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Aziraphale was in heaven—figuratively speaking. It was a warm, sunny day and he and Crowley had finally made it to the beach. Wearing a vintage-style striped swim top and shorts, the angel happily stepped out onto the sand so he could in the view. The seaside smelled of salt, sunscreen, and fried dough. Clutching a wicker basket in one hand and an enormous bottle of sunscreen in the other, he began to make his way towards the shore. "Come along Crowley!"
Crowley, dressed in black linen, dark glasses shielding his eyes, trudged across the sand behind him with a distinct air of suffering. “I can’t believe I agreed to this…’ he grumbled. “I’ll be finding grains of sand in my shoes until the second coming.”
"Nonsense. A proper day at the seaside! Fresh air, the gentle sound of the waves—"
"The stench of banana-flavoured chemicals," Crowley cut in, eyeing the sunscreen with disdain. "Why on earth did you bring that?"
"Sun protection, dear boy. One can never be too careful!"
"I’m a demon. I don’t get sunburned."
"One can’t be too careful," Aziraphale said primly.
Crowley flopped onto the plaid blanket Aziraphale had laid out and squinted at the sea. Aziraphale settled beside him, and began applying sunscreen liberally to his own nose. Crowley shook his head. The artificial banana scent wafted heavily between them.
"D'you know how long it's been since I smelled that stuff?"
“Sunscreen?”
“Bananas.”
Crowley propped himself up on one elbow. “Brighton Beach, 1927. Humans were obsessed with all things tropical! Bananas were exotic back then. Smelled just like this stuff."
"I do love bananas," said Aziraphale. “Were you there on assignment?”
"Head office thought Brighton was the perfect breeding ground for 'moral laxity.' Gambling, scandal, too much gin, people wearing shockingly little clothing... All very unseemly. I was supposed to nudge things along."
"And did you?" Aziraphale asked, his curiosity piqued.
Crowley shrugged. "Got distracted. Ended up spending the afternoon teaching a seagull to steal people’s chips. Went for a banana split after.” He grinned. “Terribly effective, I’m sure."
Aziraphale chuckled softly at the thought. "I can’t imagine that was quite what your superiors had in mind."
"Didn’t hear any complaints. I think the humans managed plenty of mischief on their own without me."
“Indeed.” Aziraphale leaned over suddenly, dabbing a blob of sunscreen onto Crowley's pale cheek.
"Oi!" Crowley squawked, batting at him. "Stop that."
"You’ll thank me later when you aren't baked like a lobster."
Crowley muttered a few choice words but didn't swipe it off.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the distant cries of gulls and children punctuating the air. The waves rolled in, crashing against the sand before drawing back again, revealing a variety of shells and seaweed.
“I think I’d like to take a dip in the ocean!” Aziraphale announced suddenly.
“You go ahead.” Crowley replied. "I forgot my swimsuit."
“Lets just dip our toes,” Aziraphale pressed, glancing at Crowley hopefully. "We've come this far already."
Crowley hesitated, then let out a sigh. "Yeah. Alright. Someone has to keep an eye on you."
They reached the water's edge and Aziraphale slipped off his sandals with a pleased little hum. He stepped gingerly into the surf. "Oh, it’s freezing!" he laughed.
Crowley stood back, hands in his pockets, giving the water a suspicious look. "See? Exactly as I predicted. Miserable."
"Oh come now, dear, have some fun."
"I am having fun," Crowley retorted. "That’s why I’m staying dry."
“Oh bless it,” Crowley finally muttered. He tossed his boots onto the sand, rolled his trouser legs up and stepped forward, the cold water biting at his skin. Aziraphale turned and met Crowley's eyes—hidden behind dark glasses, but the tilt of his head and the subtle clench of his jaw gave him away. The demon was enjoying himself.
Aziraphale's heart gave a quick, tender flutter. "You came in," he said softly.
Crowley ducked his head, hands shoved in his pockets. “Didn’t say I wouldn’t,” he mumbled, and allowed a crooked smile.
The afternoon ambled on, they walked the tide line, then had lunch. Aziraphale fed half his scone to an ungrateful seagull. Crowley lent his sunglasses to Aziraphale because the angel had forgotten his hat in the car. Small things. Human things.
As the sun dipped low, Aziraphale sighed, heart full. The waves rolled in, and he closed his eyes, letting himself stay right there—in the vibrant light of the golden hour, the warmth of Crowley's nearness, and the quiet wish that their lives might always be this simple.