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The weather outside is frightful, at least that’s what Aziraphale keeps hearing over the radio, though quite frankly he thought it was the most wonderful time of the year. The cold autumn breeze brushed through the leaves sitting right outside his window. Aziraphale suspects that it was Crowley’s doing to make radios start playing christmas songs before thanksgiving. He had placed a bird feeder and house on the tree right outside his window earlier that spring. Now, two birds have made it their home and were snuggled closely together as Aziraphale reclined on his favorite chair, a first edition book of The Great Gatsby tucked into his lap and steaming cocoa in hand.
Aziraphale startled as the bookshop door burst open, inviting an aggressive wind and with it an all too familiar groan.
“Uhgggg!” Crowley came bursting in, sluggish and footsteps heavy. “Stupid blasted weather.” He made his way over to his favorite couch and sprawled himself across it quite dramatically.
“What’s got your panties in a bunch?” Aziraphale inquired, peeking over his book coolly. (At least he hopes it was cool)
Crowley physically cringed, “First of all Angel, please don’t ever bloody say that again, second of all, none of your business.” He growled slightly.
“Oh, it is very much my business. The moment you entered my bookshop, it became my business.” Aziraphale sat up straighter, hoping to exude a confident demeanor. He carefully set down his book, turning his full attention to the brooding blob on his couch. “Now either you tell me what’s wrong, or you can help dust the bookshelves.”
Crowley’s eyes snapped towards Aziraphale, narrowing slightly. “If I dust, you won’t bother me with pointless questions?” The angel nodded, taking a sip from his coffee. “Fine,” Crowley lifted his hand to snap before retreating further into the couch. “There, now don’t bother me, I’m trying to brood.”
The angel took a glance around and swore he could see his books actually sparkle.
Aziraphale let it slide, the demon obviously was not having a good morning, and he let the hours pass in silence. It was only around noon that he noticed something was off. Crowley was never this still for this long. And he was shivering.
He placed his book down, slowly getting up and moving closer to the demon. “Crowley?” He offered quietly to the air. No response.
“Crowley, do you need a blanket?” Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his hands together as he swiveled his head to try and locate the blanket he bought from an elderly woman on the streets the other day. It took a little bit, but finally he spotted the blanket across the room draped over a chair between the french revolution books. “Ah! There you are.” he chirped happily.
The angel moved to grab it but was startled when his movement was halted. A weak grip held onto his pants as he turned to find where the snag came from. To his surprise, a slender and familiar hand was the culprit.
“No…” Crowley’s voice came in soft and meek. “Warmth. I need…” He sounded quite awful!
“Crowley? Are you sick?” This bamboozled Aziraphale, he hadn’t known demons were susceptible to sicknesses! Only that they often were the cause of them. Well except for God a few times like with Moses.
“Cold…” Crowley barely seemed to hear the question.
The angel shifted closer, “I can help if you let go, Crowley.” He shifted to remove the hand but that only seemed to have an opposite effect. Instead of letting go, Crowley’s grip tightened and he pulled; startling Aziraphale to stumble and fall onto the couch next to Crowley.
“Gah!” The sudden action caught him off guard as Crowley wrapped around the angel's waist. His face flushed an indisputable pink. “U-uh Crowley, I don’t believe this is very profes–” But before he could finish the thought, Crowley tightened his grip, pulling Aziraphale even further into the couch and his own body.
He was cold.
Crowley’s touch warmed every part of Aziraphale’s insides, but on the outside Crowley was unusually cold. That can’t be good.
“Angel is warm…” The demon’s sleepy voice drifted through the air. “...my angel is perfect…” Aziraphale was certain you could see his blush from heaven.
Evidently, Crowley was NOT in the right mind, so Aziraphale decided it was best to wait till he woke to figure out what’s wrong. And definitely not because he wanted more cuddles. Nope. Not at all.
The sun cast warm rays across the two sleeping figures as it settled its warmth in through the bookshop window. Aziraphale had never felt more comfortable in his life, so when movement and a soft string of flavorful curses broke his rest he felt a drop of annoyance bubble to the surface.
“Uhg…” Aziraphale slowly blinked his vision clear as he propped himself up from where he was laying. Then he stopped cold. Below him lay a very pink and very wide eyed Crowley.
“C-crowley!?” Aziraphale jumped back, falling flat on his butt next to the couch. “Ohmygoshiamsosorry!!!” He quickly sputtered, his face heating up excessively.
Crowley turned away, hiding his face before he spoke, “Uh…” he cleared his throat, "I think I should leave now.” He moved to leave, packing up his belongings and sauntering out; a drag in each step.
Aziraphale watched him, dumbfounded on the floor, until Crowley's hand touched the door. “W-wait!” He called out, an unexplainable fear gripping his chest. Crowley turned back, as if he was half hoping Aziraphale would say something.
And that’s how they stayed. For a long moment they both just stared at each other, basked in the comfort of each other's gaze. Aziraphale found himself getting lost in those dangerous eyes that claimed the angel’s favorite color since the garden that started it all. It was a shame they were almost always covered, they were beautiful.
A soft shiver through Crowley’s body brought Aziraphale’s mind back to the issue at hand.
“Crowley?” He ventured cautiously, “are you… sick?” The moment the angel released those words, Crowley seized up; his whole body going rigid and Aziraphale swore he could see the walls of defensiveness shoot up around his heart.
“What?” Crowley responded coldly. “That’s impossible Angel, and you know it.” He turned back and swiftly left the shop, leaving nothing but the cold brisk air sweeping through the shop as he disappeared through the door.
***
After that, Crowley had disappeared for around a week before Aziraphale started to get anxious. Sure it wasn’t uncommon for them to not have contact for months or even years at a time, but recently that time between had become shorter and shorter. Aziraphale quite liked it. And on top of that, their last interaction didn’t quite sit well with the angel; something was very wrong and he was very sure to figure out what.
“Have you seen Crowley recently?” Aziraphale asked Maggie as non-chalantly as he could while browsing the classics collection of records.
“Your boyfriend?” She offered up, causing Aziraphale to choke, “I can’t be certain but I believe I saw him in the alley a block down?” She finished, concern surfacing on her face.
“The alley–” Aziraphale started confusedly, “ –nevermind. Ah, uh yes, thank you for your help Maggie.”
“No problem, and about this month rent–”
“It’s forgiven!” And with that, Aziraphale disappeared into the streets. He briskly strode towards the alley, the autumn wind flushing his nose and cheeks as he rounded the corner, only to be met with a horrific sight.
There, before him, was a miserable curled up ball of blankets shivering next to an apartment heater.
“Oh Crowley! Aziraphale exclaimed, jumping to make sure the demon was still alive. He shifted the blankets to reveal familiar matted red hair and a face paler than it ought to be. “Oh Crowley! Good heavens! What happened to you?”
No response came from the demon as Aziraphale miracled up electric blankets and carefully picked Crowley up. He carried Crowley back to the bookshop, flipping the sign to CLOSED with a miracle on the way in. The couch wouldn’t do. Aziraphale took him upstairs instead, settling him carefully beneath the blankets of his own bed.
“You silly old fool,” Aziraphale muttered, reaching forwards to wipe the hair from the demon’s eyes, “you don’t have to hide this kind of thing from me, you know.” He sighed, moving to sit in the chair next to the bed. He pulled out a signed version of Huckleberry Finn, and began, “you don’t know about me…”
Aziraphale had reached halfway through chapter 7 when he first heard Crowley stir.
“Uhggg… I feel like I fell from heaven all over again…” the demon groaned.
“Ah! Crowley, you have rejoined me on earth.” Aziraphale announced from behind Crowley. That woke him up completely. Then he realized.
“Jezum Crow!” He yelped, bolting up to find he was snuggled up against Aziraphale, in his bed, while the angel was reading bloody Huck Finn to him. “Angel! What am I doing in your bed!?”
Aziraphale looked startled at Crowley, blinking slowly before tilting his head to the side in curiosity. “I found you on the streets shivering to death. The real question is why?”
Crowley groaned, dragging his hands down his face and situating himself on the end of the bed; away from Aziraphale.
“UUUHHHGGGG!!! Angel, why do you have to be so,” He paused, gesturing to Aziraphale as a whole, “nice?”
“Because that’s my job, I am an angel after all.”
“Yes yes I know that, but why are you nice to me?” He clarified, face scrunching up in dislike. “I mean, I'm a demon and ever since we met, you’ve been nothing but sweet to me.”
“You’re avoiding my question with flattery and it won't work.” Aziraphale announced, bookmarking his book and setting it off to the side. “Also I know it’s you who’s dog-earring my books in the shop Crowley.” A face of disappointment was angled towards the demon.
“You can’t prove anything!” He took a breath, “And… you weren’t supposed to ever see me like this…”
“Like what?”
“Like the miserable fool I am,” he mutters. “Did you ever wonder why you almost never saw me when the weather got cold?”
Aziraphale ponders, realizing that, yes, they never really interacted in the cooler seasons. “Ah, that makes sense now, I always assumed it was to give you time for your evil Christmas schemes. Remember Krampus? I know that was you Crowley.”
Crowley shifted uneasy, his defenses slowly crawling back up. Aziraphale couldn’t have that now. “Sorry, so remind me what is this all about?” He asked softly, shifting to sit next to the demon.
There was a long bit of silence that sat between them; not quite awkward, but definitely uncomfortable.
“It’s… my stupid demon curse.” Crowley finally spat out. Aziraphale stayed quiet, afraid that any interruptions would bring an end to their conversation. “I was cursed with aspects of reptiles, specifically snakes. Hence the eyes and the whole garden thing.”
The angel shifted just slightly so their knees touched. Enough so that if Crowley wanted to, he could pull away without it being awkward. He didn’t.
“This also includes susceptibility to the cold.” He finally breathed out. “Winters are rough for me. Usually, I use a miracle but I was cut from Hell.”
Aziraphale finally dared to speak again, “what about your house?”
“Heater broke.”
“Your car?”
“In the shop.”
“My bookshop?”
“...”
Aziraphale softened. “You know you can always come to me for help, Crowley.”
“I did.”
Silence rang through the room. Aziraphale shifted, staring straight at the demon. “What?” No answer came except from Aziraphale’s own memory. It dawned on him. “Oh.” he breathed. “The time you slept in the bookshop. You tried telling me something, didn't you.”
Crowley stood up, walking to the door, “Yeah, and it was stupid. All I did was make a fucking Idiot of myself.” Crowley growled, marching to the door and yanking it open. “See you next Spring–” He was suddenly cut short by the door slamming closed in front of his face. “Wha–”
“Oh no you don’t.” Aziraphale stepped forward. “I won’t let you go back out there. Not again.” Crowley was taken aback by the sudden forwardness. “I can take care of you. I can keep you warm.”
Crowley’s face burst into flames, his face redder than Satan himself. “Angel, you are so very tempting to a demon like me.” Crowley whispered before realizing the implications of his words. He turned away, hiding his burning cheeks.
“Then let me tempt you.”
Crowley snapped his gaze back to those sky blue eyes as they shone sincerity and care, piercing through the demon’s defenses.
“Let me care for you Crowley.” He continued, his facial expression softening. “Now, back to bed you go.” Aziraphale started shooing Crowley towards the bed as the demon protested weakly, to no avail.
“Angel,” Crowley warned deeply.
“Oh hush you overgrown reptile.” and before he could escape, the warmth of Aziraphale’s bed reminded him just how cold he was. He sunk into the soft sheets that smelt of his favorite warm pastries, soft vanilla, and slight touch of old book pages. It was intoxicating.
The mattress dipped as Aziraphale sat carefully beside him, the angel fussing with the blankets until Crowley was practically cocooned within them.
“There,” Aziraphale huffed softly, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Honestly, you’d think an ancient demon would know better than to freeze in an alleyway.”
Crowley made a noise somewhere between a groan and a grumble, sinking deeper into the pillows. “Didn’t plan on it.”
“No, I thought not.”
Aziraphale reached forward before hesitating briefly. “May I?”
Crowley blinked sluggishly up at him. “May you what?”
“Your glasses,” Aziraphale clarified gently.
Crowley went still for a moment before slowly removing them himself and handing them over with surprising care. Aziraphale accepted them like they were something precious.
Without the dark lenses shielding him, Crowley suddenly looked terribly exhausted. His golden eyes were dull with fatigue, the scales near his temples more visible than usual.
“Oh, Crowley…” Aziraphale murmured quietly.
“Don’t,” Crowley’s gaze dropped to the blankets, voice barely audible.
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that.”
Aziraphale frowned. “Like what?”
“Like I’m…” Crowley waved a weak hand vaguely through the air. “Something sad you found on the side of the road.”
The angel’s expression softened painfully.
“You are not sad,” he said firmly. “You are impossible, infuriating, dramatic, and frankly a menace to my bookshelves–”
“Oi.”
“ –but never sad.”
Crowley stared at him for a long moment, visibly unsure how to respond to kindness that direct. Aziraphale shifted closer again before carefully pressing the back of his hand against Crowley’s forehead. Crowley nearly melted on the spot.
“You’re still freezing,” Aziraphale fretted.
“M’fine.”
“You are most absolutely not fine.”
The demon let out a weak hiss as Aziraphale tucked another blanket around his shoulders.
“Angel,” Crowley complained, though without any real bite to it, “I can’t move my arms anymore.”
“That is intentional.”
A tired laugh escaped Crowley before he could stop it. The sound made something warm bloom in Aziraphale’s chest.
“There we are,” Aziraphale said quietly, smoothing a hand through Crowley’s unruly hair almost absentmindedly. “Much better.”
Crowley’s eyes fluttered shut at the touch.
The angel froze.
Crowley, apparently too exhausted to notice the effect he was having, leaned ever so slightly into the warmth of Aziraphale’s hand with a soft sigh.
It was such a small thing.
And yet Aziraphale suddenly understood why humans wrote poetry.
Aziraphale felt a slight tug at his heartstrings guiding him closer to the beautiful idiot beneath him. He notices a pesky chunk of hair resting uncomfortably on Crowley’s face and reaches forward to brush it away. A sudden shiver travels down the angel’s spine as a cold hand clamps around his wrist.
Neither moved.
Aziraphale could see the universe reflected in Crowley’s stunning eyes as he looked back up to the angel; all the stars and galaxies shifting and sparkling through the deep ink of space. Their breath mingled in an intoxicating yet heart pumping tango, and he wishes he could stay this close forevermore. And those lips, soft and inviting as Crowley wet his lips absently.
“You’re warm.” Came a soft whisper from the very lips Aziraphale was admiring. Then like any elastic pulled too tight, the moment snapped; slapping Aziraphale right in the face as he stumbled back, apologizing for invading a sick man’s space.
“Oh dear, terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to– well, not that I didn’t mean to, exactly–” he stumbled, creating far more space than necessary between them.
“Angel.”
“ –I mean for me to take advantage of you like that while you’re sick? Inexcusable!” Aziraphale’s mouth kept running before he could stop it.
“Angel.”
“…and clearly you’re feverish and not in your right state of mind—”
“Aziraphale.”
“Plus–” Aziraphale halts, turning to look at the very tired demon smiling lopsidedly.
“I know what I was doing.”
Aziraphale froze, his mind entirely blanking as words abandoned him completely.
The angel stared at Crowley with wide eyes, lips parted soundlessly as if words had abandoned him entirely.
Crowley’s crooked smile softened into something almost fond. “Careful, angel,” he murmured tiredly, “you’ll catch flies like that.”
“Oh.” Aziraphale blinked rapidly. “Right. Yes. Sorry. I just–” He gestured helplessly. “You knew?”
“Mhm.”
“And you…” His voice lowered cautiously. “Didn’t mind?”
Crowley looked at him for a long moment before giving a weak shrug beneath the mountain of blankets. “If I minded, you’d know.”
That earned a breathless little laugh from Aziraphale despite himself.
Silence settled between them again, though this time it felt softer. Warmer.
Crowley’s thumb brushed absently against Aziraphale’s wrist where he still held it, and only then did either of them seem to realize neither had let go. Crowley pulled his hand back first.
“Sorry,” he muttered automatically.
Aziraphale frowned immediately. “Don’t apologize for that.”
The demon’s gaze dropped toward the blankets gathered in his lap. “Bit difficult not to,” he said quietly. “Whole thing’s rather pathetic.”
“There is nothing pathetic about being cold.”
Crowley let out a dry laugh. “Easy for Heaven’s favorite space heater to say.”
“Oh, honestly.” Aziraphale shifted closer again despite himself. “You were half frozen in an alleyway, Crowley.”
“Was handling it.”
“You were absolutely not handling it.”
Crowley opened his mouth to argue before the words seemed to deflate somewhere in his chest. He turned away instead, staring toward the bedroom window where pale autumn light spilled across the floorboards.
“I hate this,” he admitted at last, voice rough around the edges.
Aziraphale stayed quiet.
“Hate winters. Hate needing help.” Crowley swallowed thickly. “And I especially hate you seeing me like this.”
The confession landed heavily between them.
Aziraphale’s expression softened.
“Why?”
Crowley gave him an incredulous look. “Because I’m a demon, angel.” He laughed bitterly. “Supposed to be clever. Tempting. Dangerous.” His eyes flicked downward. “Not shivering under six blankets because the heater packed in.”
“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice came out heartbreakingly gentle.
“No, really.” Crowley rubbed tiredly at his face. “You should’ve seen me. Curled up next to a bloody space heater like some abandoned reptile.”
“You are not abandoned.”
Crowley froze.
The room went very still.
Aziraphale seemed startled by his own words at first, but then his expression settled into something firm and earnest.
“You are not,” he repeated softly. “And you never have been.”
Crowley looked at him then, really looked at him, with something unbearably raw in his golden eyes.
“I don’t pity you, Crowley,” Aziraphale continued quietly. “I care about you. There is a difference.”
Crowley’s breath caught almost imperceptibly.
For once, the demon had absolutely nothing to say.
Crowley turned his face away, shoulders curling inward beneath the blankets. The confession still hung in the air between them, fragile and trembling like a plucked string.
Aziraphale’s heart ached. He wanted to say something, anything, that would ease the tightness in Crowley’s voice, but the words tangled uselessly on his tongue.
Instead, he reached out and adjusted the blankets one more time, a small, grounding gesture.
“Let’s try warming you up from the inside,” he said softly, more to steady himself than anything else. “Let me fetch something warm.”
Crowley didn’t answer, but his eyes flicked toward Aziraphale in a way that wasn’t quite refusal.
That was enough.
Aziraphale stood, smoothing his waistcoat out of habit, and slipped quietly from the room. The hallway felt colder without Crowley’s presence, and he hurried downstairs, determined to return before the demon could retreat back behind those walls of his.
The soup was still warm on the stove, thank goodness, and he poured a bit into a bowl before carrying it carefully back upstairs.
He nudged the door open with his shoulder.
“Here we are,” he said gently, “your favorite.” The angel set it down on the bedside table and leaned into a whisper, “I added my finest wine to spice things up.”
Crowley burst out in a cackle, the first real good one he has had in a long while. “Oh angel,” he chuckled, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, “now you know how to care for a sick demon.”
“Then I do hope you come back for care under my watch more often.” Aziraphale was soft, leaning forwards and feeding Crowley a small spoonful of soup, sneaking a small peck to his forehead.
“Angel…”
“Hm?”
“…that wasn’t very fair.”
Aziraphale let out a small chuckle, leaning in to land another attack, only to be fully caught off guard as a hand clenched the front of his shirt, pulling him down roughly. Their lips met clumsily.
Warmth.
For one impossibly suspended moment, Aziraphale forgot how to think entirely.
Crowley’s grip tightened slightly in the fabric of his shirt as though he were afraid the angel might disappear if he let go. The kiss itself was awkward and a little uneven, centuries of yearning with absolutely no practice behind it, but it was Crowley.
And oh.
Aziraphale melted.
The world seemed to narrow into warmth and soft breaths and the faint taste of wine lingering from the soup. Crowley’s lips were colder than they should have been, but slowly, gradually, they warmed beneath his own.
A startled noise escaped Aziraphale before he could stop it, and Crowley immediately began pulling away.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“No!”
The word burst out of Aziraphale so quickly they both blinked.
Crowley froze halfway back against the pillows.
Aziraphale’s face burned furiously. “I mean– no, don’t stop. Please.”
Something unbearably soft flickered across Crowley’s expression.
“Oh,” he said quietly.
This time when Aziraphale leaned in, it was deliberate. Gentle.
One hand came up to cradle Crowley’s face carefully, thumb brushing against the scales near his temple as their lips met again, slower now. Softer.
Crowley made a quiet sound against his mouth that nearly unraveled him completely.
When they finally parted, neither moved very far away.
Their foreheads rested together as both of them attempted (and failed) to remember how breathing worked.
“Well,” Crowley murmured weakly after a long moment, “that was significantly better than soup.”
Aziraphale laughed helplessly, warm and breathless and fond.
“Hey, that was a special soup just for you.” Aziraphale combated playfully.
“And that was one special kiss just for me.” Crowley smirks, “and I wouldn’t mind another~”
“Oh quiet, you.”
And they stay like that, smiling softly at each other as the autumn sun slowly retreats from the room, leaving the two in darkened privacy.
Aziraphale notices Crowley’s obvious shivering even under the mountain of blankets. There was only one solution.
The mattress dipped as Aziraphale sat down, shimmying his way next to Crowley. The demon goes rigid by the sudden intrusion.
“Angel…?”
“Oh hush, it’s strictly medicinal.”
And with that, Crowley absolutely melts into the soft and kind warmth beside him, closing his eyes and finally, finally, letting the cold leave his stubborn heart.
“You make one heck of a heater, Angel.”
“That’s not a very romantic thing to say after you kiss someone.”
Crowley cracked one eye open lazily. “Romantic, eh?” A slow grin spread across his face. “So we’re calling it that now?”
Aziraphale immediately sputtered. “I– well– that is not–”
“Oh, this is brilliant.” Crowley snuggled deeper into the blankets, and into Aziraphale’s side, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone who nearly froze to death two hours ago. “Angel finally kisses me and suddenly we’re discussing romance.”
“We are discussing no such thing,” Aziraphale huffed, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way he instinctively pulled the blankets higher around Crowley’s shoulders.
“Mhm.”
“Oh, don’t you ‘mhm’ me.”
Crowley’s quiet laughter rumbled warmly against Aziraphale’s chest where he’d practically curled into him now, all long limbs and lingering cold seeking warmth without shame for perhaps the first time in centuries.
The realization made something ache tenderly inside the angel.
Outside, the wind rattled softly against the bookshop windows. Somewhere downstairs, an old radio continued playing muffled Christmas songs entirely too early in the season.
Aziraphale smiled faintly.
The birds outside his window would probably be tucked into their little house by now, nestled close together against the autumn cold.
Beside him, Crowley shifted with a sleepy sigh, pressing closer unconsciously.
“You know,” the demon mumbled drowsily, “if you tell anyone I cuddled willingly, I’ll deny it.”
“Oh naturally,” Aziraphale murmured, carding gentle fingers through Crowley’s hair again. “Would ruin your terrifying reputation.”
“Exactly.”
Silence settled over them once more, soft and comfortable and wonderfully warm.
Crowley’s breathing slowly evened out, tension gradually leaving his body piece by piece beneath Aziraphale’s careful touch. No more shaking. No more stubborn walls clawing themselves back into place.
Just warmth.
Just safety.
Aziraphale looked down at the demon tucked against him and felt his chest tighten painfully with affection.
Not abandoned.
Never abandoned.
The thought settled warmly inside him as he pressed one last featherlight kiss against Crowley’s hair.
Outside, the weather remained frightful.
But tucked away in the little bookshop, wrapped together beneath far too many blankets, Aziraphale thought it might very well be the most wonderful time of the year after all.