacefully. His hand felt out for his pocket watch on the bedside table, and upon realising the time he swung his legs out of the bed and crept out of your bedroom.
Walking across the small hallway in your cosy London 2-bedroom flat, he pushed the door to your home office open. Your home office was actually a tiny second bedroom but when Aziraphale had started spending the night more and more often you had just managed to squeeze in a second desk against the wall parallel to where you desk sat, and it held a stack of books he had brought from his bookshop and some writing supplies. Your desk held your work laptop, a notebook with scribbles that meant everything to you but might as well have been a foreign language to anyone else. You told Aziraphale he really didn’t have to sit in there and keep you company while you were at work, but he enjoyed doing so and wouldn’t take no for answer. Instead he’d appear to be nose first into a book but actually listening to you on your work calls, he didn’t understand the technical lingo you used (no matter how many time you poorly tried to explain what it was you did) but he loved catching you out of the corner of his eye passionately talking with your hands and stopping mid-sentence to scrawl whatever you had said down for later.
Using the fountain pen that you had bought him one day, simply because you had seen it and thought of him, he wrote you a note. The note was left on his pillow, and with one last check that you weren’t awake, he pulled on his coat and shoes and left.
Twenty or so minutes later, you stirred from your slumber. Once you realised you had turned over in your sleep, and after extending your arm to nothing but empty space you slowly pushed yourself up. Wiping the sleep from your eyes you grabbed your glasses and pushed them up your nose, noticing the note in the place of your boyfriend. Your name was beautifully scribed on an envelope, that when you turned over you found was sealed with a wax stamp. You chuckled to yourself before carefully opening the letter. Aziraphale did nothing in halves.
Good morning (Y/N)
I do hope I didn’t disturb you. I wanted to get us some breakfast so have popped out while you were still sleeping. I’ll be back before you know it.
Yours,
Aziraphale
A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you held the note to your chest. Carefully placing it back into the envelope and then placing it in your drawer, you took a drink from the water on your bedside table (still cold despite being there since last night, which was something of a miracle) and got out of bed.
The slightest of headaches made itself known once you stood up. You and Aziraphale had gone out for a spot of dinner last night and must have finished off well over a bottle of wine between you. You had gotten a bonus at work and insisted on taking Aziraphale out as a treat. Despite his protests that it should be him taking you out as congratulations, you were stubborn and had eventually decided on one of your favourite restaurants to go to together. It wasn’t the fanciest of places, you knew he had a taste for the finer things, but it never really felt like your scene. You had worn your best jeans and a nice top, the British staple of a night out. Just before you had left last night you had been sitting on the sofa putting on your heels, when Aziraphale rushed over and insisted that you didn’t need to wear those and wouldn’t you be much more comfortable in your favourite pair of Vans, flustered by the thought of the last time you had worn heels out and he had to miracle your ankle back to full health. After a pout from you, you wanted to look nice for him, he told you “you are already the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, there is nothing you could do to change that for better or worse”, you slipped into your staple (and more importantly flat) shoes with a rosier colour on your cheeks than the blush you had used. You had been grateful of your choice of shoe when you walked home with a slight stumble, arm in Aziraphale’s.
Smiling to yourself you walked into the kitchen to find your angel carefully decanting pastries from a brown paper bag, setting them on plates beside two takeaway coffee cups. Usually he was the quiet one, so you took the rare opportunity to sneak behind him and wrap your arms around him.
“Oh! Did I wake you?”
“No of course not,” you said, face buried into the back of his coat. You felt him turn so you lifted your head to see a beaming Aziraphale as he wrapped his arms around you to reciprocate the hug.
“How did you sleep my dear?” he asked, reluctantly pulling away to finish plating up the pain au chocolats and croissants.
You inhaled happily, taking in the smell that was making your kitchen feel like a bakery. “Like a log. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to,” he smiled. “Now sit yourself down and I’ll bring this over.”
You did as you were told and watched in awe as the angel wiggled over to you with a plate and a coffee, describing what it was as it was placed delicately in front of you.
“You are wonderful, Aziraphale,” you chuckled as he went back over to the bench to get his own breakfast. You took a bite of the pastry; it was buttery and quite honestly heavenly but that didn’t surprise you. Aziraphale knew all of the best hidden gems in London.
“Don’t be silly,” he said with a blush as he sat down opposite you. “I had a good night last night.”
“Me too,” you said. You noticed your Vans skewed on the floor next to the door and the brown dress shoes placed perfectly next to them, and the tan coat hung up next to your leather jacket you had worn last night and laughed again. “We must look like such a sight when we go out.”
“Whatever do you mean?” he chirped innocently, a smile creasing the corners of his eyes as he couldn’t help but laugh at you laughing.
“I mean my boyfriend being much more stylish than I ever look,” you giggled, but you meant it. A warmth rose on Aziraphale’s cheeks and he reached out his hand to yours, giving it a loving squeeze.
“Now you really are just flattering me,” he said. “Your coffee will go cold.” He always made sure your coffee never went cold, no matter how long it sat.
There was a comfortable silence as you both ate and sipped at your lattes, Aziraphale reading the newspaper you assumed he had picked up on the bus and you scrolled mindlessly through your phone to catch up on what your friends had been up to last night.
You found yourself sneaking glances at Aziraphale, at the flake of pastry at the corner of his mouth as he looked so deep in thought at whatever he was reading. He always looked so peaceful when he was reading, no matter what it was. You let out a small, content sigh.
He was warm, and soft. He was Sunday mornings like this. He was…
“Penny for your thoughts?” he interrupted your train of thought. You raised an eyebrow at him. “Your aura is positively glowing,” he continued with a small smile. You always forgot he could feel love.
“I was thinking about you,” you said, a little embarrassed even though you had no reason to be. “And how you feel like… well, you feel like home.”
Aziraphale let out a small gasp, and before you could even really register what you had said you noticed a tear running down his cheeks.
“Oh!” You panicked, getting up and moving your chair closer to him. “I’m sor-“
“There is nothing to be sorry for, my dear” he spoke softly, with a small chuckle. You wiped away the tear but left your hand cupping his face. He put one hand over yours and took it in his lap. “Nobody has ever said such a lovely thing to me.”
“I love you, Aziraphale.”
“I love you, (Y/N)," he said, before leaning in to plant a kiss on your lips.