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Fire blazed in the cottage hearth, secure behind double screens. An angel and a demon sat in front of it-- Aziraphale in an old battered wing chair reading while Crowley stretched out on the hearth rug kicking one foot idly up in the air. A small tree scented the room, with bright decorations on its boughs and its roots securely balled up in a bucket for later planting.
The room was strewn with wrapping paper and gifts-- new scarves, one red and black, one blue and cream (Aziraphale had been learning to knit. His scarf still had the needles in, a promise to himself that he would finish it before the winter turned to spring). A selection of chocolates sat on the table, somewhat depleted. The book he was reading had been a gift from Crowley; his own gift had been the small game system on which Crowley now played.
Aziraphale looked out the window, and placed a bookmark in his book. “It’s just gone dark, dear.”
Crowley glanced up. “Already?”
“Oh, I know! It barely feels like it gets light at all these days. But it’s time.”
“Yeah, okay.” Crowley put down his game and wriggled like a snake until somehow, improbably, he was standing. “Got everything?” he said, walking to the table.
“I think so, yes.” Aziraphale chuckled. “Last time they were together like this, everything was so different! No Antichrist yet. Still looking over my shoulder all the time.”
“Definitely didn’t have this place yet. Hadn’t even let myself dream of it.”
Aziraphale leaned over and kissed his husband on the nose as he came past. “And now look at us!”
“Yep. Totally different world.”
“Not as different as all that.” Aziraphale sat with matches and candles. “Everything, still--”
Crowley put a hand over his. “Everything is still dark out there, sometimes, yeah. Humans will be humans, and put both of us to shame. But that’s what today is about, right? Light in the darkness. Hope when there’s no hope.”
“Oh, yes.”
“One more gift, then. Merry Christmas. Chag sameach,” Crowley said, handing him a box with a ribbon around it.
Inside it, nestled in layers of foam and tissue, was a bar-shaped Hannukkah menorah of rainbow-colored glass with nine little cups in the top. “Oh, Crowley! It’s lovely!”
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how many miracles you’ve used to keep yours together,” Crowley said.
Aziraphale pouted. “You laughed at me when I said I could always tell.”
“I laughed at you when you said it would bother you to always tell,” Crowley retorted. “And I’ll do it again. But this... It’s a new world, isn’t it? You should have a new one to go with it.”
“It’s beautiful! I can’t wait to see how it catches the light. Do I, um." He picked up the matches, put them down again. "Do you need to step away for the prayer?”
“Maaayyyybe just for a tick.” Crowley stood up. “It always makes me itchy. But I’ll come back and light it with you. Figure if we’re both here, we can keep the place from catching fire.”
“So we won’t be setting it in the window, then?”
“We have electric ones for the windows,” Crowley said. “No fire in the windows. But this one... This is just us.”
Aziraphale pulled him down to kiss him again. “Chag urim sameach, dearest.”