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It had been raining all day. Aziraphale had always had a fondness for rain. It made the bookshop seem smaller, cozier. The fact that there were fewer passerby to peer into the bookshop or, God forbid, try to come in definitely helped.
On this particular day, he was sitting at his desk with a cup of tea and writing in his diary. Nothing of note had happened for the past couple of years, but he found himself writing more than ever. He wrote about the macarons he and Crowley had tasted the other day, the nice walk in the park they had had, and their lively discussions and debates.
It was nice. It felt peaceful.
Aziraphale found that he had stopped looking over his shoulder as much, and the time stretched out lazily before him, a breath of fresh air after the constant countdown to the apocalypse.
He finished his sentence, surprised to find the book already filled. He flipped back through it, pausing to look back at sketches that were interspersed here and there. He had taken to drawing people and places, enjoying the art of capturing aspects of them that he loved. The twinkle in an eye, the crease of a smile. A nook by a window in a warm patch of light.
He had drawn Maggie from the record shop from memory the other day, a small profile in the margins of the entry for June 25th, 2023. The bow in her hair had caught his eye; he thought it very Maggie.
An earlier full-page sketch revealed a bookshelf overflowing with titles, a large houseplant perched precariously at the top. Next to it, a soft looking armchair.
The angel closed the diary with a satisfied sigh, taking another sip from his still-warm tea. The rain was coming down harder now, almost drowning out the constant comfort of the tick tick tick coming from the clock. He stood and carried the completed diary upstairs to a private shelf in the back of the spare room he used for memories, diaries and photos from his past 6,000 years of existence.
As he knelt to slide the book into place, the rain got marginally louder from downstairs, then quieted again, and the bell jangled – someone had opened the door to step inside. Loud footsteps, softened by the rug, paced around for a moment before quieting.
Aziraphale felt a happy warmth rush through him. Crowley was the only one who came into the shop nowadays, and Aziraphale felt a strong sense of joy at the idea of the bookshop being considered as a safe space by Crowley. Though he tried to present as laid back, Aziraphale could tell that Crowley was always on the alert, listening for heavenly or hellish threats, even as they lounged on their favourite bench or had a quiet dinner out. That silly demon was always worrying.
Unless he’s in the bookshop, that is, Aziraphale thought with a hint of pride.
Aziraphale miracled an identical empty journal out of thin air and headed back downstairs, a smile forming on his lips. At first he thought Crowley might have gone back to the Bentley until he caught a glimpse of the top of Crowley’s head, a couple of raindrops clinging to wavy strands of red hair. He had laid down on the couch, eyes closed and dark glasses tossed on the end table by his head, seemingly already deep into a nap.
Aziraphale had to hold back a happy sigh. This was where he always wanted Crowley – relaxed, safe, and near him.
He rounded the couch fully to see the demon sprawled out, somehow looking both uncomfortably contorted and extremely at ease, jacket still on, feet dangling off the end and head pillowed on an arm. The short walk from his car parked down the street to the bookshop in the heavy rain had left him only slightly wet. A tiny raindrop trickled from his eyebrow to the side of his nose, catching Aziraphale’s eye.
Aziraphale mentally shook himself, settling back down at his desk with the notebook in hand. He picked his tea back up and took a sip. Perfectly warm. His chair was angled slightly towards Crowley, whose bright yellow eyes opened at the gentle clink of Aziraphale’s teacup.
“Oh! Hello!” Aziraphale smiled warmly. “Dreadful weather we’re having, isn’t it?”
“Mn.” Crowley’s eyes slipped shut again, and he let out a drowsy sigh.
Aziraphale felt his heart swell. He had furnished the couch with his softest blankets and pillows years ago, when he realized that Crowley had taken a liking to it, arranging them and rearranging them until he was certain they’d make for the most comfortable resting place if they were set just so. He was glad to see them put to good use, and wondered if he should add another blanket to the mix.
Best not. It’d probably only bother Crowley if he bustled around too closely around him while he napped.
Aziraphale opened his journal again with the intention to write some more, or maybe start a new drawing – there was a messy stack of books nearby that he had been eyeing for some time. Messy stacks of books were his favourite thing to sketch.
The only problem was, Aziraphale was having trouble tearing his eyes away from Crowley. His relaxed appearance and the soft rise and fall of his chest was incredibly distracting, although he couldn’t quite pinpoint why.
Aziraphale doubted Crowley let anyone else see him this way, at his most vulnerable. It was incredibly endearing, and Aziraphale felt that turning away would almost be a waste. He should capture this moment.
He slowly picked up his pencil and started a new sketch, journal in his lap. He had never drawn Crowley before, and now that he was thinking about it, wasn’t that a bit strange? He was his closest friend, after all, and he had drawn friends before – Maggie, for one. How was this any different from drawing Maggie?
As he sketched the curve of Crowley’s nose, the sharp lines of his eyebrows, he couldn’t help but feel that this was in fact different. It felt more intimate somehow, even though it was a private activity.
Crowley twitched in his sleep, breaths coming faster for a moment before they evened once again. Aziraphale hoped he wasn’t having any unpleasant dreams.
He didn’t notice that the rain had eased until it started coming down heavier again. He glanced down at his drawing – as an angel, he knew he had a skill for art and for capturing the likeness of his subjects, yet he was certain he wouldn’t be able to fully encapsulate the soft lines of Crowley’s eyelashes, nor would he be able to suitably represent the peaceful and languid stretch of his limbs.
Still, he was greatly enjoying this peaceful rainy day in the bookshop.
“What are you doing over there?”
Aziraphale startled. He had finished his drawing about an hour ago and had tucked his journal safely away to read a book he had started the night before. That was, until he had reopened it to add a bit more shading. He was so easily distracted today – how unusual! Maybe it was the weather.
Crowley was sitting up now and leaning forward, hair still mussed from sleep.
Aziraphale closed the journal guiltily.
“Nothing!” He smiled brightly. “Just some doodles.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow.
“You’re acting awfully secretive, angel.”
Aziraphale shook his head fondly.
“Don’t be silly. You know I keep a diary, Crowley.”
“Right, right. Didn’t know you drew, though.”
“It’s quite a relaxing hobby. You should try it!”
“Eh, not my thing.” Crowley stifled a yawn and pushed himself up off the couch.
He strode over to the window, glancing outside before grimacing.
“Well, at least the Bentley’s getting a wash.”
He was back by Aziraphale in a heartbeat, looking over his shoulder.
“Well, let’s see them, then.”
“Hmm?”
“It’s dreadful out and I’m bored. No better time than the present to take a look at these drawings of yours.”
Despite himself, Aziraphale felt a flash of excitement at the prospect of sharing his sketches with Crowley. He liked sharing things with Crowley.
Crowley was tilting his head expectantly.
Hopefully he wouldn’t be alarmed if he spotted the drawing of his sleeping form. After all, it was only one drawing. There was a rather good variety overall; it wasn’t like Aziraphale had a notebook filled with sketches of Crowley like some sort of lovesick teenager.
But there was no need to show him that drawing – he had a journal already overflowing with sketches that he’d love to get Crowley’s thoughts on.
“Wait here a moment.” Aziraphale got up and walked quickly back up to his spare room, grabbing the just-completed journal he had carefully placed on the shelf earlier that day.
Feeling quite giddy, he bounded back downstairs to find Crowley looking down at his desk with a peculiar look on his face. His new journal was open to the page of the sketch of Crowley.
Oh dear. This was going to scare him off, wasn’t it?
Aziraphale risked a glance at Crowley, clutching his old journal tightly. Was Crowley…blushing?
“Um. This is really good. Nice linework. Sorry, don’t think I was the best model. Move around a lot in my sleep.” Crowley was avoiding his gaze.
“Oh, no, no, not at all! I’m sorry, I should have asked. You were just so peaceful, I didn’t want to be a bother.”
Crowley met his gaze now, a deep red blush still visible on his cheeks. It was incredibly endearing - Aziraphale was glad he liked the drawing so much.
“Yeah, well. It’s a shame you don’t have other friends to draw, angel.”
Aziraphale thought about how there was no one he’d rather have. (As a friend, of course).
They spent the rest of the day drinking tea and coffee and going through Aziraphale’s older drawings, chatting, reminiscing, and laughing. The drawing of Crowley wasn’t brought up again and a part of Aziraphale was disappointed that the conversation didn’t go any further. The energy in the room when Crowley had found it had felt somehow different than it normally did when he and Crowley talked. Which was strange, as the conversations they usually had were much more articulate than a few stuttered apologies.
It had raised his heartbeat in a way that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.
Aziraphale shook these thoughts off, grounding himself back in the present moment, thigh pressed against Crowley’s on the couch as they leaned back against the pillows and blankets. Crowley had paused on a doodle Aziraphale had done of the ducks at the park, expression fond.
It really is a lovely hobby, Aziraphale thought. One certainly couldn’t go wrong when capturing the little moments of beauty in the world. He and Crowley had always loved the world.
The rain had just stopped minutes ago and now the sun was filtering in through the windows of the bookshop. What a lovely day it had been.