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They were out walking on the crispy sidewalk of the town they claimed as theirs. Well, more like a town they happened to reside in. Soho was quite nice, everything they wanted was right near them, no need for a miracle to pop them off wherever.
Aziraphale, bundled up like a marshmallow, looked utterly daft and (not) surprisingly content. Aziraphale cared about what he looked like, sure, but Crowley had known him for many millennia. He knew that when it came to wintertime, the angel did not play around. Always bundled up in thousands of layers, having some sort of warm beverage clasped in his hands, and always telling the snake that he was bound to get ill someday.
“My dear, put on a coat, you’re freezing your buttocks off in those jeans.”
“I’m fine.” Crowley snapped back, like he did every year. “Plus, I don’t think we even can get ill, we’re—like—not human.”
“We both know that isn’t true, remember that rather nasty aliment you had in 1941? Lasted for months.” Aziraphale playfully bumped his elbow on Crowley’s as they walked around the edge of the St. James pond.
“That was completely different. I had just walked in a church with dumbarse Nazis and burnt my feet to a crisp! If I had known that sickness was going to happen, I wouldn’t have been so eager to step onto that stupid floor.” The demon scowled.
Aziraphale yoinked one of his many layers off of his body, and wrapped it around Crowley like a goofy scarf.
“Better?”
“Mhhmpf!” Crowley was clawing at the jacket around his neck like a cat. “You put it on WRONG, ANGEL.” The jacket-scarf was muffling his raspy voice.
Crowley finally tore it off and threw it back at Aziraphale.
“Never again. Not stylish, not ‘comfy’.”
“Then stop chattering like it’s the ice age! You need a proper coat, my dear boy.”
Crowley winced at the idea, anything other than his skin tight jeans and loosely worn blazer was an insult to fashion.
“And that shoelace on your neck—”
“IT IS NOT A SHOELACE.”
“That shoelace needs to be replaced with something a bit warmer.”
The snake made a face and started walking diagonal, pushing Aziraphale to the edges of the sidewalk.
“Oh you—you childish demon!” Aziraphale pushed back with all his strength at once, resulting in Crowley toppling over into a tree. “I win.” The angel hummed.
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.” Aziraphale stretched out his arm to help the demon stand up, but was rewarded with a swat to his wrist and a very annoyed grunt as he got up.
“Can we go back?”
“Because you’re cold? I told you—”
The snake slouched over, defeated, attempting to hide his violent chattering.
“You know what,” Aziraphale glanced over and patted his shoulder. “Let’s go back. I’m getting cold.”
“If you want.” Crowley replied, striving for nonchalance.
Aziraphale grinned and put his arm through Crowley’s elbow. “It’s a nice night.”
“Mm” The demon agreed as the wind ruffled his hair into a mess, something to deal with later.