Work Text:
~°°~
“Happy birthday Angel!”
Aziraphale turned where he was sitting, warm light from the window dusting over the cozy bookshop. The book he had temporarily set down lay face up in front of him, detailing the life, setbacks, challenges and successes of a Mr. Freddy Mercury.
The tall lanky figure, stood in the doorway of the small reading room, his dark glasses having been shed by the door, and a small tartan gift bag dangling from one hand.
Aziraphale took a few moments longer than one typically should to process what Crowley had said.
“Pardon?”
The swagger Crowley had leaning against the door frame faltered slightly, his face flashing through a few different emotions before settling on worried.
“I mean- Ngk- well you know the humans celebrate them and we've been here for so long I figured- but no yeah of course if you don't-”
“Today isn't my birthday?”
Aziraphale's statement has a questioning lilt at the end, of course he didn't mind celebrating but it certainly wasn't today.
Crowley's natural response to this seemed to be to furrow his eyebrows and stare blankly at the ground for a few moments, before blatantly rejecting that idea.
“No it definetly is today.”
Aziraphale shook his head slowly, now flashing through confusion of his own.
“I was under the impression that today was yours? I booked us for the Ritz tonight, I have been every year tonight since we started frequenting there.”
He paused for a moment, before meeting the demons eyes.
“How exactly did you come to decide that today was my birthday?”
At this he shrugged, regarding the angel with curiosity.
“Saw it marked on your calendar ‘couple centuries ago. I hadn't been keeping track of either of ours ‘till then.”
The angel let out a small laugh.
“Crowley I don't know mine, I assumed it was yours since you always seemed to like doing something special on that day.”
Aziraphale reached under his desk and tugged at a small box, patterned with iridescent triangles backed by a matte black, that would occasionally catch the dying light of the sun still drifting slowly through the glass panes.
He gently placed the small thing on the desk next to him, in full view for Crowley to see.
Crowley groaned and ran a hand through his hair, letting it fall back into place wherever it pleased.
“D’you mean to tell me, that for possibly hundreds of years, we've both been assuming the other had a birthday today and there's a very good chance that neither of us actually do?”
Aziraphale shrugged, decidedly putting a bookmark in, and closing the biography he had been annotating.
He hummed.
“Mm, well that certainly seems to be the case.
Though, it would be a waste considering I have us booked for dinner already, and then there's this.”
He tapped a finger on the black box absent-mindedly.
Crowley smirked and dropped onto the small couch pressed against a wall. The couch that always so happened to be the perfect length for however the demon decided to lounge that day.
“Ngh. Yeah that's true I ‘spose. Here.”
He gently put the bag down on the ground and slid it across the carpet to his Angel.
Aziraphale smiled and reached to pass the box in return.
“Soo d'you wanna do this as a, ‘we open them at the same time’ kind of thing or…?”
Aziraphale gestured towards the demon sitting on his couch, the couch that happened to be a yellow tartan pattern. A yellow, that got very close to a certain eye colour if you asked him.
“You go ahead.”
Carefully, Crowley lifted the lid and rested it on the arm of the sofa, exposing the contents to the last few rays of orangey-pink sunset coming from outside.
Nestled among bits of fabrics was a glinting black ring, that would wrap around someone's finger and imitated a snake. It also had a soft pink gemstone fit into the center of its coils.
“Rose quartz.”
Aziraphale explained.
“I heard it has certain, er, meanings to humans. Though I just thought it had quite an endearing look to it.”
Crowley examined it closely, before snapping and slipping it on. He then whispered something so quietly Aziraphale almost didn't hear.
“Thanks Angel, I'm never taking it off.”
Which he immediately followed up at a more normal volume by saying: “Right okay your turn.”
Aziraphale took out the tissue paper, resting it gently on the desk to his side, and pulled out a scarf. A scarf patterned with tartan which matched several other garments of clothing he owned, and as he ran his fingers delicately across it, he realized it was made of silk.
He let the fabric pour through his fingers before gently folding it and holding it in his lap.
“Crowley it's beautiful.”
The simple statement was more than enough for both of them to hear the underlying appreciation radiating off both etherial entities.
Both whom happened to have new accessories they would continue to wear regularly, and a reservation at The Ritz.