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Aziraphale got up from his favourite plush armchair with a grunt of effort and wandered into the Cottage’s kitchen. As he entered, he heard faint mumbling sounds coming from the oven. Cautious, he approached. Inside was Crowley in small snake form, basking in the heat lights.
“Crowley, my love, what on Earth are you doing?” Aziraphale smiled as he opened the oven, letting a now human-sized Crowley out.
“It’s bloody freezing out there, Angel. I’m cold-blooded, you know.” Crowley rubbed his head, which he whacked on the oven door.
“There are better ways to go about warming oneself.”
Aziraphale guided Crowley to the couch, where he sprawled out, arm over his eyes.
“Is the light hurting, dear? You did hit your head quite hard.”
Aziraphale clicked his fingers. The lights dimmed, and he moved back into the kitchen.
“I know exactly what should do the trick.” He said, as he reached for his mugs and cocoa tin. This cocoa, however, was not regular cocoa, oh no. Aziraphale had done a miracle on it many years ago to prevent it from running out. Which served him well, considering the current going-price of authentic, hand-ground cocoa. He carefully placed seven teaspoons into each mug, and then poured in the hot water from the kettle which, you guessed it, he miraculously perpetually kept warm. He stirred them both with his favourite silver teaspoon and brought them out to the living room, where the last rays of sun were just peeking through the curtains. Aziraphale placed them both on coasters which he had bought at last Sunday’s farmer’s market, and the two sat in the quiet as they drank.
“So, what did you get up to today?” Crowley asked.
“Oh, not much. A bit of light reading.”
Crowley looked in disbelief at the pile of books Aziraphale had gone through in the span of a day.
“How about you?”
“Hiding in the oven.”
Aziraphale smiled in a way that made Crowley know he was going to be ok. Hell, Aziraphale’s smile could tell you a million things, and all of them were comforting in one way or another. The sky darkened outside, and knowing exactly what that meant, Crowley once again transformed into a snake and slithered over to Aziraphale, up his leg and into his lap. Contented, he coiled himself up as he gratefully received head pats. Aziraphale sifted through the pile next to him, and found a book he deemed to be suitable. Pride and Prejudice, by Crowley’s favourite author. Well, not that he technically knew her as an author; more of one of Crowley’s favourite humans than anything else.
Aziraphale cleared his throat and began to read.
“It is a truth universally acknowledged,”
Crowley, at this moment, was too comfortable to pay attention to anything past that. The fire was warm, and made his head heavy. In fact he had become rather sleepy. Noticing this, Aziraphale gently closed the book, placed it back upon its pile, and promptly fell asleep. Crowley, lulled by the rising and falling of Aziraphale’s belly and the soft drone of his snoring, quickly found himself asleep as well.